“Life with you is never dull, that much I know.”
She walked so close to him that her shoulder pressed against his. “I loved my painting. I hung it in my room and look at it every day.”
“I’d hoped you’d like it.” They neared the church. “It’s only three thirty. We’ve still got time before the wedding.”
She looked past the church toward the hill. “Do we have time to walk on our hill?”
“I think we do.”
They made their way to the top in comfortable silence. Hazel no longer cared about snow on her hem or her hair. They were together, and that was all that mattered. At the top they looked out at the serene landscape, admiring their favorite view blanketed under a quilt of snow.
“I’ve walked up here a few times since you’ve been gone, but I like it better with you by my side.” In his tentative way, he studied her. “I have so many things I want to say, but I don’t know how or if you—”
“Open this. It’s for you.” Hazel straightened her shoulders and held out her gift. She gnawed on her lip while she waited, eager and nervous for his reaction.
He took it and shook it. “What is it?”
“Open it before I change my mind.” She wavered between fear and readiness. “Hurry.”
He shot her one quizzical look before he untied the string and pulled the paper away. Not a second later he was laughing, and Hazel felt her face flush and her heart skip a beat.
“It’s a red ear of corn,” he said, staring down at it, making it difficult for her to gauge his reaction.
“You found it,” she said, giving him a sideways glance. “You have to use it. It’s tradition.”
He let the corn fall to the ground, put his hands on her waist, and, with gentle pressure, pulled her toward him. Her arms went around his shoulders and her hands found their way to the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s one of my favorite traditions, but I can’t kiss you without your permission,” he said near her ear. His breath tickled her skin. “Tell me I can and I will. Give me permission to be more than your friend.”
She looked up at his handsome, freshly shaven face, stopping when their eyes met and she could feel the pleading in his gaze. “Kiss me. Not because it’s tradition but because you want to, and then hold me because I’ve been aching for it since you rescued me,” she whispered in a barely audible voice. “You have my permission.”
He bent his head, and their lips met for the first time. A brush of his lips on hers, enough to make her long for more. He must have felt the same desire, because he kissed her again, more slowly this time. It was gentle and sweet and everything she’d never felt from a kiss before. “That one wasn’t because of tradition.” He kept his face near hers and said, “It was because I love you.”
“It’s all so hard to believe.”
He smiled like a child on Christmas who woke to find their dreams fulfilled. “I do love you. I love the way you light up a room when you enter it. I love the sound of your laughter and the way your smile is a little crooked and screams of mischief. I love that you bite your fingernails when you’re nervous and hum when you clean. I love that you have red hair and a fiery disposition to match it. I love that you pepper me with questions and make me think about things in a new way. I love that you think my paintings are beautiful and that you play the flute.”
She inhaled quickly. His touch, his words, and the look of love in his eyes. It was all too good to be true, and yet it was. He was real. This perfect moment was real.
“We both know I’m not good with words. And even if I were, there would be no way for me to say what is in my heart. But I hope you believe me when I say I love you. I love everything about you. When I thought I might lose you . . .” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “I was so afraid, because a world without you would be incomplete. I love you, Hazel.”
She wiped at a second tear that slid down his smooth cheek. “I love everything you say. I’ll never tire of listening to you.”
“It is my wish to tell you daily how much I care. How much I love and adore you.” He kissed her again. Slower and longer this time. The quiet man, growing bolder with each touch. “Hazel, will you marry me? Be my wife. That first day I was wrong. I do not want to remain unattached. I want nothing more than to be linked with you always.”
“I remember you saying you needed a wife who played the flute and had red hair.” Smiling up at him, she asked, “But are you sure you can handle a wife like me?”
“You are the only one for me.”
“What about my past?” She looked away. It was a question she had to ask. An answer she had to hear. “Doesn’t it change things? My reckless youth. A tragic marriage and a history of incarceration all come with me.”
He put a hand under her chin and tilted her head toward him. “Your past led you to me. I love the woman you are today and who you’ll be tomorrow. That woman is born from who you were yesterday. I want it all.” He kissed her again, his lips meeting hers, confirming his love. “I want to marry you. Say yes.”
“My answer is yes! I love you, Gil.” She rested her head against his chest and listened to the gentle thumping of his heart. Each beat filled her heart with warmth and joy so sweet she felt ready to burst. “I’ll love you forever.”
Discussion Questions
Hazel’s past at the reformatory makes finding a job difficult. Was she wrong to give Gilbert a false name? Do you think he would have hired her if she’d told the truth?
Gilbert has led a solitary life for several years prior to meeting Hazel. Once they meet, his former life loses its appeal. Have you ever had a person or incident change the way you look at life?
Ina is often judged because of her outward appearance. Why was Duncan able to see her beauty when so many others could not?
Hazel realizes she has to tell Gilbert the truth about her past. Have you ever had to divulge a secret, knowing the consequences could be significant?
Gilbert is willing to help Hazel set her past right. Why is he willing to help even when there is no solid proof of her innocence?
