His Forgotten Fiancée

Dallying over her hair was only putting off the need to go in and talk to Matthew. She straightened up and put her shoulders back. She had walked the length of the Oregon Trail. She was not going to fail at the end.

Despite her resolution, it took an effort to knock on the door to the back room. When there was no response, she opened the door tentatively. No sound came from the blanket-covered mound on the bed. She pushed the door open wider.

She laid down his folded clothes at the foot of the bed, putting on top of the pile the comb and the newfangled harmonica that she’d found in his pockets. That was all he had had on him, no money or identification.

He didn’t move, so she took a couple steps closer. She studied him as if seeing him for the first time. He’d always been thin, but now he was downright skinny. His cheekbones stood out prominently, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Under the quilt, his legs twitched as if he were about to run. He looked so like a boy, with that strand of dark hair across his forehead. A troubled boy. Whatever he’d been doing, he’d not had an easy time of it.

Unexpectedly, tenderness welled up inside her. She smoothed the hair away from his face. Very lightly, she trailed her fingertips across his warm skin. She smiled.

His eyes flew open. Dark eyes, fierce as a hawk, stared straight into hers. Then he moved swiftly.

She found herself flat on her back on the floor, with those fierce eyes intent upon her and his hand at her throat.

* * *

He was back at Dutch Flat. Vince was still alive, making silly jokes, walking backward down the alley and smiling at him without a care in the world. Without seeing the three men coming up behind him.

He struggled to call out, to warn Vince to look behind him, but as in the way of dreams sometimes, he could make no sound. There was nothing he could do to stop it. It was all going to happen again, just like it had before. He was too late.

A hand touched his face. Lost in his dream, he reacted instinctively.

Then he blinked, focused. He was looking straight down into the clear gray eyes of a young woman, a few inches away. She was a delicate little thing, skin like porcelain, wisps of golden hair framing her face.

“Good morning,” she said breathlessly. Even though he still had his hand on her throat, she was looking up at him as if she trusted him not to hurt her. He didn’t like it that she was looking at him like that. He removed his hand, but he did not know what to do next.

He was completely lost, no firm ground to stand on. He did not know where he was. He realized that he did not know who he was. He frowned down at the young woman. “Do I know you?”

For a moment, he thought he saw an expression of pain in her eyes. Then she blinked, and it was gone. “Well, you used to. Could you let me up, please?”

He suddenly realized that their respective positions were not exactly proper. He sat up, backing away from her until he reached the wall, and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers found the bandage, and his frown deepened. His head throbbed. So. He had been injured. Someone had bandaged him and put him to bed. He looked at the woman. “Who are you?”

She sat up, brushing herself off. She tried to smile, but it looked stiff, awkward. She stopped. “Good morning,” she started again. “I am Liza Fitzpatrick.” She looked at him, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction.

“You will pardon me if I do not introduce myself.” It was irritating to have to admit his ignorance. Gingerly, he got his feet under him and stood, extending a hand to help her up. “Are you hurt? Please accept my apologies, madam. I do not make a habit of accosting strange women first thing in the morning.”

“Do you usually wait until the afternoon before you accost women?” She evidently regretted the flippant impulse as soon as she saw him turning red. In more contrite tones, she added, “I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry I startled you. Shall we sit?” She dragged a barrel chair over to the bedside. He looked around for another chair. When he saw there was none, he sat on the very edge of the bed, muscles tensed.

Tentatively, she began, “You must be as uncomfortable as I am.”

If that’s the case, then you must be uncomfortable indeed. Not that it showed. The young woman—Liza—spread the skirt of her blue dress out as she sat, then she folded her hands in her lap. With her light blond hair framing her lovely face, she looked like the picture of a modest young lady, poised and neat. He felt unsure of everything about himself, and he hated it. Then he noticed that the tip of her shoe just showed at the edge of her skirt. She was tapping her foot, where she thought he could not see. The discovery made him feel a bit better. He wasn’t the only one who was unsettled by this conversation.

