This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3

by Carolyne Aarsen

  But even as I helped put the girl’s clothes on I couldn’t help but think why she mentioned Jerrod more than Francine.

  A few moments later we had all the girls all dressed, though Celia insisted that her Oma help her and not her Aunt Esther.

  I was thankful that Laine and Savannah brought their dolls as well and suspected Cora had something to do with that. This way Celia and Jane didn’t stand out as much. The last thing I wanted was for her to be teased on her birthday.

  I took Celia, Laine and Savannah in the SUV, Cora and Esther took Tiffany. But in spite of only having three little girls in the vehicle, the sugar-induced noise level as we drove toward Duncan's place was deafening.

  "Is Celia's Uncle Duncan a cowboy?" Laine asked.

  "He has horses," I said. I had never thought of him as a cowboy, but no sooner did the idea enter my mind than I imagined him in a cowboy hat, his usual plaid shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots.

  It worked. Too well.

  I gave my head a shake and concentrated on the happy chatter in the vehicle, thankful that, for now at least, Celia seemed to be smiling and enjoying herself. She was my priority, I reminded myself. Not the fact that her Uncle Duncan would probably rock a cowboy hat and boots.

  "So how much sugar did these little angels get?" Duncan asked as he lifted the last of the giggling girls into the cutter.

  Miriam laughed as she shook the snow off a mitten one of the girls had dropped in the snow.

  "Blame your sister. I fed them a well-balanced meal of chicken fingers and fries. I'm sure it was the two inches of icing on the horse cake that tipped them into crazy-land." Miriam helped one little girl shove her hand into the mitten, then pulled her own out of the large pockets of her down-filled coat.

  "Good thing Bonnie and Clyde are bombproof," Duncan said, eyeing the horses standing patiently in the harness. Clyde shook his head, the bells on his shoulder jingling, signaling his desire to get moving, but ever since he'd hooked them up to the sleigh, they'd been the picture of patience and good training.

  He looked over his shoulder to where his mother and sister stood, their heads bent, glancing his way once in a while, as if sharing secrets like teenagers.

  "Are you coming along?" he called out.

  "There's not enough room in the sleigh," Esther said, hunching her shoulders against the cold. "Besides, it's too cold."

  "Cold? It's barely freezing."

  Indeed, it was a picture-perfect day for a sleigh ride. The snow sparkled below a benevolent sun hanging in a bluebird sky. Not a breath of wind stirred the air.

  "You go ahead," his mother said, waving him off. "We'll stay behind and keep the home fires burning."

  He could have guessed they weren't coming. In all the years he'd had his horses, they'd never expressed any desire to either ride them or go out on the sleigh with him.

  "Looks like it's you and me," he said with forced heartiness, as he turned back to Miriam, who was tugging on her own mittens.

  The tentative smile she gave him settled too easily in his heart.

  His practical side reminded him that she'd brushed him off before. How was he to know she wouldn't do it again?

  But his lonely side returned the smile, and for a moment they stood like two statues, watching each other, and as he looked into her eyes, the old attraction flickered.

  Dangerous territory, he told himself, and yet he couldn't look away. He was about to help her into the sleigh when she scrambled up on her own.

  She settled between Celia and one friend, across from the other two girls who were bouncing up and down on the seat. "Girls, you'll have to sit quietly," he warned them, dragging his attention away from Miriam. "We don't want to make the horses nervous."

  "Dunkle, will you go fast?" Celia was asking.

  "No. We'll be going on a trail through the bushes so we'll go slow.” He pulled out a couple of blankets and handed them to Miriam. "The girls might want these covering their legs. Just to keep them warm."

  She took them from him, giving him another cautious smile. But this time, he forced himself not to give in to his changing feelings. She would leave. Again. And he'd be stuck by himself.

  Again.

  He didn't have the emotional reserves to deal with that.

  He unhitched the horse from the rail, then hauled himself onto the front of the cutter and unwound the reins from the post, threading them through his gloved hands. "Everyone okay?" he asked.

