Honoring Her Heart

by Amelia C. Adams

  He glanced at the kitchen. “Do you think Patty would be offended if we took our tea later? I’ve been thinking about our walk all afternoon, and I’d hate to delay it even longer.”

  Mary’s chest warmed. He’d been thinking about it? Even while visiting the Thurgoods? “I’m sure she won’t mind. I’ll go tell her, and I’ll get my hat.”

  Patty grinned when Mary asked her to wait on the tea. “I figured you were going to say that. I’ve been moving really slowly just in case.”

  “You always do know better than I do.”

  “And don’t you forget it!” Patty wagged the jam spoon in the air, and Mary chuckled as she turned and went upstairs.

  She stood in front of her closet for a moment, contemplating.

  All her dresses were dark, somber colors, but she did have a white blouse that she wore on occasion. She took it from her closet and found a skirt to wear with it. The skirt, of course, was a dark color, but the white would be a nice change. She put the new clothes on quickly, before she could talk herself out of it and before she kept Christopher waiting too long. Then she checked her hair in the mirror. The new sort of bun she’d created that morning still looked nice, but a few tendrils had fallen down around her cheeks. She lifted her arms to begin fixing it, but then she paused. She liked the way she looked. It was more natural, less severe.

  And she was aware of no rules of propriety that stated that a widow had to look her worst at all times.

  With a smile to her reflection, Mary left her room and descended the stairs, feeling lighter and even younger than she had for quite a long time.

  Christopher was standing near the door when she came down, and he grinned when he saw her. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, I am. I think . . . I think I’m ready for a lot of things.”

  He didn’t question what she meant. Instead, he gave a little nod as if he already knew, and he held the door open for her.

  Creede on a Sunday was a very quiet place, and living off the beaten path, it was even quieter. Mary could almost hear the beating of her heart as they strolled along—or perhaps it was just the crunching of her shoes. No, it was her heart. It had to be.

  “Wendell Thurgood has asked me to drive around with him tomorrow to look at some additional properties,” Christopher said after they crossed the street and resumed walking on the other side. “Some are a distance out of town, so I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

  “Would you like me to ask Patty to make a lunch basket for you?” Mary didn’t want him to be gone all day, but she could support him in his endeavors even while missing him.

  Christopher surprised her by coming to a full stop and turning to face her. “Did you hear yourself just now?”

  She blinked. “I . . . believe I did, but I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You consistently astonish me with your kindness and generosity. Your first thought was for my comfort, just as it has been since I arrived, and no, I don’t believe that you’re just doing your job as the landlady. Your heart is the most genuine, pure heart I’ve ever encountered, and I admire you for that.”

  “Thank you,” she stammered, not knowing what else to say. “If I’m going to be completely honest, though, that wasn’t my first thought.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “No. My first thought was that I’d rather you stay home.”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t an ordinary smile. It was one that started from somewhere deep within him and appeared in his eyes, then spread across his face and lit it up like the glow of a fireplace on a cold night. “You would?”

  “Yes. I’m growing accustomed to having you around.”

  “That’s the most delightful thing I’ve heard all day.” He rocked back on his heels. “What if you came with us?”

  “You’d . . . you’d want me to come along?”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more. It would be fun to hear your opinion as we drive along.”

  The invitation was so unexpected that she couldn’t pull her thoughts together. “I’d like that,” she said at last.

  “My motives for asking you aren’t entirely unselfish,” he went on. “You were honest with me a moment ago, and I’ll be the same with you—I missed you today, Marigold.”

  His voice had mellowed into a low rumble that reminded her of gentle thunder, and she caught her breath. He was looking at her with an emotion she couldn’t describe, something that spoke of the admiration he’d mentioned, but also something more. “I missed you too.” There—the words were out, for better or worse. Now what would he do with them?

  “Then we must take care not to let it happen again.” He motioned toward the road. “Shall we continue?”

