Desperate to contain the tears that rushed to her eyes, she gathered her plates, bowls, and quilt. She wanted as much distance between her and Eric as possible.
He kept quiet; so did she. They had nothing more to say.
He again sought the shelter of the willow.
She walked away, his words ringing in her mind. “I can’t offer more than the kisses we’ve shared. Without that certainty—”
Certainty.
Assurance.
Blessed assurance.
“Eric,” she murmured, “no one can offer perfect assurance. Only God can. Only God is in control.”
The sob caught in her throat made it hard to draw breath. Soon she had to stop to force air into her aching, empty lungs.
Empty. Yes, she was empty. Empty of hope, of dreams, of joy. She’d given them all to Eric, and he’d been unable to receive them.
She turned around one last time and studied the raw beauty of the land. A breeze rustled the silver shrubs, and the willow danced to the song of Silver Creek. No dancing or singing could touch Letty’s heart right then.
She gathered her courage and stole a last look at Eric. Although he remained within the circle of shade, he no longer stood but knelt at the foot of the weeping willow, holding his head in his hands.
She’d gambled, and it seemed they both had lost.
17
The rollicking tempo of a Viennese piece waltzed out of the entrance to Hartville’s Grand Hotel. As she approached the lobby, Letty experienced another nudge of nerves, and she asked herself yet again how she’d let Randy talk her into attending a ball.
She smiled. Randy had had formidable help once Mrs. Stone and Daisy joined in the gentle bullying.
But then, they weren’t the only guilty ones. She’d let vanity override her sensible side, and she’d had a gown made for the occasion. The dress hadn’t cost much. Randy had offered some “leftover” royal-blue brocade that “just happened” to match a remnant of silk she’d “fortuitously located.” “Coincidentally,” Mrs. Stone remembered “storing” a length of blue velvet no more than a shade darker than Randy’s offerings and promptly presented it to Letty. Of course, it made the perfect trim. In addition, Daisy found she had “extra” lace after making her gown from materials paid for by her wages from the newspaper.
Despite Letty’s every effort to refuse the bounty, her friends had maintained a united front, and she’d eventually succumbed to the tempting yards of exquisite fabric.
Amos’s wife, Mattie, an outstanding seamstress, had then cajoled Letty into trusting the dress to her gifted hands. The most exquisite gown soon took shape, and tonight, with no one in particular for whom to wear such a garment, Letty looked better than she ever had.
Another gay piece began as the waltz came to an end. Oh, honestly, Letitia. You can’t just stand here listening to the music and feeling sorry for yourself. With a final tug to the bretelles that billowed at her shoulders and a determined swish to her blue silk train, Letty lifted her chin and sailed into the salon.
Dr. Letitia Morgan would bid Hartville a stylish farewell.
The relentless three-four beat of the orchestra’s waltz made Eric’s temples throb. The Silver Celebration had taken a feverish grip on the town that, he hoped, tonight’s culminating ball and fireworks display would finally break. Then the town could, perhaps, settle back to normal, and he could resume mourning a second lost love.
After Letty had run away the afternoon of their ill-fated picnic, Eric had stayed under the tree and let the bitter tears flow. Twice he’d loved, and twice he’d failed the women he loved.
Feeling emptier than he’d thought possible, he eventually returned home. His mind set, he began to withdraw from the Pattersons. After all, Douglas was seeking adoptive parents. Eric had to protect himself from their wrenching final farewell.
He’d thrown himself into the preparations for the Celebration. He’d volunteered for any chore that needed doing, regardless of how tedious or undesirable it might be, no matter how sore his leg grew. He’d do anything to avoid thinking of his loss of Letty.
The frantic pace he kept, however, didn’t distract him for more than minutes at a stretch. It seemed his heart had made a perfect nest for a silver dove.
He’d heard a rumor that Letty would soon leave town. Nobody knew where or when she planned to go, but everyone felt it would be soon. It was for the best, they all said.
His foolish heart refused to agree. He had to admit he wanted Letty close enough to watch her walk down Main Street, to see her focus on Pastor Stone’s sermons, to hear her drive her buggy to another birth.
