A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  Ellen donned her old cloak, tugged on the kid gloves spotted with pine sap and picked up the package she’d left on the chair while she ate her dinner. The brown paper crackled. A grin curved her mouth. Isobel must be beside herself wondering what was in the package and why she was taking it with her. She clutched it close and stepped outside.

  The sun had disappeared. Thick clouds blanketed the sky, dropped their burden of snow in a heavy fall of large fluffy flakes. She glanced toward the stable behind the parsonage. There was no pung in sight. She would be there when Daniel brought the tree.

  The thought lent urgency to her steps. She hurried down the shoveled walk to the road, lifted her hems and crossed, the freezing slush crunching beneath her booted feet. The shortcut through the field with its deep snow partially melted from the morning’s sun now sparkled with ice crystals. She turned and headed for the corner, hurried down Main Street to the church.

  The still air in the small back room felt colder than outside. She laid her package beside the decorations stacked on the table, shivered and cast a longing look at the cold stove. She should have paid attention when Daniel built a fire. The next time she would. The truth struck and brought back that horrid hollow feeling. There would be no next time. Willa would not need their help after today. How could she hope to restore even a semblance of her old friendship with Daniel in one afternoon?

  Another shiver took her. She jerked her thoughts back to her task, frowned down at the decorations. They couldn’t hang them without Daniel’s help, but it was too cold for her to wait for him here. Her gaze shifted to the corner. She snatched up the empty water bucket, filled it with leftover pine sprigs, tossed a few pinecones on the top and grabbed her package. A gust of wind hit when she opened the back door. Snow blew into the room.

  She tugged the door closed behind her, ducked her head against the blowing snow and ran to the parsonage. She stomped the snow from her boots on her way up the steps and shoved open the kitchen door.

  Willa turned from the stove, the baby in one arm, a large metal spoon in her other hand.

  “S-sorry for not knocking, Willa.” She shivered at the prickle of warmth on her face. “It’s t-too cold out there for manners.”

  “I heard the wind come up. I hope we’re not in for another blizzard. Mama came for a visit this morning and took Joshua and Sally home with her so I could decorate without interruption this afternoon—except for Mary, of course.” Willa pointed the spoon at the package and bucket. “What are they for?”

  “We can’t h-hang any of the decorations until Daniel comes, so I thought perhaps we could decorate your fireplace mantel with these while we wait.” She removed her cloak and hung it on a peg, shoved her gloves in the fold of the hood and rubbed her cold hands together.

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Ellen.” Willa smiled and put down the spoon, lifted the baby up and cuddled her against her shoulder. “You go in the sitting room and start. I’ll join you as soon as I go upstairs and change Mary.”

  She nodded and hurried to the sitting room fireplace. Warmth from the fire wrapped her in a cozy caress. She set the package aside, placed the bucket on the hearth and let her cold feet soak up the welcome heat.

  On the mantel to her left, a large pewter candlestick sat beside a small wood box with crooked words carved into the lid. She frowned and shook her head. Such a crude box would never be displayed in her parents’ home. Perhaps she could arrange the greens around it so it would not be noticed. She snatched a handful of sprigs from the bucket and turned toward the box.

  For my new mama.

  The words evoked a picture of Joshua’s curly blond head bent over the box as he carved the rough letters with his pocketknife. She stared at the sentiment on the lid, suddenly aware of the love revealed by those uneven words. Her throat tightened. No wonder Willa displayed the box. She placed a few of the greens around the candle’s base, tucked more between it and the box, careful not to hide it, then snatched a few pinecones from the bucket, nestled them into the greens and stepped back.

  It looked even better than she had pictured. She smiled at the thought of Willa’s pleasure, grabbed another handful of sprigs and turned to the right. A matching candlestick stood beside a small framed piece of muslin bearing the message, I love my new mama in a child’s uneven stitches worked in blue needlepoint wool. A disreputable looking cat worked in yellow wool stood guard over the name Sally at the bottom. She smiled and ran her fingertip over the cat’s big, lopsided ears.

