The next day the Weaver family was still wary. Olivia Bridger really didn’t know who they were – and barely knew who she was. There was no sign of her cantankerous, selfish nature. But that didn’t stop them from worrying. Would she turn on them in a blink of an eye, start screaming and yelling and throwing things? That was the Olivia they remembered – the one they’d rather forget. This Olivia was much different, but would she stay that way?
“Benjamin,” Ma called, “help Olivia into the wagon.”
“Sure, Ma,” Benjamin said evenly. He looked at Olivia, who was wearing an old dress of Mrs. Gunderson’s – the dress she’d been wearing when they found her had been ruined by the mud. Olivia hadn’t, thankfully – other than her head injury, she bore no major bruises and nothing was broken, according to Harlan and Ma.
The previous night Calvin had pulled Benjamin and Arlan aside and asked if they thought the woman was faking her memory loss. After all, some women could whip up tears at the drop of a hat. But Harlan was the expert, and reminded them they’d found all the signs of a robbery. Whoever stole her things and her horse were not nice individuals – they’d struck her in the head and left her in a ditch to die. After that, the brothers did their best to treat their guest with kindness. But suspicions remained.
“I guess this shows we ain’t totally forgiven her for what she did to us all those years ago,” Calvin commented to Benjamin as they climbed onto the wagon seat. Olivia was in Arlan’s wagon, far enough out of earshot that they could speak freely.
Benjamin unwrapped the lines from the brake and got the horses moving. The wagon lurched forward and everyone behind them settled in. “I hate to say it, but I think yer right,” he told Calvin. “Of course, there’s forgivin’ and there’s forgettin’. Even if we’ve honestly forgiven the woman, it don’t mean we forgot what she did.”
Calvin nodded, wondering if Ma and the others were thinking along the same lines. But it was obvious Olivia wasn’t well – none of them could argue with that. Past conflicts or not, she needed help. Thank Heaven Ma was good at doctoring and would take care of her. They watched her from their vantage point behind Arlan’s wagon. She chatted amiably with Bella’s siblings now and then, but for the most part kept quiet on the journey home.
By the time they arrived at the farm it started to snow. “Let’s get the wagons unloaded and the horses taken care of,” Arlan called out. “Alfonso, you and Arturo help unload.”
Alfonso and his younger brother jumped out of the wagon bed and began hauling out supplies, handing the smaller bundles to their younger siblings to carry into the main house. Benjamin, Calvin and Harlan helped carry the larger ones, all while watching Olivia with interest. Would she recognize the house? The barn? Anything?
“Welcome to our home, Olivia,” Ma said. “Let’s get you inside and settled. The sooner you crawl into bed, the better you’ll feel, I’m sure.”
Olivia stared at the farmhouse a moment, but with no recognition in her eyes the men could see. Samijo too watched her carefully, even as she took a sack of sugar from Alfonso and followed Ma and Olivia inside.
Olivia stopped in the front hall and looked around. “What is it, child?” Ma asked, brow creased.
Olivia frowned. “Nothing. My head still hurts.”
“Understandable, considering what you’ve been through,” Ma motioned to the stairs. “Now let’s get you into bed.”
Olivia followed Ma upstairs and disappeared down the hall. Samijo, Charity and Bella, each with a load of supplies and presents, stared after them. “She doesn’t remember,” Samijo said in wonder. “I’ve heard of things like this, but I’ve never seen it.”
“She does not remember anything?” Bella asked.
“Apparently not, besides her name,” Charity replied. “Was she really that bad?”
“Whatever Benjamin told you, she was worse,” Samijo commented. “She nearly ruined all our lives.” She marched into the kitchen, leaving her sisters in-law behind.
Bella shrugged at Charity, and followed Samijo into the kitchen. Charity did the same. They put their supplies away, made sandwiches for everyone and rounded up the children to feed them.
The kitchen was bustling by the time Ma entered. “Well, our guest’s in bed. I’ll take her up a tray.”
“Ma, how long do you think she’ll be here?” Calvin wondered.
