Daniel strode to the far wall and caught hold of the thing hung from its peg. Sarah’s fancy white nightgown met his grasp, as cool and pristine as if it had never been worn.
I got married because I love you, he heard anew, and the ache inside him gnawed even more intensely. He would not have guessed. Sarah loved him. Sarah loved him.
He could not take it in. Daniel rehung the nightgown, then caught himself smoothing a crease from its soft folds. He swore aloud, feeling a fool. Anyone would have thought him a softhearted woman, the way he mooned over his empty household.
He was a man. A brawny man, with strength he’d always been proud of. And yet…now his eyes burned with something suspiciously close to tears, and his throat felt raspy enough to hurt. Daniel swallowed hard, fighting an odd impulse to just lie down and have done with this day. All he wanted was to turn back the clock. To set things the way they had been. Before.
Mustering a pained resolve, he glanced around the room once more. He could not stay here. That much was certain.
By the front door, Daniel snatched his hat from its peg, intending to go…anywhere else. The motion accidentally knocked Sarah’s warm winter bonnet to the floor. Stupidly, he stared at it. Then he reached for it. Sarah would need it in this weather. She would be cold without—
He stopped. His life was changed now, whether he wanted it to be or not. But Daniel McCabe was not a man to sit around brooding over the differences. He was a man of action. With a fierce frown, he jammed on his own hat, then headed outside.
The chill winter wind fit his insides exactly. It only took a determined step in a new direction before he’d blotted out the sight of Sarah’s trailing footsteps. If he were lucky, time would blot the memories of what they’d found together—and lost—with selfsame efficiency. Until then, he refused to think on it anymore.
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah entered the ornate lobby of the Lorndorff Hotel, Morrow Creek’s fanciest meeting place, and found herself in another world. Although the ordinary commotion of town waited just outside, here it was calm and quiet. Velvet-upholstered furniture occupied a rug near the fireplace, and a marble-topped reception desk stood nearby. A few travelers milled here and there, their accents sounding decidedly unterritorial.
A uniformed hotel employee hurried past, carrying a railroad schedule and an air of importance. Wiping her damp palms on her skirts, Sarah made herself progress past a stand of potted palms, through a plastered archway, to the dining room. She was to meet Eli and his mother there, and could not be late.
At this hour—just past schoolhouse dismissal time—few guests occupied the cloth-covered tables. Their silver place settings and fine crystal sparkled in readiness, though, and a pair of employees worked nearby to position the centerpieces. Another cluster of workers labored to arrange the heavy-hung draperies at the windows, their voices muted.
The whole place bespoke finery and elegance, another world from the practical one Sarah usually occupied. She had come to the Lorndorff dining room only once before, on the occasion of Molly’s wedding breakfast. Then, the Crabtrees had all giddily put on their nicest clothes and trooped to the hotel. They’d all felt quite fancy and in good cheer, especially Sarah—who’d felt like a princess in such surroundings—and her papa, who had declared himself “a fine dandy!” and smoked a cheroot.
The memory conjured a smile, however short-lived. Sarah’s own wedding had been too hasty to allow for a lavish breakfast beforehand, and the truth was that on today’s visit to the Lorndorff, she felt anything but cheerful. She’d passed two mostly sleepless nights in her old Crabtree bedroom now, tossing and turning with memories of Daniel.
She hadn’t known a person could shed so many tears, and her puffy, red-rimmed eyes doubtless told as much to anyone who cared to see it. A hurried glance to one of the mirrors lining the wallpapered wall confirmed her fears. She appeared wan and pale, her hair haphazardly twisted in a knot at her nape.
Perhaps Lillian would view her paleness as fashionable, Sarah told herself, striving for optimism. Perhaps Daniel’s sister, not knowing Sarah’s usual robustness, would simply assume she always looked a fright, with dark circles beneath her eyes and a rat’s nest of hair.
The notion proved not quite as encouraging as she’d hoped.
Nonetheless, Sarah lifted her head and surveyed the hushed dining room. The least Eli deserved from her was a proper goodbye. She didn’t feel she could give him that from a train depot platform, especially not with Daniel—more than likely—lingering nearby, too.
