“… And that’s how I got into carpentry,” George explained.
Olivia smiled. “It sounds like a lot of hard work.”
“It is, in fact, but it’s satisfying work. I like creating things, whether it’s a house or an armoire. My son Clarence feels the same – that’s why he got into it and has been working with me ever since. He’ll take over the business one day.”
“Is he married?” she asked out of curiosity.
“Not yet. There’s a girl he’s interested in, but personally, I don’t think she’s right for him. Too uppity.”
“Do you know her well?”
“Well enough to know that she’d cause him problems in the long run. He won’t be happy with her. But she’s a beauty, and right now his eyes are bigger than his heart.”
She smiled at his description. He was easy to talk to and she enjoyed his company. So far, in addition to his profession and his son, she’d learned that he was forty-three (a few years older than her), lived in Oregon City, had been raised by good Christian parents, and lost his wife Victoria to influenza years ago. She wished she’d been able to tell him more about herself, but she still couldn’t remember much past her name.
She liked looking into his light green eyes as he talked. They were gentle eyes. He was soft-spoken and witty and self-deprecating, which made her laugh. She watched him brush his brown hair out of his eyes more than once and noticed he was just starting to gray at the temples. Easy-going, charming, not bad to look at – why hadn’t he re-married? Should she ask, or would that be rude? At least talking with George kept her mind off her current predicament.
She decided to take a roundabout route to her question. “What was Victoria like?”
He shrugged. “What can I say about V? That’s what I liked to call her.” He sighed. “She was a good woman. Quiet. Maybe too quiet – I like to talk, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She blushed and smiled. “Forgive me if I’m prying … how long has she been gone?”
“Oh, eight years now,” he stated calmly. “Clarence misses her now and then, but we’re both used to being by ourselves at this point. It’s not so bad anymore.”
“No wonder you want your son to marry well,” she said. “I suppose if I had children…” She snapped her mouth shut. Merciful heavens, did she have children? She had no idea, though somehow she didn’t think so. She hated the not knowing. But that was part of why the Weavers, God bless them, had insisted she come. A Dr. Brown would be in attendance that could speak to her about her dilemma.
“Is something the matter?” George asked.
Olivia fanned herself with her hand. “Is it hot in here?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. No surprise, with all these people. Would you like me to get you some more punch?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He left his chair and went to the refreshment table. She watched him start up conversations with those around him. If only she could do the same, but she was terrified she’d say something that would show she couldn’t remember anything – or worse, insult someone because she should know them and didn’t. The Weavers had been so kind to her and given her plenty of space. Ma Hughes and Charity were especially nice.
Olivia smiled. She couldn’t say “Mrs. Hughes” for the woman everyone called Ma. Ma Hughes seemed to fit better. Besides, it helped keep her straight from all the myriad Weavers – Heaven knew there were a lot of them to keep track of. She’d already given up remembering who was who among Bella’s siblings. At least the children were friendly toward her – the men in the family seemed more aloof. Oh, they were polite and pleasant in her company, but they didn’t go out of their way to converse with her.
The person she found most fascinating was Ebba Weaver, who was married to Daniel, the youngest brother. She was Swedish, and shared lots of funny stories about the family. The tale of her wedding to Daniel was especially enjoyable …
“Here we are.” George handed her a glass of punch.
She smiled and nodded and realized she’d been thinking about him by his Christian name, not as Mr. Johnson. That’s how comfortable he made her feel. How sad that she’d only have this one evening with him.
“So I haven’t asked you yet …”
“What?” She took a sip of punch.
“How long are you staying with the Weavers?”
Olivia’s heart thundered in her chest. She’d avoided speaking about her time with the Weavers until now. What to tell him? “I’m not sure, really. There’s someone in town I need to see before I know for sure. I suppose I’ll stay with them a little while longer …”
“For Christmas?” he asked brightly.
“Yes, definitely through Christmas.”
“Excellent. I’ll be there too.”
Her heart leaped in her chest, but not from nerves. “You … you will?”
“Yes – the Weavers invited our family to spend Christmas with them. Won’t that be grand?”
She smiled in relief. The man was like a safe haven. Maybe because she knew he felt out of place too. “That’s wonderful.”
