Only the sounds of the bubbling stew filled the room, and the clink of the lifter contacting a stovelid when Irene added more firewood.
Acutely aware of Ross, Irene carelessly brushed against the cast-iron pot of stew with the outside edge of her hand. Immediately, she drew it back with a cry of pain. The stove lid clanged noisily onto the stove top and the lifter clattered to the floor. She stood back, staring at the angry red welt that appeared.
"Oh, Miss Barrett!" Lydia cried out. "I'll get some butter!"
"Wait," Ross said to Lydia. He quickly reached out to Irene, took her by the arm and pulled her out the back door to a snowbank. Quickly, he scooped up a handful of snow, and as the wind whipped around them, he applied the snow to her burn.
The cold air penetrated the thin fabric of Irene's dress and she shivered. Loosened tendrils of hair flapped across her face as she stared at the snow he compressed to her hand.
With his voice raised over the increasing wind, he said, "My Aunt Tilly taught me this."
Numbly, Irene nodded her head. "It was such a careless thing to do," she said, through her chattering teeth.
He felt the shudders run through her body and down her arm to where he held her by the wrist. "We need to get you back inside before you catch pneumonia." He grabbed another handful of snow and led her back to the house.
Once inside, he applied the snow, cupping his hand gently around hers as they stood side by side at the dry sink. Over his shoulder Ross said, ''Lydia, get a shawl for Irene."
Irene glanced at him in surprise when he used her given name and brushed aside the warm feeling it gave her, trying not to think of his hand holding hers. Instead, she thought about how lucky she was that her mother hadn't witnessed the scene.
"I'm sorry to freeze you," he said as the melting snow dripped through his fingers and pinged into the the metal dishpan. "But you have to act fast." His smoky blue eyes peered into hers, frowning. "How does it feel?"
"Numb," she responded. Sort of the way she felt all over.
"It'll take more snow to keep it from blistering." Shaking the remaining snow from his hand, Ross grabbed for the dishpan. "Be right back."
Lydia draped a shawl around Irene's shoulders. Although she didn't really need it anymore, she didn't say so.
Through the kitchen window, she watched the bright red of his flannel shirt against the white snow in the deepening dusk. For five years she'd been a cautious person, holding back, watching, abiding in what she'd deemed safe. Now she felt that very caution slipping away like the melted snow between her fingers. She struggled to hold it in place.
Quickly, she reached for the nearest bowl on the table so that when Ross came back she could dip it full of snow and hold it herself.
Entering the door, he asked, "Is it beginning to burn?"
She hadn't really noticed the stinging until he mentioned it, but yes, it did burn. Irene filled her bowl and stuck her hand in it, getting immediate relief. She sat at her place at the table with the bowl of snow in her lap, her usual cautious reserve safely restored.
"Thank you. It feels much better," she said to Ross.
"What a resourceful person your aunt is."
"Was. She died quite some time ago."
"I'm sorry. Losing someone you care about is difficult."
Ross nodded. "But the memories are nice." And they were.
Lydia replaced the bowl Irene had taken with another, then stirred the stew and adjusted Irene's shawl as she passed behind her.
Throughout all this, Jonathan sat like a puppet, moving to see the activities but not saying a word.
"Jonathan?" Irene asked. "Where did you go this afternoon?"
From the corner of her eye, she saw Ross seat himself beside Jonathan and lean back comfortably with one arm resting on the edge of the table.
"Everywhere," Jonathan replied with a tired smile. He tried to hide a yawn. "We went out into the old swamp and found a log cabin that was almost falling down. Ross said he used to live there."
Irene swung her gaze toward Ross in surprise. "I didn't know you were from this area, Mr. Hollister. I thought you came from some place out west."
He nodded. "Colorado." Then he shrugged. "But I spent some boyhood days here in Grand Rapids. Things have changed a lot since then. I'm surprised the old cabin is still standing, and the barn too." A smile briefly lifted one side of his mouth, as though a private thought had suddenly occurred to him.
She would have liked to seize upon this new subject, but it was far too personal. It would be safer to go back to talking about the weather. But before she could say anything, Jonathan spoke up again.
