Courting Miss Callie

by Dorothy Clark

  Minute by minute the trench grew longer, deeper, the pile of discarded dirt higher—every shovelful a testimony to his veracity and honor. He was not leaving Pinewood. And the trench, the pile of dirt and the blisters forming on his palms, was the proof.

  * * *

  Footsteps. Callie stiffened. She’d been right to stay abed. Ezra was there in the kitchen as if nothing had happened—and he had to know. Sophia would have told him.

  The hurt washed over her anew, wrenched at her heart. She fisted her hands and snagged her lower lip with her teeth to keep from crying out.

  The kitchen door opened, closed. His footsteps crossed the porch, stopped.

  No, Lord, please—make him go on so I can rise. I have work to do. She held her breath, strained against the silence, waiting. His footsteps drew near, his voice floated through her open window, the words clear, unmistakable. Her heart stopped. Her lungs quit working. His intentions were pure? The post was a foolish mistake?

  Her breath gusted from her lungs. She rose and stepped to the side of the window, caught a glimpse of Ezra washed in the thinning moonlight as he left the porch. He was dressed in his logger clothes. Where was he going? She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She was so tired of all this doubt and confusion. But how was she to know the truth? Every time she thought she had the situation with Ezra figured out, something happened to turn things around the other way.

  Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

  The Bible verse dropped into her mind, clear and uninvited. She jerked upright, her heart pounding. Was she afraid? Is that why she refused to listen to Ezra? Was it righteous indignation—or fear of what would happen if she let him into her heart? If she dared to trust him?

  Conviction settled deep in her heart and spirit. She released the air pent in her lungs. She had to do it. Somehow, some way she had to find the courage, the grace to listen to what Ezra had to say.

  * * *

  Callie pushed the damp curls off her forehead with the back of her hand and wished she could go outside and stand in the breeze and see for herself what was going on—the shouts of the drivers encouraging their teams, the protesting scrape of the stone boat skids against the street and the rumble of the wagons passing by the hotel.

  Ezra was building his bank. She now knew for a certainty that much of what he’d said was true.

  She sighed, dropped the mixing fork and grabbed up the spoon, scooped the biscuit topping onto the prepared rhubarb in the dish. All day the guests had crowded the windows or stood on the front porch to watch the activity then clustered in little groups to discuss it. And the villagers who came to the dining room did the same. The whole place was abuzz with the goings-on. And she had to stay in the kitchen. For the first time it felt confining. That, too, had changed. The kitchen had been her escape, her sanctuary when she arrived.

  She brushed the flour dust from her hands, glanced out the side window. Where was that cinnamon she needed? Agnes had probably gotten caught up in all the hubbub. She should have gone after it herself, then she would have been able to see Ezra at work. Perhaps that would give her the courage she needed to face him.

  She opened the oven, drew back from the blast of hot air, shoved in the dish and closed the door. It was time to start baking in the cool of evening. She’d have to discuss it with Agnes when she—

  The porch door opened. “Thank goodness, Agnes! I need that cinnamon for—” She gasped, stared at Ezra’s pale face, at the blood running over his temple and cheek and dripping onto his shoulder.

  He lifted his hand and wiped the drops from his jaw. “I think I need some of that salve.”

  His smile went straight to her heart, set it fluttering. She gathered her wits about her. “Sit down, Ezra.” She reached for the teakettle, poured warm water into a bowl and snatched up a clean cloth. “What happened?” She grabbed the crock of salve and carried everything to the table.

  “One of the men jumped out of the way of a tumbling rock and my head happened to be in line with his shovel.”

  The cut was at his hairline, on the left side of his forehead. There would be no standing behind him this time—not even to the side. She doused the rag, wrung it out and swallowed hard as he moved his legs out of her way and tipped his head back.

  She stepped close to the front of the chair, acutely aware of his legs on either side of her skirts, of his broad chest so close in front of her. Please, please don’t let my hands tremble. The edges of the cloth quivered. Why did she bother to ask?

  She wiped the blood from his forehead and cheek, doing her best to hold her mind blank, to avoid looking into his eyes. That would be her undoing. The man wanted to explain his deception to her and clear his conscience, that didn’t mean he cared for her. She rinsed the rag and dabbed at the cut, concentrated on getting the bits of dirt out.

  “Callie...”

  His long, strong fingers encircled her wrist—so gentle, so warm. She swallowed hard, stared at the cut and stood perfectly still. One small tug and she would be on his lap, in his arms. Oh, how she wanted to be.

  He cleared his throat. “Sophia told me about the letter from your Mother, and I know you’re angry and upset. I also know you’re captive right now and that it would not be fair of me to take advantage of that.” His gaze burned up at her, his grip on her wrist tightened slightly. “Will you come for a walk with me tonight? Will you let me explain everything to you? I’d like to start again, with nothing but truth between us.”

  The warmth and sincerity in his voice crumbled the last of her defenses. She gathered her courage and nodded. She would give him his chance. She wanted so much for him to be the upright man she needed him to be.

