Читать книгу A Daddy For Christmas - Linda Ford - Страница 11
ОглавлениеBlue analyzed everything she’d said and wondered if there truly was someone coming for her. And if so, when? One thing was certain. He couldn’t let a woman and two little ones manage on their own in winter weather without any sign of shelter or home. Never mind that it triggered memories he had sworn to bury and never resurrect. He could forget them again. He was good at forgetting.
“I could maybe send a messenger to let your party know you’ve arrived. Or take you there myself.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. Come on, girls.” She signaled them.
The pair had been racing around the room and now skidded to her side.
“Mama, where we going?” Eleanor asked, her joy of a moment ago swallowed up in worry. “Back to Grandfather?”
Clara’s shoulders stiffened enough for Blue to understand she didn’t care for the notion. “Certainly not.”
Libby’s expression grew stubborn. “But it’s warm here.”
“We’re going.” Clara hitched one bag over her shoulder and tucked another under her arm and marched for the door.
Blue watched. Did they plan to return to the river? They’d freeze to death. He groaned. He couldn’t allow it even if every minute increasingly threatened the fortress he’d erected around his heart.
“You need to reconsider. My boss at Eden Valley Ranch is Eddie Gardiner. His wife, Linette, often has people staying there.” Linette would soon have a baby, and Eddie had imposed limits on how many people she could take in. Still, Blue allowed himself a tiny smile. He couldn’t see Linette turning anyone away if she saw a need, even if Eddie didn’t approve. “It’s twenty minutes’ drive away,” he added. “You’d be most welcome.”
“Thanks, but no. We need to wait here.”
He strode across the room to stand perilously close to the trio. The girls looked up at him, their expressions full of hope, silently begging him to help them.
Clara, on the other hand, kept her back to him, her shoulders rigid.
He scrubbed his fist over his chin. “Ma’am, you can’t wander around in the cold.”
She shrugged.
Whether it meant defeat or resistance, he couldn’t say. “If God is looking after you, surely He means for you to accept help.”
She spun around to face him, her eyes flashing. “We’ve already accepted your help.”
The girls sighed as if realizing she meant to say no.
He couldn’t allow it.
“Ma’am, don’t let your pride be the cause of putting your children in the way of danger.” He hoped his words would make Clara rethink her decision without alarming her daughters.
“It’s not pride.” Then she clamped her mouth shut.
“You need help. Why not admit it and accept it?”
He watched a war wage behind her eyes. For some reason she hesitated to accept help. Why? If not pride, was it independence? Fear? He guessed he saw flickers of all three in her struggle. And it brought a rush of emotions to his heart. He appreciated a person’s need to take care of herself, but of what or whom was she afraid?
Resignation filled her expression. “I must stay in town.”
He wished he knew why, but it seemed futile to ask her. She kept her reasons to herself.
“Then stay with someone in town.”
Hope flared in her eyes. “Do you know of someone needing help for a few days? I could work for food and lodging.”
He considered everyone in town. None needed help this time of year. If it had been summer, the Mortons could have used someone to assist with meals.
That gave him an idea. The Mortons had a shack on their property, one where Cassie had lived before she married the ranch foreman, Roper Jones. It was better than sleeping in the open and at least there was a stove. “I have an idea. Stay here while I check it out.” Blue didn’t wait for her agreement or otherwise. He grabbed his coat and rushed out the door and across the space between the church and the Mortons’ place.
He swallowed hard and slowed his breathing before he stepped inside.
Bonnie chuckled. “Back so soon? Wanting more food?”
“Not food this time.” Again he twisted his hat. “Would you be willing to let someone use your little shack?”
She gaped at him, then shrugged. “Guess it would depend who needs it. You? I thought you meant to stay at the church.”
How to explain his predicament? “Not me. I’ll be fine at the church. Closer to my work.” He saw Bonnie’s confusion. “It’s for this lady and her two girls. Mrs. Weston. Her girls are Eleanor and Libby. They’re seven and eight.”