“Yes, it is.” He glanced around, then studied her. “That’s a lovely dress. It matches your eyes, if you don’t mind my saying.”
Olivia’s cheeks grew hot. She fingered the dark green lace that ran down the front of the pretty sea-green gown. “Thank you. But I’m afraid it isn’t mine – Charity loaned it to me.”
He looked concerned. “Did you not have a party frock?”
“Oh, I’m sure I did at some point –” She snapped her mouth shut.
“What a funny thing to say.” He smiled. “Do tell?”
“What I meant is, well…” Good heavens, should she tell him? Well, the only other choice was to lie. And he was so easy to talk to. “The truth is, I was robbed, and all of my clothes and belongings were stolen. Even my horse.”
“What?” he said in shock. He turned in his chair to face her. “What happened?”
Oh dear, should she take the plunge and tell him everything? He was so kind … but it was so, so awkward …
“Miss Bridger?” he prompted. “Are you well?”
“I’m much better than I was. The Weavers found me after it happened. I was struck on the head, you see, and I’m afraid I don’t remember much …”
“You were what?” He quickly looked her over, as if she was bleeding or something.
Olivia went crimson. Oh dear, what did he think? Probably that she was damaged goods. She turned away.
He warily put his hand on her shoulder. “Miss Bridger. Olivia.”
She faced him again and willed the tears not to fall. Her situation was embarrassing enough without him shunning her because of it. That’s what came to mind with everyone she’d met that evening. If they came to the conclusion that she was unable to think clearly, they might want nothing to do with her. If they assumed the robbers had had their way with her, they’d avoid her like the plague.
“Tell me what happened,” he prompted gently.
“That’s just it – I can’t remember. In fact …” She traced the rim of her glass with a finger. “… I don’t remember anything except my name.”
George whistled. “They must have really hit you hard. Have you seen a doctor?”
“Ma Hughes knows some medicine. But she still wants me to see Dr. Brown here in town. It’s one of the reasons I came tonight. Otherwise I would’ve preferred staying home.”
His eyes never left hers. She found comfort in that. “So that’s what Arlan Weaver meant when he said you were their guest?”
“Yes. They found me not far from Gunderson’s stage stop almost a week ago. It was too far to bring me back to town, so we spent the night there and they took me home with them the next day. I’ve been there ever since.”
“Warren tells me the Weavers are very nice people,” he replied. “Boisterous, but nice. I’m sure they’ve taken good care of you.”
She nodded. “They’ve been very kind. But I can’t stay with them forever. I have to remember who I am.”
George looked at her in fascination. “You mean you don’t remember anything?”
“Just my name. I thought I did when I first came to, but then it was gone.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not explaining this very well.”
“Well enough for me,” he said. “You poor woman.”
“Please, Mr. Johnson, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not the first person this has happened to.”
“No, of course not. But this sort of thing is nothing to treat casually. At least that’s what I’ve read.”
She smiled weakly. “I thought so. You seem well-read, judging from our conversation thus far.”
He took a sip of punch and smiled back. “I’d ask if you were as well-read but, pardon my sense of humor, would you remember?”
“I have no idea.” She laughed. It really wasn’t funny, but the way he put it made it so. “I’m glad you’ll be joining us for Christmas.” She glanced around. “Where’s your grandfather? He’s the only one I have yet to meet.”
George chuckled low in his throat. “Grandpa Sam has been hiding in corners and speaking with his secret friend, I’m afraid.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You shared your secret with me, so I might as well share mine. Well, Warren’s actually, but he won’t mind. I’m afraid our grandfather is starting to journey around the bend. See him over there?” George pointed.
Olivia looked, saw an old man sitting in a corner talking and shrugged. “I see nothing wrong.”
George sighed. “Look a little closer.”
Olivia leaned right, then left to get a better view. “Oh dear.” The old man was talking to an empty chair!
“Exactly.” George took another sip of his punch. “His, er, imaginary friend is named Albert. It’s caused a bit of tension between Grandpa and Warren. Bernice has been very patient, but who knows how long that will last?”
“Oh, Geor … I mean, Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry to hear that. The Weavers have had nothing but nice things to say about Old Man Johnson, as they call him.”
