Much as she tried to concentrate on the service itself, Hazel found her gaze drifting on more than one occasion to the man and child sitting near the middle of the congregation. How easily Ward had slipped into the role of parent. Was he even aware of the bond that was forming between him and Meg?
At one point she became aware that she wasn’t the only one casting glances their way. Was it mere curiosity that had captured folks’ attention? Or was it something more?
At the end of the service, she was pleased to have Ward wait for her to join them before they exited the church. Had it been his idea or more of Meg’s prompting?
They introduced Reverend Harper to the little girl and then they stepped out into the churchyard.
“Is it time for our picnic now?” Meg asked hopefully.
“Very soon.”
But before they could get very far, Enoch Lawrence, with his daughter in tow, stopped Ward to ask about the progress he was making in identifying the town’s troublemakers.
“Seems to me that it’s taking a mighty long time to get this matter resolved, Sheriff.” Eunice Ortolon, no doubt attracted by Enoch’s overloud voice, had joined the conversation. “You need to find whoever’s doing this and lock them up before they attack someone else’s place.”
The woman said that as if this whole situation was Ward’s fault. Hazel immediately stepped forward. “Please, this is hardly the place for such a discussion.”
“Well!” Eunice looked as affronted as if Hazel had attacked her personally.
A few more folks had come up to them, including Saul Carson, the man who’d had his horses turned loose by the criminal mischief-maker.
Ward turned to her, his expression of the don’t-argue-with-me variety. “Why don’t you and Meg go back to your place and get ready for the picnic?” His tone was more statement than question. “I’ll pick up the food and buggy and meet you shortly.”
It seemed he was dismissing her. And it probably was best to get Meg away from this discussion.
As they walked away, Meg gave Hazel a troubled look. “Why did that man sound so angry? Did Sheriff Gleason do something wrong?”
“Not at all. They were just discussing problems some of the townsfolk have been having that they want Sheriff Gleason’s help with.”
“I don’t like it when people get angry. It scares Chessie.”
“I don’t like it either. And you can tell Chessie that Sheriff Gleason is just fine so she doesn’t have to worry about him.”
Poor lamb. Had she grown up in a home where a lot of angry words had been exchanged?
Well, it was time the child replaced some of those memories with happy ones. And today’s picnic would be the perfect opportunity for that.
The thought of Ward not having his responsibilities as sheriff to hide behind was also quite nice. Could he become more like that boy she remembered, the confident youth with a ready smile that he had been before his mother’s death and before Bethany’s accident?
She hadn’t seen that Ward in a long time—and she missed him.
Chapter Eight
“This picnic idea of yours was a good one,” Ward said as he plopped down on the picnic cloth across from Hazel. “Half-pint had a good time.”
Hazel smiled, warmed by the compliment. She would have been more pleased if he’d said he was having a good time as well. But he seemed more relaxed right now than she’d seen him in a while so she’d take that as admission enough.
Meg, tuckered out from chasing Pugs around the meadow and having Ward help her explore the area around the pond, was curled up beside her, fast asleep. Pugs had found a patch of sunshine nearby and was similarly disposed.
“The beautiful weather helped,” she said, lightly smoothing the little girl’s hair. “And I thought it would be good for Meg to be able to spend time outdoors.”
“She certainly does like that old rag doll of hers,” Ward observed.
Even in sleep, Meg had Chessie in her arms.
“From what we’ve learned of her, I imagine Chessie has been her only friend and confidant. I wish Verity and her family were in town. I think Verity’s little girl, Joy, would be a good playmate for her.” Of course if Verity were home, Hazel would have no excuse not to leave Turnabout.
She drew her knees up, hugging them through her skirts. While Ward had entertained Meg earlier, she’d found her thoughts straying to another long-ago picnic.
It had been Bethany’s thirteenth birthday and her mother had just passed away two weeks earlier. Her friend hadn’t felt much like celebrating but Ward had insisted they do something to mark her special day. He’d recruited Hazel’s help in planning a picnic, and she’d been the only person invited besides the two of them.
Ward had gone to great lengths to make certain his little sister had something happy to mark the day, treating the two of them as peers whose company he enjoyed rather than his pesky little sister and her equally pesky friend. And at the end of the picnic he’d given his sister a birthday gift—he’d made her a wooden box and placed her mother’s cameo inside.
It had been almost comical to see the panic on his face when Bethany started crying. That was the moment when Ward had become more to her than her best friend’s bossy older brother.
It was then that she’d fallen head over heels in love with him.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Ward’s uncharacteristically whimsical words pulled Hazel’s thoughts back to the present.
She felt a touch of heat rise in her cheeks and thought about giving him a breezy non-answer. Then she decided to give him a partial answer. “I was just remembering Bethany’s thirteenth birthday.”
His expression shifted, sobered. “I wanted to give her a reason to be happy again but I think I just made things worse.”
