Tears of happiness and relief filled Lydia's eyes. The words were magical, transporting her to a higher plane of security. She jumped off her chair and launched herself into Irene's arms. As she lay on the bed, curled into a ball, Irene smoothed the damp hair from the girl's face.
"There, there," she soothed. "Everything's going to be all right. You and Jonathan will be living with me from now until you're all grown up. Nothing anybody says will stop that from happening."
"I love you, Miss Barrett. I don't ever want to leave."
"We won't even consider it," Irene said.
Lydia lay thinking that it was almost to good to be true and certainly more than she'd ever expected that night last fall when they'd wandered into the first unlocked door. How fortunate for them that it had been Miss Barrett's house, and not Mrs. Wilson's!
"Why is Mrs. Wilson so mean? And what did Ross ever do to her?"
"I don't understand Clara exactly. And Ross . . . Well, I don't know."
Lydia turned to stare at Irene. "You don't believe her, do you?"
Irene kept silent.
"Just because he didn't defend himself doesn't mean it's true. And besides, I'll bet lots of people get killed in the West for all kinds of different reasons and maybe some of them deserve it. It isn't fair not to give him a chance to explain."
"He's had months to tell me about it."
"Are you going to be mad at him forever for not telling you?" Lydia asked, thinking about her own digressions from the truth. Not only had she told Irene those simple lies, but she had destroyed her mail, coming and going. She held her breath waiting for the answer.
"It's a betrayal of trust. That's hard to forgive," Irene replied with sadness in her voice.
With a pain in her stomach and dread in her heart, Lydia said, "I suppose." Rising from the bed, she said, "I guess I'd better get ready for bed." She leaned to kiss Irene's cheek and whispered, "Good night."
"Good night, dear."
Taking the lamp with her, Lydia walked the short distance to her own room while apprehension overwhelmed all the other good feelings inside her. She told herself to concentrate only on the good things, and the bad things would take care of themselves.
She hoped.
Clara sat on the straight-backed chair in her room, staring out the rain-streaked window. She clutched one hand to the other in a moment of fear, then defiance took root. She had dealt the winning blow and seen it hit its mark when Ross Hollister rode away without a word. It was a victory, but not a long-lived one, she was sure. Oh, there was no mistaking the disappointment and disillusion on Irene's face, but she knew the nature of women because she knew herself.
How many times had she forgiven the man she'd loved? Countless. And how many times had he let her down? Countless. She could save Irene from that emotional torture, and she would. Somehow.
Rising from her seat, she made her way through the waning light. Before long it would be supper time, even though the early darkness brought on by the storm made it seem more like bedtime. And she wished it was. With a tired sigh, she made her way down the stairs, each step an effort that cost her an extra breath. At the bottom of the steps, she rested a moment before going into the kitchen.
Even though she wasn't really hungry, she knew she should eat. Slowly, she moved about the unadorned room, deciding on cold fare for her meal.
When she'd finished, she put away the few dishes she'd dirtied and returned to her room. Although it wasn't her nature to lie down during any time of the day, she was far too tired to resist. After a little rest, she would feel more like her old self. It was simply the altercation she'd had with Irene and Mr. Hollister that had worn her out. She was getting too old for this kind of worry. She assured herself that it was nothing more than that.
After removing her shoes and stockings, she lay down. But behind her closed eyes she continued conjuring up Irene's face and the life that lay before her unless something happened to change the outcome. She must think of a way to do that. Somehow she must think of something that would rid this town of Ross Hollister, thus saving Irene's future. With a deeply indrawn breath, she contemplated many alternatives.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When the mid-morning train arrived, all the children within running distance were there to greet it. Freshly relieved of their school duties, they raced happily alongside the passenger cars as they slowly came through the bridge, then around the curve to the depot. Jonathan and Lydia, caught up in the carefree excitement of the others, were among these dozen or so children.
