A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  “Hound’s teeth, but you’re a persistent woman, Pest! I’m not going to discuss this.” He turned away, took a couple of steps, then went back. “I’ll be back to finish the decorations tomorrow afternoon.”

  She reached out and touched his sleeve. “Daniel, I’m sorry things—”

  The muscle along his jaw twitched. He stepped back, nodded. “I know, Pest. Now go inside.”

  “There’s still time. Ellen may—”

  He scooped her up with one arm and started up the steps.

  “Put me down!” She pushed at his shoulder.

  “You’re a good friend, Pest, but you don’t know when to stop trying.” He set her down by the door and yanked it open. “Now go inside. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He moved to the steps, leaped down and strode to the pung, wishing his conscience would let him break his word—wishing that he’d never given it.

  “Let’s go, Big Boy.” He hopped to the seat, set the lantern between his feet to keep it safe, picked up the reins and clicked his tongue. The horses leaned into their harness, the runners broke free from the ice holding them and the pung lurched forward. He reined the team out to the road, then looked back over his shoulder across the field to the Hall house. Lamplight glowed in Ellen’s window.

  Probably planning her big society wedding. It was for sure she wasn’t losing sleep because he’d held her in his arms this afternoon. It had meant nothing to her. And that was good. His stomach knotted. He urged the horses forward, then had them pick up their pace when they reached Main Street. He couldn’t get back to camp fast enough to suit him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Water slipped down the icicles gripping the edge of the roof, gathered into drops at the tips and fell. More drops formed. Fell. Ellen stared at the shimmering, quivering drops and worried the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. The icicles had been melting all morning. And if the warmth continued...

  “Not now, Lord. Please don’t let the weather warm now. I need time to think of what to do.” She stepped out of the sunshine pouring in her bedroom window, walked to the fireplace, then to her bed and on to her dressing room. She was pacing again.

  She made herself stop, snatched the cold, damp cloth out of the washbowl and held it to her tired eyes. Again. She was fooling herself. Even if the deep snow kept Daniel in town longer, there was nothing she could do to change things. How did one revive a friendship that had died? Especially with someone who now found you repugnant.

  The way he had looked at her before he turned away... A vision of Daniel standing beside the bonfire with the light flickering across his face floated against her eyelids. She blew out a breath, removed the cloth and opened her eyes. The distaste on his face...

  She wrapped her arms about the tightness in her chest and went back to the window, looked at the gazebo. The deep snow that had fallen during the blizzard covered the conical roof that overhung the dark green garlands and the red bows whose long ties hung straight down the pillars. There was no wind fluttering them today. Her throat constricted. It had seemed when she and Daniel were working together on the decorations that things were improving between them. And then Harold Lodge had come to town. And now...now Daniel thought less of her than ever. The look on his face had made that clear. And she couldn’t blame him. She winced, rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

  Thankfully, Mr. Lodge was gone back to Buffalo. He and his threats with him! The man was insufferable! She frowned and let out a long sigh. It was odd that she had not found him so until he’d come to Pinewood. But then again, perhaps not. He didn’t strut among the elite in Buffalo. Of course, he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be tolerated. They all thought their wealth made them superior to others. As did her parents. As had she.

  Had? What did that mean? Was it she who had changed? Her breath snagged. Perhaps that was the answer to her change of heart about Mr. Lodge and the disagreement with her parents. Perhaps she was looking at people and things through a different prism since coming back to Pinewood and being with her old friends. Were her parents right last night? Had she made the wrong choice?

  Be not high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God... The Scripture Matthew Calvert had quoted in church floated into her head. Love...honesty...peace...joy...whatever has virtue, is pure or lovely, these are things the Bible says we are to think on and value.

  No. She had made the right choice. Hadn’t she?

