“But why?” His breath exploded in a huff of exasperation. “Thee needs to be in Meeting among those of thy faith, hearing God’s Word preached and listening for God’s voice.” In light of her condition and the shock of Alan’s death, the elders as well as the congregation in general had exercised unusual restraint and leniency concerning Lucinda’s long absence from Meeting. But after five months, Will had begun to notice signs of fraying patience among the elders of Serenity Friends Meeting.
The frown drawing her delicate brows together didn’t bode hopeful. “If God cares to speak to me, He can surely speak to me in my own home.”
Will heaved a sigh of surrender. “Of course He can, but…” How could he get through to her the importance of gathering with those of like faith without sounding judgmental?
Within the cabin, a teakettle sent up a shrill whistle.
“Oh, I forgot I left the kettle on.” She whirled toward the sound. As she turned, the rag rug beneath her feet slipped, and she tilted sideways with a gasp.
At the last instant, Will reached out and grasped her around the waist, saving her from the fall. For one blissful moment he stood holding her, safe and warm against him.
“Ahem!”
At the sound of a voice, Will’s head jerked around, and he found himself staring into the shocked faces of Levi and Charity Braddock.
Chapter 3
Thank thee for savin’ me from fallin’, Will.” Heat filled Lucinda’s face as she quickly stepped out of Will’s embrace. “This rug is always slippin’.” Hopefully, the Braddocks would attribute any redness in her face to her near accident. She only wished she didn’t sound so breathless.
Levi and Charity Braddock’s stunned expressions quickly turned to looks of concern.
“Thee should tack down that rug, Lucinda,” Charity said in hushed tones that held a definite reproach. “A fall at this time could be very dangerous for thee and the baby.”
“Yes, Charity, thee is right. I will do that.” Lucinda pressed her hand against her chest as if to muffle the sound of her pounding heart.
Charity looked at Will, and tiny lines of disapproval etched the corners of her tightly pursed lips. Lucinda knew that Will’s ruddy complexion had little to do with the chilly air. “It was truly a blessing that thee was here to prevent such an accident, Will.” Despite her complimentary words, Charity’s voice held a disapproving tone.
Will’s hand fisted at his side, and the muscles moved in his jaw. “We should all be thankful that Mercy Cox sent me here to see about a leak in Lucinda’s roof.” The cold tone of his voice broached no further conjecture about anything the Braddocks might have witnessed.
Remembering her manners, Lucinda forced a bright smile.
“Please come in, Charity, Levi. I was about to brew some tea.”
“Thank thee, but we cannot stay.” Charity clasped her hand on Lucinda’s. “Levi and I are on our way to Meeting and felt led to stop by and offer thee a ride this evening.”
Lucinda wished she didn’t recoil inside every time someone mentioned attending Meeting. In truth, it was becoming increasingly difficult to come up with both credible and at least partially true reasons to avoid Meeting. But if she blurted out the real reason—that she and God were no longer on speaking terms—she’d invite a sermon from Levi right here on her doorstep. “I—I don’t know. I don’t feel—”
“I’m sure thee will understand that Lucinda needs to rest after her fright.” Will stepped between Lucinda and Charity. “I’m of a mind to fetch Mercy Cox to stay with her this evening.”
“Of course,” Levi and Charity Braddock said in near chorus. “We will hold thee in the Light, Lucinda.” Levi’s smile held genuine kindness, twisting the thread of guilt wriggling in Lucinda’s chest.
Lucinda watched Levi guide his wife toward the front of the cabin, hating the thought of appearing frail to the Braddocks. Lucinda knew she was fully capable of hitching her horse, Star, to the buggy and driving the three miles to the meetinghouse in Serenity. After the couple had gone, Will hammered a tack in each corner of the offending rag rug.
“There. That should give thee no more trouble,” he said as he stood.
“Thank thee, Will. For…everything.” Gratitude filled Lucinda. He had come to her rescue twice today.
“I meant what I said. I shall fetch Mercy if thee thinks—”
“No.” Although she would enjoy Mercy’s company, Lucinda needed time alone to sort through the tangle of disquieting feelings she was experiencing regarding Will. Besides, she wouldn’t deny Mercy the opportunity of attending midweek Meeting unnecessarily. She managed a smile. “As thee told Levi and Charity, I just need some rest.”
