Farmer's Daughter Romance Collection : Five Historical Romances Homegrown in the American Heartland (9781630586164)

by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May

  “I got him!” Luke pointed at him. “Did you see that throw? I just aimed and thwunk, he didn’t know until ’twas too late!”

  While the lad all but danced with pride, Ewan crouched down and scooped up some snow of his own. Packing it into a round ball, he waited for the right moment before he let it fly. Whooosh-umph, his snowball soared toward the boy, only to be intercepted by another expertly thrown one. He scowled as both burst into harmless pieces and fell softly to the ground. Then he looked to see who’d interfered with the lad’s just desserts.

  “Rosalind?” He looked in disbelief to where his lass, bundled in a woolen cloak, calmly packed her next volley. “You’re firing at me?” Ewan put the shock of betrayal in his tone.

  “Now, Ewan, I did no such thing.” She neatly placed yet another snowball in the line before her. “I fired at your snowball. That’s an entirely different matter, you know.” The laughter in her voice made it hard not to smile in return.

  “Two against one is clear as day,” he growled. “This means war.” He began packing snow as quickly as he could scoop it up, his jacket bearing the wet stains attesting to his opponents’ ruthlessness. “Who fires on an unarmed man?” he roared, letting fly a few of his own shots. “Take that, and that, and—mmph!” A snowball hit him smack in the mouth before he’d truly begun.

  “Nice one, Rose!” Luke shrieked with merriment, laughing so hard he began to cough.

  “That’s enough, now.” Rosalind kicked apart her snowballs in a show of truce before walking over to her brother. “Let’s go in for a sip o’ cider, shall we?” She tugged his hat down.

  “Will you cry craven the moment your opponent is ready to do battle?” Ewan protested the abrupt ending. “Stand and fight, or”—he lobbed a set of snowballs, each finding one of the siblings across the way—“surrender!”

  “I said that’s enough.” The tightness in Rosalind’s tone took him by surprise. “If you want some cider, come inside wi’ us.” She shooed young Luke into the warmth of the house and marched in behind him, leaving Ewan standing alone.

  What? I’ve never thought o’ Rosalind as fickle, but she abandoned the challenge quickly enough. Something hae set her back up, and ’tis best I find out what afore I make another misstep. Surely a reason lies behind her change of heart.

  He resolutely made his way to the still-open door of the house. There’s a good sign, at least. Ewan stomped the snow from his boots before venturing into the MacLean home.

  Arthur raised a hand in greeting, Mrs. MacLean poured cider into mugs, and Luke, seated beside the roaring fire, coughed after sending some of his drink down the wrong way. Ewan noticed that Rosalind hadn’t taken off her warm cloak.

  “Ewan, would you walk me to the barn?” She laid a small, gloved hand on his arm. “I’ve yet to check on the livestock.”

  “O’ course.” Ewan led her out the door, walking with her in silence on the short trek to the barn. He waited.

  “I wanted to apologize for being so curt.” She stood before him, her hands worrying the fabric of her skirts. “ ’Twas rude and uncalled for. ’Twill not happen again, Ewan, I promise.”

  “I thought that last snowball must have hit harder than I intended. Don’t worry that I took offense at it, Rosalind.”

  “Aye. But in the future”—she looked up at him, big blue eyes earnest and pleading—“when I say ’tis time to go inside, I will ask that you not question it. The cold weather makes it all too easy to catch chill, and we’ve no doctor hereabouts.”

  “ ’Tis wise of you to take care, Rosalind. I hadn’t thought of the lack of doctors out here, and the last thing I would want is for you to catch ill.” He could scarcely stand to speak of the possibility. “As soon as you say the word, I’ll take you back inside. You’ve my word on it, and that’s all you need.”

  “Thank you.” She looked as though she wanted to say more but paused before adding, “Trust is a foundation to build on.”

  “Aye, Rosalind.” He covered her shoulder with his hand. “And I’m aiming to build something to last a lifetime.”

  “Hae we enough snow to build a man?” Luke peered through the frost-covered window after the second snowstorm days later.

