A Season of the Heart. Dorothy Clark

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      There was no sense pretending he didn’t understand her. “That’s an old dream that died long ago, Ma.” He pulled up a grin and shot her a teasing look. “Surely you know Ellen’s come home to decide which of her rich beaux she’ll marry.”

      “I heard. But she ain’t betrothed yet.”

      There was a determined note in his mother’s voice that said clearly she wasn’t letting up on her prayers. Twelve years she’d been at it. He tugged his hat down over his ears, exposed by his newly trimmed hair, frowned and ran his hand over his clean-shaven face. Did she think... “Look, Ma, Ellen will be at home sitting cozy and warm in front of their fire while Willa and I are working on the decorations in the back room of the church. She won’t even see me. I stopped at Fabrizio’s for a haircut and shave to get rid of the itching, not to change Ellen’s goal. Besides, I’m not that good-looking—except maybe to you.” He chuckled and put on his gloves.

      She looked at him.

      He wished for the hundredth time he’d never told her that making himself an acceptable suitor in the eyes of Ellen’s parents when he was old enough to court Ellen was the reason he’d apprenticed himself to the counting house in Olville when he was twelve. She knew that had all come to a halt when his father died. And she still felt guilty that he’d had to give up his dream and become a logger in order to keep the cabin and provide a home for her. “Look, Ma, I was only a kid with a crush that lasted longer than it should have. It’s over. You can stop praying for me.”

      “And what makes you think it’s you alone I’m prayin’ for?” His mother looked down, swished the cloth over another plate.

      What did that mean? He stared at her, shook his head and walked over to pick up the bucket. “I’ll throw these scraps out back for Millers’ pigs on my way to Willa’s. See you at supper, Ma.”

      Snow was still falling, though it had eased up. He tossed the scraps onto the trampled-down area where the neighbor’s pigs rooted, set the bucket back inside the kitchen door and tromped out to the road. The wind picked up, blew cold against his bare cheeks. He tucked his chin down into his collar and wished it were as easy to bury his scruples. He hadn’t exactly lied to his mother, but he hadn’t told her the truth either. He hoped Ellen would see him around town, all clean-shaven and with his hair trimmed just like those rich beaux of hers. Not to try to change her mind, though. That part was true. It was a pride thing.

      A wry smile tugged at his lips. He sure couldn’t tell his Ma that. He knew exactly what she would say—Pride goeth before destruction, Daniel. But in his case, there was nothing for pride to destroy but the memory of his childhood love for Ellen—and he’d sure welcome that. He’d been carrying it around for too many years. It was time to be done with it.

      * * *

      Ellen snipped the thread and stuck the needle in the pincushion that was fastened to the arm of Willa’s chair. That was the last seam. She caught her breath, turned the garment and held it up. Nothing was crooked or puckered. A smile tugged at her lips, but she refused it possession. It was silly to feel such a sense of accomplishment. Sewing straight seams required no real talent with a needle.

      “You’ve finished the shepherd’s robe.”

      She glanced at Willa, her heart warming at her friend’s smile. “Well, I’ve sewn it together. But I’m afraid my ability with a needle is unequal to the hemming required around the neck and armholes.”

      “That’s not needed, Ellen. That wool won’t ravel. And it need last only one day. Which is a very good thing because my finger keeps poking through this cotton!” Willa wiggled the exposed fingertip of her hand tucked beneath the fabric on her lap. “I’m afraid one of the Wise Men is going to look quite tattered.”

      “Well, he has been on a very long journey.”

      Willa laughed, real, genuine laughter, not the polite titter of the elite women in Buffalo. The sound of it brought her own laughter bubbling up. It felt wonderful. How long had it been since she’d really laughed? She shoved the thought aside, carried the folded robe to the table and eyed the costumes waiting to be sewn. She so wanted to make the angel’s costume, but she was simply not that capable with needle and thread. She picked up the pieces for Joseph’s robe and turned back toward her chair. Willa was looking out of the window—again. “Are you expecting a caller?”

      Willa started, sat back in her chair and resumed sewing. “What put that notion in your head?”

      “That’s the third time I’ve seen you looking out of the window.”

      “Well, that doesn’t mean— Bother! I’ve poked another hole.” Willa cut her thread, stuck her needle in the shared pincushion and jumped to her feet. “I’d best find different fabric and cut another Wise Man’s costume. This cloth will fall apart if Tommy moves.”

      She watched Willa hurry to what remained of the old clothes and start sorting through the pile, pursed her lips and crossed to the window to see for herself what was so interesting. If there was one thing she easily recognized, it was evasion—the elite were masters at it. There was no horse and buggy, not even the tracks of one, only undisturbed snow. And more falling. Would it never stop? She sighed and lifted her gaze toward the sky. Ah. “So that is what you were watching for—a glimpse of your husband as he walked over to the church.”

      “What are you talking about, Ellen? Matthew went to Olville directly after dinner, and—” Willa jerked upright, a faded red garment in her hands. “Is someone out there?”

      “No, but a fire has been started at the church. Smoke is beginning to rise from one of the chimneys—the rear one.”

      “Are you certain? It’s hard to tell with the snow.” Willa tossed the dress back onto the pile, hurried to her side and peered out the window. “Yes, you’re right—there is smoke. He’s here.”

      She stared, taken aback by the flash of satisfaction in Willa’s blue-green eyes. “So you were expecting someone?”

      “Not exactly. Daniel only said perhaps he—”

       “Daniel?”

      “Why, yes.” Willa looked down, brushed at the front of her skirt. “Didn’t I tell you he is going to help us with the decorations?”

      “Daniel is going to—” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “No, Willa Jean, you did not. And if—”

      “Well, I meant to. It must have slipped my mind while I was caring for Mary.” Willa sighed, slanted a glance up at her and sighed again. “Babies take so much time, Ellen. I simply don’t know how I would manage all I have to do without your help.”

      Her protest died. It was plain she would have to endure Daniel’s presence for Willa’s sake. She had given her word. And he would be going back to the lumber camp soon. Please, Lord! Meanwhile, she would avoid him as much as possible. The parsonage wasn’t a large house, but it was big enough to—

      “Come along, Ellen.” Willa lifted her hems and hurried toward the doorway.

      “Come along where?”

      “To get our cloaks and go to the church. We will make the decorations СКАЧАТЬ