Holidays with the Weavers Page 6

  The person she found most fascinating was Ebba Weaver, who was married to Daniel, the youngest brother. She was Swedish, and shared lots of funny stories about the family. The tale of her wedding to Daniel was especially enjoyable …

  “Here we are.” George handed her a glass of punch.

  She smiled and nodded and realized she’d been thinking about him by his Christian name, not as Mr. Johnson. That’s how comfortable he made her feel. How sad that she’d only have this one evening with him.

  “So I haven’t asked you yet …”

  “What?” She took a sip of punch.

  “How long are you staying with the Weavers?”

  Olivia’s heart thundered in her chest. She’d avoided speaking about her time with the Weavers until now. What to tell him? “I’m not sure, really. There’s someone in town I need to see before I know for sure. I suppose I’ll stay with them a little while longer …”

  “For Christmas?” he asked brightly.

  “Yes, definitely through Christmas.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be there too.”

  Her heart leaped in her chest, but not from nerves. “You … you will?”

  “Yes – the Weavers invited our family to spend Christmas with them. Won’t that be grand?”

  She smiled in relief. The man was like a safe haven. Maybe because she knew he felt out of place too. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is.” He glanced around, then studied her. “That’s a lovely dress. It matches your eyes, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  Olivia’s cheeks grew hot. She fingered the dark green lace that ran down the front of the pretty sea-green gown. “Thank you. But I’m afraid it isn’t mine – Charity loaned it to me.”

  He looked concerned. “Did you not have a party frock?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I did at some point –” She snapped her mouth shut.

  “What a funny thing to say.” He smiled. “Do tell?”

  “What I meant is, well…” Good heavens, should she tell him? Well, the only other choice was to lie. And he was so easy to talk to. “The truth is, I was robbed, and all of my clothes and belongings were stolen. Even my horse.”

  “What?” he said in shock. He turned in his chair to face her. “What happened?”

  Oh dear, should she take the plunge and tell him everything? He was so kind … but it was so, so awkward …

  “Miss Bridger?” he prompted. “Are you well?”

  “I’m much better than I was. The Weavers found me after it happened. I was struck on the head, you see, and I’m afraid I don’t remember much …”

  “You were what?” He quickly looked her over, as if she was bleeding or something.

  Olivia went crimson. Oh dear, what did he think? Probably that she was damaged goods. She turned away.

  He warily put his hand on her shoulder. “Miss Bridger. Olivia.”

  She faced him again and willed the tears not to fall. Her situation was embarrassing enough without him shunning her because of it. That’s what came to mind with everyone she’d met that evening. If they came to the conclusion that she was unable to think clearly, they might want nothing to do with her. If they assumed the robbers had had their way with her, they’d avoid her like the plague.

  “Tell me what happened,” he prompted gently.

  “That’s just it – I can’t remember. In fact …” She traced the rim of her glass with a finger. “… I don’t remember anything except my name.”

  George whistled. “They must have really hit you hard. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Ma Hughes knows some medicine. But she still wants me to see Dr. Brown here in town. It’s one of the reasons I came tonight. Otherwise I would’ve preferred staying home.”

  His eyes never left hers. She found comfort in that. “So that’s what Arlan Weaver meant when he said you were their guest?”

  “Yes. They found me not far from Gunderson’s stage stop almost a week ago. It was too far to bring me back to town, so we spent the night there and they took me home with them the next day. I’ve been there ever since.”

  “Warren tells me the Weavers are very nice people,” he replied. “Boisterous, but nice. I’m sure they’ve taken good care of you.”

  She nodded. “They’ve been very kind. But I can’t stay with them forever. I have to remember who I am.”

  George looked at her in fascination. “You mean you don’t remember anything?”

  “Just my name. I thought I did when I first came to, but then it was gone.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not explaining this very well.”

  “Well enough for me,” he said. “You poor woman.”

  “Please, Mr. Johnson, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not the first person this has happened to.”

