by Cat Cahill
“But that wasn’t your question,” Caroline said, folding the blue cloth and raising her eyes to meet Ivy’s.
Ivy shook her head slowly. “No.” She drew in a deep breath. “Are you familiar with Mr. Chisholm?”
“Only somewhat. He’s come in the store a few times. A lot of the men will strike up conversations with my husband, but he isn’t the sort. He keeps to himself.” Caroline laid the folded cloth down and sighed. “You’ll have to forgive me, but he always seemed to be mourning his late wife.”
Ivy swallowed. “Did you know her?”
“Only just barely. Thomas and I opened this store shortly before I heard she passed. She came in with Mr. Chisholm once or twice, and I remember her as nothing but kind and friendly. Her passing was rather tragic.”
“Yes,” Ivy said, as if she knew all the details. As Caroline began cutting more of the blue cloth for Oliver’s shirt, Ivy knew it was now or never. She had to ask. And Caroline seemed nice enough. She was the only person in town who’d done more than stare at Ivy since she arrived. “Andrew doesn’t speak much about her or . . . what happened.”
Caroline glanced up, seemingly sensing Ivy’s hesitation to speak. “I imagine it’s painful for him. To have had such an accident happen.” Caroline shook her head.
“Yes,” Ivy said again. “I suppose so. But what I don’t understand . . . well . . . Everyone stares at me so. And the way they whisper, I feel as if they don’t much care for me.” Her words were quiet, but she’d gotten them out.
Caroline set her scissors down. “It isn’t that. I’m sure the ladies in town would like you once they met you.” She gave Ivy a reassuring smile.
“Then what is it?” Ivy clutched the edge of the counter. “If you know, you must tell me.”
“It’s Mr. Chisholm. Many people in town blamed him for his late wife’s accident.” Caroline’s eyebrows knitted together in concern as she repeated what Andrew had already told Ivy. Then she added, “A few people said it wasn’t an accident at all.”
Ivy’s heart seemed to stutter to a stop. What did that mean? And what was the accident? She couldn’t very well ask Caroline now, after she’d given the impression she knew.
“It’s only gossip,” Caroline said. “You oughtn’t pay it any heed. I don’t know much about what happened, but I’ve seen Mr. Chisholm since that time, and he’s never been the same. It wasn’t hard to see he was a man in deep mourning. I highly doubt it was his fault.”
Caroline’s words were reassuring. And besides, Ivy thought as Caroline wrapped up the fabric, a man who’d caused his wife’s death on purpose didn’t visit her grave regularly. Ivy had seen him walking out past the barn on more than one evening, only to discover what lay behind it one curious afternoon. And she suspected the pretty knickknacks and nice dishes were some of Mary’s treasured possessions. A guilty man wouldn’t keep such things about the house. It was, as Caroline had said, only gossip. Andrew had loved his first wife deeply.
So much, in fact, Ivy wasn’t sure he could make room for anyone else.
Chapter Twelve
She’d been in that store an awfully long time. Andrew shifted in the wagon’s seat and glanced back at the children, who were chattering happily about the games they’d played. He hoped they would make friends. He’d once thought he’d had such a thing here, but he’d seen their true colors after Mary had died. After that, he hadn’t bothered with trying. They blamed him, and most of the time, he thought they were right.
Finally, after what seemed to be half the afternoon, Ivy emerged from the mercantile, three wrapped parcels in her arms. Andrew called Oliver to the front of the wagon and told him to hold the lines. Oliver nodded seriously and sat up straight in the seat as Andrew went to collect Ivy’s packages.
“I put the fabric on your account. I hope that’s all right,” she said as she waited for him to help her into the wagon. “And I hope you like blue.” She gave him a smile so dazzling, so sincere, he couldn’t believe it was for him. As she placed her hand in his, trusting him, he felt some of that wall he’d built around his heart—specifically to keep her out—crumble yet again. It was dangerous, and yet he held on to her hand a moment longer than he needed to, relishing the feel of her fingers against his.
