by Jillian Hart
Lilacs. She thought of the garden outside Sam Frost’s kitchen door.
Could these be from Sam? She knelt down to gather the long stems. Who else would have given her flowers? The bouquet had been tied with a ribbon. She ran her fingertip over the stems. The leaves felt like dried velvet, the delicate cones of blooms like the finest French silk. Memories assailed her, the lilac bushes outside her childhood home making the house smell luxuriously for most of May, planting a lilac bush outside her shanty with new little baby Merry watching, bundled safely in her basket. The scent of the blossoms reminded her of home, of love, and most of all, of hope.
Sam Frost had left these for her? Tears lumped in her throat and scalded her eyes. The man hardly liked her. She’d seen the look on his face when she’d told him about her long-ago fort. While he hadn’t been horrified and she hadn’t known quite how to label his confused countenance, she was certain of one thing. Sam Frost had sorely regretted inviting to dinner a woman who knew how to climb trees and fend off pretend bandits.
For a moment, just one long moment as she found a tall jar and filled it with water from the pitcher, she dreamed. What if Sam had been smitten by her? What if he’d cut these flowers with love? What if he’d left them here, hoping it would make her smile? That his regard would brighten her day and lighten her load? That when he gazed upon her, endless love filled him up, real love, the incandescent, perfect kind?
But wasn’t that just a wish? Molly set the jar on the counter, closed the door behind her and hurried through the pre-dawn shadows. Sam didn’t love her. He had brought his offering to delight her, sure, but because he had decided his girls needed a mother. It was a practical decision on his part, nothing more.
If her disappointment felt as large as the sky and as shadowed as the ground at her feet, she did her best to ignore it. She hurried through sleeping wildflowers and whispering grasses to the barn, blind to the beauty as dawn came.
Sam stumbled into the kitchen, blinking against the too bright light. He felt one hundred years old and soul-weary as he dropped his medical bag on the bench by the door and shucked off his coat. The sun was well up. He had no notion as to the time. Bless Kathleen for the fresh pot of coffee on the stove and the scent of bacon in the air. Must be a breakfast plate for him in the warmer.
“There you are.” Kathleen bustled into the kitchen with a broom in hand. “I thought I heard the door close. You’ve been up since the wee hours.”
“Mr. Markus is going to make it. His heart gave him a scare.” Sam wrapped his fingers around the back rung of his chair. Maybe it was a trick of the mid-morning light, or his weary mind, but a shaft of sunlight sliced through the window and landed directly on the extra chair at the table, the one Molly had used the other night.
Molly. Thinking of her stirred up all kinds of tender feelings and all sorts of sensible reasons not to acknowledge those feelings. He didn’t like her. He wasn’t going to like her. He intended to stay in absolute control of his emotions.
Kathleen set a cup of hot coffee in front of him and the plate from the warmer.
“Bless you.” He surely appreciated his housekeeper. He felt less exhausted basking in the aroma of crisp bacon, scrambled eggs and blueberry pancakes. “Where are the girls?”
“Out weeding the garden like I told them. They have that vase to work off, although it’s my opinion—” Kathleen took a deep breath like a general preparing for battle. “I don’t think it’s right they work off the vase.”
“Their cow broke the vase. They need to learn responsibility.”
“Yes, I agree. But it might not look right from Miss Molly’s view.” Kathleen set the small pitcher of maple syrup and the butter dish on the table. “You just think about that. There hasn’t been one woman in these parts brave enough to have supper with you. Those twins are a blessing, but a passel of trouble, too. A wise man wouldn’t ask questions. He wouldn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t look left or right. He would marry that woman. Because if you don’t, it might well be an eternity before another woman comes along who’s partial to your girls.”
Yes, that was exactly what he needed right now. Now, when he was too tired to think straight. He was seeing double. He blinked again. Maybe triple. “I don’t want to get married.”
“You might consider those young ones. Out there trying to impress you and Miss Molly. They need a mother’s love.”
