“How?” Seamus asked, glowering at his friend.
Shrugging, A.J. shook his head. “Seems someone was willin’ to let ’em go. Or pay for ’em to be released. I don’t know.” He waited until he sensed conversation had picked up around him again, before resuming his chat with Seamus. “I’ll find ’em in Saint Louis.” He shared a severe look with Seamus. “They won’t go unpunished.”
“Good,” Seamus said.
A.J. gobbled down a few mouthfuls of the delicious stew, before turning to speak to Maggie. “I’ll sure miss seein’ you recapture your bloom, missy,” he said, with a smile, as she fidgeted beside him. “Ain’t no reason to doubt you’ll come out of your doldrums.”
“Doldrums?” Maggie said, with a raised eyebrow, as a smile flirted with her lips. “Is that what I’m suffering?”
Shrugging, A.J. tore a piece of bread in half, before buttering part of one. “Well, missy, you sure ain’t yourself. And it seems like more than a funk.” He winked at her. “I had a friend once. Suffered from melancholy. Used to drive him to distraction, coming up with words to describe his mood. His two favorites were doldrums and funk.” He shrugged again, although the levity had disappeared from his gaze, as he spoke of his friend.
“I bet you lifted his spirits,” Maggie murmured, her gaze now subtly glowing with teasing, as she stared at A.J., a hint of the old Maggie waiting to burst forth again.
“For a time,” A.J. said in a soft voice. “Until he lost his way.” He speared Maggie with a fierce look. “Don’t you lose yours, Miss Maggie. I want to return to Fort Benton or to receive letters from your pa, telling me that you’re well. Married. Happy.” His expression filled with momentary dread at the thought of anything happening to her. “I don’t want no bad tidings about you.”
Maggie reached for his hand, stilling his fingers’ nervous tapping on the tabletop. “I have no desire to harm myself, A.J.,” she whispered, flushing. “I can’t believe you’d think me capable of … of such a thing.”
“Anyone is capable of anything, given the right mood,” he said. “Don’t be afraid of livin’, missy. Don’t be afraid of turnin’ to your young man and demandin’ he hold you tight, as you banish that evil man’s hold over you.”
Sighing, Maggie swiped at crumbs, her gaze downcast. “He won’t want me, A.J. I’m not the woman he needs. Or should be burdened with.”
“What’s this nonsense?” A.J. hissed.
She knew he was truly riled because he never misspoke once. She had learned that he misspoke when he was in a teasing or festive mood. When he was deadly serious, as he had been since he’d entered the house this evening, he rarely abused any words. “Your man is devoted to you. Don’t act like a brainless ninny, too afraid of her own shadow to have faith in anyone.”
“You don’t understand,” Maggie whispered, letting out a shaky breath.
“You think I don’t understand fear? That I don’t understand bein’ denied my heart’s desire? That I don’t understand the agony it causes to hold my love in my arms as her heart breaks because we can’t have children?” He shook his head. “I do. And I’d go through each heartache again and again, if it meant I had more time with my Bessie. If it helped ease one drop of her pain.” He stared at Maggie with patent disappointment. “Don’t deny him what he’s earned, missy.”
She gazed at him in confusion.
“He refused to die, so he could come back to you. He lived through the fever, the pain, and the torment of knowin’ he’ll always have an impediment, so that he would have time with you.” He paused as he stared at Maggie. “Do you think that limp don’t bother a man as proud as Dunmore?”
“I wouldn’t care if he’d lost his leg. All that matters is he’s alive,” Maggie whispered.
A.J. gave a huff. “Then why won’t you believe he could love you the same, missy?”
Maggie stared at A.J., with dawning understanding, and nodded. “I’ll miss you, Mr. A.J. Come back to us next year, if you can.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’ll see what my Bessie thinks. Perhaps she’ll come with me.” He turned as his name was called, entering into a challenge over who could tell the tallest tale with wee Bryan. The mood lightened, and the O’Rourkes cherished their last evening with the captain, before he returned to Saint Louis.
* * *
Dunmore poked his head into the kitchen two days later, a few hours before supper. “Maggie, beloved, come walk with me to the stream.” He smiled at Mary, who gave him an encouraging look, although he noted the concern in her gaze.
“I’m busy, Dunmore,” Maggie said, as she continued to chop a carrot. Her knife sliced up and down in an erratic manner—to the point it looked as though she could easily miss and chop herself rather than the vegetable.
He frowned and edged inside. “Mary, does Maggie have time?”
Mary looked from her daughter to Dunmore and back before she nodded. “Aye. If she desires it.”
With an aggrieved sigh, Maggie slammed down her knife and whipped off her apron. “Fine. I’ll walk with you, although I don’t know what good it will do you.” She marched past a perplexed Dunmore, the door nearly slamming in his face, as he raced to catch up with her.
“Maggie?” he called out, as he came abreast to her. “What’s the matter?”
“I hate being maneuvered into doing something I don’t want to do,” she snapped, her head lowered and her stride as long as possible, as she moved with haste to the creek. He matched her fast pace, although with each step his limp was more pronounced.
When they arrived a few short minutes
