Make You Feel My Love

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “And then you found a violin in your great-aunt’s antique store.”

  “Yes.”

  “To me, that sounds like a gift from God.”

  Another pause, then, “Yes, it does.” The words were flecked with wonder.

  Liam felt as if he’d done something meaningful. He supposed he had, in a small way. He’d let her keep the violin. But that hadn’t been hard to do. Only a little common sense was needed to know that, no matter who took the violin to the antique store and however many years before, the Chandlers no longer had a legitimate claim to it. In fact, he thought Chelsea deserved it, knowing she’d tried to do the right thing despite wanting the instrument so much.

  He’d thought before that Chelsea would have liked Jacob. Now he believed his brother would have liked her equally as much. He’d had a good heart. So did she.

  Liam’s smile grew as the truck rolled on toward Boise.

  Cora

  October 1895

  Cora walked beside Preston Chandler, nerves tumbling in her stomach. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. She’d lived with the sensation for many months now.

  “That house over there,” he said, indicating the direction with his head since his hands were holding her trunk. “That’s where you’re staying.”

  As they approached the house—made of clapboard, like the schoolhouse she’d seen only minutes before—a woman stepped onto the front porch, wiping her hands on a dark apron.

  “That’s Mrs. Mason,” Preston added. “Sarah Mason. Nice woman.”

  Cora hoped so since they would share a house for at least the next year, if all went well.

  “Here she is, Mrs. Mason. Safe and sound.” He set the trunk on the porch. “Cora Anderson, Sarah Mason. Sarah Mason, Cora Anderson.” He touched his hat brim. “I’ll let the two of you get acquainted.” His gaze met Cora’s. “A pleasure to meet you, miss.” With that, he strode away.

  Cora relaxed a little now that he was gone. Since leaving New York, she’d remained cautious around men. Any man she met could be the one her father had hired to find her. Aaron Anderson was not the sort to give up easily. It wouldn’t matter that months had passed since his daughter broke her engagement and defied him by leaving home. In fact, the passage of time would make him even more determined to find her. He would spend any amount necessary to bring her to heel. But surely he wouldn’t be able to find her in this secluded town. Surely she would be safe in Chickadee Creek.

  “Mr. Chandler’s a man of few words,” Sarah said, intruding on Cora’s thoughts.

  She turned to face her new landlady.

  “Come inside. Let’s get you settled. It’s no easy journey up from the valley. All that jostling about in the coach takes a lot out of you.” Sarah picked up Cora’s trunk as if it weighed nothing and led the way inside.

  The front living area was small but cozy. There were two rocking chairs near a fireplace, a table with benches on two sides and one straight-backed chair on an end, a sideboard, a cookstove, an icebox, and a sink with a pump. There were two doors beyond the living area, leading, Cora could only presume, to a couple of bedrooms. Everything was sparse but clean.

  “The room on the right will be yours.” Sarah went to the door and opened it with a bump of her shoulder. She set down the trunk inside the doorway, then stepped to one side so Cora could enter as well.

  The room held a narrow bed covered with a patchwork quilt, a chiffonier, and a small stand with a pitcher and bowl in its center. A rag rug covered much of the floor. Instead of a wardrobe for her dresses, there were hooks on the wall.

  Cora smiled. “This is nice.”

  “Why don’t you come out to the table and have a cup of tea? You can unpack your trunk after you’ve rested a spell.”

  “Thank you. I would love a cup of tea, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “No trouble. And if you need the necessary, use the side door off the kitchen. You can see it soon as you step outside.”

  Cora gave her head a slight shake. “I’m all right.”

  “Very well.” Sarah left the bedroom.

  From the doorway, Cora watched the other woman as she filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove. Sarah then took two china cups from the sideboard and set them on the counter. Glancing up, she motioned for Cora to join her at the table. She did so.

