I smiled.
Her lips curved in response, the dimples near her chin indenting.
“I will miss you,” I said, restraining my voice.
Tears pooled in her lovely brown eyes. “And we’ll have to find more sensible boots. You cannot go around wearing those.” She turned from me and began inspecting the four dress patterns.
I wrapped my hand around hers. “It will not be easy without you.”
A stifled sob came, followed by a shake of her shoulders. She leaned against the table, attempting to control her rapid breaths. “Promise me you will tell me if things get too desperate. I told your mother that Johnny and I would be happy to provide financial support, but your mother refused to hear any more of it. It would be nothing to wire the money, if she would only allow it.”
I squeezed her arm once more. “It is Daddy, not Mama. He would never hear of it, and Mama wants to respect his wishes. Besides, they have the inheritance of Grandfather.”
“Then your mother did not tell you?” Nora straightened, wiping stray tears from her cheek. “They were adamant about paying for your schooling. They’ve used their entire inheritance on you and Clara. Men like your Daddy are independent, and uncommonly stubborn.”
Shock stabbed at me. Daddy and Mama had made it seem as if I had lived off Uncle Johnny and Nora’s generosity. “You mean to say they haven’t any left?”
She shook her head. “Not a penny.”
“Ladies,” Mrs. Wilson said in greeting.
I shot Nora a pleading look. How could she not tell me about the letters and the money? I had been so mistaken of my situation. The letters and financial sacrifice—I had been desperately wrong in my assessment of Daddy’s character. I had assumed Mama’s inheritance would cover the current hardships. Again, I had been wrong.
Nora spouted off instructions for my new dress, detailing each alteration. “Lap or Duchess style?” She glanced at me as if asking for my judgment. “Lap. It will be a dress for labor, but I hope you will make it befit of a lady.”
The letter hiding in my skirt pocket seemed more relevant than ever. I walked out the shop and headed to the post office without notice.
The words were insufficient; there was so much more I wished to say. I had not heard from Paul in over four months, but I figured no return of my letters meant he was still receiving them. I scanned the letter once more before posting it.
Dear Paul,
Mama says you have not written her in over a year. Paul, you promised!
I have news that may come as a shock to you. I returned to the Teton Valley two weeks ago, after being called home by Mama. As I wrote a month ago, Clara is with child. Mama did not want to burden her with the danger of losing our farm, so she disclosed the truth of the situation to me, Nora, and Uncle Johnny alone.
Daddy suffered a stroke, and for the time being, he is unable to perform his duties on the farm or at the shop. George has taken it upon himself to assist us, but it is not enough. Mama is beside herself taking care of Daddy. Paul, I cannot do this alone. I need your help. Please, come home to us, or at the very least, tell me when you can.
All my love,
Elle
I returned to the dress shop just as Nora finished instructing Mrs. Wilson. The seamstress’s notepad was littered with notes and marks of alterations. I smiled. My aunt had succeeded in making an impression.
The mile walk down the dusty road was enough to do Nora in. She fanned her face with one hand and perched the other on her waist. “Gracious. If not for this valley’s mild summer, I would be apt to die right here. I hope your mother has more lemonade.” She forged onward, only pausing on the porch step. “Are you coming?”
I had stopped in front of my oak. I had been home almost two weeks but had hardly stopped to become reacquainted with it. The bark was rough to the touch, the branches lower than I recalled. I peeked through the leaves and branches, catching the sun as it filtered through. “Why didn’t you tell me about Daddy’s letters to Uncle Johnny or that they had spent their inheritance on me?”
She froze midstep. “Your father asked us not to.”
I had guessed as much, but hearing it did not make it any more of a satisfying answer.
“I best pack,” Nora said. She opened the door and left me.
The urge to climb the trunk was irrepressible. I tucked the edges of my skirt into my boots and threw myself at the tree. I growled as only a country girl would do. My boots scratched along the ridges and my hands gripped at any nub I could find. My arms were weak, but I inched my way up, only stopping when they threatened to give out.