He reached for the sugar jar and tipped it into his coffee. The fog in his head cleared a tad. “The girls weren’t out in the garden.”
“Sure they were. They were right—” Kathleen peered out the back window where the vegetable garden was visible beyond lawn. “Where did they get off to?”
Not again. Sam pushed away from the table. “Keep that warm for me. No telling how long I’ll be.”
Tired to the bone, he climbed to his feet. A father’s work was never done. If a tiny voice in his head reminded him that Kathleen was right, that his girls obviously needed more than he could provide, he didn’t want to admit it. He had been denying that voice for years.
He stumbled out of the back door and hadn’t gone two feet before he realized something was different. No overgrown branches smacked him as he marched down the walkway. The overgrown lilacs had been trimmed.
Excellent. The girls were showing some improvement, after all. Maybe what they needed was time and firm, loving guidance. Kathleen was wrong.
She had to be.
“Miss Molly!”
Startled, she glanced up from her work at the bakery’s front counter, wrapping dinner rolls, bread and a dozen cookies for Mrs. Worthington’s afternoon pickup. She lost count of the cookies. The Frost twins tromped through the doorway, dressed in matching pink calico dresses and innocent faces. Too innocent faces. What were the girls up to?
“This is a pleasant surprise,” she greeted. “What are you two doing here?”
“Oh, we got real hungry for a cookie.”
“Real hungry.”
At ten in the morning? Quite unusual. She considered her little customers. “I can’t remember you two coming by the bakery before this.”
“That’s because we didn’t know you.”
“We do now.”
“Uh-huh.” Not that she wasn’t delighted to see her little friends, but she had learned a thing or two about the pair. “What about your pa? Does he know where you are?”
Both girls shook their heads slowly. Puppy dog eyes and downcast faces.
Adorable. She did her best not to let them see her smile. “Did you girls come to town on your own?”
“It wasn’t much of a walk—”
“—it didn’t take much time at all. We can go back—”
“—if you want us to.”
“You don’t, do you?”
What did she do with them? As cute as two peas in a pod and twice as dear. She thought of the flowers at home on her kitchen counter, a gift from their father. A courting man left flowers. No doubt about that. Her stomach tightened, as if filling with too many conflicting emotions. Hope and despair, wishes and reality, faith and fear.
“We were weeding the carrots—”
“—which is really hard.”
“We have to get every single weed in the whole garden—”
“—except we got hungry.”
Was Sam Frost going to come courting her? Why did that question make the children standing on the other side of the counter suddenly more precious to her? Her hand shook as she recounted the cookies in the bakery box and added two more to make a baker’s dozen.
They cannot be your children, Molly. She had to be careful. She had to remember that a child could not fill the void in a marriage when love did not thrive. With a flick of her wrists, she closed the box lid and secured it tightly. “Let me understand this. You two are so hungry you had to walk a quarter of a mile into town instead of going to the cookie jar in your own kitchen?”
“Oops.” Penelope blushed.
Prudence bowed her head.
“Maybe we wanted to see you, Miss Molly.”
“Maybe I want to see you, too, but promise me something.” She swept around the counter and brought both chins up to meet her gaze. “You tell Mrs. Finley or your father before you surprise me again. All right?”
“Yes’m.” Both girls smiled, little beauties with hearts of gold.
Okay, so she was sweet on them. She nodded toward the table at the large front window, where the day’s delicious specials were on display. A chocolate layer cake, a pan of cinnamon rolls, fresh loaves of rye bread and big plates of iced cookies. “Now, each of you pick out one thing. It will be my treat.”
“Thanks, Miss Molly.” They chimed together, twice the sweetness as they raced ahead of her. They had wanted to see her. Enough they had walked all the way here on a Saturday, when they had any number of fun activities to keep them amused at home.
Their question from the first day they met flitted into her thoughts. Do you want to get married? You could marry Pa. Then he wouldn’t be cross anymore. Or lonely. So, do you want to?