  Movement caught her attention. She looked across the field to the parsonage. Matthew Calvert was leaving in his sleigh, no doubt paying another comfort call on a sick parishioner. A preacher was almost as busy with the sick as a doctor. She’d learned that when she’d tried to win Matthew Calvert’s affection. That had ended with her fleeing to Buffalo when his wards took sick. It still made her shudder to think of the illness he could bring home. Please keep Willa and her family healthy, Lord. She watched until Matthew was out of sight, then shifted her gaze back to the parsonage. If Matthew was gone, who would help Daniel cut the tree today? The tree! She had to get decorations!

  She shrugged out of her morning gown, opened the wardrobe and scanned her day dresses. A rose barège gown caught her eye, its only adornment faux-pearl buttons that secured the bodice from the neck to the point at the waist. It was her plainest dress. And exactly what she wanted. She slipped it on, grabbed her brown leather boots off of the wardrobe floor and closed the doors. What should she buy to adorn the tree? She couldn’t ask for help. The way news flew around the village, Joshua and Sally’s surprise would be ruined.

  She peered into the mirror on her dressing table and brushed her hair toward the back of her head, allowing a few curls to dangle on her forehead and in front of her ears. A few quick twists of the rest turned her long, wayward curls into a loose cluster at the crown of her head. She pinned them in place, laced on her boots and went back to the wardrobe for her velvet coat with its matching hood. It was too warm for her new cloak and bonnet.

  She went back to the mirror and adjusted the hood and fluffed her curls. Should she see Daniel, she wanted to look her best. Not that it would matter.

  * * *

  “Give over now!” Daniel shoved aside the pigs that snorted and snuffled around his feet investigating every thrust of his shovel. “Go on, get out of here!” He swatted their round hams with the flat side of the shovel blade to no avail. The pigs merely grunted and crowded closer. Gluttonous beasts. Smiley’s dinner leavings had been scant with most of the men gone. That would change now. If this thaw kept up, the men would soon be drifting back.

  He leaned on the shovel handle, pulled off a glove and ran his finger under the high rolled collar of his gray sweater. The heavy shoveling in the sunshine was making him too warm. The wool was beginning to itch. His face tightened. It was certain the fine wool of Harold Lodge’s coat and scarf wouldn’t dare prickle his skin. Pompous dandy!

  His snort rivaled those of the pigs. He clenched his jaw at the memory of Harold Lodge standing beside Ellen in church in all his finery while looking down his long thin nose at them all. And at the skating party, too. It had taken all of his self-control not to run up that creek bank and wipe the supercilious sneer off of his face! If it hadn’t been for Ellen standing there holding Lodge’s hand—

  He tugged his glove back on, scooped up a shovelful of snow and tossed it atop the pile beside the path. The sun was climbing overhead and Smiley would be calling him in to dinner soon. Hopefully, Ellen and Lodge would linger over their meal, and he and Willa could get most of the decorations hung before Ellen even came to help. If it weren’t for the tree...

  He scowled at the small pine in the pung, pushed through the rutting pigs and attacked the snow with renewed vigor, trying to drive the thoughts of Ellen and her wealthy beau out of his head. If only he’d never held her in his arms... The clang of a poker striking the metal stove chimney drew him up short.
Time to eat—if he could swallow.

  He jammed his shovel in the pile at the edge of the path, tromped to the kitchen and kicked his boots against the door to rid them of snow. An icy drop off of an icicle hit his cheek and slid down to his neck. He wiped it off and ducked inside before another drop caught him.

  Smiley glanced his way. “Looks like you could use some dryin’ out.”

  “A little.” He tugged his gloves off and shoved them behind the waistband on his pants. “Food smells good.”

  “Beans an’ biscuits, is all. Grab a plate an’ set yourself down. We’re eatin’ here.” Smiley limped his way to the table by the stove, set the plate of biscuits he carried down beside a crock of butter and another of molasses. “Ain’t no sense stokin’ up the dinin’ room stoves when there’s only the four of us.”

  He stepped to the table, chose a chair close to the stove and stretched his legs out to dry his pants. “Four? Who’s here?”

  “Us an’ Irish and Hans. Those two never left. But I figure the rest of the men will be trailin’ in this afternoon an’ tomorrow, does the warm weather hold.”

