Mud Creek (26 page)

But as the minutes, then the hours had ticked by, it had become clear that she wouldn’t return. Either she was too stubborn, or she’d suffered a mishap in the storm. Perhaps she
was
dead as Violet had charged. Perhaps she’d killed herself and the four children she’d stupidly dragged off with her.

Whatever had happened, Albert didn’t care, and if she tried to slink home later on, he’d chase her off with a stick.

She could have her precious, wonderful James Blaylock. She could have him and good riddance!

Albert glared down at Violet, at the stove that was cold as Hades, at the room that was a mess without Helen there to keep it tidy.

It was freezing outside, and he’d spent the morning shoveling snow but making no headway. His arms were so weary that he could barely lift them. Until some of the snow melted, there were no chores to accomplish. There was no hot food to eat, no hot coffee to drink.

He lit a fire in the stove, then went up to his bedroom, raised the floorboard under his bed, and pulled out his only bottle of whiskey.

He had more out in the cottage, secreted away from Violet, but until he could dig a path to the place, there’d be no more liquor for the long winter nights.

It had been such a dreary, disappointing day. Why not open the last bottle?

He had no family to tell him he shouldn’t. No wife to complain. There was just morose, unhappy, sniveling Violet—which was the same as having no one, at all.

To hell with Helen. He’d never cared about her anyway, and he was fine on his own.

He walked back downstairs, sat on the sofa, and began to drink.

It was the barking dogs that had Helen glancing out the window.

A man was driving a buckboard down their road, a single horse pulling it. She didn’t have to stare very hard to determine it was Albert.

“Who is it?” Mary asked.

“Albert.”

“Took him long enough.”

Helen had been living with James for an entire month. From the afternoon she’d first arrived, she’d been expecting her husband to show up. Whenever she heard a noise, she’d jump, certain it was him.

“I guess he’s decided he wants you to come home,” Mary said.

“I doubt it. He probably needs his laundry done, and he’s hoping I’ll agree to stop by and wash some clothes.”

Mary chuckled. “Maybe he’s not here to
ask.
Maybe he’ll force you to leave with him.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

“Should I fetch James?”

He was hunting down on the river with Carl and Robert.

“No,” Helen confidently said. “I’m not afraid of Albert. I’m perfectly capable of telling him to go away without any assistance.”

“I might find James anyway. Just in case there’s trouble.”

“There won’t be any trouble.”

It was a blustery February morning, the snow still deep on the ground. She went to the mudroom, drew on her boots, coats, and mittens. Then she walked out. By the time she’d circled around to the front, he was steering into the yard.

He sat, glaring, his fury extremely evident. He didn’t speak, but neither did she. After their last horrid quarrel, she couldn’t think of any topic worth discussing, and she wasn’t about to make the encounter easier on him.

As he studied James’s house, his disdain was clear. It was so different from the ramshackle abode he and Walt had constructed. To Albert, the well-built structure would represent everything he despised about James: his competence, his knack for thriving so effortlessly, his ability to adapt to the harsh climate.

James had created a comfortable haven, while Albert was stuck with a wobbly mess, and she tried not to be too contemptuous.

Walt hadn’t been a carpenter, and he’d done the best he could. But with each passing season, the unpainted house corroded a little more, the boards leaning away from the wind. Eventually, she suspected it would collapse altogether.

James’s home, on the other hand, could be viewed as a statement about the man. He’d used stones and heavy logs, so it was sturdy and stout and solid. Nestled in a cove by the creek, it was secluded and sheltered from the worst of the weather.

There was a porch and mature trees and two barns with hay neatly stacked. A large garden. A tidy root cellar, the barrels and shelves filled to overflowing. Inside, the walls were painted in cheery colors, the stoves and fireplaces adequate for heating. Curtains on the windows. Rugs on the floors. A pump at the kitchen sink so there was no need to constantly haul water.

James and Mary were devoted siblings, funny and happy and completely content in each other’s company. There were no shouting or fights, no moods or temper, no struggle or toil.

