Hanna gazed down at her clenched hands. She shook her head.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Hanna said, fighting tears. “I was sick this morning, just like you used to be.”
Inga drew a sharp breath. Then she gathered her daughter into her arms. “My poor girl,” she murmured. “My poor, foolish girl. This will kill your father.”
* * *
It was dark outside when Lars arrived home. Hanna heard the jingle of harness and the creak of the wagon wheels as he drove up. She glanced at her mother. “Do we have to tell him now?” she whispered. “Can’t we at least wait until he’s eaten? Or maybe until Alvar comes home?”
Inga shook her head. “I know him. If we wait, he’ll be even angrier. I’ll go outside and talk to him. That way he won’t be getting the news in front of the children.”
She wrapped herself in her shawl and hurried outside. Hanna waited by the door, listening. She’d told her mother that Mason had fathered her baby, that he’d taken advantage of her, and that she didn’t love him. She hadn’t mentioned the part about sneaking out in the night. But she trusted Alvar not to talk.
With her ear close to the door, she couldn’t make out words, but she could hear her father shouting and her mother trying to calm him. Moments later, the door burst open and Lars strode in. Hanna had expected more shouting, but when he spoke, his voice was flat and cold.
“Get your shawl and a blanket to keep you warm, Hanna. We’re leaving. Now. And you don’t have to ask me where we’re going.”
“It’s getting late, and there’s a storm blowing in,” Hanna pleaded. “Please, Papa, can’t we wait till morning?”
“No. And not another word from you, miss. I don’t even want to hear your voice.”
Fighting tears, Hanna wrapped the shawl around her head and shoulders and bundled up in the thick feather-filled quilt her mother gave her. Britta, Axel, and Gerda watched wide-eyed as she followed her father out to the wagon. It would be Inga’s painful task to explain to her younger children what they’d seen and heard.
Outside, the sky was clear overhead, the air warmer than it had been earlier in the day. But a low cloud bank shadowed the western horizon. A storm front was moving in, pushing the warmth ahead of snow and cold. By slow-moving wagon, the Hollister Ranch, where Hanna assumed they were going, was almost two hours away. And the wagon had no cover.
But she knew that trying to explain this to her father would be a waste of breath. Lars had forbidden her to talk. And even if she were to speak up, he would be too angry to listen. Her behavior had dishonored her family. Whatever happened now was no worse than she deserved.
As the wagon pulled out of the gate, Hanna huddled into the quilt and prepared herself for the most miserable, humiliating night of her life.
* * *
A loud pounding on the front door woke Amelia Hollister Dollarhide from a sound sleep. She swore an unladylike oath and sat up. Beside her, Ralph Tomlinson lay undisturbed and snoring. The man could sleep through the damned Spanish-American war.
As the pounding continued, she was tempted to rouse him. But why take the time? It was most likely Mason, back from tomcatting and missing his key. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost it in some hayloft or some widow’s bed.
Except that, as far as she knew, Mason hadn’t gone out tonight. He’d mentioned something about a storm and gone to his room early.
Slipping out of bed, she donned a warm wrapper over her silk nightgown and, as an afterthought, opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out the loaded Colt .45 revolver she kept there. If the late-night visitor wasn’t friendly, the heavy pistol was capable of blowing a man to kingdom come.
With one hand on the banister and the other gripping the gun, Amelia made her way down the stairs. By the faint light that fell through the front parlor window, she could see her way across the entry. She cocked the pistol, then turned the latch and opened the front door.
The man whose size filled the doorway was a stranger, but his clothes, beard, and heavy work boots marked him as one of the immigrant wheat farmers. His coat and knitted cap were covered with the snow that was falling beyond the sheltered porch.
Amelia raised the pistol, angling it toward his chest. “Take one step and I’ll pull this trigger. What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I’m here to see Mason Dollarhide.” The voice, slightly accented, matched his size.
It didn’t take much intuition to warn her that Mason was in trouble. What had he done this time? Slept with the man’s wife?
“I’m Mr. Dollarhide’s mother,” she said. “What business do you have with my son?”
The man’s voice deepened to a growl. “Your son has got my innocent girl in a family way. I’m here to see that he owns up like a man and marries her.”
Damn!
Looking beyond the man, Amelia could make out a forlorn figure bundled in a patchwork quilt, sheltering at the edge of the porch. A farm wagon, drawn by a team of drooping horses, waited at the foot of the walk. She lowered the pistol. “What makes you so sure the baby is my son’s?” she demanded.
“My Hanna was a good girl before he got his hands on her. She says he was the only one. I believe her. Now go and get your son.”
Amelia thought fast. “My son is out of town on business. When he comes home, I’ll tell him about your daughter. But even if she slept with him, nothing’s going to happen without proof. From what I’ve heard, you nesters breed like rabbits. That baby could be anybody’s.”
The big man drew a quick, hard breath. “This baby is your grandchild. That should mean something to you.”
Your grandchild. The words struck Amelia like a slap. No! Even if the baby was Mason’s, she wasn’t ready to be some little brat’s grandmother. And the last thing she wanted was to see her son married to a penniless, dirt-grubbing honyocker girl!
“We’re finished here,” she said. “Your daughter wouldn’t be the first girl who’s used a baby to trick a rich man into marriage. I won’t have her taking advantage of my son.” She paused in thought. “But since you’ve taken the trouble to come here, I’m prepared to be generous. I’ll give you a hundred dollars cash to walk away and forget this ever happened. That should be enough to get the baby off to a good start.”
The big man drew himself up. Amelia could almost feel the heat of his anger. “We’re not beggars. We don’t want your money. All we want is for your son to do the right thing for this poor girl and his child.”
“Then, as I said, we’re finished here.” Amelia slammed the door in his face, locked it, and released the hammer on the Colt. There was no more pounding. The man and his daughter were driving away. She could hear them leaving. But something told her she hadn’t seen the last of them.
Turning, she raced up the stairs and down the hallway to Mason’s room, where she found him asleep in his bed. Anger mounting with each breath, she seized a corner of the bedclothes and yanked them onto the floor.
Mason jerked, groaned, and opened his eyes. “Mother, what the devil . . . ?” he muttered.
“Get up, you fool!” She flung the words at him. “You’ve got some little honyocker girl in trouble. Her giant of a father was just here demanding that you marry her.”