  The door to the dining room opened. A blast of cold, stale air hit him. He looked up and nodded. “Hey, Irish...Hans.”

  “’Bout time you two got here.” Smiley scowled and growled. “I was figurin’ on throwin’ your share out to the hogs.”

  The loggers grinned, grabbed plates and sat down. “Heard you come in late last night, Danny-boy-o.”

  “He misses us too much to stay avay, ja?”

  “Irish mayhap, but not your ugly mug, Hans.” Smiley punctuated his snarl by slamming a spoonful of beans onto the laughing German’s plate, then served Irish and came to him. “You plannin’ on eatin’ beans out of your hand, Teamster?”

  He grabbed a plate off the pile and held it up. The large metal spoon clanged against the tin, sent reverberations up his arm. A goodly portion of beans spilled onto the plate.

  “I’m runnin’ short on flour and sugar and some other things I’ll need for when the men return.” Smiley plunked the iron pot back on the stove. “I’ll make a list, and you can go to town for supplies tomorrow. I don’t wanna be caught short.”

  And I don’t trust myself if I see that popinjay with Ellen again. His stomach knotted. He stared at the beans, wanted to throw them at something instead of eating them. He would not see Lodge at Willa’s, but if he went shopping for the supplies—

  “Bless die beans und biscuits, Gott.” Hans put four biscuits on his plate, smeared them with butter and ladled molasses over them.

  Irish dug into his beans, his spoon scraping against the tin plate.

  “Somethin’ wrong with the food, now you been home eatin’ your ma’s cookin’?”

  He looked up at Smiley’s scowling face and shook his head. “The food’s fine, Smiley. And Ma’s in Syracuse. I’ve been eating my own cooking.” He pulled up a grin. “It’s what drove me back here early.” He grabbed a biscuit, split it and buttered it. “The thing is, I came back from town last night and I have to deliver the tree I cut this morning to the parsonage today. I’ll leave as soon as I’m through eating, but I won’t have time to go to the mercantile, and I’d rather not go back tomorrow.” He put the biscuit on his plate and drizzled molasses on it. “What about you, Irish? You and Hans have been here the whole time the rest of us were gone. What if I hitch up the pung in the morning and you go to town for the supplies? Does that suit you?”

  “Und vat about me? Ve vere going to vork, ja?”

  He looked over at Hans. “I’ll work with you. If it’s all right?”

  The German nodded. “Ja. I’ve seen you vork.” His broad face broke into a wide grin. “You almost as goot as me, ja?”

  Irish let out a snort. “’Tis circles Danny-boy-o can work around you, you braggin’ Deutschman.”

  Hans chuckled and pointed his fork at Irish. Molasses dripped off the piece of biscuit impaled on the tines. “Und he vould have tree chopped down before you make first cut, ja?”

  The sound of boots thudding against the plank floor in the dining room broke through the laughter. He glanced up, braced himself for the blast of cold, stale air. The connecting door opened and two loggers strode into the kitchen. The stockier one grinned and elbowed his partner. “Told you we’d be in time for victuals, Joe.”

  “Not if I had me a shotgun, you wouldn’t!” Smiley grumbled the threat and grabbed up the pot of beans. “How many more of the likes of you are out there?”

  “None that we saw.” The loggers shoved their hats and gloves in their pockets, grabbed plates, sat down and reached for the biscuits.

  “There better not be.” Smiley dumped a spoonful of beans on Scudder’s plate, spilled another spoonful onto Joe’s and slammed the pot back onto the stove. “This here kitchen is closed!”

  So is my heart. No more encounters with Ellen, chance or otherwise. After I deliver and help decorate the tree, I’m coming back to camp to stay. It’s time to shut off the memories and truly let her go.

  * * *

  “Good morning, Mrs. Roberts.” Ellen smiled at the older woman standing outside her husband’s apothecary shop. “It’s a lovely day.”

