She could only hope and pray her words would help him move forward in his life.
Three times she sprang to the window when she heard a rider or a wagon in the street. Was it the stagecoach? But it never was. At the same time, it didn’t appear to be anyone looking for a woman and children. At least, she assumed so when the rider left the store with a bundle of supplies.
How long before Petey returned? “How long, oh, God, how long?”
Blue chuckled. “Are you complaining against God?”
She turned with a sheepish grin. “You weren’t supposed to hear me.”
“Then you shouldn’t say it out loud.” He trailed his finger over her chin.
Likely he meant it to be teasing, but his touch danced through her like pretty little butterflies alighting on every nerve ending.
Without conscious thought, she turned her face against his finger.
And then the touch ended, and he stood before her, his hands jammed into his pockets, his eyes dark as dusk.
Reaching inside to some secret store of strength, she smiled, hoping her lips did not tremble and give away her reaction. “I’ll try to remember in the future to keep my thoughts silent.”
“Don’t bother for my sake.” Was his voice husky, or was she only imagining it?
He turned suddenly and returned to the sawhorse, where he set to work. She likewise returned to her task.
That afternoon, they put together four more pews. The girls insisted they line them up as they would for a church service.
“It looks nice,” Eleanor said. “When are you going to have a real church here?”
Blue leaned back on his heels. “Well, let’s see. Once we’re through making the pews, these all have to be finished to preserve the wood. Then the walls at the back have to be done. And I suppose we need a pulpit. Oh, wait.” He seemed rather surprised at whatever he’d thought. “I suppose we need a preacher, too.”
Libby looked him up and down with a great deal of interest.
Clara held her breath, wondering what the child had in her head.
“Why couldn’t you be the preacher?” Libby asked him. “You’re a nice man, and you saved my life.”
He stared at her; then he blinked and opened his mouth, but merely shut it again. “Libby, that’s a very kind thought, but it takes more than that to be a preacher.”
“What?”
“Well, I suppose you have to go to school and learn lots about the Bible. You have to have lots and lots of faith in God, and it has to be your job.”
“Oh.” Libby’s shoulders sagged.
Eleanor stood before Blue and commanded his attention. “I wish you could be the preacher. Then I’d want to go to church every day.”
Clara felt sorry for him. Her girls could be very direct and very opinionated. And, no, despite Blue’s insinuations, they didn’t take after their mother. More like their grandfather. She only hoped and prayed she could direct their strong beliefs into a more charitable attitude than her father’s went. Most of all, she would teach them to believe in their strength.
Blue again looked as if he had no idea how to respond to Eleanor. Then a slow, teasing smile brightened his face. “Every day? Really? I think you’d get plenty tired of that especially if I dragged the service on for three or four hours.”
Eleanor looked shocked. “Would you do that?”
Blue knelt to her eye level. He smiled gently and cupped his hand over the back of her head. “No, Miss Big Eyes. Because I’m not a preacher.”
Libby went to her sister’s side. “He’s a cowboy, not a preacher. Right, Mr. Blue?”
He cupped his other hand over the back of Libby’s head. “That’s right, little one.”
Libby grinned, pleased at her observation and likely just as pleased at Blue’s attention.
Clara hurried to a window that gave her a view of town. She’d heard no wagon or horse, but she needed to get away from the scene of Blue with her daughters. It hurt too much to think of all they missed. They’d never had a father who showed interest in them, let alone affection. Her own father had treated them with about the same regard he gave to the dog that lived with the gardener. Blue alone had shown them affection and it was only temporary.
Sometimes it was hard to trust that God knew best, but like she’d said to Blue, anything other than trust didn’t make sense. So she’d take these days—however long they’d last—as a gift. God’s way of teaching her girls that not all men saw them as useless.
That evening, as she tucked the girls into bed, she again reminded them they weren’t staying there.
“But why not?” Libby demanded.
“Does Grandfather know we’re here?” Eleanor asked, her face wrinkled with worry.
Clara considered how to respond. She didn’t want to make the girls afraid of their grandfather, but perhaps they shouldn’t trust him wholeheartedly, either.
“Will he steal us from you?” Libby’s lips quivered, and her eyes glistened with tears.
Clara contained her shock and surprise and answered calmly. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“Mary said her father heard Grandfather saying that. Isn’t that why we left without saying goodbye?”
It shocked her clear to the core that they’d known, or at least suspected, all the time that her fear was more than Father forcing them to go back. “Girls, I intend to keep you with me. That’s why we can’t stay here.”
Libby nodded.
Eleanor did not. “Then where are we going?”
“I think it’s best if no one knows. Not even you.”
Eleanor persisted. “I heard you talking to the stagecoach man.”
Clara had tried to be discreet but perhaps hadn’t succeeded as well as she hoped. “Whatever you heard, pretend you didn’t.”
Eleanor flopped back on the bedding. “I suppose we will run forever.”
“Of course not.”
“If we can’t stay here, I don’t care where we go.” Eleanor turned her back to Clara.