Eddie’s return presents a challenge for Hazel and causes her to feel unworthy of being with someone like Gilbert. Have your past and present ever collided in an uncomfortable way?
Hazel is able to read Nathaniel’s old journals and find some peace through his words. If you could go back and talk to someone who has died, who would it be? How could it affect your life now?
Forgiveness for others and for oneself is a theme throughout the second half of this book. Have you ever struggled to forgive yourself?
Gilbert worries that Hazel will want to stay in Buffalo once her name is cleared. Was he right to leave her and let her make up her own mind?
Hazel suffered injustice and false accusations. In the end, did her circumstances work together for her good?
CHAPTER
ONE
BLACKWELL, IOWA, 1880
The small band on her ring finger glistened in the sunlight as Norah King walked the family land she had nearly lost. This land, her father had said before he died, was their legacy. It was the backdrop of their story—their wrestle and toil—and their love.
She lifted her hand in front of her and sighed. She’d told Jake she didn’t need a ring, but he wouldn’t have it any other way, claiming that his bride would be up on all the latest fashions. In two weeks’ time, she would be married, and the thought made her heart beat unevenly. But there was no turning back, no other way. He’d come courting the very week the banker had threatened to call in her loan. Jake had come to rescue her, and she would be thankful.
“Norah Granger,” she said. It sounded strange to her ears, but with time, she assured herself, it would become who she was. Jake wasn’t the romantic suitor she’d pictured marrying, but now, at twenty-two years old and short on money, she was willing to let her former idealistic notions go. Jake was an able-bodied man, and though older than she was, he was willing to rescue her in her time of need—that counted fo
r something. That was enough, was it not?
Norah stopped walking when she reached the creek that ran through her land and couldn’t help but smile when she heard its familiar burbling. A bench her father had gifted her on her tenth birthday beckoned her to sit and enjoy a moment’s respite.
The gentle rolling of the creek mesmerized her as it had always done, soothing the restlessness inside her. She removed her boots and stockings and gathered her skirts in her hands. Jake had agreed to live on this land when they married. Her family deed would soon be in his name, but this creek and this bench would always be hers.
Her spine stiffened. Jake wouldn’t care that she found the water delightful and that she sloshed around in it, would he?
She laughed. What a ridiculous fear. Jake farmed. Surely he appreciated and enjoyed the land and water. He wouldn’t fault her for wanting to cool her feet in the summer heat. Besides, she would work long hours to make up for any time lost. Shirking was not in her nature—she’d show him that.
She waded deeper into the water, letting the delicious freshness lap against her calves, and for one blissful moment she had no worries. Gone were her money troubles, her marriage fears, and her loneliness—washed away with the current.
Two vultures circling not far off caught her eye. Around and around they went, swooping lower with each loop, readying, no doubt, to land by some poor creature that had lost its life to the elements. Their circling motions interrupted her calm. Her heart beat faster and worry crept in, causing her to drop her skirts and run toward the birds and what they had found.
She rushed from the creek quick as a fox from the henhouse. Adrenaline pushed her to action despite her fears. Her hogs and cattle were profit animals. She couldn’t lose them. Her finances were already precarious. Her land was prime, that was true, but there was a loan that came with it. Evidence of the year she’d struggled to farm on her own while wading through the unfamiliar waters of grief.
Her bare feet and wet hem tried to slow her advance on the circling birds, but she refused to be hindered. She pushed hard and fast, her feet crying out when they landed on a rock, but still she pressed on, unwilling to slow her pace. Her focus jumped from the yellow plants around her to the carnivores above her. What did they see?
To her right her small herd of cattle grazed, unaffected by the birds above them. Nothing seemed amiss, so she slowed her pace. Perhaps she had been too rash with her worry. Clinging to that thought, she nearly laughed. Her nerves had her frantic, but all was well.
Norah raised a hand to her brow, blocking the sun, and sighed as she admired her endless fields dancing to the rhythm of the wind. Ignoring the birds above, she turned back toward the creek and her abandoned shoes. Two steps were all she took before stopping again. A patch of crushed wheat and . . . a trail of red. Her fear returned. Something was hurt—or dead. She forced her breath to come slow and quiet as she followed the path of blood. Her hands shook, and she forced them into fists. This was her farm. Until Jake moved onto it, she had to take care of the animals and keep them safe from predators.
The amount of blood increased as she went on. She braced herself to see a mauled animal, a sight she was certain would turn her stomach. The trail veered left, so she veered with it and then she froze.
A head. Full of matted hair. It was . . .
Her skin tingled. A man? She didn’t understand. She had feared a cow or a hog but had never once imagined the birds were circling above a man. Inhaling deeply and letting her breath out slowly, she forced herself to stay present despite wanting to run and hide and pretend the wretched image away. This man, whoever he was, needed her. There was no one else.
“Sir?”
He didn’t move. Norah clung to her meager courage and knelt beside him. Her hand trembled as she reached toward him, only to pull back and clutch her hand to her chest. Death was not new to her. The cows and the hogs and, of course, the chickens all were butchered, but suddenly an image of her parents overpowered her. Her mother’s sallow, sickly face before illness took her, and her father, bloodied and broken after he’d fallen from his favorite horse. She pressed her eyes closed and searched for the strength and fortitude she wanted to believe she possessed—that she needed to possess in this moment.
