A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  * * *

  “More gingerbread?”

  Daniel shook his head and grinned. “There’s no place for any more, Ma. I ate too much pork pie. Smiley’s food is good, but he can’t cook like you.”

  “Well, if you’re certain, I’ll clear this mess away.” His mother beamed a smile at him, rose and began stacking the dirty dishes. Her long skirts swayed from her plump hips as she carried the dishes to the sink cupboard, scraped the scraps into a bucket and slipped the plates into the water in the wash pan. “I hope we don’t have a storm like this over Christmas. It’ll delay my trip to Syracuse to care for your aunt Ruth. I’m plannin’ on leavin’ when you go back to camp. Ruth’s rheumatiz is bad with the cold, and I was figurin’ to go and stay with her till the weather warms. She’s no one to do for her since Asel passed.”

  “You’re a good woman to make that long trip during the cold weather, Ma.”

  “Bein’ good or not ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” She lifted the steaming kettle off its trivet over the coals in the fireplace and tossed him a look over her shoulder. “She’s a need, and you do for family.”

  He rose and put his arm about her soft shoulders. “And you do for any others that need help, as well, Ma. Even if it costs you time or discomfort.”

  “Well, it’s the Christian thing to do, helpin’ others.” Steam rose in a cloud as she poured the water into the pan. “I’m strong and able, and you share the blessings God gives you with them less fortunate. Don’t you forget that, son.”

  “I won’t, Ma. How could I, with you for my example?” He leaned down and kissed her pink cheek. Her green eyes shone up at him, warm with pleasure.

  “You’re a good man, Daniel. You put me more in mind of your pa every day. It’s good to have you home.” She set the kettle aside, tossed a bar of soap into the water and picked up a cloth. “What will you be doin’ to help Willa with the Christmas decorations?”

  “She hasn’t told me. But I know it will take longer than I figured.” He crossed to the door, took his jacket off the peg and shrugged into it. “She’s decorating the gazebo, too. Says it will make it more festive for the carol sing.”

  “The gazebo...” A smile touched his mother’s mouth, then disappeared. She ducked her head and soaped the cloth. “Seems like you’ll be spendin’ a lot of time at the parsonage.”

  “Seems like you’re probably right.” He pulled his hat from his pocket. “Maybe that’s why we’re having this storm. Maybe Willa took her need for help to her Abba, Father. He seems to pay close mind to her prayers.”

  “And mine.”

  “What? I didn’t hear, Ma. I was putting on my hat.”

  “Nothin’ important.” She swished a plate through the rinse pan and set it on the towel on the wood drainboard. “It gonna bother you, havin’ Ellen so close by while you’re there workin’?” She flashed a look in his direction. “Her bein’ across the street, I mean.”

  There was no sense pretending he didn’t understand her. “That’s an old dream that died long ago, Ma.” He pulled up a grin and shot her a teasing look. “Surely you know Ellen’s come home to decide which of her rich beaux she’ll marry.”

  “I heard. But she ain’t betrothed yet.”

  There was a determined note in his mother’s voice that said clearly she wasn’t letting up on her prayers. Twelve years she’d been at it. He tugged his hat down over his ears, exposed by his newly trimmed hair, frowned and ran his hand over his clean-shaven face. Did she think... “Look, Ma, Ellen will be at home sitting cozy and warm in front of their fire while Willa and I are working on the decorations in the back room of the church. She won’t even see me. I stopped at Fabrizio’s for a haircut and shave to get rid of the itching, not to change Ellen’s goal. Besides, I’m not that good-looking—except maybe to you.” He chuckled and put on his gloves.

  She looked at him.

  He wished for the hundredth time he’d never told her that making himself an acceptable suitor in the eyes of Ellen’s parents when he was old enough to court Ellen was the reason he’d apprenticed himself to the counting house in Olville when he was twelve. She knew that had all come to a halt when his father died. And she still felt guilty that he’d had to give up his dream and become a logger in order to keep the cabin and provide a home for her. “Look, Ma, I was only a kid with a crush that lasted longer than it should have. It’s over. You can stop praying for me.”