"You should see it, Miss Barrett. The doors are falling off and the windows are gone, but the table is still there. Huh, Ross?"
"Yep. But that's about all," Ross said quietly.
"That's very sad," Irene said, thinking about all the childhood memories he must have.
"No, it's not sad," Jonathan interjected. "It's like an adventure. Ross said there used to be Indians around here, and we could probably find some of their arrowheads."
"That does sound like an adventure," Irene said, happy to have Jonathan take over the conversation once more.
"Maybe you and Lydia would like to go with us when we look for them." Jonathan sat up expectantly in his chair, his eyes bright with eagerness.
Until now Lydia hadn't said anything, but this was an opportunity that she obviously didn't want to pass up. "Could we, Mr. Hollister?" she asked.
Ross looked at Irene, then at Lydia and back at Irene. "I . . . Sure, if you don't mind traipsing around the woods."
"Well, I" Irene began.
"We could dress warm," Lydia appealed.
Feeling caught in a very awkward situation, Irene hesitated. This would be even worse than letting Jonathan go hunting and fishing with Ross Hollister. And somehow it seemed more awkward than having him stay for an occasional supper with the children and her mother present. A warning signal went off in her head, telling her not to allow this to go any further than it already had.
"I'm not sure this is something for a lady to do, Jonathan," Ross said, sensing her reluctance. "It's pretty rough out there."
"Lydia could do it. She's tough. You should see how she can climb and run. I had an awful time trying to keep up when we were running aw"
"Jonathan!" Lydia interrupted. "It isn't polite to brag."
Jonathan shrugged. "Well, you can."
"I don't mind if Lydia comes along, if it's all right with Irene," Ross said, looking in her direction.
The uncustomary feeling of warmth, which was becoming very customary, glowed like a dying fire being fanned when he used her name again.
"I suppose, if she dressed warm, and if she wants to go . . ." Irene said, glancing at Lydia's anxious face. "I suppose it would be all right."
"Of course, well have to wait until the snow is gone if we look for arrowheads," Ross said, bringing up the obvious.
Disappointment reflected on Jonathan's face and Lydia's, too.
Then Lydia brightened. "Why don't we take a picnic!"
"In the winter?" Irene asked.
"Why not?" Ross responded. "We could take some cold chicken, biscuits, and cake."
"Yeah, cake!" Jonathan echoed.
Feeling a little left out of this adventure, Irene allowed her worries and concerns of impropriety to slide. After all, how long had it been since she'd been on an outing?
"Won't you change your mind and come along, Irene?" Ross asked, sincerity plainly visible in his blue eyes.
Beneath the table where she held the bowl on her lap, Irene plunged her hand into the now-melted snow. Its coolness had a stabilizing effect on her emotions.
Then, taking a moment to consider the looks on the children's faces, she replied, "Well, I suppose it might be fun."
"Hurrah!" Jonathan yelled. "We're going to have an adventure!"
"You're going to do what!" Winnie couldn't believe her ears. She let the pillow
she was fluffing fall onto her lap, then sat motionless beneath a mound of quilts. "Tell me again. I must be going daft because I thought you said you were going on a picnic with the children and Mr. Hollister."
"You will never go daft, Mother, and you know it. You heard me correctly." More than a little provoked, Irene placed a tray with biscuits, cups for tea, and the ever-present garlic-and-honey tonic on the table beside the bed.
"Irene, you can't be serious." Winnie allowed her aching body to fall back on the rest of the pillows propped against the high headboard. "That man is the owner of a saloon! And it's the dead of winter!" She released an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. "This would never have happened if I'd been at supper last night."
Irene stared at her mother in disbelief. "And why is that?" she asked.
"Well, for one thing, he might not have had the nerve to ask, and for another, I would have put my foot down and said no."
Her mouth dropping open, Irene continued to stare.
"And now that we're on the subject," Winnie went on, unaware of her daughter's expression, "I really think you ought to refuse to allow him to stay for meals. It just isn't proper."
