George grabbed his coat and hat and stormed out of the house, not caring care where he went so long as he went. How could the Weavers say such things about sweet, frightened Olivia? Anyone could see her confusion and fear at her situation. He could see her pain. That was enough for him. “I don’t believe it!” he grumbled as he marched through the snow. “I don’t!”
But he couldn’t deny the possibility either. After all, they’d apparently known her way back when, and they had no reason to lie. They seemed genuinely concerned for his welfare. Still, he couldn’t reconcile their stories of a manipulative man-eater with the frail, timid woman he’d met and come to love. He stopped at the edge of the orchard where he and Olivia had walked with Grandpa. He stared at their footprints, half filled in by snow, and sighed.
Then he saw something else – two more sets of tracks beside Grandpa’s. One belonged to a man, but the other … “What the …?” He got on his hands and knees and peered at them more closely, and sure enough – chicken scratchings! Yet he’d seen no other men – or poultry – on their trip, just himself and Olivia, and Grandpa talking to …
George stood and absently brushed snow from his pants, eyes still glued to the two extra pairs of tracks. They weren’t filled in as much as the others. “I’m going around the bend like Grandpa.” He rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, looked at the ground again. The tracks were still there. He backed up a step, turned and looked at the house. Hadn’t the girl Ottilie from Nowhere say she saw Albert with a rooster?
George wasn’t a drinking man, but whiskey suddenly had some appeal. Between the tracks and the talk with the Weaver men, he wouldn’t mind a shot or two of brain eraser. “Am I mad?” He shook his head a few times. “Or just upset?”
He headed for the barn, studying the huge structure a moment before stepping inside. Was this where it happened, Olivia’s scheme to get Arlan for herself and be rid of Samijo? Thank Heaven Arlan hadn’t said that Olivia wanted Samijo dead. No, the creepy uncle wanted her and her money. Arlan never mentioned how much his wife had inherited, but it had to be substantial to explain all the land the Weavers owned and some of the gifts the children received.
He pushed that thought aside. Samijo’s uncle had wanted Arlan out of the picture and didn’t care how he did it. “Olivia, married to that monster?” he asked aloud. He walked to one of the large beams and tried to imagine the Weaver family trussed up and awaiting their fate at the hands of Burr and some outlaw named “Red Ned.” At this point he couldn’t remember what the Weavers had said about him. Other than he was plumb loco and more than happy to burn the barn down for Burr, with the Weavers inside.
“Dear Lord, what do I do? What if it’s true and Olivia really is the person they say?” He glanced up. “I can’t lose her. I won’t!”
He spun on his heel and marched out of the barn. Before he knew it, he was back at the edge of the orchard, staring at the ground again. All four sets of tracks had disappeared beneath the new snow. George stared at where they’d been and shook his head. “Hmph, just as I thought – I imagined them. Must be the shock.” He turned – and saw a rooster dart across the barnyard!
It took him a moment to start breathing again. “Don’t be silly, George, it’s just a chicken,” he scolded himself. “This is a farm, for Pete’s sake.” He exhaled, brushed snow from his hair and headed toward the house, but didn’t go inside. Instead he walked past it and down the lane toward the main road.
This was the sort of life he wanted: a farm (albeit a smaller one), a wife, a family. Maybe he was too old to think about having more children – Clarence was old enough to marry and give him grandkids – but he wanted to have another family. Maybe he should’ve taken a wife years ago, but losing Victoria had been devastating. He never thought he could love anyone else again until …
“And now I’m told she’s not the woman I think she is.” He stopped in the middle of the road a few hundred yards from the house and turned. The place looked so inviting. He’d thought so the first time he saw it. The orchards, meadows and woods were beautiful. The Weavers were truly blessed to live here.
He turned again and looked down the lane to where it disappeared over a rise a half-mile away. If he kept walking he’d have to climb that hill, and he didn’t want to do that in the snow. If it kept up, Warren and the rest of them would be stuck here quite a while. Thank Heaven the Rileys were taking care of Warren’s stock while they were here. Clayton and Spencer would understand why their return was delayed.
