Seasons of Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #4) by Ruth Glover

driving distance—will soon be gone, and I’ll be stuck out in some remotehinterland where it’ll be hard to get the crop to the railroad, or get mail, or supplies.”
    Robbie Dunbar was quite at sea concerning where or what the hinterland might be, but he supposed it was a poor place and to be avoided.
    Quinn Archer, from whose tongue the word had rolled effortlessly, was, in spite of rough clothes and a seeming lack of this world’s goods, a man of some education and, perhaps, of some polish, though this remained to be seen.
    “Aye, it’s fillin’ in, I guess,” Robbie responded, grateful again that he and Allan had the great good fortune to locate on some of the last land in the Bliss area. “I know there are places at Carrot River. And of course much, much land farther oot. It’s still an untracked wilderness in many places. Or there’s always the possibility of findin’ someone who for one reason or another hasna been able to stick it oot, and he’ll sell his homestead, and probably cheap, jist glad to get oot.”
    “I’ve had a chance or two like that,” Quinn Archer said, nodding. “A couple of men were hanging around the Lands Office, wanting to dump their homesteads. The wife of one man had died and he couldn’t make it alone, and the wife of the other one was slowly losing her mind, or so it seemed. Anyway, that poor man said she was stubbornly refusing to go through another winter in the bush.”
    “Thass hard, for sure,” Robbie said sympathetically, thinking of his own cheerless cabin, “especially when winter cooms, and a man is hoosebound a lot o’ the time.”
    Robbie’s winter, probably, would be spent in the comfortable quarters of Alice Hoy and her sons. Just thinking of it brought a stab of condemnation to his heart. What had seemed, in the first place, to be a fine opportunity, had now taken on more than a hint of ugliness.
    And why? Not because the plan was not a worthy one with Alice desperately needing help, but his eyes had been opened—when he saw Tierney Caulder again—to the crassness of the venture from his viewpoint. Suddenly the proposed marriagetook on an almost obscene aspect. To marry—without love! To marry—for the reason of obtaining the bride’s property!
    Until the arrival of Tierney, Robbie had felt few, if any, qualms about the proposed marriage. Alice had presented the arrangement so sensibly.
    Sensibly, and bravely. “Robbie,” she had said one evening when he had stepped into the house with a brimming pail of milk to be strained, “sit down, please. I . . . I have something I’d like to talk over with you.”
    Puzzled, Robbie had sat. “Aye, Mrs. Hoy, an’ is there somethin’ I can do for you? You’ve jist to ask.”
    Alice immediately looked relieved. “I truly hope so . . . once you’ve heard my proposal—” And then, in spite of her calm demeanor to this point, Alice had blushed and stammered.
    “Proposal?” Robbie had asked slowly, totally in the dark but intrigued by the word and Alice’s reaction to it.
    “Aye . . . that is, yes,” Alice had continued, still flustered. “It’s really . . . really a business proposal, Robbie. You see, it’s this way—”
    And Alice Hoy had, steadily and clearly, spelled out her astounding offer: They would marry, Robbie would take on the care of the homestead and of the boys, would, in fact, raise them. For she, Alice, was certain she was not long for this world.
    And certainly she didn’t look well. Even Robbie, with a man’s eyes, could see that. She was frail, pale, and often clutched her hands over her . . .
    Robbie hesitated. Even in his thoughts, he hesitated, reluctant to so much as think the word stomach in regard to the female anatomy. And belly seemed degrading when applied to the gentle sex. So he settled for midriff. Alice often pressed her hands to her midriff.
    She spoke delicately of another aspect of the arrangement. Though natural reticence kept her from mentioning the