Now she released an exaggerated sigh. “At least she isn’t making me wear one with a pheasant’s wings stitched on its sides.
I might have flown away!” Maelle put her hands alongside her head and f lapped her fingers. The three shared a laugh.
“Mike!” Aaron’s voice captured their attention. “Where do you want the wagon?”
“I’ll show you.” She gave Isabelle another quick hug before trotting to the wagon.
“This is a big day for you.” Jackson turned his attention to Isabelle. “Are you nervous?”
“Not at all about the wedding. I love Aaron so much. I’m eager to become his wife. But . . .” Isabelle quirked her lips into a weak smile. “About the speaking, I am a little nervous. Although I attended many ladies’ meetings with my mother, I was always in the audience, never the one entertaining the audience.” She clutched at his fingers. “You are speaking first, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He patted her hand and released it. “But you needn’t worry. Just share from your heart, and you’ll be fine. Now, come here.” He led her to the center of the platform, where a large cloth-draped object waited. He lifted the edge of the cloth and let her peek underneath.
She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, it’s perfect!” Aaron had teased her about purchasing a plaque to mount on a building before the building was constructed, but she had insisted the dedication plaque must be the first purchase made for the new school.
Jackson dropped the cloth. “You can unveil it during your speech.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Which will take place in less than ten minutes.”
Instantly the flutters returned in her stomach. “Oh my . . .”
He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” Then he scowled, looking toward the road. “But I’m getting concerned. My father isn’t here yet.”
“Do you want to wait?”
Jackson smirked. “Oh, no, there will be no postponing of the event. We’ll start right on time.” Reversing toward the edge of the platform, he said, “I’m going to check with Maelle, and I’ll be right back. Just relax.”
Jackson stepped off the platform and strode across the grass. As if sensing the time to begin was near, the milling throng began gathering around the platform, their conversations creating a rumble that covered the gentle whisper of the wind through the maple leaves. Isabelle stood beside the cloth-covered plaque, her linked hands pressed to her ribcage, her head down, inwardly praying.
Thank you, Lord, that this school is becoming a reality. Thank you that my sister is here to share this day with me. Thank you for those who have chosen to support the school. Bless the children who will one day live here. Give me strength and courage, Father, to speak this afternoon . . . Lost in her prayer, she jumped when someone touched her shoulder.
Jackson stood beside her, a smile lighting his face. “It’s time. Are you ready?”
To her surprise, she discovered the nervousness had fled. “Yes, I am.”
Jackson moved to the front edge of the platform and raised both arms. “Gentlemen!” The murmur faded and Jackson propped his hands on his hips, his smile broad. “Welcome! I’m so pleased you chose to join us this morning for the groundbreaking of a school and home that will benefit the orphaned children of Shay’s Ford and the fine state of Missouri.”
A cheer went up from the crowd. Jackson allowed it to die on its own. “I’ll not tell you about the school itself. I’ll leave that to the lovely lady standing behind me—” he shot Isabelle a quick grin—“but let me tell you about the children whose lives will be positively influenced, thanks to your generosity in making this school possible. . . .”
Mattie
Clancy bumped his boss with his elbow and said, “Looks like things’ve already started, Gerald.”
Matt leaned sideways in the back seat of the carriage to peer past Clancy. Despite the churning dust, he made out Jackson’s head and shoulders above a crowd of onlookers. Even from this distance, it was obvious he was addressing the group.
Gerald flicked the reins. “I feared we’d be late when we had to change horses,” he said, his tone rueful, “but we didn’t have a choice.”
Clancy gave an emphatic nod. “If ’n we’d’ve left poor Rosie in the riggin’, she’d’ve thrown that shoe fer sure, the way it was fittin’. An’ then we’d’ve been stuck along the roadside an’ not’ve gotten here at all.”
The boy sitting on Matt’s left shifted forward and tapped Clancy’s shoulder. “When we get back to the ranch, will ya show us how to shoe Rosie?”
Clancy turned clear around, his smile bright. “Why, shore I will, Tommy. That’s a good thing fer you to know.”
