by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
The shots Clara had heard had come from Daniel, fired as a warning. Unbeknownst to her, Daniel had additional men waiting on the town side of the bridge, ready to come to his rescue.
“So between the men in the cave and the men on the carriage and the men with me, we outnumbered them two to one. It wasn’t even a fair battle.” Daniel grinned. “I like those kinds of odds.”
“And this afternoon?” Clara took a bite of pumpkin pie, and a bit of whipped cream landed at the side of her lip. She licked it off, and Daniel’s tongue thickened too much for him to speak.
“I’m going to show you where we hid the money.” Lewis picked at his pie. “What’s left of it, that is.” His shoulders collapsed in on themselves, like a piece of paper folded in half.
Act like a man, Daniel chided him silently.
Lewis unfolded his shoulders and put his hands palms down on the table, his eyes fixing Daniel to his seat. “I will make what restitution I can. I’ll work for the rest. If anyone will hire me, that is, after what I’ve done.”
Daniel looked to Clara. Would she offer to make up the difference? Tears glinted behind her glasses, but she didn’t speak.
“I’m sure the judge will take your cooperation into consideration when it comes to sentencing.”
A single tear escaped Clara’s left eye and slid down her cheek. He longed to reach out with his hand and brush it away, but he held himself back.
“Sentencing?” Confusion clouded Clara’s face. “But you didn’t arrest him.”
Daniel looked around, not wanting the slightest whisper of this conversation to reach Fannie’s ears. But before he spoke, Lewis answered. “He told me I was under arrest when I went to him this morning. I don’t have to stay in jail, however, as long as I show up at court on time.”
Clara turned her mourning dove eyes on Daniel. “You took a big risk.”
Uncomfortable with her appreciation, he shrugged. “I figured it was worth taking a chance on someone who came forward like that.” He took the last bite of pie. “Are we ready to go?”
The horses worked their way through dense trees to a spot far southeast of town, not far from Whitson’s farm. Branches tore at Clara’s face and dress, making her wish she still wore the britches. She only hoped all the rents could be repaired.
Whatever tears the brambles created in her clothing could be more easily repaired than the rents to her heart. Her worst fears about Lewis’s involvement had been confirmed, yet transformed somehow by his offer to help Daniel. Why hadn’t either one of them told her?
“It’s there.” Lewis pointed to a gigantic oak that must have been standing before Columbus discovered America. As they approached, she could see the tree was dying from rot from the inside out, dry limbs caught in the lace of the upper branches, the roots pulling loose from the earth.
Daniel dismounted and helped her down before grabbing the shovel from the back of his horse. He handed the tool to Lewis. “Dig.”
Instead, Lewis dropped to the ground and pushed aside a pile of damp leaves sitting between two of the biggest roots. The ground he exposed had been recently disturbed. With a few shovelfuls of dirt, the edge of a burlap sack emerged. She held her breath.
He tugged out two bags and set them on the ground before digging deeper with the shovel. This time he exposed a canvas sack almost sunshine bright in its newness. He dug all the dirt around it and then used both arms to lift it out. Clara guessed that bag held the gold coins.
After he placed all three sacks at Daniel’s feet like a penitent’s offering, Lewis took a step back and crossed his arms behind him. Trying to present an unthreatening appearance, she supposed.
“Is that it?” Daniel asked.
Lewis nodded. “We spent a chunk of the bills on that weekend drunk. When we grabbed the gold coins, we realized we couldn’t spend it without drawing attention to ourselves, so we decided to each take a little but to leave most of it here and decide how to divide it later.” A pale pink dusted his cheeks.
Daniel muttered something that sounded like “honor among thieves.”
“I can’t be sure, but I don’t think anyone has disturbed it since we buried it.”
When Daniel opened the burlap sacks, paper money and coins spilled out. Neat stacks of ones and fives, tens and twenties were banded together. He thumbed through them, counting swiftly. “Missing about fifty dollars from what Simeon told me.”
