“You are learning quickly.” Mrs. Milligan praised Emma as she held up a simple pillow she made for the sofa. “This is turning out quite beautiful. My first pillowcases and tablecloth were patchwork,” she continued. “I made them with my mother while planning the wedding.”

Emma loved to spend time with Mrs. Milligan, who was patient and kind to her. In exchange for lessons in cooking and sewing, she cleaned the woman’s house while Mrs. Milligan followed behind protesting the entire time.

This was her fourth visit. Patrick brought her once a week and so far she’d already learned to cook chicken soup, stew and braised rabbit. Each time, while the food cooked, they’d spend an hour or so sewing until Patrick returned for her. Emma felt bad for him because it was over an hour distance each way. So this trip, she was spending two days there.

Mrs. Milligan had gathered information about Emma’s past and family, little by little, always giving her sage advice.

“What do you plan to do about Patrick’s mother? You and she have to come to an understanding if there is to be peace in the long run.”

Emma bit the thread and held up her handiwork. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve considered bringing her a peace offering, but then I can’t think of what to bring. Besides, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“In that, you are correct,” Mrs. Milligan said solemnly. “She owes you an apology. However, if she’s not done so by now, it’s probably not happening.”

Sunlight shone through the window. The weather was quickly getting colder, which meant Emma wouldn’t be able to visit as often, if at all, soon. “What would you do, if I may ask?”

Mrs. Milligan smiled softly. “I would make a cake and go for a visit. Go to her and let her know how much you care for Patrick and how you are striving to be a good wife.”

“But my parents...my father...”

“They are not you. You’ve said Patrick has tried to talk to them, but they won’t open the door.”

Emma wished with all her heart that the Milligans were Patrick’s parents. They’d become close friends and whenever Patrick came to fetch her, the pastor and his wife always insisted they stay for supper.

“I don’t know how to make a cake,” Emma offered weakly.

The following day marked the fifth week of marriage. Emma had quickly become adept at cooking. So now, she got up early and fixed breakfast for Patrick and ensured supper was ready when he arrived home.

Over the kitchen window, the bright blue and yellow curtains Mrs. Milligan had helped her make flapped with the cool breeze that blew in. On the sofa and one chair, her patchwork pillows added color to the space.

Her stomach tumbled whenever she caught sight of the delicious smelling pound cake. Several times, she’d almost talked herself out of walking to her in-laws. One time, she’d gone so far as to cut a sliver of it to eat. Then changing her mind, she’d rewrapped it.

One last look around the house made her nerves settle a bit. It was her home now. Every inch of the space she’d ensured was spotless and touched by her hand. Her lips curved at catching sight of dried flowers over the hearth. Patrick had picked them for her; the last remnants of flowering plants before winter settled in.

Her home gave her strength. Knowing she could return to the security of it was all she needed. For the first time in her life, she had a safe harbor and Emma would never stop being thankful for it.

Whether her mother-in-law accepted her or not, she’d decided to move on and make changes from that day forward. She would go to her parents and confront them once and for all. She was tired of cowering and dashing in and out of the house in fear her father would be about.

The second thing that would change is that they’d go to New Dawn Springs for any needs and stop traveling to Millerstown. If her marriage to Patrick was going to remain strong, it was time for her to be brave.

Emma stepped out onto the porch and the wind blew her scarf across her face. With the cake in a basket on her arm, it was difficult to get the door closed. When she turned away from the door, her stomach fell.

“So it’s true. Yer whorin’ yourself out for a place to sleep.” The staleness of her father’s breath made her lean away.

Emma faltered for a moment, but then stood straight. “My husband has been trying to find you. He wanted to give you the news of our marriage.” It was hard, but she managed to keep eye contact.

There was a flicker of surprise, but her father quickly recovered. “Yer comin’ home with me now.”

“This is my home now.” She fought the urge to run away.

The first slap was so hard that her legs wobbled. She gasped and attempted to dodge the second blow, but his fist hit her jaw “Yer home is where I say it is.”

“Why are you doing this? You don’t care for me. Neither you nor Ma ever had a kind word to say. I don’t understand why you’re so set on me returning.” She couldn’t call it home. It wasn’t a home and never had been.

“I ain’t about to let my daughter be a whore. We’re goin’ to California.”

Her father had been promising them the same thing ever since she could remember. He sent letters to his brother monthly and rarely got a reply. When her uncle did reply, he asked that her father wait for work. It was obvious to everyone, except her father, they were not welcome.

“I am not going. Please go. Just leave me be.” She was crying and desperate. If only Patrick or someone else would come. No matter how hard her father tried, Emma was prepared to fight him every inch of the way. She would not go with him.

His fingers dug into her upper arm. “Come now. You ain’t got a choice in this. I raised you so that when yer ma and I can’t support ourselves, you will repay us by takin’ care of us. There’s work in California. Hell, if you want, you can whore yourself out there. If that’s what you want to do.”