George sighed and looked at the farm again. He should get back. It was growing dark, and the others were probably having pie and coffee by now. But before he left … “Lord, I can’t picture Olivia as such an evil, conniving woman. I know that’s how Arlan and his brothers described her. But I don’t see it.” He looked up at the darkening sky. Snow fell onto his face and in his eyes but he didn’t care. “I’ll fight for her, Lord. If the woman I’m falling in love with is here now, there’s no reason for her to go away. Is there?”
He got no answer. Just the howl of a lone coyote.
George brushed snow from his face and started back. No wonder Olivia felt so confused. If her old nature was so horrid, it must be warring with her new one. But if everything Arlan and his brothers said was true, where did this Olivia come from? A person could get bonked on the head and lose their memory – he’d heard of that happening. A complete change in personality, though … he’d never heard of such a thing, and he was pretty well read. In this case, could she simply have forgotten she was such a harridan?
All he could do now was wait and see what happened if or when her memory came back. But how long was he willing to wait? He had a business back in Oregon City to take care of, after all.
George trudged back to the house, his mind reeling with possibilities. Would she still have feelings for him when she got her memory back? Would she remember to be mean? Would she get her memories back with her new-found kindness and gentleness intact? Who knew? It was a risk loving her.
But maybe, just maybe, that was what she needed. After all, who could love a woman like the Weaver brothers described – selfish, cunning, greedy, spoiled and without compassion? He couldn’t, he knew, except in the most clinical sense. The only one he knew capable of loving someone like that was …
He looked at the sky again. “You want me to love her, don’t You?”
It grew so quiet he could hear the snow landing on his hat and coat.
George took off his hat and knelt in the snow. “I know You’re listening.” He glanced around. “You always are. So listen to this. I’ve fallen in love with this woman, and I’m willing to take the risk. If You heal her memory and she becomes the woman she once was, then I’ll do my best to love her back to the woman she now is.” He looked at the snowy ground. “That is, if she’s a free woman and she’ll have me. Of course it would be a lot easier if she stayed who she is now, don’t You think? But, y’know, Your will be done.”
The snow continued to fall along with the darkness. He got to his feet. Everything he’d just prayed for would be moot if Olivia was indeed still married as the Weavers said. Who knew? Not even Olivia did right now. Only God.
George looked at the sky again. “Amen.” He put on his hat, turned and headed back to the farmhouse.
* * *
Olivia sliced another piece of pumpkin pie and put it on a plate. Rufi took it and handed it to Alfonzo, who handed it to Arturo, and so on down the line. Finally Gabby took it from Leo then skipped into the parlor with it.
“Be careful!” Bella called after her.
A crash sounded, followed by a soft, “Oops.”
Bella groaned and handed another empty plate to Olivia. “Be right back.” She lifted her skirt and, mumbling something sulfurous in Italian, hurried into the parlor.
Rufi shook her head. “I should never have let Gabby carry her own plate.” She smiled at Olivia. “Leo used to be the one that spilled everything. Now it’s her.”
Olivia smiled too. “Next it will be one of the littler ones.”
“All of them, most likely,” Rufi sighed. “There are so many. Arlan and Samijo’s twins, my sister and Calvin’s, Charity and Benjamin’s, and Ebba will have one this spring.” She smiled. “I like babies, even if they are messy. But this seems like an awful lot.”
“How old are you, Rufi?”
“Eighteen.” Rufi smiled. “Old enough to wonder what it’s like to be a mother.”
Olivia nodded in understanding. She’d been wondering the same thing off and on since the Weavers brought her home. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she didn’t think she’d ever been surrounded by so many children of such varying ages. Being at the Weavers was like being in a tiny town combined with a big-city orphanage.
Olivia froze, a piece of pie halfway to the next plate.
“What is it?” Rufi asked. “Is something wrong?”
Olivia swallowed hard. “No, nothing.” She placed the slice on the plate, then started on the next pie. There were a lot of people waiting for dessert. Ebba carried a large plate of cookies into the parlor, came back to the kitchen and fetched another. Bella, Charity and Samijo carried the plates of pie into the dining parlor. Ma came for the coffee pot and likewise disappeared. Soon Olivia was alone, listening to the cacophony of voices coming from the other rooms.