Of the two boys sent from Jenks’ ranch, Tommy was the most interested in learning the aspects of ranching. Freckle-faced Chester, however, openly admitted he looked forward to spending his day in a schoolroom. After this weekend, Matt knew Chester would get his wish. Jackson had made arrangements for both boys to live with a woman from town until the new orphans’ school was completed. He’d miss the boys—he’d grown attached to them in their brief time at Rocky Crest—yet he knew they would benefit from a real education.
Matt scrunched his face against the dust as Mr. Harders drew back on the reins and brought the horse to a stop behind the row of parked conveyances. Immediately the boys leapt out of the carriage and took off at a run.
“Boys!” Mr. Harders called. They whirled and returned. He grasped their shoulders. “Remember to be on your best behavior. These men are here to offer funding for the school where you’ll be living in a few months. Let them see what fine boys they’re helping.”
“Yes, sir,” the pair chorused. When Mr. Harders released them, they walked politely in front of the three men to join the group clustered in the dappled shade of the trees.
Matt could hear Jackson speaking as they approached. “. . . and I’m pleased to introduce to you the woman whose caring heart and benevolent nature has made this day possible. Please welcome Miss Isabelle Standler.”
Matt joined the others in applause as an attractive young woman with shimmering red hair stepped to the front of the platform. She looked vaguely familiar, and Matt wondered where he’d seen her before. She raised her glove-covered hands in a silent plea to end the clapping, and the crowd obediently quieted.
“God has richly blessed me,” the young woman began. “I had the privilege of being raised in affluence. As a child, I never wanted for material goods. All of my needs were met promptly, without hesitation, and I was provided with many luxuries, as well.”
Clancy tipped his head toward Matt and whispered, “A body could figure that from her dress. Purty fancy, huh?” Matt flashed a quick grin in response, then turned his attention back to the woman.
“I might have continued in the manner in which I was raised had it not been for the untimely death of my parents in an accident last December. Their deaths made me an orphan, and I shall never forget the despair and uncertainty of those first days, knowing I would never again have the pleasure of calling anyone Mama and Papa.”
Tears glittered in the woman’s eyes, bringing out the vivid green of her irises. Matt’s heart swelled with sympathy. He understood too well the despair she mentioned.
“Just days after their deaths, I learned a disturbing truth. Rather than being orphaned at the age of eighteen, I discovered— through paperwork hidden in my papa’s safe—that I had been orphaned many years previously, when I was still a baby. I learned, much to my heartache, that the man and woman I called Papa and Mama were not my true parents. Indeed, I had not been born to the Standler family as I’d always believed, but I had been taken in as infant.”
A murmur broke out across the crowd. Matt leaned forward, straining to hear the woman’s soft voice over the jumble of voices.
“I was not born to affluence. Rather, I had a humble beginning, born to an immigrant couple named Angus and Brigid Gallagher.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Clancy drew such a sharp breath, two men turned around to stare. His bony hand grasped Matt’s arm, and Matt clamped his hand over Clancy’s. Matt’s knees nearly gave way as the meaning of the woman’s statement dawned on him. She continued, oblivious to the fact that she’d just turned his world upside down.
“I was born Molly Gallagher. And had it not been for Reginald and Rebecca Standler’s willingness to accept an orphaned baby into their home, I might have grown up like the children Jackson described for you earlier. I might have spent my days on the streets, selling newspapers to survive. No child deserves such a cold, harsh upbringing.”
Her green-eyed gaze swept across the audience. Matt held his breath as it skimmed past him, unaware. “Since coming to Shay’s Ford, I have encountered, face-to-face, the difficulties of being without a home, without a family. The children I’ve met are amazingly resilient, amazingly able, far beyond their years. Yet they are sacrificing something precious to be self-sufficient—they are sacrificing their childhoods and their opportunity for education. I believe they deserve more than a day-to-day existence, and I applaud you for sharing my belief.
