by Jillian Hart
Mally’s meow broke through her thoughts. She opened her eyes to see the cat glaring up at her and yowling again in reprimand.
“Yes, I’m right here and so why am I not petting you?” Fiona ran her fingertips through the cat’s long, thick fur. “You are perfectly right. I should never ignore such a good friend.”
The feline purred rustily, rubbing her skirts with his cheek. She spent a few moments with Mally before tucking the picture carefully in her sewing basket, and tucking her sewing piecework into her book bag. The locket jingled in her pocket as she went to fetch the milk bucket by the door. It was gone. He must have taken it with him when he left the barn, but she hadn’t even noticed. No, she had been far too busy noticing the man.
More proof it was a good thing he was gone. If there was one man who could ruin her plans for the future, it would be Ian McPherson.
Since the work was done, she had no reason to linger in the barn. Her ma needed help with breakfast. She squared her shoulders, drew her muffler around her neck and faced the dying storm.
Chapter Six
“’Mornin’, Fiona.” Lorenzo Davis sauntered down the aisle, his boots ringing on the wooden schoolhouse floor. “You’re here bright and early today.”
Great. Why was he coming in her direction? If she didn’t acknowledge him, would he change direction and decide to go somewhere else? Why didn’t he try to charm another girl? She poked her needle through the fabric, the click of the needle point against her thimble holding more of her attention than poor Lorenzo ever would. When the toes of his boots came into sight beside her desk, she could no longer ignore him. “Good morning, Lorenzo.”
“What are you working on?”
She peered up at him through her lashes. Surely he wasn’t interested in hearing about sewing. She pulled her thread through and considered what to say to him that would be polite but not encouraging, and yet not too friendly to give him any kind of hope. Judging by the clean-combed look of him and that hopeful glint in his polite eyes, he wasn’t simply being courteous. She had noticed Lorenzo’s interest for a while now.
“A dress,” she said simply, and turned her attention back to her next stitch.
“Oh. Uh, you wouldn’t be going to join the caroling group at the church, would you?” Nerves hopped in his voice, making it rough and squeaky.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, you have a nice morning.” He took a step back, a wide-shouldered, strapping young man with hurt feelings.
Not what she wanted to do, but she had to be honest. “You, too, Lorenzo.”
He nodded once, apparently choosing not to answer, and walked with great dignity back up the aisle. She felt terrible.
“I can’t believe you said no.” Someone dropped onto the bench seat beside her, occupying the vacant side of the double desk. Lila dropped her calico book bag on the desktop. “Lorenzo is the cutest boy in school.”
“Cutest?” She hadn’t noticed that, although he was rather good-looking, she had to admit, as she watched him join the popular crowd, headed by their nemesis, Narcissa Bell, near the potbelly stove in the front of the classroom. But his clean-cut good looks could not compare to a certain man’s rugged handsomeness and dependable presence, a man she could not get out of her mind. She slipped her needle into the seam to secure it. “Lorenzo is all right.”
“He’s a complete dream. There isn’t one girl in this school who isn’t sweet on him, and you turn him down. I heard him. He was going to ask you to join the caroling group with him.” Lila, keeping her voice low, opened her bag and pulled out a comb. She began to fluff at her sleek cinnamon-brown hair. “I would have said yes before he could have finished asking me.”
“I wish he would have asked you.” A terribly tight pressure grew behind her sternum, and it wasn’t her corset constricting her breathing. It was Ian. Why did the emptiness inside remain every time she thought of him? It was a mystery for sure.
She folded up her sewing. She had checked on the animals after he’d left her, and they were happy and fed and well cared for. Their stalls spotless, their water bin scrubbed and filled with fresh water. Even the barn cat had been grinning ear to ear while he washed the milk from his whiskers.
Yes, it was a good thing Ian had gone. She pulled off her thimble. “I don’t want a beau.”