  Can you put a price on the joy that fills you when you hold your baby or receive a hug from your child?

  Or gifts like these? Perhaps she hadn’t given motherhood enough consideration. She glanced down at the empty cradle on the hearth, pictured Mary’s sweet baby face surrounded by her soft auburn curls. What would it be like to bear a child who was part you and part your husband? Mr. Cuthbert’s image intruded into her musings. She stiffened, frowned. What was she thinking! She had no inclination to bear Earl Cuthbert’s child. Besides, motherhood was different among society women. They had nannies who cared for their children until they sent them away to school.

  She turned her attention back to the mantel and arranged the pine sprigs and cones she held around the needlepoint and candle, then shifted her gaze toward the carved horse at the mantel’s center. The horse stood with its head high, its ears pricked forward, an alert wariness in every line of its beautifully carved body. Daniel’s wedding gift. Her face tightened. Willa’s mantel display was a testimony of people who loved her. What would she display on her sitting room mantel—the most expensive ornaments she could find to best those of the other members of the elite, and a carved muskrat that would be a constant reminder of Daniel’s disdain?

  That terrible feeling of emptiness returned. She took a breath and closed her eyes. Please, Lord—

  “Where do you want me to put these things, Pest? There’s more for me to bring in.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat. She whirled, her long skirts billowing out around her. Daniel was standing in the doorway with his arms full of decorations, staring at her, his green eyes dark and smoky. He looked...different. Her breath caught. She lifted her hand to press against a sudden throbbing at the base of her throat and tried to speak but was held mute by an odd shyness she’d never before experienced.

  He took an audible breath, jerked his gaze away and nodded toward the hearth. “Your skirt is too close to that fire. You’d best step away, unless you want your gown to burst into flames.”

  No. He was the same. Still judging her to be a spoiled, incompetent bit of fluff despite the help she’d given Willa. Her eyes stung with a rush of tears. She blinked and looked down. Her hem had landed mere inches from the hot coals when she turned. She yanked it out of danger and shook off the ashes clinging to it. “Willa’s upstairs tending the baby.”

  He gave a curt nod, cleared his throat. “Where should I put—”

  “Daniel! I thought I heard your voice.” Willa swept into the room, crossed to the hearth and laid Mary in the cradle. “You can put those decorations on the floor and then I’ll show you where I want to hang them.” Willa gave the cradle a gentle push to start it rocking and straightened. “Oh, my! The mantel looks beautiful, Ellen!”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “Willa, I’m home!” Boots thumped against the floor in the hall.

  “We’re in the sitting room, Matthew.” Willa spun about and hurried toward the doorway.

  Envy stabbed her at the happy look on Willa’s face, the eagerness in her friend’s steps. Movement drew her attention. Daniel was putting the decorations down on the floor, his jaw taut, the muscle jumping. So much for any thought of trying to regain his friendship. She blinked her eyes, pasted a smile on her face and added greens around the horse’s legs.

  “That looks very festive, Ellen.” Matthew aimed a warm smile h
er way, then shifted his gaze across the room. “Hey, Daniel. Do you want some help hacking the limbs off of that tree in the pung?”

  “A tree?” Willa frowned, looked at Daniel. “Why did you bring a tree? We don’t need any more greens.”

  “Ask Musquash. It was her idea.”

  He needn’t growl! She lifted her chin. “It’s for a Christmas tree. I thought Joshua and Sally might like one. I should have asked, but—”

  “Ellen!” Willa rushed over and gave her a fierce hug. “I’ve heard about Christmas trees, but I never thought to have one. Joshua and Sally will love it!” Willa stepped back, her eyes clouded. “But how will we decorate it? I’ve nothing—”

  She sighed out her relief. “I’ve brought some things to make decorations.”

  “Then that’s settled.” Matthew stepped over and clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “Let’s go get that tree.”