She spied a woman in a blue dress and fancy hat, seated with her back to the dining room doorway. Her movements were languid, her manner refined…her hair, what Sarah could glimpse of it, a dark brown exactly as rich as Daniel and Eli’s. This had to be Lillian, the woman who’d left Morrow Creek to marry not one but two wealthy men, and to travel the world along with them. Heart hammering, Sarah proceeded toward her.
“Aunt Sarah!” came Eli’s voice, of a sudden.
It came from another direction—from the doorway leading to the hotel’s Sonoran-style courtyard, now knee-deep in snow. Confused, Sarah turned to the sound. Footsteps scuffled, and a woolen scarf flew to a nearby chair. Eli had not been to school today, and she yearned to see him again.
She saw him an instant later, clattering across the polished floorboards at full tilt. His small face shone with glee. His hair stuck up at odd angles—owing its style, she reckoned, to his wool hat having been cast aside, as well. She couldn’t help but smile. Some things, at least, did not change.
“Aunt Sarah!” An instant later, he clamped both arms around her middle and squeezed with all his might. “You came!”
“Of course I came.” His embrace brought tears to her eyes. He felt perfectly right, fitting precisely beneath her chin in a wriggling mass of boyish vigor. She sniffled, then found herself laughing, too. “I wanted to see you. Besides, did you honestly think you could play hooky from school and not have a talking-to from me in the end?”
Her avowed sternness did not fool him. “My mama said I could do it. That makes it all right.” Eli released her, grinning. Never one to be still for long, he glanced over his shoulder as he shucked his coat to another chair. “Look, here she is. Mama!” he yelled. “Come and meet Aunt Sarah. Hurry!”
The fancily bonneted woman turned, her nose wrinkled in disapproval. She peered at them, her low opinion plain.
Any minute now, she would rise, Sarah knew. She would rise, and she would deepen that disapproving look, and she would cut this visit short before it began. With one hand on Eli’s shoulder, Sarah steeled herself. No matter how unpleasant Lillian turned out to be, she was still Eli’s mother. Daniel’s sister. She deserved respect.
Oh, but please don’t let her be that prune-faced snob!
“Eli, stop,” came a voice from behind her. “You’re giving the wrong impression entirely, and I’ll never recover!”
At that happy-go-lucky tone, Sarah turned, befuddled. Those words hadn’t come from the snobbish woman, as she’d expected.
They had come instead from the woman hurrying toward them just now, her crooked arm draped with Eli’s familiar cast-off hat and scarf and gloves. She dumped the lot to the same chair that now held Eli’s coat, then faced Sarah.
“Eli will be back with his tutor once we reach Philadelphia again,” she explained in confiding tones, as though she and Sarah were long-lost friends. “But until then…” She winked. “Well, after being apart for so long, I was just greedy enough to keep him all to myself. I hope you understand.”
She smiled, pausing in what looked—almost—like uncertainty.
Sarah gawked, momentarily taken aback. She felt speechless. She didn’t know what she had expected from Daniel’s grown-up sister, but the woman before her was decidedly not it.
Lillian had laughing eyes and messy, partly tumbled hair, and a haphazard way of wearing her clothes that said she did not care a fig for fashion or its vagaries. She was h
atless and out of breath, pink-cheeked and as full of life as Daniel was. She possessed nearly—unbelievably—the same quantity of his charm.
“I’m so happy to see you again,” she said, and engulfed Sarah in a hug whether she felt prepared for it or not.
Evidently, that had not been uncertainty Sarah had detected in her. Muffled, muddled, she embraced her sister-in-law with no small amount of awkward surprise. Lillian smelled of fresh air and damp wool. She felt, beneath her layers of overcoat and skirts, almost as hearty as Sarah fancied she herself did.
Lillian squeezed mightily, gave a pat, then stepped backward, beaming.
Disbelieving, Sarah recognized the maneuver. It was Eli’s hug, fashioned in feminine form. It contained the same squeeze, the same pat, the same enthusiasm. Eli had, it struck her, learned to offer hugs so generously from his mother. The realization made her heart twist strangely.
