Love Blooms in Winter

by Lori Copeland

  Something suddenly blocked her air supply and she couldn’t breathe. The room immediately became too hot. Her hair! She looked as though she’d been in a wind storm, and the toe of one of her stockings had a hole in it. Focused on the diamond, she realized this was it, the hour she’d waited six years for, longed for, and dreamed about. The prize in the little box twinkled at her.

  Going down on one knee, he gently took her left hand. “This is what we’ve both wanted for a very long while, darling. We need to start our lives together—to become a real couple. Time is passing, and so is our youth.”

  Mae’s eyes lifted. Not exactly dazzling talk, but true. “It’s… so sudden.”

  “Sudden?” He cocked a dark brow. “I would hardly say that after six years this decision is based on an impulse.”

  “No… certainly not an impulse.”

  “Not that we’re old by any measure, but the days have a way of taking flight, and we want to be young enough to enjoy children and grandchildren…should we be blessed with little ones.”

  Her eyes pivoted back to the ring he had removed from the box. “Well, darling? What do you say? Will you make me the happiest man on earth and become my bride?” He held the twinkling diamond at her fingertip.

  “I…” She searched for the appropriate words. Her gaze fixed on a broken prong.

  “There is one loose prong, but I’ll have that fixed right away.” He slipped the ring on her finger. “There. A perfect fit.” He smiled. “It belonged to Mother, you know.”

  She didn’t know. Jake rarely spoke of his family, who lived in Branch Springs and never came to visit. Mae stared at the ring. It felt foreign and heavy on her finger, but the sincerity in his eyes reminded her of the long years she’d spent in pursuit of this moment. Most had been good years, years of memories and envisioning a future together. Jake wasn’t the most exciting mate, and she’d suspected as much long before Tom Curtis ever walked into her life, but he was solid and dependable. Jeremy’s and Pauline’s future would be assured. If she married Jake, she could quit her job at the post office and focus on her brother’s and Pauline’s needs.

  And it wasn’t as though anyone else stood in the wing waiting to claim her hand in marriage. An image of Tom fleetingly skipped through her mind, but she crushed the fairy-tale thought. In a matter of days he would be gone and she would still be in Dwadlo. Lifting her eyes, she smiled. “I would be honored to marry you, Jake.” The affirmation neither sounded nor felt the way she’d pictured it would. She didn’t squeal with joy or swoon with relief, but then she was close to thirty. A woman couldn’t wait forever, especially not in North Dakota. She accepted God’s plan for her life. Most likely the path He’d chosen for her was far better than the one she’d started to envision.

  Squeezing his hand, she said softly, “The ring is lovely.”

  Rising, Jake gave his vest a satisfied pat. “Now that we’ve dispensed with that matter, there’s no hurry to set a date is there? We have the rest of our lives, and should we delay a few more years and having children becomes less likely, we’ll deal with the matter when the time comes.”

  “No hurry.” She surprised herself with her willingness to agree with him. Planning a wedding took time, time she didn’t have at the moment.

  He pulled her to him and gave her a hug. “I’d like to see you tomorrow night too.”

  She realized suddenly that she would have to get used to seeing him more often now that they were betrothed. She studied the ring and was glad he couldn’t see the disappointed look on her face, or how she frowned at the broken prong that stood out like a sore thumb.

  “Well?” he said, releasing her.

  “Well what?”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Oh, yes. Tomorrow would be fine.” Looking at him now, she wondered how strange it was that a meticulous man like Jake wouldn’t have repaired the ring before he proposed. But at least he had asked her to be his wife.

  Twenty-Three

  Mae sat on the cracker barrel and laughed. Word of her engagement had spread faster than fleas. All of Dwadlo had heard the news: Poor Mae had finally caught her man at last, and she had a ring on her finger.

  She held the diamond up to the morning light and admired the setting. It was pretty enough—impressive yet tasteful. The ragged prong was a bit of a distraction, and the jewelry felt heavy on her hand, but Jake had given it to her.