  “I’ll call for you at the kitchen door at dusk.” His voice was soft, gruff. He kissed the tip of her bandaged finger and released her wrist.

  She caught her breath and opened the crock of salve.

  * * *

  One moment in time. One brief moment. How quickly a person’s life could change forever. Callie left Sophia issuing instructions to Joseph and walked to the sitting room, sat at Sophia’s desk and took out the writing supplies. She had to write Sadie now, while she was still numb from the shock.

  She dipped the pen in the ink and pulled the paper forward.

  Dearest Sadie,

  My friend, I have bad news. Your grandfather was in the village watching the foundation for a new bank being laid up when a seizure took him and he collapsed. He is now here at the hotel and Doctor Palmer is tending him.

  Your grandfather has awakened, but is unable to walk or use his right arm. His speech is slurred, also, though he has his wits about him and is able to answer questions. Doctor Palmer is hopeful that your grandfather will strengthen and not suffer another such attack, but he cannot say for certain.

  Aunt Sophia has sent Joseph for your grandmother. I know not what will happen then for—

  Oh, Sadie, your beloved grandmother is not well in her mind. She is very forgetful, and often confuses people and blurs the past with the present. The one thing she seems to remain absolutely clear about is you. She misses you terribly, Sadie.

  Please know, my dear friend, that because Doctor Palmer believes your grandmother’s condition renders her unable to manage your grandfather’s care, both Grandfather and Grandmother Townsend will have a home here at the Sheffield House as long as is needed. Aunt Sophia, Willa and I will give them both our best care and our fond love.

  I am so very sorry to write you such sad news, Sadie. My heart aches for you.

  Aunt Sophia sends her love.

  My warmest love always,

  Callie

  She sealed the letter, cleared and closed the desk, then stood looking at the letter in her hand, thinking of what had happened, and of the years of happiness Sadie had missed with her fami
ly because of fear.

  “Blessed Lord, please don’t let me miss my moment because I’m afraid.” She whispered the prayer into the silence and hurried from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The western sky was filled with a glorious burst of pink and gold rays that streamed between fluffy white clouds and dared the oncoming dusk to dim their beauty. A soft, warm breeze played with the grasses in the fields and the leaves of the trees. It was a perfect night. Grant that it might be so, Lord.

  Ezra smoothed back his hair, straightened his blue cotton shirt and knocked on the kitchen door, his heart pumping as if he’d tried to outrun Reliable.

  The door opened and Callie stepped outside and looked up at him. There was something different in her eyes... A man could lose himself in their beauty. Pink spread along her delicate cheekbones, her long, thick lashes lowered. He came to his senses. “Shall we go?”

  She nodded and glanced up at him as they crossed the porch. “Am I permitted to ask our destination?”

  He shook his head, took her elbow and helped her down the steps and onto the path to the carriageway. “It’s a surprise.”

  “As is this.” She stopped, stared at his horse tethered to the hitching post. “I thought we were going for a walk.”

  “We are, but there is wild, unkempt ground where we are going and I didn’t want you to ruin your gown.”

  “How thoughtful.” She glanced up at him, looked back at the horse and nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve never ridden horseback.”

  He jerked his gaze from her mouth, smiled reassurance as he freed the reins. “I’ll walk beside you and lead him, but if you’d rather not, I can take him back to the stable and—”

  “Oh, no, don’t do that. I think this is a...moment.” She gave him a smile he felt to his toes.

  “A moment?” He tugged at the reins, and they started toward the road, Reliable plodding along behind.

  “It’s nothing.” She stopped at the street, and glanced up at him.

  “This way.” He took her elbow and led her across the street, turned north. “You must be relieved that Dr. Palmer believes your friend’s grandfather will be all right.”

  “Yes.” She gave him a quizzical look.

  “Sophia told me.” They crossed Oak Street, approaching the edge of the field. “Do you think your friend will come home?”

  “I don’t know. Sadie—” She stopped as he turned off the road into the field. “Is this where we are going?”

  “Yes.” He looked down into her eyes. She took a breath and looked away. Disappointment struck. Foolish of him to think he could surprise her with his discovery. She had spent her childhood years here. “Are you familiar with this land?”

  “I’ve been here...once.”

  Her voice sounded small and tight. Something had changed. He tried for a lighter touch. “But never on horseback.”

  “No.” She smiled, looked down at the ground around them. “These grasses are all trampled. And there are ruts...”

  “Do you want to ride?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I’d rather walk as long as the grass is down...”

  She was curious. He followed as she moved ahead along the trampled path. Please, Lord. She stopped again, stared ahead.

  “What is that—there by those elms?”

  “Those are stones for a foundation.” He tightened his grip on the reins, moved up to stand beside her. “The lumber for framing will be delivered tomorrow.” Confusion clouded her beautiful eyes. He waited for her questions.

  “You own this land?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked toward the elms, the piles of stone. “Is this the surprise you wanted to show me?”

  “Part of it.”