“That sounds about right.” Lewis pointed to his feet, encased in a new pair of Congress boots. “Want my boots? I bought them with some of that money.”
Daniel growled, and Clara moved to her brother’s side. She put her hand on his shoulder, a small, comforting gesture like their mother used to offer. “And the gold coins?”
“The bag is plenty heavy. But I’ll have to wait until we get back to town to count it out and verify the amounts.” Daniel let a few coins slip through his fingers. “Recovering this means a lot. I’m pretty sure Simeon will speak on your behalf to the judge.”
“Restitution. It’s the right thing to do, and doesn’t the Bible say something about paying back more than what you took?” Lewis grimaced. “I guess the court will determine how much.”
Daniel hefted the three bags with his single arm as if they weighed no more than a straw tick and secured them in his saddlebags. “Let’s go, then.” Instead of returning the way they had come, he moved forward. “I’m pretty sure we’re close to Whitson’s farm from here. I want to check on how Baruch is faring.” He paused. “And make sure Mr. Whitson has heard about the twins.”
Clara doubted their welcome, but she mounted her horse. After a moment’s hesitation, Lewis joined them. They let the silence of the forest envelop them.
“The house is just through those trees.” Lewis nodded and trotted his horse straight ahead.
A shot rang out, and Lewis screamed.
Daniel burst through the trees in two seconds. Lewis lay on the ground, blood streaming from his shoulder.
“Stay away from me and mine.” Old Whitson waited on the porch, his feet spread far apart, rifle held against his shoulder.
“Mr. Whitson, it’s me, Daniel Tuttle, the constable.” His hand wanted to reach for the comfort of his pistol, but he resisted. He took a step forward.
“Don’t move.” Whitson shook his rifle. “You Tuttles have always been trouble. Now you’ve got my boys in jail.”
Daniel didn’t think Whitson would appreciate a reminder that his sons had robbed the bank and brought it on themselves. He stayed still. “I’m right sorry about that.”
Whitson snorted.
Daniel moved a step closer. He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eyes. “How is Baruch faring?” He dipped his chin, and Baruch moved into place behind his father.
With a single movement, Baruch removed the rifle from his father’s grasp. “I’m doing much better; thanks for asking.” His expression didn’t offer much more welcome than his father’s had, but he took in the heavy saddle bags on the back of Daniel’s horse. “So it’s true. My brothers robbed the bank.”
Daniel felt movement behind him. Lewis had pulled himself to his feet and took his place at his side. “They did, with some help. Including mine.”
“So you caught the shot.” Whitson glared at Lewis. “Too bad I just winged you.”
“I’ll be all right.”
The four men faced off, none of them willing to move, claims and counterclaims roiling through the air. Again Daniel sensed movement, and Clara slipped past him to stand between the opposing sides.
“Mr. Whitson.” Looking as harmless as a dove on her nest, Clara smiled as if this was an ordinary social call. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed having Libby in my class this week. She told such wonderful stories of how your family fought in the War for Independence.” She waved her hands as if indicating the strands of the story and moved forward. “And now your son Baruch has proved just as brave. Something more to add to the lore of Maple Notch.”
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Some of the vinegar went out of Whitson’s face. “That’s true. She’s a real cracker. And I’ve always been proud of Baruch.”
Clara had defused a sour situation by the simple expedient of reminding Whitson of two children who gave him cause for pride. She’d make a fine teacher—no doubt about it—or even a politician. Daniel’s lips curled at the thought. She’d argue that women should be able to hold public office, if they wanted to.
“I reckon I’d like Libby to go to that fancy school of yours, if you ever get it started.”
“And I’d be honored to have her.” Clara closed the distance between them and shook his hand, as grimy and smelly as he must be.
With a sister like that, Lewis was bound to turn things around. She wouldn’t give him any choice.
When Clara cocked her head in his direction, Daniel felt the full force of her smile. Now that he had nabbed the robbers, he would let her know she had no choice, none at all, when it came to a husband.