Defensively, Irene tried casting aside her own guilty feelings of impropriety. For once she wanted to see things in a different perspective, one that her mother never used. But even in her anger, it was difficult to disagree with the truth of Winnie's words. The situation was improper and she knew it.
"You know how people talk," Winnie went on, seeing that she was gaining the advantage in this discussion. "Not that I care a fig for the thoughts of gossips. But there's your teaching position to be considered. Have you thought of that?"
Irene sank into the chair beside the bed. Yes, she most certainly had. And she was concerned about word getting to the superintendent. She loved teaching, and she loved this town. If she couldn't teach here, she would have to go elsewhere or live in Cincinnati with her mother. Was it worth the risk?
"There, there." Winnie reached over and patted Irene's folded hands. "This is really for the best. After all, you're only encouraging the man by allowing him to return day after day."
Irene glanced up in surprise. "He comes to see Jonathan,
Mother, and that's the only reason I've consented to his visits."
Winnie stared long and hard into her daughter's eyes. "Is that what you believe?"
A touch of defiance flickered in Irene's return gaze. "Of course!"
Winnie looked away. "Maybe so."
"There's no maybe about it. They don't need me to go fishing or hunt rabbits or arrowheads or go on a picnic!"
"Then why are you going?" Winnie asked quietly.
Stopped dead in her thoughts by the abrupt question, Irene paused, searching for an answer. Why was she going? Obviously not to please her mother, and she didn't care about pleasing Ross Hollister in spite of her mother's opinion. It was Jonathan she hoped to please, to reach out to with care and understanding.
"For Jonathan," she said simply and truthfully.
"For Jonathan," her mother repeated.
Irene tried to decipher her mother's meaning, but for once she couldn't.
"Well," Winnie said, with an overly dramatic wave of her hand, "do what you must. But just remember, I warned you."
Irene hoped that meant it would be the last time for this particular discussion. Even so, the warning lay heavily upon her conscience.
Chapter Six
Saturday morning finally arrived. Irene and Lydia fried chicken, baked biscuits, and made an apple cake. The sun gave its consent to their outing by warming the air and adding a startling brilliance to the crusted snow until they could hardly bear to look at it.
Jonathan dashed into the kitchen at least ten times, if Irene counted correctly, asking if the picnic was ready and when would Ross be there. And each time Irene answered the same: It was almost ready, and no, she didn't know when Mr. Hollister would arrive.
Lydia hummed and Irene picked up the tune, joining her as they prepared a basket of napkins, plates, and food.
The day had a lighthearted feel even though it had barely begun. Irene couldn't remember when she'd last experienced such exhilaration. Even Winnie's foreboding silence during the previous week couldn't dampen her spirits; and when it had, all she had to do was look at Jonathan's smiling face.
The hamper was packed by ten o'clock, and not five minutes later, Jonathan ran through the house and out the back door, shouting, "He's here! He's here!"
Irene slipped her coat on over the simplest day dress she could find in her wardrobe. She'd chosen it partially for comfort but also so her mother couldn't say she'd fancied-up for Mr. Hollister. Beneath the deep blue dress she wore an extra petticoat, since it didn't require a bustle, and breathed a welcome sigh of relief to leave the binding corset behind, something her mother didn't need to know. Two pairs of stockings made her boots a little snug, but warmer. An old-fashioned bonnet replaced her usual modish one for added warmth and a sun shield for her eyes.
She glanced approvingly at Lydia, who likewise had dressed suitably for the occasion.
"I feel like a pioneer," Lydia said, laughing.
The infectious spirit caught Irene as she laughed too. "So do I."
Ross stepped inside the back door with Jonathan, who was about as jumpy as a frog.
"Everyone ready?" Ross asked.
"Everyone except Jonathan," Lydia replied, trying to hold him still long enough to get him into his coat and scarf, which he promptly pulled off.
"I'm not wearing no silly scarf around my neck. How can I go on an adventure dragging that?" He scowled up at Lydia. "Ross ain't wearing one. He's just got his hat on."