“Everyone in town calls him that. I just don’t want everyone knowing that Grandpa’s losing his grip.”
“I understand. But is there any harm in it?” She looked into his eyes and felt her chest warm. For some reason, she knew it didn’t matter to him if she didn’t know who she was. He was so easy going and didn’t make her feel like she was some sort of a freak. Nor did he make his grandfather out to be.
He sighed. “No. So long as Albert doesn’t tell him to do something like burn the barn down.”
Olivia gasped. “That would be horrible!”
“Exactly. Would you like to meet him?”
“I suppose it would be all right,” she hedged.
Warren smiled again and gazed into her eyes. It was a little forward, but for some reason she didn’t mind. “Finish your punch and I’ll introduce you.”
Old Man Johnson was sprightly with thinning white hair and bright, inquisitive eyes. He smiled at them as they approached. “Well, there’s my George. And who do we have here?”
George motioned to Olivia with a hand. “Grandpa, may I introduce Miss Olivia Bridger?” He smiled at Olivia. “This is my Grandpa Sam.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. And let me introduce you to Albert!”
George blanched. “Uh, perhaps later, Grandpa …”
“Nonsense! No time like the present to meet folks. Besides, I never know when Albert’s going to pop in and out!” He turned to the empty chair. “Albert, this here’s Miss Bridger. Did you catch the first name?” He nodded and went on: “uh-huh, yes … all right.” He looked at them. “He says pleased to meet you at last.”
Olivia and George watched all this in nervous fascination “At last?” George wondered. “I wasn’t aware he’d been waiting.”
“Oh yes, Albert’s been waiting to meet you for quite awhile now. He’s especially interested in you, George.”
“Me?” George glanced between Olivia and his grandfather. “What for?”
Grandpa shrugged. “He has his reasons. He doesn’t tell me everything, you know.”
Olivia swallowed hard. “No, I don’t, uh … suppose he does.”
“But he’s interested in you too, young lady,” Grandpa added.
Her eyes went wide. “But … we’ve only just met.”
Grandpa Sam leaned toward the other chair and nodded. “He says he’s met you before.”
Olivia swallowed again. “He has?” She glanced at George and back. “Well, he’ll have to pardon me – I … can’t seem to remember.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Grandpa assured her. “He knows you can’t remember much right now.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
George looked at her, then at his grandfather. “How do you know this? Did one of the Weavers …?”
“Albert told me,” Grandpa said. “For crying out loud, he’s sitting right here. Didn’t you hear him say so?”
Now George studied his grandfather worriedly. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“Well, he is a soft spoken sort,” Grandpa said. “You have to speak up, don’t you, Albert?” He stared at the empty chair, a happy smile on his face, before turning back to them. “There – did you hear him that time?”
George stuck a finger in his ear and moved it around. “Must be something wrong with my hearing, Grandpa.”
The action made Olivia’s heart warm. The man wasn’t going to embarrass his grandfather by telling him that his mind was gone, at least not in public anyway.
“That’s all right – Albert says he’ll pay you a visit eventually,” his grandfather told him.
“He did?” George glanced at Olivia again. “How nice of him.”
“You too, Miss Bridger,” Grandpa’s smile turned mischievous. “Are you sure that’s your name?”
She gasped. “It’s … the only thing I’m sure of.”
George took her by the elbow. “We have to speak with someone, Grandpa. We’ll see you later, all right?”
“That’s fine. Albert and I have to go find Bob anyway.”
“Bob?” Another imaginary friend?
“Albert’s most trusted confidante,” Grandpa said. “He wants some advice regarding you two.”
At this point, Olivia was alarmed. Obviously someone had told him about her dilemma. Was he making light of it, or had he completely lost the plot and was just saying silly things? Probably the latter, but she didn’t want it getting around town that she had no memory. People might take advantage of her – who knew what sort of trouble a person could cause?
She glanced at George, whose eyes were darting between her and his grandfather. Finally he said, “Why don’t I introduce you to the Browns?”
Olivia nodded vigorously, let George slip her arm through his and lead her away from his grandfather. She might not have her memories, but at least she didn’t talk to empty chairs.