“I don’t know why you don’t like Mr. Blue.” Libby’s look accused Clara of having something wrong with her. Then she, too, turned away from Clara.
Clara sighed. What was the point in explaining to them that she liked Blue just fine? He had many admirable qualities. A quiet strength, a tenderness with the girls that made her eyes sting, a depth of emotion that she longed to explore further.
Liking him or not wasn’t the problem. So what was? The answers were clear.
First, the only way she was safe here was with Blue as her protector. She didn’t want a protector. What was the point in trading one man’s control for another, even if, in the trade, she found a man who didn’t use his control unkindly?
There was an even bigger reason she couldn’t stay. Blue wasn’t prepared to step into the future.
The next morning, she again reminded the girls to keep in mind they would only be there a few more days.
Eleanor and Libby nodded but refused to meet her eyes.
She told herself she must do what was best for all of them.
As she joined Blue in the church to work, she settled her mind into the measuring, cutting and many details of the work.
There was little need to talk as they knew what each needed to do next and neither of them seemed inclined to make conversation. The girls played quietly in one corner.
She let the pleasure of holding and shaping the wood calm her.
“Mama?”
She looked up to find Eleanor and Libby standing at her elbows.
The expectant looks in their eyes made her wary. “Yes?”
“We want you and Mr. Blue to come to our tea party.” Eleanor reached for Clara’s hand and Libby for Blue’s.
“We’re busy.” Her protest fell on deaf ears, and Clara reluctantly allowed herself to be propelled across the floor. She didn’t look at Blue to see his reaction.
When they reached the corner, she saw that the girls had fashioned vessels from bits of
bark and leaves.
“You sit there and be the father.” Libby showed Blue the spot she meant.
The father! What were the girls up to?
“Mama, you sit here and be the mother.” Eleanor drew her to a place across from Blue. Clara sat on the floor, her skirt tucked about her legs.
Her daughters sat on either side of her.
“This is nice,” Libby said.
Clara raised her gaze to Blue, intending to apologize, but he met her look, his eyes full of surprise, regret, hope and despair. Her words stalled on her tongue. Was he remembering his own children? Was he finding this situation difficult? But perhaps a little enjoyable, too? She should play along until he indicated what he thought.
“Where did you get all the fine dishes?” she asked.
“We made them.” Eleanor sounded pleased with their efforts.
“Mama, you pour the tea.” Libby handed Clara a piece of wood that faintly resembled a teapot.
Feeling somewhat foolish, she offered tea to Blue.
“Thank you.” His voice grated as if he was as uncertain about this party as she.
“We made cookies and cake.” The girls passed around trays made of bark with tiny morsels of moss and other found objects.
A long slow ache crept up Clara’s veins. At her father’s house the girls had a beautiful china tea set. She’d purchased it for their Christmas gift last year, but they’d left it behind. She’d known they couldn’t take much in the way of belongings on their trip.
“We should talk about things,” Eleanor said.
Clara contained her thoughts. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Family things.”
Clara sent Blue a regretful look, silently apologizing for the awkward position the girls had put them in.
He shrugged, and then a teasing smile caught his lips. He turned to Eleanor. “Tell us about your family.”
She ducked her head. “It’s a pretend family with a mama and a papa and where children sit at the table with them. Like yesterday.”
Blue caught her chin and turned Eleanor’s face toward him. “That sounds like a very nice family.”
Clara held her breath as Eleanor’s eyes widened. Libby leaned forward, clinging to his words. Clara, too, dreamed of such a life. But how could she start over? It didn’t work that way. The girls sighed in unison, then turned back to the tea party.
“Mama, you’re the mother. You ask the father how his day was.” Eleanor waited expectantly.
Clara’s throat closed off. This pretend game offered too much while reality denied it. She pasted a smile on her face and turned to Blue. After drawing a tight breath, she asked, “How was your day?”
Blue’s eyes were dark.
She shook her head. “Never mind. Girls, Blue and I have work to do.”
She started to get to her feet, but Eleanor caught her hand.
“Mama, don’t you like our tea party? Did we make too much mess?” Her voice carried a wail. “Aren’t we good girls?”
Libby hung her head. “We’re not good girls.”
Clara sat down again and reached for them, but they both shrugged away from her hand. “You are the best girls in the whole world. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.”
They continued to stare at the floor.
“It’s why we can’t stay,” Libby whispered.
“Of course it’s not.” Hadn’t she explained why they must leave and that it had nothing to do with the children? Her heart threatened to crack wide-open and spill sorrow and disappointment all through her.
She wanted to trust God, but it proved hard when her girls were hurting. Oh, God, please help them understand. Help them not to take it personal. Send Petey here soon so we can reach our destination and the girls can feel settled.
Perhaps with winter deepening, her father would not bother them. Travel would be difficult, sometimes impossible.
All she needed was a few months in which to establish a home and prove she could care for them on her own.
A wagon rattled by, and she rushed to the window. Perhaps even now God had sent the stagecoach. But it was only another farm wagon with two men aboard.
She turned back to her children. They scooped up the party things and carried them away without looking at Clara.