“Your name is Matthew Dean.”

Not even a twinge of familiarity at the name. “You have the advantage of me. How is it you know my name and I do not?”

“I know you. Or at least,” she amended, “I used to. You came to see me last night. You were ill and fainted.”

He wrinkled his brow. “I think I remember...something about that. It’s rather vague. I hope I was polite.”

“What do you remember?”

He started to shake his head, then stopped, his fingers going to the bandage at his forehead again. “Nothing. Nothing that makes sense, at any rate. It was dark. Men jumped me. I think... I think there might have been a woman there as well, but that hardly seems likely.”

“What else?”

“There is nothing else!” He stopped. “I beg your pardon. This is extremely frustrating. It’s as if—it’s as if part of my mind is a locked room and I’m on the outside trying to break down the door. I don’t know the first thing about myself.”

“Well,” Liza said, “I can help with that, at any rate. Yes, you do know me. You come from Illinois. We traveled out west in the same wagon train, and we used to walk together. We started to talk and became friends. Then we became more than friends. You asked me to marry you. Then you left me to go to California to look for gold.”

A dry recital of words, sticking to the bare facts. He struggled to take it all in. “I recall none of those actions, madam.”

Without any memories, he felt like half a man. He was engaged to this woman? It was hard to imagine. She was so close to him that if he reached out his hand he could touch that lovely face, run his fingertip down the curve of her cheek. His fingers longed to do just that. It was as if he knew her on some level that ran deeper than rational thought. But his mind kept listing objections as if he were arguing a case in court. “You mean I just showed up in your doorway last night after not seeing you for months? It seems wildly coincidental.”

“Not if you were coming to see me.” The tapping foot accelerated its tempo. “Honestly, you are acting like I am offering you a nice, fresh rattlesnake for breakfast. I am not making this up.”

He didn’t know what to think. Nothing felt real; he could find no solid ground underfoot. He was blundering about, a man out of his depth trying to find his way. He had no way of knowing if she was telling the truth. Some part of him kept insisting that beautiful women were not trustworthy. At the same time, an instinct deeper than all reason urged him to trust this one.

He spread out his hands in a gesture of apology. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I do not mean to offend you. It’s just—I can’t begin to explain how unsettling it is not to remember such basic facts about oneself. Proposing marriage to a woman is the sort of thing that should stick in a man’s memory.” His smile was hesitant, but it seemed to put her at ease. The toe tapping stopped. She smiled back at him—not a polite, social smile but with the full force of her relief.

Matthew’s smile faded. For a moment, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms. He had to stop himself from reaching out to her. This was hardly the sort of thought he should be entertaining in this situation. “Well.” He cleared his throat, turned aside, pulled the folded clothes onto his lap. “I should get properly dressed.”

She blushed and stood up. “I’ll see to breakfast.”

“Thank you.” He could feel his own face heating up under the beard.

* * *

In the front room, Liza folded up the quilts and started setting the table for breakfast. She could cope so long as she had something to do.

She was aware of every sound of movement she heard from the next room. Her nerves were stretched taut, like fiddle strings keyed up for a concert.

As she was sweeping the floor, she saw a mouse scurry past, keeping close to the wall. She reacted instantly, whacking the broom down fiercely. She missed and whacked again. Peered down at the crack between the wall and the cupboard. “Where are you? You better get out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

“I think you made your feelings clear,” came the dry voice from behind her. “He’s probably halfway to St. Joe by now.”

Matthew appeared in the doorway, dressed in his own clothes. He stood in the same position that he’d been in when he had walked through the front door last night, but one quick glance showed that he looked much better now. There was a healthy flush in his cheeks. He’d even introduced his hair to a comb, though it didn’t look like they’d had much of a conversation. It was oddly endearing.

“The whole of the Oregon Territory is plagued with these varmints.” She put the broom back in its place with a determined thump.

“It’s still a large reaction for such a small nuisance.”

