by Linda Ford
Any more than she could acknowledge.
She cast about for something to otherwise occupy her thoughts, and spied the pieces of wood laid out. “You want them outside?”
He stepped back. “It will be less stifling outside, don’t you think?”
“Certainly.” Though it was her thoughts crowding her lungs, not the stale hot air of the barn interior. But more space would surely help her keep her wayward mind under control, and she scooped up a handful of pieces and went out to a grassy spot.
Linc followed, carrying more wood and a jigsaw. He studied the selection of wood, chose a piece and started to cut. Within a few minutes, he had fashioned the shape of a little girl. He handed it to Sally along with a sanding block. She settled on the ground and began work as Linc sawed another shape.
He paused to consider his progress. “I feel sorry for those kids in the orphanage. It’s bad enough losing one parent when you’re young. But to lose both and not have any family to take you in—” He ended on a shrug.
She shuddered. “I know. I can’t imagine not having family or a home. Though some do have family, but for one reason or another they can’t take in another child or two. One of the girls has an older brother who works on a nearby farm, but he isn’t old enough to make a home for them. Another has an old uncle.” She chuckled as she thought of the man.
Linc watched her, a bemused expression on his face. “The authorities wouldn’t let her live with him?”
She laughed again. “I don’t think most of them would care, but he’s a recluse. I don’t suppose he would welcome a little girl.” She held Linc’s steady gaze, her thoughts traveling along the road on their own journey while she stayed caught in the warmth and interest in his eyes. “Though now that I think about it, little Janie might be the best thing that could happen to her uncle. She’s a spirited young thing. I think she might force him out of his shell.”
“Maybe it could be arranged.”
“Maybe. But no one seems interested in confronting the recluse. Live and let live.”
“Sometimes a person has to be willing to change things.”
She tried to blink. Tried to tear her gaze from his. Tried and failed. It felt like he meant something more than Janie and her uncle.
He continued to speak softly. “Someone needs to tell this uncle that a little girl would benefit by having a real home. If he would welcome her, two people would benefit. Him and Janie.”
She continued to stare, seeing a man who wanted things to work out in a kindly fashion. Who cared about others. Perhaps identified with their situation because of the way his life had turned out—judged without cause, shut out unfairly.
“’Course, it takes courage to confront such matters. To admit that accepting things the way they are, without examining other options, is to miss out on something better.” He blinked. A shutter seemed to close over the view she’d had of his heart, and he resumed work on the piece of wood.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. Couldn’t even think what she should be doing. She shifted, saw the doll shape in her hands and resumed smoothing the edges. He meant something besides the little girl at the orphanage and all the children there. She suspected he meant something far closer to home, but she couldn’t…wouldn’t let herself think he meant her…them.
She worked in silence, but between them hung a constraint like a wooden wall. She didn’t like it and attacked it with words. “My sisters and I go to the orphanage on occasion. Sometimes we take cookies up to them. Or help with the garden. We play music for them or read to them. But this will be the first party we’ve done. It should be lots of fun. Not only for them but us, too.” She couldn’t seem to stem the rush of words. They poured from her mouth like a raging river. “I feel sorry for the children without parents, but they are a pretty happy lot and every time I visit I realize a person chooses how they will face life. Whether they’ll wallow in misery or enjoy the good things available to them.” The torrent stopped as fast as it started, and she bit her bottom lip. What had possessed her to rattle away like that?
Only one thing. Linc’s suggestion that courage was required to change things.
“It takes courage to accept things,” she murmured.
“True.” But he sounded sad at the thought.
She had nothing more to say on the subject, and they worked in blessed silence for a few minutes.
Linc held out another shape, this one of a boy. “What do you think?”
She studied it. It resembled a figure from a chain of paper cutouts. “With a face and clothes painted on, it will do nicely. Will it stand up?”
“I hope so.” He perched it on a slab of wood, and it balanced rather crookedly. He laughed. “Looks like he’s about to fall over.”
“Or being a boy, maybe he’s running after something.”
He slanted his attention toward her. “I like your version better.” His gaze was open to her.
Again she felt as if he opened his heart and soul and invited her to explore. My, but aren’t I getting fanciful? Wouldn’t Madge laugh at my silliness? She forced her attention back to her task.
And he to his. “I’ll check the level more carefully on the rest of these.”
The air shimmered between them, full of things she couldn’t explain. They caught at bits of her heart, pulling them taut as violin strings attached from some invisible source. All it required to start a melody was someone to caress the strings.
Why did the idea fill her with both dread and excitement?
Linc held out another doll figure and laughed. “I’m trying to think what my cowboy friends back at the ranch would say if they could see me now.”
She thought of several things they should say about him. Like he was thoughtful, caring, more concerned with what a child needed than what an acquaintance might say. Her lungs spasmed as she realized he had learned through harsh experience not to let what others said or thought change who he was. He could easily have become rebellious, angry. Instead, he grew patient, kind and perhaps even tolerant. “What would they say?”
He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, unaware he set the golden curls into a frenzied dance and left bits of sawdust behind.
