Along with Ebba and Daniel, Olivia laughed at George’s stories about his son Clarence’s antics while growing up. They were quite amusing. If she wasn’t such a lady, she’d be guffawing.
Wait a minute – if I wasn’t such a lady? she thought, and smiled anew. So I must be a lady! Why else would I think such a thing? Another hint as to who she was …
“Ma!” Daniel called between chuckles. “Come on over – George’s tellin’ a great yarn!”
Olivia smoothed her skirt – obviously a nervous habit; another hint? – as George grinned at her. She caught herself giggling like a loon as Ma Hughes joined them. “What’s so funny?” the older woman asked.
George – I mean, Mr. Johnson – tells the most humorous stories about his son.”
“It didn’t involve a well, Ma, but it did involve a pond,” Daniel elaborated.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” Ma replied.
Daniel started laughing so hard he couldn’t talk. George followed suit, and soon the two men were slapping each other on the back, drawing some curious looks.
“Men,” Charlotte Quinn drawled as she arrived. “Get them giggling and they’re worthless.”
“What’s going on?” her husband Matthew wondered as he watched the two men bent over in hysterics.
“George told a funny story and those two are beside themselves,” Charlotte said. “Maybe one day I’ll get to hear it.”
“That makes two of us.” Ma looked at Olivia. “Care to fetch some punch with me?”
Olivia glanced at George, who was still laughing and didn’t look like he’d stop anytime soon. She shrugged and said, “why not?” She followed Ma to the refreshment table, got a fresh glass of punch and reached for a cookie. She’d eaten far too much already, but everything was so delicious she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know what was worse, the main tables laden with hearty dishes, or the refreshment table with the punch, cookies and other goodies. Either way, she didn’t want to burst the seams of Charity’s nice dress.
“Are you having a good time?” Ma asked.
Olivia munched her cookie and smiled. “I didn’t want to come tonight, I felt so self-conscious. But now that I’m here, I’m having a wonderful time.”
“Yes, it looks like you have been,” Ma stated.
Olivia stopped chewing and stared at Ma Hughes. Had she been watching her all evening with George? Oh dear, did she think her behavior was untoward? “Mr. Johnson is a very nice man.”
“Yes, from what I’ve observed, he’s a nice gentleman. He also lives a good distance away.” Ma took a cookie and bit into it. “It’s a shame he’ll be going back to Oregon City soon.”
Olivia put her hand to her head. It would start to hurt at the most inopportune times – sometimes just a sharp pain, sometimes an ache that didn’t go away for hours.
“Something wrong, child?” Ma asked.
“I’ll be fine. You were saying?”
“It’s a shame George Johnson has to leave in a few days.”
Olivia slowly looked at George, who was still laughing with Daniel and now Calvin. “Everyone seems to enjoy him. He’s so easy to be around and talk to. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like him.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I would remember.”
Ma laughed at her remark. “I have to say, child, you certainly do have a good sense of humor.” Then she just stared at Olivia.
“Ma, is something wrong?” Olivia asked, suddenly nervous. She’d caught the woman looking at her like that before and wondered what it meant.
“Oh, never mind me. Just take a little advice, will you?”
Olivia’s face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Child, I can see you’re having a wonderful time, but it’s going to end in a few days. You can’t let yourself get too attached to George Johnson.”
Olivia took a deep breath and let it out. The woman was right, of course – she’d thought the same thing herself, but … she looked at the ground. “I understand.” She met Ma’s eyes. “And it’s good advice. Thank you.”
Ma smiled in satisfaction. “I’m glad, child. There’s enough heartbreak in this world. I don’t want to see yours broken too.”
“Or George’s?”
“Or George’s. No matter how much you admire the man, there’s nothing you can do about it as things stand. He lives too far away. And you … well, for all we know you’re married.”
Olivia gasped. No one had suggested that yet, not even her, but she’d wondered about it ever since the Weavers found her in that ditch. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so she assumed she was single, but maybe she’d had a ring and the robbers stole it. The problem was, how could she find out?
“I’m sorry to be the one to have to bring it up, child, but it had to be said,” Ma concluded.
Olivia nodded. “I understand. Thank you for reminding me. It was very gracious of you.”
Ma gave her that funny look again – wary surprise, as if she couldn’t believe Olivia would say such a thing. Did people not take kindly to Ma’s advice? Was she like Nellie Davis, and Olivia just hadn’t spotted it? “What a nice thing to say. “Now I’d best go check on the rest of the family and make sure everyone’s having a good time.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Olivia glanced at George and the others again. The laughter had stopped but they were still smiling themselves silly.
