“Miss Ross?”
The greeting welcomed with a hint of foreign accent. Jessica’s spine tensed straight to the defense. “Yes?”
The woman held out a pink, blue, and lace bundle. “For the baby.”
Jessica took the offering slowly, running a palm over the intricate designs of various infant gowns beautifully sewn. An expert seamstress.
“Thank you.” Jessica tried to place the woman with her porcelain complexion and delicate features.
“I cannot imagine finding yourself a mother so unexpectedly.”
German. The tenant living in her parents’ old home was German. Jessica sucked in a slow breath through her teeth and attempted to curb her internal disdain with a forced smile. Yet another detail her grandparents failed to divulge in their letters. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
The intelligence behind the woman’s expression shone with an understanding Jess wanted to ignore. “Anna Fischer.”
Jess offered a stiff hand to grasp Mrs. Fischer’s. The door to the cottage opened and a brown-eyed little girl appeared, her hair a lighter sheen but other features making a familial relationship between the two undeniable. Despite her annoyance, Jess softened at the sight of golden curls, violet ruffles, and a dimpled smile.
“This is Sylvie, my daughter.”
Jess looked from the woman to the girl and back to the clothes in her arms, attempting to hold to her resentment despite the disarming generosity before her. Forgiving the past? How could she forgive the past without somehow condoning all the atrocities of it? The injustices?
“I... appreciate your kindness.” Jessica turned her attention away from the smiling cherub and back to the woman’s face. The words faltered on her tongue but she swallowed the churning hatred. “Thank you.”
The young woman dipped her head in acceptance of the meager offering, and the tip in her smile hinted that she held a knowledge of Jess’ struggle. Somehow.
“Are you to go to the wake? To the house of your children’s mother?”
Jess blinked at the reference, still unfamiliar and somewhat terrifying. “Yes.”
She nodded and raised an index finger for Jess to wait. “One moment, please. I have something.”
She rushed back into the house and the little girl, swaying to a tune only she seemed to hear, danced forward on the rock path, her sweet smile pointed down to the bluebells at the path’s edge. The tension in Jessica’s frown loosed to the scene, so gentle and free. Oh, to protect such a world. Such an innocence.
Sylvie’s purple frock, simple in its design but exquisite in its embroidery, fluttered in the afternoon breeze until she stopped in front of Jessica, apparently suddenly aware of a pair of different shoes. She looked up, her large eyes a shocked shade of blue—dark, almost purple, haloed by the golden locks. Jess stared in pure fascination at such a heavenly sight. There was a glow, an intelligence, in her expression, and in a moment of such tenderness, the cherub bestowed a double-dimpled smile.
Jessica’s smile unhinged in response, slowly, as if rusty from disuse. She looked a year or two younger than Jude, maybe. Jess lowered herself to the ground and offered her hand. “Hello, Sylvie, my name is Miss Ross.”
The little girl’s attention dropped to Jessica’s mouth, focused and intense.
Her glittering gaze moved back to Jessica’s eyes and she took Jessica’s outstretched hand. “Sylvie Fischer.” The sounds materialized with an odd quality, blurred and tunnel-like.
Anna Fischer appeared at the doorway, a shirt in hand, watching the exchange.
“This is Jessica Ross, Sylvie.” Anna tossed the shirt over her shoulder and moved her hands in intricate ways as she talked. “She is Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s granddaughter. A nurse.”
Sylvie’s smile returned, compete with dimples, and she made a movement with her hands as she spoke. “Nice to meet you.”
Anna nodded to the girl and turned to Jessica. “Sylvie cannot hear. She lost her hearing during an illness two years ago when she was four.”
“What were you doing?” Jess waved toward her hands.
“I’ve spent the last two years trying to learn and teach Sylvie sign language, both with her German words and her English words.” Anna’s grin broadened. “Some are homemade signs, but she is very smart. She’s learned quickly and even attempts to keep talking as much as she can. She wants to talk. She knows it is how others can hear her.”