She busied herself with putting food on the table. It was hard to meet his gaze directly. She needed to put some distance between the two of them, to come to terms with the reality of Matthew being back in her life. It was a relief to seize upon a neutral topic. “I can’t abide mice. Over the winter, vermin like that got into my father’s grain stores, ruined near half of it. I have no plans to buy wheat this winter.” No funds to do so, either, but there was no reason to mention this. Matthew nodded, and somehow she had the feeling that he understood what she hadn’t said out loud. She gestured at the table. “Sit. I’ve made biscuits, and there’s some smoked salmon. Granny Whitlow said she would stop at Doc Graham’s place, so the doc should be comin’ by soon to make sure you’re all right.”

He did not sit down. Instead, his hands curled around the back of the chair and gripped. “I don’t have any money.”

“I have coin. I can pay him.” See? You need my help. You need me, even if it’s only for a little while.

“You’ve already given me a bed to sleep in. Now food and medical attention. And I’ve got no way to pay you back. I don’t like accepting charity.”

That stopped her. She set the crock of butter down with a thump and turned to face him, one hand on her hip. “One thing you’re going to notice about life in this territory—people help each other. Especially when you’ve just arrived. The settlers who were already established helped my father when he came here, and they helped me, too, when I arrived. And now I’m helping you. We can talk about payment for the doctor later, if we must, but right now what you are going to do is eat.” She pointed at the chair.

His eyebrows rose, but all he said was, “Yes, ma’am.” He took his seat and unfolded the napkin she had provided. “It smells wonderful.” He spread butter on one biscuit and added a spoonful of honey. Liza took one as well, but she only toyed with it, crumbling the edge. She had no interest in food. Though she kept her head down, focusing on her mug of tea, her attention was concentrated on the man sitting opposite.

He was trying to remember his table manners, clearly, but it was equally clear that it had been some time since he had eaten. He wolfed down the salmon and biscuits and eagerly accepted more. Finally, he put down his fork. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. That was absolutely marvelous. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” At least he appreciated her cooking, even if he appreciated nothing else about her.

He hesitated. “I have to say something, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I’ve already thrown you to the floor and offended your notions of kindness. But it needs to be said. Even after that wonderful meal, and the tea.”

“Granny Whitlow made the tea before she left. She insisted on staying the night, to keep people from gossiping.” She wasn’t sure why she offered that, except that she was fairly sure she did not want to hear whatever unpleasant topic he was going to bring up.

It worked to divert him. “Wait—you mean you were staying here all by yourself? How trusting are you? You need to be more careful in the future. Whatever happened to me last night, it seems clear there are dangerous people about. And for all you know, I could have been some kind of...unscrupulous man.”

“You are the farthest thing from unscrupulous.”

“I might have changed from the man you remember.”

“People don’t change,” she said. “Not in essentials.”

“Far too trusting. I am amazed that you’ve made it this far without being hurt. Staying all alone in a place. Smiling at a man. The world is not always a kind and safe place.”

She was not going to budge him from his opinion of himself, that was plain. She got to her feet. “The McKays should be back today. I’ll tidy up, and we’ll be ready to go if the doc thinks you’ll be up for it.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Back to the claim.” She had been reaching for his plate, but she stopped, straightening to look at him. “You can’t stay here with the McKays. There’s no room, with the children and all. You can stay on our claim while you rest up and figure out what to do next.”

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I need to make something clear.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and sat down. “That sounds very serious.”

“I do not want to be in any way unkind, but I want you to understand my position. I appreciate you helping me out last night and giving me a place to sleep and a chance to get cleaned up. I am in your debt. But that doesn’t mean I feel obliged to marry you.”

The words fell like stones into the quiet room. He stretched his hands out across the table toward her in a plea for understanding. “To me, the man who asked you to marry him and the man who is right here in front of you are two different people. I am a stranger even to myself. I’m in no position to get married.”

Her chin came up. “If you want to break off our engagement, that is your right.”

“I cannot renege on an agreement I don’t remember making.”