He was rambling. Nothing of what he said made any sense. Neither he nor her mother was at an age that they needed being cared for. Emma stared at him in disbelief.

“Do you honestly think I will let you do this to me? I will not. You can try all you want, but I will never return to live with you. Both you and Ma are hate-filled people.”

“Don’t you sass back at me, you little bitch.” He raised his hand to hit her again and Emma ducked. The basket with the pound cake fell to the porch and she tripped over it and fell backward.

When he advanced, Emma crawled backward. She wasn’t fast enough to avoid his kick to her side. Looming over her, his face contorted with rage, her father’s hand curled into a fist. “Yer comin’ with me one way or another.” He swung but, miraculously, she managed to avoid the blow by rolling away.

“Stop it! Leave me alone!” She was crying and screaming now. Her father yanked her up by the hair and swung again. This time, the punch met its target. Pain sliced from the side of her face and Emma fought the darkness that threatened. But even as she struggled against his hold on her hair, she knew any minute she’d lose consciousness. Somehow, she found the strength to yank her hair free of his hold and she scurried off the porch, only to fall when he hit her from behind.

Emma screamed for help. Patrick and the farm hands were too far to hear, but she’d not give up. Her head snapped backward when her father tugged her hair once again and kicked her at the same time.

The next blow sent her reeling and her vision blurred. “No!” Emma cried out, not so much to her father as to the darkness that was enveloping her.

There was a loud boom that sent her ears ringing before she passed out.

“Look at me, Emma.” The voice of whoever spoke to her sounded as if they stood at a distance. She wasn’t prepared to face whatever had happened, so she stubbornly kept her eyes shut. The man’s voice was not familiar. Therefore, it meant she was no longer home.

The room smelled strangely, of antiseptic and herbs. The bed she lay upon was firm and the blanket over her, although thin, was strangely warm.

Her entire head ached, especially her jaw. The stark memory of what her father had done made her eyes sting. As much as she wanted to not cry, warm tears slid down the sides of her face and plopped onto her pillow.

“Patrick, she’s awake,” the same voice announced.

Warmth enveloped her. Finally, Emma opened her eyes and sobs racked her when realizing she was with Patrick. He was really there. She clung to him with all her strength, not willing to release her hold on his shirt. “I am so sor-ry.” Barely able to breathe, she fought to tell him what had happened. That she’d fought with all her might.

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s all right. Calm down, sweetheart,” he soothed her. His large hands moved up and down her back.

A man who she recognized as the town’s doctor met her gaze. “I’m going to give you something to help calm you.”

“No!” Emma shook her head. “I don’t want it.” The words were stilted through her crying.

“Both of you. Go in the other room. Let me talk to her.” Her mother-in-law’s soft voice shocked Emma, and she clung to Patrick even harder.

Gently, he loosened her hold on him and kissed her temple. “Calm down. I’ll be right outside.” He pressed another soft kiss to her lips and moved away.

Not sure what to do, she looked anywhere but at her mother-in-law while clutching the blanket.

The woman was one of the most attractive people she’d ever known, besides Patrick. It was clear where he got his features.

“There’s something I need to tell you. But, you will have to calm down first.” The woman’s warm gaze met hers when Emma finally looked at her mother-in-law.

Not sure what to do, Emma nodded. However, she couldn’t stop crying. It was so embarrassing that her family issues had come to this, affecting her new husband and his parents. There was no telling what had happened after she’d passed out. Her father was capable of horrible things. Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Emma, stop crying. That’s enough. If you don’t calm down, we’ll have to ask Doctor Tucker to give you something.”

It took several tries before she was finally able to take a full breath. Her mother-in-law handed her a handkerchief and Emma blew her nose loudly.

“Do you remember your father attacking you?”

Emma nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. I was there. Not in the beginning, but long enough to know you fought not to go with him.”

“I was bringing you cake.” Emma wasn’t sure why she made that announcement. She couldn’t figure out something else to say at the moment.

“He hit you so hard, you passed out,” Maureen started. “I had left the house to come see you. I figured I’d been stubborn long enough. I saw your father and you speaking and waited a distance away.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “When he started hitting you, I ran back to the house and grabbed a shotgun.”

Emma remembered the loud boom just before passing out. “What happened?”

“I shot your father. Hit him square in the chest.” Her words were spoken without inflection. But by the hollowness, Emma could tell it had affected her.

“You did?” It was certainly strange that at the moment Emma was more concerned with her mother-in-law’s state than her father’s. “Are you...are you all right?”

Maureen frowned. “Yes, I’m fine. I am not sure about tonight when I get to bed but, right now, I feel justified.”

“Is he...dead?”

This time, Maureen didn’t reply right away. Then she nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. He is.”

