by Linda Ford
He lifted his head and sniffed. His mouth watered at the ginger aroma. If he wasn’t mistaken, someone had gingerbread fresh out of the oven. He glanced across the street to Miss Daisy’s. Her customers would be lining up for generous slices for dessert. He’d brought a lunch prepared by Annie, but he mentally added a trip to the restaurant after he’d eaten the sandwiches.
As noon hour drew closer, the delicious aroma caused his stomach to growl. Working across from Miss Daisy’s made it hard to put off dinner.
The doctor had a steady stream of patients. Several times he heard Kate speak to someone in the waiting room as the door opened and closed.
She worked hard as her father’s assistant.
He tried to picture Isabelle reading in one of the big chairs he’d helped put in the front room but she refused to stay there, even in his thoughts. Instead, she stirred something on the stove and turned to someone at the table, smiling with such warmth he almost swallowed the nail he held between his lips.
No, he informed himself. He did not see himself at the table sharing the meal with her. Besides, she didn’t know how to cook. He knew that because Annie had told him she said so.
All this smelling food and thinking about food proved too much to resist. He set aside his measuring tape and called to his coworker. “I’m knocking off for dinner.”
“I’ll head home for my meal, then.”
Dawson hunkered down against the raw wood of the wall and opened the lunch sack. Roast-beef sandwiches on thick slices of Annie’s bread. She was a fine cook. She did a good job of caring for all of them. But something nagged at the back of his thoughts. Did he and the other men in the family expect she would continue to care for them? She was young, only nineteen. Wouldn’t there come a time she would want her own family?
Then what would he do? Who would take care of Mattie for him?
And why did his gaze go to the wall of the doctor’s house only a few feet away from where he sat? For that matter, why had he sat facing that house when he could have gone to the other side of the school and perched on one of the benches in the town square?
It wasn’t as if he thought Isabelle—or someone like her, he determinedly inserted into the thoughts—would provide Mattie with the love and care she deserved.
Though she was obviously fond of Mattie and Mattie of her.
He jolted to his feet, stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and strode across the street into Miss Daisy’s Eatery. A half a dozen customers sat at the tables as Miss Daisy’s sister, Dorie, bustled about carrying full plates out to the tables and taking empty ones back to the kitchen.
“Good day, Dawson,” Dorie called. “Find yourself a chair. I’ll be right with you.” She ducked out of sight before he could tell her all he came for was a huge piece of that gingerbread. The spicy scent still filled his nostrils. It half drove a man mad.
He sat at an empty table, politely refusing several invitations to join others. As soon as Dorie returned, he made his request.
“No gingerbread today, I’m afraid,” Dorie said. “Our dessert is rice pudding.”
“Fine. Bring me that.” He could hardly say it wasn’t what he’d had in mind.
As she went to get it, Dawson wondered if his nose had lied to him. The pudding was fine, served with a generous amount of thick cream, but rather bland compared to what he’d been smelling half the morning.
He finished and paid the bill, thanking both Dorie and Daisy, who stuck her head out of the kitchen to greet him, and then he returned to the school. The spicy smell again called to him. He sniffed, turned full circle to pinpoint the source and followed his nose right to the back door of the doctor’s house. Before he could think to stop himself, he knocked.
Isabelle opened the door and stared at him. He wished he could tell if he saw surprised welcome or surprised unwelcome in her eyes. Or perhaps he saw only guardedness. After all, he’d warned her to stay away from Mattie and him, and then days later he’d asked if Mattie could stay with her after school. It was enough to convince her he didn’t know his own mind.
The overwhelming smell of gingerbread and the sight of generous portions on three plates at the table made him forget all the warnings he’d given himself. “Something smells mighty fine in here.”
Isabelle blinked back all emotion from her eyes and stepped aside to wave him in. “Would you care to join us for dessert?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He flipped his hat to the hook by the door and sat beside the doctor as Isabelle cut him a piece of gingerbread.