“Blue is fine,” he said, finally, as he reluctantly let go and she settled herself onto the seat.
Oliver returned to the rear of the wagon, grinning with pride at holding the mules steady, and Andrew paused a moment after he’d climbed onto the seat. Possessed with a desire to make Ivy smile again, he turned and reached for the parcel he’d gotten from the hardware store.
“What is this?” she asked when he placed the package in her lap. The children crowded behind her, curious to see.
“Open it.” He couldn’t keep the grin from his face.
As she pulled the strings, he began to grow nervous. What if they weren’t to her taste? What if she preferred something more elegant? Maybe she’d been exaggerating when she’d said her family didn’t have much in the way of funds. Or perhaps her idea of how little money made one poor was different from his.
“Oh, Andrew.” The words were more of a gasp than actual speech. She picked up one of the simple cast-iron drawer pulls between two fingers, holding it delicately as if her mere touch might make it break. The drawer pulls and matching butterfly hinges weren’t fancy, not in the least, but they were well made. “They’re beautiful. But what are they for?”
“They aren’t toys,” Oliver said, frowning at the pulls and hinges. Next to him, Sarah nodded seriously.
“No, they aren’t,” Andrew said. “They’re for a wardrobe.”
Ivy raised her eyes from the pull to give him a questioning look.
“A wardrobe that I’m building,” he added. His heart thumped as if he was nervous. Perhaps he was, although he didn’t know why.
When Ivy continued to look puzzled, he went on. “I overheard someone say there was not enough room for storing clothing. I thought a wardrobe might help with that situation.”
Ivy’s expression went from confused to surprised. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. It was an adorable expression, and he found himself wanting to laugh at her childlike joy.
“You’re building a wardrobe for me? Is that what you’ve been doing out in the barn so late?”
Andrew nodded. It was partially true, anyhow. Although the fact that he’d also been trying to avoid being too near her in the evenings felt ludicrous right now, when all he could think was that he wished she’d sit closer to him on the wagon’s bench seat.
“Oh, thank you!” Ivy leaned forward and threw her arms around him, the package still in her lap. Her face pressed against his chest, and a feather from her hat tickled his chin. She was warm and solid, so very alive and happy to be here—with him.
Something broke inside of Andrew, so hard it nearly choked him. He let his arms begin to find their way around Ivy, seeking to hold her to him for just a moment longer. But the second his hands almost landed, she sat up, looking at him with nothing short of complete admiration in her eyes. No one had looked at him like that in over a year.
Her gaze flickered to his hands as he drew them away from her, and her smile seemed to grow even brighter.
“I don’t want to put my underthings into drawers,” Sarah piped up. “It will take me longer to get dressed.”
His head swimming with emotions he couldn’t put a name to, Andrew turned to see the little girl sitting with her arms crossed.
Ivy laughed, pure and uplifting, and Andrew thought he’d never grow tired of the sound.
“I promise it won’t take but another few seconds,” Ivy said, but the little girl still pouted.
Andrew nudged the mules into motion. A couple standing nearby stared blatantly at him, reminding him that he wasn’t entirely worthy of Ivy’s trust. And that every thought of her betrayed Mary. But the thoughts felt like echoes of something he’d said long ago, and that raw, open, lonely space inside him—
the one that Ivy had nudged open with her embrace—ached in a much worse way than his guilt.
Perhaps that was why he reached for Ivy’s hand once they were about a half mile outside of town. She didn’t pull away, instead letting him wrap his fingers, clad in work gloves, around her delicate silk-covered ones. They rode in silence, hand-in-hand, while listening to Oliver and Sarah argue over who would let the chickens into the coop that evening.
A contented feeling stole over Andrew, one that made it seem as if all was right in the world. Not even the shame and fear that lurked just below the surface of his every thought could drive it away. He glanced at Ivy, who looked out to the horizon with a soft, content gaze. And he dared to hope she was happy here, with him.
And he wondered if it were possible to live a life this way forever.
