“Why didn’t you tell her about Ashton’s property, Ellis?” John Hempel asked. “You said you would.”
Ellis sucked in air. He had no excuse, leastwise, none he could admit to the lawyer.
“If I’d known you hadn’t, I’d have ridden out before now.”
Chapter Eleven
The pie Constance attempted to cut into wedges was nothing but a blur. She closed her eyes and willed the tears to stay behind her lids. Why hadn’t Ellis told her about Ashton’s will? Furthermore, why would Ashton, a man she’d never met, will his property to her? She should be pleased. It could provide the escape she’d told herself she wanted. The past few days had been a nightmare, but even that didn’t make the thought of leaving any easier.
She completed cutting the pie and set the knife aside. None of it made sense. Ellis hadn’t said more than three words to her since she’d lied to him about locking her door. But before then, there’d been plenty of opportunities for him to mention Ashton’s will. She pressed a hand to her cramping stomach. Yes, there had been plenty of time for him to tell her, just as there’d been plenty of time for her to tell him about Byron.
A tit for a tat as Aunt Julia used to say.
The next few hours brought her twisting and turning stomach little relief, and no remedy formed in her guilt-ridden mind. Guests rolled in until barely a path was left open to walk from room to room. Most brought food or other gifts of the season; there were enough oranges to feed the entire territory twice over. Constance cut several and arranged them on a plate to sit amongst the vast array of food covering the table, including a few loaves of banana bread she’d taken out of the icebox on the back porch. The tasks of uncovering or slicing other dishes kept her occupied and in the kitchen, where she didn’t have to face the fear of encountering Ellis.
However, she managed to disgrace herself further by conjuring the notion that Ellis had considered swindling her out of Ashton’s property the way Byron had her aunts’. Which was ridiculous. Ellis was a rich man. Ashton’s few acres would mean nothing to him, not to mention the distance between it and Heaven on Earth.
The crowd lessened a bit when the children, and a few young adults, layered on clothes and went to slide down the large hill. The extra space gave room for people to mingle, but Constance, thankful for dish duty, maintained her solace in the kitchen.
A few women were among the guests, and she was glad to make their acquaintances, but despite her attempts to be cordial, she couldn’t muster up the ability to partake in small talk—her mind was consumed with how soon Ellis would send her to Ashton’s place. He didn’t need money or land, but he had needed her to prepare the food and house for the party. Angel said the entire territory looked forward to the annual holiday gathering. Now that the day had arrived, there was no need for Constance to remain at Heaven on Earth.
Link’s wife, Lula Mae, was quite charming and talked nonstop. She’d hovered near the eggnog in the hall since arriving, and Constance wasn’t overly surprised when the woman set the empty punch bowl next to the sink.
“Can we mix up another batch of this?” Lula Mae asked. “What did you call it again?”
“Eggnog,” Constance explained. “And, yes, I can make more.”
“I’ll help. I want the recipe.” Lula Mae wiped her hands on a cloth. “Tell me what to do.”
Thankful for anything that would take her mind off Ellis, Constance slid a basket of eggs across the counter. “Separate out a dozen yolks from their whites.”
“Will do,” Lula Mae said, already cracking an egg. “So, how are things for you out here? Angel’s absolutely blooming. She’s a good girl, but did need a woman’s touch, that she did.”
“Yes, she’s a good girl,” Constance agreed. “You’ll need to whip the yolks lightly, and then add this bowl of sugar.”
Lula Mae gave Constance an inquisitive look before she picked up the fork and started to stir the yolks. “Eggnog, that’s what this is called?”
“Yes.” Constance answered. It was clear Lula Mae comprehended Constance had sidestepped around the other question. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about how she was doing, especially since she didn’t know herself. Pouring one glass of brandy and another of whiskey, she set the two near the bowl. “I read once that President George Washington was known for his eggnog. He made it year round to serve to visitors.” Her attempt at small talk seemed a bit off kilter even to her ears.
“Really?” Lula Mae poured in the sugar. “I figured it was a recipe you brought from England.”