  "Yes. Let's go, Dunkle," Celia called out, giddy with excitement.

  With a cluck and a 'gee', the horses started out, lifting their feet high in anticipation as Duncan kept the tension on the reins to hold them in. They immediately got the hint and leaned into the harness, settling into a steady walk.

  He looked back to make sure everyone was okay.

  The girls had settled down a bit. Miriam had her arms around the girls beside her.

  "This is fun, isn't it?" she asked, her own eyes bright, her smile genuine and wide, the cool air making her cheeks rosy, the sunshine catching auburn glints in her dark, brown hair.

  Duncan dragged his attention back to the horses, who had settled into a solid rhythm. Other than the giggling girls, the only sound was the horses’ huffing breaths, the muffled tramp of their hooves, and the hissing of the sled’s runners over the snow. Being with his horses created a welcome pocket of peace in a life that had too much chaos.

  He pulled in a deep breath then exhaled, as if releasing an ever-present tension.

  A constant by-product of the logging. Though he knew why he kept it up, part of him was growing weary at the endless movement, busyness and work it created.

  "I think we should sing a sleighing song," Miriam said.

  "Jingle Bells," one of the girls called out.

  "That's a perfect song. Because Christmas is coming." She started singing and soon the girls had joined in, yelling on the 'hey' parts, and substituting Bonnie's name for Bobtail in the song.

  He glanced back surprised to catch Miriam looking at him. She was smiling, her cheeks red, her eyes bright.

  She looked gorgeous and for a moment he couldn’t look away. Then a jerk on the reins made him focus on the horses. But as they rode around the field he was as aware of the woman in the sleigh behind him as of the horses in front.

  They headed toward the trees and down the narrow trail, his horses still pulling steady. He smiled, gently adjusting the tension on the reins, always working with the horses, paying attention to their reactions.

  He really needed to do this more often.

  And why can’t you? Why can’t you leave Les in charge the operation more? Spend time doing what you like?

  All by yourself?

  The question came with a flare of loneliness and once again his thoughts shifted to Miriam and how eager she was to come along.

  He glanced back again. “You girls doing okay? You warm enough?”

  “Going good,” Miriam said, flashing him a mittened thumbs up. Her smile seemed to take over her face. She was really enjoying this.

  “I’ll head down this trail for another ten minutes, then swing back if that’s okay.”

  She nodded and for another moment their gazes held. He was the first to look away.

  Twenty minutes later he was pulling the horses up and they came to a stop close to the barn. His mother and Esther were waiting.

  “We’ve got a fire going,” Esther said as she walked to the sleigh to help the girls out, his mother right behind her. “Come and warm up and have some s’mores.”

  Before he could get down to help, Miriam was handing the girls to Esther and his mother who quickly ushered the girls toward the fire. Miriam held back a moment looking from Celia who was walking beside his mother, back to him.

  “Do you need a hand with the horses?” she asked.

  Her question surprised him. He didn’t think she’d be interested. But unhitching the horses was more complicated than hitching so the help was welcome.

  �
��That’d be great. Do you know anything about horses and harnesses?”

  “Only from what I’ve seen of Wagon Train re-runs and a few glimpses of the History Channel.” She returned his smile and he felt again that quiver of connection, and beneath that, a desire to find out more about her.

  “Then you’re well prepared. I first need to unhitch the horses from the wagon. Can you hold the lead lines while I unhook the trace chains?”

  “Oh those,” she said with mock authority.

  “You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about do you?” he asked as she clambered into the box and took the lines.

  With a casual wave of her mittened hand she dismissed his question. “Any idiot knows what trace chains are.”

  He laughed again as he handed her the lines.

  A few moments later he had the trace chains off, then released the tongue from the neck yokes, slowly lowering it to the ground.

  “You can hand me Bonny’s lines,” he said, walking back to the cutter. “But hang onto Clyde’s for now. I’ll come back for him.”

  He took the lines from her and walked behind Bonny as she walked into the barn and directly into her open stall. She nosed the trough then looked at him as if wondering where her treat was.

