Weeks went by with no word from George. Olivia was progressing in her culinary skills, and visited with Mrs. Latsch at Hank’s whenever a trip to town was made to get the lay of the land so to speak. Meanwhile Ma, Samijo, Bella and Rufi were working on new dresses for the Valentine’s dance. If the weather kept them from attending, then they’d each have a new frock at the least. Olivia still hadn’t worn the dress Arlan and Samijo had given her at Christmas, so she decided to save it for that event. Pity she couldn’t share that moment with George.
And not just because he wasn’t there – as far as anyone knew, she was still legally married. Two days after returning from that early-January trip to Nowhere, she’d decided she had cooled down enough to start asking questions without making any screeching noises. And the Weavers had answered as best they could. That conversation wasn’t pleasant, but it was necessary, and she’d soldiered through.
“So who am I married to?” she’d asked to start things off.
“My uncle, Burr Carter,” Samijo said. “It was a shotgun wedding. Your father forced him.”
“Forced him. Not me?”
“Yeah,” Arlan had said. “So Olivia Carter’s your married name; Bridger was yer maiden name. And we have no idea what happened to ya after Burr was hauled off to jail all those years ago. Sheriff Riley’s lookin’ into it, and tryin’ to track down yer folks, but we ain’t heard nothin’ yet.”
Olivia stared at them, her heart swinging between gratitude and betrayal. Was it true? Well, they had no reason to lie? They’d held back telling her until now to protect her, figuring Doc Brown knew best. Because she was (and had been) so miserable, they thought they were doing her a kindness. It just hadn’t worked out so well.
But at least now she knew everything the Weavers did about her – including what a manipulative man-trap she’d been in earlier years. Mercifully, the Weavers were as willing to forgive her and she was to forgive them. It was best to treat her youthful foolishness as water under the bridge. The best she could do now was let George Johnson go, finish her cooking lessons, then move into town in March and start working full-time – leave the past behind and get on with her life, whether her memory came back or not.
Rufi interrupted her thoughts. “Olivia, can you help me hem my dress?”
“Of course.” She liked Rufi a lot. Really, she liked all the Weavers, but she felt a special kinship with the girl. Maybe because she admired how she could take charge of all the children, organize things and run a household so efficiently. Olivia lacked those skills. But she was learning.
They went into the sewing room, where Ma was just putting the finishing touches on a hat. “Olivia, there you are. Would you like me to make you something to go with your new dress?”
“No, Ma, you don’t have to. But thank you for asking.”
“It’s no trouble.”
Rufi pulled her dress on and stood on a small stool. “Oh, let her make you something.”
Olivia took a pincushion and bent to examine the hem. “How much do you want to take it up?”
“Just a few inches,” Rufi said.
“I’ll help.” Ma got up and joined them, and between the two Rufi’s dress was pinned up in no time.
“I really need to learn how to sew,” Olivia commented. One more way to make herself useful – and keep her mind off George.
“Plenty of us around to teach you,” Ma said.
Rufi headed for the changing screen to take off her dress, then remembered she was still fully dressed underneath it. “I can give you a few lessons,” she said as she pulled it over her head.
“You can?”
“Of course,” Ma said. “Rufi’s getting almost as good as Bella. And I can teach you how to make hats.”
Olivia smiled at them. Despite knowing part of her past (that which involved the Weavers at any rate) she still felt utterly at sea. The family was so kind and caring toward her, regardless of what she’d done in the past. How could she ever repay them? She began pacing, tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Ma asked.
“Oh, Ma!”
Ma didn’t say a word, just simply opened her arms and let Olivia run into them. ‘There, there, dear. Don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about.”
“Yes, there is,” Olivia said through her tears.
Ma sighed. “Is this about George?”
Olivia drew back and wiped her tears. “It’s about everything. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
“If it were me, I’d have shed a lot more tears than I’ve seen you do,” Ma said. “You’ve been a brave woman this whole time.”
Olivia smiled at her. “Thanks, Ma. But from the sounds of it, I wasn’t a very good person before. Can you forgive me?”
“Already did, dear. The past is the past, Olivia, no matter what it entailed. All you can do now is move on.”
“She’s right,” Rufi came over and joined the hug. “Concentrate on that.”
“You’re both right,” Olivia agreed, wiping her eyes again. “I’ll do my best.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, sewing and enjoying each other’s company. Olivia hoped that with a little luck, in time she would forget about George and her feelings of confusion, and maybe even get the rest of her memory back. But she now had friends, a means of supporting herself waiting, and was, through the kindness and generosity of the Weavers, learning some things. She had much to be thankful for.
Still, something nagged in the dark recesses of her mind. And whatever it was, was only growing stronger.
* * *
January passed into February. Previously, if the Weavers didn’t make it to town during a month, the Quinns sent their mail to Gunderson’s. Daniel would pick it up and bring whatever hats or dresses the Weaver women had made to be taken back to the Quinns via the stage to sell in the mercantile. This worked well and saved the Weavers a lot of waiting. This time, however, Olivia needed to meet again with Mrs. Latsch, so a venture to Nowhere was made.