Kate passed him a pitcher of cream and he poured on a generous amount.
“Can I offer you coffee, as well?” Isabelle hovered by the stove.
“I’d appreciate it.” He waited until she set a steaming cup in front of him and sat down across the table. He delayed until she picked up her spoon to eat her own dessert before he allowed himself to taste the food that had been teasing him for half the morning. “Umm, this is delicious.”
“Thank you.” Isabelle regarded him solemnly.
“You made it?” Did he have to sound so surprised? Not that he wasn’t, but did he have to show it? “I—”
“You can’t believe I’m capable of making anything?”
The doctor concentrated on his food but Kate watched Dawson with interest.
He felt like he walked on soap bubbles and any movement would burst them, leaving him floundering for footing. “I suppose I am a little surprised.”
“I made this without help.” No doubting the challenge in her voice. Then she smiled, wreathing her face in humor. “I’ll admit it’s my very first attempt at making a cake.”
“You did well.” He ate another mouthful to show his approval and carefully avoided looking directly at her. His gaze slid past her to the stove. A pot held a rich-looking stew. She’d made that, too? He shifted his attention further to the cupboard. A bit of brown store paper lay folded with the string beside it and on top was a book. He tilted his head slightly to read the spine. A Guide to Practical Housewifery.
Was this what she had purchased at the store? And what did it mean? That she meant to learn some practical skills? He tried to think how such a decision would affect him. A flash of his earlier forbidden thought came to mind. Isabelle at the stove…a man at the table. He would not put himself in that chair. No, nothing had changed and he needed to ask the doctor for some kind of medicine if he thought it had.
He finished his piece of gingerbread, resisted the urge to lick the plate and managed to say “No, thanks,” to the offer of a second helping. Satisfied as he hadn’t been after Miss Daisy’s rice pudding, he leaned back in his chair and savored his coffee.
“Father, why don’t you rest while there are no patients?” Kate said to her father.
The doctor pushed his chair back. “Excuse me, Dawson, while I grab some shut-eye. As a doctor I’ve learned to sleep when I can. Nice of you to join us. I understand you’re working on the school, so you’ll be in town often. Feel free to drop in anytime.”
Silence followed the doctor’s departure, making him wonder if the ladies were as comfortable with offering such an invitation. He tried to think how to ease their concern.
“Perhaps you ladies would care to join me Sunday after church and I’ll give you a tour of the town and the surrounding area. Miss Young and the doctor, too, of course. I’m sure they’d all like to see more of the place.”
“That sounds like a fine idea,” Kate said.
“Indeed,” Isabelle said, but her expression could best be described as watchful.
Not until he’d excused himself and returned to work did it hit him and he banged the heel of his hand to his forehead. Despite Grandfather’s constant pushing for Dawson to give the city woman a chance, to accept that she might not be like Violet, he fully meant to keep a wide distance between himself and Isabelle. Instead, what had he done but offer to spend an afternoon with her. At least they wouldn’t be alone. Sadie, Kate and the doctor would be
with them. He’d exclude Mattie, but it would break her heart. He’d simply make sure to keep her as far away from Isabelle as possible, though how he’d do that in a crowded buggy remained to be seen. And what was the use of it when she would be spending the after-school hours with Isabelle?
He pounded in a nail. Or, at least, that was his intent. Instead, he hit his thumb and jerked back, shaking the offended digit. That was what came of having such muddled thoughts.
*
Isabelle looked at the clock, wondering if it had stopped, but the steady tick-tock assured her it counted off the minutes. The afternoon had gone by with stubborn slowness. By three o’clock, time had slowed to a crawl. Mattie would soon be there. Isabelle set cookies out on a plate, planning to serve them with a glass of milk. She stared at the plate. Were cookies considered the proper after-school snack or would bread and jam be better? She had no idea. What had she eaten?