  She knew something was very wrong with her engagement, and it was important. She’d waited. What was she fretting about? She’d waited six long years for this celebration, yet she wasn’t leaping for joy or standing on the porch shouting the news to anyone who would listen: “Mae Wilkey is engaged to be married!”

  She could finally take her mother’s wedding dress out of the trunk and try on the fine silky material, something she had never done. She wanted the excitement of the anticipated day to be new, fresh, and totally her own experience.

  The door opened and she glanced up, smiling when she saw Tom. The wind slammed the screen shut. Sliding off the barrel, she walked to the cage, her stomach slightly edgy. Had he also heard the news? “Good morning.”

  Nodding, he went to the root beer barrel, where only ice chunks floated. He’d heard. His cool demeanor and the way his lips pulled up at the corners confirmed her belief.

  “Sorry. I’m afraid the root beer is gone, but we have plenty of sarsaparilla.”

  The hunk of cold metal around her third finger itched. Swallowing, she stepped to the counter, unconsciously fussing with her hair. The edge of the stone’s setting caught in her thick tresses, and she discreetly tried to tug it free, but she only succeeded in getting it more tangled.

  “Not today.”

  He went to the back of the store, and she heard him rummaging through the nail bin. Her fingers worked to loosen the ring’s firm grip. Drats. Stuck tight as a miser. She heard him return and she straightened. Tom paused at the counter, setting down a sack of nails.

  She met his gaze. “I’m sorry, but could you…help me? One of the prongs is caught in my hair.” She went around the counter and stood before him. After grunting as though she were a worrisome child, he set to work trying to loosen the ring’s hold.

  “I’ve heard of nooses around the neck, but never one caught in the hair.”

  “That isn’t funny. It not a noose; it’s a ring.”

  Noose? Ring? Anchor might be more appropriate, because it felt like a lead weight. She clamped her lips closed to make sure the impertinent thought didn’t escape. The ring was lovely. Her life was perfect. She had everything she’d ever wished for—didn’t she?

  “Ouch! Is it budging?”

  “It’s getting more snarled. We’re going to have to cut it out.”

  “Cut my hair?”

  “Do you have a better solution?”

  She kept an eye on the front window. If Jake came in and caught her with Tom like this…well, his patience did have limits. She’d just barely managed to soothe his accusations last night. Dragging Tom with her, she returned to the cage and picked up a pair of scissors. “Please don’t cut more than necessary.”

  Snipping the scissors sharply a few times, he picked up a handful of her hair and pretended to slash a huge hunk. She moaned.

  “Relax.”

  He carefully snipped the ring loose with a distinct twinkle in his eyes. Being a hair’s breadth away from him, she could smell his fresh, clean outdoor scent. An inappropriate ripple raced up her spine.

  “Shall I save the hair for Jake’s memory book?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She took the lock and pitched it into the wicker wastebasket.

  “So.” He leaned against her desk, apparently in a better mood than when he first came in the store. “When’s the big event?”

  Jake’s earlier words floated through her mind. “There’s no hurry to set a date is there? We have the rest of our lives, and should we delay a few more years and having children becomes less likely, we’ll deal with t
he matter when the time comes.”

  “We haven’t set a date yet.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Apparently changing his mind, he grabbed a bottle of sarsaparilla.

  She eased around him, well aware he was much too close for comfort. She liked it when they were close enough for her to see the smile lines around his eyes. Liked it far too much for a woman about to marry another man. She paused and let the words sink in. She was engaged to Jake. Formally engaged.

  He set a bottle of sarsaparilla on the counter next to the sack of nails. “I’ll take a hunk of cheese and some crackers as well.”

  “This is your lunch?” She stepped to fill the order, relieved he was taking the news of her engagement in stride. He had seemed a bit miffed when he arrived, but that was likely due to problems on the site and not at all with his feelings about her.

  “Lunch and supper. I only left the site to send a wire.”

  “Sure.” She wrapped the cheese in heavy white paper and added a pickle, on the house. His vegetable for the day. After wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped into the cage. “To the railroad?”

