A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  I’d rather have the loving touch of my wife’s hand on mine than a dozen pair of the finest gloves money can buy.

  Tears stung her eyes. How much Willa’s husband loved her! Try as she might, she could not imagine Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert speaking those words. The men who courted her coveted the things of this world. They would never put love of her above possessions. She would be one of their coveted possessions! She blinked the tears away and stared at the flames, her thoughts churning, her temples throbbing. Mr. Lodge had confided that he was going to ask her father for her hand tomorrow when he took him for a ride in his enclosed sleigh. Of course, her father would agree. But he would also tell Harold Lodge the decision to accept or refuse his proposal of marriage was hers.

  Oh, she wished she’d never come home! And that Mr. Lodge had never come to visit. He seemed different here. The way he had spoken about the people of Pinewood today was so insolent and patronizing. He acted as if they were beneath him. And he didn’t even know them. Villagers. How derisively he’d spoken the word. Her stomach soured. She took a breath and pressed her hand against the silk fabric that covered it. She was one of those villagers. Should they wed, would he turn his scorn on her when her beauty faded?

  The throbbing in her head increased. She rubbed her temples, but it didn’t help. And she had no desire to ring for Isobel and have her report her agitated state to her mother. She crossed to the window, pulled back one panel of the woven coverlet drapes and leaned her forehead against a frost-coated pane. Shivers ran up and down her spine, prickled her flesh. She tugged the curtain in front of her to block the cold air and held it close beneath her chin.

  Paltry bows.

  She glanced through the night toward the gazebo sitting in the field at the corner of the road. Mr. Lodge might belittle the decorations, but the villagers liked them. And Daniel liked them. He’d said so. And Daniel never lied.

  I’d rather have the loving touch of my wife’s hand on mine than a dozen pair of the finest gloves money can buy.

  Her throat tightened. She could imagine Daniel speaking those words. Daniel was the sort of man who would love a woman with all of his heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ellen laid the magazine on the settee, rose and walked to the window. Willa’s meeting with the children’s mothers about the Christmas pageant had put off decorating the parsonage until tomorrow. She crossed her arms, drummed her fingers against her upper arms and stared into the distance wishing for something to do. The idleness of her day was most annoying. It made her...restless.

  And Mr. Lodge’s call upon her that morning had made it worse. The man was so...so pompous! Why had she never noticed? All he did was talk about himself and how clever he was, twisting things to his advantage in numerous business deals and using his prestige to make those less fortunate yield to his demands. And the way he looked at her, as if he were assessing her value to him.

  She pressed her lips together and touched the dark blue braid her mother had used on her new dress to emphasize her small waist. Obviously, he found her pleasing. He had deemed her worthy to become his wife. But then, the Buffalo elite had judged her the “prize” catch of the season because of her beauty, and Harold Lodge always obtained the best. His overweening pride would accept nothing less. But shouldn’t there be something more? Shouldn’t she be more to him than another acquisition that bested that of his peers?

  Oh, what was wrong with her! She had been elated before she came home at the thought of marrying Mr. Lodge. So what if he was pompous? It was the way the socially prominent were. And why shouldn’t they be? They had the best of everything. And soon she would, also.

  She waited for the rush of excitement that thought should bring, but there was only that nagging uneasiness. She watched two boys running down the road trying to stay in the tracks of a passing sleigh, then gazed across the empty field to the parsonage. Willa had asked her to come to the meeting, but she couldn’t go with Mr. Lodge here.

  Coward! Spineless fribble! The name-calling did no good. Her feet stayed rooted to the spot. The boys left the road and waded through the deep snow of the field. She caught sight of the face of one as he looked up and pitched a snowball at the other. Joshua. Sally must be indoors. Would they decorate tomorrow evening after the children were abed, or—

  She inhaled sharply, taken by a sudden thought. She stared at Joshua and smiled, lifted her gaze to the parsonage. She would go see Sadie. The weather was fine. It wasn’t snowing or blowing. And the roads were passable. People had come to church from the outlying farms yesterday. She moved a curtain aside and glanced up; the sky held no threat.