Bonnie leaned back on her heels and grinned. “A woman and two girls. Where did you find them?”
“They’re waiting for someone.”
“I see. Who are they waiting for?”
He curled his fingers around the brim of his hat. “They didn’t say. I offered to take her to the ranch, but she says she has to stay in town and wait.”
Bonnie chuckled. “Why, Blue Lyons, how did you manage to get yourself involved with a woman and two children? I’ve always thought of you as a loner. Someone who avoids people.”
“Yes, ma’am.” That was him all right. “I just happened to be the one who stumbled upon them. That’s all.”
She nodded, but judging by the way her mouth tipped upward in amusement he guessed she wasn’t agreeing.
“About that shack?”
Bonnie shook her head. “We’ve been storing things there.”
“So they can’t use it.” Now what? He reached for the door handle. Maybe... No, it wouldn’t be proper to stay in Macpherson’s store or the livery barn. Blue was out of suggestions.
“Wait.” Bonnie stopped him. “How long would they need the place?”
“I can’t rightly say.” Clara had been unwilling to reveal any details.
“I suppose we could fit them in. They would be crowded, but if they don’t mind...”
“I’ll bring them over.” He hurried back to the church.
Clara stood where he’d left her.
Eleanor and Libby sat on their bags, their elbows resting on their knees and their chins in the palms of their upturned hands. Their expressions were dejected until they looked up and saw him. Then they smiled, so trustingly, as if convinced he would solve their problems. He hesitated. He didn’t want anyone trusting him to take care of them. Didn’t want the concern and fear that came with it.
He shifted his gaze to their mother. “I found a place for you.”
She didn’t move. “I will only go where I can take care of our needs myself. I won’t accept charity.”
Seemed to him she was long past that. “It’s just a shack mostly used for storage. It’s no castle, but there’s a stove in it and the owner said you were welcome to use it.”
Still she stood there as stubborn as a long-eared mule.
“Why not have a look at it and then decide?” he suggested.
“Very well.” She hitched her bags higher and stepped out of the church.
He reached out to help, but she shrugged away and gave him a look that made him drop his hand in haste.
“I thought she was going to say no,” Eleanor whispered to Libby as she got to her feet.
Libby sighed and rose more slowly. “Sure glad she didn’t.”
He led them to the Morton place. The path skirted the edge of town but wasn’t exactly invisible. Soon enough Macpherson would know of Clara’s presence. Soon enough everyone would. He couldn’t say why it mattered if they did, except that he preferred no one linked his name with hers.
Bonnie had been quick enough to jump on that thought. Made a man glad there weren’t a whole lot of people in the area, though the population had certainly swollen greatly in the two years he’d been working at the ranch.
Libby dropped her bag on the ground and plopped down on it. “I’m tired.”
“Come on, Libby,” Clara said, her voice full of patience. “We might as well see what’s ahead.”
Libby shook her head. “I don’t care. I’m not going anymore.”
Blue waited. The sooner he got them safely into a shelter and got back to the church and the peacefulness of his own presence, the better.
Eleanor and Clara studied Libby.
“Are you coming?” Clara asked.
Libby shook her head. “No.”
“Very well. Come along, Eleanor.” She turned to Blue. “Lead on.”
Blue jerked back. “You’re going to leave her here?”
“She’ll come once she sees we’re leaving.”
“No, I won’t.” Libby stuck out her chin.
Blue carefully considered his options. He could take Clara and Eleanor and hope Libby would follow. Or he could stand here and wait. Or he could—
Oh, for goodness’ sake. He scooped up the child. “Now let’s get this done.”
Libby grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”
Clara sighed. “Libby, you don’t need to be carried.”
“Yes, I do.” She settled into Blue’s arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
What he had gotten himself into?
