were scattered throughout the hal ways in a dimly-lit house she floated through, they were
piecing things together for her.
She saw herself as a child playing marbles with Grace on the porch. One of their brothers and
his friends came along and made fun of her for being ugly. Grace told them they were mean
and that they needed to go away, but the words hadn’t bothered Mary at that point because
she’d been too young to understand what the words meant.
But as she grew older, the boys and her sisters, most notably Katie and Leah, would join in the
taunting. At one point, she went to her mother and asked her if it was true. Was she truly ugly
like they said? “We can’t al be beautiful, Mary,” came her mother’s reply. “You need to make
yourself useful. Then people won’t notice how you look.”
She saw herself taking comfort in doing solitary activities where no one commented on her
looks or—as she got older—talked about courtships and getting married and then having
children. None of those things seemed to be in her future. No young men took an interest in
her.
They’d ask her about another woman, but none of them wanted to take the time to get to know
her. “Do you know if Maggie has her eye out for anyone?” her brother’s friend once asked
her. “Wil you ask Betty if she’d say yes if I asked to court her?” a young man at the restaurant
asked her another time.
There were others on occasion, and she’d politely smile and answer the question, even if, deep
down, it bothered her to no end that they didn’t want her. Her father used to say, “Mary,
someday a man wil come along, and he’l appreciate you.”
Other memories of her life in Maine connected together, weaving a complete picture of her past
and why she was eager to leave and never return. And while she was stil asleep, the images
in the mirror began to laugh at her. She told them to stop, but they didn’t so she tried to find a
way out of the hal ways of mirrors that lined the wal s.
She turned corners, but no matter which way she went, she found herself trapped in the maze
of mirrors and, worse, the mocking laughter grew louder. Every self-doubt she’d ever had was
amplified. You’ll never get married. You’ll never be loved. You’re dull. You’re ugly.
On and on the things she used to tel herself echoed through the corridors. She broke into a
run. It seemed to her that there was a light ahead, as if someone held a candle to guide her
out of the maze. She eagerly fol owed it, but no matter which hal she went down, the light
shifted in another direction.
Out of breath, she slowed to a stop. A look down both ends of the hal showed how fruitless
the pursuit was. She col apsed against the wal , only to realize too late she was touching a
mirror. She turned to it and saw her reflection. She knew it wasn’t how she real y looked. It
was how she’d seen herself while she was in Maine. It was why she refused to have a mirror
in her bedroom.
Grace had questioned the mirror removal when Mary turned twelve, saying it wasn’t necessary,
but Mary insisted it needed to be done without explaining how hideous her reflection looked to
her. And now Mary was coming face to face with the part of her past she worked so hard to
get rid of after she moved to Nebraska. The mass of tangled brown hair refused to settle in
place and stuck out at al ends. Her nose dwarfed her face. She had trouble making out her
eyes and mouth. Her reflection became distorted, and her neutral expression turned into a
scowl.
Another memory, this one her first one in Nebraska, came back to her. She came off the train
in Omaha and searched the crowd for the man she came to marry. She found him soon
enough, recognizing him by the way he described himself in his letter. Despite her
apprehension, she pressed through the crowd and introduced herself.
As soon as she did, she saw the horror in his eyes. The marriage she’d hoped for wasn’t going
to happen. She’d have to find employment in Omaha and live her life alone. The only comfort
she had was knowing she wasn’t going to return to Maine and admit her mother was right in
thinking the man would take one look at her and tel her to go back home. Except Neil’s exact
words were, “I couldn’t get drunk enough to get you with child.”
Her reflection shook her head and smirked. “Plain Mary Peters. That’s al you were and it’s al
you’re ever going to be.”
As her reflection laughed at her, Mary picked the mirror off the wal and smashed it onto the
floor. Then she started pul ing the other mirrors off the wal and threw them to the floor,
breaking as many as she could before she woke up with a start.
It took her a moment to realize where she was. In the darkness, it was easy to imagine she
was back inside that horrible house, desperately trying to break al the mirrors that mocked
her. She remained stil for a good minute, slowly adjusting to the waking world. It was a
nightmare. Just a nightmare. But it was the link she needed to remember everything that had
happened in the past. Even though she realized it, she missed not remembering her life in
Maine. She got amnesia, and for the first time in her life, she’d been able to look in a mirror
and not recal how she’d once seen herself. She had seen herself as she truly was instead of
how she was told she looked and that had been nice.
Sighing for she knew she’d never get that ability back, she rol ed over in the bed, surprised that
Dave wasn’t holding her. She missed being in his arms. She reached out for him, seeking his
warmth but he wasn’t in the bed. Sitting up, she examined the dark room, wondering where he
went.
