gonewacky
Veteran Member
Victoria lowered her voice, “How long have you known Vincent?”
Vincent swallowed hard with his throat working dryly. “It came to me in a dream last night,” he murmured with his eyes still fixed on the porcelain rim. “And then it just all flooded back. The mountains, the trap lines, and the smell of cedar smoke.” He paused with his jaw tightening. “With it came something Grace told me. It was after we were married she told me” He stopped with a flicker of pain crossing his weathered features.
“Vicki?” Victoria supplied softly.
Vincent looked up with his gaze meeting hers. For the first time since the breakfast dishes had been cleared away. “She told me, ‘You had a crush on me.’ I never knew you felt that way Victoria. I was just the poor kid from the bottom of the ridge, and you were the Tomson girl with a family name and a dry roof over your head. Then you married my friend Logan. He was just as poor as I was, but he had big dreams of coming out west and striking it rich.”
Victoria remarked with her voice dropping an octave. From carrying the weight of years spent burying those very dreams, “I tried to make those dreams come true Vincent. But his life was too short. The mountain winters are hard on men with big dreams and weak lungs. Now you and I are the same. I don’t have a husband, and you don’t have a wife. It would be easier for me if Grace hadn’t told you that.”
Vincent opened his eyes wide with the lines around them deepening in sudden disbelief. “Then it’s true… you had a crush on me?”
Victoria admitted it without flinching, as a faint flush rose to her high cheekbones. “It’s true Vincent. And I still do. But it’s different now. You have something I want.”
Vincent got a strange guarded look in his eye, as his lone hand tightening instinctively against the edge of the table. He questioned, “What?”
Victoria took a deep breath. She decided that after all the lies, the amnesia, the snowbound winters, and the bloody claws of the grizzly there was no room left for deceit. She told Vincent the whole story.
“It started when Jack brought the girl home,” she began, her eyes steady on his. “I wanted her so bad. When I saw her standing on my porch half-frozen and calling for a father she couldn’t find. Something broke open inside me. I wanted her Vincent. I prayed that her dad never came to get her. Then I found out it was you working right under my brother’s nose as Stanley. With your head wrapped in bandages and no idea who you were.”
She leaned forward with her elbows on the lace runner. “That was all just the first day. But then Wyatt told me you had amnesia and left with Jim Johnson to find out who you were. I was terrified. I hoped you wouldn’t remember your daughter. I hoped you’d stay lost, or go back to the trapping cabins, and would let me keep her. Let me be a mother again.”
Just then the swinging door creaked open, and Violet came in carrying a tall stack of porcelain plates. She trotted over and set them carefully by the sink. Turning back around and wiping her hands on her apron, she asked, “You want me to bring in the serving platters and bowls Ma’am?”
Victoria replied with her tone instantly softening into warmth. “Go ahead child. You’re doing a good job.”
Violet scurried back out toward the dining room with the door swinging shut behind her, and Victoria picked up the thread of her confession.
“Then when I found out you were down at Dr. Sawyer’s clinic, and had been torn up from that Grizzly attack in the foothills… I knew you would need me. I knew if you survived I would have another chance to keep the girl. When I saw you laying on that cot it reminded me so much of Logan. I thought for sure you wouldn’t make it out of that room. I couldn’t bear to see you die Vincent. Not like Logan.”
She swallowed with her voice catching slightly. “Still I took Violet every day to sit with you, and Wyatt took her every night. We guarded that bed. And then the day came when you finally opened your eyes. I had to see it for myself, and see if the man behind the amnesia was still the boy I used to watch from the fence line. When I took Violet the next morning I sat with her and put my hand on your arm. It wasn’t just pity Vincent. It made all the old feelings come rushing back. And sitting here today… I want you again.”
Before Vincent could process the confession the swinging door parted once more, and Violet returned setting the serving platters and bowls neatly next to the stack of dishes.
Victoria looked to Violet and requested, with her voice carefully steady, “I asked Wyatt to have them send my buggy around. Would you go see if it’s out there yet?”
Violet took off like a shot with her boots clattering across the floorboards, as she called out over her shoulder, “Right away Ma’am!”
The front door banged shut leaving the room instantly quiet.
Vincent raised his hand and wiped it over his face. He was trying desperately to hide the sudden hot tear that broke free from his lashes, and traced a ragged path through his stubble. But it was too late. Victoria had already seen it.
