Love Blooms in Winter

by Lori Copeland

  Dale lifted patient eyes and met his gaze.

  “What?”

  Tom’s head started to throb. He had to deal with a crazy old woman, he was up to his ears in dog and cat fur, and now he was expected to babysit a mute? He knew the man could talk. Mae would have mentioned if he couldn’t speak. Didn’t anyone but Mae talk in this town?

  Dale’s long-suffering eyes focused on his chest. Tom checked the table service. He had a fork, knife, and spoon. A tall glass of milk sat in front of him. Butter and something that looked like sorghum sat nearby.

  Dale tapped his chest.

  What? His shirt? Bib. He wanted a bib. Glancing around the room, Tom spotted a cloth on the kitchen counter. Getting up, he retrieved the item, tied it around the man’s neck and pushed him closer to the table. He put a fork in his hand. “Now, eat.”

  When Dale still waited, Tom was tempted to eat his meal and be done with it. He moved to his chair and then noted Dale’s bowed head. Prayer. Heaving a mental sigh, Tom bowed his head and said, “Much obliged for the food and cobbler. Amen.”

  Reaching for two warm biscuits, Tom was pleased to see that the man was finally digging in. The silence was broken occasionally with a clicking fork or the sound of a cup or glass meeting the table.

  The older man cleaned his plate and then wiped his mouth on the bib. He sat up straighter. Tom caught the action from the corner of his eye. What now? “There’s cobbler, if you want it.”

  He shook his head and waited.

  Tom got up from the table, walked around to Dale, loosened the man’s bib, and handed it to him, refusing to wipe his mouth.

  Rising from the chair, Dale burped, put the cloth on the table, and then moseyed toward the bedroom.

  Tom’s gaze focused on the pallets, but his thoughts went to Mae Wilkey and Pauline Wilson. Unfortunately, he was stuck here for the time being.

  And he already knew he was going to sleep on the floor.

  Nine

  Where are all the barns around here?”

  The post office cage occupied a small corner of the store beside the front window, and Tom watched Mae sort circulars while he kept her company. He picked up a magazine, leaned against the cage shelf, and began to read. He wanted a distraction from the crick in his neck that wouldn’t let up from sleeping on a pallet.

  “A few are outside Dwadlo, but as you can see, the town is mostly residential.” Mae paused in her task and decided to address the unspoken subject between them head-on. “Have you definitely decided not to take Pauline back to Chicago with you?”

  “As I told you before, I can’t take her back with me.”

  “Oh, yes. Well. Last year I tried to find someone to stay with her, and I was willing to pay them what little I could, but there’s isn’t a soul around who has the time to care for an elderly woman. I couldn’t see Pauline put in a poorhouse alongside the insane, the inebriated, and the homeless.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I did hear of a nice place in Massachusetts—Boston’s Home for Aged Women—but they charge a small fortune.”

  “I know of other homes that care for the elderly, but they’re costly as well.” With his new promotion, he’d be making better money, and along with his savings, without a doubt he could pay for the woman’s care for the time she had left, but was she his responsibility? “Does Pauline have money? Any savings?”

  “Does she look like she has savings?”

  “No, but sometimes looks can be deceiving.”

  “She doesn’t have money, Tom. You can trust my word on that. Dale lets her carry credit here—which he’s almost never reimbursed for—or she wouldn’t eat. She sells personal items from time to time, but that accounts for little.”

  “Let me make my circumstance clear. I’m not a rich man, Mae, but I do have some savings, and I probably make enough to pay for a fancy home for aging women. However, should I do that for someone I don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “You still claim you don’t know her?”

  He had tumbled the possibilities of Pauline being kin in his mind a hundred times, and still there was no recollection of the woman. “I know I don’t know her.”

  “Then why stay?” As she turned away to resume her work, she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  He met her questioning gaze. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself all morning. I honestly believe I don’t know her, but in the rare event I’m mistaken I’ll do what I can to find her a home.” Had he really just said that? He’d help her find a home, even though he knew in his heart she wasn’t a member of his family? Was it Pauline’s situation that was keeping him here, or could it be he liked Mae Wilkey more than he wanted to admit?