  “Pardon the intrusion, Miss Ellen, but I need to tend the fire.”

  She nodded, let the curtain fall back and turned from the window. “When you’re finished with the fire, Asa, please hitch up the cutter and bring it around to the front for me. I’m going calling.” She lifted her hems and ran into the entrance and up the stairs to change her gown.

  * * *

  “A few more nice days like this one, and I figure the snow will have melted down enough you men will be going back to work.”

  “You figure right, Mr. Roberts.” And it can’t be too soon for me. Daniel added coffee to the flour and molasses he had sitting on the counter, stiffened as the bell jingled. Please don’t let it be Ellen and that popinjay that’s courting her. He relaxed and smiled as Sophia Sheffield entered and walked toward the counter. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Daniel...everyone.” Sophia laid a list on the counter, then swept her gaze over the people in the store. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think someone should clear the ice for a skating party tonight. It’s past time we had one.”

  “Oh, that’s an excellent idea, Sophia! We’ve all been so hemmed in by the storm, it will be good to get out and socialize a bit.” Judith Brody looked up from the basket of yarn she was sorting through and smiled. “I’ll bring some cookies.” Her gaze shifted to him. “I mean, if the ice gets cleared, of course.”

  “Will it, Daniel?”

  He looked down at Sophia Sheffield and grinned. “I’m not busy today, so...sure—if I get at least a half dozen of your br—ginger cookies at the party tonight.”

  “I shall bake an extra dozen, all for you. You need some spoiling with Dora gone to Syracuse to help Ruth.” She smiled and patted his arm, then fixed her gaze on the proprietor. “I trust we can count on you for chestnuts to roast, Mr. Cargrave?”

  Daniel looked at him over the top of Sophia’s head and grinned. It wasn’t a question.

  “Of course.”

  “And chocolate so there is something warm for the children to drink?”

  Allan Cargrave looked pained, but he nodded.

  “Wonderful! You can include it when you bring my order, and I’ll prepare it tonight.” Sophia turned, her violet eyes twinkling. “I trust you will see to the wood for the bonfire, Daniel?”

  “I’ll have it there.”

  “That’s everything, then.” She waved her gloved hand through the air and headed for the door. “Spread the word, everyone! We’re having a skating party tonight.” The bell on the door jingled its approval.

  “Well, I’d best go home and start baking. Thank you for volunteering to clear the ice, Daniel.” Judith Brody hurried out the door after Sophia.

  Did Harold Lodge skate? He thrust the sour thought from him and looked at Allan Cargrave. “Is it all right if I use the sidewalk plow to clear the ice? Or do you need approval from the other city elders? It would save me a lot of shoveling.”

  “Use it. It’s stored at Dibble’s stable.”

  “I know.” Daniel gestured toward his burlap bag on the counter. “I’ll come back for those things when I’ve finished.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Mr. Braynard! Where you going with that pl
ow?”

  Daniel halted Big Boy, glanced across Main Street and grinned at the expectant look on Kurt Finster’s and Danny Brody’s young faces. They already knew—and were hoping. “I’m going to clear the snow off the creek for the skating party tonight. Want to help?”

  “Woo-hoo!” The boys jumped off the raised walkway and came running, their grins as wide as their lips would stretch. “Whatta we do?”

  “Well, first, go and spread the word. Then you and your friends bring your shovels and meet me under the bridge. I need all the help I can get.”

  “Yes, sir!” The boys spun about and raced up Main Street shouting the news.

  Daniel grinned, splayed his legs to balance himself on the floorboards of the inverted-V-shaped plow and clicked his tongue. “Let’s go, Big Boy.” The huge Belgian leaned into his harness and the plow skidded forward, skipping over the frozen ruts in the road and lurching onto the bridge. Ice crystals clattered along the high wood wings that formed the sides and flew off in a white cloud.