  “And what makes you think it’s you alone I’m prayin’ for?” His mother looked down, swished the cloth over another plate.

  What did that mean? He stared at her, shook his head and walked over to pick up the bucket. “I’ll throw these scraps out back for Millers’ pigs on my way to Willa’s. See you at supper, Ma.”

  Snow was still falling, though it had eased up. He tossed the scraps onto the trampled-down area where the neighbor’s pigs rooted, set the bucket back inside the kitchen door and tromped out to the road. The wind picked up, blew cold against his bare cheeks. He tucked his chin down into his collar and wished it were as easy to bury his scruples. He hadn’t exactly lied to his mother, but he hadn’t told her the truth either. He hoped Ellen would see him around town, all clean-shaven and with his hair trimmed just like those rich beaux of hers. Not to try to change her mind, though. That part was true. It was a pride thing.

  A wry smile tugged at his lips. He sure couldn’t tell his Ma that. He knew exactly what she would say—Pride goeth before destruction, Daniel. But in his case, there was nothing for pride to destroy but the memory of his childhood love for Ellen—and he’d sure welcome that. He’d been carrying it around for too many years. It was time to be done with it.

  * * *

  Ellen snipped the thread and stuck the needle in the pincushion that was fastened to the arm of Willa’s chair. That was the last seam. She caught her breath, turned the garment and held it up. Nothing was crooked or puckered. A smile tugged at her lips, but she refused it possession. It was silly to feel such a sense of accomplishment. Sewing straight seams required no real talent with a needle.

  “You’ve finished the shepherd’s robe.”

  She glanced at Willa, her heart warming at her friend’s smile. “Well, I’ve sewn it together. But I’m afraid my ability with a needle is unequal to the hemming required around the neck and armholes.”

  “That’s not needed, Ellen. That wool won’t ravel. And it need last only one day. Which is a very good thing because my finger keeps poking through this cotton!” Willa wiggled the exposed fingertip of her hand tucked beneath the fabric on her lap. “I’m afraid one of the Wise Men is going to look quite tattered.”

  “Well, he has been on a very long journey.”

  Willa laughed, real, genuine laughter, not the polite titter of the elite women in Buffalo. The sound of it brought her own laughter bubbling up. It felt wonderful. How long had it been since she’d really laughed? She shoved the thought aside, carried the folded robe to the table and eyed the costumes waiting to be sewn. She so wanted to make the angel’s costume, but she was simply not that capable with needle and thread. She picked up the pieces for Joseph’s robe and turned back toward her chair. Willa was looking out of the window—again. “Are you expecting a caller?”

  Willa started, sat back in her chair and resumed sewing. “What put that notion in your head?”

  “That’s the third time I’ve seen you looking out of the window.”

  “Well, that doesn’t mean— Bother! I’ve poked another hole.” Willa cut her thread, stuck her needle in the shared pincushion and jumped to her feet. “I’d best find different fabric and cut another Wise Man’s costume. This cloth will fall apart if Tommy moves.”

  She watched Willa hurry to what remained of the old clothes and start sorting through the pile, pursed her lips and crossed to the window to see for herself what was so interesting. If
there was one thing she easily recognized, it was evasion—the elite were masters at it. There was no horse and buggy, not even the tracks of one, only undisturbed snow. And more falling. Would it never stop? She sighed and lifted her gaze toward the sky. Ah. “So that is what you were watching for—a glimpse of your husband as he walked over to the church.”

  “What are you talking about, Ellen? Matthew went to Olville directly after dinner, and—” Willa jerked upright, a faded red garment in her hands. “Is someone out there?”

  “No, but a fire has been started at the church. Smoke is beginning to rise from one of the chimneys—the rear one.”

  “Are you certain? It’s hard to tell with the snow.” Willa tossed the dress back onto the pile, hurried to her side and peered out the window. “Yes, you’re right—there is smoke. He’s here.”

  She stared, taken aback by the flash of satisfaction in Willa’s blue-green eyes. “So you were expecting someone?”