“Oh no, just the opposite. It meant the world to Bethany that you’d taken the time to do that. In fact, she confided in me later that you’d made her feel like things were going to be okay after all.”
He turned to stare across the meadow. “And two months later she had her accident.”
She could tell it was time for a change of subject. “How did the new sleeping arrangements work out last night?”
Ward grimaced but then shrugged. “Sleeping on the couch will take some getting used to, but I’ve had worse beds.”
She knew him well enough to know he was downplaying the inconvenience. But Ward had never been a complainer.
He plucked a long stem of grass and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “we really didn’t have much time to discuss your news the other day.”
Hazel felt her pulse kick up a notch. Was he ready to talk about her moving? “What news?” she asked, deciding to make him spell things out.
He cut her a don’t-be-coy look. “The news about your packing up and leaving Turnabout. Mind if I ask why?”
She chose her words carefully, not sure how much of her feelings she wanted to reveal. “I told you, I’ll be able to work with my aunt Opal. It’ll give me a chance to learn new techniques, to grow as a designer, to work with materials I might not otherwise have access to.”
He waved a hand, as if dismissing that explanation. “All of that was true last year and the year before. What’s changed to make you want it now?”
She was tempted to ask him why he cared but couldn’t quite drum up the nerve. Instead she lowered her eyes and picked some unseen lint on her skirt. “If you must know, the emporium hasn’t been doing well lately. More and more ladies are purchasing ready-made garments rather than ordering them from me.” She shrugged. “Not that I blame them. Ready-made frocks cost less than the ones I make and no one in Turnabout has much need for the really fancy gowns I enjoy working on.”
He was silent for a long moment an
d she peeked at him from the corner of her eye to see his brow had furrowed.
“I hadn’t realized,” he finally said, his tone sympathetic.
Hazel brushed a leaf from her skirt, trying not to be hurt by his admission that he hadn’t paid much attention to her situation. And she certainly didn’t want his pity now. “Why should you? But most of the ladies who come into the emporium these days are looking for Verity’s hats, not my dresses.”
She straightened and put a smile on her face. “Besides, Aunt Opal is not just offering me a job in her design studio this time—she wants to groom me to take over the whole thing when she retires in a few years.”
“And that’s something you really want to do?”
She shrugged. “To be honest, that isn’t the only reason I agreed to move. I’ve been restless for a while now, feeling the need for some sort of change in my life. Her offer just came at the right time.”
“What kind of change?”
This time she decided to be a little more forthcoming. “Even though designing and making clothing is something I enjoy, I do want more out of life. And I’ve recently come to doubt that I’ll find that something more here in Turnabout.”
“And just what is it you’re looking for?”
Why did he keep pressing? She met his gaze head on. “What just about every feeling human being is looking for—a family to love and be loved by, a home that’s filled with joy and laughter, to feel that I’m genuinely important to someone else’s happiness.” There, let him make of that what he would.
“And you don’t think you can find those things right here in Turnabout?”
She stared at him almost defiantly. If she’d had something in her hand, she might have actually chucked it at him. “I used to think there was a chance. But not anymore.” Did he really not understand what she was saying?
“But you do think you’ll find what you’re looking for in New York?”
She hoped she would would be a better way to phrase it. “I’ve done a lot of praying about the matter and I’ve bent Verity’s ear quite a bit as well.” She was really going to miss her friend when she moved away.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “And Verity agrees that this is a good idea?”
She felt a touch of annoyance at the skepticism in his tone. “Verity is very much in favor of my making changes in my life and supports me wholeheartedly.” Actually Verity had told her it was high time she stopped chasing after Ward Gleason, that any man who couldn’t see her worth wasn’t good enough for her, and that if it took moving halfway across the country for her to get him out of her system, then so be it.
“And just when did you reach this decision?”
Hazel released her knees and leaned back on her hands, studying the lone cloud floating lazily across the otherwise blue sky. “About two weeks ago I received a letter from Aunt Opal. She’s getting on in age, not that you’d know it as spry and sharp as she is. But she’s beginning to think about retiring in a few years and I’m the only family member who has any interest in fashion besides her. In fact, Aunt Opal’s the one who inspired me to open my own dress shop in the first place.”
She sat up straighter and met his gaze again. “Anyway, in her letter, Aunt Opal said she wanted to give me one more opportunity to join her before she began grooming someone else to take over her business.” She knew she was rambling and repeating herself, but she wanted him to understand the choices she was making.
“So that’s why you have this now-or-never attitude about making the move?” he asked. “Because you think this is your last chance to step into your aunt’s shoes?”
Was he really this oblivious to her feelings? She shrugged. “Actually, it was like a sign, like God was answering my prayer by opening this particular door to me.”
“I see.”