  She slipped a flyer into a box. “That’s very noble of you.”

  He heard the sarcasm in her voice, but before he could address it the front door opened and a woman stepped inside. Mae turned to greet the newcomer.

  “Morning, Grace!”

  The woman hurried toward the cage. “Hello, dear. I need postage for three letters, please.” She rummaged in her crocheted bag.

  “Yes, ma’am. That will be three cents.”

  “Oh, where is my coin purse?”

  Grace searched and came up with a snuff box, from which she politely offered Mae a pinch. Mae shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  Stuffing the box back in her purse, Grace persisted with the search. Tom met Mae’s amused gaze. She was so pretty when she smiled. Eventually the other woman struck gold, drawing his attention.

  “Here you go.” With trembling fingers she counted out three coins.

  “Perfect.” Mae slipped them into the cash box. “And how is the mister today?”

  “He’s loading feed on the wagon. I really must hurry.” She cast an uneasy glance out the front window.

  Mae stamped the letters, smiling. “Have a good day.”

  “Thank you, dear. The same to you.”

  The door closed behind her, and Mae continued sorting mail. Glancing up from his magazine, Tom asked, “What’s her situation?”

  “Grace?” Mae shook her head. “She’s terrified of her own shadow. Her husband has to take her everywhere she goes and stay with her or she’ll faint.”

  “Faint?”

  “That’s Grace’s way of handling a nervous condition. She faints. Medford—that’s her husband—has to do everything for her. Truthfully, she’s shamefully sheltered. The couple has no children and have devoted themselves to each other. Grace buys all sorts of lotions and potions from traveling salesmen that promise to ease her condition, but none ever work.”

  A can dropped, and Tom looked up to see Dale restocking the shelves near the back of the store. His eyes focused for a moment on the quiet man, and then trying to keep his voice low, he asked, “Do you find Dale to be a pleasant person?”

  “Pleasant enough.”

  “Does he talk?”

  “Dale?” Mae burst into laughter. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “I haven’t heard him say a word. Apparently his mother was accustomed to looking after him. There must be a lot of that going around.”

  Mae frowned. “He talks, and he’s extremely self-sufficient.”

  Tom turned to meet her gaze. “Dale? Self-sufficient?” Who had he just spent last evening with and waited on hand and foot at the supper table?

  “Very. If you’re having difficulty getting acquainted, please don’t hold that against him. It’s true that Dale’s mother pampered him, but he’s a wonderful man, even if he does have a shy nature and sometimes has a hard time expressing his thoughts to those he doesn’t know. He’ll warm to you. Just give it a little time.” Leaning on her elbow, she grinned. “You are a good man, Mr. Curtis.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t be giving me undeserved praise, Miss Wilkey. I haven’t found Pauline a home yet.”

  “But you will.” She sighed. “I slept well last night knowing that the situation was in good hands.”

  He hadn’t closed an eye until the roost
er crowed at dawn, but what she’d just said helped him make the decision. He didn’t have any family members left, so why shouldn’t he help an old lady who was also without family?

  “About the dogs and cats.” He’d steered clear of the subject until now, but there was no way on earth he could find homes for Pauline’s animals.

  “Yes…that is a problem.” Mae studied the envelope in her hand. “I’ve told Jeremy to ask around, but no one wants or needs another animal. Frankly, I believe most have disposed of their unwanted cats and dogs in her yard because they knew Pauline would care for them.”

  “How can she feed them?”

  “Well, the neighbors are good about that. They bring their table scraps and dump them in the large barrel sitting in the shed to keep the animals fed.”

  “Good of them, since most likely they’re feeding their own animals.”

  “I understand your concern, and I’ll help any way I can.”

  His concern. Now it was his concern. What could he do? He’d brought it on by saying he’d help. Laying down the magazine, he nodded. “Let me give it some thought, and I’ll see what I can come up with. I don’t have much time, though. I have to be back at work in a few days.” He prepared to leave.

  She exited the cage and walked with him to the front door. “I was hoping, if you stay long enough, that you would attend church with us Sunday morning.”

  “With whom?” He was planning on being long gone by Sunday.