  “No, of course not. But this sort of thing is nothing to treat casually. At least that’s what I’ve read.”

  She smiled weakly. “I thought so. You seem well-read, judging from our conversation thus far.”

  He took a sip of punch and smiled back. “I’d ask if you were as well-read but, pardon my sense of humor, would you remember?”

  “I have no idea.” She laughed. It really wasn’t funny, but the way he put it made it so. “I’m glad you’ll be joining us for Christmas.” She glanced around. “Where’s your grandfather? He’s the only one I have yet to meet.”

  George chuckled low in his throat. “Grandpa Sam has been hiding in corners and speaking with his secret friend, I’m afraid.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You shared your secret with me, so I might as well share mine. Well, Warren’s actually, but he won’t mind. I’m afraid our grandfather is starting to journey around the bend. See him over there?” George pointed.

  Olivia looked, saw an old man sitting in a corner talking and shrugged. “I see nothing wrong.”

  George sighed. “Look a little closer.”

  Olivia leaned right, then left to get a better view. “Oh dear.” The old man was talking to an empty chair!

  “Exactly.” George took another sip of his punch. “His, er, imaginary friend is named Albert. It’s caused a bit of tension between Grandpa and Warren. Bernice has been very patient, but who knows how long that will last?”

  “Oh, Geor … I mean, Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry to hear that. The Weavers have had nothing but nice things to say about Old Man Johnson, as they call him.”

  “Everyone in town calls him that. I just don’t want everyone knowing that Grandpa’s losing his grip.”

  “I understand. But is there any harm in it?” She looked into his eyes and felt her chest warm. For some reason, she knew it didn’t matter to him if she didn’t know who she was. He was so easy going and didn’t make her feel like she was some sort of a freak. Nor did he make his grandfather out to be.

  He sighed. “No. So long as Albert doesn’t tell him to do something like burn the barn down.”

  Olivia gasped. “That would be horrible!”

  “Exactly. Would you like to meet him?”

  “I suppose it would be all right,” she hedged.

  Warren smiled again and gazed into her eyes. It was a little forward, but for some reason she didn’t mind. “Finish your punch and I’ll introduce you.”

  Old Man Johnson was sprightly with thinning white hair and bright, inquisitive eyes. He smiled at them as they approached. “Well, there’s my George. And who do we have here?”

  George motioned to Olivia with a hand. “Grandpa, may I introduce Miss Olivia Bridger?” He smiled at Olivia. “This is my Grandpa Sam.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine. And let me introduce you to Albert!”

  George blanched. “Uh, perhaps later, Grandpa …”

  “Nonsense! No time like the present to meet folks. Besides, I never know when Albert’s going to pop in and out!” He turned to the empty chair. “Albert, this here’s Miss Bridger. Did you catch the first name?” He nodde
d and went on: “uh-huh, yes … all right.” He looked at them. “He says pleased to meet you at last.”

  Olivia and George watched all this in nervous fascination “At last?” George wondered. “I wasn’t aware he’d been waiting.”

  “Oh yes, Albert’s been waiting to meet you for quite awhile now. He’s especially interested in you, George.”

  “Me?” George glanced between Olivia and his grandfather. “What for?”

  Grandpa shrugged. “He has his reasons. He doesn’t tell me everything, you know.”

  Olivia swallowed hard. “No, I don’t, uh … suppose he does.”

  “But he’s interested in you too, young lady,” Grandpa added.

  Her eyes went wide. “But … we’ve only just met.”

  Grandpa Sam leaned toward the other chair and nodded. “He says he’s met you before.”

  Olivia swallowed again. “He has?” She glanced at George and back. “Well, he’ll have to pardon me – I … can’t seem to remember.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Grandpa assured her. “He knows you can’t remember much right now.”

  She froze. “Excuse me?”

  George looked at her, then at his grandfather. “How do you know this? Did one of the Weavers …?”