  “Indeed it is, Ellen. The sun is so cheering I’m loath to stay inside.” The woman gave a soft laugh and pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders. “The truth is, I keep coming out here instead of helping Mr. Roberts.”

  Ellen glanced at the sleighs nestled up beside hitching posts and the people hurrying in and out of the stores. “The sunshine has the entire village out and about today.”

  “Indeed. I only hope the break in the weather holds on long enough to stop the spread of the influenza. Some of those stricken have been taken hard and are quite ill. Which reminds me, I’d best go in and help Mr. Roberts mix his elixir. It’s much in demand.”

  A chill chased up her spine. Her chest tightened, pushed the air from her lungs. Some of those stricken have been taken hard. She pressed her hand against the squeezing pressure and watched Mrs. Roberts go into the apothecary shop. Keep me well, Almighty God. Please keep me safe from illness. She finally managed a breath, lifted her hems above the melting slush and hurried to Cargrave’s.

  The buzz of conversation in the mercantile covered the jangling of the bell. She stepped inside and turned to the wall of small glass mailboxes on her right.

  “Good morning, Ellen.”

  She glanced up, smiled. “How are you, Mrs. Grant?”

  “Quite well, thank you. Unlike many others. Susan Carver is the latest that has been taken with this grippe that’s going around. She’s not doing well.” The woman shook her head. “And you, Ellen. How are you? I heard your beau has gone back to Buffalo.”

  Was it her imagination, or had the store quieted? “Yes. Mr. Lodge has several businesses he must oversee.” She swept her gaze over the customers in the store, looking for signs of illness. “Please give your family my regards, Mrs. Grant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see about my mail.”

  The postmaster had a smile on his face when she reached the shelf in the middle of the mailboxes. She glanced at the missive he held out toward her. It was sealed with red wax and had her name and the village name written on it in precise script.

  “Looks like another letter from another beau, Miss Ellen.”

  It was so quiet now, she heard a clinker fall through the fire grate in the heating stove. She ignored the postmaster’s quest for information and took the letter. “Thank you, Mr. Hubble. I’ve been waiting for this to arrive.” She turned and headed for the dry-goods shelves to see what she could find for decorations.

  “—operations will be starting again soon. The loggers are headed back to camp. I saw a couple of them walking up the road on my way in.” Helmut Hoffman pointed behind the counter. “The missus wants some of that rose wate
r.”

  Allan Cargrave nodded, took a bottle off the shelf and set it on the counter with the other items. “Daniel went back late last night.”

  “That so?”

  Daniel went back to camp last night? She frowned, strained to hear Allan Cargrave’s answer above the general hum of people shopping.

  “I heard horses passing the house last night, shortly after I’d retired. I looked out—”

  “Your move, Albert.”

  Hush! She glared at the men playing checkers and moved to the notions table, where she could hear better.

  “—that team of Belgians to the parsonage. Wasn’t long before I heard the horses going by again, headed back for Main Street. When I left the house to come open the store this morning, the pung was gone.”

  Daniel was gone. And her chance to earn back his friendship, however small that chance might have been, was gone with him. A horrible feeling of hopelessness swept through her, leaving a hollowness in its wake. She stared at the yarns, thought of the tree. Daniel would never break his word. Whatever his reason for leaving town last night, he would come back with the Christmas tree for Joshua and Sally.

  She picked up two skeins of red yarn, four yarn needles and several lengths of white and green ribbon and made her way to the counter.

  “That all for today, Miss Ellen?” Allan Cargrave glanced at the items on the counter and opened his account book to her mother’s name.

  “No. I want two of those bags of dried apples. Have you any other dried fruits?”

  “I’ve got some cranberries, but they’re not dried.”

  “All right, I’ll take a large sack of those, also. And don’t charge them to my mother or father. I will pay.”

  Someone behind her coughed. She stiffened, reached into her purse and handed Mr. Cargrave a half eagle, then looked longingly at the door while he wrapped her purchases. The sooner she got home where it was safe, the better.

  Chapter Fourteen