After it came to a stop, they stood with quiet interest in a small group which resembled a welcoming committee, waiting to see who might emerge. Within several minutes, a lone woman stepped down from the car onto the platform. She smiled at the group, then went to speak to the man who sold tickets, cleaned up, and generally took care of the depot. The group followed.
As the woman set down her valise, the children circled her. After smiling over her shoulder at them, she spoke through the window.
"Excuse me, but could you tell me how to get to Miss Irene Barrett's house?"
"Sure thing. Just follow back along the tracks" He stopped, spying Lydia and Jonathan in the group behind the woman. "Well, her children are here, so they can take you right to her front door."
A cold numbness spread throughout Lydia's body as realization dawned. This must be Aunt Sarah!
Sarah Jefferson Blakely turned toward the children after thanking the gentleman, her eyes resting on a young girl who stood half a head taller than the others. Her face had a stricken look, as though something unnatural had just happened or was about to.
"Are you Lydia?" she asked.
Filled with dread, Lydia nodded while continuing to stare dumbfounded at the woman who represented the worst of her nightmares. Beside her, she felt Jonathan sidle up and slip his hand into hers.
"And you must be Jonathan," Sarah added with a smile.
Jonathan refused to answer. Something was terribly wrong. Lydia was afraid. He figured that must mean this woman had come to take them away. Nothing had gone right since they'd come back from the picnic and Mrs. Wilson had said terrible things about Ross. Even Miss Barrett didn't act like herself and just as bad, Ross never came by. He clutched Lydia's hand tightly.
"Could I trouble the two of you to take me to Miss Barrett's?"
"Yes, ma'am," Lydia replied, her voice small.
Sarah picked up her valise and waited for them to lead the way. As they walked along, she asked, "Do you know who I am?" She was sure that they did by the looks on their faces.
"Yes, ma'am," Lydia replied, her expression downcast. "Aunt Sarah."
"That's right. I haven't seen you since you were a babe in your mother's arms." To Jonathan, she said, "And this is the first time we've met."
He could only stare at her, wondering if his life was to be upset once more, if he was to be handed off to this stranger. Stunned, he realized that it was true. Until this moment, he'd thought Miss Barrett liked him; he'd certainly liked her almost as good as his ma. But apparently she hadn't felt the same about them. And what would his chances be of seeing Ross again? Probably none. Hurt and anger welled up within him until he thought he'd burst from the pressure.
Seeing him shy away from her, Sarah said comfortingly, ''We'll have some time to get to know one another." She wanted to brush back the hair from his forehead, but she knew any advance would be unwelcome. He so reminded her of her own William that her heart became homesick for the children she'd left behind.
They walked in silence for most of the way except for the occasional question that Sarah asked about the town, the school, and their friends. But the two accompanying her volunteered nothing.
At last they stopped before the picket fence, and Sarah smiled approvingly at the large house and the neatly clipped yard where flowers bloomed in gay colors.
"What a lovely home!" she exclaimed.
Both Lydia and Jonathan looked at it with renewed a
ppreciation. It was indeed a lovely home, one that neither of them wanted to leave. Struggling with an intense desire to cry, Jonathan could stand it no longer and took off at a dead run toward the bridge and the mill on the other side.
"What? Is he all right?" Sarah asked, concerned. "I didn't mean to upset him."
Lydia didn't call him back; she understood his need to be alone.
"He likes to go off by himself sometimes."
"Oh." Sarah watched as Jonathan's arms and legs pumped and churned up dust, putting distance between them.
Reluctantly, Lydia pushed open the gate and led the way to the door. If only there were some way to delay this meeting forever. Not only was she about to lose her new found home but when Miss Barrett learned of the lies she'd told and the destruction of her mail . . . well, Lydia knew quite clearly how she would view such things. A betrayal of trust was unforgivable.
Inside she found Winnie mending a basket of socks, her head cocked to one side, frowning over the tiny stitches she made.
"We have company," Lydia said.