  “Albert told me,” Grandpa said. “For crying out loud, he’s sitting right here. Didn’t you hear him say so?”

  Now George studied his grandfather worriedly. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”

  “Well, he is a soft spoken sort,” Grandpa said. “You have to speak up, don’t you, Albert?” He stared at the empty chair, a happy smile on his face, before turning back to them. “There – did you hear him that time?”

  George stuck a finger in his ear and moved it around. “Must be something wrong with my hearing, Grandpa.”

  The action made Olivia’s heart warm. The man wasn’t going to embarrass his grandfather by telling him that his mind was gone, at least not in public anyway.

  “That’s all right – Albert says he’ll pay you a visit eventually,” his grandfather told him.

  “He did?” George glanced at Olivia again. “How nice of him.”

  “You too, Miss Bridger,” Grandpa’s smile turned mischievous. “Are you sure that’s your name?”

  She gasped. “It’s … the only thing I’m sure of.”

  George took her by the elbow. “We have to speak with someone, Grandpa. We’ll see you later, all right?”

  “That’s fine. Albert and I have to go find Bob anyway.”

  “Bob?” Another imaginary friend?

  “Albert’s most trusted confidante,” Grandpa said. “He wants some advice regarding you two.”

  At this point, Olivia was alarmed. Obviously someone had told him about her dilemma. Was he making light of it, or had he completely lost the plot and was just saying silly things? Probably the latter, but she didn’t want it getting around town that she had no memory. People might take advantage of her – who knew what sort of trouble a person could cause?

  She glanced at George, whose eyes were darting between her and his grandfather. Finally he said, “Why don’t I introduce you to the Browns?”

  Olivia nodded vigorously, let George slip her arm through his and lead her away from his grandfather. She might not have her memories, but at least she didn’t talk to empty chairs.

  Seven

  George fought back his embarrassment. Maybe he shouldn’t have introduced Olivia to his grandfather after all. He was clearly getting worse – he hadn’t spoken to “Albert” like that in front of him before. Had he been doing so in Warren and Bernice’s presence and they didn’t tell him?

  Finding Doc Brown was becoming a good idea, not only for Olivia but for Grandpa. He couldn’t leave his cousin to deal with their grandfather alone, not when he was this far gone. And he’d sure like to know who told him about Olivia and her memory loss. It was no one’s business but hers.

  “Do you know what the doctor looks like?” Olivia asked.

  He stopped short. “Um, no, actually. I haven’t met him yet.” He studied the people around them. “There’s Daniel Weaver. Let’s ask him.” He was about to head over when Olivia tugged on his sleeve. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, it’s just that … I don’t think Daniel cares for me much.”

  George looked at Daniel. He was tall like his brothers but not as broad. He seemed nice enough. “What? Nonsense.”

  She smiled weakly. “Couldn’t we find Ma Hughes instead?”

  “I can ask him if you like. You can stay here.”

  “Do you mind?”

  He slipped his arm from hers and faced her. “Not at all, if it will make you more comfortable. But I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “Neither do I.” She looked Daniel’s way and back. “It’s just that sometimes I feel uncomfortable around the Weaver men. “I can’t explain it, it’s just … as if I irritate them. Like they’re angry with me for something, but I don’t know what. I must be a burden somehow.”

  “What a terrible thing to suggest. You? Never.” He took her hand and patted it. “Don’t worry, I’ll find Dr. Brown for you.”

  She smiled in relief. He nodded, released her hand and made his way toward Daniel.

  “Howdy again, Mr. Johnson.” Daniel lifted his glass of punch, looking past George at Olivia. “You and her, uh … gettin’ along?”

  “Fine,” George waved at Olivia, who waved back. “She’s a lovely woman.”

  Daniel choked on his punch, sputtering and gasping for breath.

  “Great Scott, man!” George said. “Are you all right?”