  “There will be,” Rosalind judged. “For now, we wait for the storm to end and the sun to come out and soften it for us.” And warm the frigid air enough so you can play awhile wi’out gasping for breath and coughing. Even then, ’twill be a small snowman. All too soon you’ll be spending your days and nights near the warmth of the fire. Best to enjoy the outdoors for now.

  “This time I want to make a great big one.” Luke stretched a hand above his head. “With Ewan to help, we can do it this year. Last time ’twas a sad and puny man we made, to be sure.”

  “Last year’s snowman was my favorite,” Grandmam spoke up as she rocked back and forth. “Reminded me of you when you were that small. ’Twould be better to build two of those than one great big man. Everyone tries t’ build the same old thing.”

  “Oh.” Luke frowned as he thought it over. “Maybe we’ll try to make a small one and a big one, so they’re friends.”

  “As long as the small one comes first, for Grandmam.” Rosalind gave her a conspiratorial smile. They both knew Luke would only be able to make a small one, and should he start after his larger goal, would protest leaving it unfinished.

  “Aye,” Luke agreed generously, “for our grandmam.” He hopped up and went over to press a kiss on her wrinkled cheek.

  Rosalind smiled and continued knitting the scarf she planned for Ewan. He doesn’t hae one, and though he says nothing, I see that the cold bothers him just as it does Da. Fire is their element, and ice doesna agree wi’ blacksmiths.

  In my worry o’er Luke, I was harsh wi’ Ewan. He doesn’t know of Luke’s weakness, though he’ll find out afore too long. For now, Luke lights up at the way Ewan treats him—like any regular lad. So long as it poses no risk, we’ll let it be.

  Her fingers stiff, Rosalind put away her knitting and went over to the trunk where the family Bible was kept. Kneeling, she drew it out, feeling cracks in the worn leather cover. She opened it to the first pages, full of family records.

  Tears pricked her eyes at the names of Cade Banning and James MacLean. Her grandda and her baby brother were the most recent in a chain of loss stretching back over decades. She ran her fingers over the ink.

  Gone but not forgotten. How long will it be until Grandmam’s name joins that of her husband’s? And how many harsh winters will Luke weather? Ten? Twenty? Will he marry and have wee ones of his own? I pray ’tis so.

  Her gaze came to rest on the marriage register. It was Da’s Bible, and so did not bear the date of Rosalind’s grandparents’ wedding. She traced the names of her parents—Arthur MacLean and Kaitlin Banning. Will mine and Ewan be the next names written and kept here for our children to read someday?

  She turned the fine, brittle pages to the chapter she sought—Ecclesiastes 3—and read to herself. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.”

  Life and death, side by side in the family records, and placed together in scripture, as well. Joy tempered with sorrow; a balance struck between the two.

  Lord, all things are to come in Your time. As the seasons change, so, too, do we. This winter seems the most important season I’ve ever faced. Please help me grow into the woman You’d hae me be and, if ’tis Your plan, the woman Ewan will love. Come spring, a new beginning will bloom all around—I’ll say honestly that I hope for a piece of that wellspring in my own life.

  Rosalind carefully closed the Bible and placed it in the trunk once more. She looked up to see Da watching her, a question in his gaze. Ma unfolded extra quilts to place on the beds—the hearth wouldn’t stave off cold when darkness fell.

  I’ve not seen Ewan in two days. Only two days into a storm, and it seems as though he�
�s been gone from me for weeks. He’s snowed in, same as we are. Only Da goes outside, using the guideline to the barn.

  Grandmam’s house—and Ewan—sat much too far away to string a guideline. It was part of the reason she’d moved. With no way of knowing when the storm would end, Rosalind couldn’t even look forward to a day she’d see him again. Marlene endured a distance much greater but with certain knowledge to help her bide her time.

  It seems almost a worse torture to know Ewan is so close, but that I can’t reach him. Rosalind took up her knitting once more. Does he regret the decision we made? Is he wishing he had gone on wi’ the railroad—wi’ Johnny for companionship and work to hasten the long hours? My Ewan works hard day in and day out—how can he stand being cooped up in four walls, all alone, wi’ so little to keep him occupied?

  Rosalind looked to the blocked window and couldn’t help but wonder, Is he thinking of me while I think of him?