  “Pauline, Jeremy, Jake, and me. Afterward, we can have dinner together. Chicago is so far away. Surely lingering a few days here in Dwadlo wouldn’t hurt.” She glanced out the window at the house down the way with dogs roaming the yard. “Considering Pauline’s condition—well, you never know when the Lord will call her home.”

  His gaze traced hers and also rested on the dogs. He wasn’t used to this kind of upheaval in his life. Besides, he’d already made his assessment of Pauline’s yard, and the last thing he wanted to do was have a midwinter picnic in it. Although, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t mind spending more time with Miss Wilkey. “I’m not sure I’ll be around by then.”

  “But if you are?”

  She turned, her warm gaze melting his protests. Oddly enough, something inside of him bought her invitation. “I’ll see how things go.” Curtis, that’s crazy. You have a well-earned promotion waiting for you in Chicago. Don’t go getting involved with a woman, not at this point.

  He had to clear his mind. “Guess I need to get to work.” As he was leaving, he called, “Have a nice day, Dale!”

  Lifting a jar of tomatoes, Dale acknowledged his departure.

  Closing the door behind him, Tom released a long breath. Shy? He’d have to describe the owner as downright strange.

  A loud crash, and then the sound of glass breaking, came from inside the store. Tom hoped Dale hadn’t broken anything—like a bone. He didn’t hear screams, so Mae must not be worried.

  Shaking his head, he went in search of someone he didn’t know to care for someone he didn’t know.

  Didn’t make a lick of sense.

  Ten

  Later that evening Tom realized how hungry he was, so he stopped by the café. Dale and Jeremy would have eaten by now. Business was slow. The owner, Rosie, was cleaning up in the back room. A lone man brought his plate over to Tom’s table.

  “Can you pass me the salt?”

  Obliging, Tom handed him the shaker. So far nobody he met had treated him like a stranger. Must be the small-town atmosphere. Surely there wasn’t something about him that made folks pick up their plates and want to have supper with him.

  The man took a bite before he even sat down. “Name’s Jester.”

  The newcomer liberally salted his meat loaf. White grains fell on the red-and-white checked tablecloth. Tom sized up his dinner guest beneath lowered lids. The man was big—well over six foot, he’d bet, with a heavy red beard. He wouldn’t miss two hundred and fifty pounds by a pound or two. “Mr. Hester.”

  “Jester. Just like it sounds. J-E-S-T-E-R.”

  “Jester,” Tom corrected. How was he supposed to understand someone with a mouth full of food? Silence fell over the table while the two men ate. When Jester pushed back, Tom still had half his meal on his plate.

  “Hear your Pauline’s kin.”

  “That’s what I’m told.” It didn’t take long for news to travel here.

  “She’s a good woman, but real strange. Know what I mean? I found her in back of the café a couple of days ago, planting a garden.”

  “In January?”

  “Tell her that. This morning I caught her with her hoe and shovel, again behind the café, planting some sort of seeds in the snow, muttering something about growing a fine crop of bread.”

  “Losing your mind is a sad thing.”

  “Yes.” Jester motioned Rosie over for a coffee refill. “Likely we’ll all get there if we live long enough.”

  “I have a couple pieces of lemon meringue left.” Rosie refilled both cups. “Dessert’s on me tonight.”

  Tom refused with a shake of his head and a smile, but Jester accepted. “I’ll eat anything that won’t eat me first.”

  Chuckling, she left and the stranger returned to the conversation. “What do you think of Mae?”

  “Mae Wilkey?”

  “Dwadlo don’t have but one Mae.”

  Shrugging, Tom picked up his cup. “She’s pleasant enough.” She’d be a whole lot more agreeable if she hadn’t dumped a peck of responsibility on his plate. The gentleness of her touch when she wiped the mud from his face and the smell of jasmine came to mind. She was a kind soul. Why else would she be so concerned about Pauline?

  “Yes, sir. She’s a keeper. Never could figure out why she takes to Lil the way she does. Those two are best friends. Now, there’s a woman who’ll put a knot on your head for looking at her wrong.”

  A grin formed on Tom’s lips. “You talk as if you’ve looked at her once or twice.”