“I suppose I can understand that.”

Liza went back to clearing the table. She needed to do something with her hands. He was rejecting her all over again. And he sounded so reasonable about it, so calm. As if he had never really cared that much for her in the first place. The love that had once blazed between them stronger than anything she had known...not even an ember still flickered beneath the ashes.

Maybe he felt this way as a result of his injuries, but it still hurt.

A wall. She pictured building a wall, brick by brick, around her heart as a barricade. She just needed his help on the claim. No emotional entanglements. Strictly business.

“I—my father and I—need help to get the harvest in. If you would do that, then you could pay off your debt, as you call it. I don’t think you owe me anything, but you’d be doing me a great favor if you did.”

“I will consider it,” he said slowly. “I am in your debt, without question. So long as you do not consider us engaged to marry.”

There was that flick of pain again, like a little knife stabbing at her heart. “As if the man I promised to marry were a different person from yourself.” No matter how much it hurt, she would not be weak. She would use the pain to build another layer in the wall around her heart.

“From my perspective, he is.”

Add another layer of bricks. “Except I told Granny Whitlow that you were my fiancé.”

“I’ll deal with the rest of the world later. Let’s get things straight between the two of us first.”

She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask, either.

Doc Graham arrived a little while later, his half-moon spectacles perched as usual at the tip of his nose, and his round face shining with perspiration, as if he’d been hurrying. Clearly, he had been primed with the latest gossip. His little blue eyes gleamed with curiosity as he escorted Matthew to the back room.

When the doctor came back out some minutes later, he smiled at Liza. “Don’t look so worried. His injuries are quite superficial, apart from the cut on his head, and that should heal soon enough. Injuries can cause temporary amnesia—inability to remember. It’s not that uncommon.”

Matthew had followed him out of the back room, shrugging on his coat. “Will my memories come back?”

“The mind’s a tricky thing. Memory could come back in dribs and drabs, or all at once. Given a bit of time, the injury should heal.” He clapped Matthew on the shoulder cheerfully.

Matthew hunched his shoulders. “So, I could do manual labor?”

“Thinking of getting a job at the lumber mills in Portland, are you, until your memory comes back? I don’t see any reason why not. Far as I can see, the fainting last night was caused by lack of food—for several days, judging by the state of you. Before this morning, when was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t remember,” Matthew said wryly.

“Ah. Yes. Of course. Well, regular meals, light work for the next day or so. You should be fine.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Liza doled out some coins from her purse. She fought not to let her disappointment show. She had hoped the doctor could have given Matthew more help with regaining his memory. After she shut the door behind the doctor, she turned to face Matthew. “Have you made up your mind?”

“Yes.” He looked grimly determined. “I will make a deal with you. You give me a place to stay while I try to get my memories back. Maybe you can help me to jolt my memory. In return, I’ll work to get in your harvest. Do we have a bargain?”

He extended a hand. When she took it, he shook her hand with the brief, firm grip of a man sealing a business deal.

Time was, he would have kissed my hand.

“I accept,” Liza said.

Chapter Two

The McKays were due to return to the dry goods store sometime around noon, but half the town decided to show up earlier. Or so it seemed to Matthew as, one after another, he met the townsfolk. Doc Graham was better than a telegraph operator for spreading news. Matthew’s head ached trying to keep track of them all...

And if one more person made a remark about his engagement with Liza, he was going to lose all patience.

The dry goods store was far too small with this crowd pressing in on him. In reality, there were only a handful of well-intentioned townsfolk. But it felt like a crowd. Under normal circumstances, he would not have felt hemmed in, not had to fight down panic. It was the fundamental uncertainty of his life that made him feel so trapped. And these people kept asking him question after question.

He still had that feeling of having fallen into deep water; he was in over his head and floundering. He desperately needed to find some solid ground to stand on. With no money and no memory, staying on the claim with Liza and her pa to help with the harvest was the only option that he could see. But these people were expecting more from him. They were going to be disappointed.