Glancing up Winnie stared in surprise then quickly put away her mending as though embarrassed at getting caught at performing such a menial task. "Please come in, won't you?"
Sarah set down her valise and pulled off her gloves, extending her hand. "Thank you. You must be Miss Barrett."
"Actually, I'm Mrs. Barrett, Irene's mother." Still puzzled she studied the younger woman.
"Nice to meet you."
Glancing around at the stylish furnishings, Sarah smiled, pleased with what she saw. "Your daughter's home is very lovely."
"Thank you," Irene replied as she came through the doorway from the back of the house.
"Hello," Sarah said as she once again extended her hand in greeting. "I'm the children's aunt, Sarah Blakely. I'm sorry about arriving later than I told you in my letter. I hope this won't be inconvenient for you." Her words trailed off as she saw the same puzzled expression cross Irene's face that had earlier crossed her mother's. "You did get my letters, didn't you?"
Irene stared in dumbfounded surprise. This was the woman she'd sought so many months before when she was looking for a home for the children, a home with their own family members. But this attractive, middle-aged woman was a stranger in spite of the fact that she was a relative. Everything within Irene rebelled against the idea of sending the children away with a perfect stranger.
During those same months, she'd come to love Jonathan and Lydia as her own. There were so many things she had learned about them; things this woman would in turn learn. Like using Jonathan's favorite color, red, when knitting his scarves and mittens. It was the only way he could be coaxed to wear them. And he loved any kind of cookies and cakes but cared little for pies. The cowlick at the back of his head would respond to nothing and had become an endearing part of his personality as it bounced when he ran. And Lydia. Dear, tenderhearted, and oh-so-mature Lydia. A child and yet a friend, warm, loving, but a long way from being carefree. Her heart swelled near to breaking at the thought of losing them.
"Letters?" Irene repeated vacantly.
"Yes." Sarah glanced with appeal at each of the women. "I mailed several over the winter, and in one of them I explained that I wouldn't be able to arrive before the second week in May. I guess the mail isn't as reliable as I'd expected."
Irene pulled herself together, trying to regain her bearings and her hospitality. "Please, come in and sit down where we can talk more comfortably. You must be tired after your trip."
Winnie offered to make tea and escaped to the kitchen to brew it where she could be alone for a few minutes to take in this unexpected turn of events. The impact was startling. She hadn't realized how attached she'd become to the two little orphans until their imminent departure stared her in the face. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to hold her emotions in check if she stayed in the parlor another minute.
"I guess I've rather surprised you," Sarah said apologetically.
Still trying to compose herself, Irene replied, "I have to admit that I had given up. We all had."
"I received your letter before Thanksgiving. It took some time to locate me, since I've remarried after my first husband's death. I suppose it's fortunate that I received it at all."
Lydia sat on the edge of her chair, wishing she were somewhere else but too afraid to leave. A great sadness enveloped her as she realized that Aunt Sarah hadn't come this far just to say hello. There would be no more running, no more lies. A quiet acceptance that life was to be endured, not enjoyed, suddenly came over her and she couldn't shake it off, couldn't rebel against it the way Jonathan had. And as she watched the two women decide her destiny, her only regret was that she hadn't destroyed every single letter before it had been mailed.
Feeling uncomfortable about discussing the children when she'd only just arrived, Sarah chose the subject of her present family.
"We've lived near Buffalo for two years now, but some of my family still lives in the same community where I lived before. I guess that's how they found me. Of course, with a family as large as ours, it would be hard not to find us," she said with a smile.
At that moment Winnie arrived with a tray of teacups and a teapot, from which she poured each of them a cup.
"You have children?" Irene asked, wondering how Jonathan would adjust to the idea.
"Yes. I have four of my own, ages eight to fifteen, and Carl has four of his own, ages twelve to seventeen."
"Eight children!" Winnie interjected. Jonathan and Lydia would get lost in the crowd, she feared.
Sarah nodded happily. "We're quite a family."
