by Kit Morgan
“You forget that I’m here to look after you.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
He smiled back. “Then we’ll look after each other. Now do me a favor, will you?”
“What?”
“Help me make a sandwich.”
She laughed, and the sound warmed his heart. But reality had a way of bringing things into perspective for a man. He couldn’t afford to let his heart find any hope in Willow Bennett. She was just there to help him, nothing more. He couldn’t allow himself to expect anything from her. After all, she was a healthy young woman. She deserved better than half a man – and how could she see him as anything but that?
“I’ll get what we need and place it in front of you,” she said. “Then we’ll see how you do.”
“Fair enough.” He forced a smile. He wanted to put his hands in her hair again, but set the thought aside. If he was lucky, the memory would help him sleep that night.
He listened as she busied herself gathering things. “There,” she said. “Jam, butter, two slices of bread and a knife. Mary hasn’t shown me where the root cellar is or the smokehouse, so I don’t know what else to give you.”
“Jam and butter is fine. If there’s anything left over from yesterday, Howard probably had it for lunch.”
“Oh dear. We were so busy with your lesson, I forgot to eat as well.”
“Then sit down and let me make you a sandwich. It’s the least I can do.”
She pulled out a chair and sat. “Jack,” she said as a hand touched his. “I’m not getting paid to be here.”
“I’ll pay you, Willow. I know Howard and Mary don’t have the funds, but I do. That way you can save the money, and when the time comes find yourself a nice man to marry. Consider this a teaching job.”
She withdrew her hand. Jack didn’t like the feel of the cold air that replaced it. “I’ll have to speak to Howard and Mary. We didn’t exactly come to a definite agreement on anything. It was more a matter of me getting here first.”
“Where did you come from? Where did your aunt live?”
He heard her swallow. “Dover, Delaware.”
7
Well, that horse was out of the barn. Willow sat, waiting for a response. Jack gave none, only sat with his blind eyes aimed at the opposite wall. It made reading him very difficult.
He gave a little shake of his head. “You mean to tell me, you traveled all the way from Dover, Delaware to come here and … be my assistant?”
She closed her eyes. “More or less, yes.”
His mouth flopped open. “Unbelievable. How can this be? I mean, what are the odds of us finding each other after the war has done so much to our families?”
A tiny chuckle escaped her. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
“Incredible? It’s a downright miracle! I prayed …” He cut himself off, letting his hands search the table. He picked up the knife she’d laid down earlier, then found the jam jar with his other hand. “Never mind,” he said as he began to spread jam on a slice of bread.
Willow licked her lips and asked the inevitable. “What happened to Emma?”
Jack stopped what he was doing. “She’s gone.”
“Dead?”
He shook his head. “Just … gone.”
“But what happened to her?”
His jaw tightened. “If I knew, I’d tell you.”
She looked away. She didn’t want to anger him, but knew they needed to clear the air between them. Especially if she would be teaching him and helping him to put his life back together – or at least make a new one. “No one knows what happened to her?”
He found the crock of butter and spread some on another slice. “We can’t find her. We have nothing to work with. If I could, I’d search, but I can’t. Howard can’t make the time to leave Cutter’s Creek – too many obligations here with the church and with Mary. I can’t blame him.”
“Maybe I can help?”
He slapped the two pieces of bread together and handed her the sandwich. “I appreciate your offer, but there’s nothing you can do. The war took Emma from me like it took everything else.”
“But what about your aunt and uncle – couldn’t they search?”
“They could, and I asked them, but they weren’t inclined. She’s lost to them as far as they’re concerned. Uncle said point-blank it would be a waste of time and money to even try.”
“How can they say that about their own kin?”
“They lost a son in the war. Thank the Lord their other son Howard made it through. He came home, married Mary and came here to settle. He started a new life for himself and I thank God he was able to.”
Willow couldn’t resist placing a hand on his arm. “Then why don’t you thank God for what He’s given you?”
“What has he given me?” he answered sharply, then caught himself and dropped his head. “No, Willow. For whatever reason He’s taken everything from me, left me with nothing. I’ll just have to play the hand He’s dealt me.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head in frustration. “Stubborn mule” was right. “Have you written to the authorities in Hartford? Perhaps someone knows of Emma’s whereabouts.”
“She’s gone, Willow!”
Willow shook at the power in his voice, but couldn’t let the subject drop. “How can you know for sure?”
He slammed his fist on the table, making the utensils and other items bounce. “Don’t you think I’ve tried everything I can? Short of saddling a horse and riding out to search for her, there’s nothing left. I’m helpless, don’t you see?” He punched out his next words. “The only thing left that can be done, I can’t do, and no one else is willing to.”
After a moment of shocked silence, Willow let out the breath she’d been holding. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry you think that’s all there is.”
His head snapped around to her. “It is all there is. I can’t do anymore.”
“Perhaps. But it doesn’t mean that someone else can’t.”
“What did you say?” Jack asked in shock. Good grief, was the woman daft?