Epilogue
After Christmas, when winter held Maple Notch in its grasp, most people stayed at home if they had a choice, but not Clara. Too much had happened since the raid on St. Albans for her to take the time off. The robbers had been taken to Hyde Park to await trial. Lewis remained free, although he would stand trial with the others. His lawyer held hopes that he would receive a reduced sentence for his role in capturing the gang and returning the money. Lewis wasn’t asking for any special treatment. He said he had disobeyed the law of God and the law of the land and deserved punishment. Those words alone made Clara want to weep. Aside from those tears, she was happier than she had been for a long time.
Between Lewis’s problems and Christmas festivities, Clara had to rush to prepare the Bailey Mansion for the first class of the Maple Notch Seminary for Females. Two of the older girls from the local school would join two boarders sent her way by her mentor, Miss Featherton, on the first of February. Daniel had proved easy to work with. His suggestions for her plans proved sensible in most cases; she’d had to argue her point on a few others.
Daniel. He was the main reason she couldn’t stop smiling and didn’t feel the cold, even when snow fell like it did today. Since the confrontation at Whitson’s farm, he had spent every spare minute with her. She told herself it was only because they had to conclude the business about the house, nothing more.
Her traitorous heart didn’t always agree, however, reminding her of the time he had kissed the top of her head, or the tender way he looked at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice as they explored his grandparents’ house.
“You’re looking fine.”
At the sound of Lewis’s deep voice, Clara whirled around, causing her skirt to swish in a wide circle. She had fashioned two new dresses with wider skirts, still avoiding the ridiculous hoops. They swirled in unexpected directions when she turned abruptly, but oh, they made her feel so feminine.
“Don’t forget these.” He reached for the ermine muff he had given her for Christmas. “They’re perfect with your coat.” He removed the red cloak from the coat tree and draped it over her shoulders. “Have fun today.”
Someone knocked, and Lewis opened the door to Daniel. Fashionable ladies might make him wait, but not Clara. She saw the sleigh on the road in front of her house, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. What could be better than a sleigh ride in the twilight of a winter snowfall with a man—especially this man?
“I take it you are ready.” Daniel bowed deeply. The dark-blue overcoat looked magnificent on his manly figure. He went bareheaded, and his ears looked red.
“Your head,” Clara said. “You’ll catch cold.”
“I have a hat on the sleigh. But I don’t care for knitted caps.” He shook his head, and some of his hair fell over his ears. “That’s why God gave us hair, after all.”
They said good-bye to Lewis. Clara slipped as she minced her way across the icy expanse of her yard, but Daniel held her tight, a solid, sturdy man. No one he cared for would ever come to harm.
He helped her into her seat and tucked a blanket around her. “And here’s a warming brick for your feet.” He put something warm underneath her boots. A moment later, he joined her on the sleigh.
A matched pair of white horses, almost as white as the falling snow, pulled the sleigh, and the bells on their harness jingled as they trotted down the road. The runners glided over the icy surface that had proved so hazardous to her feet. They skimmed down the road as easily as a duck swimming in water. The snow lent an air of newness to everything around them.
They reached the town green in a matter of minutes. Pastor Beaton came out of the church. “Beautiful day for a sleigh ride, isn’t it?”
Daniel saluted him without answering. His ears had turned so red Clara feared they might suffer frostbite. She wiggled her left hand out of her muff and reached for the nearest ear, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.
Daniel jerked. “Watch out! That tickles!”
She laughed. “Then wear your hat.” Without waiting for his answer, she took the knitted cap she found on the seat and pulled it over the crown of his head until it covered his ears.
He took them around the common twice, each turn of the sleigh causing her to slide a little closer to him. The third time around, he headed the horses down Bridge Road. “I helped Hiram roll snow across the bridge yesterday.” He wiggled his eyebrows, which snow crystals had turned to a hoary white. “I’m warning you, I’ll take off my hat as soon as we stop.”
