Kris checked the water in the kettle, but set it back on the stove. Tea wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t even like the stuff. “Brandy. It was a cold walk,” he justified. Pouring a healthy amount into a battered tin cup left over from his days on the trail, he settled into one of two overstuffed chairs near the living room hearth to watch the flames.
He had no reason to complain. He had friends, important work, a comfortable house. More than many men who’d come west. If he had no wife to share his life, so be it. Besides, what woman would want to live as he did? There were no luxuries, no silk and satin. Featherbeds were only for those with enough chickens to pluck. No champagne or chocolate or any number of things his sisters considered essential in life. He didn’t mind that he’d never be considered even moderately well-off by his family’s standards, but he couldn’t ask a wife to be satisfied with so little.
Still, if he did look for a woman who would stand with him, she’d have to be a lot like Margaret…Maggie Flanaghan—intelligent, resourceful, strong, courageous, and truly interested in the wellbeing of others. That she was also lovely was an added bonus. It would be a true pleasure to wake each morning to her smile and laughter—
“Stop it!” He pushed to his feet and paced the room. “She’s not for you. When she’s ready, she will move on to Denver, or return back east. Margaret has no reason to remain in River’s Bend. Let that be an end to it.” Tossing back the brandy like it was cheap whiskey, he set the cup on the mantle and banked the fire. It was time to put her out of his mind and get some rest.
****
The first hint of light on the horizon had never been more welcome to Kris than when the next morning finally came. Sleep had eluded him, leaving him lots of hours to wonder what Maggie’s plans might be, and if they could include River’s Bend.
No matter how many times he’d forced his mind to another topic, every subject, from the garden to the Easter Festival to his sermon for Sunday, all circled back to Maggie. Finally, in frustration, he’d left his bed to read the Bible, only to end up prowling through the house instead, watching for dawn.
The moment he could see without a candle, he dressed and shoved his way out of the house. Intent on gathering vegetables and preparing the garden for winter, anything to take his mind off Maggie, he didn’t see her until he nearly plowed over her. Grabbing her shoulders to steady them both, Kris needed only a glance at her face to know why she was here.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
Her head jerked in a nod. “It was so peaceful,” she whispered. “He was sleeping, then he opened his eyes and called my name. I took his hand and…” A soft shudder went through her. “He was gone. He just looked at me and smiled, his eyes closed and he—”
“He went willingly to his Lord, Maggie. He is in no pain, now, though yours is just beginning.”
She stared up at him with green eyes dulled by aching loss. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Confusion must have shown on Kris’s features, for she smiled slightly, a sad curving of her lips. “Thank you for not saying I should be glad that he is no longer hurting, that he’s in a better place, or any of those other things people say when they don’t know what to say and I wish they’d just be quiet.”
Her tone was fierce by the time she finished. “And I’m sorry for saying that.” Her shoulders rose and fell on a deep sigh. “I remember when my mother died, all those people who never helped when she was alive or when she fell ill came to say how sorry they were, how happy I must be that she was out of pain. How could I be happy when my mother had just died?”
Kris wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to endure a good many of those well-intended platitudes in the coming days.”
“At least there won’t be many visitors, since we know no one here in town. I heard the wagon train is moving on this morning. Besides you and the doctor and Rebekah and…” She motioned with her hand as if to clear the words away. “You know what I’m trying to say.”
Shame stabbed at him for not telling her himself. “May I offer you some coffee? Can you stay for a few minutes?”
“I really just came to be alone in the church for a while. Rebekah said it would be all right, but I wanted to tell you.”
“Of course.” He tamped down his disappointment and focused on her. “Stay as long as you like. I have work to do in my garden, anyway.”
“I don’t want to be in your way,” she argued without much conviction.
“You won’t be. Go on. We can talk later if you wish.”
“Thank you, Kris.”
She’d disappeared into the church before he allowed himself to grin. She’d called him by his Christian name again.
****
Later turned out to be that afternoon, when the small group of those Maggie already thought of as friends gathered in Matthew and Martha’s living room. Plans for the service were made, food was promised, and stories were shared. As was usually the case, laughter rang out often, lightening the load of grief she carried. Maggie was grateful, for without these people, she would be totally alone.