  “Haw, Big Boy!” The Belgian turned left onto Brook Street and the plow slid sideways. Daniel shifted his weight to balance it and reined the chestnut off the road. The V nose of the plow bucked, then bit into the deep snow on the sloped bank, the sides making a yard-wide furrow at an angle down to the frozen creek.

  “Whoa, boy.” He removed the short reins, tied longer ropes to the plow, then hooked another rope to the Belgian’s harness. A door slammed in the distance, then another. Children’s shouts floated on the cold, still air. He tugged and slid the wood plow out to the center of the ice in the protected area beneath the bridge where there were only a few patches of blown-in snow. Young boys and girls of all ages and sizes came sliding and skidding down both banks to the frozen creek. Tommy Burke reached him first.

  “We come to help, Mr. Braynard.” The boy grinned and slapped snow from his jacket and pants. “What do you want us to do?”

  “Stack your shovels out of the way on the bank, then take this rope—” he reached inside the plow and pulled out the attached rope and handed it to Tommy “—and all of you older boys go to the other bank.”

  “Wait!” He laughed and grabbed shoulders as several boys whipped around toward the other side of the creek. “I haven’t told you what to do yet. Play out the rope, and when you get to the creek bank, take a good hold—the oldest of you in front, the youngest at the end. And then brace yourselves.” He stifled the grin tugging at his lips. “When Big Boy moves ahead, the plow is going to skid sideways and that rope is going to pull hard. Your job is to keep the rope you’re holding taut so the plow stays straight as we move forward. That’s important. Think you can do that?”

  “Sure we can!”

  “All right, then.” The boys raced for the opposite side of the wide creek, the rope stretching out behind them.

  “What do we do?”

  He looked down at Trudy Hoffman and the girls and younger boys clustered around her. “I need you all to stand in the plow to weight it down so it will dig into the snow. The oldest and biggest of you keep to the back so it doesn’t flip over. And no leaning over the sides. I don’t want anyone falling out where the plow can run over them.” He gave them a stern look. “Trudy’s in charge. Understand?”

  Trudy beamed, then sobered. The others nodded.

  “All right, climb in.” There was a mad rush toward the plow. He left Trudy to manage the scramble and walked to Big Boy. Men stood by Dibble’s house, watching with grins on their faces. He looked over at the boys across the creek. “Keep that rope tight, now! Brace yourselves, everybody—here we go!”

  The boys gripped the rope and dug in their feet. The girls and boys stuffed into the plow grabbed hold of the sides and each other. He chuckled, fisted his hands around the reins and waded forward through the deep snow. “Hup, Big Boy, hup!”

  Squeals and shouts and laughter filled the air as the Belgian trotted ahead. Daniel looked over his shoulder, grinned at the boys on the opposite bank slipping and sliding, losing their balance and falling, being tugged into the deep snow as they struggled to counter the pull of the horse while the plow zigzagged forward and jolted into the deeper snow. Children tumbled, laughing and squealing, from the back of the plow.

  “Whoa, Big Boy!” He laughed and waved back the men who had started toward the creek bank to help, received nods and grins of understanding as they stopped and crouched down to wait. “Keep that rope tight, men!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The boys scrambled to their feet, picked up the rope and pulled it straight. They splayed their legs and dug in their feet, determined looks on their young faces. The children that had tumbled out of the plow on impact scrambled back to their places.

  The thud of hoofs on the bridge echoed in the hollow beneath. He glanced up, stiffened at the sight of a dark bay with black points pulling a green cutter with red striping. Hall’s rig. He pretended not to see Ellen driving, turned to urge Big Boy forward. The ploy didn’t work. Ellen stopped the cutter, looped the reins over the branch of a bush beside the road and started down the bank following the path he had made with the sidewalk plow. What was she doing?

  He motioned to the men on the bank to take over, braced himself and strode across the creek. “Wait where you are, Musquash. I’ll come help you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I am perfectly able— Oh!” Her feet shot out from under her.