“This one is. I don’t know what the president used in his recipe. My aunts enjoyed eggnog and always served it over the holidays.”
“Well, I’ve never had it before.” Lula Mae pointed at the glasses. “Do I add both of those?”
“Add that one first. It’s brandy and will cook the eggs.” Constance pointed to one glass before she moved to the icebox where she kept the milk she hadn’t separated just for this reason. “Then add the whiskey.”
“You certainly have a lot of recipes from England. I tried the bread you made out of those bananas. Had I known about that, I would have had Link keep some,” Lula Mae commented as she continued to work on the eggnog.
The memory of Ellis bringing home the bags of bananas was strong enough to make a smile tickle Constance’s lips. “The banana bread was an experiment. I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do with all those bananas.” She set the milk on the counter and started to whip the egg whites.
“I’d never have thought to bake with them. They didn’t look like much to me, and they were so soft, I wondered if they’d gone bad,” Lula Mae replied.
“They would have in another day or so,” Constance agreed. Her mind was back on the night when she and Ellis had baked bread. It was such a simple, silly thing, yet the memory was planted in her head like a mighty oak, with roots that went clear to her heart.
“Now what?” Lula Mae asked, looking at the mixture in the bowl.
Constance nodded toward the pitcher. “Add the milk, and then grate a bit of that nutmeg over the top. Once the egg whites are frothy, we’ll add them and it will be done.”
“He’s a good man, you know,” Lula Mae said thoughtfully.
For a split second, Constance’s hand stilled. Clutching the fork tighter, she continued to whip the whites. No one had to tell her Ellis was a good man, she’d known that from the moment she’d met him.
“Losing her mama at such a young age was tough for Angel, but right from the day his wife died, Ellis put everything second to that girl. Poor man’s going to have a hard time when the day arrives for her to leave this house. He’ll take that mighty hard.”
Constance bit her lip. What Lula Mae said was true, and Constance agreed, but right now it was impossible for her to talk about Ellis, or anyone leaving. She gave the whites a final good whipping.
“He needs more children. That’s what Ellis needs,” Lula Mae said, scraping the nutmeg. “That’s why he built such a large house. He and Christine wanted half a dozen children. Talked about it all the time. It was sad when she passed, along with their baby boy. The son he wanted to inherit all this someday.” Lula Mae smiled brightly. “But there’s still time. He’s young enough to—”
“Here, these are done,” Constance interrupted, trembling from head to toe.
Lula Mae frowned slightly before she said, “Well, dump them in. Folks are waiting for it in the other room.”
Constance had a lump the size of an egg in her throat. She didn’t mean to appear rude and really could use a friend right about now, but her mind and heart were just too heavy. Fighting against the pressure forming behind her eyes, she folded the egg whites into the mixture in the large bowl.
“I’m going to run out to the outhouse,” Lula Mae said. “Before I have another cup. Do you mind carrying the bowl back into the other room?”
Constance nodded, loathing the scars on her stomach with newfound hatred. “Thank you for helping,” she had to whisper due
to the burning sensation bubbling in her throat.
“Anytime. And anytime you want to talk, you know where to find me.” Lula Mae turned to make her way to the back door followed by the swirl of the lacey bustle of her dark green gabardine dress.
Constance picked up the heavy bowl and walked toward the swinging door that had been propped open for people to mingle freely between the parlor and the kitchen. The front hall was packed. Carefully selecting a path around and between the guests, she prayed her trembling hands wouldn’t drop the bowl, and was almost to the small table she’d set out just for the eggnog when the front door flew open.
“Mr. Clayton!” a young boy shouted. “Mr. Clayton!”
Ellis appeared in the midst of the crowd. “What is it, Jonathan?”
“It’s Angel! Her sled hit a tree, and we can’t wake her up! You gotta come quick!”
The punch bowl slipped from Constance’s hands, hitting the floor with a glass-breaking crash and spewing a tidal wave of eggnog.
Ellis grabbed her hand, and without care to the mess or broken glass, as one they dashed out the door.