It took several seconds for the information to sink in. Her father was dead, gone forever. She’d lost count of how many times she and her mother had expected the news. Whenever he was gone for longer than a week, they considered that they’d never see him again. And yet, time and again, he’d return home with stories of exploits and, many times, with enough money so that they could eat more than beans for several weeks. It never lasted. He’d drink away the money and the cycle would repeat itself.

Now it would not. He was gone.

Her mother-in-law did not attempt to touch her. Instead, she cleared her throat. “I can’t tell you that I’m sad to have done it. He was going to kill you.”

“I don’t feel anything.” Emma made the statement more to herself. “Is that horrible of me?”

If Emma were to be truthful, it was relief that flooded her. Not having to fear his appearance any longer was welcome news. Surely Patrick and his parents would find her heartless. Why had she said the words out loud?

“I don’t know your life, so I can’t say one way or the other. If he was not a kind man, then I suppose it’s natural that you’re not saddened by his death.”

Patrick walked in and squeezed his mother’s shoulder. “You should get some rest, Ma.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Come on, Pa’s taking you home.”

“First, I’m taking her to get something to eat.” Patrick’s father stood at the door. He glanced at Emma. “You see about getting better, young lady.”

Patrick remained. “This is Doc Tucker’s clinic. He insists you stay the night.”

“I want to go home.” Emma could feel the tears threatening. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Did someone go tell my mother?”

Patrick nodded. “The sheriff was called. By the time he arrived, I was already headed to bring you here since you would not come around. Doc Tucker says it’s best not to move you around for a day or two.” Patrick took her hand.

“Pa said one of the men with the sheriff went to go speak to your ma.”

“What are we going to do now?”

Her husband’s brows furrowed. “Continue on. And you’re going to concentrate on healing. Your jaw is bruised badly, but not broken. Doc says you have a cracked rib and he had to stitch up a cut on your left upper leg.”

The pain, which she’d ignored up until then, became stronger. Her legs, chest and face throbbed. Upon studying her hands, she realized several fingernails were broken and her right wrist was bandaged.

“I’m a complete mess, aren’t I?”

“You fought hard.” Patrick leaned over her and kissed her brow as the doctor walked in. “Get some rest. I’ll be back shortly.”

The doctor was a short man with kind eyes. “Drink this, it will make you sleep.”

She didn’t want to sleep; there was so much to think about. However, a reprieve from the pain was welcome. Bringing the cup of warm liquid to her mouth, she sipped it while wondering what would come next.

* * *

There were only four people present at the gravesite when Emma and Patrick walked up. The cold, dreary day suited her mood perfectly.

Patrick had tried to talk her out of coming, but she insisted on being there. If the evil man was finally meeting his due, she wanted to be present for it.

Other than her mother and the clergyman, a pair of men, who she didn’t recognize, stood a short distance away. When she went to her mother’s side, the woman recoiled. “Don't come near me. This is all your fault.”

“He attacked me,” Emma offered. She was sure the woman could see the still visible bruising and swelling.

Her thin lips pressed together, her mother’s cold gaze looked Emma up and down. “Got you a husband and think you’re better than everyone now.”

“You can come live with me. We’ll make room...”

The clergyman cleared his throat. “Ladies, we will proceed now.”

Other than a couple lines to the effect of her father’s soul, the man kept things short. Throughout the service, her mother shifted from one foot to the other, as if anxious to leave. It was obvious no one was particularly saddened by the occasion.

The preacher finished and signaled the men, who began shoveling dirt over the simple, pine box.

Her mother didn’t spare the grave a second glance. Instead, she grabbed up her skirts and started toward where she lived. Emma motioned for Patrick to wait and she caught up with her mother.

“Are you going to consider coming to live with us?”

“I don’t take charity,” her mother snapped, barely slowing. “Don’t come near me again.”

“Mother.”

Hazel Davis swung around, her face contorted with rage. “Don’t call me that. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to say this.” She pointed a bony finger in Emma’s face. “I am not your mother. When I met him,” she said as she gestured toward the grave, “he already had you. I’m not sure where he got you, not that it mattered. He promised me California, if I took care of you and said I was your mother.”

“I called you Emma. Couldn’t very well keep calling you Beth. That is your name.”

Emma couldn’t keep from gawking at the woman. “You’re lying. You’re saying those things to hurt me.”

“I don’t care who knows the truth now. He took you. Some family over in Bardwell did him wrong and he took you.”

The woman turned on her heel and stormed away.

Some days, she’d wished with all her heart that she did not belong with her parents. She’d prayed many times to be taken away. Deep within herself, Emma knew that what the woman she thought to be her mother said was true. The Davis’ had never shown her any love or affection. As a matter of fact, most days, they pushed her away, asking she remain in her room.

So many things became clear now.

“Emma?” Patrick had come up to her and she’d not seen him. Her mind was awhirl and all she could do was collapse against him just as he reached for her.

Who was she?