“I said, it doesn’t mean that someone else can’t. You have money – hire someone.”
Jack silently seethed. Who did she think she was, telling him what to do? He was about to retort when a still small voice bubbled up from deep within: It’s a good idea. Stop trying to do this all by yourself.
He froze. He hadn’t heard that voice in a long time. His sightless eyes rose to the ceiling a moment before he let them settle on Willow again … provided she hadn’t moved. Land sakes, had he let his pride keep him from helping his sister? Why hadn’t he thought of hiring somebody? He lowered his head to his chest in shame. “Go on …”
“Find someone to search on your behalf. There are men that can do that. Let one of them be your eyes.”
Jack’s head shot up. “I could ride out with someone …”
“No, you can’t!” she cried. He heard her chair scrape across the floor as she shoved it back and stood. “You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met! I didn’t mean that you would go out and look for her.”
“But she’s my responsibility.”
“Yes, which is why you should take some of your money and hire someone to search for you. I didn’t say you should go.” She was panting, she was so upset.
“Emma would never forgive me …”
“Emma would understand.”
He sat back in the chair, his mind a battle ground. He made a fist. “I … I’ve let her down.”
“No, you haven’t. The war did. It let a lot of us down – you included. It almost doesn’t matter that we won.”
“She wanted me to fight. Wanted our father to go. She believed, Willow. Emma believed very strongly.”
“Then send someone to search,” she said softly. “I can help you make the arrangements.”
He turned his head away and said nothing.
Her hand touched his shoulder. “You don’t have to be alone in this. There’s no shame in letting me or anyo
ne else help you. Stop punishing yourself … no … stop feeling sorry for yourself and get it done. You’re not doing Emma any favors by wallowing in self-pity.”
Jack stiffened. She’s right, came the still small voice from deep within. I don’t care, he told it.
I do.
Jack could no longer ignore what he was hearing, from without or within. “Fine!”
“You don’t have to get angry about it,” Willow said. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t like your help!” he shot back. Then, a little softer: “But … it appears I need it.”
“On that we can agree. Now let me see to the details.”
“Where are you going to start?”
“At home. Hartford.”
The next few days, Jack and Willow busied themselves with his lessons. But Willow also managed to pen a letter to James Dixon, a United States Senator who had been a friend of her father’s back in Connecticut. If anyone could help them, it would be him. She sent the letter off and settled in to wait.
In the meantime, she made it a personal goal to pull Jack out of the pit of despair he kept diving into. What especially frustrated her was that he didn’t accidently fall into it or had someone push him – he jumped of his own accord, which made her spitting mad at times. Twice she found herself wanting to throttle him. “Will you stop it?!”
Jack’s head came up. They were in the parlor where she’d been reading to him from the Bible. “Stop what?”
“Looking like that.”
He shrugged in confusion.
She set the Bible in her lap with a frustrated sigh. “Every time I start reading, you look like it pains you to listen to it. You squish your face up and narrow your eyes.”
“I don’t!” He paused. “I do?”
“You do,” she said with a giggle.
He smiled and tried to make his face do as she described. He looked ridiculous and she laughed. “You mean like this?”
“Exactly like that.”
He laughed himself, then abruptly stopped.
“What is it?”
“I haven’t heard myself laugh in a long time. That must sound strange to you.”
“Not at all,” she said. Good, maybe she was getting somewhere. “I understand.”
“It’s strange,” he said. “I laugh, but I don’t feel anything. Curious.”
“Not really.”
“How so, Willow? What would you know of it?”
“Jack, look at what we’ve been through, what both of us have lost. For months I didn’t feel anything – my heart was numb and I wanted it to stay that way. But that wasn’t meant to be. It never is.”
He leaned his head back against the chair. “No, I suppose not. Maybe that’s why I didn’t let anyone else look for Emma. My heart was numb to everything but doing it myself.”
“Your heart feels …”
“Anger,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Not much else.”
“What about hope?”
“Hope? Now there’s a far-fetched idea.”
“Don’t start with the sarcasm,” she warned. “I’ll hear none of it today.”
He turned his face to her. “Had enough of my ramblings, have you?”
“I’ve had enough of your self-pity.” She set the Bible on the table between them. “I want to talk to the Jack I know.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to conjure him up for you.”
“The Jack I know used to laugh with my brother all the time. I remember listening to the two of you when you’d sit down by the creek behind the house.”
He let his hands fall to his lap. “Great Scott, I hope you didn’t listen to too many of those conversations. We talked about girls more than anything else.”
“I must have missed those conversations. The ones I overheard had to do with Mrs. Hawkins’ chickens – something along the lines of letting them out?”
He smiled. “Oh yes, that.” His smile broadened. “Sam and I used to chase them. It was much more fun when they were loose in the yard. Mrs. Hawkins paid us each a penny to round them up for her.”
“I see,” she said and wished he could see her smile. “Quite the little operation the two of you had.”