  “You’ll get it soon enough,” he said with a chuckle, clipping a lead rope to hold her in place. Just as he got the lines loose he heard Clyde’s heavy footfalls and he spun around, heart quickening. Had he gotten loose from Miriam?

  But she was behind him, grinning as she drove him into the barn.

  “Where does he go?”

  He jerked his chin toward Clyde’s stall but the horse was already moving in that direction.

  “Guess he knows where home is,” Miriam said with a chuckle following him.

  “There’s a rope attached to the front of the stall. Clip it to his head collar.”

  He watched a moment to make sure Clyde was okay, then worked quickly, unbuckling and easing the heavy harness off Bonny. Bells jangled as he sorted the straps and traces, then hung it up with the rest of the tack.

  Miriam was talking to Clyde, stroking his nose, looking entirely calm.

  “You seem pretty comfortable with horses. You been around them much?”

  “Not really. Life has taught me to be a quick learner and to adapt." She returned his smile over Clyde’s neck as he worked, and he felt again that faint quiver of connection, and beneath that, a desire to find out more about her.

  "Are you talking about life with your mother?"

  "Amongst other situations."

  "Living in Jerrod's home?" he asked slipping the straps and loosening the breeching.

  "Not at all. Jerrod's parents were the only reliable people in my life."

  She was petting Clyde when she said that, her mouth still holding that soft smile, as if she were somewhere else. Somewhere solid and secure.

  "And the other lessons?" With a grunt and he slipped the rest of the harness off.

  She seemed to pull herself out of wherever she had gone. Her features settled into the same ironic look they usually held, as if she herself was holding her own secrets in. "Where I learned the other lessons is not worth mentioning." He hung up the harness and returned to the stall, stroking Clyde, sighing in the silence that fell between them.

  But suddenly, he wanted her to do precisely that. Mention them. Fill in the blanks between that last date they had together and now. Answer the questions that bothered him as he had tried to contact her.

  He was surprised that after all this time, and all that happened to him, that this still mattered.

  “You can give him a treat now,” Duncan said, pulling himself back to the present. “The oats and pail are in a bin at the end of the alley. Unless you want to join the girls,” he added hastily.

  “I don’t mind. I’m sure your Mom and Esther can manage.” She paused a moment, however, looking suddenly pensive. “I wanted to ask you a question anyway. About Francine and Jerrod. Did she ever talk to you about their relationship?”

  Duncan thought back to that moment when he had tried to convince his sister not to go on the sledding trip. How she seemed to be pleading with him to leave it be. That she needed to do this.

  "I'm sure they had their difficulties. I mean, what couple doesn't?"

  “I can vouch for that,” she said with a humorless laugh.

  He heard pain in her voice and wondered what caused it. “What do you mean?”

  Miriam blinked as if she suddenly realized what she was saying. Then she took a step back. “Maybe I better see what the girls are up to after all.”

  And then she left him with his confused thoughts and a curiosity about her past relationships.

  Chapter 7

  The fire snapped and crackled and I crowded as close as I could, trying to roast a marshmallow I promised Celia I would make for her. My feet were freezing in my unsuitable boots, and my mitts were like two blocks of ice, and deep inside I felt a growing confusion.

  Seeing Duncan with the horses, looking so relaxed and at ease showed me another, far too appealing side. For the first time since I’d come to Holmes Crossing I caught a glimpse of the man I met all those years ago.

  "Stop that. Jane doesn't like that."

  Celia's distressed cry pulled my attention from the marshmallow skewered on the end of my roasting stick.

  Celia, hugging her doll, sat hunched on a bench beside Tiffany, a young girl with long, dark hair, brown eyes and a taunting smile.

  Tiffany was tugging on Jane's boot, but her narrowed eyes were fixed on Celia. I'd seen that look too many times in my life and now, as it did then, made my skin crawl.

  "Stop," Celia called out, pulling her doll to one side.

  "Your marshmallow's burning," Esther pointed out to me from across the fire where she was assembling a s'more for one of the other girls.