Will nodded, but he continued to study her face as if reluctant to leave until reassured that she meant her words.
“Rest well, Lucinda,” he finally said in a near whisper. For a long moment, his gaze caressed her face. Then in a sudden movement he turned and, taking long-legged strides, headed toward the front of the cabin.
Five days later, swathed in her wool shawl, Lucinda ambled along the dirt road toward Mercy’s house. She still struggled to make sense of her unexpected reaction to Will the previous week. Her mind flew back to the moment when she’d slipped on the rug and he’d caught her in his arms and held her warmly against him. Despite the chilly wind that buffeted her bonnet and snatched at her shawl, a rush of heat rolled through her. A part of her felt relieved that he had not stopped by again, while another part nursed a niggling disappointment that he had not.
Mercy was right. Loneliness did strange things to a person’s mind. And Mercy should know. Though widowed five years ago, the older woman scarcely spent a full day alone between selling her rag rugs and tending to the needy. If Lucinda followed her friend’s example and became more sociable and less dependent upon Will, surely these unsettling feelings and thoughts about him would go away. And once again she would view him as she had before Alan’s death—a dear friend and nothing more.
She looked down at the basket full of woolen strips sewn together and wound into balls that bounced against her hip. Since she’d first known Mercy, the older woman had pestered Lucinda to let her instruct her in the skill of rug weaving. Today, she would accept Mercy’s offer.
Lucinda couldn’t expect to live off the charity of her neighbors for the rest of her life. She would need a way to provide for herself and her child. Many times, Mercy had commented on how thankful she was for her loom, how rug weaving provided her with an enjoyable occupation, as well as a comfortable living since the death of her husband. Lucinda saw no reason why it shouldn’t do the same for her. And as Mercy seemed to always have more work than she could keep up with, Lucinda wouldn’t be taking anything away from her teacher. But perhaps most importantly, weaving lessons would give Lucinda a reason to spend afternoons away from her cabin, lessening the chance of another unsettling incident with Will.
She rounded the bend in the road, and Mercy’s pale yellow house came into view. Always an inviting sight, the building, with its sunny color and white-railed porch, looked especially warm and welcoming on this raw autumn day. She cast an upward glance at the pewter-colored sky. Hopefully, any snow would hold off until tonight. The thought of walking the mile home in a snowstorm didn’t appeal.
Quickening her steps, she made her way up to the front porch. She’d scarcely rapped twice at the door when Mercy opened it.
“Child, come in.” Stepping back, the older woman ushered Lucinda into the front room. When she turned from closing the door, Mercy’s smile faded and she eyed Lucinda, worry lines etching her forehead. “Is anything the matter?”
“No, I am very well.” Lucinda gave her friend a reassuring smile.
“I praise the Lord for that.” Her smile back in place, Mercy took Lucinda’s wool shawl and hung it on a peg by the door.
Inside, Lucinda scanned the familiar space that smelled of cotton, vanilla, and cinnamon. Before her marriage to Alan, she’d spent many e
njoyable hours here as Mercy’s houseguest. With its white-painted walls, large denim rag rug that centered the floor, and black potbellied stove tucked in one corner, the room was at once inviting and functional. But the object that dominated the room and drew her eye was the giant floor loom situated near the south window.
“It looks like thee has brought me more work.” Linking her fingers over her apron-clad middle, Mercy glanced at the basket of woolen balls on Lucinda’s arm.
“I’ve actually brought me some work.” Lucinda walked to the loom and set the basket down beside it. “That is, if thee will teach me to weave.”
“Of course I will teach thee.” Mercy’s round face practically glowed. Yet her smile didn’t show the least hint of smugness at having finally coaxed Lucinda to the loom. She cocked her head, and her delicate gray brows rose. “Thee was never interested in learnin’ before. Why now?”
Fleeing Mercy’s studying look, Lucinda’s gaze slid to the loom. “I—I don’t have the book learnin’ to be a teacher, and I’ll need a way to make a livin’ for me and my young’un.” She preferred to keep the part about avoiding Will to herself.