She muttered as her heart clenched against her ribs, “I suppose you don’t want to be here now.”
Vincent let out a ragged broken sob. The tough silent trapper who had survived the freezing snows of the Cascades, and the jaws of a silvertip grizzly finally crumbled. “I’m half of a man Victoria! I can’t even take care of my own daughter. If I left her here where would I go? What job could a one-armed man do in this godforsaken town? How would I feed Violet? I don’t have anything. I’ve lost it all, my trap lines, my cabin, my past... my arm.” He choked on the words with his head dropping into his hand. “I’m a beggar sitting at your table.”
Victoria didn’t hesitate. She stood up from her chair and rounded the corner of the table. She took Vincent’s hand pressing her palm firmly against his calloused knuckles.
“You aren’t a beggar Vincent Long,” she whispered fiercely. “And you haven’t lost everything. You have a horse somewhere out there. Jim brought it back with him when he came down from the mountains, and he’s been keeping it for you at the livery. If you wish I can send word for Jim to come visit. He came a few times when you were out of your head in the clinic, but you were too far gone to know him. He’s the one who told me about putting you on that train to Seattle in the first place.”
Vincent stared down at their joined hands. The warmth of her skin was piercing the cold numbness. That had been living in his chest ever since the bullet grazed his skull.
“A horse,” he whispered with the ghost of a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “What good is a saddle horse to a man who can’t swing a rifle or haul a pack?”
“It’s good for riding out of this town,” Victoria said with her thumb tracing the rough skin of his wrist. “And it’s good for riding back into the mountains. Not as a broken ghost, but as a man with a home to come back to. If you want it.”
Outside the iron wheels of a carriage crunched heavily against the wet gravel of the drive. Then it stopped right outside the front parlor windows. Violet’s high clear voice echoed through the porch screen calling out, “The buggy’s here Ma’am! Mr. White sent the bay mare!”
Victoria didn't pull her hand away. She held Vincent’s gaze with the suspense of the past weeks finally melting away into something deeper, older, and far more terrifying than any mountain blizzard.
“Well, Vincent?” she asked softly listening to the light patter of Violet’s boots running back toward the porch. “Are we going to keep the girl together, or are you going to let me run this boardinghouse all by myself?”
Vincent swallowed hard with his throat working dryly. “It came to me in a dream last night,” he murmured with his eyes still fixed on the porcelain rim. “And then it just all flooded back. The mountains, the trap lines, and the smell of cedar smoke.” He paused with his jaw tightening. “With it came something Grace told me. It was after we were married she told me” He stopped with a flicker of pain crossing his weathered features.
“Vicki?” Victoria supplied softly.
Vincent looked up with his gaze meeting hers. For the first time since the breakfast dishes had been cleared away. “She told me, ‘You had a crush on me.’ I never knew you felt that way Victoria. I was just the poor kid from the bottom of the ridge, and you were the Tomson girl with a family name and a dry roof over your head. Then you married my friend Logan. He was just as poor as I was, but he had big dreams of coming out west and striking it rich.”
Victoria remarked with her voice dropping an octave. From carrying the weight of years spent burying those very dreams, “I tried to make those dreams come true Vincent. But his life was too short. The mountain winters are hard on men with big dreams and weak lungs. Now you and I are the same. I don’t have a husband, and you don’t have a wife. It would be easier for me if Grace hadn’t told you that.”
Vincent opened his eyes wide with the lines around them deepening in sudden disbelief. “Then it’s true… you had a crush on me?”
Victoria admitted it without flinching, as a faint flush rose to her high cheekbones. “It’s true Vincent. And I still do. But it’s different now. You have something I want.”
Vincent got a strange guarded look in his eye, as his lone hand tightening instinctively against the edge of the table. He questioned, “What?”
Victoria took a deep breath. She decided that after all the lies, the amnesia, the snowbound winters, and the bloody claws of the grizzly there was no room left for deceit. She told Vincent the whole story.
“It started when Jack brought the girl home,” she began, her eyes steady on his. “I wanted her so bad. When I saw her standing on my porch half-frozen and calling for a father she couldn’t find. Something broke open inside me. I wanted her Vincent. I prayed that her dad never came to get her. Then I found out it was you working right under my brother’s nose as Stanley. With your head wrapped in bandages and no idea who you were.”
