Читать книгу A Season of the Heart - Dorothy Clark - Страница 12

Chapter Three

It was still snowing. Ellen tossed the magazine onto the settee, rose and went to the window. Snow clung to the wood grids that separated the glass, leaving only the center section of each small pane clear. She caught a glimpse of movement, leaned close and looked to the side. Asa was shoveling their slate walk. For what purpose? There would certainly be no callers today.

She glanced at the road, at the snow rutted by the runners on pungs and sleighs and trampled by the hoofs of the horses that pulled them. Not that many were passing. The blizzard had slowed village life to a crawl. Her warm breath fogged the glass. She shivered at the draft of cold air coming off the small panes, pulled her lace-trimmed silk wrap more closely about her shoulders and went to stand by the fire.

A log popped. Cinders dropped to the shimmering coals and the flames flared. She pulled her long full skirt back away from the edge of the hearth, smiled and ran her hand over the smooth Turkish satin material. She loved the way the skirt was caught up at random intervals with a silk knot securing the resulting puff. She was the only one she knew who had a dress of this design. Of course, the other women in the social set would have copied it by the time she returned to Buffalo.

Her smile faded. Her women acquaintances in the city would not be standing in an empty room wishing for something to do. They would be at the dressmaker’s being fitted for a new gown, or paying calls on others of their set and enjoying a gossip over tea this afternoon, before hurrying home to prepare for the evening’s entertainment. What would it be for tonight? A dinner party? A musical? Or the theater? There was always something important to attend. One had to be seen at the right places. Had she erred in coming home for the holiday?

She sighed and ran her fingers over the silk knot that secured the narrow band at her waist. What good was a stylish gown if there was no one to admire or envy it? The silence pressed in upon her, increased her restlessness. Her mother and father had gone to their shops. There was no one to talk to and nothing to do. Her mother didn’t even need her for a fitting for her new gowns. And she certainly wasn’t going to walk to town in this weather.

She shivered at the thought, walked back to the window and looked out. There was nothing to see but the road, the empty field across the way and the parsonage, barely visible through the rapidly falling snow. She huffed out a breath, turned away, then turned back. The parsonage wasn’t that far. And Willa was there. Of course, there was that open field to cross.

The wind gusted, drove the falling snow sideways and moaned around the window, dashing her hope. It was foolishness to even think of going outside. Still, her cloak was warm....

The lure of tea and conversation with her old friend pulled at her. She whirled from the window and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. Wading through that deep snow in the field would ruin her silk gown. She would wear one of her old dresses.

* * *

“Give me twenty minutes or so, Daniel. That wound is going to take some cleaning before I stitch it up.”

“All right, Doc. I’ll be back to get him.” Daniel led Big Boy to a spot beside Doc’s stable where he’d be out of the wind, fastened the blanket on him, then trudged his way across lots to the parsonage.

“Woof!”

“Hey, Happy...” He bent down and scratched behind the ears of the dog standing watch at the top of the back porch steps. “Waiting for Josh, are you?” The dog let out a whine, lay down with his muzzle resting on his crossed front paws and stared toward the road. He grinned and thumped the dog’s solid, furry shoulder. “I wish I’d had a dog like you to roam the woods with me when I was a kid. We’d have had ourselves a time.”

He brushed the snow from his shoulders and pant legs, stomped it from his boots crossing the porch, rapped three times and opened the kitchen door. “Hey, Bertha.” He hooked his hat and jacket over one of the pegs on the wall. “Those cookies sure smell good.”

“I’ve never had no complaints.” The housekeeper dropped small mounds of dough onto the emptied tin and slid it in the oven, then swatted at his hand as he helped himself. “You might ask first.”

“Why waste time? We both know you always say yes.” He grinned, took a bite of the warm cookie and smacked his lips in approval. “Where’s Willa?”

“In the sitting room. And leave some of them for Joshua and Sally.”

He waved the second cookie he’d snatched in the air and headed down the hallway to the sitting room devouring his treat. “Hey, Pest, what’s that you’ve got?”

“Daniel! I thought I heard your knock.” Willa dumped the load in her arms onto the settee and smiled up at him. “I might ask you the same question.”

He popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth. “Nothing.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re not very imaginative, Daniel. That’s the same answer you always gave Mama, Grandmother Townsend and Sophia.”

“It was always true.”

“After you swallowed.”

He gave a loud gulp, and they both burst into laughter. A cry came from the cradle sitting by the hearth. He stepped over to it and squatted on his heels, his chest tightening at the sight of the sweet baby face topped by downy auburn curls. He’d hoped to have children one day. He shoved the thought away and rocked the cradle. “Sorry, tiny one, I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.” The cries grew louder. He shot to his feet and sent a panicked look to Willa. “What’s wrong? I only rocked her.”

“Our laughter startled her. She wants comforting.” Willa leaned down and wrapped the baby in her blanket, cuddled her close for a moment, then held her out to him. “You hold her while I sort through those clothes.”