“I know, I know.” Lila rolled her eyes lovingly as always. She believed that love happened to everyone when you least expected it, like smallpox attacking when you were vulnerable. Poor Lila. Then again, everyone knew her mother and father had been blissfully happy for a time. She came from an entirely different view of things. “But I would have said yes. Lorenzo is just too too. What are you sewing on? Another piece for Miss Sims?”
“Yes. I almost have the collar set. If I can work the entire lunch hour, I can finish up and get this to her after school.” It would be another dollar for her money sock; she might need it sooner than she’d once thought. If her parents were going to lose the farm, then what would happen to them? Where would they go? And what if they found a man they wanted her to marry instead?
I’ll run, she decided, thumbing her thimble. The silver gadget winked in the lamplight like an affirmation. It was the only thing she could do. To run away from her best friends and this schoolhouse where she had always been happiest. Snow still fell beyond the windows, reminding her it was a cold world. Making it on her own too soon and with too small of a savings would not be easy. But it would be better than marrying a stranger, than living a life without freedom.
“What? You’re going to work through the entire hour again? You’ve got to eat.” Lila’s voice drew her back to the classroom. Worry furrowed her oval face. “You’re going to ruin your health.”
“I’ve got to get as much work done as I can.”
“You work too hard, Fee.”
“I don’t know what choice I have.” Her best choice was still to strike out on her own. So why, then, was she wondering about Ian? With all the snow, would the train arrive on time or not at all? Would he be forced to stay in town awhile longer?
“All right, you have to tell me what’s going on.” Lila slid her comb into her bag and set it on the floor. “You look like you barely slept a wink last night.”
“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Yes, and why aren’t you sharing it?”
How did she tell part of the story without telling all of it? If she spoke of Ian, would it make this strange yawning behind her sternum worse? If she told of why he had left, then would she have to confess what her father was trying to do?
“Just tell me, Fee. Maybe I can help.”
“I wish you could.” A true friend. Her heart squeezed with thankfulness. Whatever hardships that came into her life, she was grateful to the Lord for softening those blows with caring friends. “Remember Ian McPherson? He came to meet me yesterday.”
“What?” Lila’s jaw dropped. “You mean that Tennessee guy?”
“He’s from Louisville.” Mentioning him had been the wrong decision. The emptiness that he had left intensified, like a wound festering. She bowed her head, staring at the folds of delicate green fabric on her lap, but what she saw was the picture Ian had drawn for her. Captivated, he’d written. The expert strokes, the skilled rendering of a girl who was too lovely and lyrical to be plain old Fiona O’Rourke. But how she wanted it to be.
“So, what happened? Do you really have to marry him?” A familiar voice spoke out from behind her. Kate dropped her armload of schoolbooks onto the desk.
“Your parents can’t make you, can they?” Scarlet demanded as she took the seat across the aisle.
“No, they can’t force me to. Guilt me into it, pressure me into it, scare me into it, yes. But that’s not going to happen.” Fiona slipped the folded fabric into her book bag with care. “Ian is catching the morning train.”
“He’s leaving? Without marrying you?”
“Lucky me.” Why didn’t it feel that way? She
didn’t want to get married—that had not changed. But something within her had—the belief that there could never be a man she could trust even a little bit.
“Whew. Thank God.” Lila’s hand flew to her throat. “It might sound romantic in my dime novels, but really having to marry a stranger is downright frightening.”
“I’d be scared,” Kate put in. “Well, not scared exactly. More like wary. You would want to know that he is a good, honorable man who would never hurt you.”
Yes, that was what she was afraid of. Fiona tied the ribbons on her bag, holding her feelings still. Images tried to fill her mind, images of him, noble and fine, but she stopped them. “I was surprised that Ian seemed to be a nice guy.”
“That was unexpected.” Lila leaned closer. “So, tell us more. Was he good-looking?”
Fiona’s face heated.
“He was!” Kate clasped her hands together. “So, did you like him?”
“Why did he come in the first place if he was just going to leave?” Lila asked.
Fiona held up her hands. “Wait. He’s gone, so we don’t have to talk about it, do we?”
“Yes,” her friends answered together, looking shocked that she didn’t want to share information about the man they had been wondering about forever.