“That depends on how fast she heals, son,” Harlan answered before his mother could.
“He’s right, Calvin,” Ma said. “She got a nasty bump on the head and her mind isn’t right. Since we found her, we’re responsible. And who knows – maybe the good Lord brought her back to us for a reason.”
“Have we sinned?” Arlan joked.
“Arlan,” Ma warned, “the woman is ill and needs our help.”
“I was just kiddin’,” he said. “We don’t mind helping her, but …”
“But what?”
“Ain’t it obvious?” Benjamin said. “What do we do if she starts bein’ … well, herself again? And do we tell her how we know her?”
“Oh, I see.” Ma sighed wearily. “I think for now it’s best we don’t tell her anything, let her remember on her own. I’ve never dealt with this type of thing before, but that’s my best guess.”
“But isn’t that unfair?” Charity inquired.
Ma sat at the kitchen table, stared at the platter of sandwiches, then turned to Bella and smiled. “What do you think?”
“Me?” Bella smiled in amusement as she shooed her siblings into the parlor – they’d already finished eating. “I do not know this woman except what I have seen since we found her. But it is hard to believe this is the same one who caused you such trouble years ago.”
“Believe us, she is,” Samijo said. “And I, for one, don’t want to be around when she figures out who we are. That’s going to be trouble.”
Ma rubbed her tired eyes. “Let’s just get her well – that’s the first step. We’ll worry about the rest later. We’ll be back in Nowhere for the Christmas dance soon enough, and if she’s up to it, we’ll take her with us and have Doc Brown take a look at her. I’d like to know what he thinks.”
Ma’s sons and their wives looked at each other and slowly nodded. No point in courting trouble that hadn’t arrived – and, God willing, might not.
Harlan stretched and sat next to Ma. “She’s right, you know. The best we can do right now is treat her with Christian charity. No matter what she’s done in the past, she deserves at least that. Besides, can she really be as horrible as you all say?”
Arlan exchanged a quick look with his brothers and sighed, hands on hips. “Well, yes, she can. But we’ll all do our part. I just don’t like the thought of her suddenly turning on us and causing a ruckus.”
“You don’t know that’s going to happen, Arlan,” his mother argued. She looked at Charity. “Do you mind fixing our patient a tray?”
“Not at all.” Charity loaded up a plate for Olivia, poured a glass of water and set them on the tray. “I agree with Isabella on this. I don’t know this woman the way you do, but so far all I’ve seen is a scared, injured lady who’s had everything taken from her. I say we help her any way we can.”
“Until she strikes like a rattler,” Calvin grumbled. “Okay, if she does.”
“If, if, if – are we all in agreement or not?” Harlan looked pointedly at Arlan, Benjamin and Calvin.
The trio exchanged another look but nodded.
“Good,” Ma said. “And you never know, she may never remember it all.”
Calvin’s jaw dropped. “What? Then what’ll we do?”
Ma shrugged. “Try to find her kin, I guess. Could be things are exactly like we talked about earlier – Samijo’s uncle is out of prison and she was on her way to meet him. Who knows what he’s like now?”
Arlan grabbed another sandwich. “Just thinkin’ about it makes my head hurt.” He took a bite.
“Then it’s time to stop thinking about it.” Harlan stood. “Everybody get at a good night’s sleep and we’ll deal with this in the morning. I know I wasn’t here when everything with this woman happened, but I can tell from your reactions it must have been downright awful. Still, we need to be good Samaritans and take care of her.”
“Ya don’t need to remind us,” Calvin commented. “We know.”
Benjamin slapped him upside the head. “Well, maybe we needed some remindin’.”
Calvin smacked him good-naturedly back.
“Get some sleep, all of you.” Ma suddenly looked around. “Hey, where’s Ebba and Daniel?”
“At my house,” Calvin said. “They were puttin’ up my Christmas tree when we arrived. They’ll put yers up tomorrow, Ma. They should be back any minute.”
“Do they know?” Ma asked.
“Nope,” Calvin replied. “We ain’t told him yet.”
