Lillian mentioned during one of Wyatt's visits. They were sitting on the small porch behind the boarding house, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. Emma was asleep in a makeshift cradle fashioned from a drawer lined with blankets. Wyatt frowned. Riverton's nearly 30 m from here.
Yes, but Mrs. Peterson apparently doesn't mind that I have Emma. She has grandchildren of her own and misses having little ones around. Lillian's fingers nervously pleaded the fabric of her borrowed dress. "The position includes room and board for both of us, plus a small wage." "When would you leave?" Wyatt asked, trying to keep his voice neutral despite the sudden hollowess in his chest.
"There's a freight wagon heading that way the day after tomorrow." "The driver said he could take us." Lillian glanced at him, then quickly away. It seems like the best opportunity I'm likely to find. Wyatt stared at the horizon where thunderheads were beginning to build. It's not safe traveling with a driver you don't know. The road to Riverton goes through some rough country.
I don't have many options, Wyatt, Lillian said softly. I can't impose on your generosity forever, and there's no work for me here in Clearwater. The unspoken question hung between them. Unless there was a reason for her to stay, Wyatt had been wrestling with his growing feelings for Lillian and Emma. He'd never been a man to act impulsively, especially when it came to personal matters.
His solitary lifestyle suited him, or so he'd always believed. The idea of responsibility for a woman and child, both terrified and strangely, appealed to him. But there were too many unanswered questions. He turned to face her directly. Lillian, before you make any decisions, I need to know the truth about Emma's father, about why you were alone on the prairie.
She tensed, her eyes dropping to her hands. Does it matter? It might, he answered honestly. Not because I'm judging you, but because I can't help properly if I don't know what you're running from. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder and Emma's soft breathing.
Finally, Lillian raised her eyes to his. "I was married," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "His name was Charles Montgomery. He was a banker's son in Philadelphia, charming and wellresected. My father was delighted when he asked for my hand." She paused, gathering her thoughts.
After the wedding, things changed. Charles had a temper, especially when he drank, which was often. At first, it was just harsh words, then controlling behavior who I could see where I could go. Eventually, it became physical. Wyatt's jaw tightened, but he remained silent, letting her continue at her own pace.
When I discovered I was expecting Emma, I hoped things would improve. They didn't. If anything, Charles became more volatile, resentful of the attention I gave to my pregnancy. Her hand moved protectively to the cradle where Emma slept. After she was born, I feared for her safety as well as my own.