A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  “You needn’t bother about the pinecones. I will get them.” She flounced over to the door, picked up the empty bucket kept there to carry water in case of fire and carried it to the pile of cones in the corner.

  Her haughty posture had come a little undone. “As you wish.” He reached for the wreath, paused. “Looks like you’re running low on twine. I’ll cut you some.” His offer was met with a frosty silence. He looked over at her throwing pinecones into the bucket and couldn’t resist prodding her to a response. “Unless you want to do that yourself also, of course.”

  “Humph!”

  It wasn’t quite a snort, but it was mighty close.

  “I suppose that was meant to be amusing.” She tossed a few more cones into the bucket, gripped the handle and headed back to the table, her swirling skirts scattering pinecones in all directions.

  There was nothing cool about her now. She was angry. Their gazes clashed, and his chest tightened. That haughty look he hated was gone, all right—but at what cost? There was a shadow of hurt mingling with the anger in her eyes. He clamped the hatchet handle in a choke hold, stepped to the chopping log and glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you want these cut the same length as before?”

  Her gaze lifted, touched his a moment before she nodded, then looked down and began to work. Everything in him strained to go to her, to apologize for his oafish behavior and tell her how much he cared for her—which would only devastate his pride and gain him nothing.

  Oh, and don’t worry about telling Ellen how you feel about her. You won’t have to say a word. Ellen’s a woman. She’ll know.

  How could she, when he seesawed back and forth between dislike and...and an ardent attraction! He pressed his lips into a hard, thin line, raised his hatchet and chopped the twine. Get me back to camp, Lord, I pray. Melt this snow, and get me back to camp before my resolve collapses and I destroy everything.

  * * *

  “It’s not quite in the center. A little more to the right.” Ellen stood at the foot of the ladder, pine bough clusters and a red bow in hand, and waited for Daniel to pound in the nail at the top of the window. In spite of the tension between them, she was enjoying the work. She’d never felt so useful. She glanced, yet again, at the other windows they’d already decorated. The pine looked so pretty against the white plaster—

  “I’m ready.”

  She turned her attention back to the work, took the hatchet Daniel handed down to her, leaned it against the ladder, then lifted the cluster up to him. He looked so confident standing on the ladder pounding in nails. Of course, he looked confident no matter what he was doing. He always had. Even as a boy. That was simply...Daniel. It was why she’d always felt safe with him. If only— She broke off the thought, but the wish still tugged at her, stealing the pleasure from the moment.

  She watched him pull off one of the pieces of twine he had draped over his shoulder and bind the stem end of the cluster, his movements economical and sure. When he looked down, she had the other cluster waiting for him. He nodded his thanks, held the stem ends against those of the first, bound them together, then tied the whole to the nail. The uneven lengths of the boughs stretched in both directions over the top of the window to caress the corners of the frame, the offshoots drooping in random splendor, the brown cones a solid contrast to the feathery green needles.

  “Here’s the bow.” She smoothed the last of the big red bows she’d carried into the sanctuary and lifted it to him, the long ties trailing down her raised arm. He reached for it and his fingertips brushed against hers, their touch rough and warm and...different. She lifted her gaze to his face.

  He jerked upright and faced the wall, placed the bow over the bare stems where the sprays of pine joined, secured it to the nail and tugged the ties free to dangle down in front of the window panes. “That straight?”

  The muscle along his jaw was twitching. Something had made him angry. This man was not the good-humored boy she remembered. She moved to the side for a better look. “Yes. It’s fine.”

  “Then that’s it for the windows.” He started backing down the ladder.

  She snatched the hatchet she’d leaned against it out of his way and watched the muscles along his shoulders and arms ripple beneath his wool shirt as he descended then folded the ladder. The lamplight played over his hair, shadowing the valleys and gleaming red on the crests of its crisp, neatly trimmed waves. Disappointment squiggled through her. It was an excellent haircut, as good as those of Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert, but, again, not what she remembered. Daniel’s hair had been curly when they were kids. Her fingers twitched with a sudden urge to muss those neat waves and set his curls free.

  “I’ll take that.”

  She jumped, looked down at his outstretched hand and handed him the hatchet. “I’m sorry. I was...thinking....” Her cheeks warmed. She whirled and hurried toward the front to get the decorations for the box pews.

  “We haven’t time to do anything more, if that’s what you were thinking.” His deep voice blended with the thud of his boots on the floor as he followed her. “We have the gazebo to do when we finish in here.”

  “I know.” She stopped short, stared at the pew beside her.

  He halted and grounded the ladder. “What’s wrong?”

  “I suddenly realized there’s no way to fasten the greenery to the pew doors.”

  “Sure there is.” He lifted the hatchet he held. “I’ll pound in a nail.”

  She gasped, shot him a horrified look. “You can’t—”

  He chuckled, and the boy’s giggle she knew so well echoed in his deep male laughter, woke her memories. She smiled and looked up. His eyes darkened. Tiny flames shone golden in their smoky-green depths. His jaw muscle twitched. She heard him take a long breath, released her own when he turned away.