  “Yes. Ask Letterman if he sent the right track yet, or has he got his head up his nose? Get me temporary track and in a hurry if he wants that rail fixed by Wednesday.”

  She wrote,

  PLEASE SEND PROPER TRACK STOP WORK PROCEEDING ON TIME BUT IN DIRE NEED OF EXPEDIENCY STOP

  “Anything else?”

  “Tell him to get off his duff and get the order right! I can’t fix the track without the proper material. Do they have a bunch of idiots working there?”

  She added,

  HAVE A NICE DAY STOP

  “Anything else?”

  “No.” He shelled a peanut and tossed the carcass on the floor. “I don’t know how I’m expected to build track without the right material,” he grumbled.

  “Got it.” She took the piece of paper and stepped to the telegraph machine. She was so attuned to the sound of the dots and dashes that she could decipher incoming and outgoing messages from across the room.

  “Trouble on the site?”

  “The usual stuff. Material isn’t right. Weather-related problems. People disgruntled because they can’t get their mail.” He glanced at the empty cooler. “Or root beer.”

  “No, but it’s not so bad.” She finished sending the message and turned to console him, but through the window she caught sight of Pauline.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “What?” He stepped up beside her and looked across the street.

  “Pauline’s in her robe, and it looks as though she’s about to burn something.”

  The wind was hiking the robe’s fancy material higher up the woman’s spindly legs. Mae focused on the small container sitting on the ground. “Oh, Tom! She has a kerosene can!” No matter how many times she warned Pauline about burning things with flammable liquid, she couldn’t break her of the habit.

  Tom was out the front door and running before Mae finished speaking. Grabbing the “Closed” sign, Mae hung it on the door, reached for her cloak, and followed him. Wind gusts loosened her hair further, and her cheeks stung from the biting cold. Her heart raced when Pauline slowly pulled a matchstick from the pocket of her robe.

  “Pauline! Hold up!” Tom shouted. “Don’t light that!”

  The old woman was hard of hearing, and the wind carried his voice in the opposite direction anyway, so it was impossible for her to hear Tom’s plea. Pausing before the barrel, she struck the match. Mae froze in her track. Pauline was acting as though this were a calm spring day!

  Tom arrived just in time to block the move. “Don’t do that. The wind’s too high to burn today.”

  “Oh.” Pauline glanced around. “Where’d you come from, sonny?” She looked straight at Tom. “They hurt my feet, so I have to burn them.” She touched Tom’s arm with her hand. “I’m only burning shoes.”

  A flood of barking dogs arrived, nipping at Tom’s pant legs. “Let me take care of this for you another time.”

  A breathless Mae arrived and wrapped her cloak around the elderly woman. “Pauline, you shouldn’t be outside today. I told you I’d burn those shoes.”

  “Fiddlesticks. I’m not helpless. I can burn them myself.”

  Mae glanced at Tom. “Is it safe to burn old shoes?”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. But right now?”

  Pauline took another match from her pocket. “Yes, now.”

  He peered in the barrel and saw one pair of shoes. He looked up. “Well, if it has to be now, stand back and I’ll light the fire.”

  Mae backed away and Pauline obediently went with her. Moving the kerosene can well out of the way, Tom struck a match and tossed it into the barrel. A flash—and then a roaring whoosh erupted. Yelping dogs scattered, and Tom staggered backward, throwing up a protective arm as flames from the barrel shot ten feet high.

  “Oh my!” Heat seared Mae’s face. “Pauline, you didn’t already put kerosene on the shoes, did you?” She’d only been carrying the can when Mae spotted her.

  Pauline nodded. “I emptied one can and went back for another. I figured it’d take one can for each shoe.”

  Mae focused on Tom, who dropped and rolled in the snow. She must have spotted Pauline when she was returning with the second can. After this experience, Tom would surely rue the day he came to Dwadlo. She bent to stare at him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Sitting up, he smothered the last bit of flame on his clothing. “Take care of Pauline, Mae. I’ll meet you back at the store.”