“Most of them would jeer, but they’d also grab a saw and help me.”
“Sounds like they’re a good bunch.” She stared at the flecks in his hair.
He concentrated on sawing another shape. “Don’t misunderstand me. Some are scoundrels of the worst sort. Others are softies.” He favored her with a wide grin. “Though they’d likely threaten to beat me into submission if they heard me say so.”
Their gazes connected and clinched. She felt the sun on her shoulder, saw the way it slanted through his eyes, making it impossible for her to escape.
“You have a smudge on your cheek.” He brushed it away with a fingertip, sending little sparks through her veins to pool into a sunlit puddle in the bottom of her heart.
She swallowed hard, tried to control her heartbeat, which threatened to hit runaway speed. “You have sawdust in your hair.” Not giving herself time to consider her actions, she leaned closer and picked the flecks from his curls, surprised at the coarse texture of his hair. She was even more surprised by the way her heart thundered against her rib cage.
He caught her wrist and lowered her hand, resting it against his arm.
“Sally.”
Her name sounded so sweet and inviting on his lips that she was caught in a web of wanting, yearning, wishing, hoping—foolish impossible thoughts all tangled into one long ache.
“Sally.” His voice deepened, and he searched her gaze.
Linc held her hand against his arm. It was so small. The touch of her fingers on his head had started a stampede of emotions he feared would get out of control if she continued. He still couldn’t suck in air enough to relieve the pounding of his pulse.
Yes, he knew she had plans to marry Abe. Yes, he knew her mother didn’t approve o
f him. Why, if she knew how he felt about her precious, sweet daughter at this moment, she’d likely run him out of town on a rail.
He did not want Sally to marry Abe.
He fought for the return of reason. He could not offer her the things she wanted. Not here. Not with the judgment of local residents hanging over his head like a conviction. Maybe some other place....
He allowed himself to stroke the back of her hand. To explore the tender flesh of each fingertip before he released her and took up the saw again. “Sally.” Her name tripped over his tongue like honey fresh from the comb. “Have you ever considered living anywhere but here?”
She jerked as if shocked at his words. “Never. My family is here. My home is here.”
He nodded, slowly released her hand and returned to the task of sawing human shapes from scraps of wood. Her security was here. Her memories, too. Leaving and forging a life to the west obviously wasn’t an option.
He paused and considered slapping himself across the side of the head. As if she would consider going anywhere with him. He had nothing to offer her.
But his heart.
Not enough.
He forced his thoughts back to creating toys for the children. Soon he had a row of little wooden boys and girls and two larger figures to represent a mother and father. He bolted to his feet. “I think I better start on the dollhouse.”
He dragged out large pieces of wood, and a little later had a shell constructed. While he worked, Sally watched and continued to sand the little figures.
He stood back to study the house. “Now what?”
Sally stood beside him. “Rooms, I suppose. Maybe a window or two. Right here.”
She reached for the spot at the same time as Linc, and their arms brushed.
Such a jolt ran up his nerves, she might as well have plugged him into a light socket. But he didn’t jerk back. It was like their skin had been melded together by the heat. She turned her face to him, her eyes wide with shocked awareness.
He held his breath, wondering if she would acknowledge the emotions sparking in the air between them.
It seemed she had forgotten to breathe.
“Sally,” he whispered.
Pink stained her cheeks. She blinked. Moved away. Turned her attention back to the dollhouse. “We need a kitchen, a front room, some bedrooms.” She rattled on and on about what the dollhouse needed.
He jammed his hands into his pockets. Too bad she wouldn’t admit what she needed.
Trouble was, she had, but he didn’t like it because she didn’t need him.
For half a minute he considered abandoning this project in order to avoid her. But he knew he wouldn’t. Knew he would allow himself to savor every moment they shared.
Above all, he wanted to avoid thinking of the inevitability of it coming to an end. But it would, unless he did something. He jerked his hands from his pockets and turned to face Sally, grasping her shoulders in his palms, feeling her slenderness and wanting to pull her into his arms and protect her from every unhappiness. “Sally, I like being your friend. It means a lot to me.” He wasn’t saying what he felt and tried again. “But is it possible for us to be more?”
Her eyes flashed sunshine, and her lips parted.
He’d surprised her—that was plain. He wanted to say how much he cared, but he was afraid to lose what they had. If she refused even friendship…he couldn’t begin to think how he’d deal with it.
She ducked her head, hiding her expression. When she lifted her face again, he dropped his hands and stepped back. Even before she spoke, he knew her answer. “I like being your friend, too.” Her words were soft, pleading.
He nodded, understanding what she didn’t say. It was all she could offer.
Because he did not have the stability, the reputation, the security Abe had to offer, and she couldn’t accept anything else.
“Friends it is.” At the uncertainty in her eyes, he forced a gentle smile to his lips. “Friends who trust God to care for them.” Would she hear his words as a challenge to trust her future to the Good Lord rather than Abe? Please God, help her see this truth.
Until she did, Linc would never have the place in her heart he ached for.
Chapter Eleven
Sally pretended she didn’t know what Linc had suggested—something more than friendship—and succeeded in ignoring it until bedtime as she opened her Bible and prepared to read a chapter.