Longing filled her, the longing of a mother who had empty arms and no child to love. The floor felt shaky beneath her feet. She grabbed onto the counter, holding on. It would be so easy to start caring too much. To let her affection for the girls influence how she felt about their father. She wanted a family with all of her soul, so much she ached with it.
More than that, she did not want to make a mistake. To trade the dream of true love and happiness for the reality of uneasy silences and discord.
Do not start loving them, Molly. She willed strength back into her knees and resolve into her heart. Still, it was hard not to adore the girls. Penelope and Prudence in their matching pink dresses and bonnets, their straight black braids and shiny black shoes leaned carefully over the pretty table covered with delicious treats, considering their choices.
The door swung violently open, sending the jingle bell over it ringing with alarm. A man’s dark frame filled the doorway, wearing a black Stetson, black attire and a granite-set look of disapproval. Sam’s gaze collided with hers and she felt the wave of his unhappiness like a sucker punch as he pounded into the bakery, his boots striking angrily on the floor.
“Girls! What did I tell you?” His hazel eyes darkened, a formidable man of steel and cool temper.
Molly watched in horror as the startled twins turned from the table, Penelope’s shoe caught the table leg, she stumbled and there was a deafening crash.
Chapter Six
Dread cascaded through him at the boom of exploding glass. Wood crashed to the floor. A porcelain plate hit the ground with a ring. One sugar cookie rolled like a wheel toward him, hit the counter and broke into three pieces.
His girls—his adorable, troublemaking girls—were in the middle of the shattered glass, splintered wood and ruined baked goods. Prudence stood with her hands to her face, her eyes round with horror. Penelope was in the rubble down on one knee, cradling one hand with her other. Fresh blood seeped between her fingers.
He didn’t remember crossing the floor. Suddenly he was crunching across the debris, fear driving him.
“We’re real sorry, Pa.” Penelope’s bottom lip trembled.
“We didn’t mean it.” Tears pooled in Prudence’s eyes.
“Don’t move. Not a step.” He lifted Penny from the rubble, hating the sight of that blood. It didn’t look too bad. With a kiss to her forehead, he set her safely away from the shards of glass. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Let me get your sister.”
Penny sniffed and nodded, cradling her cut hand, and he swooped Prudy into his arms. Glass and cookies ground beneath his boots as he turned, and the sight greeting him nearly toppled him. Molly knelt in front of Penelope, examining her injured hand. He lost awareness of everything—the child against his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, fear that his daughter was in pain. He felt weightless, buoyant with emotion.
“It’s not bad at all. I’ll get some water to wash this with.” Pure concern shone like a pearl’s luster as she gently wiped a tear from the girl’s cheek. “Come over here and sit for me, okay, love? It’s going to be all right.”
Penny nodded with another sniffle. “It only hurts a little bit.”
His good girl. Chin set, more tears hovering but not falling, trying so hard to be brave. Vaguely he was aware of lowering Prudence to the floor. Somewhere in his befuddled mind he knew he should be the one to tend to the wound, but for the life of him he could not seem to move. Two things became crystal clear. The gentle tug against his hand as Prudence wrapped her fingers in his, and Molly as she returned with a bowl, pitcher and cloths.
“Come sit over here.” Pure compassion, the woman took Penny’s elbow and guided her the few steps to the long bench meant for customers. She helped Penelope to sit, her murmur spoken so low, the words were lost to him.
The little girl relaxed, her gaze taking in every detail of the woman’s face. Molly held the little hand to the basin, poured water over the wound and dabbed carefully, checking for bits of glass and debris.
He felt a tug on his hand and met Prudy’s worried face and plea-filled eyes. She hadn’t been harmed by the broken glass, but she was hurting from something different, something harder to see.
“She’s just like our list, Pa.” She whispered, sidling up against him, so it was just the two of them. “She’s nice in every way.”
