He folded his arms, his posture as stiff as his flint-colored eyes. “ ‘Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.’ ”
“I remember those opening lines.” I swallowed, fidgeting with my cuff.
He turned to the window, and a silence crept between us once more. The tension in the air was palpable. Like an unpleasant aroma, it was thick and overpowering. I held my breath.
“Have I done something wrong?” I asked.
William’s head jerked to the side, and a crack in his perfect composure was at last manifest. But then he brushed one hand across his sleeve and politely smiled. “Far from it, Miss Pratt.”
I dug my nails into my palms. Miss Pratt. That was enough to push me away, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. William was not what I wanted, and seeing him act so indifferently only furthered my resolve. I could have laughed. I promised myself, in that passenger car, not to ever let a desire overcome the means. I would marry, but not just anyone. Not William Caldwell.
Chapter Twenty
MAMA SENT A HIRED WAGON TO fetch us from the train station. Nora had never ridden in the back of a wagon, and I had to show her how to brace herself on the large turns. I had forgotten how the splintered wood grasped at clothing, and more than a few slivers lodged into my legs.
“An adventure,” Nora said more than once. “Johnny will not believe it.” She had never been to the valley. Before meeting Uncle Johnny, Salt Lake was as far west as she had gone.
I wrapped a scarf around my shoulders when we entered the valley. It was late May, and the morning sun was still tucked behind a cloud. Years seemed to melt into days, and I smiled when I recognized each turn of the lane, each patch of trees, each divot in the road. The peaks were still covered in snow, but the grass had turned green, and the trees were just starting to blossom. The lilacs along the drive were just as I remembered. I took full breaths, each intake like a welcome-home party.
“What beautiful trees,” Nora said, pointing toward the oaks lining the farmhouse.
I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling. My tree. The thick trunk and jagged bark came into view. I was happy to see the old swing just as I had left it—wrapped around the largest branch, the wooden seat cracked and faded. I doubted anyone had sat on it since I had left.
Mama stood on the porch, waving frantically. “Elizabeth! Nora!”
Nora’s hand flew to her chest, a youthful glow emanating from her smile. “Louisa!”
When the driver stopped a few yards from the porch, Mama ran to the wagon. Her dress bore designs that had faded to a blur of blues and whites. Her dark hair was streaked with silver, and the bags beneath her eyes were more pronounced.
William assisted Nora and me from the wagon, the cart bouncing with gratitude as each passenger disembarked.
Mama hugged me first. She buried her face into my neck, her tears mixed with the sound of joyful relief. “My darling girl.”
I leaned my cheek against hers, a flash of memories flooding my mind. Her warm, soft cheek against mine and the smell of baked bread took me back to a time ten years before, to when I was just a child sitting on her lap, snapping peas or shucking corn. How had I endured three years without my champion, my dearest friend, my mama?
She pulled back, but her hands rested against my shoulders. “Dear me. When did you grow up?”
I laughed, my head spinning in contentedness.
Nora embraced Mama. The two sisters laughed and cried, rocking back and forth.
“Eleven years?” Nora asked, sobs accompanying each word.
Mama only shook in response.
The old farmhouse was smaller than I remembered, in worse shape than I had ever known. Perhaps I had not realized it before leaving for Virginia. It was all I had ever known. Why would I have thought it shabby?
But looking at it now—the peeling paint and sagging roofline—only made the comparison of Mama, in her faded blue dress, and Nora, in her purple lace and white silk dress, that much more drastic. The house on Wieser Street was maintained in style; the Victorian house stretched three floors high, with an attic. The farmhouse was only two floors high, and the ceilings were so low that Daddy and Paul had to duck in the doorways. At least, Daddy had to before his stroke …
I blinked. In the shade of the awning sat Daddy, his mouth drooping on one side. He was stuck in a chair, one that had been altered with caster wheels affixed to each leg. His own legs were bent in an unnatural manner, as if someone had tucked them into his shoes like a sheet beneath a mattress.
I took a step forward, hesitating. “Daddy?”
Mama’s laughter faded, and her smile twisted into a small pucker. “Yes, your father.” She pulled me closer, until we were only an arm’s length away. “As I said, he is getting along as best he can. The doctor tells us any improvement is some improvement. George insisted we exercise his legs as best we can, and I have tried to help him with his speech.”
George Hughes. My heart raced at the mention. I had given little thought to him in the last few years. He had seemed a part of the past, a part I did not wish to revisit.
Daddy stared up at me, clearly aware of what Mama said, so I saved my questions for a later time. His left arm hung limp across his body, and his right hand shook when he reached for mine.
I held it, that hand that had once been so strong and full of life. That hand that had once been forceful and unforgiving. I managed a smile and bent to kiss his cheek. “I have missed you, Daddy.”
One side of his mouth opened as he tried to speak, but his tongue caught, and only a few lisped mumbles escaped. His head hung, and he did not look up at me again.
Mama patted his back. “Save your energy, James. There will be time enough.”
The creak of the storm door caught my attention. William stared from Mama to me.
Nora, awakened to his presence, took his arm. “Allow me to introduce Mr. William Caldwell, a dear friend of our family. He accompanied Elizabeth and me on our journey.”