  “Never better,” Daniel rasped as he pounded his chest. He swallowed a few times, his face red. “Woo-ee. Must’ve gone down the wrong way.”

  George eyed him. “Yes, it must have.”

  “Ya enjoyin’ yerself?” Daniel asked, staring at his punch. He seemed to be wondering whether to take another crack at it.

  “Yes, very much. I’m looking for Dr. Brown, though – could you be so kind as to point him out to me?”

  “Sure.” Daniel surveyed the crowd. “There he is, over by the band. Looks like the dancin’s about to start, and I ain’t eaten nothin’ yet. If ya’ll excuse me?” He turned to the food tables.

  “Certainly.” George nodded as Daniel left, then realized he hadn’t asked which man Doc Brown was. There were several speaking with the musicians. Well, he’d just have to ask someone else.

  He returned to Olivia. “Come along. I know where he is.” He offered his arm again, and his chest warmed when she took it and smiled. She seemed nervous at times, but once he got her talking she relaxed. He’d never been around a woman with whom he felt this comfortable, not even Victoria. Maybe it was time he not only stepped back into the world, but stayed in it.

  They reached the men speaking with the fiddlers by the small stage. The Christmas dance consisted of a huge potluck followed by the dance, so the musicians were still tuning their instruments in preparation. George cleared his throat, and several men turned to look at him. “Excuse me, but which of you fine gentlemen is Dr. Brown?”

  “I’m Doc Brown,” a man with salt-and-pepper hair and plenty of lines around his eyes said. “What can I do for ya?”

  “I’m George Johnson and this is Miss Olivia Bridger. May we have a word with you?”

  Doc Brown squinted at him a moment. “Ohhhh, you must be Warren’s cousin come to visit.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Warren told you?”

  “No, Nellie Davis. Nothing gets past that woman. So what do ya need?”

  George motioned him away from the other men. “Please, if you don’t mind?”

  “No, of course not.” He followed George and Olivia to a corner of the huge room.

  George turned to Doc Brown as soon as they stopped. “I think Miss Bridger should speak first.”

  “Oh, but …” she started.

  Doc Brown held up his hand. “I know about Miss Bridger – Ma Weaver told me.
I’ll be speaking with ya tomorrow. Ya feeling all right for the moment?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said.

  “No headaches?”

  “Not right now, no. If I overdo things, I get one.”

  “Mmm, understandable.”

  “She told you about …?”

  “Ma told me enough.” He turned to George. “And what about you? Something ailing ya?”

  “Uh, well, it’s my grandfather.”

  “Samuel? What’s the matter with him now?”

  George was taken aback. “Now? You mean you’ve seen him recently?”

  The doctor sighed. “Most every time he comes to town. I’m surprised Warren didn’t tell ya.”

  “Must have slipped his mind.”

  “A good description of yer grandfather’s problem.”

  George stared at him. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “So he is losing his faculties?”

  “Slowly, but he’s seventy-six now. It’s bound to happen. I’m sixty and I can’t remember things as well as I used to. I’d say Samuel isn’t doing too bad.”

  “But what about …” George glanced this way and that. “Albert?”

  “Albert?” Doc Brown raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Who’s Albert?”

  George sighed. “Um, his invisible friend.”

  Doc Brown’s eyes went wide. “I see.” He glanced between them. “That’s new.”

  “So Warren and Bernice haven’t told you?”

  “Not this.” Doc Brown shook his head. “Poor Sam.”

  “Oh, Dr. Brooooown!” someone called.

  “Oh for the love of …,” Doc Brown said under his breath. “If you’ll excuse me a moment?”

  George nodded as an older woman approached. “Doc Brown, there you are. You really ought to check on the Riley children while their mothers are here.”

  “And why is that, Nellie?” Doc Brown grumbled.

  “Well, if you ask me, they look all sorts of pale. They ought not to be in public at all, I think.”

  He sighed again and glanced around the hall. “Where are they? I’ll have a look.”