Well, for one thing, her tea was served in the nursery by the governess. Her mind flew back to those days as a truth dawned. She couldn’t remember what she’d eaten because it was the company that mattered. Mama would always come to share tea with her, and Isabelle would tell her every detail of her day.
She wanted to offer the same to Mattie. Her undivided interest.
She went to the window to watch for the children to get out of school. But she was so anxious to see Mattie that she walked across the street to stand by the doorway. She turned to look at the schoolhouse. Dawson rested one foot on a chunk of wood, his sleeves rolled up, his hat pushed back. A bit of sawdust clung to the brim of his hat. And his blue eyes found hers.
She smiled and waved, determined to prove she wasn’t affected by his opinion of her.
He gave a one-fingered salute. And no smile.
She understood his guardedness. He was understandably wary of leaving his daughter in her care. Except it wasn’t okay. Why must she prove herself all the time? Back in St. Louis she was seen as rich and very suitable, but for the wrong reasons, in her opinion. Here no one knew she was rich and they still found her unsuitable. Again, for all the wrong reasons.
She tilted her chin and met him look for look across the dusty street. She couldn’t say what he saw in her firm gaze, perhaps her promise he wouldn’t be sorry, perhaps her sincerity, perhaps something more, something that mushroomed from deep inside—the need for acceptance and value. I just want to be seen for who I really am. She might have mouthed the words or only thought them. Either way, he couldn’t have heard or known, yet he smiled and nodded and she turned away feeling he finally understood.
Of course, he didn’t, and she knew that.
The door flew open and a half a dozen little boys burst into the open, running up the street yelling at each other about a ball game and chores.
Two older girls hurried out, each carrying a book and talking about exams.
Then Mattie dashed through the door. She skidded to a halt as she noticed Isabelle and practically threw herself at her. “You came to get me.”
“I got impatient waiting for you.” She leaned over to hug the child. “Are you ready to go home with me?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Mattie jumped up and down in time with the words and took Isabelle’s hand, half dragging her off the step. “Can I go say hi to Papa first?”
“Of course.” She wondered if she would see approval in his eyes or regret that circumstances had forced him to ask for her help.
Hand in hand she and Mattie crossed to the school yard. At their approach, Dawson took off his hat and slapped it on his knee, sending bits of sawdust dancing. Grinning widely, he held out his arms. Mattie raced into them and Dawson lifted her high in the air, bringing pleased giggles from the child. He hugged her and rubbed his chin against her.
“Stop, Papa. You’re giving me a whisker burn.” But even though she said stop, Mattie’s voice begged for more.
Dawson tickled her and growled into her neck then perched her on one hip. “How did school go today? Did Miss Young have to make you stand in the corner?”
Dawson winked at Isabelle to indicate he only teased Mattie. Isabelle felt included as never before. Like the two of them shared an interest in Mattie’s well-being. Like they shared even more. Her throat tightened and tears pressed against the backs of her eyes at the futility of such an idea.
Mattie got huffy. “Of course not, Papa.” She cupped his cheeks to bring his attention back to her. “I really like the story she’s reading to us after lunch. You know what she said? She said her papa used to read to them every evening. Isn’t that something? Maybe you need to do that.”
Dawson chuckled and his gaze again came to Isabelle. “That sounds like a fine idea.”
“Maybe that’s what real families do.”
His expression darkened.
“Are you saying we aren’t a real family?”
Mattie hung her head. “Guess I don’t mean that.”
“I hope not. I think Grandfather, Grandpa Bud, your uncles and aunt would be a little surprised to hear they aren’t part of your family. And a little hurt.”
Isabelle could see Dawson was more than a little hurt and sought a way to make him understand that Mattie simply meant she felt different because she was motherless. She stepped closer and pressed her hand to Mattie’s back.
Her arm brushed Dawson’s but she did not let the sudden quickening of her pulses show. “You are a fortunate little girl to have so many people to love you. More than most.”
Mattie nodded. “And I got the best papa of all.” She gave Dawson a loud kiss. “Am I right, Papa?”