Another sound caught her ear and she turned to the back door.
George entered, stomped his boots a few times on the entry rug, then took off his coat and hat. “Hello.”
“Hello,” she said softly. Odd – did his voice sound flatter than before?
“You feel better?”
She stared blankly at him.
“You went upstairs earlier.”
“Oh yes, that.” She put another piece of pie onto a plate. “Just feeling overwhelmed.”
He studied her a moment. “I understand.”
“Do you?”
“You have no idea.” He slowly approached, reached up and brushed a loose wisp of hair from her face. Then he kissed her.
Olivia dropped the spatula in her hand onto the floor, too lost in George’s kiss to keep track of anything else. It was unexpected, soft and sweet. She wasn’t sure she’d survive it and yet wanted more. What woman wouldn’t want to be kissed by a man like George? And yet, did she dare, when he didn’t know who he was kissing?
Olivia pulled away. “I can’t.”
“I know. But maybe we can.”
“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is,” she groaned.
He drew closer. “Why is it difficult, Olivia?”
“Because I don’t know who I am.”
His eyes flashed at her words before he turned away. “Forgive me. That was wrong and very selfish of me.”
Before she could reply, Samijo came in for more dessert plates. “We need two more besides what you have here.” She began to gather what she could carry.
“All right,” Olivia retrieved the spatula from the floor, put it in the dry sink and got another.
George watched her scoop pie onto two plates for when Samijo returned and smiled. “One for you and one for me.”
“Everyone will expect us to be in the other room. Even the children are eating in the parlor.”
“I know.” He picked up a plate and handed it to her. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
“And what of the other time? Are you sorry for that too?” She took the plate he offered.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He picked up two forks and handed her one. “I should be more patient. Shall we join the others?”
“Yes.” She headed out of the kitchen and down the hall to the crowded parlor.
Charity sat at the old piano, began to play “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and almost everyone joined in. Olivia just smiled. Though not many would call the Weavers angels, they had been like angels to her and she would be forever grateful. George, on the other hand … well, it was hard to say. For a while he’d been the calm in her storm, before he became a storm of a different kind.
But he would be gone soon. He’d confirmed it by apologizing for kissing her – he knew it and she knew it. The only question was when. And since she still didn’t know things, she couldn’t give anymore of her heart to George than she already had. It was already enough to be broken when he left. But that was the way it went sometimes. She’d survived whatever had happened to the wagon she was in, and whatever her life had held before that. She’d survive this.
The family sang Christmas carols well into the evening, and Olivia found she had a decent voice. It wasn’t as good as some in the room, but she didn’t mind listening to it.
“Land sakes, I can’t remember when I’ve had a better time,” Ma told Harlan after singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.”
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “One of my favorites.” He looked at the family gathered around him. “I think I’m spent. How about you, Ma?”
“Me too.”
Harlan smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Mary.”
She gazed into her husband’s eyes. “Merry Christmas, Harlan.” To everyone’s surprise, the couple kissed.
Gabby and Leo made kissing noises until Calvin and Bella tugged on their clothing to get their attention. They giggled after that.
Olivia watched with a pinch of envy. Would she ever have a family of her own? Did she have one already? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Even though she had no specific memories yet, she could sometimes “feel” what had or hadn’t been. Was this progress? She wasn’t sure.
She looked at George. His kisses certainly made her feel things she hadn’t before. So it was only logical to assume …
“Oliviaaaaaa!” Autumn cried and ran to her, doll in hand. “My baby’s braid came out!”
“Oh dear.” Olivia took the doll from her. “I’ll fix it right away.”
Autumn smiled up at her and clapped her hands.
“But we’ll have to go into the kitchen. I can’t do it very well standing up.”
“Okay.” The child ran toward the kitchen.
Olivia turned to follow, and noticed George watching her with tender understanding and a small smile. Was that an apology too?
She was becoming sure of some things – that she’d never had a big family, nor a happy one. There had been no Christmases such as this one, with its joyous atmosphere. She was very sure she’d never been in love before.
Olivia closed her eyes as she entered the kitchen. She’d never been in love before. Just her luck that she’d fall in love now.