by Regina Scott
Dottie inclined her head with a smile.
“And then there’s John,” James continued, tossing his rag into the air and catching it. “John is the one you turn to when everything is going wrong. He’ll listen, commiserate and stand beside you, whatever you determine to be the right course.”
He’d certainly done that with her. “And what is his dream?” Dottie asked. “What mark will John leave on the world?”
James frowned. “I don’t know.” He chuckled. “I’m afraid John is also the one most likely to be overlooked.”
How sad. If he really was the shoulder on which all his brothers leaned in times of trouble, he should not be ignored when times were good. On the other hand, had he so little faith in his future that he had never told his brothers about his dream of a library in the wilderness?
She chatted with James a while longer, then thanked him for his trouble and left the store. James’s position gave him insight into the farmers and other residents all around. If he didn’t know of any work besides helping his seamstress sister-in-law, Dottie wasn’t sanguine about her ability to find it.
But as she reached the main clearing again, she spotted two women bearing down on her. One had pale blond hair smoothed back from her face and an elegant figure; the other was shorter and more sturdily built, with flyaway black hair. Both seemed entirely too well dressed for the wilderness. The shorter woman’s fashionable puce gown quite put Dottie’s dress to shame.
What was more concerning was the wolf that appeared to be trotting along at the dark-haired woman’s side.
Dottie took a step back. The creature seemed to see that as an attempt to escape, which she supposed it was, and bounded toward her. She forced herself to stand still as it circled her, pink tongue lolling.
“Don’t be afraid,” the dark-haired woman said with a smile directed equally at Dottie and the animal. “My dog Fleet just wants to become better acquainted.”
A dog? Dottie glanced down to where Fleet had sat at the woman’s side. She had only read stories of wolves, had never seen one in person, but perhaps they didn’t have that black fur around their head and back. The markings made Fleet appear as if he was wearing a cape. Those bright eyes were entirely too canny, as if he could see inside her. Whatever he saw, however, appeared to make him smile.
“There now,” his mistress told him. “You’ve met our new friend. Go have some fun.”
He bolted off as if intent on finding more interesting company in the woods.
“We’d like to make friends as well,” the lighter-haired woman said. “Welcome to Wallin Landing. I’m Catherine, and this is Nora. We’re married to John’s brothers.”
Catherine—she was the nurse married to Drew, if Dottie remembered correctly. And Nora was Simon’s wife and the seamstress James had mentioned. Small wonder her gown was so beautifully done.
“Very pleased to meet you,” Dottie said. “Beth probably told you that I’m Dottie Tyrrell.”
Nora nodded, and Catherine smiled. “We won’t detain you for long. As it is, we had to enlist Simon’s aid to watch the little ones so Nora and I could come meet you. Rina, James’s wife, would have joined us, but she’s nursing a sore tooth.”
“So I heard,” Dottie told Catherine.
Nora beamed. “Oh, good. You’re already threaded onto the spool.”
Dottie blinked.
“Beth,” Catherine explained. “She hears all, sees all. If you have any questions, ask her.”
Dottie nodded. “Thank you. I certainly will.”
“When are you and John marrying?” Nora asked.
“Nora!” Catherine scolded before Dottie could answer.
Nora spread her hands. “I must know when the gown is needed.”
“John and I have no intention of marrying,” Dottie told her.
Nora frowned. “Why not? I always thought he was the nicest of the brothers, for all Simon was the one for me.”
Catherine was frowning as well. “I cannot conceive he would do anything to offend you, Mrs. Tyrrell. John is unrelentingly kind and considerate.”
“And determined to remain a bachelor,” Dottie said.
Catherine and Nora exchanged glances.
“Oh,” Nora said. “If that’s the only difficulty...”
Catherine nodded. “It won’t be a difficulty for long. His brothers all had reasons for refusing to wed, yet here they are, happily married.”
“It just took the right woman,” Nora agreed, her face turning dreamy for a moment. Then she cocked her head. “I wonder why John decided not to wed.”
So did Dottie.
“It doesn’t matter,” Catherine insisted. “With our help, John will shortly see that you are the right woman for him. Trust us, Mrs. Tyrrell. We only want what’s best for John, and from what Beth’s told us, you are the best. We won’t rest until you and John are married.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, John settled Rina’s chair back under her desk at the schoolhouse. The room had changed since he and his brothers had built it eight years ago. Then, the best they had been able to do was put in benches. Now each student had a desk and chair. Then, everyone wrote on slates. Now, besides the slates, they had paper, inkwells and quill pens. And how he would have loved growing up with a schoolteacher like Rina. Ma had done her best to instruct her children in reading, writing and ciphering, but most of what he knew he’d learned from his brothers or from the precious books he’d been able to buy or borrow.
“Will you come back tomorrow and read to us, Mr. Wallin?” Isaiah Blaycock, a local fisherman’s son, asked as he set the broom he’d been using back in its spot by the hearth. “I want to see how Mr. Crusoe makes it off the island.”