They ran across the porch and down the steps, closely following the child tearing across the snow in front of them. She searched the field for the group of children, and clutched Ellis’s hand tighter when the deep snow attempted to slow her down. By the time they arrived where a crowd had gathered around the base of a large tree several yards away from Angel’s little barn in the backyard, Constance could barely catch her breath.
Panic clawed at her chest as she landed on her knees beside a still form wearing a bright red stocking cap. Ellis was right beside her, brushing the snow from Angel’s arms and legs.
“She opened her eyes a minute ago,” someone said.
With trembling hands, Constance pushed the thick, knitted hat from Angel’s forehead and after a quick search for injuries she patted the girl’s cheek. “Angel?”
The girl’s eyes fluttered open.
Ellis was next to her, hovering over Angel. One of his arms was wrapped around Constance’s shoulders, and he squeezed her upper arm. The touch released the tears pressing on her eyes.
“Angel,” he said softly, “where does it hurt, honey?”
Angel’s face scrunched as she gestured toward her left leg, which was twisted oddly in the deep snow. “My leg, Pa. It hurts something awful.”
“Let me through,” a gruff voice demanded. “Let me though, I say.” The man made his way to Angel’s other side. “It’s Doc Neely, Angel. Where’s it hurt, girl?”
“Her leg,” Ellis answered.
“Don’t move, Angel, let me take a gander first,” Doc Neely ordered.
Angel lifted her hand. Constance wrapped both of hers around the thick mitten. “It’s all right, just lie still.”
Ellis’s hand, big and warm, covered both of theirs. “Does anything else hurt, honey?”
Angel shook her head slightly. “No, Pa. Just my leg.”
“It’s broke all right,” Doc Neely said. “Let’s get her inside so I can set it before the swelling starts.” The doctor pushed off the snowy ground, rising to his feet. “I’ll need a couple of straight boards.”
“I’ll get them,” someone said.
It sounded like Beans, but Constance didn’t take her eyes off Angel to see if it was or not. The pain on the girl’s face was eating a huge hole in her heart, and overriding her now insignificant worries. “It’s going to hurt to move her,” she whispered.
“I know,” Ellis answered, squeezing her hands still clutching Angel’s. “But it can’t be helped.” The cold wind swirling around them set in, making Constance shiver and jerk. “Come on,” Ellis said close to her ear. “We have to get you inside, too.”
Constance accepted his help, and once she was standing, she stepped back, giving Ellis the space he needed to lift Angel off the ground. The girl groaned and then a wrenching screech emitted as Ellis hoisted her upward. Constance cowered at the sound, but hurried around
Ellis’s other side and used both hands to support Angel’s legs hanging over his arm.
“We’ll take it slow, honey,” Ellis said, kissing Angel’s pain-twisted face.
He set an unhurried pace, walking around the larger drifts. Constance stayed at his side, keeping her arms beneath Angel’s ankles and shins.
Doctor Neely shouted orders as they arrived at the house, clearing a wide path that led straight to the staircase. Constance stayed at Ellis’s side, all the way up the stairs and down the hall to Angel’s door. There he paused, turning sideways. “You go in first,” he instructed.
Constance did so, sidestepping all the way to the bed. Lula Mae was already there, pushing the covers back and shoving the pillows aside. As the woman moved out of the way, Constance realized she and Ellis needed to make a half circle so he could lay Angel on the bed. When she glanced his way, he nodded, reading her thoughts.
Taking slow, jutting steps, they maneuvered about. While Ellis held Angel over the mattress, he looked at Constance. She nodded. As one, they slowly lowered Angel until she lay flat on the bed.
The girl was taking short, shaky breaths, and her face, eyes closed, held a tight grimace. Constance leaned past Ellis and pressed a hand to Angel’s cheek.
Angel opened her eyes. “It really hurts, Constance.”
“I know it does, sweetheart.” Constance brushed past Ellis to pull the hat from the girl’s head, and then began to unbutton her coat. “But Doc will have it set in no time.” She attempted to sound reassuring, but the ache inside her had the words breaking apart so hard they burned her throat.