  He laid the ladder down, then picked up a canvas bag lying on the floor beside the decorations they’d carried in. When he straightened, his eyes were their normal green. How odd that the lamplight could change them like that.

  She looked down at the bag. “What’s in there?”

  “Hooks. David Dibble made them for me last night, while I was caring for the horses.” He withdrew a flat, narrow, oddly bent piece of iron from the bag and held it out for her to see. “I’ll show you how it works.” He slipped the odd contrivance down over the top of the pew door. The longer piece of iron that formed one side of the hook stretched six inches down the front of the door and tipped up on the end.

  “They’re to hold the greens! Daniel, how clever!” She whirled about, picked up a cluster and handed it to him, watched closely as he tied it to the hook. The random-length boughs hung against the door, their feathery needles splayed out against the wood. “Oh, that looks lovely!” She tied on a bow and freed a snared tie to hang down. “Doesn’t Mr. Dibble care for the horses he stables?”

  “Of course.” He pulled another hook from the bag and moved on to the next pew. “But Big Boy and Big Girl are my responsibility.” He slid the hook in place, squatted and tied on the cluster of greens she handed him. “They’re used to being pampered.”

  “Those huge horses need pampering?” She attached a bow and fluffed it, smiled at the way it dressed up the pew door. Her red dress had never looked lovelier.

  “Absolutely. If they get sick, or a small wound goes unnoticed and untended and worsens, they can’t haul logs to the mill—” he hung the greens “—the mill closes, and all the workers lose wages.” He stood and slipped a hook over the next door. “Those horses are important to the company.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it that way.” She tied on the bow, straightened it and hurried to get him another cluster.

  “No reason why you should.” He fastened on the greens and moved across the aisle to decorate the pews on the other side.

  She stared after him, an odd feeling in
her chest. He was right. There was no reason why she should have thought of any of it. She never thought about anything but clothes and parties and pampering herself. Until now. And helping Willa with the decorations would end soon. She sighed, adjusted a twisted bough and hurried across the aisle to hand Daniel another cluster. She was being ridiculous. This strange lost feeling would go away once Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert arrived.

  * * *

  Another hour should do it. Daniel laid the long festoons of greens he carried on the gazebo floor, leaned his hatchet against the railing and stepped back and studied the structure as if he couldn’t close his eyes and draw it. Anything was better than looking at Ellen. The hours they’d been together and their forced cooperation as they worked had worn the sharp edges off of them both. His determination to stay aloof from her was about ready to topple like a hewed tree. He needed distance, lots and lots of distance, between them.

  “Well, at least we have good weather for doing this.” The words came out more gruff than he intended.

  “Yes. It’s a blessing the wind isn’t blowing the way it did yesterday.”

  “For sure.” He took a couple of steps to the side but could still see her from the corner of his eye. He watched her graceful movements as she laid the bows she carried beside the decorations, tensed when she straightened and came toward him.

  “I’m sure you have planned how you are going to hang these greens, but don’t you need the ladder?”

  The winter sun shining on her upturned face created shadows beneath her long, thick lashes that darkened the azure-blue of her eyes, heightened the delicacy of her fine-boned features and added depth to the small hollow beneath her lower lip. He shook his head, the power of speech stolen from him by her closeness and beauty.

  “Then how—”

  “Like this.” He strode forward and snatched up his hatchet. One quick leap and he was balanced on the banister of the railing. He grasped hold of the pillar beside him, swung his body around to the outside, wrapped his left leg around the pillar and pulled a nail from his pocket. A few powerful hits from the butt end of the hatchet drove the nail into place at the top of the pillar.

  “I should have known!”

  He looked down. The hood of the old brown cloak Ellen was wearing had fallen back to rest on her shoulders. He clamped his jaw and locked his gaze on the festoons on the floor. She draped one over her arms and hurried toward him.

  “Here you are.”

  He shoved the hatchet between his body and the pillar, leaned down and took hold of the end she held up to him, almost lost his balance when she smiled.

  “I’d forgotten that you used to practically live in trees.”

  “You climbed a few yourself.” He batted a long bough out of his way and grabbed a length of twine from his shoulder.

  “With you coaching me. Or standing below to catch me if I fell.”

  It wasn’t you that fell. “Well, you were too young to know better then.”

  And you never gave her a chance to decide for herself when she was old enough to think things through.

  His face went taut. True or not, Willa’s words didn’t matter. He’d fallen far below what Ellen deserved and expected in a husband. And he had no business yielding to emotions he had no right to harbor. “How’s that?”

  She tipped her head to the side, narrowed her eyes. “Let some of the garland dangle down the pillar.”

  He took a breath and pulled the garland toward him.

  “Perfect.”

  He nodded and tied it to the nail, then loosened his leg’s grip on the pillar and swung back to the railing. She moved with him, playing out the garland as he walked the banister to the next pillar, took up his position and pounded in the nail. She handed him the end of the garland and stepped back.

  “Don’t pull it so tight, Daniel. Let it droop down between the pillars.” He relaxed his hold.

  “Oh, my! That looks wonderful!”

  He peered over his shoulder and pulled up a smile for the woman standing on the shoveled walkway with a shopping basket over one arm and her other hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun. “Hey, Mrs. Finster. You out taking advantage of the good weather?”