“It depends on how Mrs. Wallin is feeling,” John told him, joining him by the door. “But you could read the book yourself.”
The boy hung his head. “Pa doesn’t hold much with storybooks. He says money needs to go for clothes and food and such.”
“The Bible says man cannot live on bread alone,” John told him. “I’ll see if I can find a copy for you to borrow.”
Isaiah beamed at him. “That would be great, Mr. Wallin. Thanks.” Whistling, he hopped off the porch and scampered toward the south, where his father had taken over the old Rankin claim by the lake.
John shut the door behind him. That was why Wallin Landing needed a library. Most people in the area were just getting by. Any extra money went toward improving their claims. They didn’t have funds for art or music or books. Some had never had access to such things. And he couldn’t help feeling that their lives had been the poorer because of it.
He couldn’t do anything about the art or music, but when it came to books, he could share.
He met Nora and Catherine coming back across the clearing. Before he could even utter a greeting, Nora rushed up to him and wrapped her arms about his waist. He was used to his sister-in-law’s mercurial ways, but this seemed a bit much even for Nora.
“Thirty, maybe thirty-two,” she muttered, pulling back. “Probably fifty-two at the shoulders.”
“Nora?” John asked with a frown.
“How did school go today?” Catherine asked brightly, drawing his attention to her. “Did Danny and Ben behave for you?”
He wouldn’t have told tales on the local boys even if they had misbehaved. “Good as gold. Have you seen Rina? Can she return to duty tomorrow?”
“I’m on my way there now,” Catherine assured him. “I’ll send Harry back with the verdict when he gets off work. I’m sure he’d like an excuse to spend more time with Mrs. Tyrrell.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Nora asked.
They were both watching him.
John offered them a smile. “No need for matchmaking, ladies. I’m just helping Dottie while she gets set
tled.”
“Very kind of you,” Catherine said.
“Just what we would expect,” Nora agreed.
They were up to something. He could feel it. “We have no intention of marrying.”
Nora slapped her skirts. “That’s what she said!”
At least he could count on Dottie for support.
Catherine nodded. “Until we talked to her, of course. We told her the splendid sort of fellow you are.”
John’s heart sank. “The sort of fellow?”
“Yes,” Nora said. “You know. Kind, considerate.”
“Someone a lady can depend upon,” Catherine added.
“A friend,” Nora said.
John cringed.
“That’s exactly the sort of man women don’t want,” he told them. “If Dottie Tyrrell had any interest in having me court her, I guarantee she’s running for the hills right now.”
Chapter Eight
John’s family was certainly persistent. Dottie could not help but admire how they championed what they felt to be the best course of action for him. Catherine and Nora had sung his praises, as had James and Beth before them. But Dottie could not make herself believe he was so very perfect. Everyone had a flaw. What was his?
She had taken a moment to ask Nora about helping her sew. The seamstress had brightened. “Oh, do you like sewing?”
Not particularly, but it was something she could do while tending Peter. “I am competent,” Dottie had assured her. “You probably shouldn’t trust me with your most complicated commissions, but I can hem, sew on a button or add trim.”
Nora had promised to look at her work and bring Dottie something the next day.
It was a start, Dottie told herself as she retrieved Peter from Beth and returned to John’s house.
She thought he might come to his claim later that afternoon to check on the animals. She had gathered eggs that morning, with a wide-eyed Peter in her arms. Every time a chicken squawked, he had reared back in amazement.
That was one of the things she loved about her son. Everything in the world fascinated him, from his own fingers to a grass blowing in the breeze. She wished she could return to such an open acceptance. She remembered naming the lambs after flowers, climbing out her bedroom window to read in the branches of the oak that grew next to the farmhouse. Every character, every story, seemed to carve itself on her heart. After her betrayal by Frank, sometimes she feared her heart was forever hardened.
Still, she knew what was most important now—finding a permanent, safe, secure home for her and Peter. Living here in John’s house was only temporary.
When she heard a knock on the door as evening approached, she hastened to answer it, thinking it must be John. Instead, Harry Yeager stood on the porch. She pushed back the disappointment that threatened. She should make an attempt to get to know all the suitable bachelors in the area. If she couldn’t find work, she might well have to marry, however unappealing that sounded now that she’d escaped Cincinnati.
Mr. Yeager had seemed the most commanding of the men she’d met that morning, certainly the one most sure of himself. His thick brown hair was tousled from his day logging, and his flannel shirt gave testimony to how hard he’d worked. Still, that square-jawed face broke into a grin at the sight of her in the doorway, with Peter in her arms. He propped a booted foot up on the porch and gave them a nod.
“Mrs. Wallin wanted me to tell John the other Mrs. Wallin won’t be needing his services at the school tomorrow,” he said. “Is he about?”
For some reason, she didn’t like the idea of admitting she was alone. “He said he’d come by this afternoon. He may be in the barn.” Mindful of the cat not far behind her, she moved out onto the porch and shut the door.
Harry nodded again, but he took a step up onto the porch. “How are you settling in? Is there anything I can do to help?”