  I glanced back at the flaming black ball at the end of my stick and sighed at the charred and gooey mess. I stuffed the stick in the fire in a gesture of surrender and got up to see what was going on between Tiffany and Celia.

  "What's wrong?" I asked, crouching down in front of the girls.

  "Jane is angry," Celia said, glowering at her friend. "Tiffany is being mean to her."

  "Her doll can't talk," Tiffany said. "She shouldn't lie."

  "Celia's not lying," I said, trying to find a balance between soothing hurt feelings and keeping the peace. "She's talking about Jane."

  "But she says stuff and says that Jane says it."

  "Jane only talks to me," Celia insisted, shooting a frown at Tiffany. "She won't talk to you."

  "How come I can't hear it?" Tiffany's voice held a note of disgust that no five-year-old should have so perfected.

  I watched the two, feeling completely out of my depth and puzzled that Celia had invited this girl when, it seemed, there was this antipathy between them.

  "Jane is a special doll," I said to Tiffany, putting my arm around her and gently easing her away from Celia, removing her from the situation. "And you're a special little girl, so why don't I make you a special s'more?"

  Tiffany shot a disdainful look at my roasting stick still sitting in the fire as I escorted her to a bench closer to the grate. "You don't make good s'mores."

  My smile shifted to fake sincerity, and I felt bad that I was growing to dislike this little girl. "I've never made s'mores before," I said. "I'm still learning."

  "You've never made s'mores?" Esther asked as slipped her perfect marshmallow onto a graham wafer. "I thought Jerrod's family went camping all the time."

  "Only until he was twelve. I didn't move in with the Carpenters until he was thirteen." I pulled the stick out of the fire and found a napkin to wipe the sad remains off. Then I dug in the bag for another marshmallow and skewered it onto the stick.

  "Oh. Right. I forgot. His father died a year after that."

  She handed Celia's other friend, Laine, her s'more. "Here you go, sweetie. Celia do you want me to make a s’more
for you?”

  “I don’t want you to,” she snapped, still in a funk.

  “Celia,” Cora reprimanded. “That’s no way to talk to your aunty.”

  But Celia hunkered further down, her attention on her doll.

  I wanted to intervene but knew that Celia would come around in her own time.

  “Tiffany, why don’t I make you a s’more?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” she sniffed, gravitating to Esther.

  I gave up, set my stick aside and pushed myself to my feet just as Duncan came out of the barn. He looked around and caught my eye, and then that little jolt he created in me happened again.

  “Got the horses done?” I asked, hoping I sounded more casual than I felt.

  “They’re in the pasture now.” He gave me a careful smile and the jolt settled into a faint buzz.

  Gregg, my old boyfriend, taught me well the dangers of letting people close. But the sight of this man’s smile and the way his eyes crinkled pushed at the barriers I had built around my heart.

  Then, I heard Celia muttering to her doll, and with a start, I realized I had been ignoring her. I excused myself and was about to go and sit with Celia to comfort her, but Mrs. Tiemstra beat me to it. She drew the little girl onto her lap and Celia drooped against her, her head resting on Cora's shoulder as her grandmother stroked her arm, talking quietly to her.

  My heart folded at the sight. Celia had never sat so pliant in my lap. Had never nested her head into my neck or put her arms around me.

  That should be me. I should be the one she connects with. I should be the one with the power to comfort her. I'm her mother.

  I held my breath as I waited for the storm of emotions that were slowly roiling in my chest to still. I couldn't let the selfish feelings out. Cora's lap was Celia's proper place.

  I turned abruptly away, walking around Duncan, joining Laine and Savannah, who were playing with their dolls, making them talk to each other. The sight made me feel a bit better about Celia and her ventriloquist dummy act. Maybe it was more normal than I thought.

  "So, tell me about your dolls," I asked, settling down beside the girls. "What are their names?"

  But while Laine and Savannah chattered, part of my attention was pinned to the man who was now approaching his mother and Celia.