She certainly is. His windpipe thickened, but it was no medical malady that made it hard to draw in air. It was this woman kneeling before his child, with her delicate golden curls and kindness. There was no pretense. No social decorum. Nothing but concern for the child. Like a mother, she inspected the raw edges of the small cut, speaking soothingly in low tones, trying to tease a smile from the girl to reassure her.
It was almost as if Molly were a mother, for she knew just what to do, how to comfort, how to care.
“You hold that still for me, okay, darling?” Molly took the bloody cloths and rose with a rustle of her skirts. She cradled Penny’s chin with her free hand. “I’ll look to see if Mrs. Kraus has a salve in the medicine cabinet. Then we’ll get that wrapped up good so you can have a cookie. Maybe you had better have two cookies. It will help you heal faster.”
He watched, amazed. As she smiled down at his daughter, she changed in the same way a bud opened into a blossom. The same way dawn became morning. Everything about her bloomed. Her eyes, her face, her spirit. Pure radiance. In that light he saw something kindred, the sorrow he’d read in her before. But this held a joy, too, a memory and a love so powerful, he knew. He knew.
Bless her, Lord. Please look after her, for all she has been through.
Sorrow beat at his carefully controlled will. His resolve not to like or to care about Mrs. Molly McKaslin crumbled like a cookie, leaving strong, vibrant emotion. He wanted to think it was sympathy for her lonesomeness he felt, and that’s what he was going to tell himself. He could not love her. He would not love her.
“I’ve got some salve in my medical bag in the buggy.” He moved woodenly toward the door, his emotions oddly disconnected as he grasped the brass knob and bolted into the warm, bright day, refusing to let himself wonder why he was running so fast.
As Molly wrapped up two cookies each for the girls, she tried not to watch the girls and their father. The girls sat side by side on the bench while Sam knelt on the floor, bandaging Penelope’s hand.
She gathered up both little packages and by the time she’d circled the end of the front counter, she made sure she had a smile on her face.
“This should make both of you feel a little bit better.” She presented the bundles to Prudence. “Perhaps you could carry this for your sister?”
“Yes’m. Thank you so much, Miss Molly.”
“Yes, thank you.” The intensity of Penelope’s smile had changed.
Everything had changed. Molly swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rawness in her midsection. She gave a tug on each girl’s sunbonnet brim
. “It was a pleasure seeing you two, but I hope the rest of your day is less eventful.”
“Me, too. I only got one other hand.” Penelope wiggled her good fingers. “I can’t climb into our fort.”
“Or lasso Sukie if she runs off.”
“Or climb over the rocks at the creek.”
“I guess you two will have to stay home with Kathleen for a few days until this heals up right.” Sam winked at them. “You’ll have to be proper. Maybe learn needlework.”
“My hand, Pa?” Penelope showed him the bandage as a reminder.
“I know. Sewing is out of the question, but a father can have hope. Maybe you can sit with me in the library.”
“You could read the plays to us.” Prudence, hopeful, sidled close to her twin, gazing adoringly at her strong, gentle father. “The one with Viola—”
“—the girl that dresses up like a boy.” Penelope finished, all hope.
“Twelfth Night it is.” Sam rose to his six-foot height. Hard not to be impressed by his dependable shoulders and stalwart kindness. “Molly, thank you for all you’ve done for my daughters.”
He may have been talking about cleaning Penelope’s cut and comforting the girl, or perhaps sweeping up the mess in front of the window, but she suspected he was thanking her for more. Much more.
She felt a pang of hope in her heart. A hope she could not simply give in to. Maybe there was a chance his courting was sincere. Maybe.
“Helping your girls was my pleasure.” She opened the door. Fresh May sun streamed in like a celebration of life and love. “I hope you feel better, Penelope.”
“I do. Now.” Although the child walked by and did not reach out, her need was like a small hand grasping the strings of Molly’s heart.
“I’m real sorry my shoe got caught on the table leg.”
“I’m real sorry about the cookies.”
Impossible not to love those darling girls just a little bit more. “I’m glad you both are all right.”