by Regina Scott
His words painted pictures, until Nora thought she could see the amazing places he described.
As if he knew it, he offered them a sweeping bow. “And I can see you have many needs, Mrs. Wallin,” he said to Simon’s mother as he straightened. “Why, you have more mouths to feed and another on the way by the looks of things.”
“These are my sons’ wives,” Mrs. Wallin said with evident pride. “You met Catherine, Drew’s wife, when you were here this summer.”
He inclined his head. “Mrs. Wallin, the nurse. I remember.”
“I hope those bunions didn’t give you any more trouble,” Catherine said.
“Not a bit of it,” he assured her. “I only wish I could convince you to let me sell your ointment. But I brought something just for you—Dr. Furbisher’s patented elixir, guaranteed to settle the sour stomach that comes with carrying a precious child.”
Catherine eyed him. “Dr. Furbisher is a charlatan. I wouldn’t offer his elixir to a rat. Have you any spices?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken harshly against one of his products. “Ginger roots fresh and snapping, cinnamon sticks imported from India and rose water right from Boston itself.” He opened a section of his pack, and Catherine leaned over to examine the offerings.
“And this is Rina,” Mrs. Wallin continued. “She married James this fall. She’s our new schoolteacher.”
“A schoolteacher,” he said, bending for his pack and pulling out some books. “Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary, perhaps? Bertam’s Cyclopedia?”
Rina’s eyes lit as she accepted the books from his hands.
“And this is Nora,” Mrs. Wallin finished with a smile her way. “She married Simon earlier this month.”
“Ah, a newlywed.” He sidled closer and wiggled his bushy brows. “I have pots that nearly cook by themselves, real silk tassels all the way from Paris for your cloak. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
That, she doubted. Nora shook her head with a smile.
Beth had been shifting from foot to foot as she listened to the introductions. Now it seemed she could wait no longer.
“Do you still have that jet trim you showed me last summer?” she asked the peddler.
He turned his gaze her way. “’Fraid not, Miss Beth. But jet is for old ladies stuck in their ways. What you want,” he said as he bent and fished in his pack once more, “are pearls.” He pulled out a paper card with a flourish.
Beth’s eyes widened. “Oh! They’re beautiful!”
They were indeed. Wound around the card were row upon row of tiny beads, strung together on wire, each one gleaming like a pearl.
From out in the yard came the unmistakable sound of a howl.
Nora glanced up from the pearls, expecting to see Levi coming across the clearing. Instead, a dog was coursing toward them, nose to the ground, following some trail. She’d never seen its like. Its tail waved over its back like the plume on a lady’s hat, and its fur was snowy white except over its head and upper body. The black fur there made it look as if it was wearing a hooded cape that rippled as it moved, each step confident. Britta even looked up from the pasture to watch it pass.
“Is that your dog?” Nora asked Father Christmas when he paused in his endless speech describing his goods.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Fleet? Oh, he followed me south from Nanaimo. I can’t seem to shake him no matter how hard I try.” He laughed.
“He’s beautiful.” Nora wandered to the edge of the porch, watching as the dog zigzagged back and forth across the clearing as if searching for something. She knew the feeling. At times she felt she’d searched her whole life for a place to feel appreciated, needed.
Loved.
She turned and hurried inside. It took only a moment to fill a bowl with clean water and cut a piece off the ham she knew was being smoked in the chimney.
Father Christmas glanced up as she passed him. “Sure I can’t interest you in something, newest Mrs. Wallin? Perfume from Italy? Thread from Egypt?”
Normally, she would have jumped at the chance for the exotic thread. Now all she could think about was Fleet, out in that pouring rain. She sat on the edge of the porch and waved the meat.
Fleet’s head came up. He ventured closer, until Nora could see that he had eyes the shape and color of almonds.
“Now, I wouldn’t do that,” Father Christmas said behind her. “He’s never bitten anyone, but you can’t be too careful with a native dog.”
“Native?” Catherine asked, coming to Nora’s side. “Do you mean he was raised by Indians?”
“Them from the far north,” the peddler told her. “He was trained to pull their sleds.” He laughed again. “If I had half a dozen of him, I wouldn’t have to walk anywhere.”
Fleet was within arm’s length now, his gaze on Nora as his shiny black nose twitched. She felt as if he was looking deep inside her, studying her character, her motives.
She set the ham and water down on the step. “It’s all right. You don’t have to like me. I just thought you might be hungry and thirsty.”
Fleet cocked his head to one side and said, “Row ru.”
Nora scrambled to her feet. “He talks!”
Father Christmas laughed as Fleet dived for the ham and gobbled it down. “Oh, he’s a talented fellow, all right. Makes all kinds of interesting noises to get your attention, then does what he likes. But come now, Mrs. Simon Wallin, you haven’t even peeked in my pack. What can I sell you that would meet your heart’s desire?”
Nora turned to face the peddler. “Him. I want to buy your dog.”
* * *
Simon couldn’t help a sense of accomplishment as he approached his cabin that night. Though Drew had headed to Seattle for the day to pick up supplies and his present for Catherine, his other brothers had pitched in. Thanks to their help, he’d pulled up all the stumps from the last round of cutting. If they could keep going at that rate, he reckoned they’d have the property cleared by the end of January.