Mama gave a clumsy curtsy. “I hope you will accept my gratitude and some days of rest before returning to your home. I am indebted to you.”
Nora turned to him. “My sister, Mrs. Louisa Pratt.”
William bowed, his elegant manners now seeming a gross exaggeration. “A pleasure, Mrs. Pratt.”
Mama pushed Daddy’s chair into the house, her hurried movements indicative of her excitement. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning toward the front room. “Or stretch your legs, whichever you prefer. I’ve made lemonade and biscuits, though I warn you, not as fresh as I’d like. George and I were mending a fence just now, so the lemonade has sat for a couple hours. The Waltons brought a jar of fresh honey last week, and I saved it for your arrival. It pairs nicely with the biscuits, though I brought out some huckleberry jam for you, Elizabeth.”
“Mama, you should not have gone to the trouble. I am more than capable of helping myself,” I said.
Nora nudged me. “Oh, let her dote on you, Elizabeth. It sounds lovely, Louisa.”
Mama exhaled, her shoulders falling. “I am so glad. There is so much to discuss. I promised George I would bring him lunch, but after I return, we will have all afternoon to chat.”
George insisted, George and I, I promised George … I should have been grateful for our neighbor’s help during such a difficult time, but to hear Mama take commands from my old nemesis was infuriating. He had no claim on my mama.
“You take George his lunch?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.
Mama nodded. “I cannot pay him much, and with the hours he keeps …”
I smiled, hoping to disguise my disgust. “So you take orders from that lanky-armed boy George now? He was all height and no weight if I remember correctly.”
“Elizabeth!” Nora said, jaw dropping. “Manners.”
William stifled a smile.
Mama only shrugged, and the realization that this stroke had defeat
ed more than Daddy sunk into my heart. Mama was not the same woman I had left three years before.
She cleared her throat. “He is out in the barn; George will be able to explain things much better than I can. Your father always managed the farm and shop. Without him, I am afraid I’ve been at my wits’ end. George has been heaven-sent.”
Heaven-sent? I gritted my teeth. It was high time I became reacquainted with George Hughes. I was here to help. I was here to rectify the damage of Daddy’s stroke. “I reckon I should speak with him,” I said. I bunched my hands around my skirt and headed out, the screen door thudding behind me.
I trudged through the overgrown pasture toward the figure in the distance. I tried to ignore the feel of the worn wooded gate in my fingers or the sound of the bluebirds in the tree above the strawberry patch. It was not how I imagined my homecoming. I wanted to visit each spot with a smile. But I was determined to confront George. I was home, and I was ready to take over my family’s care.
My steps softened on the dirt by the barn. George stood a few feet away, chopping wood. I hesitated, the sound of the axe against the wood startling me. He was so much taller than I remembered. I glanced at his arms, surprised by their seemingly sudden growth. His shoulders were rounded, and his arms glistened with perspiration. Through his thin shirt, I could see the muscles strewn along his shoulder blades. I fidgeted with my hands. What happened to the stringy-armed neighbor boy I remembered? The man in front of me was anything but stringy and boyish.
My mind went blank. What was it I had planned to say? I dug my heels into the ground. I had not planned anything; I imagined the words would come in the moment. I scrunched my forehead and took a minute to gather my thoughts: George needed to know that I was there to assist my mother, we did not need him to direct the farm, and Paul would come home soon, relieving George of all duties.
I hesitated. I hoped those were correct assertions. I planned to write my brother as soon as I had a handle on the situation. I swallowed and straightened my shoulders. “That is quite enough, George,” I said, crossing my arms.
The axe swung down once more, splitting the log into three pieces. He gathered the pieces, throwing them to the side, as if he had not heard me.
“George,” I said, my voice rising, “I said that is enough.”
He turned, and stubbornness set in his angled jaw and his fierce gaze. “I thought you’d say that,” he said, dipping his chin in greeting.
I fell back a step, a surge of unexpected nervousness encompassing me. Those green eyes, that strong jawline … He was handsome. George—the boy I had grown up throwing rocks at, the boy who had laughed each time I made a mistake—was devastatingly handsome. Three years, and his boyish features had transformed into manly ones. The stubble along his chin was further proof, as if his physique had not been enough to convince me.
“I’m glad to see you made it, Elle. Your mama was worried,” George said, turning back to the pile of logs.
“Elizabeth,” I said, correcting him. “I go by Elizabeth now. I came to express my gratitude for your service the past months and to tell you I will be directing the farm while my mother cares for my father. You need not worry about any of that.”
He shrugged, swinging the axe down once more.
I had never felt more disregarded. I stomped my foot. “Did you hear me? Is that all you have to say to me after all this time?”
He threw his head back and laughed, a deep and lovely sound. His shoulders shook with the exertion.
I peeled my eyes from his physique and tried to calm myself. Heat rushed to my chest—in part to embarrassment and in part to anger. “George Hughes, I should have known you would still be in need of manners.”
He took the axe in one hand and turned, sitting on the stump. His green eyes glistened in the sun. “You asked that like you’d expected something more from me, and yet your first words to me were not any better.”