Blue shook his head.
Whether to indicate regret over the tea party or over the way she had ended it so abruptly, she couldn’t say.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, though she couldn’t have said for what and hoped he wouldn’t ask her.
“It was all pretend.”
Did he mean the party? The girls’ wishes? Or something else entirely? “What is?” She hadn’t meant to ask the question, but the words had spilled out. In truth, she wanted to know the answer.
He held her gaze, a dark emptiness in his eyes. “Family.”
“No, it’s not. Surely someone, somewhere, has real family. What about the people at the ranch?”
He stared past her. “I suppose.” He paused a beat in consideration. “Though it seems most of them have had to deal with something difficult in their lives.”
“Really?” For some reason, she’d thought they were without problems.
“Eddie’s wife, Linette, came out to Alberta expecting a marriage of convenience. She meant to get away from a marriage her father had arranged but which she found impossible. And Cassie, the woman who started the business the Mortons now run, had lost a husband and two babies. She wanted to be independent. Instead, she and Roper rescued four children and are now their parents.”
He didn’t meet her eyes as he continued. “Grace—well, Ward found her in an awful situation. Eddie’s sister, Jayne, came out to escape the memory of seeing her fiancé shot dead before her eyes. And then there’s Brand. He came from an outlaw family. And Abel was a widower with two little children to raise.” He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I never realized before that they all came through hard times to their present families.”
“And they’re all happy?”
“Far as I can tell.”
His words fell like warm drops of rain on her heart. Their gazes finally met. Did he see the same offer of a future full of hope and fulfillment she did?
Was it possible that at the end of this journey she might find a place of belonging?
But the thought brought no peace to her heart. Instead, it ached. Finding that place of belonging meant leaving behind the temporary pleasure she had found right here.
Chapter Eleven
Throughout the day Blue managed to let measuring and cutting fill his thoughts. Or at least he tried. But every time the girls came into sight, his heart twisted. They longed for family. Even though they’d known it and lost it, they still wanted to have it again, believing it would mean love and joy for the rest of their lives. He shook his head. Children had such faith in the impossible.
Clara, too, kept invading his thoughts. No matter how he tried, he could not forget what he’d said to her. How all the new families at the ranch had come together despite hard times in their past.
Somehow they’d found a way to move into the future.
He slid his gaze to where the girls had laid out their tea party and told him he was the father. Did they wish he could be their papa? He swallowed a large lump in his throat and forced his thoughts to go elsewhere.
The girls had made their tea set out of wood scraps. He knew they had no books. Now he realized they had no toys, either.
Nancy had had a doll she’d loved to rags.
Beau’s favorite toy had been a little wheelbarrow Blue had built for him. He smiled as he remembered Beau trying to persuade their pet cat it wanted a ride.
Clara watched him. “Something pleases you.”
He started to deny it, then decided against it. “I was thinking of my children playing.”
She squeezed his arm. “It’s nice to see you enjoying memories of them.”
Her touch made him lean a bit cl
oser. Had he said what he did in the hopes she would reach out to him? Was he getting as bad as the girls, wanting something beyond the realm of possibility? Allowing himself to pretend?
He didn’t believe in make-believe and eased away. “I remember lots of good things about them.” He picked up a board and returned to work before she would ask him to share his memories. Maybe he would one of these days. If she stayed around long enough. He realized that sometime over the past few days he’d been able to think of his children and smile. And it felt good.
No doubt having two children playing underfoot had made it possible.
He’d like to do something for Eleanor and Libby. All afternoon, he thought of what he could do. He considered making them something out of wood. Perhaps a doll cradle, but they had no doll to put in it.
Then he recalled something and knew what he would do.
He waited until supper time. “You go ahead. Tell Bonnie I’ll be there shortly.” He watched until they stepped inside the Morton home; then he turned his feet up the street and went directly to Macpherson’s store. Bright red and silver balls, a little toy farm wagon, an embroidered ladies’ hankie and half a dozen fancy cards with a winter scene and Christmas trees formed part of the window display. All reminders of the season he had resolutely ignored for two years.
Macpherson was thankfully alone inside the store.
“I’ll take that.” Blue pointed at the display behind the glass counter.
Macpherson stared at Blue. “That?”
“Yes, that. How much is it?”
Macpherson named a sum, and Blue dug the correct amount of money out of his purse.
When the man saw that Blue was serious, he pulled out the box and wrapped it in brown store paper and tied it firmly. “I never thought I’d see the day that Blue Lyons bought himself a—”
“Let it go, Macpherson. And best if you keep this to yourself.”
“Oh, for sure. You can count on it.”
Whether he could or not, Blue didn’t know. He took the package and returned to the church. Now to wait until tomorrow when he could give it to the girls.
The next morning, he was awake early. Too early to go for breakfast. He stared at the package on the pew. What was he thinking to buy them a gift? Would Clara refuse to let the girls have it? Would she want to pay for it? He chuckled. Likely she’d try to do both. But he kind of figured she wouldn’t be able to resist her daughters.
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