  Poor Tom. She took Pauline into her house and quickly settled her before hurrying back to the store. When she entered, she found Tom perched on the barrel she’d sat on earlier.

  “Just look at you! It’s a wonder you weren’t killed.” Mae disappeared behind the counter to fetch a clean cloth, a pitcher of water, and some ointment, and then she walked back to Tom. She wet the cloth and carefully washed the soot off his face, looking for wounds as she wiped his brow, nose, cheeks, and chin.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Well, your eyebrows and lashes will grow back, and so will the front of your hair.” She shook her head. “You may have to wear it short for a while.”

  “Great. How many cans did she dump on that fire?”

  “Only one full one. She was coming back with the second one when I saw her. Hold still.”

  He gritted his teeth while she finished wiping off his face. “Your skin is red from heat exposure, but fortunately you’re not badly burned.”

  Tom looked down at his clothes and pointed to the holes in his jacket. “You call this lucky?”

  “I am so sorry. I’ve warned her at least a hundred times not to burn things, especially when it’s windy.” Mae pitched the dirty cloth on the counter and applied ointment to his face. Then she brushed the singed fabric, some of it falling to the floor like paper. “I’ll get you a new coat.”

  “It’s fine. There are only a few holes in it.”

  “No. I’ll get you a new jacket. We received a shipment in before the train derailed.”

  Pushing away from her, he stood. “I have another coat, Mae. Where are my cheese and crackers?”

  She wrapped up the crackers and thrust the two packages into his hand. As he carefully put his hat on his head, she held back a chuckle. He looked funny with singed brows and lashes. Then she sobered. He could have been seriously hurt. “I hope the rest of your day is more agreeable.”

  She winced when he slammed the front door on his way out. Well, at least she had been pleasant. She started back to work but couldn’t get him off her mind. Thank You, Lord, for preventing Tom from being badly burned.

  The door opened and Pauline came in. Dressed in a warm coat and boots, she walked to the pickle barrel and helped herself.

  “Everything fine now?” Mae was pleased the woman was finally dressed properly for the time of year.

  “Fine as frog hairs.” She bit into the pickle.
“I was sitting over there thinking about my kin.”

  Nodding, Mae said softly, “Tom’s a good man.”

  “He is, isn’t he? I’d never have gotten that pen built if it wasn’t for you two.”

  Smiling, Mae made a notation in her postal record. “I just hope you learned your lesson not to burn on windy days.”

  Crunching on her pickle, Pauline made a sour face that made Mae want to laugh.

  “Yes…a good man. Can I tell you something that might upset you?”

  “Of course.” Mae closed the book and went to join her. “What would you like to tell me?”

  “Well, like I said, I was sitting over at my house and thinking real hard, and it suddenly came like a light in the night.”

  “What came to you?”

  “Tom.”

  “Tom stopped by?” Unlikely, since he was a tad bit hot under the collar when he had left the store earlier.

  “No, he didn’t stop by. I meant that I suddenly remembered him.”

  “You do!” Mae sprang to her feet. “That’s wonderful! Which side—do you recall? Does he belong on your mother’s or father’s side?”

  “Neither one.”

  Mae’s heart nearly stopped beating. “That isn’t possible, Pauline. He has to belong to one side or the other.”

  “No, he doesn’t. Just like I told him and you, I don’t have kin. Tom’s that young scoundrel who was with the railroad official nosing around years back. The one who wanted to buy up my property and turn it into a train station.”

  Twenty-Four

  Sinking to the bench, Mae tried to absorb the stunning revelation. Tom wasn’t Pauline’s kin? He’d made the long trip to Dwadlo, suffered numerous indignities, not to mention he didn’t have many eyelashes left, just to pacify both her and Pauline when all along he’d been right? Or was the old woman in another world again? Oh, please, let that be the explanation. “Pauline? What day is this?”

  “Friday.”

  “When were you born?”

  “September 7, 1800.”

  Bending closer, Mae asked, “What did you have for breakfast this morning?”