Mercy motioned for Lucinda to sit on the bench in front of the loom then pulled up a ladder-back chair and sat next to her. Fixing Lucinda with an intent gaze, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Which brings us to what I’ve been harpin’ on since the accident that took Alan.”
Lucinda stifled a groan. She hadn’t come here to argue with Mercy about moving back into this house. She blew out a weary sigh. “I would love to stay here with thee, Mercy. But thee knows how it pleased Alan to think that his child would be born in the cabin his grandpa built. I have to stay in the cabin. It’s what Alan wanted.”
Mercy reached over and gripped Lucinda’s hand. “Child, thee knows Alan would want what is best for thee and the babe.” She sat back and gave her head an emphatic nod. “But if thee won’t come here, then after Christmas, when my rug weavin’ slacks off, I’ll go stay with thee. The babe could come any time durin’ the last month, and we can’t risk thee bein’ alone.”
“Thank thee, Mercy.” At the thought of having Mercy near during her last weeks of confinement, relief washed through Lucinda. But despite the older woman’s comment about less work after Christmas, guilt pricked. It bothered Lucinda to think she’d be taking Mercy away from her home and loom. “Is thee sure thee can afford to be away from thy loom for a month?”
Mercy’s grin widened. “With thee helpin’ me, I should be more than a month ahead in my orders.” She patted Lucinda’s hand. “God is the master weaver. See how He weaves everything together for good for them who love Him?”
Lucinda didn’t answer. Once, she’d believed that. When there seemed no escape from Pa’s drunken cruelty, she’d believed that God had sent the Quakers with their revival tent to the town near her family’s tenant farm to save her. Coming to Serenity, finding a second mother in Mercy and a loving husband in Alan, had all seemed like miracles to Lucinda. But when Alan died, her belief in miracles dimmed along with God’s Light within her.
Mercy stood. “Since I already have the warp threads strung, we shall begin a rug, usin’ thy material.” She glanced down at Lucinda’s basketful of woolen balls. “I’d say thee has the makin’s of a nice-sized rug, maybe two feet wide and three feet long.”
Though she had watched Mercy weave rugs for hours on end, Lucinda was surprised at how much she’d absorbed and how quickly she picked up the steps. And aside from her protruding abdomen impeding her reach for the beater beam, she actually enjoyed the work.
When Lucinda had woven two lines of woolen weft, Mercy plucked at the material, checking the tightness of the weave. “Oh, thee is doing well, Lucinda.” With a critical eye, she appraised the beginnings of the brown, green, and blue rug and smiled her approval. “At this pace, thee will have a new rug in no time. Where does thee plan to put it?”
Lucinda paused as she stepped on the treadle to raise the harness for the next row. She hadn’t considered what she might do with the rug. “Christmas is coming, so maybe I’ll give it away.” People were always helping her. She liked the idea of doing something for someone else for a change. “Does thee know of someone who could use a rug?”
Mercy reached up and ran her fingers through warp threads that, to Lucinda, didn’t look tangled. “Perhaps thee could give it to Will Davis.” Mercy’s voice held a touch of hesitancy, as if she were testing the air with her words. “I’ve never known a kinder, more giving person than Will, and he has done much for thee.”
At Will’s name, warmth flooded Lucinda’s face. Keeping her head down to hide any telltale redness, she focused on her work. “Yes, Will has been very kind to me. Maybe I should give him the rug,” she murmured, hoping to put an end to the subject.
Mercy stood at Lucinda’s side and instructed while Lucinda wove a couple dozen rows. Then, pronouncing the work excellent, she headed to the kitchen to start supper.
Gradually Lucinda’s motions became smooth and rhythmic, her speed at the loom growing with her confidence. When she finally looked up at the clock on the mantel, two more hours had passed. Two more rows and she would have a three-foot-long finished rug. As she again passed the shuttle through the space between the warp threads, which Mercy had called the “shed,” three quick knocks sounded at the front door.
Lucinda rose to answer it.
“Prob’ly somebody wantin’ a rug made.” Mercy strode into the front room, drying her hands on a dish towel.