Ma left as Charlotte approached. “That man is going to be the death of all the other men at this dance if he keeps telling stories like he has been.”
“He is a good storyteller,” Olivia agreed.
“He is, though I wouldn’t rank him ahead of our old sheriff, Tom Turner. But he moved away to Clear Creek.”
“Clear Creek,” Olivia said, her brow knitting. The name was familiar, but not because she’d heard Mr. Hughes speak about it. She knew he was from there, had talked about it over the last few days. But there was something else about the town she couldn’t put her finger on. Had she been there? But why would she? She put her hand to her forehead and pressed hard as another sharp pain struck.
“Olivia?”
“I’m fine, it’s nothing. Tom Turner was sheriff here …” Another familiar name, another one she couldn’t place but which was hiding in her elusive memories. Another sharp pain to her temples.
“Tom and Rose Turner – now there’s a story.”
“Do tell.”
“Oh, I don’t have time to tell you the whole story here. Besides, there’s too much noise. You’re better off asking the Weavers.” Charlotte smiled. “I have to say, you and George look well dancing together. You’re a very good dancer.”
Olivia smiled despite herself. She’d have to remember how well she could dance when she had to try to cook – maybe it would bolster her courage. The thought of cooking made her nervous – she must not be very good at it. “Thank you. You and your husband are good dancers too.”
“We had lessons, years ago.”
“You have? Is there someone in town who teaches?”
“Actually, Tom Turner taught us a thing or two back when he lived here.”
“But I’m better off asking the Weavers?” Olivia giggled.
“Please do. Heaven knows there are more stories than there is time to tell them.”
Olivia laughed as her eyes once again found George – staring right at her! Their gazes locked and her heart skipped a beat. Oh dear, she had to remember what Ma told her and not let her heart have its way. The last thing she needed was to pine after a man who wouldn’t be around while trying to regain her memory. She quickly looked away.
“I don’t blame you for staring at him,” Charlotte commented.
“What?” Olivia said as her head snapped around.
“Mr. Johnson. He’s handsome and easy to talk to. Too bad he’s leaving.”
Olivia sighed and hung her head. “Yes, it is.” She looked at George again, who smiled and waved. “He is adorable, isn’t he?”
“He certainly is. Maybe he’ll stay on a few more days?” Charlotte winked, turned and left.
Just as well – she couldn’t see the look of confusion on Olivia’s face. She rubbed her temples. Whenever she tried to think hard about something, her head felt horrible.
“Olivia!” George said as he rushed to her side. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you well?”
Olivia let her hands fall to her sides and looked into the concerned eyes of the most wonderful man. “Nothing, George,” she said, not caring that she’d used his Christian name. She’d used it several times this evening already – what was one more?
He drew closer and took her hand. “Are you sure?”
She looked at their hands and a shiver went up her spine. How was she going to make it through the next few days? “I’m fine, really. Please, go enjoy yourself. Maybe you ought to ask one of the other ladies to dance?”
“I’d much rather dance with you.”
Olivia glanced around the room, saw Ma watching them and stiffened. “I think perhaps I should sit down for a while.”
“Of course.” He began to steer her to the wall, where chairs had been lined up for the fainter of heart. “Would you like me to fetch you something to drink?” he asked once she was settled.
“No thank you – if I have anything more to drink or eat I’ll bust. Please just let me sit here a moment.”
“Certainly.” He stood, hands behind his back like a soldier at parade rest.
She smiled. “Are you guarding me?”
“Someone has to. Otherwise one of the other gentlemen might whisk you away.” He winked.
She laughed. “Somehow I doubt that.” She heard a hint of bitterness in her voice – now why would that be?
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He surveyed the room. “Should I escort you to the hotel?”
“Hotel? No, I don’t need to leave.”
“I could find one of the Weavers, in case you need to go back and lie down …”
“Mr. Johnson, I …” Olivia stopped and stared at him. He looked so concerned, so tender, something in her felt like it wanted to die. As if she couldn’t believe he could look at her that way. She swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” she said weakly. But she knew she wasn’t.
* * *
“Warren?” Bernice nodded to his right.
“Yes, what is it?” Warren turned, saw George with Olivia and smiled. “George is certainly having a good time.”
Bernice linked her arm with his. “It looks to me like your cousin is having more than just a good time. He seems quite smitten.”
He shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? Look at him – I haven’t seen him smile this much since Victoria died.”