  She threw him another curious look and walked on, her long skirts floating over the flattened grasses. “What are you building?”

  “A home.” That stopped her. She turned and looked at him.

  “Your home?”

  Ours. The word pushed at his tongue, but he held it back. He couldn’t say it yet. “I told you everything I wanted was in Pinewood, and that I wasn’t leaving. I meant it.” He stood quiet beneath her searching gaze, let her read the sincerity in his eyes.

  “I didn’t believe you.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  “I know. But I never lied to you, Callie.”

  She drew a deep breath, turned and walked over to where the stakes linked with heavy twine drew the outline of the house. “Why did you deceive us?”

  “To protect myself.”

  She turned and looked at him.

  Please, Lord, give me the right words. He let the reins slip to the ground and walked over to stand in front of her. “You told me you came to Pinewood to escape the wealthy men who thought they could buy anything—even a wife.”

  She stared up at him, waiting.

  “I came for the opposite reason, Callie. I came to escape the people who befriended me, and the women who pursued me for no reason other than my wealth.”

  Her eyes widened, her soft full lips parted in a small gasp.

  He pressed his point. “It’s not comfortable to always have to suspect someone’s motives—to never know if a person likes you for yourself or because they are hoping to gain by your friendship. And I was heartily sick of fending off women who cared not a fig for who I am, but only for the lavish lifestyle I could give them.”

  She nodded, then looked down at the string outline of the house. “I know women like that.”

  “I needed to distance myself from that for a while, so I came to Pinewood where only my cousin knew who I was. The rest you know. I bought laborer’s clothes to disguise myself, was attacked and robbed and left to die. I made my way to Pinewood only to find my cousin was gone. And then I met you. The most selfless, kind, talented, sweetest woman I had ever known. And I was attracted to you, Callie—more strongly than I have ever been attracted to any woman. But I’d made up my mind that if I ever courted a woman it would be one who would love me, not my wealth. I’ve learned not to trust anyone. And while I thought you were genuine and honest, I couldn’t know.”

  She turned toward him. “And so you let your deception continue.”

  “Yes. Until I knew you better.” He stepped closer, held her gaze with his. “I was going to tell you when Strand showed up and forced my hand. Can you forgive me, Callie?”

  She looked down and nodded. “I forgive you.” She brushed her hands down the front of her skirt and looked up. “I’m sorry I refused to listen to you, Ezra. It was wrong of me. Please forgive me.”

  There was an openness, a trust in her eyes that stole his breath. “Always, Callie.” He looked away, cleared his throat. “Now, let me show you my surprise.” He glanced up at the lowering sun. “We’ll have to hurry.”

  * * *

  Callie listened to Ezra’s breathing, to the thud of the horse’s hooves, the chuckle of the water over rocks in the creek they crossed, the night song of the birds in the trees on the high hill ahead. She concentrated on the bunch and stretch of Reliable’s muscles beneath her, the rhythm of his gait, the warm breeze on her face and the flutter of the curls that dangled on her forehead and memorized it all, for she never wanted to forget this moment.

  Having Ezra’s arms around her was like nothing she had ever experienced. He was holding the reins, not her, it was true. Still, the warmth, the strength, the safety of his arms was beyond her ability to imagine, beyond the wish of her heart. She longed to rest back against him.

  “Here we are. Whoa, boy.”

  Ezra’s deep voice floated by her ear, faded into the sounds of dusk, the sounds of a world preparing for the coming night.

  He dismounted, and cool air replaced his warmth against her back.
r />   “Ready?”

  “Yes.” His strong hands gripped her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders, felt the play of his muscles as he lifted her down. She shook her skirts into place and stared up at the massive trees covering the high hill. Where was he taking her?

  “All set.” He turned from tying the reins to a bush and took her hand, led her into the woods. “It’s not far. Mind the branches.”

  She nodded and walked a little behind him, far too aware of his hand holding hers. “Do I hear wat—”

  “Sh, no talking.”

  His barely audible whisper put her in mind of Daniel leading them on adventures into secret, silent places. She smiled and stepped more quietly.

  It was water. The sibilant whisper became louder in the hush of the woods. She peered around Ezra’s broad shoulders, spotted fingers of sunlight filtering through the trees and sparkling on the water washing over layers of slate that formed a shelf high above them. The cascade fell onto a tumble of rocks and slate that formed a small pool. The runoff escaped into a rill that ran toward the field.

  She couldn’t stop the gasp.

  He turned, looked at her.

  She mouthed It’s beautiful!—and felt her heart turn over at his smile. She caught the soft sound of a deer’s tread and looked between the branches of the large pine beside them. A buck, head high, antlers glistening in the sunlight pranced into the open, blew once, twice, then stepped to the water. A doe followed after him. They drank their fill, then wandered off into the trees.

  She turned her head toward Ezra. He was looking down at her, his blue eyes smoldering with a smoky gray haze. “You are so beautiful—so incredibly beautiful.” Her heart stumbled.

  He cupped the side of her face, his palm hot against her skin and lowered his head.