Lucinda reached the door first and opened it to find Will Davis standing in the blue-gray gloaming amid a swirl of snowflakes. Her heart jumped then raced like a scared rabbit. “Will.” His name came out in a breathless puff of air, snatched away by a gust of wind that whistled past the porch.
“Lucinda.” Only a slight widening of his gray eyes hinted at his surprise. She thought she detected his face reddening beneath his hat’s wide brim. But more likely, the cold wind had simply whipped extra color into his features. After a long moment, his gaze shifted from Lucinda to Mercy. “I just stopped by to add some wood to the rick on thy porch, Mercy. Does thee need any brought into the house?”
“Yes. Thank thee, Will.” Mercy’s scrutinizing gaze bounced between Will and Lucinda. “I could use more beside the heat stove and some willow or birch, if thee has it, for the kitchen stove.”
“Yes, I have some nice pieces of willow.” His smiling gaze drifted from Mercy to Lucinda before he turned and headed back to his wagon.
Her heart pounding, Lucinda returned to the loom. She picked up the wood shuttle and tried to pass it through the shed, but her hand trembled so that the shuttle kept getting caught in the warp strings. She’d thought her odd reaction to Will last Wednesday was nothing more than a symptom of her loneliness. But if so, then why should his presence still affect her in the same jarring way after she’d spent an afternoon with Mercy? Whatever the cause of her strange malady, she remained resolute as to the cure. Until this disquieting feeling went away, she must try her best to avoid him.
Mercy came up behind Lucinda and put her hand on her shoulder. “For a beginner weaver, thy work is excellent, Lucinda.” She ran her hand over the woven rug wound on the cloth beam. “I’d say thy rug is at least three feet long.”
Basking in her teacher’s praise, Lucinda gave a little laugh. “Thank thee, Mercy. I’m blessed to have such a good teacher.”
Using a pair of scissors, Mercy showed Lucinda how to cut the rug from the loom and knot the ends of the warp threads to finish it.
“Does thee want to leave the rug here and finish knotting the fringe tomorrow, or take it home and finish it there?” Mercy asked as she rolled up the rug.
“I think I’d better leave it here,” Lucinda said. The thought of lugging the bulky bundle a mile through wind and snow didn’t appeal. “I’m not sure I could carry it all the way home.”
Mercy pressed her hand to her chest and chuckled. “Oh child, I’d never allow thee to c
arry this home.” At that moment the front door opened, and Will entered with a bundle of kindling in his arms. Smiling, Mercy glanced at him. “Will has agreed to stay and have supper with us. Then he will take thee and thy rug home.”
Chapter 4
Will strode to his wagon and bounded to the seat, his foot barely touching the wagon tongue. Frustration surged through him, firing every nerve. Grabbing the reins, he slapped them down on the mule’s back with a sharper-than-intended snap. The normally placid animal jumped, sending a wave of guilt through Will. “Sorry there, Bob. Didn’t mean to whack thee so hard.”
For the third evening in a row, he had stopped at Mercy’s only to learn that Lucinda had headed home on foot an hour earlier. It hurt to think that she was avoiding him on purpose. But things certainly looked that way, especially considering her oddly reticent attitude when he drove her home from Mercy’s last Monday.
A queasy feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach. Could Lucinda have somehow learned the details of what had transpired between Alan and him the day of the accident? He dismissed the thought the second it formed in his mind. Even if she had found out—though he couldn’t imagine how—Lucinda was not one to brood. She doubtless would have confronted him with what she’d learned.
But regardless of why she’d chosen to leave Mercy’s each day before he could take her home in his wagon, his concern for her health and safety remained. The thought of her making the mile trek twice a day through inclement winter weather filled him with dread. And despite their best efforts to do so, both Mercy and he had failed to convince Lucinda to either move back in with Mercy or give up rug weaving until spring.
Will blew out a long sigh. “Lord, just help me find a way to keep her safe.” Why did women have to be so hardheaded? With that thought, his sister-in-law’s stern visage flashed in his mind. He groaned, remembering that Naomi had asked him to stop by the mercantile and purchase a tin of baking powder on his way home from work. With the mercantile a block down from the grain mill where he worked, such errands often fell to Will.
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 8