  “Not exactly. Daniel only said perhaps he—”

  “Daniel?”

  “Why, yes.” Willa looked down, brushed at the front of her skirt. “Didn’t I tell you he is going to help us with the decorations?”

  “Daniel is going to—” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “No, Willa Jean, you did not. And if—”

  “Well, I meant to. It must have slipped my mind while I was caring for Mary.” Willa sighed, slanted a glance up at her and sighed again. “Babies take so much time, Ellen. I simply don’t know how I would manage all I have to do without your help.”

  Her protest died. It was plain she would have to endure Daniel’s presence for Willa’s sake. She had given her word. And he would be going back to the lumber camp soon. Please, Lord! Meanwhile, she would avoid him as much as possible. The parsonage wasn’t a large house, but it was big enough to—

  “Come along, Ellen.” Willa lifted her hems and hurried toward the doorway.

  “Come along where?”

  “To get our cloaks and go to the church. We will make the decorations in the back room, and I want to get started while Mary is napping and Bertha can watch over her.”

  Her stomach sank. She took a breath and offered the only excuse she could think of that might delay the inevitable. “What of the sewing? I’ll stay here and—”

  Willa didn’t even pause, merely glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll work on the costumes in the evenings after the children are abed. It’s the decorations I’m most concerned about—or was, until your kind offer of help. And Daniel’s, too, of course.”

  Willa’s smile stole her resistance. “Very well.” She laid the costume pieces she held on the table and frowned down at her old green wool dress. If she had known about having to work with Daniel, she would have worn one of her lovely gowns. Not that he would notice. But, even so, they gave her confidence. And she needed that around him. Daniel was the only man she knew who could undermine her self-assurance with merely a look. She blew out a breath, fluffed her curls and followed Willa into the hall. At least her old dress would be hidden from Daniel’s view by her lovely new cloak.

  Chapter Six

  Daniel dumped his armful of branches on top of the growing pile in the corner. That would be the last load until they were used up. Any more and he and Willa would be crowded right out of the small room.

  He brushed his jacket free of bits of bark and pine needles while he took inventory. His small hand ax lay on the upended piece of log he would use for lopping the offshoots from the branches, the coil of twine Willa had requested was on the table, the woodbox was full and the stove was going. It was time to let Willa know he was here and they could start working. He slapped his gloves together over the pile to rid them of snow and tugged them back on. The latch clicked. He jerked his head around as the door swung open, hit the heel of his boot and stopped.

  “Daniel, the door is stuck!” The door was drawn back, shoved forward again with more force.

  “Whoa! Hold on, Pest.” He turned and pulled the door open. “That’s my foot you’re—” The words froze on his tongue. He stared at the blue wool visible between Willa and the doorframe, scowled and shifted his gaze to Willa’s face. She gave him a sweet smile. Asked and answered. His scowl deepened. Willa stepped into the room and his vision filled with blue wool and rabbit fur.

  Ellen looked up and stopped dead in her tracks. Her blue eyes widened.

  “Don’t look so surprised, Musquash. Your rich beaux aren’t the only ones who enjoy a shave and a haircut. Even we lowly loggers like to get one now and then—when we come to town and all.”

  “I thought you were a teamster.”

  The rejoinder was not a compliment. He dipped his head. “True. But I figure we’re all one and the same to you and your friends—common laborers.”

  Those blue eyes flashed. “You said it, not I.” She tossed her head and swept by him.

  Nor do I intend to ever give you the opportunity. If there’s any belittling of me to be done, I’ll do it. He clenched his jaw and closed the door, peeled off his jacket and hung it on a peg. It was going to be a long afternoon—unless he could make Ellen so angry with his teasing she went home in a huff.

  “My, we’ll be toasty warm while we’re working, Ellen.” Willa shoved her hood back and stepped close to the table in front of the stove. “I do believe it’s warmer in here than in my dining room.”