I gasped, folding my arms. Had he always been this contrary? I forced a smile and dropped my hands to my side. I would not stoop to his level. “I only meant that you had the rest of the day off. You are free to go home now.”
George shook his head. A smile played across his lips. “You never were good at lying.” He stood, walking closer. He stopped a few feet from me and scanned my appearance. “Well, look at that. They can make a lady out of you, or at least make you look like one.”
My cheeks burned. I balled my hands into fists and took a slow breath. “I may be a lady, but I plan on taking over the farm. I am afraid your services and opinions will be constrained to that of the hired help. I will let you know when you are needed and what labor is expected.”
“You think you can finish the job?” he asked, holding the handle of the axe out to me. There was a familiar look of challenge behind his eyes, but there was something else behind his gleam—a secret, a question. There were differences in his face, evidence of that unknown. He was not the same competitor. I no longer knew his weaknesses, no longer knew how to catch the upper hand.
I gave my best smile, grasping the handle in my gloved hand. He was not the only one who had changed. I removed my wide-brimmed hat, handing it to him. “Certainly.”
George just stood there, watching and waiting.
I put a log on the stump, struggling to lift the axe. It was heavier than I remembered. I pulled back and threw the axe forward with all my strength. It sunk into the log two inches, then came to a complete halt.
I closed my eyes, and the heat along the back of my neck burned into my collar. I had failed, in front of George, and in our first meeting since my return.
George stifled a smile, pushing me gently to the side. “I’ll finish up, if you don’t mind. Your hat,” he said, holding it toward me.
I pursed my lips, but I could not argue. It was a pathetic attempt at splitting logs. I summoned the remnants of my pride. “Yes, I believe that will be best,” I said. “After you finish the logs, you are free to go.”
He gave a small nod.
Then I turned, embarrassed and confused. I had been determined to put George Hughes in his place, but he had put me in mine instead. I had walked only a few steps when he called my name once more.
“Elizabeth,” George said, his voice cracking from repressed laughter. “One more thing—welcome home.”
I lifted my chin and turned on my heels. George Hughes was as infuriating as ever.
Three hours later, I was seated between George and William at dinner. As with Mama and Nora, there were striking differences. William took small bites, wiping his mouth between each one, as was the custom of a true gentleman; George took large bites, hardly touched his napkin, and didn’t think to stand when Nora left the table. William was dressed in a suit, his hair fixed in a swirl of pomade; George’s brown hair was streaked with blond and had nothing but spit to keep it in place. William’s complexion was light and smooth; George’s skin was brown from the sun, his body sculpted from his daily labor. William was rich, George a hired hand.
I wondered what Julia would have said about my comparisons. Would she have still preferred William, even over this new stranger on my other side?
I looked down at my skirt more than once, inspected my softened hands and clean nail beds. At one time, I had been more like Mama and George. I was assuredly more like Nora and William now. I wanted to pride myself on that fact, but the truth was far from it. I felt like neither, and I wondered if there was a land between the valley and Virginia for country girls turned refined ladies.
Chapter Twenty-One
PULLING THE ROPE DID LITTLE IN my efforts to redirect the horse. I huffed and then tried to coax her back a few steps. “Nice and easy, Hester,” I said. I attempted to place the harness around her back.
She whinnied and tossed her head, moving away from my touch. The horse did not remember me, and she certainly did not obey my commands. I growled and dropped the harness to the ground.
“Everything all right?”
I startled
. Ladies certainly did not growl.
George leaned against the barn gate. His smile stretched across his cheeks. “Need some help, Elle?” he asked.
I thought I would die of humiliation. “Elizabeth,” I corrected him. I searched my pocket for the folded paper. “I was hoping to go to town. Mama sent me with a list.” I held the paper in the air as evidence of my errand.
He stepped forward and brushed his finger along Hester’s back.
I lifted the harness. “I cannot seem to fasten it.” I pushed to the tips of my toes and reached across the horse’s back.
“Whoa,” George said, placing a steady hand on my back when I started to tip. He took the harness from me and wrapped it around the horse. “She’ll remember you. It just takes time.”
“I am sure you are right; we will get on together.” I brushed away the dirt and straw from my skirt.
“Where’s your Mr. Caldwell?” George asked.
I shuffled backward. “He is hardly my Mr. Caldwell,” I said in a steady tone. “He has never asked permission to court me. He only accompanied my aunt and me as a favor to my uncle.”
George cocked his head and leaned closer. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I gestured to the house. “He reads extensively, as many gentlemen do. I left him to it. He has little experience with horses and wagons. In fact, William recently rode in an automobile.”
“Ah,” George said, moving to hitch the wagon.
The muscles on his arms bulged with each movement. I averted my eyes; it was not ladylike to look at or think of such things—that, I knew for certain—nor was it acceptable the way my heart pounded each time he glanced my way.
“There you are, all set to go,” George said.
“I will get the hang of things once more, but I appreciate your assistance in the meantime.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My pompadours had never withstood labor, and it was apparent I needed to learn to better secure my hairpins.
Forever Elle (Regency Romance) Page 13