“It’s over. He is not a horrible obligation hanging over my head like a noose anymore.” Now he was simply a feeling of loss she couldn’t explain or make sense of. He had carried the milk pail to the lean-to before he left, because she had found it was waiting for her inside, safely out of the storm’s reach when she’d returned to the house. Only his footsteps and the faint track of his cane in the snow were proof he had been there. A fair walk on an empty stomach and a cold one without a thicker winter coat than his. Why was her stomach coiling up with worry over him?
“What did I miss?” Earlee wove around and plopped into the seat beside Kate. Bits of driven snow still hung to her blond locks and her face was flushed red from her walk to town. “What’s not hanging over your head?”
“Ian McPherson.” The name simply popped out and why? Because her stomach had been coiled up with worry over him all the morning through. Had he found a warm place in town? How had his injured leg fared? Was he feeling like this, a confused tangle of sadness and relief?
“The arranged marriage is off,” Lila announced.
“And you are free.” Kate bounced in her seat.
Free? Her midsection cramped up in knots as she remembered her father’s threat. How did she begin to explain that she wasn’t free? Not by a long shot.
“Oh, Fee, your parents finally changed their minds!” Earlee clapped her hands with excitement. “That’s great news. Yay. You don’t have to get married now.”
“I feel like celebrating,” Kate chimed in. “I’m going to make cookies. No, a cake. I’ll bring them tomorrow and we’ll have a party at lunch. Just the five of us.”
“I’ll get some candy from my dad’s store,” Lila added. “We need to mark this occasion. Fiona is free to find her own beau. Look around, Fee, think of the possibilities.”
Her face heated, because she was not looking for a schoolyard crush.
“Class.” Miss Lambert strolled to the front of the room and rang her handbell. “School will begin now. Please take your seats.”
Saved from having to comment on any of the boys in the room, Fiona gave thanks for the perfectly timed interruption, shrugged apologetically to her friends and slipped her sewing beneath the lid of her desk. Beside her, Lila sighed wistfully as handsome Lorenzo lumbered by and took the back seat two aisles over.
Apparently she was the only girl in school not sighing wistfully. Three other sighs rose around her. When she glanced over her shoulder, Kate, Scarlet and Earlee were all star-struck, their attentions fixed on Lorenzo as he sorted through his stack of schoolbooks.
“I still can’t believe you turned him down,” Lila whispered. “He could be your beau right now.”
“I’m not interested in a—” She started to explain, for probably the nine hundredth time.
“In a beau,” Lila answered. “I know.”
She had never been one of those girls prone to going sweet on a boy and daydreaming about a future with him. Innocent crushes were fine, her best friends were certainly prone to them, but Fiona was immune. She prided herself on her strength of will and control over her heart.
So why were her feelings about Ian tangled up like a knot in a length of thread? It made no sense. There was so much she wanted to know about him, questions she should have asked. Now she would never know about his grandmother or what his hopes for his future were. While the classroom quieted, she pulled her spelling book from her piles of texts and laid it on top of her desk. It was eight o’clock, but she hadn’t heard a train’s whistle yet this morning. Had she missed it, or did that mean Ian was only blocks away, still waiting?
Miss Lambert called the twelfth-grade spelling class to the front of the room, so there would be no more wondering. Fiona tucked her book in the crook of her arm, smiled at Scarlet and followed her down the aisle. She passed the frosty windows. Snow was still falling with fury. Watch over Ian, Lord, she prayed. Please touch him with Your grace and make his road easier.
She thought of the man who had offered her a place to go should she need it. Gratitude, stubborn and tender, crept into her eyes, blurring her vision. She followed Scarlet across the front of the classroom toward the teacher’s desk, and she still thought of him.
“I’ll be sure and send the telegraph right away for you, Mr. McPherson.” The man behind the depot’s counter gave an efficient nod as he gathered the coins and the note. “Word is the train is slow, but she’s comin’. Just not sure when. If you wander through town, keep an ear out for the whistle.”