Jess tried to keep her distance, reminding herself of the grudge she nursed like life-breath, but the tenderness, loss, and love all pieced together by the vision before her crumbled her bitterness beneath a steady downpour of... hope. A terrifying hope. One shivering for freedom beneath all the open wounds of her heart.
“She’s beautiful.”
Anna’s pale gaze shot to Jessica’s face, her smile a little guarded but kind. “Yes. Both in heart and in body. She has been a great comfort and joy to me, as you will learn from your new children.”
Jessica’s breath hitched on the thought again, so new and strange. Her children. Which reminded her of her purpose in finding the disappearing Jude. “I must be going. Thank you for the clothes.”
“Yes, and please, deliver this to August? He will need it.”
Anna Fischer took the shirt from her shoulder and held it out to Jessica. A man’s shirt. The previous sweetness puttered into a sour aftertaste. Was this August’s sweetheart? Jess had heard of several German wives following their husbands to this remote town to be near the camp, maybe staying at Jane Gentry’s or Lance’s boarding houses. Many even enrolled their children in the local school.
But Anna Fischer didn’t have Reinhold as her last name so... what was August doing secretly visiting the young woman at the cottage? No, things didn’t look too pristine and perfect for Mr. Reinhold at the moment, and despite her desire to gloat a little at her prediction, a piece of her bent beneath disappointment.
Life at its basest. Disappointing. She should be used to it by now. Now, she had proof to place directly in August Reinhold’s handsome face.
“Of course.” She took the shirt and pressed on a smile. “Thank you for the gowns for the baby. Have a good day.”
Jess turned back to the trail but not before Sylvie waved a joyful good-bye and then proceeded to run to her mother with a bouquet of flowers. Jess focused ahead, but her heart stuttered into a softer rhythm. There was something inextricably tender and poignant about seeing that little girl harboring such unfettered joy in the face of difficulties—far from home in a strange new place, loss of hearing...
A gentle voice whispered over her musings. Peace I leave you. Hope I give to you.
The leaves overhead rustled in time with the voice, brushing a cool breeze like a caress over her warm face. A touch awakening a promise she used to believe. She pinched her eyes closed, pushing forward up the trail and gripping her cane tight as a bearing and a reminder of her loss. Her pain. All the ways hope failed.
But the breeze kissed her cheeks again, refusing to be ignored. Her mind fought a weary battle, a constant struggle between the visions of a war-torn battlefield, dying men, and unwanted affections. Her heart ached through each beat from fresh and old wounds, unhealed and deep. Peace? If only she could find such an elusive paradise. If only the joy little Sylvie knew within her quiet world somehow materialized in adulthood.
Heat stung her eyes, blurring the sun-splattered greenery around her. No. She couldn’t give in. Trust a vaporous promise. She forged ahead, blocking off her rebel thoughts and wavering on the edge of a nervous precipice between longing and running. But all she felt for certain was a constant fear of falling.
***
The sound of voices emerged through the wood before Eliza’s house came into view. Voices? Jessica strained her ears to pick up the various nuances of pitches and patterns. Women. Mountain women, with varied cadences but similar style. The hard edges of the Appalachian accent, thicker and more prevalent the further into the hollows and hedges one traveled, casc
aded down to her in the fluid tones of gossip.
Jessica sighed. Not all women were as careful and wise in their conversations as her grandmother, and from the passionate tenor of the voices lisping downwind, these probably weren’t the wisest.
“I heard the doves calling yesterday morn. Ain’t a good sign a’tall.”
“I’ll be surprised if the babe survives the week,” another voice responded, deepened with age.
Jess’ stomach roiled in revolt.
“And a full moon besides. I wouldn’t go naming the babe for a few months yet. Not with a start as she’s had.”
Jess crested the hill and came to an abrupt stop at the entrance into the swept yard. The ramshackle house stood even more forlorn-looking in the afternoon light than it had in the later shades of day. What must Jude have thought of her grandparents’ well-maintained home, with its secure walls without one hole in them?