Chapter Thirteen
“Aunt Ivy!” Oliver flung himself through the kitchen door.
Ivy glanced up from the stew she stirred on the stove while Sarah arranged her doll on one of the chairs at the table. “Did you wash up? And have you seen Uncle Andrew?” It was midday—the time his stomach usually led him back to the house.
“Not yet, but I have a problem.” He frowned, looking every inch the serious young man.
Ivy set the wooden spoon down and went to him. “What is it?”
“It’s Henry,” Oliver said, referring to one of the mules.
“Is he sick?”
“No . . . He’s here.” Oliver gestured behind him out the door.
Ivy raised her eyebrows. Andrew hadn’t taken the mules out into the fields with him that morning, which meant they should be in the corral. She took a step toward the door to see out, and sure enough, there stood Henry, taking his own lunch on the blades of grass behind the house. She moved out onto the back steps, Oliver behind her.
“Oliver. How did Henry get out of the corral?” Ivy asked while keeping an eye on the mule.
“It was an accident. I was checking their water trough, like Uncle Andrew told me, and he got out. And now I can’t get him back in.” The boy looked up at her anxiously. “He’s going to be so angry with me.”
Ivy nodded. “And rightly so. Henry could have run away. It costs a lot of money to buy a mule.”
“Please, can you help me get him back into the corral?” Oliver looked at her with desperation in his eyes.
Ivy’s heart melted for her nephew. He wanted so badly to be helpful, and he took everything so very seriously. “Of course I will.”
She approached the mule, talking to him softly. Ivy hadn’t spent much time with the mules, but she figured it couldn’t be too hard to get Henry’s attention and lead him back to the corral.
“Hello, sweet boy,” she said, stroking his nose. Henry looked at her with his soulful brown eyes. “Come along. Let’s get you back to where you belong.”
His long, velvety ears twitched, but he didn’t move when she stepped back and called to him.
“Henry, follow me!” she called again.
The mule simply continued to stare at her and chew grass while Oliver and Sarah watched from the little back porch. Perhaps if she guided him, he’d understand what she wanted him to do.
He wore nothing Ivy could use to lead him, and she certainly couldn’t throw herself onto his back and ride him to the corral without a saddle. Perhaps that was what she needed—a saddle and a bridle. There was only one problem with that solution, and it was that she’d have to leave Henry here. What if he ran off and the children couldn’t catch him?
“Maybe he’s hungry?” Oliver suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” Ivy replied. “Why don’t you and Sarah fetch some of those carrots from the root cellar?”
The children scampered off, and Ivy tried calling to Henry again.
“What is Henry doing back here?”
The sound of Andrew’s voice made Ivy jump. He stood behind her, wearing gloves filthy from the dirt but looking as tall and capable as ever. His hat was pulled low over his forehead and his hands sat on his hips, which only emphasized the muscular arms underneath his shirt sleeves. A streak of dirt ran from his jaw to his cheek. Ivy found herself wanting to reach up and rub it away with her thumb. Instead, she clutched her skirts and forced her mind back to Henry.
“He escaped the corral.”
“I can see that. Why didn’t you put him back in?” He pulled off a canteen he’d draped over his shoulder and set it on the steps.
“I can’t . . .” Ivy glanced at the mule, wishing he’d done her bidding so she wouldn’t have to confess how inept she’d been. “He refuses to move.”
The corner of Andrew’s mouth rose into a slight smile, and Ivy had the feeling that if he wasn’t so polite, he would’ve laughed at her situation.
“I sent the children after some carrots,” she added. “To coerce him into following me.”
“No need for that,” Andrew said. “You just have to know the trick.”
Ivy followed him to the mule, who’d returned to nibbling on the grass.
“Give me your hand.” Andrew peeled off his work gloves and held his hand outstretched, waiting.
Ivy did as he asked, and he wrapped his palm around the back of her hand. His touch seemed to make her entire body feel entirely too hot, as if it were late afternoon on an August day back in Illinois.
He guided her hand to the mule’s neck. “Right here. If you pet on his neck and then scratch him a little, he’ll do anything you ask.”
