Western Christmas Brides. Carol Arens
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name?”
“Olsen. One of them changed it from an O-l-s-e-n to O-l-s-o-n, according to my father. According to Eric’s father it was the opposite way. From o to e, not e to o.” She wasn’t sure why she’d told him all that. Maybe because in a somewhat different way, she knew how he felt. Not being loved by someone you wanted to love you. “The feud was reignited when I was a baby. By then both families owned logging companies. Eric’s grandfather and my grandfather both tried to claim an island in the middle of the lake, wanting to harvest the lumber off it.”
“Who won?” Teddy asked as they turned the corner and started walking toward Brett’s blacksmith shop and seed company.
“Neither. A fire burned all the trees to the ground. Both sides claimed the other one started the fire.”
“What does your grandfather say?”
“He died in the fire. So did Eric’s grandfather. They were the only two on the island.”
After a few steps, he asked, “I thought your grandfather taught you how to draw and etch wood.”
“He did. But Pappy is my mother’s father. John and Glenda Gunderson.” Saying her grandparents’ names added to her melancholy. She missed them terribly. “I stayed winters with them from the time I was a baby. I’m the youngest. My sisters and mother went to the logging camp to cook for the men. When I got old enough to go to the camp, too, Gram asked if I could stay with her and Pappy instead because they were getting older and could use my help. I have plenty of sisters—seven, actually—so my mother agreed I could stay behind, and my father... Well, he was glad to not have me around. I angered him. Because I was supposed to be a boy.” The baby inside her shifted and she placed her hand upon her stomach as a familiar and special feeling eased some of her sorrow.
“Surely that didn’t really matter to him.”
“Yes, it did. The other Olsons had sons to carry on the family name.” Tired of the hurt that encompassed her when thinking about her father, she changed the subject. “Pappy didn’t mind that I was a girl and he was proud of my etchings. He’s a carpenter. Makes furniture as fine as Jackson Miller here in town. But Pappy’s pieces are all uniquely carved. Pinecones and oak leaves, birds, fish and many other personal designs. They are truly wonderful.” The memory of one particular piece made her sigh. “When I was a baby, he made a cradle for me to sleep in while I was at their house, and always said that my children would sleep in it, too. It’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure it is.” They walked in silence for a few more steps before he said, “Did things get better between your families once you and Eric—”
“No,” she answered before he could finish. She didn’t want to lie to him, but wasn’t ready to reveal she and Eric had never been married. “One of his brothers saw Eric talking to me at the lumberyard one day. Both of our families sold logs to Brett’s family’s sawmill. His father made sure my father heard about it, and we were forbidden to see each other.”
“But you didn’t stop.”
“No,” she replied, “we didn’t.” Her throat was suddenly on fire, and swallowing only made it worse, but she continued, “Eric died because he loved me. He may have drowned while floating logs across the lake, but he wouldn’t have been given that job if his father hadn’t been mad at him because of me.”
* * *
Teddy wanted to tell her that couldn’t be true, that she couldn’t blame herself for Eric’s death like that, but tears weren’t the only thing in her eyes. There was so much grief, so much sorrow, it stole his breath. They’d crossed the field and now stood near Brett’s house. Still holding one of her elbows, he grasped her other arm, to pull her close to offer comfort, but she shook her head.
“His father told me so. Told me I was the reason his son died. Eric was a faller. He loved cutting down trees.” She blinked back several tears while pinching her lips together. “But he hated the water. Was afraid of it. Everyone knew that. Especially his father, but he’d made Eric float the logs across the river as a punishment for loving me.”
The desire to pull her close grew at every tear that fell from her eyes. “Hannah—”
“I don’t want my baby to ever know that kind of hatred. That’s why I left Wisconsin.” She twisted against his hold until he released both arms. “And that’s why you aren’t on my list.” Covering her mouth with one hand, she hurried toward the steps.
Teddy watched her enter the house as new and unusual emotions flooded him. It was a moment before everything connected in his head. He wasn’t on her list because of the way Abigail treated her. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the tiniest desire to defend his sister. Instead, he wanted to protect Hannah. Protect her from all the people who had ever hurt her, and from any of those who might ever do so in the future.
He now fully understood why Brett’s mother had sent her to Oak Grove when she had. Under the ruse of becoming Brett’s wife. And he understood why Brett had been so protective over her since the day she’d arrived. Hannah had been hurt badly. Compared to flesh wounds, inner ones took longer to heal. Some never healed. His grandfather had explained that to him in a way he’d never forget.
Around the age of ten or so, after a fight with Abigail, who was five years younger than him, where he’d said some mean things to her, his grandfather had taken him into the print shop and pulled a sheet of paper off the same press Teddy still used to print the Gazette.
A person’s heart is like this paper, Grandpa had said. It’s as fragile as it is strong. When someone’s heart gets hurt, for whatever reason, it crimples a bit, and though we can smooth the crinkles out, the paper will never be the same. If it’s run through the press, ink will gather in the fine creases, remnants of the crinkles, and the print will be smudged. A man should take care to never say or do something that will crimple someone’s heart.
He’d never forgotten that lesson. It had gotten him through the ordeal with Becky. Although his heart had been crimpled, he hadn’t wanted hers to be, so he had generously wished her well in her marriage to Rex Arnold.
His mind had momentarily gone to Becky, but his gaze was still on the house. Hannah’s heart had been crimpled for as long as she could remember.
The sound of his name had him turning about.
“Did you like the performance, Teddy?” Rhett asked as the two boys slid to a stop beside him.
“Yes, I did,” he answered, ruffling the boy’s mop of brown hair, which earlier had been combed smooth, but was no longer. “It was the finest recital I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s what Brett said, too,” Wyatt answered, beaming. “And now we get to eat some of Hannah’s pie!”
Teddy had been looking forward to that pie as much as the boys—they’d talked about the dessert even while eating the turkey and fixings. He no longer felt like eating pie. Might never feel like eating again.
“Aren’t you joining us for dessert?” Fiona asked as she and Brett arrived, holding hands.
“No,” Teddy replied. “I have to go to the hotel, but thank you, Fiona. That was the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had.”
Brett laid a hand on his shoulder as he said to Fiona, “I’ll be in shortly.”
Fiona eyed them both curiously, but hurried inside.
“What happened?” Brett asked. “Where’s Hannah?”
“Inside,” Teddy answered. “She told me about her and Eric’s family. About the feud. How they hated each other.”
Brett huffed out a sigh. “Her father and Eric’s are cruel men. From what my mother said in her letters, it’s gotten worse over the years, and it would be best if Hannah never saw either of them ever again.”
“How can grown men...” Teddy shook his head, knowing