Compared to how dreadful it had been at Albert’s, Helen felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven, as if she was a princess in a fairytale.

“I was in Mud Creek,” he finally said. “I heard you were living here.”

“Why would anybody in town know my business?”

“Everyone was talking about it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m surprised you made it over here. What with the storm that day, Violet and I both figured you were dead in a snow bank.”

“Thank you for your concern,” she sarcastically replied. “It’s so refreshing to learn that you raced right out to check on us.”

He gestured to the empty space next to him on the seat.

“Get in. We’re going home.”

“No.”

“Get in! I won’t argue about it.”

“No,” she repeated.

“Helen,” he seethed, “you’ve shamed me enough for ten lifetimes. Let’s go.”

“I told you I wasn’t coming back, and I meant it. I’m
not
coming back.”

“Yes, you are!”

“I’m not. I never should have married you.”

“Well, you
did
marry me, so it’s a little late to complain.”

“Yes, it’s very, very much too late.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. This was the spot where she was supposed to relent and give in to his authority over her.

It had been the history of their short and failed union that he would pitch a fit, and she would immediately yield to his demands. She hated bickering, so she always strove to keep the peace, to smooth over any discord.

But never again, and at her declining to play her assigned role, he had no idea how to act. He’d ordered her home, and she’d refused.

What now?

“I swear to God, Helen, if you don’t get up here—this minute!—I will climb down and take a switch to you.”

“You will not. You’re being absurd.”

He reached under the seat, and when he straightened, he was holding his riding crop.

“I’m not joking,” he cautioned.

“I can see that, but this show of temper won’t do you any good. You can’t threaten me, and you don’t scare me. I’ve made up my mind, and I’m staying.”

“Your sister is ill. She needs you.”

Ah…
she mused,
the true reason for his visit is revealed.

Violet was a handful when she was happy and well. When she was having one of her spells, she was impossible.

Albert had never liked Violet, and with the two of them trapped together, the mood had to be dire.

Obviously, he’d thought his mention of Violet would spur Helen to a flood of sisterly concern, but it was another change between them, another shift he hadn’t foreseen. Helen couldn’t be Violet’s nanny. Helen had spent her whole life trying to help Violet, but Violet didn’t really want any help.

And after Violet had heartlessly pushed Helen to toss the twins out into the blizzard, Helen had lost the urge to coddle her sister.

“I’m sorry to hear about Violet,” she said, “but what do you expect me to do?”

“Come home!” He nearly shouted the edict. “She’s your sister. Not mine. I can’t tend her, and I
won’t
tend her.”

“Her problems are beyond me—and beyond you, too. You should send her to New York, to Maywood. She’d like to go, and it would be better for both of you if she left.”

“Send her to…New York? With what money?” He was practically gasping with outrage.

“I know you have the funds, Albert. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“Never,” he fumed. “I won’t waste another penny on that horrid girl.”

Helen shrugged. “Then I guess you’re stuck with her.”

“I’ll bring her over here. Blaylock can support her—with my blessing.”

“She’s not welcome. If you drive her over, I’ll just drive her back.”

“She’s your only kin!” he roared. “How can you be like this?”

“I’m not responsible for her anymore. She has to look after herself.”

“I can’t watch her!”

“Buy her a one-way ticket to New York. There’s no other option.”

“I won’t!”

They engaged in a standoff he couldn’t win.

He didn’t grasp how their situations had altered. He was still mired in the rut where he’d been for years. The ranch had been Walt’s dream—not Albert’s—but it had ensnared him. He was caught in the coil of work required to keep it running, but with Walt and his brothers gone, Albert would probably lose the place.

He had to be terrified, but Helen couldn’t muster any sympathy. He was angry and cruel and petty and defensive. He always had been, and he would never change.

In contrast, Helen was delighted with her choice and relieved that she’d found the courage to grab for what she truly wanted.

Albert was trapped in the mud of his life, while Helen had floated up and away. She was soaring while he was sinking.

“You’re my wife,” he snapped.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“Your duty is to
me
. Not to some adulterous wife-stealer.”