A shame Christmas would get in the way.
He knew the day was a celebration of the Savior’s birth, but the preparations went on for far too long, in his opinion. Drew had shot a fat goose last week, and Ma and Beth were in the process of plucking it. Though they would clean and dry the feathers for use in bedding, he knew Beth had already selected a few feathers for quills and to decorate hats.
John had scouted out the tree for the Yule log. Simon would have to join his family in fetching it in on Christmas Eve, when, by his father’s tradition, no other work was done. And between now and then they had to decorate the house and stage the school theatrical.
So much frivolity simply got in the way.
He opened the door of the cabin to be met with a deep growl.
His first thought was that a wolf had broken into the house. He didn’t have his gun, but he raised his ax off his shoulder as his gaze lit on the creature standing before him, its fur raised and teeth bared. It had the head and ears of a wolf, but the eyes were a deep brown, and it was just a mite smaller.
“Fleet, no!” Nora ordered, hurrying to the beast’s side. She bent and put an arm over the dog’s shoulders. “This is Simon. We like him.”
Simon stared at her. “What is this?”
Nora glanced up at him, her eyes bright. “This is Fleet. Isn’t he magnificent?”
There was something majestic about the dog. Perhaps it was the big shoulders or that deep chest. Perhaps it was the look of intelligence on that black-hooded face.
“Please tell me you didn’t coax a wild dog into the house,” he said, eyeing the creature and fingering the handle of his ax.
“No, Simon, of course not,” she said. “He came with Father Christmas.”
For a moment, he thought she
meant he’d been delivered by the jolly character who was supposed to leave presents for children in their stockings by the fire on Christmas Eve. Then he remembered the peddler.
“Who knows where he found that dog,” Simon said. “It probably has fleas.”
“Fleet was a native dog,” she said, as if that would remove his concerns. “And he doesn’t have fleas. I’ve checked him over carefully. He’s perfect.”
Nothing was perfect. “We can’t keep him. We can’t feed him.”
“I’ll share my food with him,” Nora offered, hunkering closer to the dog and fisting her hand in his thick fur as if she thought Simon would wrest her pet away from her even now. “He’s not that big. He probably doesn’t eat much. And, Simon, he can talk.”
Simon lowered the ax. He knew Christopher Masters could make his trinkets sound like treasure, but surely even he wouldn’t claim he had a dog who could speak.
“Dogs don’t talk, Nora,” he said.
She nodded even more vigorously. “He does.” She put her face level with the dog’s. “Show him, Fleet.”
The dog pulled out of Nora’s grip and began scratching himself with his back paw.
Simon sighed. “Nora, you have to stop adopting strays. A wild dog has no place on a farm.”
“He isn’t wild,” she protested, stroking the dog’s thick fur as he lowered his leg. “He’s been good company this afternoon, and he growled to let me know someone was coming. He’s been trained to pull a sled for the natives in the north, so he could be useful.”
She was clearly enamored of the beast, but Simon could only see the problems. “We don’t own a sled. And even if he knows how to protect himself in the wilderness, he could be shot by the first farmer who mistakes him for a wolf.”
He waited for her to beg him to relent, more than a little concerned that he might fall under her pleas. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hang on to his logic when confronted with those misty gray eyes.
But Nora straightened to her full height and glared at him. “Oh! Can you never see the good in anything, Simon Wallin?”
Simon recoiled. “Well, I...”
Nora strode forward and poked a finger in his chest, while the dog jumped back as if he thought they were playing.
“You may malign my decorating,” Nora told him, her eyes now sharp as stones, “make light of my sewing and insult my cow, but don’t you ever speak a word against my dog!”
Simon took a step back from her fury. “But, Nora—”
She raised a finger. “No! Fleet is my dog. I will see to his care. If you will not have him in the cabin, we will sleep in the barn with Britta.”
She might just do it. He’d never seen her look so resolute, her eyes narrowed and her head high. If she’d showed this kind of spunk in front of her brother, Charles would have been cowering.
But Simon didn’t like the idea of her sleeping in the barn. She might flatten the hay they needed for the animals’ feed. She’d get cold. And he’d be alone again.
Once, he would have welcomed the thought. Now the idea of his cabin empty of Nora caused something to twist inside him until it hurt.
But a dog?
He eyed the mongrel. Fleet returned the look, his gaze equally assessing. He seemed to be smiling.
But whether in welcome or perverse delight at Simon’s predicament, he couldn’t know.
“Very well,” he said. “The dog can stay.”
Nora snapped a nod. “Good. You’ll see, Simon. He’ll prove to be an excellent addition to the family.”
Perhaps, but at the moment he was more concerned about the way this decision had come about. He’d prided himself on his logic, his ability to identify the flaw in any proposal. Would caring for Nora mean abandoning all logic? Was he willing to change that much for her?
Chapter Fourteen
Nora felt only a twinge of guilt as she called Fleet over to the hearth. In truth, she wasn’t sure where that show of bravado had come from. Perhaps it was only because she found it easier to talk to Simon than anyone else. She also appreciated his insights, his logic. But, in this case, she couldn’t allow him to cast off a helpless dog.