***
Dave never should have tried to help a very drunk Bert to the porch. He should have left the
outhouse and went back to his room. But he saw Bert fal down as he stumbled out of the
house, so he went to help him up. And now he found himself afraid to leave Bert alone
because the man had a gun and given his current state, Dave wasn’t sure what the best course
of action was.
So far, Bert remained seated in the chair on the wraparound porch. Dave sat close by,
monitoring him in the moonlight and debating his options. Bert kept the gun pointed toward the
floor, so Dave didn’t sense any immediate danger. Even so, he tried to figure out the best way
to get the gun from him.
Bert leaned his head back and slumped in the chair. To Dave’s surprise he let out a bitter
laugh. “You drink?”
Dave shook his head, his gaze stil on the gun. Bert held it but his finger wasn’t on the trigger.
Dave wasn’t too far from it. Perhaps if he got Bert talking, he’d be distracted enough to loosen
his hold on the gun and Dave could safely take it from him. Straightening in his chair, he
determined how he should proceed. “No, no I don’t drink.”
Bert sighed and shook his head. “Course not,” he slurred. “You got Mary.” He laughed again.
“Joke’s on us. We al said, ‘She’s ugly. Poor fool in Omaha would be stuck with her.’ Didn’ see
what mattered.”
Dave knew the man was drunk and therefore not in ful control of what he was saying, but even
so, he grew tense. Yes, he put the pieces together and knew what her family thought of her.
He detested it, but he couldn’t change it. Her family seemed to thrive off division and
manipulation. It wasn’t something he was used to, and he was never more relieved that Mary
left Maine.
Bert let out a long sigh. “But we are the fools. Me included.”
Dave shifted forward, thinking to take the gun since Bert’s hold on the Colt .45 loosened, but
then Bert picked it up and rubbed his jaw with it. Dave remained stil , unsure if he should grab
the gun or if he’d startle Bert who’d shoot himself in the face. His heart pounded as he watched
Bert press the end of it into his cheek. Surely, he wouldn’t actual y pul the trigger! Nothing
could be worth pul ing the trigger for, no matter how many regrets he had. Bert swal owed and
then rested the gun back at his side.
Dave released his breath, but only slightly. “Look, it’s alright. We’ve al thought or done things
we wished we hadn’t, and you don’t need to worry about Mary. She doesn’t hate you or
anything.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I shoulda married her, not Katie. That’s what I meant.”
“Oh.” Dave didn’t know how to respond to that. He’d dealt with Neil Craftsman when he tried to
run off with Mary. Mary was a desirable woman. Any man would be lucky to have her, but i t
wasn’t Dave’s fault none of them understood it before he did, though he was grateful they
hadn’t.
“Did the foolish thing, alright,” Bert murmured, staring at nothing in particular. “Learned the
hard way. Thought Katie was nice. Fooled by sweet words and a pretty face.” He looked at
Dave then and let out another bitter laugh. “Al a lie.”
Dave made a tentative move for the gun, but Bert lifted it to his jaw again. “Bert, think this
through. You have a son. I saw you with him today. You enjoy fishing with him. You need to
think of him.”
“I hate her,” he mumbled, seeming to have forgotten that Dave was there. “Hate lookin’ at her.
Hate the lies. Marriage is too long. Only one way out. Know what I mean?”
As Bert lifted the gun to his temple, Dave jerked forward. “Bert, don’t!” Even if it was stupid, he
had nothing to lose at this point. He lurched for the gun but the echo of a click cut through the
silence and made Dave cover his eyes so he wouldn’t see the man’s brains splatter across the
porch.
Another click echoed through the stil air and then another. Heart pounding, Dave lowered his
hands and watched in dread and surprise as Bert pul ed the trigger another three times before
he dropped the gun which fel to the floor with a thud. Stil not believing what he’d witnessed,
Dave tentatively leaned down to pick up the gun. He opened the chamber and saw there were
no bul ets, not even one. Releasing his shaky breath, he sat back in the chair and tried to grasp
that Bert real y hadn’t kil ed himself.
Bert’s snoring caught his attention so he looked over at him, relieved he’d fal en asleep. Good.
He didn’t kil himself tonight, and tomorrow Dave would make sure to talk to him. After he
calmed down, Dave stood up and quietly crossed the porch and entered the house. Once the
door was shut, he leaned against it and closed his eyes. That had to be one of the worst
things he’d ever been through. But it was over now, and with any luck, he’d never go through
anything like that again.
“Dave?”
He opened his eyes to Mary’s soft voice. She was standing at the top of the staircase. Trying
to figure out what to do with the gun, he final y opted to slip it into his pocket and trudged up the
stairs. The day had been a long one and the night even longer. When he reached the top of
the steps, he brought Mary into his arms and held her tightly to him. Every day he thought of
how fortunate he was that he happened to be at the train station the day she arrived in Omaha.