She glanced the breadth of the yard and came to a stop at a sight below the house. Her cousin, Cliff, stood digging a hole, and his partner in the grisly act was none other than August Reinhold. Cliff stood above the gaping hole, while August shoveled from within. Jessica marched forward, ignoring the calls of the superstitious gaggle near the house, and closing in on the reason she’d come a bit early for the funeral.
August’s white shirt clung to his skin, damp from his hard work, and highlighted the strength of his shoulders and arms. Those same arms which had swept her up without one hitch and rushed her to her grandparents’ house in the storm. Strong. Capable.
Her throat went dry and she slowed her pace, uncertain now.
August looked up then, his pale blue gaze reaching across the space and igniting an inextricable pull... like the first time she’d seen him. A single golden lock spilled over his damp forehead and softened his sheer strength, beautiful raw manliness housed within such a gentle gaze. Who was this puzzling man?
Jude stepped from the forest, shovel in hand, and broke the unnatural link between Jess and the gentle German. Right. He’d stolen her... son. She should be throttling him instead of stargazing.
She strained a deep breath through her tightening throat, tipped her chin up for battle, and stepped forward in the fray. “The next time you decide to take off with Jude, I’d appreciate some notice.”
August’s eyes shot wide and he reached for Cliff’s hand to help him out of the grave. “It would be ungentlemanly to interrupt a lady’s sleep.”
“It’s worse by far to wake up and find a child missing.”
He gained his balance along the edge of the grave and placed a palm to his chest, his head lowered a little but his eyes looked up at her through a lush array of lashes. Jessica’s throat tightened all over again.
“I had permission from Mrs. Carter.”
Jessica stepped closer, lowering her voice so Jude couldn’t’ hear. “He shouldn’t be here, August.” His name slipped off her tongue without a hint of discomfort and both their eyes widened in response. “Um... Mr. Reinhold.” She ignored the warmth rising into her cheeks at the easy familiarity in which she’d addressed him. Ridiculous. “He’s not even eight years old. And digging his own mother’s grave?”
He stared back, unflinching, a quiet fighter. “He’s taking care of his mother till the end, as he wants to do. Do not despise it. This service will do him good, not harm.”
“Good? How can this”—she waved a hand from the grave to the house of mourners—“do him good?”
His gaze gentled. “You know, as well as I, the blessing in personally saying goodbye. Yet...” His gaze faltered, deepened with hidden wounds. “I know the long ache of an unspoken Auf Wiedersehen.”
Her anger waned, and she almost placed a comforting hand to his arm to abate the grief wrinkling his brow. Yes, she’d nursed her mother to her dying breath. Dressed her body for the funeral and watched as her father, brother, and Cliff dug the grave. The goodbye was excruciating but softened by the opportunity to serve and... love her mother to the end. Even in the final breath. She knew, felt keenly the blessing of closure, of giving as her mother had always given.
A kindred wound tightened some invisible bond to him—a man whose very blood pumped with the same as the villains she’d known. Even now, she knew he made clandestine visits to Mrs. Fischer, despite his gentle flirting with Jessica. She fisted the cloth of her skirt to keep her fingers away from him.
He was as false as the man who attacked her. “It’s a difficult burden for someone so young.”
August nodded. “Yes, but let the boy complete the care he began the day his father left. It will do his heart good.”
“Leave poor August alone and tell your cousin hello.”
Jessica rolled her eyes toward Cliff Carter and sighed. “Hello, Cliff.”
Her stance slackened a little in the face of her cousin’s lopsided grin. She’d missed him. He provided the other side of healthy banter in their childhood, since her brother David gentled every good argument with his peaceful demeanor. It was infuriating. Sometimes, a woman just needed a healthy argument.
Cliff rarely failed to provide one.
“I’d hug you, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want all this stink on your nice yellow dress, especially with the funeral in a few minutes and all.”
She followed the gesture of Cliff’s chin and saw Reverend Russell appearing through the grove of trees, his hat firmly on his head and Bible in hand.
“I suppose I’ll have to forego that stinky pleasure for now.”
“Don’t tease too much, little cousin. You’re standing right between two hard-working men who could turn you into a stinky sandwich any minute.”