Andrew lifted his hand from hers as she stroked Henry’s soft neck. The mule nickered and flicked his ears before shuffling to come closer.
“He likes it,” she said, delighted.
“Mules are fickle beasts, but Henry’s a good one. Gentle, too, if we’d like to teach the children to ride.” Andrew stood over Ivy’s shoulder, so close she could have leaned back into his chest. He may have only been standing there to help her, but that knowledge didn’t stop Ivy from needing to swallow hard as she petted Henry’s neck.
She kept her eyes on Henry as she spoke. “I imagine they’d enjoy that.”
“Perhaps we can start tomorrow.” He reached up and took the back of her hand again, his arm stretched against hers and his chest just barely pressed against her back. “Now scratch him here, and in a minute, he’ll be more than happy to return to the corral.”
Ivy could hardly think straight with Andrew this close to her, but she managed to curl her fingers and run them through Henry’s coat. Andrew pulled his hand away but didn’t step back. She was acutely aware of every inch of him that still remained in contact with her. When he rested his hands on her shoulders, she caught her breath.
Questions swirled through her head. He was acting like a husband—as if he were attracted to her. It was what she’d hardly dared hope for, ever since she’d written that letter last winter, and even more so once she’d met him. But what about Mary? Did this mean he was overcoming his grief, at least enough to make room for another in his heart?
Her arm began to strain with the effort of keeping it outstretched but she didn’t dare stop. Because if she did, he might move away. It was as if time had slowed, and it was just her and Andrew here in this little part of the world. It was comforting despite her confusion, and she desperately wanted it to go on forever.
“All right,” Andrew finally said, his breath tickling her ear as he broke the spell. “Step away and ask him to follow you.” He slid his hands down her shoulders before stepping back, and Ivy swayed slightly without him there. She forced herself to return to the present, withdrew her hand, and moved backward.
“Here, Henry. Why don’t you come with me?”
Henry’s long ears flicked forward. He jerked his head up and down and then—to Ivy’s utter disbelief—took steps toward her.
“Good. Now keep moving and talking to him.” Andrew stood nearby, his arms crossed and a proud smile on his face.
Ivy grinned as her heart soared. Not only had she learned something new, but she’d made An
drew happy in the process. “Come along, Henry. Let’s see what Miriam’s been doing. You must miss her, don’t you?”
Henry nickered as if he were responding to her question. But he continued following her as she moved toward the corral, speaking to him in friendly conversational tones, as if he were a neighbor who’d come by for a visit. When they reached the corral, she slipped open the latch and Henry followed her inside.
“That was incredible,” she said in a breathless voice as soon as she emerged from the corral.
“I believe Henry approves of you,” Andrew said, slipping the latch into place just as Oliver and Sarah came running from the root cellar, a small bunch of recently harvested carrots in Oliver’s hand.
“I’m sorry it took us so long to find the carrots, Aunty Ivy,” he said. His eyes wandered to Henry, happily drinking from the water trough with Miriam nearby. “How did you get him inside?”
“I’ll teach you.” Andrew leaned against the corral fence, one arm resting on the wood rail. “After we have a talk about how important it is to always ensure the gate is closed and latched properly.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Oliver said, his eyes downcast.
“These mules are our livelihood. Without them, we can’t plant or harvest, and we can’t haul goods to and from town. Do you understand?” Andrew’s voice was firm but kind.
Ivy watched as Oliver nodded and apologized again, and Andrew then offered to teach both him and Sarah the trick to getting Henry to move. He led them into the corral, and Ivy waited outside, her arms draped over the fence rail. A slight breeze stirred the strands of hair that had fallen from their pins, tickling her face as she smiled at her family.
Her family. She was a mother now, something she wouldn’t have believed a year ago. Andrew glanced up, a smile on his face just for her, and her heart took off on a quick rhythm. She was a wife too, to a man who’d taken in two children who weren’t his own yet doted on them as if he’d known them from infancy.