  “All right, then.” Sarah sat opposite her. “Let’s do as Mr. Chandler said. Let’s get acquainted. Why don’t you begin by telling me where you’re from? Plain as the nose on your pretty face that you’re not from around these parts.”

  “No.” Cora looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I’m not.”

  “I’m guessing by the way you talk, when you’ve managed to say anything at all, that you come from back East somewhere.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “New York, maybe.”

  Alarm coiled inside Cora. “You can tell that?”

  “Mercy, child. I’ve lived in these parts for almost thirty years. In that time, we’ve had men and women come through Chickadee Creek from near about everywhere in this country. Other countries too. I learned I’ve got an ear for accents, I do, so there aren’t many who fool me when it comes to their roots.”

  Cora sat straighter. “I have no wish to fool you, Mrs. Mason.”

  “Oh, I’m right sorry. I never meant to say you did.” Sarah took a breath and released it. “Maybe it would be better if I told you about me and what you’ll find here in Chickadee Creek.”

  Cora relaxed. “Please.”

  “Well, like I said, I’ve lived in these mountains near on thirty years. Came here with my husband, Jack. He started out looking for gold, like most everybody else, then decided he’d do better hauling freight for other miners.” She glanced around the living area. “It was a smart decision, becoming a freighter. He built a good business, and we made a nice life for us in this town.”

  Cora nodded.

  The water in the kettle came to a boil, and Sarah rose from her chair and went to prepare the tea. Soon enough, the two cups sat on the table, along with a small pitcher of milk and a sugar bowl.

  As if there’d been no break in the conversation, Sarah resumed talking as she added sugar to her tea and stirred it with a spoon. “Chickadee Creek’s a good place to live. In addition to the school that Mr. Chandler showed you already, we’ve got a church, a post office, a mercantile, and a feed store. Even got a ladies’ dress shop. County seat is up north, but the mountains between us don’t make it easy if there’s official business to be done, so we got a little courthouse and a sheriff’s office, too, with our own deputy and judge, when the need for them arises. It doesn’t arise often. Judge Goodnight, he runs the lumber mill outside of town, and Rafe Sooner, the deputy, spends most of his time locking up stray dogs or trying to catch kids who make mischief.”

  Sipping her tea, Cora wondered about Preston Chandler. What did he do in this town? Why had he been the one to meet her coach?

  “As for me, I work as the housekeeper for Mr. Chandler, the man who brought you here.”

  Cora lifted her gaze. Had Sarah Mason read her thoughts? Had Cora’s curiosity shown on her face?

  “He’s kind of new to Chickadee Creek too. Inherited his house, land, and mining interests from a cousin. Likable fellow, though I can’t say I know a whole lot more about him. Not even sure where he came from before he got here. He isn’t a man who talks much.” Sarah grinned. “Unlike me, who’s been doing all of the talking.” She beckoned with one hand. “So now it’s your turn. Tell me how you became a teacher.”

  Thankfully, Cora wasn’t required to lie in order to answer. “After I left the East—and you’re right, I did live in New York—after I left, I traveled to Colorado. A friend helped me get my teaching certificate, and her niece helped me obtain this position.”

  “A pretty thing like you should have men lining up to want to take care of you. Marriage, I mean. Surprised that hasn’t happened already.”

  “I’m not interested in having a man
take care of me.” Her voice sounded terse in her own ears. “I was engaged to be married. Once. Some time ago. I chose not to marry him after all.”

  “Ah.”

  “He didn’t break my heart, if that’s what you’re wondering.” As the words came out of her mouth, Cora thought again of her father. If any man had broken her heart, it was Aaron Anderson. Her father was the one who hadn’t cared what Cora wanted, who’d refused to listen to her, who’d expected to be obeyed no matter what. He’d been the one willing to sell his only daughter without a care for her present or future happiness.

  Cora gave her head a shake, chasing away the thought. “I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t want to become a teacher. I did. I knew it was meant for me the first moment I stepped into a schoolroom.”

  “Where did you teach before here?”