I fell two feet to the ground and stayed there until I could catch my breath. Sitting in the swing instead, I leaned against the rope. Mama and Daddy had treated me like a child, hiding secrets. Hadn’t they sent me away to become a refined lady? Was a lady comparable to a child?
“May I?” came William’s hushed voice.
I turned at the sound.
His arms were outstretched with the intention of pushing the swing.
“Of course,” I said.
The trees rustled in the breeze, and William was silent for a few moments before speaking. “Your aunt insisted on staying two weeks, and I have tried to oblige her.”
“But now you must go,” I said.
He pulled the rope to a stop, and I saw a struggle playing across his features. His shoulders fell. “I am no use to you here, Elizabeth. I have not anything to offer, and I feel a burden in an already burdened situation. I cannot allow myself to stay, no matter how tempting it is.” William’s gaze wandered, as if he searched for an answer in our surroundings. “I cannot pursue you without your father’s blessing.”
The letter. My cheeks burned. William must have distanced himself with the news of my father.
“I know this time has been difficult for you—so many changes and adjustments. I pretended to indulge your aunt and uncle by accompanying you here, but in reality, I only indulged myself. I am not sure when I will see you again, and it pains me to say goodbye,” he said.
“Oh?” I asked, searching his features. Had I been mistaken of his feelings?
He nodded. “I won’t press anything, but will you allow me to write to you?”
I stood from the swing, wiping my hands against my skirt. “Certainly, William. You needn’t ask. I would appreciate news from home—I mean, Virginia. Clara will be having her baby soon.”
William’s lips parted as if he wished to say more, but no words came.
“Then this is goodbye?” I asked. I did not want to leave him with hope when I felt none.
He inhaled sharply. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
MY VOICE CARRIED ACROSS THE SUNNY scene, and I almost laughed. It had been ages since I had sung. The basket of wet clothes left a water trail along the patchy grass that led from the back porch. I set the basket near the end of the drooping line, apart from the windblown linens that awaited ironing, and sighed in relief. The aroma of dandelion and grass drifted with each welcome waft.
For so long I had felt restless. Like the linens flapping in the wind, I had felt pinned down, unable to stand still amidst opposing forces. However, Nora and William had returned to Virginia, and peace settled upon my soul. So much of what troubled me seemed to wash away. Life on the farm was simple; my lists of rules and words mattered little here.
The valley carried whispers of freedom, relief from my tired and clumsy attempts at womanhood. The novelty of my return had already worn thin, and Mama allowed me control of much of the chores and housework. Daddy always said working makes a mind clear, and I had forgotten how true that was.
I pinned wet trousers to the line and reached for another piece of clothing.
Footsteps quieted my song. George stood a few yards away. “Your mother says you washed my trousers.” His voice was deep, with a strong and comforting quality.
I tried to shake off the burning sensation that blossomed in my ch
est, the wave of dizziness that overtook me whenever George was near. I could not think straight, and I knew my smile looked as silly as it felt. I was not sure what it meant, but I felt childish, as if I were a thirteen-year-old pining for Toby Lowry again. “Mama suggested it, considering how little we pay.” I slipped a pin around a sock.
He stepped closer, and the morning sun glared from behind him. I could not see his face, just the shape of his broad shoulders and trim waist. “All the same, I thank you.”
I turned my back to him, smoothing out a few of the clothes on the line. It was a weak distraction from the heat of his gaze. “Please think nothing of it,” I said. “Mama wished me to remind you that lunch is at two o’clock.”
He weaved in and out of the linens until he reached my side. “You’re wearing a new dress.”
The plain dress had been delivered only three days after Nora ordered it. I suspected it had to do with Nora’s particular requests and her more-than-generous payment. The purple cotton weighed less than my more fashionable ensembles and made chores infinitely easier. “Yes, Nora thought me in need of a more practical dress.”