A flash of royal blue at the entrance to the ballroom caught his eye. He turned. Letty had arrived. Not the Dr. Morgan Letty he knew, not even the fellowship-dinner-and-charades Letty he remembered, stood under the glow of candlelight. This Letty was breathtaking.
From the top of her upswept hair to the end of her small train, she radiated femininity. Her cheeks glowed deep rose, and the blue dress made her skin resemble rich cream. The gown’s square neckline underlined her collarbone, modestly framing her lovely face.
He took two steps toward her, then stopped. No matter how beautiful she was, no matter how much he wished to stand by her side, no matter how much she meant to him, one truth remained: He didn’t deserve Letitia Morgan.
She should never have come. She should have fought her determined, well-meaning friends and stayed home. Feeling more out of place than she ever had before, she skirted the edge of the room, avoiding the dance floor. Since no chair could be found, she continued circling the room.
A potted palm next to a tall window provided her a somewhat private niche. Although she still lacked a chair, the secluded corner suited her just fine. She turned her back on the festivities and studied her reflection in the window.
She saw a woman utterly different from the one she faced each morning in the washstand mirror. Her cheeks were red from her discomfort, and her hair, for once, obeyed her commands. The fabulous gown gave the illusion of a perfect hourglass figure, while its train rippled with her every move.
Even to her own eyes she looked lovely. And alone. Behind the woman in the window, merrymakers waltzed two by two.
The crystals of the chandelier above the dance floor reflected the flicker of candlelight. Women in jewel-toned finery clung to dashing partners whose black coats set off the rose, heliotrope, purple, and emerald silk, satin, and lace. The scent of varied perfumes blended into the aroma of a flower garden, and Viennese waltzes played counterpoint to the evening’s gaiety.
“Letty!” called Randy.
She smothered a groan. The last thing she wanted was to force a mimicry of cheer. “Hello, Randy.”
Bedecked in emerald moiré that spanned her sizable belly, Randy exuded pure joy. She took Letty’s hand, turned her in a pirouette, and exclaimed, “You put us all to shame, you’re so beautiful.”
Randy turned to beckon someone Letty couldn’t see from behind her palm.
Resplendent in plum silk and pearls, Adele Stone approached.
“No one could outdo either of you,” Letty said, envying her friends’ happiness.
Randy waved across the room. “There’s Douglas. I lost him the moment we arrived. Perhaps when he gets here, we can have a dance or two. That is, if my doctor allows it.”
“There’s no reason you can’t,” Letty said, “as long as you don’t overexert yourself. And if you feel up to dancing, I certainly need not worry about your general health.”
“I feel wonderful now that—”
When Randy stopped midsentence, Letty followed her gaze. She gasped, and the floor seemed to drop from under her. She wanted to run but had no escape.
Douglas Carlson approached, deep in conversation with Eric. Letty shivered. He’d always affected her. The letter he’d written to the college had led her to admire the man who’d composed it, and her first glimpse of him on the station platform had quickened her interest. Still, s
he’d never seen a more imposing man than Eric Wagner in evening attire. Well groomed as always, his golden hair shone in the lamplight. His formal white shirt and bow tie set off his skin, which already wore a deeper hue from his work outdoors. A single-breasted vest hugged his torso, and his black garb lent his long lines an elegance few men could achieve.
The lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened, and he looked tired. Letty longed to comfort him.
“I’ve a splendid idea,” Mrs. Stone said. “Although the pastor and I don’t dance, why don’t you young people enjoy this next piece?”
“Wha—what?”
“Yes, dear, the four of you should dance.” The pastor’s wife turned to the men. “Douglas, Randy is dying for a whirl on the dance floor. Do indulge her, dear. And you, Eric Wagner, this is a ball, not a funeral. Spare us that undertaker look and take the loveliest woman here onto the floor. Please make yourself have a good time. Pastor Stone always says that the joy of the Lord is our strength.”
