A Season of the Heart. Dorothy Clark

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      Her lips twitched. “You’re not very imaginative, Daniel. That’s the same answer you always gave Mama, Grandmother Townsend and Sophia.”

      “It was always true.”

      “After you swallowed.”

      He gave a loud gulp, and they both burst into laughter. A cry came from the cradle sitting by the hearth. He stepped over to it and squatted on his heels, his chest tightening at the sight of the sweet baby face topped by downy auburn curls. He’d hoped to have children one day. He shoved the thought away and rocked the cradle. “Sorry, tiny one, I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.” The cries grew louder. He shot to his feet and sent a panicked look to Willa. “What’s wrong? I only rocked her.”

      “Our laughter startled her. She wants comforting.” Willa leaned down and wrapped the baby in her blanket, cuddled her close for a moment, then held her out to him. “You hold her while I sort through those clothes.”

      “Me!” He shoved his palms out toward her and backed away. “She’s too little. I don’t want to hurt her.”

      “You won’t. You only need to keep her head supported.”

      His heart lurched as Willa placed the baby in his arms. He cuddled the infant close, rocked her gently. The cries turned to a whimper, then stopped. He lifted his gaze to Willa and grinned.

      “She feels safe.” She smiled and turned toward the settee. “Mama said you were going to come see me, but I didn’t expect you to come to town in this blizzard.”

      He stayed rooted in place, afraid to move lest the baby begin crying again. “A hick slipped with his ax and sliced open his leg. I had to bring him to Doc to get the wound sewed up, so I came on over. I’ll need to take him back to camp shortly.”

      “I hope the man heals well. What was it you wanted?”

      “Your mother said you needed help with Christmas decorations or something.”

      Willa lifted a shirt that had seen better days off the top of the pile she’d dropped on the settee and grinned at him. “You needn’t whisper. Mary won’t waken.” She set the shirt aside. “So you are obeying Mama’s orders to come help me?”

      He matched her grin. “Something like that.”

      “Good! I accept your help. But I’m not ready yet. I need—” She stopped at a knock on the front door. “Someone must need Matthew, to come out in this weather. The grippe is hitting people hard....” She hurried toward the entrance hall.

      “Ellen! Is something wrong?”

      Ellen? What was she doing out in the storm? He glanced down at the baby, wished he dared put her down and leave.

      “No, everything is fine. I only came to visit.”

      He took a long breath and braced himself to see her again so soon.

      “I can’t believe you braved this snowstorm, but I’m so glad you did. Here, let me take your cloak and bonnet. You go in by the fire and warm yourself.”

      “Thank you, Willa. I’m chilled through and through. The wind is terrible.”

      Soft footsteps crossed the small entrance toward the sitting room. Ellen swept through the doorway, stopped and stared at him, her azure eyes looking bluer than ever above her rosy cheeks. Her blond curls had been blown into disarray around her forehead and temples, and one dangled from behind her ear to lie against the high collar of her dark green gown. She’d never looked more beautiful. But he always seemed to think that. He slanted his lips in a teasing grin. “Hey, Musquash. What are you doing out in the cold?”

      Her eyes flashed. She tossed her head, lifted her snow-rimmed hems and came toward the fireplace. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hauling logs or something?”

      The words cut deep. He broadened his grin. “Shouldn’t you be home writing to your rich beaux in Buffalo? You don’t want them to forget you.”

      Her chin jutted into the air. “There is no danger of that. And no need for letters. I’m to be betrothed. I’ve come home to decide which of two men I shall accept as my husband—Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert.”

      There was a soft gasp from the doorway. He shot Willa a look, then dipped his head to Ellen. “My felicitations. It must be hard to choose, with all that wealth involved.”

      She gave him a cool smile with anger shadowing its edge. “And prestige. One mustn’t forget that.” She gave her skirts a sharp shake and bits of clinging snow fell off onto the warm stone hearth and melted into small dark blotches.

      “Oh, I’m certain you won’t. Prestige and wealth. My, my, however will you choose?” He shook his head in mock gravity and watched the pools of moisture shrivel and dry up like the dream of marrying her he’d had years ago.

      “That’s none of your concern.” She looked down at the infant in his arms. “Aren’t babies supposed to cry a lot?”

      “Mary Elizabeth knows she’s safe with Daniel. Babies are very intuitive. And smart enough to follow what their hearts tell them.”

      How could the swish of a skirt sound angry? Or maybe it was the decided edge in Willa’s voice. He jerked his gaze to Willa’s blue-green eyes—dark and shooting sparks. She had her dander up all right. “You are a proud mama, Pest.” He chuckled and stepped forward to stand between Willa and Ellen, blocking their view of one another. “Take the tiny one, Pest. I have to go. Doc will be through with his stitching by now.” He put his mouth close to Willa’s ear and hissed, “You don’t have to protect me, Pest. I was over her long ago. Remember your promise.” A quick glance in her eyes told him she would say no more; her tight-pressed lips said she didn’t like it. He winked, turned toward Ellen and made an exaggerated bow. “If you’ll excuse me, Musquash, some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.”

      “Stop calling me that name!”

      He grinned, turned his back on her furious face and headed for the kitchen to get his jacket and hat.

      * * *

      Ellen looked away from the unsettling expression on Willa’s face and watched Daniel stride from the room, irritated by the uncomfortable notion that she had missed something. Willa considered Daniel the brother she’d never had, which was understandable as they’d lived next door to one another all their lives, but it had bred a closeness between the two of them that was annoying at times.

      The pile of worn clothes and pieces of fabric on the settee looked higher. She seized on the opportunity to talk about a neutral subject. “It looks as if you’ve gathered more material for making the costumes.” She lifted her skirt hems and stuck her right foot out closer to the fire to dry her damp stocking.

      “Yes. Matthew brought more offerings home with him after his round of visits to sick parishioners yesterday.”

      A long sigh followed Willa’s words. Ellen glanced over her shoulder. Willa was fingering the top garment, a look of frustration on her face.

       Some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.

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