  Chapter 14

  Ewan shoved back the curtain without much hope of seeing anything but the wall of white that had stood between him and Rosalind for days on end. Was it wishful thinking or could he see the faint yellow glow of sunlight through the thinning snow? Yes…yes. The blizzard has passed, and the sun is beginning its work. Soon I’ll see my Rosalind again.

  Ewan stoked the fire and put on some coffee before starting the porridge.

  Lord, ’tis by Your grace I had the time to prepare for the winter ahead. Weeks ago, I’d worried ’twas too soon to ask Rosalind whether I should stay through the winter. Now I see ’twas Your timing, ensuring I could chop enough wood to last the cold of the winter.

  I’d wondered whether ’twould drive me half mad, being trapped within four walls wi’ no work to do and no one wi’ whom to speak or pass the time. I was wrong to doubt the wisdom of Your will.

  For too long I’ve worked, focusing on what needed to be done, falling onto my pallet at night wi’ only the time to thank You for seeing me through the day and giving me a livelihood. I traveled across this new world, at first in search of my father, then in search of solace from my failure. Yet in all that searching, I lost my true focus.

  Now I’ve taken time to seek You as I hae not in too many years. I don’t deserve the grace of Your love nor the joy I find in Rosalind, but I treasure both. In the barren sleep of winter, a new beginning stirs to life. I aim to not lose sight of that, Lord.

  Whistling, Ewan added a pinch of brown sugar to his porridge. He poured a mug full of the strong, steaming coffee, leaving it black. When he pushed away from the table, his glance fell on the just-finished project in the corner.

  “More evidence of Your timing, Lord. Those snowshoes will come in handy soon,” Ewan determined aloud. He opened the door of the house to a blockage of thick snow, scooped some into the pot he’d used to make the oatmeal, and cleaned it. He filled it with icy white once more before shutting the door and returning to the hearth.

  While the water heated, Ewan dug out his razor and strop. With sharpened blade, small mirror, and warmed water, he set to. The raspy scrape of the razor, punctuated by an occasional swish in the water, filled the still house. Ewan ran a hand over his now-smooth jaw and nodded at his reflection. Now I’m ready to see Rosalind.

  The strong, bitter scent of his coffee had him reaching for the mug again. He drained it in one long swallow. He looked around the cabin, checking off items. Morning devotions done, bed made, breakfast eaten, pot cleaned, face shaven, snowshoes finished.

  He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. I wonder… He peered through the curtains again. Maybe. He grabbed the poker from the hearth and swung the door open again, giving the wall of ice an experimental prod. Since the door wasn’t on the same side of the house as the window, the wall of snow here might be thicker. Hmm. No snow rumbled forward to fill the gap. He cautiously worked the poker farther and farther until his arm was thrust into the snow at the top of the door. Finally, there was no resistance. The snow, already thawing, piled only a few feet outside the door!

  Ewan withdrew and shut the door, warming his half-frozen arm by the fire before donning his jacket, hat, and worn mittens. With the aid of the poker, he broke a sizeable opening through the snowbank and watched as the top portion collapsed down. Ewan kicked through it, smiling at the sight of the snowy hill nearby that must be Rosalind’s home.

  With the fire banked and his snowshoes tightly strapped to his boots, Ewan made his way. It was slow going, putting one foot before the other, cautiously testing the firm pack of snow before transferring his weight. Finally, he stood before the mound, seeing a corner of the roof poking out of the snowy whiteness.

  Will it seem odd that I didn’t wait a wee while longer for the snow to clear on its lonesome? Ewan’s gloved hands clenched. No matter. Everyone will be as eager as I am to taste some fresh air. He dug into the snow, pushing it aside until he reached the wall. It fell more deeply here—’tis far thicker. Ewan tapped on the unearthed windowpane, waited, and tapped again before the curtains drew back.

  Luke pressed his nose to the windowpane and squinted through the frost. Ewan rubbed the pane clear of ice as Luke disappeared.

  Rosalind’s eyes widened when she saw him, and Ewan grinned. She pressed one small, bare hand against the glass, and he swiftly pressed his thickly gloved one over it on his side.

  “I’ll hae you out in a minute!” he yelled, knowing she understood him when she nodded and drew her hand back. He pushed the snow aside feverishly, packing it down in front of the door before giving a mighty knock.