His lips moved in a half-smiling, half-satisfied expression. “You almost look like you belong in the valley now, like you aren’t so different than when you left.”
I studied the set of his jaw, his curved lips. “It has been over three years. Can you really say you remember much?” I had wondered at his answer since my arrival but had not had the courage to ask before. If he did remember, his opinion might be weak; if he did not, I meant as little to him as the animals out back.
His quick laughter startled me. Amusement shone in his green eyes, as if the lighter flecks shining back at me held secrets. “Do I remember? Why, I remember everything—your escapades in the chicken coop, all the times you climbed the oaks, that old treehouse you and Paul built out back and the sign he painted that said ‘No Girls Aloud.’ You were angry. You told him not to worry, that you’d be quiet …” He paused, scratching his chin and laughing once more. “Of course, I remember when you were strung from Paul’s tree in that fruit crate, blast him. I could never forget how angry you were for my rescuing you.”
I froze, and my hand hovered above the line. He remembered everything. I felt a lump in my throat and tried to force it back down.
“Why, I’ve never met someone so stubborn. Three years can’t change that.”
I gathered the basket in a frantic movement, not wishing to hear more. He had been sweet on Clara, and the memories must have mixed together. “That is quite enough, George. I see you have armed yourself much better than me. I have hardly anything to tease you about, except for your adoration of Clara.”
He shook a finger at me. “That’s what you’re still mad about—Clara? That always did get your blood boiling. How is she? Married off, I hear.”
“And expecting her first baby.”
He smiled. “Now, that’s strange to think of.”
I nodded. “Three years can change a person, more than you know. Clara isn’t the girl you once knew.”
The tilt of his head and the silence urged me to continue.
“No, it is nothing tragic. She is happily settled with Thomas. They do make a good match. But she is not the lighthearted girl you might remember. She has grown serious and quiet.”
“And you—I saw you with your Mr. Caldwell the other night on the swing. Seems like you might find the same fate as Clara, married and settled in Virginia.”
I jerked backward. He had seen? Had he heard anything William had said? I cleared my throat. “I most certainly will not. I am of no mind to marry yet. I have promised myself to see to the farm before anything as permanent and important is settled. William is a friend, George, as I said before.”
He grinned. “Mmm.”
I wanted to slug him and tell him how wrong he was. I huffed. “You are intent on teasing me, but it won’t change the fact that you are wrong; I won’t marry William.” Stubbornness coated each word. Why did George’s teasing evoke such a fiery defense? At times I thought him kind and handsome and generous, but it only took one taunting look or word to light my anger.
“You won’t?” George asked. He stepped closer and stared down at me. “How can you be so sure?”
My heart jumped at his nearness. I froze again, this time transfixed by his wide smile and light eyes. “That is not your concern, George.” My words were throaty and quiet, and utterly unconvincing.
“Mmm,” he said in a mocking tone.
I retreated from his reach and marched to the house. However much he had changed, and however handsome he had grown, George Hughes was still irrefutably infuriating.
Chapter Twenty-Four
YOU HAVE TO GO,” I TOLD Mama, holding out her scarf.
She took it reluctantly, as if she suspected me of mischief.
“Go,” I said, wrapping it around her shoulders.
Ever since Daddy’s stroke, Mama had not had a single evening to herself. It was caring for Daddy from sunup to sundown. As if the bags beneath her eyes were not enough of an indication, the house was cluttered, and her music on the piano lay untouched. She did not have the energy for music anymore, and Mama loved music.
“A night of cards never hurt anybody,” I said, opening the door. “Besides, I can handle Daddy. Go enjoy yourself.”
Mama hesitated at the threshold. Worry etched into the lines of her forehead. Her eyes glistened with emotion beneath the worn-out smile. “He likes to be read his column, and don’t let him eat too big of bites. He still can’t swallow well. And when you take him to the bathroom, make sure you help him to the seat. He doesn’t like it, but he’s fallen more than once trying to make it on his own.”