“It’s me who is fortunate to have the best girl in the whole world.”
Isabelle heard the tightness in his voice and smiled encouragement at him.
Something in his gaze shifted as they looked at each other. It was as if a barrier between them had crumbled and they had each opened their heart to the other. Later, she promised herself, she would tell herself it was all in her imagination, but for now she floated on the moment.
Dawson pulled away first. “Now, you go along with Miss Isabelle so I can get this school ready for you and your friends.” He lowered Mattie to the ground.
“Yes, Papa.” She claimed Isabelle’s hand.
Isabelle didn’t immediately move but waited for Dawson to straighten and meet her eyes once again. “We’ll be waiting for you at the end of the day, and be assured, Mattie will be well taken care of.”
“Thank you.” His gaze again reached into her heart and caught pieces of it.
Only then did she let Mattie drag her to the house.
How could she possibly feel like she fit into Dawson’s heart—or rather that he fit into hers—when he made it clear she didn’t?
*
Dawson returned to his work. Mattie would be okay, he told himself over and over. It was for only a couple of hours. Besides, Isabelle had a window open and several times as he paused in his labors he heard Mattie laughing and stopped to listen. What were they doing? How much influence would Isabelle have?
Was she like Violet? More interested in fine clothes and the proper use of six different kinds of forks than in responsibility?
A truth seared through him. Isabelle wanted to spend time with Mattie. Violet had resented the time Mattie’s care required. He shook his head as if the motion would drive away the thought. He could not let such a tiny realization influence him. He spent the next hour thinking of his quandary—allowing a city woman to spend time with Mattie all the while fully aware of the risk it meant to her future happiness. Would she grow so fond of the woman that she would be devastated when she left? And leave she would. Like he’d said to her, she was city. Through and through.
Finally quitting time came and he put his tools away. “See you tomorrow,” he called to the other man, who likewise made his way homeward.
He strode up to the back door of the house next door and knocked. All the windows were now closed against the cold afternoon wind.
Isabelle open
ed the door, and Mattie stood with a red, pink and orange scarf draped about her neck…the very same scarf Isabelle had worn the day she arrived, if he wasn’t mistaken. Soft as kitten fur, Mattie had said. Something about that scarf flashed a warning in his brain. A deep, dark fear surfaced. Would knowing Isabelle make Mattie yearn for a life that took her away from him? How soon before Mattie decided she wanted to have fancy clothes and no longer wanted to be part of the ranch? All of a sudden this arrangement filled him with anxiety.
“Feel it, Papa. I told Miss Isabelle it was like kitten fur. She said she’d like to feel kitten fur and find out. Do you know she’s never seen baby kitties? I told her we would show her ours. Don’t you think we should, Papa? I think she could climb to the loft to see them.” But Mattie looked doubtful.
Dawson relaxed. This was his Mattie, wanting everyone to enjoy ranch life.
“Seems like a fine idea.” Not until he’d spoken did he realize Mattie had somehow tricked him into agreeing to take Isabelle to the ranch again when everything inside him warned it wasn’t a good idea. Only it wasn’t everything. His head warned against it but his heart wondered at the possibilities. Somehow he had to sort that out.
“How did your afternoon go?” He meant the question for Mattie but he looked at Isabelle.
Isabelle answered. “We had a good time.”
“What did you do?”
“Mattie, why don’t you show him?”
Mattie ran to the table, grabbed a piece of paper and brought it back to him. On it she had drawn what surely was meant to be a mommy cat and three kittens. “I have named them Orange, Blackie and Stripes.”
“Is that the name of the kittens at home?”
Mattie nodded. “Is it okay if I leave the picture here? Miss Isabelle says she’ll make a scrapbook of my drawings.”
“It’s okay.” The last vestige of his worry over this arrangement disappeared. “Let’s go get my horse.”
Mattie put the picture back on the table and scampered from the house.
“Does she ever walk?” Isabelle asked with wonder.