There was undoubtedly plenty of love to spare, by the look on Sarah's face, Irene thought.
"That sounds like a lot of cooking and mending to me," Winnie said.
"The twins, Molly and Sally, are a great help. I don't know what I'll do when the time comes for them to marry."
"I hope for your sake that your husband is a farmer,"
Winnie said, sipping her tea thoughtfully.
Sarah laughed. "No, he isn't. But we do keep a rather large garden."
Irene sat holding her teacup, not at all interested in drinking from it. "You'll want some time to get acquainted with the children, so of course you'll stay with us. You can put your things in the bedroom at the top of stairs. Lydia can sleep in my room, and Jonathan won't mind moving his cot into the hallway."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of imposing further. I've already appeared unannounced and"
"Through no fault of your own. We absolutely won't hear of the children's aunt staying anywhere but here." Irene couldn't help but like Sarah in spite of her reason for being there. After all, she herself had invited her, and although her arrival was costing Irene pain, she insisted that Sarah be treated as a guest.
As Lydia listened to the pleasant talk going on between the women, her tension increased. With each word they spoke, she felt sure her previous actions would be exposed, and the longer they spent together, the likelihood of that happening increased. It would be hard enough to leave without having Miss Barrett's disapproval between them. That would be more than she could bear. And yet she wanted nothing but the truth between themtruth, understanding and love. Like a force within her, she choked back the desire to confess and make everything right once more. But telling wouldn't make things right. Nothing could ever make things right again.
Andrew swung down from the train and onto the platform carrying only a valise. Five years, he thought as he looked around at the placid little town, and a very long five years at that.
Walking ahead of him was a woman surrounded by a group of children, none of whom he recognized, but then he only barely gave them any notice. With decisive steps he passed them as he strode purposefully down the hill.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Winnie hurried into town right after the noon meal. After Sarah Blakely had gone upstairs to rest, Irene had excused herself as well, and Lydia had hightailed it like a nervous doe, leaving t
he house quiet enough to drive even the mice away.
As she walked along, she mentally went over her list of things to purchase at Howard's mercantile, all the while keeping an eye out for Jonathan. It wasn't uncommon for him to skip a meal if he was fishing with a friend, but she had a suspicion there was more to it than that.
She stepped inside the open doorway and made her way toward the sewing notions. Behind the counter stood Emma, quite large now, sorting through a tin of buttons.
"Hello, Emma," Winnie said.
"Oh, hello, Mrs. Barrett. What can I do for you this beautiful spring day?"
"Well, I'd like some more of that red yarn. And let me see your colored thread." She wanted to embroider some nice linen handkerchiefs for Lydia with her name on them.
She wouldn't have either of the children going off without something to remember her by. Suddenly she had to clear her throat.
"How is Irene?" Emma asked. "I've been wanting to get up there to see her, but"she patted her stomach"I rarely venture farther than the house or the store these days."
"Irene is well." At least, as well as could be expected, she added to herself.
"Then she hasn't heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Andrew's back. This morning."
Winnie nearly dropped the red yarn she was fingering. "He is?"
Emma nodded. "He was in to see Howard this morning, which was quite a shock for Howard. He certainly never expected to see a penny of the money Andrew had borrowed from him over five years ago. But he paid it all back."
Dumbfounded, Winnie couldn't seem to find her tongue.
"I suspect he'll be pretty busy going up and down Front Street if he intends to pay back all the money he'd ever borrowed. But I suppose that remains to be seen." Emma pushed aside the tin of buttons as she tried to lean across the counter. "Howard said most people never understood where Andrew ever got the money to build that big house or buy all that furniture. But of course, you probably knew all about that." She paused a moment to gauge Winnie's reaction. When there was none, she continued. "I guess Irene just believed in him so much that she didn't even question using her money. Naturally, when Andrew confessed his sins, so to speak, Howard was quite surprised. Truth to tell, I was shocked speechless."
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