A laugh waited to erupt in her throat. A true laugh. One she hadn’t indulged in... years? Her smile tremored from the effort to keep her control. “Tempting, but I have an aversion to crowded and stinky spaces since coming back from Europe. Besides, I’m a meat and potatoes type girl, so you can keep your sandwich-loving self on the other side of that ditch.”
August’s broad laugh pulled her attention back to him. It sounded so free and pleasant, her smile unfurled completely before she could catch it. To cover her immediate discomfort at her clear loss of control, she pushed the clean, white shirt into his chest. “Mrs. Fischer asked me to deliver this to you for the funeral.”
His face didn’t mirror one glimmer of shame. Not a hint.
“I suppose you must be very close to the single woman to privately visit her and have her mend your shirts?”
August’s gaze met hers and his smile even tipped in complete rebellion to the embarrassment he should display. “Very close.”
Jess’ breath hitched and the lightning connection lit afresh between them. She nearly growled against it. For such a man!
“Mrs. Painter warmed up some water for us to wash off a bit before the service.” Cliff broke into the tension and pointed to a basin and cloth sitting atop a stump. “It looks like we ought to get fit for it, August. Preacher’s ready, and Carl’s boys just entered the house with the coffin. It shouldn’t take long for the gaggle to get Eliza’s body fit for burying.”
August started to unbutton his dirty shirt. Jess turned her back, heat climbing up her neck at the very idea. “It seems your Mrs. Fischer takes very good care of you.”
He chuckled. Chuckled. Cliff stood in front of her, making a vain attempt to cover his smile with his hand, and he shrugged out of his shirt to reveal his undershirt.
“What are you snickering at, Cliff Carter?”
“His sister takes very good care of him.”
“Sister?” Jess turned to needle the truth out of August, only to find him bent over the basin, his back bare and his sinewy muscles tightening and flexing as he poured water over his skin. Jess ought to turn around, but neither her eyes nor her feet cooperated. Instead, she kept staring like a child gaping over the candy varieties on the shelves at Kimp’s store.
For heaven’s sake! She acted like she’d never seen a bare-chested man before. She’d
sutured and completed surgery on plenty, but this man? Somehow, despite her perfectly manicured indifference to the schoolgirl-ish wiles of romance, she fell completely entangled in its surprising hold.
He looked up, patting his face with the towel, and caught her in her humiliating bewilderment. His grin tilted up at one side and made a slow slide to the other, beguiling and twisting every one of her stomach muscles into a knot.
She cleared her throat and spun back around, steadying her breaths. Her cousin’s humorous expression pestered a deeper annoyance, but she readily ignored it and focused on the little boy she’d come to rescue from the German’s evil clutches.
He stood nearby, staring down into the massive hole he’d helped dig. His mother’s final resting place. The heat of her anger died on her cheeks and her heart nearly broke at the sight. Such a small boy. Such a big burden. “Jude?”
He blinked from his stare and looked up, sun-drops of freckles sprinkled over his small nose. She hadn’t noticed those yesterday, but their presence made him appear even younger. More vulnerable. She stepped closer to him, taking his little shoulder into her hand. “Do you have a fresh shirt you can wear?”
He nodded, his chin stiffening with his task. “One more, but these is the only trousers I got with no holes.”
The strings around Jess’ heart tightened to the aching spot. She bent to his height and gave him her most encouraging smile. “Those’ll do just fine. Could you go find that shirt in the house and change so you’ll be ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He ran the short distance to the house, the tattered bottoms of his trousers encouraging Jess to task as soon as she returned home. She couldn’t do as many domestic things as her brilliant grandmother, but she could sew.
August moved beside her and her treacherous gaze took in his broad shoulders as if the fresh shirt didn’t exist. She fought every flicker of heat entering her face and stared back at him, determined to control this ridiculous attraction. “Sister, is she?”
“Perhaps, Jessica Ross”—his voice smoothed over the words as he leaned a little too close for comfort—“I am a very different person than you suspect?”
The Thorn Healer Page 10