Irene found herself looking at Ross's hat. It was black and battered, as though he'd used it to fan fires or beat the dust out of it against his thigh. Until the weather turned cold, he hadn't even worn a hat, but the crumpled brim said this one was an old favorite. Her eyes moved down to his heavy, hip-length wool coat, unbuttoned from top to bottom, showing the familiar bright red shirt beneath.
"Is this the picnic?" he asked, lifting the hamper and gauging its weight. "Feels mighty heavy. Do you suppose we'll be able to eat all this?" He winked at Jonathan.
"Sure! An adventure will make us real hungry."
"I hope so," Irene said, feeling happier than she had in a long time.
"Come on, let's go!" Jonathan urged, heading out the door. "We're wasting time just standing here talking."
Ross smiled at Irene. "I guess he's right," he said, waiting for her and Lydia to go ahead of him.
Lydia dashed out the door, her long brown curls floating out behind in her attempt to catch up to her brother. "Wait, Jonathan! Wait for me!"
Standing together on the back porch with the glare of the sun all around, Irene turned to smile at Ross. And when the door clicked shut, she purposely left her worries closed inside. Today nothing would interfere with the pure and simple pleasure of a picnic in the woods. Nothing.
"I'm afraid I couldn't get a four-seater. I hope you don't mind a wagon. Actually, for the place we're going I'm not sure a buggy would be a good idea," Ross said with an apologetic smile.
"Well, I guess this will be a real adventure then," Irene said, smiling back. "I've never ridden in a wagon."
Ross stared in disbelief. "You're joking. Right?"
Irene laughed. "No, really. I'm serious."
"Well, you are about to take the ride of your life," he said, grasping her by the elbow and steering her in the direction of the waiting wagon.
In front of her house stood an old wagon hitched to two horses of reasonable sturdiness. The back was piled and overflowing with straw, leaving a trail, she was sure, from the livery to her front door. From beneath the straw came the sound of giggles.
"It's Jonathan," Lydia said, whispering loudly, her body covered to her shoulders in fluffy, clean straw. "He's hiding."
"Here I am!" he said, leaping to his feet.
"Good thing," Ross repl
ied. "We're just about ready to leave."
He handed Irene up the spokes of the wheels with a few instructions as to where to place her feet, then climbed in on the other side.
"As you can see," he said with a bounce on the seat, "it's well sprung." When it barely budged, he bounced harder, making Irene hold on to the edge of her seat, laughing.
"You've really never ridden in a wagon before?" he asked again.
"No," she said, smiling at his puzzled frown.
"Hmm. Well, the best advice I can give is to hang on tight." And with that he slapped the reins.
They jolted over the rutted road with the clip-clop of the horses' hooves on the frozen ground echoing in the still winter air. Irene held tightat least she tried, but the jerky movements over the uneven ground combined with the barely sprung seat did little to help her keep steady.
An occasional deeper rut brought howls of laughter from a bouncing Jonathan and an "ouch!" from Lydia.
"It could be worse," Ross said to Irene, inclining his head toward the back.
"Not much," Irene laughed, clutching the edge of her seat. She was laughing too much, feeling too good, and thoroughly enjoying every minute of it.
They bounced along the river road east of town, then south for a few miles before turning off. Few wagons went this route, so the road smoothed out as they followed the little-used trail.
"You and Jonathan walked all this way?" Irene asked.
"No," Ross replied. "We took a more direct path through the woods." He glanced at her with a twinkle in his winter-blue eyes. "But I didn't think you wanted that much of an adventure."
"You're right about that. This is quite enough."
She turned to look at the children stretched out on the straw, soaking up the warmth of the sun on this windless day. Facing front once more, she stole a sidelong glance at Ross's profile. He had a strong chindecisive she'd call it, not at all stubborn or belligerent. Another peek at him brought her attention to his mouth beneath his thick mustache. It seemed as though a smile perpetually lurked at the corners, not a smile contrived to charm but an honest one, full of fun. Without warning, he turned his head and caught her studying him. Embarrassed beyond words, she jerked her eyes away, but not before she saw the mischievous glint in his eye.
Abiding Love Page 8