“Nothing for me,” Olivia griped after distributing everyone else’s mail. Other than that, the trip to town had been a rousing success. Arlan and Samijo brought back a lot of money, since the mercantile had sold all the winter coats Ma, Bella and Charity had made, and Olivia had gotten to show Hank and Mrs. Latsch how Bella made her homemade pasta.
“Were ya expectin’ somethin’?” Daniel asked.
She sighed and looked away. “Not really.”
Across the kitchen table, Ma looked sympathetic. “Oh, child, it’s for the best.”
Olivia nodded and went upstairs. Next week was the big Valentine’s dance and Ma and Bella had sent dresses to the mercantile, albeit almost a week later than usual. But every dress and hat sent this round would sell – they always did. Olivia had even helped sew lace onto a few. She discovered she was a fast learner and wondered why she hadn’t picked up the knack before.
In her room, she stared out the window. There was a little fresh snow on the ground, but not enough to bother. Most likely the family would have no trouble making it to town next week for the dance. She sat on the bed, her face in her hands. “Please, Lord, get George out of my mind and heart. I have no business thinking about him, not if I’m married.”
Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she still was. Arlan had spoken with Spencer Riley the previous day, but the sheriff still hadn’t been able to track Burr Carter down and find out what happened to him. She’d inspected her left hand time and again and never found evidence that a ring had been there. At this point, she just wanted to move on with her life. But she couldn’t do that without knowing what had happened.
Maybe George was doing her, and himself, a kindness by not writing. The sooner they forgot about each other the better. But broken hearts didn’t mend overnight or even after a few weeks. In fact, she wasn’t sure if hers would ever heal. She might have to learn to live with it.
Olivia said another quick prayer then went downstairs again. It was time to help with supper, and Bella’s pasta wouldn’t make itself.
* * *
February the thirteenth, the day before the dance, and Olivia was despondent – not because of the past, but because of the future. She would be leaving the Weavers soon. Hank was quite pleased with her progress, and Bella claimed she was running out of things to teach her. Ebba and Charity pronounced her baking satisfactory, and Ma, Samijo and Rufi had also contributed daily to her education.
She hadn’t just learned cooking from the Weavers, but a host of other things – mending and sewing and cleaning, and generosity, kindness, forgiveness, honesty and friendship, areas she’d been sadly lacking in. She’d grown up a lot in the couple of months she’d been there.
But she still had so many questions the Weavers couldn’t answer. Why had no one come looking for her? She had a family somewhere, didn’t she? But no one had inquired in town after her that she knew of. One would think some lawman would have been sent to look for her, but no one showed up at the farm and Sheriff Riley hadn’t heard a thing. It made her feel as if she hadn’t existed before the robbery.
“What’s wrong, Olivia?” Ma asked as they watched the men prepare the wagons that morning.
“Just wondering.”
Ma kissed her on the cheek. “Need to talk?”
Olivia’s heart warmed. The woman was a true angel. “No, I’ll be fine. I guess I’m not in the festive mood yet.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Sheriff Riley will find something out soon. Spencer’s not one to shirk his duty. He’d giving it his best effort.”
“I’m sure he is,” Olivia sighed.
“Ya ready?” Arlan called from the wagon.
“Yes!” Ma called back, then smiled at Olivia. “It’s time, child.”
Olivia nodded, but without enthusiasm. What if Sheriff Riley still hadn’t found out anything? What if Hank had changed his mind about her? What if Burr Carter came looking for her? What if … she shook her head to stop herself. Worrying did no good, and wasted valuable time and thought. “Get a hold of yourself, child,” she whispered, in a fair approximation of Ma’s gentle scolding.
“What was that?” Ma said as she headed down the porch steps.
“Nothing, Ma.” They joined the others at the wagons. Charity and Benjamin would stay behind with the younger children, while Rufi, Alonzo, Arturo and Lucia accompanied the adults. Leo and Mel, now ten and a half and twelve, decided to stay behind. They’d probably find it more interesting next year, Ma said.
Everyone piled in, settled under the blankets, waved and shouted goodbye as they headed off. It would be a long cold day. As there was little snow, Arlan wanted to make it in one shot, spend the night at the hotel and have a day of rest before the dance. It was a ten-hour wagon ride with Olivia trapped in the middle of gushing smiles, laughter and love. But with each passing mile she sunk deeper into her despondency. By the time they reached town, she wondered if she’d feel like going to the dance at all.
When they got to Nowhere, she was shivering with cold, but then they all were. Arlan and Calvin parked the wagons in front of the hotel and helped everyone out. “Go inside and check in while we take the horses to the livery,” he instructed.
Ebba, not only half-frozen but with child, levered herself onto the boardwalk and through the hotel doors. “Is she going to be all right?” Olivia asked. She had a sudden vision of staying behind tomorrow night, sitting with Ebba and missing the dance. It had some appeal.