Well, not exactly helpless. With teeth that looked plenty sharp enough to defend himself, Fleet wolfed down the dried venison she’d cut up for him. He’d followed Father Christmas from the north, so he must know how to get on in the wild. Surely he’d do well here at Wallin Landing.
“You’ll have to stop him from chasing the chickens,” Simon said, taking a seat at the table. “Or scaring your cow.”
“I already introduced him to Britta,” Nora told him. “They got along famously.”
He raised a brow as if he doubted that.
Leaving Fleet licking his lips, Nora stood to face Simon. Even though the day had been cold, his hair was plastered against his brow, darkened by sweat. Lines bracketed his jade-colored eyes.
“You look tired,” she murmured.
He drew in a breath. “It was a long day. I’m not sure I even want to go to Ma’s to eat.” He closed his eyes and twisted his head from side to side as if to work out a kink in his muscles. When her father had been tired from bending over an accounting desk all day, her mother had rubbed his neck for him. The thought of touching Simon that way made her swallow.
“I’ll go to the main house and fetch you some dinner,” she offered, hurrying toward the door. Simon did not argue.
Fleet followed her out, pacing her as she walked to the main house. His head was up and regal, as if he defied anyone to trouble either of them.
“Simon will love you,” she told him. “Just give him time.”
His mouth opened as if he was laughing at her.
Why wouldn’t he laugh? Who was she to promise love? The best she could do was offer it.
“Well, I love you already,” she told the dog as they reached the main house. She pointed to the edge of the boardwalk. “Stay here.”
Fleet sat as if fully intending to obey. But the moment she turned, she felt something brush her skirts. Looking back, she caught sight of Fleet’s tail as he disappeared into the darkness.
She hated leaving him outside alone, but Simon’s mother had not given Nora permission to bring the dog inside. Hoping he wouldn’t get into trouble, she hurried into the house.
Simon must have taken longer than his brothers to finish his work and return home, for it seemed dinner had already ended. Levi and Beth were studying at the table, and John was playing chess with Father Christmas by the fire. The peddler was spending the night at Wallin Landing before continuing south. Mother Wallin was in her rocking chair, knitting something with a pretty purple yarn that reminded Nora of heather. Simon’s mother put the work aside when she sighted Nora.
“I was hoping to get some food for Simon,” Nora said.
John glanced up. “He was still on the property when we left.”
“That’s Simon,” Levi said, twirling his pencil. “He’ll keep working long after the cows have come home.”
“I thought you might be by,” Mrs. Wallin said, rising. “There’s stew simmering on the stove, dear. I’ll fill two bowls and send along some of the biscuits.”
“They’re Levi’s,” Beth assured Nora with a smile. Her youngest brother grinned.
“Thank you,” Nora told them all.
“And how did Mr. Simon take to your new pup?” Father Christmas asked Nora.
John and Levi perked up.
“Pup?” Levi asked. “Did we get a dog?”
“Nora did,” Beth said. “His name is Fleet. Please say Simon saw how cute he is.”
“Simon said he could stay,” Nora said as Levi made a face.
Mrs. Wallin brought out the stew just then, with the biscuits in a string bag.
“You ou
ght to hold that stew hostage,” Father Christmas advised, moving his bishop to capture one of John’s castles. “I for one would love to hear Mr. Simon play on that fiddle of his.”
So would she. Sunday seemed a long ways back, though it was only a few days. Just watching Simon play had been a pleasure.
Mrs. Wallin cocked her head. “What do you think, Nora? Would Simon be willing to play tonight?”
He had been so tired, but she knew how much he loved music. Nora smiled, looping the bag over her arm and accepting the two bowls. “I’ll ask.”
Fleet was nowhere to be found when she opened the door of the main cabin. Fear nearly made her stumble off the boardwalk. She made herself keep walking as she called out, “Fleet! Fleet! Here, boy!”
Something moved in the bushes, and she nearly ran back to the safety of the house. “Fleet?”
The dog bounded out of the woods to pace her back to the cabin. The way his nose twitched in the moonlight, she thought it was as much the stew as her call that had brought him to her side.
Simon was nearly as unwilling to join her. “I’ve had enough company for one day, Nora,” he said, digging into the stew while Fleet sat at his elbow expectantly.
“Yes, of course, Simon,” she said, dipping her spoon into her bowl. “I’m sure Father Christmas can wait the six months until he passes through again.”
He sighed. “Very well. Give me a few minutes to eat.” He eyed Fleet. “And call your dog off. He’s already had his dinner. He doesn’t need mine too.”
A short while later, she and Simon walked to the main cabin, his violin case in hand. He had been convinced to allow Fleet to remain in the cabin.
“Though it won’t be your bedding he tears apart,” he pointed out.
“If he tears apart your bedding,” Nora said, “you can have mine.”
Simon grunted, a thoroughly unconvinced sound.
“I never had a dog growing up,” she admitted. “My parents weren’t fond of them, and of course I couldn’t ask Charles and Meredith to add another burden.”