* * *
Clara wanted to snatch her daughter from Blue’s arms. She’d taught Libby better than that, and normally her youngest was shy around strangers. But not Blue, and that had Clara’s nerves twitching. Libby could be stubborn to the point of exasperation. Having her decide Blue was someone she could trust was dangerous. He already knew far too much about them. Should anyone ask, he had no reason not to say what he knew. At every stop, on every train, buggy and stagecoach, she had kept her head down and instructed the girls to do the same. She had changed her way of dress. She had changed her name. The girls had been told not to tell people anything about who they were or where they were going. She didn’t dare hope they had outrun her father. Not yet.
If only the stagecoach would whisk them away. Fort Calgary offered her a place to live and work and take care of herself. To prove to one and all she could provide for her girls.
Until then she had little choice but to wait.
But if she arrived there too weak to work, her plans would fail. She made up her mind. She would accept this shack for now. Find a way to provide food for her daughters and be prepared for the trip north.
She followed Blue along the pathway as Libby glanced over his shoulder, a triumphant look on her face.
Clara hated to admit it, but it was time she reined in her younger daughter.
They turned into a neat yard bordered by trees. She spied a pathway that led to the river. To their right lay the store and other buildings of town that she’d seen upon her arrival and where she’d asked if they had need of someone to help.
A woman waited at the tiny shack at the back of the yard. Wooden walls rose to shoulder height, then gave way to canvas nailed to slats. Blue was right about one thing. It was no castle.
He introduced Bonnie Morton to them.
“Blue told me you needed a place to stay.” The blonde woman greeted them. “This is nothing fancy but you’re welcome to it.” She glanced at the girls, seeming somewhat taken back by the sight of Libby in Blue’s arms. “You’re more than welcome to share our house.”
“I’m sure this will be fine.” Clara was weary to the point of falling over again. All she wanted was to rest.
“If you’re sure.” Bonnie opened the door and indicated Clara should step into the building. Clara pushed past a stack of wooden crates and into a space barely big enough for herself, Eleanor and Blue, who had followed still holding Libby. There was a table with a lamp on it, two chairs and a tiny stove by way of furniture. A trunk stood in one corner, and on it were stacked more boxes.
“It’s fine.”
“I like it,” Libby announced from her perch in Blue’s arms.
“Me, too,” Eleanor added. “Can we light the stove?”
“Of course,” Bonnie said. “There’s plenty of firewood stacked outside. Help yourself. The well is out there, too. Water’s free to anyone who needs it.”
Blue put Libby on her feet and went to the stove. “Let me check the pipes first and make sure they aren’t plugged. Wouldn’t want a fire.”
“But we do want a fire,” Libby protested.
“Only in the stove, little one. Only in the stove.”
Clara’s throat closed off at the tenderness in his voice. No one but herself had ever shown anything but disinterest in her girls unless they had something to gain. Her dead husband, Rolland—a much older man her father had arranged for her to marry—had only spoken to them if he had to and always in a brusque tone. Father had ignored them except to tell them to smile pretty or sit nicely.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Bonnie said. She stopped in the doorway. “I see you don’t have supplies to make meals, so please join us. I feed people. That’s what I do.”
“Thank you.” Clara meant for the use of the shack. She wouldn’t be taking any free meals. Surely in all this array of stuff she could find a pot and make her own meals.
Out of what? Could she snare a rabbit, catch a turkey?
Never before in her life had she felt such resentment at the upbringing that had left her unprepared to take care of herself. No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d proven she could manage without a man. Could look after her girls, too. They’d escaped her father’s domain in Toronto and had traveled the many miles to Edendale. She’d run out of money days ago except for the amount she hoarded to secure passage to her destination. She’d washed dishes in a dining room, hung laundry at a boardinghouse and dusted shelves in a store. Until they headed north from Fort Macleod. Since then she’d been unable to find anything but dust and icy snow.
“I’ll check the pipes outside.” Blue stepped past Clara.
In a minute the stovepipes rattled and soot puffed into the room; then he returned with wood in his arms. When he started to build the fire in the stove, she sprang into action.
“I can do that.”
“I expect you can.” He continued anyway.
She could hardly elbow him out of the way, so she stood aside, all of three feet away, which was as far as the room allowed.