  He leaped toward the bank, stretched out his arms and caught her as she came sliding toward him. “You little fool! Are you trying to maim yourself?” He growled the words, slid his arms around her and hauled her to her feet. The slope of the bank brought her face almost level with his. He looked into her blue eyes, and the shouting and laughter of the men and children faded away. The look, the smell, the touch of her filled his senses. He tightened his arms, pulled her close and lowered his head. Her tremble brought him back to reality.

  He sucked in cold air, then loosened his hold and stepped back. “Are you all right?” He wasn’t. Everything in him was yearning to kiss her, to confess the love he now knew had never truly gone away, to make her his own. And that could never be. She was too selfish and grasping, and he was too poor and proud. Anger boiled up, heated the blood racing through his veins.

  Ellen nodded, grasped her long skirts and shook the snow from them. Her cheeks were overspread with red as bright as apples.

  Cold or anger? Had he betrayed himself to her? Had she guessed he’d been about to kiss her? He couldn’t tell without looking into her eyes, and her head was bowed so that he couldn’t see them. “That was a fool thing to do, trying to come down that bank by yourself.” Let it work, Lord. Let her get angry and forget what almost happened.

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “Back when we were young!”

  “Yes, back then. I forgot how much has changed!” She bit out the words, stopped brushing at her cloak and looked up.

  The defiance and hurt in her eyes tore at his gut. “Did you want something?” He winced inwardly at his curt tone, but reinforcing her low opinion of him was his best defense.

  She nodded, reached up and jerked her bonnet straight. “I thought Joshua and Sally might enjoy a Christmas tree. And when I saw you, I thought I would ask if you would cut one for them if Grandfather Townsend gives his permission. I’m on my way to see Sadie now to ask about the tree.”

  He stared. “You thought of a Christmas tree for Josh and Sally?”

  Her face tightened. “I’m not entirely selfish, Daniel.” She looked down, brushed at some snow still clinging to her cloak. “Will you cut the tree, or not?”

  He nodded and pulled an image of Joshua and Sally into his head to calm his churning thoughts and emotions. “Of course. I’d do most anything for Josh and Sally.” That should take away any thought that he was doing it for her. “What did Willa say about the tree�
��that we’ll have to decorate it?” He was only half joking. He blew out a cloud of breath at the thought of spending more time with Ellen. There was no doubt Manning would let them have a tree.

  She stopped fussing with her cloak and looked up at him. “Willa doesn’t know. She is busy and I couldn’t ask her.” Her teeth caught at her lip, worried the corner. “I hadn’t thought about decorating the tree. I guess I’m not very good at this sort of thing.” She sighed, gave him a look that took his breath. “Would you help decorate the tree, Daniel?” Her face tightened. “For Joshua and Sally, I mean.”

  He lost his good sense somewhere in the blue of her eyes and nodded agreement, then hastened to put a good face on it. “As I said, I’d do most anything for Josh and Sally.”

  She took a little breath and nodded. “Then I shall ask Grandfather Townsend if we might have one.” She turned and planted her booted foot firmly in the snow along the bank, wobbled and flailed her arms when it gave way beneath her.

  “You trying to fall again?” He grabbed her arm, steadied her, then tromped up the bank tugging her with him, his heart thudding at the feel of her hand in his. He handed her in the cutter, freed the reins and gave them to her. “Tell Quick Stuff to get my cookies made. I’m busy with the skating party tonight, but I’ll collect them when I go out to cut the tree tomorrow.”

  “But not by yourself at night.”

  Was she concerned for his safety? The thought gave him far too much pleasure. He slanted his lips into a teasing grin. “You worried about me, Musquash?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I wouldn’t want your demise on my conscience. And, yes, I have one!” She snapped the reins and lifted her chin. “I shall give Sadie your message.”

  He stood and watched as the horse broke into a brisk trot and the cutter glided down the road. Ellen had believed his performance, and it stuck like an icicle in his heart. He blew out another cloud of breath and loped down the bank to clear the ice.