“Yes, until she saw us let them out one day.”
Willow laughed again. Jack surprised her by joining in. When their laughter calmed she asked, “Did you feel something that time?”
He stilled, thinking. “Yes, come to think of it, I did.” He turned his face toward her again. “Talk to me, Willow. Help me to feel again.”
She smiled as her eyes misted. At last, she was getting somewhere with this man. “All right, what would you like to hear?”
“Tell me about your journey west. No … tell me about your father, your family while I was away at college. Before the war had its way with us.”
She nodded, took a deep breath and told him everything.
After a couple of hours, Jack dozed off to the sound of Willow’s soft voice. It was sweet with remembrance, like honey from the comb. He longed to taste it, and caught himself fidgeting in his chair a few times. Once he settled, though, her voice overtook him, wrapping around him like a soft blanket. It warmed him, comforted him.
But most of all, it made him feel. Something prickled in his heart, stirred the stagnant waters. He didn’t know what it was and didn’t care. He was just glad she’d managed to get a reaction out of him. Lord knew he couldn’t.
“Jack?” he heard her whisper near him. He stayed still, if only to see what she’d do. “Are you asleep?” she asked, her voice closer. His heart stirred again, but he did his best to keep his breathing even, his eyes closed.
He listened as she moved around the room, then felt a blanket being placed over him. She tucked it in here and there to make sure he was covered. Then … oh! Then her soft lips ever so gently brushed across his forehead. It was a bold move on her part, and he was sure she only did it because she thought he was asleep. It was all he could do to stay still as the swish of her skirts indicated she was leaving.
His heart felt like it would leap from his chest. What on earth was that about? It was a simple kiss, nothing more – she surely didn’t mean anything by it. If anything, it was the sort of kiss a mother gives a sleeping babe. But Jack was no slumbering infant, and parts of him saw fit to remind him in that moment. It was a good thing Willow had covered him up.
He sighed in relief at the sound of her footfalls down the hall. He was alone. It would be in her best interest that he remained that way.
8
Over the next several weeks Jack and Willow fell into a comfortable routine. Willow helped Mary with breakfast each morning and, once the men joined them, they’d all sit down and enjoy their morning meal together.
This was followed by a time of prayer at the kitchen table. How it started, Willow wasn’t quite sure – she vaguely recalled Mary suggesting it. Regardless, she enjoyed the companionable silence between the four of them and was encouraged when Jack put in his own prayer requests the last few days. Up until then, he’d contributed very little.
Afterward it was time to study Braille, which was going more smoothly now that some of Jack’s rancor had drained off. Lunch went much the same as breakfast, sans the prayer time. Jack would spend his afternoons with Howard, often helping him prepare his weekly sermon. He might not have aided him with his message on forgiveness several weeks prior, but when it came to the following one, entitled Taking Care of Your Own, he’d jumped in with both feet.
Everyone in the house knew that this was Jack’s way of venting his anger at the aunt and uncle that had turned him away. But it also expressed his thankfulness to Howard and Mary for taking him in. After listening to it, Willow was convinced that Jack would make a pretty fine preacher himself someday.
“What are you and Howard working on this week?” she asked him after lunch one day. They were sitting in the parlor, each in a chair, a small table between them.
/> Jack screwed up his face. “Loneliness.”
Willow arched an eyebrow. “Loneliness? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone preach on that before. What have you’ve written so far?”
“Nothing yet. I’m still thinking about it.”
“You’d best think fast – it’s Wednesday, and Howard likes to have his sermons written by Friday. What do you think is getting in the way?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She leaned toward him, her arm outstretched to touch his shoulder, but stopped herself. “Loneliness can be a terrible thing. I know what it’s like to be lonely. I’m sure you do too.”
“Loneliness is something that has to be endured, Willow. One just has to learn how.”
She stared at him a moment, caught by the bitterness in his voice. But then, he’d been more than lonely – he’d been rejected. “The Lord doesn’t want us to be lonely.”
“Don’t be naïve, Willow – it’s a part of life. Everyone’s going to be lonely at some point. They just have to learn how to gut through it.”
Willow sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m lonely,” she stated. “So tell me, Jack, how do I ‘gut through it’?”
He adjusted himself in his chair and turned his face toward her. “How can you be lonely? You’re living with three other people.”
“Not to mention surrounded by the people that live in this town. So explain to me why I’m lonely, Jack.”
“I can’t answer that, only you can. Why are you lonely, Willow?”
She saw a hint of a smile on his lips. He was probably mentally patting himself on the back for turning things around that way. “Maybe it’s because I have no beau, someone to share my hopes and dreams with. Someone to look forward to seeing every day.” There, let’s see what he’d do with that!
His smile, what smidgen there was of it, faded. “You don’t like seeing the three of us every day? Howard, Mary and me?”
“You’re not my beau. And neither, quite obviously, is Howard or Mary.”
“Well, let’s pretend that I am your beau. What hopes and dreams would you share with me?”