  “Ewan!” Rosalind swung the door open, the heated blast of air from within matching the warmth of her gaze. “You’re soaking!” She pulled him inside.

  Rosalind curled her fingers into the sopping fabric of his coat sleeve, pulling him close.

  “ ’Twould hae melted soon enough,” she chided, tugging the coat from his broad shoulders. She laid it out by the fire and held out her hand for his dripping gloves. She twisted them as dry as she could before turning back. Rosalind found his green eyes watching her with a love that brought a warmth to her heart. He’d not said a word, just let her cluck over him like a fussy hen.

  He raised a brow and held out one large hand in a silent invitation. She put her hand in his and stood close, reaching up to cup his clean-shaven cheek. He shaved for me, just as he broke through the snow for me.

  “I couldn’t wait another day.” Ewan’s deep rumble washed over her as he smoothed his free hand over her hair, his fingertips playing with the end of her braid.

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” She returned his gaze until something new—chagrin?—flickered on his face. For the first time since she’d seen him at the window, Rosalind realized her entire family, from Grandmam all the way down to young Luke, was watching. She glanced at Da. She drew back the hand that cupped Ewan’s strong jaw, missing the contact immediately.

  “Don’t just stand there.” Grandmam shook her head, but all could see the smile on her face. “Sit down so Luke can help you with those snowshoes.”

  “I’ll warm some mulled cider.” Mam busied herself at the hearth as everyone sprang into motion.

  “Good to see you, Ewan.” Da spoke solemnly, but Rosalind heard the humor behind it. He put out his pipe.

  “Ewan?” Luke flopped down at his feet, untying the snowshoes. “Will you help me make a snowman? A grand big one?” He held his hand high over his head.

  Rosalind cleared her throat.

  “Oh.” Luke seemed properly chastened. “Two, then. A bitty one for Grandmam first, and then the grand big one?” His voice rose with anxious hope.

  “Luke!” Rosalind intervened. “Ewan broke through the snow o’er his place and ours and only just sat before the fire!”

  “Indeed,” Mam added. “His things are wet with melted ice.”

  “I know.” Luke seemed to shrink into himself, his thin voice tugging at Rosalind’s heart. “I thought that so long as he was already snowy, ’twould be a good time, you see.” He stacked th
e snowshoes carefully by the hearth. “ ’Twasn’t my intent to be rude.”

  “Nor were you, lad.” Ewan’s smile robbed the room of any chill of discomfort. “Sound planning, to my way o’ thinking. Now, if you can convince your bonny sister to lend a hand, I’d say this is as good a time as any.” He shot Rosalind a quick wink.

  “Rose?” Luke’s shining eyes pled for her assent, and she couldn’t withhold it.

  “Aye, then. Let’s both pile on our winter clothes.” Rosalind frowned at Ewan’s sodden coat and gloves.

  “I’ve an old coat o’ your da’s in a trunk hereabouts.” Mam moved some embroidered pillowcases off the top of the chest. “Should do a sight better than that mess. Ah, there.” She shook out the old garment. “We don’t want you catching a chill, Mr. Gailbraith.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacLean.” Ewan accepted the coat and turned to Grandmam. “Now, Mrs. Banning, what’s all this about a tiny snowman?”

  “I’m of the opinion that snowmen should come in different sizes”—Grandmam eyed Ewan as he held Rosalind’s winter cloak for her—“just as folks do. The small ones are most often more loveable.”

  “Aye.” Ewan put his hands on Rosalind’s shoulders, emphasizing the disparity between their heights. “ ’Tis right you are.”

  “I disagree.” Rosalind turned, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Da is a big bear o’ a man—same as you.”

  “And a more loveable fellow I’ve yet to meet.” Mam walked over to Da and smiled up at him.

  “Ready!” Luke’s proclamation broke the tender moment as he led Rosalind and Ewan outdoors.

  “Ooh.” The chill wind made Rosalind shiver before she joined her brother. Together, they packed a base for the smaller snowman while Ewan began work on the larger.

  Da and Mam came out to join them. “We thought we’d lend a hand.”

  “Ah.” Mam took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air. “So nice to be outside again. And we have you to thank for that, Mr. Gailbraith.”