“She’s tired,” Daniel said. “If she don’t feel well, Doc Brown can take a look at her.”
She nodded and followed the others through the doors.
“Well, look who’s here!”
Olivia’s head snapped up. “Grandpa.”
“Howdy, Olivia! How’ve you been?” Old Man Johnson looked to his right, then his left. “See, I told you she’d come.”
She wiped her hands on her skirt. The poor man was still delusional. But did she really think that would’ve changed? “I’ve been well.”
“Me too! So have the boys, here. We just popped in to say hello to Ottilie. Nice little gal. Albert says she’s special.”
Olivia’s eyes shifted right, then left. Which empty space was Albert? “That’s, um … nice.”
“Stop talking nonsense, Samuel!” Mrs. Ferguson the hotel owner said. “I done just told you Ottilie isn’t here.”
“Oh, right – she’s down at the mercantile. Well, I’ll be on my way. See y’all at the dance!” He strolled out of the hotel, whistling a happy tune.
“That man’ll be the death of someone,” Mrs. Ferguson groused. “Warren had better do something before he hurts himself or someone else.”
Olivia and the others stared after him. “Is he getting worse?”
“I’d say so. It’s all over town at this point that he’s lost it.” Mrs. Ferguson put the guest register on the counter. “The usual, Samijo?”
“Yes, please,” she said, her eyes still glued to the hotel doors. “Poor Mr. Johnson.”
“Poor Mr. Johnson?” Mrs. Ferguson said. “What about Warren and Bernice? They’re the ones that have to take care of him.”
“Have they seen the doc again?” Olivia asked.
“None of my business if they have or not,” Mrs. Ferguson said firmly. “Not long ago I could tell you, but I’m trying my best not to gossip.”
Samijo and the other Weaver women did their best not to smile, and failed – the hotelier was tale-bearing even as she protested it. But from what Olivia had heard, she still didn’t hold a candle to Nellie Davis in her prime. At the moment, she wished the older woman was still in fine form so she could hear all about George. But that would probably just make her feel worse.
They went upstairs to their rooms. Olivia was sharing one with Rufi and Lucia this time while Alfonzo and Arturo were with Calvin and Bella. Good – Rufi deserved a break from the boys. To Olivia, she seemed almost as much a mother figure to them as Bella.
But right now she didn’t want to think about mothers, fathers, family, any of it. She didn’t want to think at all. If Ebba didn’t feel up to going to the dance tomorrow, she would gladly stay behind. Her reasons for coming to town were to speak with Hank, settle on a start date, see about accommodations in town and maybe buttonhole Sheriff Riley regarding his investigations. She might be able to rent a room at the hotel for awhile, but what would Mrs. Ferguson charge? More than a cook could afford, she suspected.
“Do you want me to fix your hair for the dance?” Rufi asked as she finished hanging up their dresses.
“No,” Olivia replied. “I’ll do it myself.”
“I don’t mind helping you – then you can help me with mine.”
“And mine!” Lucia said as she sat on one of the beds.
Olivia smiled at her. “I know what would look good on you, Lucy.”
Lucia beamed. “I like it when you say my name that way.” She looked at her sister. “Not everyone does.”
“We weren’t talking about names, Lucia,” Rufi said. “What sort of style did you have in mind?”
Olivia studied Lucia’s hair. “A braided crown.”
“Yes,” Rufi went to her sister. “That would look nice.”
“Then do it,” Lucia said with a smile. “Do you think there will be any boys my age at the dance?”
“I don’t know,” Rufi said. “But we’ll find out, won’t we, Olivia?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, figuring they could find out without her. She didn’t want to risk running into George, speaking with him and falling in love all over again. Or still …
“We should go to Aunt Betsy’s store in the morning and buy some ribbons for Lucia’s hair.” Rufi went to the mirror on the wall and lifted her own long locks. “Mine too.” She turned to Olivia. “Do you need some?”
“I don’t need anything,” Olivia said softly. She didn’t feel like doing anything either. “I do need to speak to Hank, though.”
Rufi joined Lucia on the bed. “Oh yes, him.”
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” Lucia teased. She looked at Olivia. “I don’t see why you want to cook for him. Not when you can live with us.”
“But I feel bad about being an extra mouth to feed.”
“What’s one more mouth?” Rufi said. “You can cook now, sew, mend, all the things any of us do. You’re a big help.”
“But I can’t live off your family’s generosity forever, Rufi. I have to work. Make money.”
“So you can leave us.” Lucia crossed her arms and pouted.
Olivia sighed. “I … have another life.”
Lucia frowned. “Your life is with us.”
Olivia had learned over her stay with the Weavers not to rile an Italian temper. “Why don’t we talk about it later?”
“You mean you’ll think about staying?” Lucia asked happily.
Olivia sank onto the other bed. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what to think anymore.” A broken heart made it hard to think at all.