Overwhelming emotions tore at her heart, making it impossible to think.
Oh, Father. I miss you still. I suppose I always will.
She looked at the passage she was about to read, but the words blurred before her and she simply stared at the page, trying to sort out what she felt. Sorrow and sadness at her father’s absence. Confusion over her feelings for Linc.
Yes, she had feelings for him. As a friend?
Her conscience begged her to be honest. Did she care for him more than she should? As more than a friend?
She groaned. How could she? She wasn’t fickle, working for one man’s approval while enjoying offers from another man. Nor was she one to run after romance and adventure. It was too risky. And that’s what Linc signified. Not stability and security. Caring about him beyond friendship made her quiver with fear, made her want to run to the little corner in the loft and build walls of hay about her.
Oh, God, help me know the right way.
Blinking away the sting of tears, she focused on the Bible in her lap. The pages fluttered in a breeze coming through the window and stopped at a place where she hadn’t planned to read. The Psalms. She chose chapter sixty-eight, and at verse six read, “God setteth the solitary in families.” She need not read further. God had directed an answer to her confusion. Families for the solitary. This was a sign for her. She wasn’t totally alone, though she sometimes felt it. She belonged in a family, and Abe could offer her that.
Closing the Bible, she stared through the window. In the darkness a light flickered at Madge and Judd’s, bringing back a rush of memories of Linc and their time together. He was a good man, even though so few were prepared to believe it.
What he offered was frightening. Like flying. People weren’t made for flight. Flying was for the birds.
With determination she stuffed back every remnant of confusion. She would not falter in doing what was right for her.
The next morning she watched for Linc, wondering if he would be different after asking for more than friendship. He crossed the yard toward the barn, glanced at the house and saw her. A smile wreathed his face, and he waved.
She waved back, a weight of worry dropping from her heart. He seemed happy enough to continue being friends. She returned to her work. A few hours later, she realized she sang under her breath…one of the songs Linc so often belted out, as if his heart couldn’t contain his joy.
It wasn’t until Carol came home from school and they gathered for coffee that Sally and Linc had a chance to talk, though with the children present they could not speak of anything personal. She couldn’t say if she was more relieved or disappointed that it was so as she handed him coffee and offered cookies from a lard pail. Her heart twisted with apprehension. Would he somehow punish her for her decision?
He accepted the coffee, chose three cookies then looked up at her and smiled. “Thanks. I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon.”
Dare she think he meant more than cookies and coffee? Her smile curved her lips and filled her heart as she sat beside Carol and enjoyed a cookie.
But by evening, when it was time to go to Madge and Judd’s to work on toys, her doubts returned. Would he still be happy to see her?
He saw her crossing the field. “Hi, Sally.” He waved and jogged out to meet her.
Her heart took flight at the way his smile welcomed her. She should have known he wouldn’t let her decision affect their friendship.
“Grandmama found some bits of wallpaper she said we might like to use for the dollhouse. What do you think?” He held out a
bundle of rolled paper.
She unrolled it to see several different patterns. “This is perfect. Look, I can put this in the living room.” She indicated a swatch with big red cabbage roses. “This will be lovely in a bedroom.” The piece had tiny pink medallions on a pale green background. “Maybe there’s something for a boys’ room.” She flipped the pieces until she discovered a green foiled pattern. “What do you think of this?” She looked at Linc for his opinion.
His eyes were warm as fresh coffee. “I like it.” His gaze did not drop to the piece of wallpaper she meant, but held hers in an endless look that seemed to hold her close.
She could not tear her gaze away. Perhaps because she did not try, though it entered her mind she should do so.
Linc let out a deep sigh and turned away, leaving her dizzy. With relief, she explained to herself. Though it felt a lot more like disappointment.
“I got here early and cut out trucks and cars.” Together they walked to the hillside by the barn, where Linc had laid out the toys under construction.
They settled down to work. Sally, content to be here, sharing this project, thought Linc seemed equally at ease.
“Look.” He drew her attention to Madge’s cat, stalking a magpie. “He doesn’t stand a chance at catching that bird.”
“Macat is pretty determined. The bird harasses her constantly. She can’t cross the yard without the bird diving at her.”
“So it’s revenge she wants?” Linc parked himself beside Sally to watch the cat.
With a great deal of effort, Sally kept her emotions under control. No reason she should be so aware of how close he sat or how his arm brushed hers.
Macat inched forward. The magpie danced away, pulling a bit of meat with her.
“The bird has stolen her dinner. Poor Macat.” Why did her tongue feel so thick? Was it something she ate? She knew it wasn’t.
Macat pressed to the ground and didn’t move, but her gaze never left the bird who squawked as it pulled at the meat. Sally was about to give up waiting to see what would happen when Macat sprang. She leaped into the air even before the bird took flight and managed to catch the bird in her claws. But the magpie wasn’t about to be caught, and flapped his wings in Macat’s face. With a yowl of protest, Macat released the bird. The magpie flew to a nearby branch and scolded loudly as Macat stalked off.