“Thanks.” Ian tipped his hat, pocketed his change and grabbed his cane. His leg hadn’t taken kindly to the bitter-cold mile’s walk, and while he had thawed out hours ago the healed break in his thigh bone was still putting up a protest.
He ought to be itchy to start the long journey home, but his feet were dragging as he cut across the train station’s small waiting room. A crowd gathered around a red-hot potbellied stove, but he wasn’t in the mood to sit with a dozen strangers and make small talk. He shouldered open the door, bowed his head against the drum of snow and headed across the street.
Was it luck or Providence that the storm was slowing? Either way, he didn’t know, but as sure as it was a December day, there was the steeple of a church a few blocks away and beyond that the bell tower of the schoolhouse.
Fiona. Warmth, unbidden and unwanted, curled around him. He could picture her bending studiously over her schoolbooks with her dark curls framing her flawless face and a little furrow of concentration right above the bridge of her nose. She had been haunting him all morning. Did he get on that train when it came? If he did, what might happen to Fiona? Should he stay behind? And if he did so, what would it cost him and his grandmother? Nana was his only family, surely his responsibility was to her.
That had to be the correct thing to do, he reasoned, trudging through the ruts of ice and snow in the street. But it didn’t feel right. He wiped snow from his face with his free hand, squinting against the twirling snow. The shadowed steps were hard to spot covered in white, and trickier to climb up once he was there. The school bell chimed one long merry toll to announce the noon hour. Children’s shouts and squeals of freedom rose above the street noise and the dying note of the bell.
Don’t think of her, man, he ordered. But his rebellious thoughts went straight to her, wondering if she was with friends, talking intently the way girls did over her pail lunch. Hard not to imagine dark ringlets tumbling down to frame her face and her blueberry eyes flashing with laughter. His heart cracked a little as he hiked down the snowy boardwalk. Hard to say exactly why, because she was not his to care about.
It felt as if she was. He paused in front of a boardinghouse’s window. The day’s menu was written o
n a blackboard. Roasted chicken and dumplings looked mighty good, and his stomach rumbled as if it thought so, too. But the sharp note of a train’s whistle pierced the falling snow, drawing him away from the window. Looked like God had interceded. It was time to head home.
O’Rourke didn’t mind a bit that his poker buddy, the town’s sheriff, was paying for his whiskey. His funds were lower than they had been in that long hard stretch before he’d married Maeve. The money from her father’s farm, which he’d sold as soon as he’d married her, was long gone, and his plans for McPherson’s son to take Johnny’s place in the family had come to naught.
“I’ve got a set amount due the bank or I lose my land.” He knocked back the tumbler and waited for the first swallow to burn the back of his throat. “I can’t take less than six hundred. Sorry, Dobbs.”
“You sure you want to go through with this?” The sheriff, old friend that he was, wasn’t the judging type. He tipped back his hat, frowning in thought. “I could get you more, but it’ll take a bit. I’ll telegraph a few buddies of mine.”
“I only got till month’s end. Eighteen days.”
“Well, that changes things.”
Just his luck. O’Rourke drained the glass and banged it onto the scarred wooden bar, thirsty for more. Hard to think in all this noise. One of the dancing girls was tickling the ivories of the warped piano in the corner, and the out-of-tune rendition of “Oh! Susanna” was hard to recognize. Folks in the saloon talked above the music. When a fight broke out at one of the poker tables, he banged his tumbler on the bar to get the barkeep’s attention. If Dobbs couldn’t help him, then he was going to need much more than another drink.
“I wish you had come to me sooner, Owen.” Dobbs rubbed his beard, still mulling things over.
“You can’t help me.” Should have known. Luck had been against him at every turn. An O’Rourke shouldn’t have to be worrying about living out of the back of a wagon in the dark days of winter. Time was the O’Rourke name put fear into folks. When he was a kid in Lochtaw Springs, no one dared look at him crossways. It was a good thing his daddy wasn’t alive to see how the family’s outlook had changed. “I’ve got the horses and the girl. That’s all I got, unless I want to hire Maeve out to work in someone’s kitchen.”