Looking carefree, Lillian turned to Eli.
“That last snowball was a trick shot, you rascal.” She ruffled his hair, then tickled him into gales of laughter. “I’ll get you later, just wait and see.”
Eli laughed, his face shining as he regarded his mama.
“Not if I have anything to say about it, you won’t.” A man entered the dining room from the same direction they’d come. He was graying at the temples, but looked strikingly hale, all the same. He shook a telling coating of snow from his coat, then strode nearer, grinning. “I may be old, but I still have a few good snowballs in me. I’ll be the victor yet.”
“Oh, you aren’t so very old,” Lillian teased. “Although I do know you do have a strong arm and an exceedingly clever way of making a snowball. I’ll consider myself forewarned.”
They exchanged a loving, intimate look. This must be Lyman, Lillian’s second husband, Sarah realized. He did seem wealthy, but not inordinately so. His air of exuberance exactly matched his wife’s. So did his level of merry dishevelment.
“See that you do,” Lyman said, lightheartedly.
To Sarah’s astonishment, the two of them kissed. Right there in the Lorndorff dining room, with the other patrons and the staff and Eli and she, herself, looking on. Embarrassed, Sarah turned hastily away. When she dared to peek again, Lillian and Lyman regarded Eli with identical affectionate glances.
The picture the three of them made was of a happy family, indeed. Confused by the realization—one she had heartily not expected—Sarah heard herself stutter a greeting.
“Oh, but we’re leaving poor Sarah by the wayside!” Lillian exclaimed. She took her by the elbow and, looping her arm companionably within hers, guided them both to a waiting table. “Come, let’s have some tea. I ordered some refreshments, so I hope everyone’s hungry for something tasty. Like chocolate!”
Eli cheered. “Chocolate! Chocolate!”
Towed along in her sister-in-law’s wake, Sarah could not find the heart to resist. There was something happy about Lillian. Something generous and witty and irresistible.
“Come along, everyone. It’s time for treats!”
Lillian cast a secure glance behind her, probably not truly needing to do so. The men in her life trailed her with absolute adoration. Lyman kept his gaze fixed dotingly on his wife’s face as he pulled out a chair for her, and Eli patted her arm whenever he was within reach, as though assuring himself his mama was still there with him.
“You must be terribly angry with me. Are you? Tell me you aren’t,” Lillian encouraged, facing Sarah after they were all seated. “I could not live with myself if I thought you were.”
She offered another smile, equally charming as the first. Feeling unaccountably affected by it, Sarah realized that this, too, felt familiar. Lillian possessed the sense of engagement she’d always found so appealing in Daniel.
“Why would I be angry?” she managed.
“Because I missed your wedding, of course!” Lillian glanced at a waiter, who instantly snapped to attention. She folded her hands beneath her chin, propping her elbows unconcernedly on the tabletop. “I had no idea Daniel was ready to be married. You must tell me all about it, and your courtship, too. I’m simply dying to know everything.”
Feeling nigh swept away beneath this unexpected turn of events, Sarah hesitated. In that moment, a cadre of servers rushed to their table. One bore a teapot wrapped in a fine embroidered towel and delicate matching cups. Another brought sugar and cream, another coffee and another a platter of pastries and other treats.
Delicious-looking comestibles were passed all round. The conversation was momentarily lost beneath the heated swirl of tea, the sugary crunch of sweets and the happy chatter of a troupe of snowball-throwers recently in from the cold.
Looking at her companions, Sarah knew she should have felt excluded. She should have felt resentful, or angry, or worried for Eli’s future. But as she gazed upon Lillian’s openhearted smile and Lyman’s jovial face, as she heard Eli’s contented sigh, she simply could not be. She felt weary, that was true. Also, saddened near beyond bearing to be losing the boy she loved. But she also felt heartened, and that was one thing she hadn’t reckoned on.
Lillian caught her staring, doubtless appearing overwhelmed at the hubbub surrounding their table. She patted her hand with clear commiseration.