But he was much more thankful now than he’d ever been.
“I love you, Mary,” he whispered, hoping to keep the tears out of his voice.
She rubbed his back and settled her head against his chest. “I love you, too.”
His emotions settled after a minute and he pul ed away from her. Wrapping his arm around her
shoulders, he led her back to their bedroom. This trip wasn’t turning out to be anything like he
expected. Why did he think it was going to be a homecoming? Why did he expect it to be like
it was with his family? Mary had been quiet about most of her past. He should have
understood there was a good reason for it instead of assuming she missed Maine at times and
forced it from her mind.
Oh, he knew she was happy in Nebraska, but a part of him thought she had fond memories of
her life here and thought of those from time to time. How wrong he was. Besides Grace and
her family, it didn’t seem like there was anything good about Maine. Wel , he wouldn’t think of it
anymore. This was Mary’s past. It wasn’t her present, and it certainly wasn’t her future. Her
present and future were with him and their children. That was where she belonged, and from
now on, it was what they would focus on.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, Mary woke up before Dave. After her nightmare, she hadn’t been able to
sleep wel , even if Dave held her. Her mind kept going over her life in Maine, and coming at it
from the perspective of someone who’d been used to Nebraska, she was able to see
everything more clearly. She was beginning to think the mirrors in her dream helped with this.
Shortly before dawn, she rol ed over in the bed so she was facing Dave and rested her head on
his shoulder. His steady breathing notified her that he was stil asleep. She wondered what
had upset him last night. She left the bed to look for him and was surprised when she saw him
at the front door with his eyes closed. Then when he came up the steps to join her, al he did
was hold her and said he loved her. If he hadn’t looked as if he’d seen a ghost, she wouldn’t
have been so concerned. After they returned to the bedroom, she asked him what was wrong,
but he said he wanted to return to Nebraska. She sensed there was more to it than that but
realized he needed time to deal with whatever happened. When he was ready, he’d tel her.
She closed her eyes, thinking she might be able to doze off for another twenty minutes, but she
was too restless. Deciding she might as wel get up, she quietly slid out of bed, careful not to
wake Dave, and got dressed. She paused in front of the mirror above the dresser. Did she
dare look into it? She glanced at Dave. He didn’t mind what he saw when he looked at her, so
she had no reason to mind it either.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and turned her gaze to her reflection. She
winced and quickly looked away. Alright, so she stil couldn’t look at herself. Even destroying
the mirrors in her dream hadn’t done the trick. Whenever she looked at herself, she saw Plain
Mary Peters, the woman no one wanted to marry.
She turned her back to the mirror and brushed her hair in quick, hard strokes. She wondered
how long it would take her before she could check her reflection without the cold hand of dread
gripping her. Placing the brush down on the dresser, she glanced over at Dave one more time.
She stil had memories missi
ng from Nebraska and hoped when they returned home, she could
get them al back.
After she slipped on her shoes, she left the room and went down the stairs. She welcomed the
momentary lul in activity in the house. She mental y worked on what might be best for
breakfast and decided that she’d make Dave’s favorite meal. There was no sense in worrying
about what anyone else wanted to eat.
As she stepped onto the porch, she heard a man grunt and then snore. Curious, she walked
around the porch until she found Bert asleep in the chair, his head thrown back, his legs spread
out in front of him. What was he doing asleep here? Granted, he was ful y dressed, but it stil
embarrassed her to find him like this. Quickly turning away, she made her way softly to the
porch steps and went to the outhouse.
Once she finished her business, she washed her hands and returned to the kitchen. She
glanced out the window at the streaks of pinks and light blues in the sky. Was it too soon to
make breakfast? She didn’t hear any movement upstairs, so she guessed it was best to wait
until the others were up. She opted to get the coffee going instead.
When she was finished with the task, she poured herself a cup and headed for the parlor. The
morning was a nice one—a perfect one actual y. It was a shame to spend it inside, but she
had to respect Bert’s privacy so she remained inside. She opened the window to let in the
fresh air and sat back in her chair, content to listen to the cooing of a bird outside.
By the time she finished half of her cup, Katie came down the stairs. Mary stood up and
fol owed her sister to the kitchen, keeping her voice low when she spoke. “Katie, are you
aware that Bert’s asleep on the porch?”
Katie grabbed the coffee pot and cup. Without looking in her direction, she poured the coffee
into her cup and shrugged. “He does that a lot.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “He does?”
“He likes the fresh air.”
That struck Mary as odd. “But it’s chil y out there at night.”
Katie put the coffee pot down. “He likes it.”
Surprised by the curt tone in Katie’s voice, Mary blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my
business.”