“Although I was never formally adopted by the Standlers, my papa loved me enough to provide for my future. Since the inheritance he left me has made it possible to purchase this land and the materials to construct the buildings, it gives me great pleasure to dedicate the project to his memory.”
Matt rose on tiptoe to watch his baby sister move quickly to an object draped with a white cloth in the center of the platform. A deft flip of her wrist removed the cloth, revealing a brass plate. With a huge smile, she announced, “The Reginald Standler Home for Orphaned and Destitute Children.” She blinked rapidly and said in a tear-choked voice, “May the children who enter this home feel as welcomed and loved as I was made to feel by my dear foster parents.”
Wild cheers, whistles, and applause broke out. It continued, unfettered, for several minutes. But Matt didn’t join in. His trembling hands were incapable of connecting. His quivering legs threatened to collapse. His heart pounded so hard he feared it might leave his chest. Standing fewer than twelve feet away was his baby sister, Molly, holding on to Jackson Harders’ arm and beaming at the raucous crowd.
What if he’d given in to his fears and run away from Jenks? He’d be miles down the road, far away from his sister. Gratitude competed with the shock of finding Molly, and tears stung so sharply his nose burned. Oh, Lord, you brought me to her. Thank you!
Eventually things quieted, and Jackson led Molly from the shaded platform into the bright sunshine. The crowd surged after the pair. Clancy herded Matt along, his whiskery face wearing a grin so broad it nearly split his face in two. When the group formed a circle around Jackson and Molly, Clancy planted his hands on Matt’s back and gave a firm shove that propelled him from the rear of the group to the front, where he had a clear view of Jackson Harders placing a shovel in Molly’s small hands.
Green ribbons tied to the shovel’s handle danced around Molly’s wrists as she pressed the blade against the grass. She smiled at the crowd before putting her petite foot on the blade’s shoulder. With a tiny grunt, she leaned her weight against the shovel, and the blade bit into the ground. Her lower lip between her teeth, she gave the shovel handle a jerk that turned the spot of soil. She laughed, her eyes shining, as another cheer broke out.
She passed the shovel to Jackson, who gave a bow before jamming the blade into the ground and turning a sizable chunk of sod. Molly patted her palms together, and then she shifted her gaze above the crowd. Raising one hand, she waved to someone.
Her sweet voice called out, “You’ve taken a sufficient number of photographs! Come and break ground, Maelle!”
Matt jerked his head so hard his neck hurt and he nearly lost his hat.
Maelle?!
Maelle
With a laugh, Maelle grabbed the edge of the wagon and leapt over the side. Her boots hit the ground, sending up a puff of dust. The crowd parted, allowing her passage, and she joined Isabelle and Jackson. Her piece of sod matched Jackson’s in depth and size, earning a rousing shout of approval from the onlookers.
Laughing, she enveloped Isabelle in a hug. Behind her, Jackson’s voice rang out. “That concludes our ceremony, gentlemen. Thank you for coming, and may God bless you!”
The crowd dispersed, the men moving toward their waiting vehicles, except for a tall cowboy, who remained as if rooted in place just a few feet from the three grayish brown clumps of overturned sod. Although his hat brim shaded the upper half of his face, Maelle made out two thin rivulets of moisture running toward his quivering chin.
Isabelle stepped from her sister’s embrace to dash to Aaron, and Maelle heard Jackson say her name, but she couldn’t take her gaze from the cowboy. Something in his stiffly held shoulders and clenched fists, his chiseled cheeks stained with tears, spoke of a deep emotion. A tingle raced across her scalp. The artist in her desired to capture the man’s posture on film so she could examine it later, understand its impact. Yet she couldn’t move.
She stared as his hand rose to remove his hat. Tawny brown eyes met hers. Thick locks of reddish-brown hair, tousled by the wind, fell across his forehead.
She gasped. Oh, heavenly Father, can it be . . . ?
She took one hesitant step forward, her jaw dropping, her body straining toward him. She searched his face, her hands pressed to her thumping heart, and she uttered the question she had longed to ask for so long, “Would you still be havin’ your tie to home?”