  * * *

  Daniel butted the second crosspiece against the full-length board, hefted his ax and drove the nails into the tree trunk. “That’s it. I think these boards are long enough the tree should stand without toppling over.”

  Matthew grinned down at him. “You think?”

  “We’ll know soon enough.” He returned Matthew’s grin, laid down his ax and motioned to the top of the tree. “You get that end—it prickles.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He chuckled, grabbed hold of the tree trunk behind the base he’d nailed to it and backed to the corner, careful to keep his gaze from where Ellen sat working with white paper and scissors. The earlier glimpse of her by the fire, her blue eyes soft and warm, her cheeks as pink as the dress she wore, still lingered. He knelt and set the base on the floor, settled back on his heels. “Is it straight?”

  “Yes. Oh, it’s wonderful! Look at the cluster of pinecones at the top. I can’t wait to see it decorated!” Willa set the dried apples she was stringing on red yarn aside, rose from her chair and gave Ellen a quick hug. “And, as it was your idea, you must place the first ornament.”

  “No, Willa. Truly. The tree is for—”

  “You’ve no choice, Ellen.” Matthew’s deep voice hushed the argument. “I agree with Willa. You must have the honor of placing the first ornament.”

  “But all I have ready is this star for the top, and I can’t reach that high, Matthew. You or Daniel—” Ellen looked his way. His pulse kicked.

  “Daniel will fetch you a chair to stand on and make certain you don’t fall. Won’t you, Daniel?”

  He shot Willa a look. She smiled. Matthew grinned. Obviously, Willa had been confiding her matchmaking scheme to her husband. He stifled a refusal, grabbed the chair from the writing desk and swung it into place in front of the tree. “Let’s get this done, Musquash.”

  She stiffened, picked up a large white paper star with a white ribbon threaded through the middle and marched to the chair. She looked askance at the height of the seat. “How am I—”

  “Like this.” He stepped behind her, grabbed her waist and lifted her to the chair. She leaned forward, and he tightened his grip, his arms aching with his effort not to draw her close. He fixed his gaze on the star she stretched out toward the top of the tree, watched as she slid the loop of ribbon at the back of the star down over the topmost branch, then pulled the ends that dangled from slots in the front snug and tied them in a bow. “There. That should hold it in place.” She adjusted the dangling ribbon ties down over the top branches. “Does that look all right?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  He wasn’t at all sure Willa was talking about the star.

  Ellen straightened, turned and looked down at him.

  “Ready?” His voice sounded like he had a mouth full of gravel. He frowned, tightened his grip. Ellen leaned into his hold and placed her hands on his shoulders. His heart thudded. He lifted her down, then made himself let go of her. The soft sound of her footsteps walking away tore at him as he carried the chair back to the desk. “What’s next?”

  “This. I need to help Ellen.”

  He looked at the dried apple slices and cranberries on the red yarn threaded through the needle Willa held out to him. There was a long string of bare yarn left. He scowled. “Look, Pest, I’ve done everything you’ve asked but—”

  “It’s for Joshua and Sally.”

  Matthew chuckled and held up the string of apples he was working on. “You might as well give in gracefully, Daniel.”

  He glanced at the only empty chair—the one beside Ellen—and glared at Matthew. He didn’t feel like giving in, gracefully or otherwise. He felt like punching something. “You condone blackmail, do you?”

  “Only when it profits those I care about.”

  Matthew’s smile was as irritating as Willa’s. Daniel strode across the room, took the needle and plunked down in the chair, acutely aware of Ellen sitting beside him tying loops of red and green ribbons to the stars and angels Willa was cutting from white paper.

  He shoved the needle into a dried apple slice, added three cranberries the way Matthew was doing, impaled another slice and glanced at the window. Snow was falling so fast it looked like a white curtain. He’d have to be leaving for camp soon. Ellen moved, and he caught a hint of the flower scent she wore. He’d probably smell it all night!

  He shifted as far away from her as possible, grabbed apple slices and cranberries and threaded them as if his life depended on it. His sanity surely did.