  “I am. And it looks as if you two are doing the same. How are you, Ellen? What with the storm and all, I haven’t had the opportunity to see you since you came home. It looks as if you’re keeping busy this visit.”

  He stiffened as Ellen stepped close to the railing and her shoulder brushed against his braced leg. He released his grip on the pillar and eased around to stand on the railing on the other side.

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Finster. How are you and Mr. Finster and the children?”

  “We’re all well, outside of some sniffles.” The older woman came down the sidewalk and squinted up at the pine boughs dangling down the top half of the pillar. “My, that is lovely!” A smile warmed her face. “I’d heard the gazebo was going to be decorated for the carol sing, but I figured with the storm and Willa’s new baby and all, it would be left undone.” She beamed a smile his direction. “It’s too bad your mother won’t be here to see this, Daniel. If you write her, give her my regards and tell her I said you’re doing a fine thing for the church.” Her gaze shifted. “And you, too, Ellen. Thank you both. Now, I’ll let you get back to work. I’ve got to run and tell Gladys about this.”

  He leaned around the pillar where Mrs. Finster could not see him and whispered, “And Esther Price and Ormella Belson and...”

  Ellen whipped around and pressed her fingers against her pursed lips, her eyes laughing up at him. He jerked back behind the pillar, his pulse pounding. Returning to camp was looking better and better. Let the clear weather hold, Lord. Please, let the clear weather hold. He took a breath and swung back into position. “Hand me the next one, or we’ll never get done.”

  The gruffness in his voice stole the laughter from her eyes. He took hold of the next garland she held up to him and set his mind to the task at hand. Only five more to do.

  Chapter Ten

  “What draws your interest, Miss Hall?”

  Ellen jerked her gaze from her parents, who had walked by the gazebo without so much as a glance, looked up at Harold Lodge through her long lashes and gave him her most winning smile. “I was admiring the lovely day and being thankful the storm has stopped, Mr. Lodge. Else it might have prevented your visit.”

  He smiled and covered her gloved hand that rested on his arm with his. “No storm could keep me from calling upon you, Miss Hall. My booby hut sleigh makes any journey comfortable no matter the weather.”

  “It does indeed.” She gave him another smile, wondering if the compliment had been for her or his sleigh—or if they were equal in his eyes. “I thank you, again, for offering your conveyance for my journey home. I was most comfortable the entire way from Dunkirk, even though the weather was cold and blustery.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Hall.” He glanced to the side as they turned the corner onto Main Street and gave a disdainful shake of his head. “What paltry decorations on that gazebo. You would think whoever did them would have used more opulent bows.”

  Her smile slipped. She tugged it back in place. “The church does not have funds for—”

  Her father coughed and looked over his shoulder. “I’ve not seen an enclosed sleigh, Mr. Lodge, and I confess to a strong curiosity. Perhaps I might trouble you for a demonstration ride while you are in town?”

  An obvious change of subject. She read the warning in her father’s quick glance. Her work on the decorations was not to be mentioned.

  “I’d be delighted, Mr. Hall.” The shadow of Harold Lodge’s top hat fell across her face as he dipped his head, which was just as well. Her phony smile had faded. She stole another look at the gazebo from the corner of her eye. It would look better with larger bows. Sti
ll...

  “Excellent. I shall look forward to it.” Her father gave her a sharp glance, faced forward again and led them up the shoveled walk to the church.

  The wreath hung on the door, the dark green pine accentuated by the brown pinecones and the red bow. A paltry bow in Mr. Lodge’s opinion. The word rankled. She arranged her features into a pleasant expression, lifted her hems with her free hand and walked up the steps holding to Harold Lodge’s arm, hoping he would say nothing that further disparaged her decorating efforts.

  Her father opened the door, and the moment passed. She followed her mother into the small entrance with only a few minutes to spare until the service began, and her good humor returned. Trust her father to make certain everyone noticed them as they entered. Or was it that he wanted no time for people to mention the decorations? She glanced through the open door at the trimmed windows and pews, their beauty now tinged by her parents’ attitude. How foolish of her to hope that when they saw the decorations, they might be proud of the work she’d done and find it worthwhile enough to mention—at least her mother.

  She shook off her disappointment and fluffed the fur around her bonnet brim, straightened its wide ties. Mr. Lodge removed his hat and stepped to her side. She took hold of his offered arm, and they followed her parents through the door into the sanctuary. The murmur of people quietly chatting stopped. Fabric rustled as parishioners shifted in their seats to get a better look at the stranger in their midst. She curved her lips into a small smile, acutely aware of the striking picture the two of them made—she in her lovely fur-trimmed blue cloak and bonnet, and Mr. Lodge stylish in his black double-breasted chesterfield coat, gray-striped trousers, and gray scarf and gloves.

  She smiled and dipped her head at the people she’d known all her life as they passed the open pews, lifted her chin higher as they came to the box pews filled with the town’s elite. None of them could compare with Mr. Lodge’s wealth and prestige. An indisputable fact displayed by his bearing and the richness of his clothing.