When she heard the soft tap-tap on her door, signaling her mum was about to enter, she flipped over to her other side, so she wouldn’t have to face her. “I’m fine,” she croaked out in a defiant voice. When her mum stroked a hand down her back, Maggie shivered. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “You’ll make me cry.”
“Aye,” Mary murmured. “’Tis better to cry an’ wail an’ rave against fate than to cling to the anger, as I know you’re trying to do.” She continued to whisper soft, soothing sounds, as Maggie remained defiantly turned away from her. “Come, love.”
Around a gasp, Maggie stuttered out, “I won’t forgive him. I won’t.”
“Shh, love,” Mary said, as she kissed the back of her daughter’s head. “You will.”
Maggie rolled over, knocking into her mother with her hip and knees, as she struggled against her long skirts. She leaned on her arm, her elbow bent, as she stared at her mother through her tears. “Why don’t you believe me? He forced away my love.” Her voice broke.
Mary brushed her hand over Maggie’s head, urging her to lay back down, as she sobbed once more. “Nay, love. He wanted you to wait a year before you acted on your love. He never meant for Dunmore to push you away as he did.” She leaned over, kissing Maggie’s forehead. “’Twas a terrible stagecoach accident, and you can’t blame your da for it.”
“I wish I’d never met him,” Maggie said in a dull voice. “I wish we’d left the day after we were freed from Jacques, and I never had to know him.”
“Maggie,” Seamus rasped from her doorway, ashen and gaping at her, while gripping the doorjamb as though gut shot. “Please, my wee love.”
Maggie stared at him with a dull, pain-laden gaze. Tears continued to leak out and to soak her pillow, but she didn’t retract her words. She didn’t respond to his sorrow.
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Seamus vowed, his blue eyes shining with misery.
“How?” Maggie asked, her voice stuttering around her sobs. “Dunmore’s missing.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Many believe he’s dead. Can you commune with the spirits and bring him back?” She glared at her father, her gaze filled with an impotent rage. “You have no more power over this than I do. Your shame is that you caused this. You hurt me.”
Seamus entered the room, stilling when Maggie backed away to the farthest part of her bed to avoid being anywhere near him. “Maggie, darlin’,” he entreated. “Please.”
“Get out,” Maggie whispered, curling into herself. “I want nothing to do with you, until I hold Dunmore in my arms again.”
She waited until she heard the door shut, before she let loose a sob. Only then did she examine her words, realizing she’d never stipulated that she wanted to hold a Dunmore who was alive in her arms. She shivered at the thought of weeping over his corpse.
* * *
Maggie stood, staring into the stream two days later. She wore the darkest dress she had, a deep indigo, wishing she were shrouded in black. However, this would have to suffice, as she attempted to find a way to display to the world the depths of her mourning. She had no more tears to cry, and she had no desire to share her immeasurable grief with the avid gossips of the town.
She had believed that standing by the stream would bring her a measure of peace, as it always had in the past. However, comfort and serenity remained ever elusive, as she battled her fear that Dunmore was lost to her forever. That all she had dreamed about would forever be nothing more than a dream. That she would never know what it meant to be loved by a man like Dunmore. She closed her eyes, remembering Dunmore’s intense gaze, as he looked at her as though she were precious. She yearned to feel his strong arms around her again. To feel cherished and safe again, merely because he was in the same room as her.
Her anger at her father burned bright, and she clung to her ire as a way to battle her sorrow. For she knew, if she loosened her hold on her rage, she would enter a morass of despair that she might never emerge from. The distance between her and her father grew every day, and she rebuffed each of his attempts to span the growing chasm. Maggie stiffened as she heard footsteps approach, and she hoped it wasn’t her father attempting yet another overture of reconciliation that would prove unsuccessful.
“I thought I might find you here,” Nora called out, as she approached. She wore a saffron-colored dress that enhanced her subtle beauty. Her brown eyes seemed to glow—either from the golden reflection from the dress or from mischief that Maggie had no interest in.
“Leave me be,” Maggie whispered. “I have nothing to offer anyone right now.”
Nora stared at her and gave a grunt of displeasure. “I would have to agree with you. You’ve allowed yourself to be defeated, Maggie, and I’m disappointed in you.”
Maggie twirled to face her, a hint of her previously passionate nature returning, as she glared at the woman. “How dare you say such a thing to me! I’m not the one who forced him away.”
Nora waited patiently, until Maggie’s outburst faded, and she stood in front of the Bordello owner, quivering. “No, you didn’t. Although you were the cause of the accident. Never forget that.”
“What?” Maggie asked, as her hands covered her chest, attempting to ward off a lethal wound.
“Dunmore only traveled that road for you. He had no reason to take on such an insignificant trip, when his main route is always to the larger towns.”
Maggie collapsed to her knees, the tall grass shoulder height all around her. “You’re saying this is my fault.”
Nora muttered about marring her good skirts, before she knelt