He closed the lid and turned around. “There you go. You’ll be crowded but warm.”
“It’s fine. Thank you.”
He nodded, went to the door and stopped. Slowly, as if reluctant to do so, he turned around to face them. “I don’t know what your story really is, or who you think is coming to get you, but you’re safe here for as long as you need.” And then he was gone.
What a strange man.
“He’s nice,” Eleanor said. Then as if her mother’s words had finally resonated, she asked, “Mama, who are we waiting for?”
Clara hadn’t told the girls her plans. If they didn’t know, they couldn’t tell anyone. And that’s how she wanted it.
“Someone we haven’t met yet.”
“If we haven’t met him, how do you know it isn’t Mr. Blue?”
Why were the girls so ready to accept Blue as their friend and helper? So ready to trust him?
“I know it isn’t him because this isn’t where we’re going.”
Libby crossed her arms over her chest. “Then where are we going?”
“You’ll have to wait and see. Now let’s get ourselves organized.”
They pushed the table and chairs into one corner and shifted some boxes so they could put their bags on them. There was room enough for them to stretch out on the floor at night. She thought of poking through the boxes for a pot, but it seemed intrusive and she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Do you want me to read to you?” she asked the girls when they grew restless.
She pulled her Bible from her bag, trailed her fingers over the cover. This book had been her comfort for many years. A kindly servant girl had given it to her just prior to her marriage. “Let’s read Exodus.”
She explained that it was the story of the Israelites fleeing Egypt.
“Just like we’re fleeing Grandfather,” Eleanor said with more insight than Clara expected.
She read about how the pharaoh wanted to kill the boy babies but let the girl babies live.
“Good thing we’re girls,” Libby said. “Pharaoh would have let us live.”
“Mama?”
Clara turned to Eleanor.
“Did our father wish we were boys?”
“Of course not. He thought you were precious.” Though he gave them barely a passing glance, she admitted to herself. He seemed to share her father’s opinion that girls were useless objects.
She returned to the story, her daughters listening intently.
After a bit, Libby interrupted her. “Mama, are we going to a land flowing with milk and honey?”
Eleanor sighed. “I miss having milk.”
“Remember the sweet cakes the cook made? Mmm.” Libby rubbed her tummy. “Wouldn’t I like one right now.”
Eleanor licked her lips. “I’d like a dozen of them.”
“Girls, we aren’t going back to your grandfather’s.” She should have never gone back in the first place, but after Rolland had died a year ago, she had been too shocked to resist her father’s insistence that she must move home. For a year she’d turned a blind eye to how her father treated her like a brainless, helpless female. But when she’d heard him telling the girls they didn’t need to attend their lessons because all they needed was to learn how to smile and be pretty, she’d confronted Father. He administered the money left to her by Rolland, and when she’d asked for funds to get her own place, Father had flatly refused. He’d made it clear that she couldn’t manage on her own. Told her he was arranging another marriage for her.
She shuddered at the thought. She had no desire for another husband handpicked by her father. He must have read the resistance and rebellion in her expression for he’d bent closer at that moment.
“And if you think you can take the girls and leave, or perhaps think you might throw yourself on the mercy of one of your friends, you best reconsider. I would not hesitate a minute to gain custody and forbid you to ever see them again.”
That’s when she’d made up her mind to slip away without his notice. Not that she thought he would simply let her go. He would follow her to the ends of the earth if only to prove himself right. Tension snaked across her shoulders, and she glanced around, half expecting to see him poke his head through the door. But of course he wasn’t there. He’d expect her to go to a city and find comfortable lodging. It was why she had chosen the opposite. The move might have bought her some time, but sooner or later he would realize she’d gone west, and he’d find her. She could only pray by then she would have proven she could manage on her own.
She settled her nerves. God had led them this far. She’d trust Him for the rest of the journey. “We’ll have a home again soon,” she said. “I promise. I trust He’ll provide us with good things, too.”
“Like this little house?” Libby asked.