  “I had a temporary position in Boulder, Colorado, but the original teacher returned after a short while, so I applied for this position. And I’m excited to begin teaching the children of Chickadee Creek.”

  “Well, that’s good, because the children in these parts are looking forward to having a teacher again. The last one didn’t make it through the winter. Besides, he was a mean sort. Nobody cared for him, parents or students. Whole town was glad to see his back as he left town.”

  Cora could only hope the townsfolk wouldn’t think the same about her a year from now.

  Liam's Journal

  Jacob used to say that I liked to study people. He was right. Even as a kid I liked to observe, see what people did, listen to what they said. I liked to find out what made them tick. I still do. Jacob said it taught me empathy, which made it easier for me to play lots of different parts.

  “Wouldn’t you like to play somebody who keeps his shirt on?” Jacob asked me one time.

  I was insulted. It made me angry. I didn’t understand what he meant then. I do now. He was challenging me about the direction my career was taking me. Not that he hated my films. He found them exciting and funny. They were good entertainment. But he said there was more to me as an actor and that I ought to find the films that would make me go deeper. Films that would make viewers feel and think, not just laugh or have me flexing my chest muscles.

  I miss him saying stuff like that to me. (Although I wanted to slug him at the time.)

  I may have been the brother who studied people, but he was the one who understood them on a gut level or a heart level. Way more than I do. Sure, I catch on, but he was always there before me. Understanding. Forgiving. Encouraging.

  I don’t mean to make a saint out of him, even in these private pages. He wasn’t a saint (except in the way my pastor starts each Sunday by saying, “Morning, saints”). Jacob had his flaws, like anybody. But fewer than me, that’s for sure.

  I wonder what the movie is that Grayson Wentworth is about to make. The one he talked to Kurt about. Was it something Jacob would’ve liked me to do?

  Chapter 10

  A small bell chimed as Liam opened the door to Rosemary & Time on Saturday morning.

  “Good morning, Liam.”

  He looked to his right to see Rosemary Townsend seated in the wingback chair she kept near the window.

  “Chelsea told me you’d be prompt, and so you are.”

  He glanced around. “She isn’t here?”

  “Not yet. She had an errand to run.”

  Disappointment sluiced through him. He’d looked forward to seeing her again.

  “But she’ll be back before long,” Rosemary finished.

  “Right.”

  The older woman pushed up from the chair. Using her cane, she walked toward the back of the shop. “Come with me.”

  “Right,” he repeated.

  “Chelsea and I got some things out last night before we went to bed.” Rosemary motioned for him to come closer.

  On the counter near a window lay several stacks of old newspapers, another stack of magazines, and a final one of books.

  Rosemary placed a hand on the first stack. “Newspapers don’t last a long time, as you probably know. They get yellow and go brittle. These only go back to the seventies, and you’ll need to be careful with them so they don’t fall to pieces on you. But there was a regular column in here about the early years of Chickadee Creek, and of course, Chandlers had a lot to do with the early years in these parts. So I figure you’ll find a good bit of information about your family. And what we don’t have here, you’ll at least know enough so you can do a search on the internet or go down to the library in the valley. They’ll have older copies of the newspaper on microfiche or in some other electronic files.”

  “I didn’t know Chickadee Creek had a newspaper.”

  “We don’t. Not anymore. The Chickadee Press went out of business in eighty-five. But it was around for a long time before that. In fact, my grandfather was the owner and editor for a spell.” Her gaze roamed over the room. “This was the newspaper office at one time. Way, way back. During the Depression and World War II.”

  “I never had a clue.”

  With a sigh, Rosemary returned to the front of the store. “After my grandfather gave up on the newspaper, he used this building to store old things. ‘Junk,’ he called it, and it mostly was.” She sank onto the chair with another big sigh. “I suppose that’s mostly what’s in here today. Years and years of other people’s junk.”