“Me!” He shoved his palms out toward her and backed away. “She’s too little. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t. You only need to keep her head supported.”

His heart lurched as Willa placed the baby in his arms. He cuddled the infant close, rocked her gently. The cries turned to a whimper, then stopped. He lifted his gaze to Willa and grinned.

“She feels safe.” She smiled and turned toward the settee. “Mama said you were going to come see me, but I didn’t expect you to come to town in this blizzard.”

He stayed rooted in place, afraid to move lest the baby begin crying again. “A hick slipped with his ax and sliced open his leg. I had to bring him to Doc to get the wound sewed up, so I came on over. I’ll need to take him back to camp shortly.”

“I hope the man heals well. What was it you wanted?”

“Your mother said you needed help with Christmas decorations or something.”

Willa lifted a shirt that had seen better days off the top of the pile she’d dropped on the settee and grinned at him. “You needn’t whisper. Mary won’t waken.” She set the shirt aside. “So you are obeying Mama’s orders to come help me?”

He matched her grin. “Something like that.”

“Good! I accept your help. But I’m not ready yet. I need—” She stopped at a knock on the front door. “Someone must need Matthew, to come out in this weather. The grippe is hitting people hard....” She hurried toward the entrance hall.

“Ellen! Is something wrong?”

Ellen? What was she doing out in the storm? He glanced down at the baby, wished he dared put her down and leave.

“No, everything is fine. I only came to visit.”

He took a long breath and braced himself to see her again so soon.

“I can’t believe you braved this snowstorm, but I’m so glad you did. Here, let me take your cloak and bonnet. You go in by the fire and warm yourself.”

“Thank you, Willa. I’m chilled through and through. The wind is terrible.”

Soft footsteps crossed the small entrance toward the sitting room. Ellen swept through the doorway, stopped and stared at him, her azure eyes looking bluer than ever above her rosy cheeks. Her blond curls had been blown into disarray around her forehead and temples, and one dangled from behind her ear to lie against the high collar of her dark green gown. She’d never looked more beautiful. But he always seemed to think that. He slanted his lips in a teasing grin. “Hey, Musquash. What are you doing out in the cold?”

Her eyes flashed. She tossed her head, lifted her snow-rimmed hems and came toward the fireplace. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hauling logs or something?”

The words cut deep. He broadened his grin. “Shouldn’t you be home writing to your rich beaux in Buffalo? You don’t want them to forget you.”

Her chin jutted into the air. “There is no danger of that. And no need for letters. I’m to be betrothed. I’ve come home to decide which of two men I shall accept as my husband—Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert.”

There was a soft gasp from the doorway. He shot Willa a look, then dipped his head to Ellen. “My felicitations. It must be hard to choose, with all that wealth involved.”

She gave him a cool smile with anger shadowing its edge. “And prestige. One mustn’t forget that.” She gave her skirts a sharp shake and bits of clinging snow fell off onto the warm stone hearth and melted into small dark blotches.

“Oh, I’m certain you won’t. Prestige and wealth. My, my, however will you choose?” He shook his head in mock gravity and watched the pools of moisture shrivel and dry up like the dream of marrying her he’d had years ago.

“That’s none of your concern.” She looked down at the infant in his arms. “Aren’t babies supposed to cry a lot?”

“Mary Elizabeth knows she’s safe with Daniel. Babies are very intuitive. And smart enough to follow what their hearts tell them.”

How could the swish of a skirt sound angry? Or maybe it was the decided edge in Willa’s voice. He jerked his gaze to Willa’s blue-green eyes—dark and shooting sparks. She had her dander up all right. “You are a proud mama, Pest.” He chuckled and stepped forward to stand between Willa and Ellen, blocking their view of one another. “Take the tiny one, Pest. I have to go. Doc will be through with his stitching by now.” He put his mouth close to Willa’s ear and hissed, “You don’t have to protect me, Pest. I was over her long ago. Remember your promise.” A quick glance in her eyes told him she would say no more; her tight-pressed lips said she didn’t like it. He winked, turned toward Ellen and made an exaggerated bow. “If you’ll excuse me, Musquash, some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.”

“Stop calling me that name!”

He grinned, turned his back on her furious face and headed for the kitchen to get his jacket and hat.

* * *

Ellen looked away from the unsettling expression on Willa’s face and watched Daniel stride from the room, irritated by the uncomfortable notion that she had missed something. Willa considered Daniel the brother she’d never had, which was understandable as they’d lived next door to one another all their lives, but it had bred a closeness between the two of them that was annoying at times.

The pile of worn clothes and pieces of fabric on the settee looked higher. She seized on the opportunity to talk about a neutral subject. “It looks as if you’ve gathered more material for making the costumes.” She lifted her skirt hems and stuck her right foot out closer to the fire to dry her damp stocking.

“Yes. Matthew brought more offerings home with him after his round of visits to sick parishioners yesterday.”