“Land sakes, these last two days have worn me out.” Ma rubbed her eyes again and looked at her sons. “Which one of you wants to tell him?”
“I’ll do it,” Arlan said. “Better he hears from me and gets told what’s what.”
Ma sighed “All right, you tell him. Be sure he agrees not to say anything to Olivia about the past.”
Arlan slid his hands into his pockets. “Fine, Ma. But I cain’t guarantee he’ll like it.”
“That’s okay, son. I’m not sure I like it.” On that, everyone seemed to agree.
* * *
The following week, at the Christmas dance…
“… And this is my cousin, George,” Warren told Matthew Quinn. They found a convenient spot to stand in the town hall, not far from the punch bowl.
“A pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” Matthew said, shaking George’s hand. “Warren has told us a lot about you.”
George smiled at his younger cousin. “I hope it wasn’t anything too incriminating.”
“Only the good stuff, George,” Warren assured him. “Matthew and his family run Quinn’s Mercantile.”
“You don’t say?” George said with interest. “I often thought of running a dry goods store when I was a boy. Then I discovered a talent in carpentry and building things instead.”
“Really?” Matthew replied. “What sorts of things do you make?”
“Anything, really. From making furniture to building a church, I’m your man.”
Matthew’s eyes lit up. “I can think of a few people in town who’d love to sample your talents while you’re here. I know there are a few things I’d like assistance with in the mercantile. That is, if you wouldn’t mind some extra work. How long were you planning on staying?”
“Through the holidays, perhaps longer. It all depends on what Warren and Grandpa need help with. What did you have in mind for your store?”
“New shelves in the storeroom, for one,” Matthew said “And I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind a few other projects getting done.”
George smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“But George,” Warren said. “You’re supposed to be on a holiday.”
The doors of the town hall suddenly burst open, interrupting them. Everyone turned, eyes riveted on the large group filing in. Matthew sighed in dread. “Oh boy, here we go.”
“George,” Warren hissed, “you might want to brace yourself.”
“So, Warren, these must be the infamous Weavers you’ve told me about.” George glanced between the two men, then back to the group still coming in. One in particular caught his eye as she came through the double doors. “Who’s that?”
“The Weavers,” Matthew stated. “My, um … relatives.”
George pointed at one woman. “Is she a relative too?”
Warren and Matthew looked, did a double take and looked again. “Who is that?” they asked at once.
“I asked you first,” George chuckled.
“I have no idea,” Matthew said. “I’ve never seen her before. You?”
Warren shook his head. “Never seen her in my life.”
Matthew stared at the redhead as she spoke with Charity Weaver. “Seems kind of familiar, but … no, I can’t place her.”
“Too bad,” George said. “I wouldn’t … oh, never mind.”
“Wouldn’t what?” Warren asked.
George looked sheepish. “I’ve been alone a long time, cousin. I haven’t seen a beauty like that in a while.” He scratched the back of his head. “I admit I’m rather taken with her.”
“Really?” Warren grinned. “Well, perhaps she’s a relative of Arlan’s wife Samijo. That’s the one she’s talking to. She’s certainly not related to Bella.”
“Bella?” George said. “Which one’s Bella?”
Warren and Matthew both smiled and indicated a woman ushering several older children into the building.
George’s eyes popped. “Tarnation.”
“Indeed,” Matthew said. “That Roman goddess is married to my cousin Calvin. And I’m not being facetious – she really is from Rome, Italy.”
“Really?” George said, his eyes ping-ponging from Bella to the mystery redhead, who were now talking on the other side of the hall. Finally Bella returned her attention to the children, who looked a lot like her. “She doesn’t look old enough for those to be her kids.”
“They’re not – those are her younger siblings,” Matthew explained. “Some of them, anyway. They came to live with her here, and they’re all too smart and mischievous for their own good.”
George laughed. “That makes for an interesting combination. Maybe I should have talked Clarence into coming with me – he’d have enjoyed their company.”
“There are certainly enough of them to go around,” Matthew said. “Would you like me to introduce you?”