“I came of my own accord. James had nothing to do with it.”

“Don’t mention his name to me! Don’t you dare!”

“I’m here, and I’m staying.” There seemed no point in saying anything else.

“You’re needed at home to cook my meals and clean my house.”

“I can’t help you.”

“If you won’t come because I asked—when I have the right to ask—I’ll make you come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I warned you.” He climbed down from the buckboard, the riding crop clutched in his hand.

He stomped toward her, and she gaped at him, wondering if he’d strike her.

Would he pound her into the ground? Bind her wrists and ankles? Throw her in the wagon and forcibly cart her off?

Would he? Could he?

She didn’t think he was that brave, but he certainly appeared menacing. Should she turn and race inside?

She’d told Mary not to fetch James, but she was regretting her foolishness.

Had Mary left? Was she observing out the window?

James kept a shotgun over the mantle, and it was loaded at all times. He’d taught Helen and the boys how to fire it. Helen wouldn’t be upset if Mary took that moment to walk out with it balanced on her arm.

She’d just decided to run, when the front door opened. She glanced over her shoulder to find James approaching. Carl and Robert were with him.

The three males marched over to Helen, James standing beside her, Carl and Robert standing behind.

“Albert,” James casually said, “what brings you by?”

His voice was relaxed, but in the past few weeks, Helen had grown to know every shift of his body. He was strung like a bow, ready to lash out and harm Albert if he tried something stupid.

“He’s demanding I leave with him,” Helen explained.

“She can’t,” James informed Albert. “I refuse to permit it.”

“It’s not up to you!” Albert hissed. “She’s my wife, and she’ll do as I bid her.”

“I won’t permit it,” James firmly repeated.

“You have no right over her,” Albert bellowed.

“She’s mine,” James said. “I’m claiming her as my own.”

“I’ll kill you before I let you have her.”

“You’re not tough enough to kill me,” James replied.

“I will! You’ll see!” Albert whirled away and returned to the wagon.

As he clambered up and grabbed the reins, Helen felt sorry for him. He was such a bitter, insignificant man, and when held up next to James, the comparisons were sad and stark.

He settled on the seat and gestured to his brothers.

“You two, get in.”

Carl and Robert didn’t move, but stared blankly, confused, as if he’d spoken in a foreign language.

“Get in!” Albert yelled.

“Are you asking us to go with you?” Robert inquired.

“I’m not asking. I’m
telling.
Get in.”

“No,” Carl and Robert answered in unison.

Albert’s temper spiked. “I’ve had just about all the nonsense I can abide for one day, and I will not be sassed by either of you. Now let’s go. There are chores waiting.”

Robert gazed up at James. “We don’t have to go, do we?”

“No,” James said.

“He can’t make us?”

“No,” James said again.

Robert peered over at Carl. “Do you want to leave with him?”

“No.” Carl actually shuddered with dread.

“We’re staying with Helen,” Robert said.

Albert was aggrieved, enraged. His fury wafted out toward them.

“If you don’t come now,” Albert advised his brothers, “don’t try to come later on. If you decide you don’t like it here, and you slither home, I won’t take you in.”

“We won’t get tired of it here,” Robert declared.

“Not ever,” Carl added.

Their certitude rocked Albert. He glowered, attempting to intimidate them into changing their minds, but he couldn’t dissuade them. He gave up, focusing his irate attention on Helen again.

“I’m filing for divorce,” he announced.

“I hope you will. It will save me the trouble.”

“I’ll cite adultery as my grounds.”

“Fine. I’ll agree to whatever you allege. I won’t quarrel over it.”

“You’ll be shunned by decent people everywhere. You’ll be a pariah.”

“I already was a pariah—when I was living with you. Things are better for me this way. I’m happy.”

“Harlot,” he spat, his brothers blanching at the horrid epithet.

James lurched forward, as if he’d stomp over and pummel Albert, but Helen laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“I won’t have you fighting over me,” she murmured. “He’s angry, and he has every right to be.”