Clara nodded. “It suits us just fine for now, but it isn’t where we’ll be staying.”
“Will we have a new home in time for Christmas?” Eleanor asked. The girls studied each other a moment as if sharing a secret, then regarded Clara.
“I hope so.”
They smiled widely.
She wanted to warn them not to get their hopes too high. She couldn’t guess what accommodations they’d find in Calgary. Please, God, let us have a home by Christmas. She wished she could plan a bountiful Christmas for the girls, but this year would be vastly different from previous years. No china dolls or satin dresses or fur muffs. However, having a home would be the best present she could offer them.
Eleanor looked thoughtful. “I think Mr. Blue is a good thing, too.”
Clara smiled. “He might not appreciate being called a thing.”
“Mama, I’m hungry. Are we going over to eat with that lady?”
“No, Libby. We already ate, thanks to Mr. Blue. But I’ll find something for us. I promise.”
“But, Mama—”
“Girls.” She cut off Libby’s protests. Eleanor kept her thoughts to herself, but her expression said she didn’t care for Clara’s decision any more than Libby did. “Hasn’t God taken care of us so far?”
They nodded.
“He won’t fail us now.”
They studied her intently.
“What will God do?” Eleanor asked.
“Why don’t we ask that nice man for help?” Libby added.
“We don’t know that he’s a nice man.”
Libby nodded stubbornly. “I know he is.”
There was no point in arguing with a seven-year-old who saw things as she wished they were.
“Mr. Blue is nice,” Libby persisted. “He has a good face. Didn’t he, El’nor?”
Eleanor grinned. “I’d say so. I liked the color of his hair. Kind of red but not brick red.”
“Sandy red,” Libby said with the degree of certainty only an innocent child could portray.
Eleanor nodded.
Libby got a dreamy look on her face. “He is very handsome, isn’t he?” she asked her mother.
Clara stared. “I’m sure I didn’t notice.” Which wasn’t entirely true. She’d noticed his eyes and had been impressed with his kindness. That was all. “I’m surprised you did.”
Eleanor sighed. “Grandfather said she was precocious.” She stumbled over the word but Clara knew what she meant. Father had said the same thing to her, and he hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
“Your girls should be learning to mind their manners,” he’d growled.
He meant they should be seen and not heard. Seen as pretty things with vacant heads. How well she remembered the frustration of dealing with Father’s disapproval at any sign of the ability to think for herself.
She returned to reading aloud to the girls, but it was soon obvious their minds wandered and she left off.
The afternoon hours dragged. Her stomach lurched at the smell of food coming from the nearby house.
“Mrs. Weston?” Bonnie called from the other side of the door. “Supper will be served in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, but we won’t be coming.”
Bonnie spoke again. “The food is ready. I’ll just have to throw it out if you don’t come.”
Clara closed her eyes. Being independent was so hard. “Thank you, but we’ll manage on our own.”
“Mama!” Eleanor protested in a shocked whisper.
“Hush.” She waited for the woman to depart. “Girls, we can’t accept help from everyone.”
Was she doing the right thing? Was she trying to prove she could manage on her own when she obviously couldn’t? Was she punishing her girls in order to prove something?
God, what is the right thing for me to do?
She thought of the chapters she’d recently read. God told Moses he would deliver His people. He would bring them out. He’d promised to put words in Moses’s mouth. Could He not just as easily put food in her children’s mouths?
But by what means? If she accepted the offered meal, how could she repay the woman’s kindness?
Seemed she was stuck between two failures. If she accepted charity, it would prove that she couldn’t manage. Yet if she didn’t accept help, the girls would suffer and again prove she couldn’t manage.
She had no doubt Father would use either against her.
A knock sounded on the door; then Blue burst in without waiting for an invite.
“Clara Weston, are you so prideful that you would starve rather than accept a meal offered by that good woman out there?”
She stared at him. He thought it was pride that compelled her? Pride meant nothing. At the darkness in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth, she shivered.
What did he intend to do?
