stole a quick look at him, then studied her hands. “So you see, Adam will never know a father’s love.” Her words sounded weak even to herself, but she couldn’t explain she meant more than remarriage. Poor little Adam would never know love from Peter, who had outright rejected both of them. He’d never known it from Bertie. Wouldn’t even know it from Bertie’s father, whom everyone assumed was Adam’s grandfather.
Johnny began to speak, so softly she had to lean closer to hear him. “That’s your grief talking. I saw the same thing with Thad. He couldn’t imagine life could go on. Couldn’t believe in dreams. Couldn’t make plans. But in time, grief loses its grip and it becomes possible to live again. To laugh. To plan.” Johnny turned to her. “Even to marry again.”
He held her with his powerful gaze. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think. Words came to her mouth that she dare not speak, and yet they pushed at her lips as if they must be spoken. She pressed her collarbone as pain stabbed at her chest. She dare not confess the truth about Adam. For his sake she must never speak of it. With a great deal of effort she jerked away from Johnny’s gaze.
If she ever married again it would not be for love. Love could not exist with secrets, and Adam’s parentage must remain a secret.
“Remarriage is not for me and it has nothing to do with grief.” Little did Johnny know that she did not grieve Bertie’s death except for one fact. It had caused her sisters to lose their home, but only because Mr. Reames was so uncharitable and untrue to his word. He’d led her to believe the girls would be safe if she married Bertie, which she had done. His death was in no way her responsibility. She’d done her best to persuade him not to drink. He’d simply laughed in her face and told her she couldn’t make him do anything. Sadly, it was true.
Johnny continued to watch her. Knowing he would say more on the matter, perhaps point out the benefits of a marriage, she decided it was time to turn the conversation to his personal life. “You’re a fine-looking man. I expect there are lots of young ladies eager for your attention. Anyone in particular?”
He cranked his head to look straight ahead.
Seemed she had touched a sore spot.
“No one in particular. Like you, I’m not interested in marriage.”
She gave a disbelieving snort. “Except I’ve already tried it. Have you?”
“Thankfully, I escaped just in time.”
“Really?” She tried and failed to imagine what might have gone wrong. Not only was Johnny fine-looking, she’d seen all kinds of other qualities a young lady might admire—his gentle nature, his kindness, the way he treated Adam.
Perhaps the young lady had died. But... “You said you ‘escaped.’ Isn’t that an odd word choice?”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug that she guessed was meant to inform her he didn’t care.
Now her curiosity kicked in. That one little word—escaped—informed her that whatever had happened, it had been hurtful. For some reason, Willow wanted to comfort him.
Finally he replied, “It’s not odd if it fits.”
“I see.” Except she didn’t. “Or at least I would if you care to explain it.”
“It’s not like it’s a secret. Everybody in the whole county knows what happened.”
Again, she felt a world of pain behind his words. But she said nothing. She had no right.
“I was about to be married.” He spoke softly as if lost in his memories, his attention straight ahead. “Trudy Dingman was her name. I loved her. Thought she loved me.” He paused for a beat of silence. “I was wrong. She only planned to use me.” In short, brisk statements, as if he meant to relay the story in as few words as possible, he told a tale that could be a mirror of Willow’s own. About a young woman pregnant by a man who disappeared. How she turned to Johnny, pretending to love him in order to have a name for her child. Not that Willow had pretended to love Bertie, though she’d done her best to be kind and obedient until Adam was born, and then she was more concerned with protecting him, especially when Bertie’s drinking spells grew worse.
“Her old beau returned and she dumped me to marry the man who had put her in the family way.” Johnny’s tone might be cold and indifferent, but it did not disguise the depth of his pain at being so callously used.
Willow pressed her palm to his forearm. “I’m sorry. No one deserves to be treated like that.”
He glanced at her hand.
Feeling more than a little embarrassed at touching him and offering him comfort, she withdrew and clasped her fingers together in her lap.
He pulled in a long breath, as if he hadn’t filled his lungs during the entire telling of his story. “I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t trust a woman just because she smiles sweetly at you and speaks the right words.” His jaw muscles bunched. “Without truth and trust in a relationship, a person has nothing.” He stared past her. “Nothing but lies, trickery and deceit. I’ll never trust a woman again.”
His words accused her. She had not been entirely truthful with him. Not that he had any right to expect she should be. They were but fellow travelers in search of her sisters.
“At twenty you’re a little young to be making such broad statements,” she told him. “Besides, didn’t you just say to me that, in time, grief loses its grip and it becomes possible to live again? To laugh? To plan? Even to marry again? Or in your case, to love again?”
The words echoed through her. If only time would change things.
But time could not undo the past.
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