After her outrageous speech, Mrs. Stone took Letty’s hand and dragged her to Eric’s side. The determined woman took Eric’s hand and placed Letty’s fingers on his callused palm. Unable to gracefully demur, Letty looked up into chocolate-colored eyes.
“May I?” Eric asked, his voice husky.
Unable to talk past the lump in her throat, she nodded.
Hand in hand, they took up the graceful steps of another Strauss piece. The room faded around them as the music swept them to another place and time, somewhere far, far away, the Danube perhaps. Through the mists of distance, the waltz echoed the beat of Letty’s heart.
She looked up at the man she loved. She’d probably never see him after tonight, and never again experience his embrace.
The waltz gathered speed, swirling around them in romantic, lighthearted fashion. Eric’s hand on her back inched her closer, and Letty reveled in his scent. The wool of his suit, the spice of bay rum, the clean, masculine musk of man. That very essence of him was imprinted in her memory, in her heart.
A tear rolled down her cheek. Another soon followed, despite the pleasure of his presence and the gaiety of the music. A sob rose up, and she failed to smother it. She couldn’t fall apart here, not before the entire town, in Eric’s arms.
“No,” she whispered and tore herself away.
Blinded by tears, she ran from the ballroom and kept running until she reached Main Street. She pushed her way through the crowd intent on celebrating the town’s good fortune.
“Excuse me,” she said when she bumped into a lady.
“Pardon me,” she begged a man.
Shouldering a path, she kept running, afraid to stop. She gasped, scarcely able to draw air. Under the glowing summer moon, she paused to gulp a breath and press a hand to her pounding heart. Lanterns hanging from poles up and down both sides of the street blazed and illuminated the town. In the moonlight, under the radiance of the lamps, Letty knew only gray.
“Letty!” Eric called.
Turning, she saw him in the hotel’s doorway, silhouetted in the light from the elegant lobby. He ran out to the street and peered in both directions. A moment later, through a gap in the throng of humanity clogging the road, he spotted her.
Backlit by lamplight, illuminated by the moon’s silver gleam, Letty’s royal-blue dress became the beacon that showed Eric the way.
“No!” she cried and ran again.
Eric picked up his pace. Why was he so intent on catching her? Logic told him it was foolish, and yet when she’d pulled away in the ballroom, something inside him had died, something precious and bright. He needed her to bring it back to life. The darkness he’d seen in those few moments had struck terror in his heart. He needed her. He needed her brightness. After years of gloom, she’d brought light back to his heart.
“Letty,” he called again, running, weaving between the revelers. In seconds, he reached her. In less time, she was in his arms, the lamps overhead lighting up the night. He brought his lips to hers.
The noise disappeared; the crowd ceased to exist. But the passion, the tenderness, the love still remained. He pulled Letty closer and lost himself in their kiss. Her lips felt like velvet, and her violet scent surrounded him.
He could no longer deny the love inside him, growing every day, binding him to this woman with every beat of his heart. Love, the kind that made a man foolish, made him hope and dream again. She quivered in his arms. How could he let her leave? He tightened his embrace, and she looped her arms around his neck.
A sudden scream rent the night. “Help! It’s a child! It’s Steven Patterson!”
Eric dragged himself from the kiss and looked around. Passersby stared at one of the lantern poles, but the lantern no longer hung there. At the base, a woman on her knees wailed and pawed at flames on the ground.
What had Steven done? “Dear God!” Eric cried instinctively, seeking the help he’d shunned for years, the help he’d learned, as a child, was always there if he sought it.
At his side, Letty moaned. Eyes wide and wild, she held a fist to her mouth. A shudder shook the fabric on her shoulders, and her cheeks bleached to marble. She stumbled forward. “No,” she murmured, holding a hand to hold Eric back. She nearly fell with her next step.
“Don’t!” Eric ordered. “You might hurt yourself.”
Letty was overwrought.
“Wait here.”
Eric elbowed his way to where the woman still fought the flames that devoured Steven’s clothing. He pushed her aside, muttered a vague “Sorry,” and rolled the boy over in the dirt. Over and over again he turned the thin body, fighting time and fire for Steven’s life.