She laughed. “Why are we stopping on the bridge?” It is called The Courting Bridge. Did she dare hope?
He turned his gaze on her, something unreadable in his eyes. “You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, the bridge came into view. The falling snow had turned it into a winter fairytale, a place wondrous enough for the Eskimos she’d read about in faraway Alaska. She wished she could capture the bright red walls, the white snow mounded on the roof like a European castle, in paint.
Daniel slowed the horses, and they plodded onto the bridge. They call them kissing bridges, because if you drive the team slow enough, a fellow can kiss a girl twice before you get across. That bit of folklore jumped into Clara’s mind, and she felt her cheeks heat, probably turning as red as Daniel’s ears.
But Daniel made no move to kiss her and, in fact, let the horses come to a complete standstill in the middle of the bridge. “Remember where we are?” White teeth showed between his dark mustache and beard, grown over the winter months. He tugged the hat off his head.
She resisted the obvious—Tuttle Bridge—and looked around her. To her left, a few feet from where Daniel held the reins to the horses, she saw a scarred wooden plank. Her heartbeat sped.
He seemed to sense the moment she recognized the spot, jumping down before helping her out of the sleigh. He clasped one of her hands in his and walked with her to the plank. Once there, he let go of her hand to pull a knife from his pocket. “I think it’s time we add our own bit to Maple Notch history.” He nodded at the plank. “If you’re willing?”
One look in his eyes told her that her traitorous heart had guessed right, after all. “As long as we do it together.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing it any other way. How about—right there?” He found a blank spot to the right of his parents’ initials.
She placed her right hand over his larger one and felt him draw the knife down in a solid stroke, the left side of the D. A T soon followed, then the plus sign. He lifted his hand away and placed the knife in her palm. “Do you want to finish?”
Now his hand covered hers as her fingers drew the uncertain curve of the C and then an F into the wood. She closed the knife but didn’t move. Instead she leaned back into the breadth of Daniel’s chest.
“Clara.” His voice caressed her name. “After the war, I never thought God would have a woman for me.”
She shifted, wanting to turn, to look him in the face, but he held her firmly in place.
“But then I m
et you again. I ran into you everywhere I turned, it seemed. It didn’t take long for this stubborn fool to realize I loved you more than anything in life, except for my Lord and Savior.” His shoulders shook, but his voice held firm. “I’m not much of a catch. I’m missing half an arm, and I don’t know if I want to be constable of Maple Notch for all my life or where else God might lead me. But there is no one who will love you more. Tell me, Clara, are you willing to join your life with mine as we have joined our initials?”
This time when she turned in his arms, he didn’t stop her. She brought her hand to where it rested on the stump of Daniel’s left elbow. “This”—she increased the pressure ever so slightly—”makes no difference to me. You are more of a man than anyone else I know. As long as you don’t mind an old maid who wears glasses.”
“I hope her students—and her daughters—grow up to be just like her.” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Is that a yes?”
She looked into his hazel eyes, fiery now with need and desire. Daniel freed her hair from its hairnet, running his fingers through the long tresses. “I love you, Clara Farley.” He shouted it at the top of his lungs.
“Oh, Daniel.” She traced her finger over his beard. “I love you, too.”
Their lips joined in a kiss sweet enough to last a lifetime.
MICHAELA’S CHOICE
by Lisa Harris
Dedication
To my son, Gabriel.
I thank God for you daily and for the blessing you are to our family.
May you always find refuge in Him.
Prologue
Outskirts of Boston, winter 1881
Michaela Macintosh woke to her own screams. The terror of that night had returned, bathing her in a pool of sweat. It was the same dream she’d had since the night of the fire. The house appeared, and she found herself standing in Leah’s bedroom with flames licking at her flesh. In slow motion, Michaela tried desperately to reach out through the horror surrounding her to find her husband and daughter. The muddled screams had grown louder until she finally awoke, realizing the frantic cries were her own.