She leaned forward with her elbows on the lace runner. “That was all just the first day. But then Wyatt told me you had amnesia and left with Jim Johnson to find out who you were. I was terrified. I hoped you wouldn’t remember your daughter. I hoped you’d stay lost, or go back to the trapping cabins, and would let me keep her. Let me be a mother again.”
Just then the swinging door creaked open, and Violet came in carrying a tall stack of porcelain plates. She trotted over and set them carefully by the sink. Turning back around and wiping her hands on her apron, she asked, “You want me to bring in the serving platters and bowls Ma’am?”
Victoria replied with her tone instantly softening into warmth. “Go ahead child. You’re doing a good job.”
Violet scurried back out toward the dining room with the door swinging shut behind her, and Victoria picked up the thread of her confession.
“Then when I found out you were down at Dr. Sawyer’s clinic, and had been torn up from that Grizzly attack in the foothills… I knew you would need me. I knew if you survived I would have another chance to keep the girl. When I saw you laying on that cot it reminded me so much of Logan. I thought for sure you wouldn’t make it out of that room. I couldn’t bear to see you die Vincent. Not like Logan.”
She swallowed with her voice catching slightly. “Still I took Violet every day to sit with you, and Wyatt took her every night. We guarded that bed. And then the day came when you finally opened your eyes. I had to see it for myself, and see if the man behind the amnesia was still the boy I used to watch from the fence line. When I took Violet the next morning I sat with her and put my hand on your arm. It wasn’t just pity Vincent. It made all the old feelings come rushing back. And sitting here today… I want you again.”
Before Vincent could process the confession the swinging door parted once more, and Violet returned setting the serving platters and bowls neatly next to the stack of dishes.
Victoria looked to Violet and requested, with her voice carefully steady, “I asked Wyatt to have them send my buggy around. Would you go see if it’s out there yet?”
Violet took off like a shot with her boots clattering across the floorboards, as she called out over her shoulder, “Right away Ma’am!”
The front door banged shut leaving the room instantly quiet.
Vincent raised his hand and wiped it over his face. He was trying desperately to hide the sudden hot tear that broke free from his lashes, and traced a ragged path through his stubble. But it was too late. Victoria had already seen it.
She muttered as her heart clenched against her ribs, “I suppose you don’t want to be here now.”
Vincent let out a ragged broken sob. The tough silent trapper who had survived the freezing snows of the Cascades, and the jaws of a silvertip grizzly finally crumbled. “I’m half of a man Victoria! I can’t even take care of my own daughter. If I left her here where would I go? What job could a one-armed man do in this godforsaken town? How would I feed Violet? I don’t have anything. I’ve lost it all, my trap lines, my cabin, my past... my arm.” He choked on the words with his head dropping into his hand. “I’m a beggar sitting at your table.”
Victoria didn’t hesitate. She stood up from her chair and rounded the corner of the table. She took Vincent’s hand pressing her palm firmly against his calloused knuckles.
“You aren’t a beggar Vincent Long,” she whispered fiercely. “And you haven’t lost everything. You have a horse somewhere out there. Jim brought it back with him when he came down from the mountains, and he’s been keeping it for you at the livery. If you wish I can send word for Jim to come visit. He came a few times when you were out of your head in the clinic, but you were too far gone to know him. He’s the one who told me about putting you on that train to Seattle in the first place.”
Vincent stared down at their joined hands. The warmth of her skin was piercing the cold numbness. That had been living in his chest ever since the bullet grazed his skull.
“A horse,” he whispered with the ghost of a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “What good is a saddle horse to a man who can’t swing a rifle or haul a pack?”
“It’s good for riding out of this town,” Victoria said with her thumb tracing the rough skin of his wrist. “And it’s good for riding back into the mountains. Not as a broken ghost, but as a man with a home to come back to. If you want it.”
Outside the iron wheels of a carriage crunched heavily against the wet gravel of the drive. Then it stopped right outside the front parlor windows. Violet’s high clear voice echoed through the porch screen calling out, “The buggy’s here Ma’am! Mr. White sent the bay mare!”
Victoria didn't pull her hand away. She held Vincent’s gaze with the suspense of the past weeks finally melting away into something deeper, older, and far more terrifying than any mountain blizzard.
“Well, Vincent?” she asked softly listening to the light patter of Violet’s boots running back toward the porch. “Are we going to keep the girl together, or are you going to let me run this boardinghouse all by myself?”