  “Me? Never. She’d like to put a knot on my head, but she ain’t met her goal yet.”

  Hearing that the woman was Mae’s best friend fueled Tom’s curiosity. “So who is Lil?”

  “Oh, she’s a loudmouthed female who lives just outside of town. Raises big ol’ hogs. Always smells like one too. Like Pauline, she gathers any stray that comes her way. Stubborn as a Missouri mule. She and Mae met in school, and they been soul mates ever since.”

  “I gather Lil isn’t spoken for?”

  “Lil?” Jester threw back his head and laughed, a deep baritone rumble. “Don’t know of a man who’d have her!” Lacing his coffee with heavy cream, he sat back, assessing his table companion. “Hear you’re with the railroad.”

  Change of subject. Nodding, Tom swallowed the last of his coffee.

  “Been there long?”

  “Sixteen years.”

  “Me? The town’s so small I run the livery and do the smithy work. Lost the missus awhile back, so it’s no problem. Now I eat all my meals at Rosie’s.” The owner returned and set the pie on the table. He glanced at Tom. “Sure you don’t want a hunk of this?”

  Tom waved the offer aside. That slab of lemon meringue pie, if eaten, would fell a moose.

  “Guess you’ve met Jake.” Jester took a bite of the dessert.

  Fishing in his back pocket, Tom removed his wallet. “Don’t believe I have.”

  “Jake Mallory? Claims he’s going to marry Mae—if he ever gets around to asking.”

  Glancing at the bill, Tom shook his head. “I only arrived yesterday.” So Mae had a suitor. That didn’t surprise him, but it didn’t please him too much either. She was a fine-looking woman. Tiny, with a waist a man could span with both hands. Godly, pleasant personality, pretty dark eyes and blond hair—and she was a good sister to Jeremy. Until now he hadn’t realized he’d noticed that many things about her.

  Mouth full of pie, the man nodded. “You’ll meet him. It’ll take a spell to find somewhere to put Pauline, lessen you figur
e on stickin’ around to take care of her yourself.”

  Tom supposed he needed to tell him that he’d been assigned an impossible task. “Do you know anyone who will take the dogs and cats?”

  Jester glanced up, frowning. “No.”

  “Pauline?”

  “No.”

  Tom had been given the same answer all day. He laid two quarters on the bill. “If you run across anyone, will you send them my way? I’m staying at Mae’s.”

  The man choked and spit out the sip of coffee he’d just taken. Tom smiled at Jester’s reaction and reached to whack him on the back. “Mae is staying in Dale’s quarters at the store, and he, Jeremy, and I are at her place.”

  Fumbling in his back pocket, Jester produced a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Whew. You gave me a scare there for a minute. I know Mae has the patience of Job, waiting all these years for Jake to propose, but I thought she’d gone off her rocker.”

  Tom smiled and then headed for the front door. When he got there, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see that the man was following him. Jester apparently wasn’t finished saying what he had to say.

  “Put mine on my bill, Rosie! Thanks.”

  “Night, Fisk!”

  The two men stepped onto the porch, pausing to lift their collars. Mae had done a fine job mending Tom’s coat and shirt and cleaning his clothes. It was good to be wearing clothing that fit. The snow had stopped falling, but the cold wind rattled the bones. When Tom set off, he noticed Jester was still with him. “Thought you said your name’s Jester.”

  “Did. Jester’s my surname. Fisk is my given.” The man glanced over. “Figure we’re walking in the same direction.”

  Nodding, Tom trudged through snow drifts. “Have you lived here long?”

  “Born and reared a couple of miles away.”

  “Then you’ve seen a lot of change.”

  “Some. The train’s the biggest thing that ever happened in Dwadlo.” Jester’s tone dropped to one of reverence. “I took the blacksmith job when the town formed. When I first moved here, I’d get up before the sun rose, pour my coffee, and then go sit on the train platform to wait until that big ol’ steam engine would pull into the station, puffing smoke and wheels screaming against steel. Truth is, you can still find me there about any morning of the week.” A wistful tone filled the man’s voice. “I’d give an arm and a leg to drive one of those sleek, black iron horses.”