I squeezed her hand. “Mama, you mustn’t worry.”
She leaned over, kissing my cheek. “I won’t deny a night out when given the chance. The last four months have been tiresome, to say the least. Thank you, Elizabeth.”
Mama’s shoulders lightened with each step across the yard. For so long, I thought her spirit unbreakable and her laughter endless. But like it had with Clara, life had found a way to chip away at my mother’s resolve. Mama was tired. Burdens quieted her laughter, directed the wrinkles near her eyes. She was a changed woman, and I realized it was impossible for anyone to remain unaltered in the never-ending, relentless, and, at times, indisputably harsh realities of a changing world.
I settled into my chair. Daddy was at the table beside me, chewing his last bites of stew. His shoulders slumped, and he struggled to chew the beef.
I touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
He dropped his head. The hair on the back of his head had thinned from resting it against his chair. It reminded me of a newborn. Daddy attempted another bite, but his hand was unsteady. It took all his effort to reach the spoon to his lips.
I hardly spoke to him. It was not that he could not understand. There was a glint in his eyes whenever Mama spoke of him, a look of discomfort and guilt and humiliation. It pained me; he knew what Mama said, and he knew how hard things had become for Mama.
The distance between us had not narrowed, and my longing to have his approval remained unsatisfied. The longing had started with his reproaches and grew with his belt. Then, on that final day of my mud-soaked underclothes, when Daddy had decided to send me away, that distance grew to a chasm. Three years away at school had only increased it, until I felt no closer to him than to a stranger on the street.
But Daddy had written Uncle Johnny religiously. Was I mistaken in my assessment? Perhaps he cared far more than I’d imagined. Maybe his love, like the stars that dotted the early evening sky, followed a different path than mine.
His mouth parted, and an airy mumble pulled me from my thoughts.
“Another bite?” I asked, scooting closer to his chair. It was common for his focus to drain, for his arm to only cooperate for half a meal.
He pursed his lips, signifying he did not wish for more. He tried to speak again;
this time his lips quivered as they rounded. “Ooooool.”
I scratched my head. “School?” I asked.
His eyes lit, and I knew he wished for me to speak to him.
Perhaps it was guilt that drove me to speak. “It was everything you could have wished for me. Aunt Nora and Uncle Johnny were good to me. I received a top-notch education, as you wished, and now …” I said, clearing my throat in hopes of disguising my emotion. “Now, I am prepared to help Mama and you in any way I can.”
His lips pursed again.
The air hung heavy all around, and I lamented the awkwardness. There were too many things left unsaid, and I had built a wall long ago. If I were to open a door, the walls, like a dam, might burst. The flood of emotions would only cause damage.
I wanted to believe that his overcast eyes were indicative of his remorse or that his slumped shoulders offered an apology. It was calming but wishful.
His hand began to quake, and he reached for his drink.
I placed the cup between his lips.
His expression and posture, his glistening eyes and distraught countenance—perhaps they were only symptoms of the stroke. I feared he was still the hard, angry man beneath that weakened exterior—the same man who wore only one expression each time our eyes met: disappointment.
I stood to clear the plates, stacking his on mine and layering the forks and knives. The tabletop was so bare, so lonely. I felt a pang of longing, wishing for a time when all five places had been set. I missed the simplicity of my childhood, despite the pain of it. Where were my brother and sister now? And why did our lives have to take us in such different directions?
Four years earlier, Clara had taught me to style my hair, had played in the trees with me and walked to the barn in Grandmother’s heels. And Paul—he used to tangle me into his crazy impulses, whether it was stringing me from a tree or showing me a new contraption to make our chores “easier.” It had never worked, but the company had made me happier. We had worked in the butcher shop together, Paul and me, filling our afternoons with confessions and secret longings. No one knew me better than he did.
Forever Elle (Regency Romance) Page 15