“Yes indeed.” George gave Warren a playful shove. “Now I’ll get a chance to see if what you told me is true.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow. “Believe me, whatever Warren told you, it’s not only true but probably understated. My cousins are their own, well … their own breed, I can tell you.”
George laughed. “Come now, they can’t be that bad.”
Warren laughed nervously. “Find out for yourself, George.”
George spied the pretty redhead again. She was closer to his age from the looks of it, which made him smile. He hadn’t thought much about finding another wife since Victoria died, even though now their son Clarence was grown, had friends, a job at the carpentry shop and a life of his own. Something George needed to regain – for several years he’d been almost a hermit. It was one of the reasons he was taking this trip – he needed to get his life back. And if that meant finding a new wife, he wouldn’t argue.
He didn’t know why, but there was something about this woman with the Weavers. No one back in Oregon City had caught his eye. Maybe this woman kindled some hope he could marry again. “Don’t mind if I do.”
They headed for the group milling around the double doors of the town hall, catching their attention with a wave as they approached. “Well, Matty!” A large fellow turned to Matthew Quinn and slapped him hard on the back, almost pitching him on his face. George cringed.
“Good to see you too, Arlan,” Matthew grumbled. “May I introduce you to George Johnson, Warren’s cousin?”
George noted that Warren was keeping his distance from Arlan, and smiled. So the stories about the Weavers were true.
Arlan extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
George took it and gave it a healthy shake. Arlan had an iron grip. “Pleasure to meet you too.” He looked over at the redheaded beauty standing a few feet away, speaking to a younger brown-haired woman who was almost as pretty. Samijo, was it?
The introductions started among the men and finally got around to the women. “And this is my wife, Samijo,” Arlan said as he put his arm around the brown-haired woman.
Matthew smiled at them and gestured to the redhead. “You brought a friend, I see.”
“Oh yes, she’s a guest of ours,” Arlan said. “May I introduce Olivia Bridger.”
Olivia, hearing her name, turned to them. “Mr. Weaver?”
“Olivia, this is my cousin Matty,” Arlan waved at Matthew. “Our friend Warren Johnson and his cousin George.”
She looked at the three men and smiled shyly. “Please to meet you.”
George took a step forward. “The pleasure is all ours, Miss Bridger.” He bowed back.
“My, such manners. Thank you, Mr., um …?”
“Johnson,” George repeated.
“Oh yes.” She blushed. “You’ll have to forgive me – I haven’t been myself lately.”
Arlan mumbled something like “you can say that again.”
An older woman and man approached. “Warren, this is your cousin, I hear.” the woman said.
“Sure is, Ma. Mary Weaver Hughes, meet my cousin George.”
George glanced between them with a puzzled look. “Ma?”
The woman nodded happily. “Oh, folks around here have been calling me Ma since I don’t know when. I’ll answer to Ma, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Weaver – just don’t call me late for dinner.”
George laughed. “Well, at least every one knows who you are.”
Olivia went crimson. George caught it and exchanged a quick look with Warren. Why was she reacting like that?
“I take it all the introductions have been made?” Ma asked.
“Sure have,” Arlan said. “Except for Aunt Betsy and Uncle Lancaster. I’ll let you introduce them to Olivia, Matty.”
“My pleasure.” Matthew seemed to be looking to put distance between him and Arlan’s hand.
“I could do it,” George volunteered, his eyes on Olivia and her pink cheeks. “Besides, Miss Bridger and I are strangers here. Perhaps we should stick together.”
Ma’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that sounds like a right good idea. Why don’t you?”
George smiled and offered Olivia his arm. “You heard the woman – shall we?”
Olivia looked at Ma nervously. She got an encouraging nod in return. “Well, if it’s all right with everyone it’s all right with me.”
George smiled. What luck! He could spend the evening with this lovely creature and get to know her a little better. Besides, he did feel like an outsider here. Nowhere was a small town, more tight-knit than Oregon City. “Would you like some punch?”
“Yes, that would be lovely,” Olivia replied.
Neither noticed the entire Weaver family staring after them as they turned and headed for the refreshment table.