“I can help her, you go change your clothes,” Ellis said, settling his hands over the top of Constance’s.
“No,” she insisted. “I’ll stay in case the doctor needs assistance.” She didn’t glance up. One look into his knowing eyes would shatter the measly amount of strength she held on to. “You can go.”
“No,” he said. “We’ll both stay.” After giving her hand a tiny squeeze that had her scrounging for control, he moved toward the foot of the bed. “Angel, I’m going to take your boots off.”
Angel had her eyes closed again. “All right, Pa,” she said, clearly trying to be strong.
The tiny yelp Angel released had Constance pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re a brave girl, Angel Clayton, and I’m very proud of you.”
Angel bit her bottom lip and gave a slight nod.
By the time Ellis had Angel’s boots off, Constance had slipped the coat out from beneath her, and Doctor Neely had arrived with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He gave a nod toward Ellis, and then bent his head, running both hands over Angel’s leg.
Something bumped the back of Constance’s knees, and she glance around. Ellis laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sit down.”
Never releasing the hold she had on Angel’s hand, Constance complied. A blanket fell over her shoulders before Ellis leaned over and brushed Angel’s hair away from her temple. “You doing okay there, Angel girl?”
“Yes, Pa.”
“You hold on to Constance’s hand and don’t let go.” His tone was gravely somber. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t, Pa,” Angel agreed.
The concern filling Ellis’s eyes had Constance’s heart thumping. She clutched on tighter to Angel’s hand, and gave him a slight nod, assuring him she wouldn’t let go of Angel, no matter what. He bowed his head, and then turned to the doctor who was cutting the leg of Angel’s bloomers in two. Their voices were low and hushed.
Constance couldn’t hear what the men said, but knew it didn’t matter. Her focus was on Angel. Leaning next to the girl’s shoulder, she started to whisper. She talked about the weather, what a beautiful job Angel had done in decorating the front parlor and how the guests had eaten all of the banana bread. Constance kept the one-sided conversation flowing, leaping from subject to subject, attempting to hold Angel’s attention or at least draw it off what the doctor and Ellis were doing. It worked for th
e most part. Angel whispered a few replies and nodded a few times, but when the girl let out a scream that filled Constance with piercing pain, she pressed her cheek to Angel’s.
“Shh,” Constance whispered.
Angel’s grip tightened as she muffled another agonizing screech.
“Shh,” Constance repeated. “I’m right here, honey. I know it hurts, but it’ll feel better soon.” She lifted her head. “Look at me, Angel,” she coaxed. “Look at me, honey.”
Angel let out a little sigh and lifted her lids. Tears streaked her red cheeks and trickled from the corners of her big brown eyes.
Constance delved up a smile. “That’s my girl.”
Angel touched Constance’s cheek. “You’re crying.”
Resting her cheek against the girl’s palm, Constance nodded. “It hurts me to see you in pain.”
“I’ll be all right,” Angel assured.
A soft smile came straight from Constance’s heart. “I know you will be.” She leaned down and kissed Angel’s temple. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Angel answered.
The bed shifted slightly as the men worked, and Constance started whispering again, talking about things that really didn’t matter, but came to mind. When a hand tugged on her shoulder, she twisted to glance up. Ellis stood beside her chair. The gratitude in his eyes renewed her tears.
Soft and tender, he wiped the tears from her cheek. Constance drew in a breath to keep from leaning into the touch. Ellis’s fingers slipped away as he bent down to caress Angel’s face. “It’s all set, honey. How are you doing?”
“Better,” Angel answered. “It still hurts though.”
Ellis kissed her forehead. “I know it does. It will for a while.”
“I have something to help with that,” Doctor Neely said.
Ellis stepped aside, and Constance had to move as well. Ellis moved the chair, giving the doctor room to sidle up next to the bed.
“Here, Angel, it’s kind of bitter, but swallow the entire spoonful,” the doctor instructed, filling a spoon with a thick glob from a small brown bottle.
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