  * * *

  Ellen tossed the Godey’s Lady’s Book magazine aside, rose and walked to the hearth. The evening was endless. There was nothing to do. No more decorations to plan.

  “The magazine does not interest you?”

  She looked at her mother, gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I find the articles...bland.”

  “You are restless, Ellen.” Her father turned a page, then looked up from the book he was reading. “I think you are missing your entertainments.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, Father. If I were in Buffalo, I would be at the theater or opera, or at a dinner party, or—” She stopped, surprised to find the list held no allure.

  “Or attending a political function on Mr. Cuthbert’s arm?” Her mother laughed, picked up the magazine and thumbed through the pages. “I saw a lovely dress in the latest Parisian fashion that would be perfect for such an occasion....”

  Ellen nodded and looked down at the fire. Her parents had gotten over their irritation with her as soon as she’d received Mr. Cuthbert’s letter today assuring her of his coming visit. Their agenda was again moving forward, and they were pleased. Did her feelings count for nothing? She glanced toward the window, sighed and fiddled with the satin roses clustered at her waist. Will Daniel be back in Pinewood for Christmas? Will I see him before—

  “—I hope he is not too ill to come before Christmas.”

  “He’s not ill.”

  Her father put down his book and looked up at her. “I thought that’s what he wrote you in his letter?”

  He’d been speaking of Mr. Cuthbert! She nodded and smiled to cover her error. “And you are right, Father. I meant Mr. Cuthbert is not ill now. He is already on the mend. His visit will only be delayed a few days.”

  “Here it is.”

  Her mother came to stand beside her and pointed at a picture in the magazine. Ellen looked at the dress, skimmed her gaze over the tiered lace of the off-the-shoulders bodice trimmed with a large silk rose where it met between the model’s breast, the filmy puffs of fabric that formed the sleeves and the exaggerated fullness of the skirt that fell to the floor in two ribbon-and flower-trimmed ruffles from the deep V point at the narrow waist. “It’s lovely, Mother. But please don’t trouble yourself to make it for me. I’m tired of silks and satins and laces and flounces and frills.”

  “Why, Ellen!”

&nbs
p; Her mother’s shock was no greater than her own. “It’s true, Mother. I find I much prefer the simpler designs of the two new dresses you’ve made me. They’re...elegant. And very comfortable.”

  Her mother studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose it’s not surprising you would prefer the high collar and heavier fabric during the cold weather. Still, if you attend a society event or political gathering as Mr. Cuthbert’s betrothed this winter, you must be stylish, Ellen.” Her mother took a step back and narrowed her gaze on her. “With the lovely way you hold your head, elegance does suit you. And it could set you apart...draw every eye. Hmm...” Her mother looked down at the magazine and thumbed through the pages as she resumed her seat on the settee. “I could make an evening dress of pearl-blue velvet, with a cascade of lavender silk flowers....”

  And I will again become an ornament with no purpose but to draw the envy of others to my escort. She pressed her lips together lest she speak the thought aloud and rekindle her parents’ displeasure.

  The window drew her like a magnet. She left the fire and went to stand looking through the snow toward the parsonage and the gazebo. For a few days she had felt useful, needed...appreciated for something more than her appearance. Even by Daniel. There had been a grudging respect for her work underlying his disdain. Perhaps there was a chance after all.... The hope refused to die.

  She wrapped her arms about herself and lifted her gaze above the parsonage to the hill that sheltered the camp where Daniel worked and lived. I want so much to be friends with Daniel again, Lord. I miss his friendship. Please help me find a way.

  * * *

  Sleep wouldn’t come. Daniel swung his legs over the edge of the cot, tugged the blanket around his shoulders and rose. Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the feel of Ellen in his arms, the way she had looked standing by the fire or decorating the tree. On the heels of those images came ones of her and Harold Lodge walking down the aisle in church, singing side by side or standing on the creek bank. His mind refused to stop dredging up the painful images.