The cowboy crushed his hat against his thigh. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he offered a slow nod. “I look at the photograph every night before I go to bed, hopin’ I might be seein’ you in my dreams.”
Maelle’s knees buckled, and she clasped her throat with both hands. “Mattie!” Did she speak his name or only think it?
From behind her, she heard Isabelle’s puzzled query. “Mattie? You mean . . . our brother?”
Before Maelle could respond, Isabelle raced past her and threw herself into Mattie’s arms. Maelle watched Mattie scoop their little sister from the ground, Isabelle laughing as she clung to his neck. Her chest ached with the effort of containing her joy as she witnessed the reunion between the two people she loved more than anyone else in the world.
Mattie swung Isabelle in a circle, trampling his hat beneath his boots, then set her back on the grass. His head lifted, his tear-wet gaze meeting Maelle’s. He held out one arm in invitation, and she staggered forward, her feet clumsy. A cry of delight left her lips as her brother crushed her to his chest in a hug that stole her breath. A strangled sob found its way from her throat, and she allowed her tears to flow. Tears of joy the likes of which she’d never shed before.
She wriggled loose enough to stand on her toes and kiss her brother’s damp cheeks and forehead, just as she’d done the last day she’d been with him. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, murmuring, “You’re real. I can’t believe you’re real.”
Maelle understood his wonder. To be in his arms was a gift she feared she’d never receive. The awe of the moment filled her and overflowed.
The world faded away, and all that existed was Maelle, Mattie, and Molly, floating on a plane of happy abandon. They clung, their arms entangled, alternately laughing and crying. Then they separated to all talk at once.
“How did you find me?”
“Did you know we were here?”
“Have you just arrived in Shay’s Ford?”
Laughter rang again, the answers unnecessary.
“Maelle . . .” Mattie’s hand convulsed on Maelle’s back. His voice—a voice so much deeper than the childish voice from their past—quavered with emotion. “You’re so beautiful . . . Still in trousers . . . Your hair long again . . .” He shifted his attention to Isabelle. “You’re all grown up an’ as tiny an’ lovely as our own mother. Lookin’ at you is like seein’ her all over again, Molly.”
Maelle corrected gently, “Her foster pa
rents named her Isabelle.”
Isabelle shook her head wildly, making her silky red curls bounce. “He can call me Molly if he wants to.” She beamed upward, her slender fingers reaching to touch Mattie’s cheek.
“All my life I’ve longed for a big brother who loved me, and now here you are!” Fresh tears rained down Isabelle’s face.
They melted once more into a three-way hug. Maelle’s heart praised, You’ve answered me prayers, dear Father. You’ve brought me Molly and Mattie. I thank you, Lord. I thank you . . .
“Maelle?”
Maelle jumped at the sound of Jackson’s voice. He stood a few feet away with his father, Aaron, Clancy, and two young boys. Unwilling to relinquish Mattie, she tucked herself beneath her brother’s arm before answering. “Yes?”
Jackson held out his pocket watch. “I hate to intrude, but we’ve got to get back to town or Aaron and Isabelle will be late to their own wedding.”
“Wedding?” Mattie gawked at Isabelle, who beamed at him from beneath his other arm. “You’re gettin’ married?”
“Today,” she confirmed. “Maelle is my attendant.”
Mattie shook his head. “Married . . . My baby sister . . .”
“To Aaron Rowley.” Isabelle gestured him forward. Then she pressed her hand to Mattie’s chest. “And you must come.”
Catching Maelle’s hand, she joined the three of them together.
“Will you walk me down the aisle, Mattie?”
Her hand tucked into the bend of Jackson’s elbow, Maelle walked slowly along the city’s boardwalk. He tempered his stride to match hers, slowed by the full skirt of her dress. For once she didn’t rue the slower pace. She was in no hurry to leave his side.
Streetlamps cast a golden glow, lighting their path, and their shadows provided company as they made their way to Maelle’s studio. The empty streets and darkened places of business lent an intimacy to the setting. She and Jackson might have been the only two people in the world.
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