My, but they were the friendliest people at Wallin Landing. Peter didn’t seem to agree, for he hunched closer to her at the sound of Mr. Yeager’s voice so near.
“We’re fine,” she assured the logger, jiggling Peter up and down to cheer him.
Harry hooked his thumbs in the suspenders over his broad chest. “Cute little fellow.” He bent closer to smile at her son. “How are you doing, little man?”
Peter’s lower lip quivered, a sure sign a squall was coming.
Dottie lifted him in her arms so he looked over her shoulder at the house instead of at the logger. “Have you had much experience with children, Mr. Yeager? Brothers and sisters perhaps?”
He shook his head as he straightened, towering over her. “I was an only child. My parents died when I was a youth, and I struck out on my own.”
She knew a little about that. “What brought you to Wallin Landing?”
He chuckled. “I like to knock things down. It got me in trouble once or twice, but Mr. Wallin showed me how to make a good living from the habit.”
Knock things down? She had an image of Frank falling over after a strike from Harry’s meaty fists. But as much as the violence might feel warranted, she didn’t want to be the cause.
“And will you be content to continue knocking things down, Mr. Yeager?” she asked.
He shrugged, like a mountain under an earthquake. “I could be persuaded to try something else, for a good reason.”
He eyed her as if waiting for her to proclaim she could be that reason. She knew other young ladies might have flirted that way, batting their eyes and flattering his consequence. She had never felt comfortable doing that, and she couldn’t find the words now.
What was wrong with her? She’d wanted someone who could protect her and Peter. One look from this man would likely send Frank running. Yet everything in her recoiled from encouraging Harry.
“Hey, ho.”
The call and the familiar voice raised her head. John was strolling toward them across the field, some sort of chair hooked over one arm.
“Afternoon, Harry,” he said, stepping up onto the porch. “Work done so soon?”
Harry shrugged again. He had to outweigh John by nearly forty pounds of pure muscle, but their heads were on a level and something brighter seemed to shine from John’s green eyes.
“We finished the order of spars earlier than we expected,” Harry told him. “Mrs. Wallin asked me to come back and let you know that you won’t be needed at the schoolhouse tomorrow. I thought I’d check on Mrs. Tyrrell and little Peter while I was here.” He reached out and put a hand on Peter’s head.
Peter jerked back and wailed.
As Dottie rocked him to calm him, Harry stepped away. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” His face was white, his eyes wide in alarm.
John didn’t seem to be troubled by the sudden noise. “Babies can be tricky,” he commiserated, setting down the chair on the porch. “Some want to be cuddled close, others like the freedom to explore. May I?”
He held out his arms to Dottie. He wanted to hold Peter when her son was fussy? That sounded like a bad idea.
“Perhaps I better keep him,” she said. “He has a hard time with people he doesn’t know well.”
John’s arms did not fall. “Trust me.”
Well, that was entirely the problem, wasn’t it?
Harry’s look darted between them as Peter’s wails grew sharper. Next thing she knew, the logger would be offering to help, too. Perhaps both of them should see just how challenging a baby could be.
Dottie held out her son. “Very well, Mr. Wallin, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With a smile, John took Peter from her.
Peter twisted in his grip, trying to keep his gaze on Dottie, and she shoved out her arms, ready to grab him if he fell. But John didn’t drop the squirming bundle. Carefully repositioning his hands, he held the baby close t
o his chest, face out. John’s fingers rubbed Peter’s shoulder.
“There now,” he said, voice soft. “I’m thinking you just wanted to see more of the world.”
Peter gazed about him, sobs quieting. His hands and feet twitched as they often did when he was absorbed in something. His blue-gray gaze met Dottie’s, and he gurgled a happy greeting.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, John. No wonder all the ladies want you to tend their young’uns.”
Color tinged John’s cheeks, but his smile didn’t waver. “Nice to be considered trustworthy.”
Now Harry’s cheeks reddened. “I should see if Miss Beth needs any help with supper.” He inclined his head to Dottie. “Evening, Mrs. Tyrrell. If you need anyone to chop wood or move furniture, I’m your man. I may not know much about children, but I can still help around the house. And no one ever claimed my head was in the clouds.”
John’s look narrowed, but Harry strode back down the path toward the other claims.
Head in the clouds? Dottie glanced at John, who stood there so patiently while Peter looked his fill at the porch and lands beyond. Was that the flaw in this good man? Did he have trouble seeing the darker side of the world, keeping himself grounded in reality?
Would he be able to protect her if Frank came calling?
* * *
Peter wiggled in John’s arms, and he shifted the baby to look toward Harry’s retreating back. He shouldn’t have tried to show up the logger by proving how well he could get along with Dottie’s son, but finding Harry chatting so freely with Dottie made him feel as if someone had prodded his back with a flaming branch. And hearing him voice the complaint John’s family had leveled at him over the years hadn’t helped. Head in the clouds. Eyes on a book more likely. At least he thought about something more than when the cows had to be milked or which tree to chop down next.