The ground, which had been sprinkled to keep the dust of the crowd to a minimum, steamed each time a flame touched down. After what seemed like hours but could have been only seconds, the last spark died. In spots, Steven’s clothes still smoked, and to keep them from igniting again, Eric stripped off the remains of cloth and then wrapped the boy in his evening coat.
Portions of the boy’s body were charred. His arms bore the largest burns, and raw welts striped his chest. Bringing Steven close, the stench of seared skin assaulted Eric’s nostrils. He gagged. Merciful God, don’t let this one die, too.
Letty walked to his side. “Is he . . . ?”
“We’ll soon find out. Let’s get him to your clinic.”
Main Street had never seemed longer. When they finally gained the corner of Willow and Main, both heaved sighs of relief.
“He’s breathing,” Eric said in response to the question in Letty’s haunted eyes.
She led the way inside and into the examining room. He counted each of Steven’s shallow breaths a triumph, each thready heartbeat a victory.
“Please lay him on the table. I’m ready.”
Eric wondered if guilt had birthed Letty’s strange expression and toneless voice. Knowing her, the momentary failure to respond at the scene of the accident would weigh heavily on her conscience. She held herself to a higher standard than most, and fear had paralyzed her. He knew that anguish well.
He longed to comfort her, to tell her he’d helped, that together they were giving Steven his only chance, but the closed look on her face put an end to the notion. Eric did as she asked.
She bathed the child’s blackened flesh with wads of cotton soaked in Calendula lotion. She checked every inch of Steven’s body, clearing away ashes and burnt scraps of cloth. Over and over she soaked the seared chest and arms, never once uttering a word.
After a time, a knock pulled Eric from the woman and child. He prayed no one had gone into labor. His breath gusted out in relief when he found Mayor Osgood and Pastor Stone at the door. Mrs. Stone sat in the carriage tied at the hitching post.
“We came to inquire after the boy,” the mayor said.
“He’s bad,” Eric answered, his voice low and rough. “But Le—Dr. Morgan is working on him. I don’t know.”
As the men followed him inside, he heard Mrs. Stone get out of the c
arriage. He gestured the men toward the waiting room, then held the door for the pastor’s wife.
“How is he?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Only God knows. Letty’s fighting for him with everything she has.”
The mayor spoke. “May we see him or speak to her?”
Eric shook his head, but then he remembered that despite her preoccupation with Steven, Letty wouldn’t appreciate his overstepping his bounds. “Let me ask.”
After a whispered consultation, Letty left the examining room, glancing back at the unconscious child with every step. Tiny vertical lines marred the smoothness of her forehead just above her nose, and she’d pressed her lips tight, the pressure turning the edges white.
“How is he, my dear?” Pastor Stone asked, giving Letty a fatherly hug.
She trembled. “I can’t say for certain. So much of him is burnt that he should by all rights be dead. If he makes it through the night, it’ll only be by the grace of our Lord.”
“Well, then,” the reverend answered, “we should head home and pray for just that.” He turned. “Come along, Mrs. Stone. We’ll do more good on our knees than filling Letitia’s waiting room.”
On their way out, Mrs. Stone glanced at the small body on the table. She gasped, averting her eyes, tears wetting her face. The last Eric saw of her, she stumbled down the walkway, shaking her head.
Mayor Osgood turned to Eric, accusation in his gaze. “What led to this, Mr. Wagner? Did you leave those imps unattended while you waltzed?”
Eric gritted his teeth. “I don’t know what led to the accident. I felt it more important to bring the boy here so he could receive the best care possible than to ask questions. As far as your second question goes, I hired Anna Sauder to watch them this evening. She was to bring them to town for the fireworks display. I would never leave children unattended. I’ll learn what happened, though. You can count on that.”
The mayor tugged on his lapels and shot Eric another fierce glare. “I don’t see why we can’t dispatch them to the Shakers in Cleveland and get on with our lives. Hartville can’t be responsible for those brats.”
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