She couldn’t read anything from his tone or expression. Would he miss her at all? She wanted to shout at him, I’d give it up without a qualm if you’d give me a reason to stay. But her pride kept her silent. Instead she went to work repacking the hamper.
* * *
Ward moved toward the buggy, intending to prepare it for their departure. In truth he needed a few moments to himself to process what Hazel had just revealed. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d held on to the belief that this plan of hers to move to New York was just a passing fancy. Their conversation just now had certainly disabused him of that notion.
How had he not noticed that Hazel’s business was struggling and that she was unhappy with her prospects here? Sure, she was always so positive and uncomplaining that it made it easy to believe she didn’t have any problems. But that was no excuse. A true friend would have noticed when something was amiss. Was he truly so selfish? Just how bad were her finances?
In the past, every penny he earned went into Bethany’s care. Now that that was no longer a concern, he suddenly had earnings he was unaccustomed to spending on himself. Was there a way he could help Hazel out without insulting her pride?
For a start, he’d find reasons to keep buying her meals.
As for the other—he raked a hand through his hair, feeling his gut clench in frustration. He’d been astute enough to recognize the question in her eyes, the hints that her hopes for the kind of future she wanted had been bound up with him. But that was a future he could not allow himself to contemplate.
The twenty-four-hour demands of his job as sheriff didn’t leave him time for a family. This job had been the one area of his life where he felt he’d made a positive difference, where he hadn’t completely failed those who counted on him. And he’d learned the hard way that he was much better at looking out for the welfare of a town than he was at being responsible for someone totally dependent on his care.
Hazel seemed to believe God was leading her away from Turnabout. Was that truly the case? Or was she just taking the first option that came her way?
Father Almighty, I know You are a God of infinite love and that Your plans are for the good of Your children. I care about Hazel and don’t want to see her unhappy. And, to be honest, I’m not sure moving to New York is what’s best for her. Turnabout is where her friends, her memories and her roots are. And I would miss her if she was gone for good, but it’s not right for me to be selfish about this.
So I’m going to pray that whatever happens, that You will help her find happiness and contentment.
Ward glanced back at the sound of feminine laughter. Hazel had roused Meg from her nap and the two were sharing a laugh at Pugs’s expense. What a sweet picture they made at that moment, the very image of a loving mother and daughter. All that was missing was a father to complete the picture.
And Lord Jesus, if I had my druthers, I’d have her find that contentment right here in Turnabout. Amen.
* * *
As Ward slammed the cell door, he decided it was a good thing yesterday’s picnic had been such a success because today was turning out to be one of those days full of petty annoyances.
Right after he’d dropped Meg off at Hazel’s place this morning, he’d gotten word that Elmer and Orson Lytle, two local farmers, were at it again. There’d been hard feelings between the two cousins for years. Something to do with a land dispute he thought, but he wasn’t sure even they remembered the exact reasons anymore.
He’d tried to diffuse the argument and send the men on their separate ways, but when the fists started flying right there in front of the livery, he’d ended up dragging both of them off to jail.
He glared at the surly pair now incarcerated in adjacent cells. “You’re grown men, you ought to be able to settle your differences without resorting to brawling like a couple of hotheaded schoolboys.”
Elmer shook his fist. “If he’d just own up to what he did, none of this would’ve happened.”
And they were at it again, yelling, gesticulating, th
reatening.
Finally, Ward had had enough. “Quiet! Both of you. If you won’t be civil because it’s the right way to act, at least consider the example you’re setting for your boys. Blakely told me he had to throw all four of them out of the mercantile the other day because they were getting too rowdy.”
“Probably started by Larry and Russell.”
“Hah! More likely Glen and Bart said something to set them off.”
Ward glared them into silence. “I suppose you two have heard about the string of crimes that’s been stirring folks up around here.”
“Hard to miss it,” Elmer said. “Folks haven’t been talking about much else lately.”
“Did you also hear that there’s some folks who think one or more of your boys are responsible?”
“Well, it certainly isn’t Larry and Russell. Those boys might be a mite spirited, but they wouldn’t let any man’s horses out of the pen. They know I’d tan their hides and hang ’em up to dry if they did.”
“If you’re trying to say it’s Glen or Bart, you’re dead wrong. Them boys of mine know how to stand up for themselves but they know better than to leave the farm after dark.”
Ward looked from one to the other of them. “Are you sure about that? Do you really know your boys as well as you think you do? Maybe it’s possible they’ve seen how little regard you have for other folks’ feelings and have begun to believe they can up and do as they please as well? Just think about that next time you feel it’s okay to start a ruckus in the middle of town.”
Ward tossed the keys on his desk. “Now, I have better things to do than stand here and listen to you two go at each other like mongrels over a bone. I’ll be back to check on you later.” Maybe if they didn’t have an audience, they’d settle down.
Or at least run out of steam.
In the meantime, this dustup had reminded him he had a lot more investigating to do.
A Tailor-Made Husband Page 8