“Money is useful for doing exactly as a person wishes to,” she told her with a wink, “but beyond that I haven’t a care for it. Please, enjoy yourself. This bit of fuss is the least I could do, to thank you for all you’ve done—” she caressed Eli’s unruly hair, casting him a warmhearted look “—and for all you will do, in making Daniel happy. I wouldn’t entrust my brother to just anyone, you know.”
Daniel. Talk of him only made Sarah ache. Their parting was too recent…their mistakes too fresh. She should have tried harder not to love him. Or to keep her feelings hidden. Or, failing that, to stop herself from marrying him and entering into this mess at all. But what was done was done. All she could do now was to see through this goodbye with Eli.
She drew in a bolstering breath. She could not fall to weeping again and ruin this for everyone. “Thank you. That’s…very kind.”
Lillian’s brows puckered with concern. “Did I say something wrong? I only meant that I remember you, Sarah. I remember you and Daniel, together, when we were all just children.” She rolled her eyes at Lyman. “Sarah and Daniel were wild, but positively inseparable,” she told him. “We all should have known they were meant to be together.”
Meant to be together. Hearing it said hurt even more.
“What of you two?” Sarah asked, forcing herself to lighten her manner. She angled her head to indicate Lyman. “How did you meet?”
They told her a delightful tale of a springtime in Philadelphia, a millinery shop, a mixed-up order for hats that had gone to the wrong people at first…and brought the right people together in the end. Holding hands, Lillian and Lyman described how they met and how they married, how they decided to travel to the continent for their wedding trip, how they thought of no one to care for Eli in their absence save Daniel.
“It was so important to me that Eli know his uncle,” Lillian said seriously. “With Daniel here in the territory and me all the way in the States…well, it’s been very difficult.”
Lyman gave her a consoling look.
“My mother and father are in Philadelphia, as well, of course,” Lillian continued. “But with Mama so caught up in the social whirl, and Papa so involved with his various business ventures, I fear it’s just not the same. But I’m being silly. Here you are, Sarah, with a whole new family to begin! Tell me. Are you and Daniel hoping for a great many children? Because I can tell you, there is nothing more—” She broke off, looking to Sarah with concern. “Oh, no. I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I can tell I’ve said something wrong.”
To her horror, Sarah felt tears well in her eyes. Children, with Daniel, were something she’d long dreamed of…but hardly dared to hope for. Now, the entire notion felt impossible.
“I’m fine.” It
felt the biggest falsehood she’d ever uttered. “It’s only that I’ll miss Eli something terrible, after he leaves. It won’t be the same without him here.”
She gave him a fond look, smiling though her tears as he chomped happily through an elaborately iced pastry. Eli swallowed. He swiped his fist across his mouth, scattering crumbs.
“I’ll miss you, too, Aunt Sarah.”
Lillian and Lyman looked on, beaming.
“But I won’t miss the ’rithmatic you taught me.”
They all laughed. Sarah sniffled, hoping her watery eyes would clear before the too-perceptive Lillian noticed. For a woman who should have been self-absorbed and stand-offish, she seemed to discern a remarkable amount.
“Tell us about your schoolteaching,” Lyman invited.
So Sarah complied. She described her students and her schoolhouse, the challenges she’d faced in her teacher’s exams and in being appointed Morrow Creek’s schoolteacher. She laughed over funny stories of recitals and of the memorable time Grace had visited to speak on women’s suffrage.
“The girls did not truly have a march down Main Street afterward,” Lillian insisted, her eyes sparkling. “Did they?”
“Indeed, they did. My sister has a very persuasive personality. Daniel says—”
Jolted from her happy mood by her remembrance of him, Sarah lapsed into silence. Tellingly, Lillian and Lyman exchanged a glance.
“Says what?” Eli asked, a smear of chocolate on his chin.
Sarah mustered a smile for him. “He says that Grace could talk the sky into turning green, if she set her mind to it.”
And that I could make gold from a gadfly, just by wishing as hard as I do.
Unfortunately, no amount of wishing, she’d learned too late, would make Daniel love her.
She lifted her gaze to find Lillian watching her with sympathetic eyes. Another squeeze of her hand followed. Sarah had the unmistakable impression that Lillian knew something of the hurt she’d been through…that she’d guessed, somehow, at the troubles between her and Daniel.
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