Pretty as Liza was, he couldn’t imagine going through with an engagement in his current situation. He had no idea what had happened to him in the past year, since he and Liza had parted, and so he was in no position to make any long-term promises. For all he knew, he could already have a wife.

He was not the man she had fallen in love with. He’d accept her help as a business arrangement, so long as she understood that that was as far as their relationship went. They would help each other to achieve their goals. Nothing romantic in the least. He needed to make this clear from the start, so that everyone knew where matters stood.

A couple of women came up to him. He stood, offering his chair to the older of the two, Granny Whitlow. He wasn’t sure whom she was grandmother to; it seemed more a title of respect rather than an indication of a familial relationship. The other woman introduced herself as Mrs. Graham, the doctor’s wife. They had both been living in town for some years, apparently, so perhaps they could tell him things about Liza. What was she like, this woman who had attempted to claim him? If he had to live with her and her pa, it would help if he had some of idea of who she was, what kind of woman he was dealing with.

“Is it usual here for a woman to run a store all by herself?” He nodded toward Liza, who stood behind the counter helping a couple of children choose between the different sticks of candy.

“If that’s the job that needs doing,” Granny said. “Not too many women keep a store open as late as she did last night, though. Our Liza is the independent sort, likes to do things for herself—but of course you’d know all about that.”

“Um...yes. Quite.”

Granny gave him an odd look. “You two are supposed to be getting married, was my understanding. Seems to me you don’t know much about the woman you’re planning to spend your life with.”

“On that subject—” Matthew began.

Mrs. Graham, the doctor’s wife, intervened. “He’s had a little problem with his memory, I understand.” She smiled up at Matthew, her weathered face creased in kindly wrinkles. “Liza’s been doing a fine job up here, helping her father on the claim and pitching in when other folk need things done, like minding the store for the McKays.”

“Which she probably shouldn’t be doing, not by herself.” He wished he could remember something, anything, about the men who had jumped him the night before. It unnerved him, to think what might have happened if those men had followed him into the store.

A younger woman, wearing a purple bonnet with feathers sticking out in all directions, came up to him. “I just heard you came all this way just to see Liza. You traveled up from California all by yourself?”

“Apparently,” Matthew said.

“Now, Mavis Boone,” Granny reproved her. “You keep batting your lashes at the man, he’s going to think you’re setting your cap for him. He’s promised, mind.”

Mavis blushed scarlet. “I was doing nothing of the sort,” she said with some spirit. “I know full well he and Liza are getting married. She told me the story months ago. It just never seemed quite real. It always sounded more like a fairy tale, meeting a tall, handsome stranger on the trail.” She shook her head. The foolish feathers on her bonnet bobbed up and down and in all directions. “And I hear that you’re going to help Liza on the claim, too.”

“Did Liza tell you that, too?” Granny asked her.

“No. Well, not exactly. She told Becky Weingard, and she told Hannah Shute, who mentioned it to Mrs. Taylor, who told me.”

He wasn’t even going to try to work that out. In a way, letting people continue to think he was engaged to Liza might protect him from flirtatious women. But it seemed this young woman was more interested in gossip. She wanted to know every detail of his life in California. He parried or evaded questions as best he could, but eventually he had to confess that there were gaps in his memory. That led to his recounting what he could remember about the men who had jumped him last night.

He hated having the story dragged out in the open. That was putting it mildly. Losing his memory made him feel like a helpless fool. Until his memories came back, he might as well be a prisoner or an invalid, a man with very little control over his life. Well, he had a say in his love life, at least. And he would not make any romantic commitments until he could remember his past.

* * *

All morning, Liza had kept an eye on Matthew as she dealt with customers. There were more people in the store than usual today. Many of them, having made their purchases, stopped by the rocking chairs near the fireplace to speak to Matthew. Several of the townspeople had already taken the opportunity to play a game or two of chess with him. As far as she could tell, he won all of his battles easily. She almost wished that he would lose occasionally; it would give him something to think about besides his troubles.