“Are you alive?” She forced her still-weak hand to the man’s chest and held her breath, focusing on him. A slight rise and fall.
“You’re alive!” She let the air out of her chest, instantly relieved and less afraid.
His dark, shaggy hair lay matted against his scalp, and his face was badly swollen from bruises that gave him an allover purple hue. His nose appeared badly broken. It did not take much imagination to believe that the rest of his body was equally battered. It was difficult to know what this man would look like if he were in good health. He could be anyone. Perhaps he was even someone she’d seen before. Questions swirled in her mind, but she couldn’t dawdle and dwell on them, not when his heart beat so weakly.
The vultures and hot afternoon sun were worrisome, as were his injuries. His survival, she feared, teetered on her ability to care for him. Norah stood on her bare feet and looked around, desperate for a solution. She feared leaving him, afraid the birds would grow daring enough to land and add their own injuries. If she could rouse him, maybe he could limp beside her back to the house. With uncharacteristic boldness, she lifted his arm, put it over her shoulder, and tried to pry him from the ground. He groaned, then fell limp again.
Certain she could not carry him all the way to the house, she grabbed a rock from the ground and threw it toward the birds.
“Go away!” she shouted. They mocked her and continued their circling.
She could do little about the birds, other than hurry, but she could be of some help in protecting the man against the sun. She tore the wet hem of her skirt and pressed the damp fabric to his forehead.
“I’ll come back,” she said before running toward her house in a reckless sprint.
It took her longer than she wanted to get home, hitch a horse and a makeshift pallet, and get back to him. She kept her eye on the birds as she returned. Only one circled now. Was the other on the ground? Her stomach tightened and her hand went to the pistol in her bag. “Come on,” she urged the horse. “No lollygagging.”
He nickered his resistance but increased his pace.
“He’s just ahead,” she said to the horse. “Faster.”
Once she was close enough, the second bird came into view. Large and malicious, it stood near the injured stranger. She leapt from the horse, spread her arms wide, and growled at the large bird. It hopped a few feet back but didn’t fly away. Norah pointed her pistol at the bird, pulled the trigger back, and fired. She missed, but the sound of the shot sent the bird soaring high into the air. There was no time to gloat over her victory, so she shoved the gun back into the saddlebag and turned her attention to the desperate man.
“Let him live,” she whispered before once again placing her hand on the man’s chest. A steady thudding confirmed he was alive. His eyes popped open and his hand came up and grasped her own, making her recoil in fear.
“Water,” he said before his hand fell and his swollen eyes closed.
He said no more, but his words struck their mark. A fierce determination burned inside her. No matter their difference in size or the distance they had to cross, she would get this man water and aid him however possible.
Sweat ran down her forehead as she dragged his large and broken body to the pallet. Whenever she felt unequal to the task, she shouted again at the worthless birds and told them they couldn’t have him.
“Go find another meal,” she yelled when her muscles threatened to give up on her. She was strong thanks to years of plowing, hauling water, and chopping wood, but even with years of farm muscle on her small but sturdy frame, the task of moving this giant of a man was difficult.
“I’m taking him home. You can’t have him,” she shouted into the sky. She stood near the man’s head, put her han
ds under his shoulders, and pulled with all her might. Her muscles screamed in agony and her back ached, but she did not stop.
Only when the pallet, supporting the man, was secured behind the horse did she relax and acknowledge what a feat she’d accomplished. He was twice her size, if not more, and all muscle. She blushed and pushed the observation away. She certainly hadn’t saved his life yet, but she’d saved him from the birds and that alone brought a smile to her face.
“Getting you back to the house will be bumpy,” she said over her shoulder as she led the horse away from the field. “Once we’re there, I’ll clean you up and go for the doctor. You smell like a rotten carcass.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I shouldn’t say that. It’s terribly rude, even if it is true.”
Being mindful of his situation, she chose instead to fill the air with lighthearted conversation. And whenever she could, she glanced over her shoulder and tried to deduce what she could about the man.
“Where you from?” she asked, not truly expecting a response. “I’ve lived on this farm my whole life. If you were feeling better, you’d see how beautiful it is. The crops blow in the wind like a wave on the sea. I’ve never seen the sea, but I can imagine it. Can you?”
He, of course, did not answer, but she pretended he did. His large stature led her to believe he had a deep voice, so she imagined he told her about the hue of the ocean and the sound it made when it crashed against the shore.
“It must be beautiful,” she said while leading the horse around a rut. “But I don’t believe it’s more beautiful than King land.”
His lips did not part, and he spoke not a sound, leaving her to wonder if he even heard her chatter.
“We’re eight miles from town. Are you from our town? Or maybe you traveled from somewhere? Azure Springs or somewhere else to the east? I suppose you’ll tell me when you’re able.”
A Lady in Attendance Page 27