“Was he deeply in love with her?”
“As much as one can be. They were a good match, and he took her death hard. But it’s been years.”
“Looks like he’s ready for another wife,” Bernice commented as she watched the couple.
“You’re right.” He patted her hand and peered over the crowd, looking for his grandfather. “I wonder where he’s got to?”
“Grandpa?” She looked too. “Oh, there he is talking to Mrs. Ferguson and her niece Ottilie.”
“Ottilie’s in town? Why, I haven’t seen them all evening.”
“From the looks of it, they just got here. But we were dancing, remember? How would we have noticed?”
“You’re right. Well, I’ll go check on Grandpa. Care to accompany me?”
She smiled and off they went. As soon as they joined Grandpa and his little group, the old man laughed and smiled at them. “About time you got here!”
“Why?” Warren asked. “Is something going on?”
“Good news, that’s what!” Grandpa said. “Ottie here’s going to live with Mrs. Ferguson from now on.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Mrs. Ferguson gushed. She hugged Ottilie. Everyone had met the young blonde beauty at the Johnsons’ barbeque last spring, the same time they’d Lucian Miller’s mail-order bride for the first time.
Speaking of which … “Where’s Lucian and Billie?” Bernice asked. “I haven’t seen them all evening.”
“I’m afraid Billie’s not feeling well,” Mrs. Ferguson said. “What with her condition and all.”
“Oh?” Bernice and Warren said together. “Condition” usually meant “a baby on the way.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Ferguson commented with a sad shake of her head. “Poor Billie – her ‘morning sickness’ hits her at night.”
Warren nodded and went back to looking for George and Olivia. He spotted Olivia sitting in a chair against the wall, George hovering over her. “He’s got it bad.”
“What?” Grandpa followed his gaze, caught sight of the couple and chuckled. “Isn’t it wonderful? And I didn’t have to do any work!”
Grandpa, what are you talking about?” Warren asked.
“About them. Albert said they’d get together, but I was supposed to help it along if needed. Looks like they made my job easier.”
Unable to help it, Warren rolled his eyes. “Albert again.”
“Yep. Good fella, that Albert,” Grandpa said.
“Who is Albert?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.
“A friend of mine,” Grandpa said happily.
Warren took his arm. “You look hungry – let’s get something to eat.” He began to pull him away before he said anything else.
Too late. “Oh, look!” Grandpa said with glee. “There he is now!”
Warren groaned. “Grandpa, there is no Albert!”
Grandpa wrenched his arm away. “What are you talking about? He’s standing right over there!”
Warren sighed as his hands went to his hips. “Where?”
“Over there!” Grandpa pointed.
Everyone looked. “I don’t see anyone there,” Warren said.
“How can you not see him?” Grandpa asked. “He’s right there, standing at the end of the second food table. Short man, thinning brown hair, could use a shave …”
Warren looked heavenward and sighed again. Time to hit the problem head on. “Grandpa, there’s nobody there. Maybe I should take you home.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me!”
“Except that you’re seeing people who aren’t there.”.
“I see him,” Ottilie stated calmly.
Bernice and Warren’s eyes went wide. “You do?” they said at once.
“Yes, he’s right over there …” She stopped and stood on tiptoe to get a better look. “Well, he was.”
Everyone looked at the girl like she’d sprouted a third eye – except Grandpa, who stood grinning like a loon. Which Warren was starting to fear he was.
“Honest!” Ottilie said. “He had on a brown jacket and was …” She swallowed hard and looked at each of them. “Well, it looked like he was holding a chicken.”
“What?!” Warren slapped his forehead and dragged his hand down his face. He looked at Ottilie, Grandpa, then Bernice, who could only shrug. “Are you sure about this?” he asked the girl.
She nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. She was young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, and her aunt Mrs. Ferguson could be intense at times. Could the girl just have a case of nerves and only thought she saw the mysterious Albert?
Warren took his grandfather’s arm again and began to lead him off. “You might not be hungry but I am. I need to get something in my stomach before I start seeing things.”
Grandpa ignored his remark, and smiled and winked at Ottilie as his grandson pulled him away. Ottilie smiled back, looked at the spot where she’d seen the funny little man – and there he was again! He waved at her with his free hand – sure enough, he was carrying a chicken – make that a rooster, under his other arm – then began to peruse the platters of food on the table. “Warren?” she called, but he didn’t hear her.
Ottilie blinked a few times, just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things and looked at the spot again. But now Albert was gone.