  My mistake. He eyed the stove chimney, entertained the thought of turning the damper down. Spoiled as Ellen was, she would run home fast enough if it got chilly. She’d always hated to be cold. His gaze shifted to her, pulled by a force he couldn’t resist. How many times had he given her his coat to wear? Too many to recall. He yanked his thoughts from the past, swept a glance over her fancy fur-trimmed cloak and bonnet and pulled in a breath. For sure she didn’t need his coat now. She needed nothing from him, which was perfect, for he had nothing to give. Yesterday was gone forever.

  He tugged off his gloves and hat, shoved them into his jacket pockets and rubbed his palms together. “All right, Pest, let’s get this work done. Tell me what to do.”

  “I think it would be easiest if I show you how I want to decorate the church. So if you would both come with me into the sanctuary?”

  His brows pulled down. Willa gave him another sweet smile and hurried toward the door, which was wise of her, because if she gave him that smile one more time, she was going to need sanctuary! He stifled the growl pushing at his throat and motioned Ellen through the door ahead of him. She was none too happy with Willa’s request either, if her stiff movements were any indication. Not that that was surprising. She was never happy when their paths crossed. He slowed his steps, stopped at the first box pew and watched the women continue up the aisle—the more space between them, the better.

  “First, of course, we’ll need a large wreath for the front door. Then a cluster of boughs to adorn each pew door and—” Willa stopped halfway up the aisle and swept her gloved hand through the air “—garlands to drape around the windows.”

  Ellen halted, glanced left and right. “All eight of them?”

  Her aghast tone would have been amusing if he didn’t share her feelings. They’d never finish all of that in one afternoon. He stiffened, fastened his gaze on Willa’s face. Perhaps that was what she... No. Willa knew how he felt about—

  “It won’t look right unless we do them all, Ellen.” Willa sighed, bowed her head and ran her hand along the waxed wood of a pew wall. “And I so want to do a good job. This is my first Christmas as a pastor’s wife and, well...I want Matthew to be proud of me. But if you feel it’s too much work for you to help me with...”

  “No, of course not, Willa.” Ellen stepped forward and placed her hand on Willa’s arm. “I only wanted to be sure I understood your intent.”

  He studied Willa’s bowed head, ashamed of his suspi
cion. He’d become far too self-absorbed since Ellen’s return. Her haughtiness had that effect on him. It was time to put some enthusiasm into helping Willa, Ellen or no Ellen. He pushed away from the pew and grinned. “You’re sure that’s all you need, Pest?”

  “For the church.” Willa looked directly into his eyes and smiled. “We’ll discuss the parsonage when we’re finished here.”

  “The parsonage!”

  “Why, yes.” Willa started back down the aisle toward him, Ellen, who was making a poor job of hiding her displeasure, in her wake. “It should look festive and welcoming for any parishioners who come calling over the holiday. And, of course, I want it wonderful and special for Joshua and Sally.”

  The names of the children struck deep—and Willa knew it. That was obvious in the way she avoided meeting his gaze. His suspicion came roaring back. Nonetheless, he had given his word. And he could bear the discomfort of being around Ellen for the children’s sake. But for how long? He moved forward to open the door, scowled when Ellen’s arm brushed against him as she glided by and glanced toward the window—still snowing. He wouldn’t be returning to the camp anytime soon.

  “Well, I believe we’re ready to begin working now. And I think the wreath for the door should be made first.” Willa removed her cape and hung it over one of the chairs at the table. “Daniel, if you will lop the offshoots from the branches, then lay the greenery here on the table, Ellen and I will tie the sprigs in small bunches and then— Oh, bother! I’ve forgotten to bring scissors to cut pieces of twine. I’ll have to go get them.”

  Oh, no, you don’t, Pest! You’re not leaving me here alone with Ellen. He snatched up the coil of twine. “There’s no need for scissors, Pest. Tell me how long you want the pieces, and I’ll chop them off.” He carried the twine to the upended log, looked back at her standing with her cloak in her hands and smiled. The look of annoyance she gave him confirmed his suspicion better than words—Willa was playing matchmaker. He frowned and gave a small shake of his head to warn her to stop.