  Liam smiled at the affection in her voice. She might say it was mostly junk, but she didn’t believe it. He could tell that much from the way her gaze roamed the room.

  As if hearing his thoughts, she said, “All this represents other lives.” She pointed to a jewelry display. “That string of pearls there. Can you see it? It was a gift from a husband to his new bride. I was a little girl when they got married, but I remember the wedding ceremony clear as day. Took place out on the meadow the other side of the creek. Behind the Chandler mansion.”

  Liam stepped to the case to look at the necklace, partly to please the older woman, partly out of curiosity.

  “The groom was your grandfather Oliver Chandler. The bride, your grandmother Eunice.”

  Liam glanced at Rosemary. “How did the pearls end up here?”

  “Oh, that’s a long story.” She shook her head.

  “I like long stories.” He drew up a chair from the opposite wall. “Most movies take about two hours to tell one.”

  “They’re just my memories. Probably not as reliable as what you’ll find in those newspapers and books.” She motioned with her head toward the stacks she’d shown him earlier.

  “I’ll risk it.”

  She responded with a smile. “I was nine years old. I remember because that was the same summer I got a brand-new bike from my grandparents for my birthday. Most of the time, I got hand-me-downs from John, my brother. But not that year. That year, I got a new bike with streamers flowing out of the handlebars.”

  Liam thought he caught a glimpse of the happy little girl reflected in the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Anyway, we were all dressed up in our Sunday best for that wedding. After all, the Chandlers were the first family of our little town. Oliver’s father was dead by then, and his mother was living in Boise. But Oliver and Eunice wanted to get married here and planned to live in the Chandler mansion after their honeymoon. He had some scheme to get the mining going again. Young and full of grand ideas, he was, and not that long out of college. He’d studied to be an engineer.” She turned a questioning glance in Liam’s direction. “Do you remember him?”

  “Vaguely. I was about four years old when he passed.”

  “Mmm.” She nodded, then was silent for a lengthy spell, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, she drew a deep breath and continued. “The Chandlers weren’t nearly as wealthy as they once were. The Depression was as hard on them as everybody. But they were better off than most. Still owned a good share of the land in these parts. The wedding was quite an affair. All the folks from Chickadee Creek were invited, and lots of people came up from Boise too. I suppos
e I remember the reception afterward more than anything about the ceremony. Except for the kiss. I remember that kiss.” She smiled and clapped her hands together once.

  Liam grinned in return.

  “At the reception, Oliver gave Eunice that string of pearls. He fastened them around her neck and told her how much he loved her while all the guests watched. It was the most romantic thing I’d seen up to that moment.”

  “You were nine.”

  “I was nine. And before you ask, yes, I’ve seen other romantic things since then. Experienced a bit of romance myself, for that matter.”

  They laughed in unison.

  But her smile faded after a while. “I suppose that’s why it was so sad when Eunice brought those pearls to me fifteen years later.” She blew out a huff of air. “Your grandfather’s gold-mining schemes didn’t go well. He lost a lot of money, and they finally moved to Boise for Oliver to find other work. Eunice came back to Chickadee Creek one day to collect a few more belongings from the old mansion, and she stopped in here to sell me the pearls. I told her I couldn’t give her anywhere close to what they were worth. Truth is I didn’t know what they were worth. She didn’t care. She simply said she didn’t want them any longer.” Rosemary shook her head slowly. “I don’t know if she was that desperate for money or if the love those pearls represented was gone. It could have been either . . . or both.”

  Liam thought of his parents rather than his grandparents. They weren’t desperate for money. Or at least he didn’t think that was the cause of the rift between them. Had love just died, the same way it appeared to have died between his grandparents?

  Rosemary cleared her throat. “I never could bring myself to sell those pearls. I’ve had offers through the years, but I always asked more than anybody was willing to pay. I don’t know why. Sentimental, I guess. At first, I thought Eunice might come back for them. Later . . .” She shrugged. “So there they stay. A showpiece in a decrepit old antique store.”