A long sigh followed Willa’s words. Ellen glanced over her shoulder. Willa was fingering the top garment, a look of frustration on her face.

Some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.

“Willa.” Her friend looked over at her. “You are always so efficient, I can’t believe you can’t manage to make the costumes, but if you need me—”

“I do, Ellen. Truly, I do.”

She lowered her gaze from Willa to the pile of fabric and tried to remember the last time she’d done any sewing. “All right, then. I’ll help you.” Doubt over her ability to do so rose with the declaration. Her face tightened. She shouldn’t have allowed Daniel’s words to goad her into offering to help.

“Oh, Ellen, truly? What of your preparations for your suitors’ visits?”

The perfect opportunity to back away from her offer without losing face! She drew breath to explain she wouldn’t be able to help after all and glanced up—there was such a hopeful look in Willa’s eyes. The recantation died unspoken. “Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert will be staying at the Sheffield House when they come. And Mother will arrange any entertainments. I have only to look fetching and be charming while they are here.” She brushed her hand down her skirt. “Not that I can manage that in this old green wool dress.”

“You don’t need fancy gowns to look beautiful, Ellen.”

She looked down at her dress, eyed the plain bodice and the long full skirt devoid of tucks or ruffles. “Thank you, my dear friend. But I’m afraid Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert would not share your opinion.”

“Then they do not deserve you.” Willa sank onto the settee next to the pile of old clothes. “I can’t thank you enough for offering to help me, Ellen. I’m sure I don’t know how I would have managed the costumes and the decorations and— The decorations.”

She stared at Willa’s aghast expression. “What decorations?”

“I forgot....” Willa rose, crossed the room and stood looking out of a snow-encrusted window.

“What have you forgotten?”

“To ask Daniel to make arrangements for the pine boughs. I’ll never have time to get the wreaths and swags finished now.” Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t leave the baby, and I can’t take her out in this weather to go and ask Grandfather Townsend if he will donate the branches. And Matthew is too busy to help me make the decorations even if he does.”

“Why, Willa! I’ve never heard you speak in such a discouraged way.” She stared at her friend’s dejected posture, uncomfortable in the position of comforter. She was always the one being cosseted. “Of course you will manage. You always do.”

“I’ve never been the wife of a pastor with two children and a new baby at Christmastime before.”

Willa’s defeated tone tugged at her heart. “Even so, everything will be all right. I’ll help with the decorations, as well.” Had she lost her mind?

Willa turned and looked at her, hope in her eyes. “Are you certain, Ellen? With your beaux coming—”

“We’ll make the decorations before they arrive. I’ll take Father’s cutter out to Butternut Hill to ask about the pine boughs today. I’ve been wanting to see Sadie anyway.”

“But the snow, Ellen... You can’t—”

“Of course not. I’ll have Asa drive me. I’ll leave as soon as I’m warmed. Meanwhile...” She stepped to the settee and lifted a threadbare brown wool dress from the pile to distract herself from the panic building at her rash offers. “This would serve for a shepherd’s robe.” She glanced up as Willa joined her, reading relief and something more in her friend’s blue-green eyes—satisfaction? Willa truly needed her. It was an odd sensation. She had always been pampered and taken care of. No one had ever needed her. She tilted her head and smiled. “I assume there is a shepherd?”

“Yes. And the Three Wise Men. And Joseph and Mary, of course.”

“Of course. Is there anything green in this pile? I think green would be lovely for Mary—it’s the color of life.”

“A wonderful suggestion, Ellen.” Willa smiled and scooped the pile into her arms. “Let me put these on the chair by the hearth while we make our choices. That way you’ll get nice and warm before you leave for Butternut Hill.”

“A good idea. Perhaps we can— Oh, my...”

“What?”

She laid aside the brown wool dress she held and touched a bit of white lace peeking out of the pile. “Look at this.” A tattered lace-trimmed tablecloth unfolded as she pulled it from the pile. “Is there an angel?”

“Certainly. We can’t have the Christmas story without including the angel that brought the good tidings.” Willa smiled at her, then leaned down and riffled through the pile. “What have we to use for Joseph? Perhaps dark blue? Ah...”

“What?”

“Here is something green.” Willa tugged a dress from the pile and held it up. “Is this the color you had in mind for Mary?”

She stared at the deep green color of the dress—the color Daniel’s eyes turned when he was angry. The color they were whenever he looked at her. Her pleasure in their quest for the right fabrics dulled. “It’s perfect.” She draped the white tablecloth over the chair back and moved closer to the fire to warm herself. Daniel was on his way back to camp, and soon she would be following his path on the sleigh ride to Butternut Hill. He was leading the way, cutting a trail as he always had. A bittersweet smile touched her lips, then turned to a frown. She had to stop remembering. Thankfully, Daniel would be busy at work hauling logs during her time home and would not be around to remind her of her silly, childish dreams.