  They fell back into step, and after a moment, she began to wonder if that conversation had really taken place or if she’d imagined the whole thing. But then he reached out and touched her elbow, and tingles raced up her arm. She hadn’t imagined any of it, and it was far, far better than she could have imagined anyway.

  ***

  When Mary asked Patty for help creating a picnic basket for the next day, she expected some kind of “I told you so” response. Patty merely smiled and said she’d be more than happy to help, and that she’d already started a chocolate cake.

  As Mary bathed and dressed the next morning, she thought over her resources. She had been tucking money away in the bank quite faithfully ever since she started the boarding house, saving up against a day when she wouldn’t have enough guests to pay her bills. She hadn’t checked her balance for a while because she knew it couldn’t be much, and she didn’t want to cause herself alarm that she wasn’t more prepared in case of an emergency. It was time for her to become more aware, though. She had to know what she was working with—especially now that she’d decided it was time to buy some new clothes.

  With her hair up in a towel, she sat down at her desk and opened the small drawer where she kept her financial records. Her bank ledger sat near the back, a string of deposits, but without the tally down the side. It was time to rectify that.

  She added each deposit and totaled the column at the bottom, then blinked. That couldn’t possibly be right, could it? She started back up at the top and double-checked. Sure enough, she actually had five hundred dollars in the bank. It didn’t seem possible, and yet, there it was, staring at her. When she went to make the withdrawal, she’d ask the teller, just to be sure.

  She dressed in navy, the lightest color she had, and went downstairs to help Patty put the finishing touches on the basket. For some reason, she was surprised to see Christopher already seated at the table, sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning,” he said, a slightly mischievous look in his eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did,” she replied. “And you?”

  “Never better. There’s something so cheerful and welcoming about my room—I can’t help but feel relaxed there.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She sat down across from him and poured herself a cup as well. “What time were you hoping to leave?”

  “Around ten o’clock, if that suits you. Mr. Thurgood had some business to attend to first thing this morning—he mentioned something about placing an ad in the newspaper.”

  “Ten is perfect. Did you enjoy our town newspaper? I noticed you reading it the other evening.”

  “Yes, I enjoyed it very much. It was fun to learn more about the town and its inhabitants, and to see what the folks around here consider news. I was quite gratified to learn that Mabel Watkins was able to locate her missing pigs.”

  “Now, don’t criticize our humble problems,” Patty warned, setting a plate of eggs on the table. “We have our fair share of crime here too—why, back when Mr. Grady was still with us, he was never up to any good, and we’ve had counterfeiters and all sorts of ne’er-do-wells around here.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound critical. I actually found it charming.” Christopher gave her an apologetic smile, and she seemed less ann
oyed.

  “Where are these properties we’ll be looking at today?” Mary asked, hoping that the conversation would continue to steer away from the crime rates in Creede. Patty was fiercely loyal to their town, and she would engage in a tussle—physical or verbal—with anyone who sought to demean the place.

  Christopher paused, looking thoughtful. “I don’t actually know. Wendell has a list, though, and I trust that we won’t get too terribly lost.”

  “I’ll put some extra cheese in your basket just in case,” Patty said. “So you don’t starve while you’re wandering around out there in those mountains.”

  “Thank you, Patty. I’m sure we’ll be fine, but it’s nice to know we’ll be provided for.” Mary hid a smile. Cheese in case they got lost. Cheese must have some magical saving powers she never suspected.

  At ten o’clock almost to the minute, Wendell Thurgood pulled his carriage up in front of the house, and Mary and Christopher went out to greet him. Christopher had insisted on carrying the basket, and he placed it carefully in the back before giving Mary a hand up.

  “I’m so glad you could join us today, Mrs. Olson,” Wendell said, greeting her warmly.

  “I was honored to be asked. I haven’t been on an outing like this—well, I can’t even remember the last time. I’ve always enjoyed getting out for long rides, but I’ve kept myself far too busy at the boarding house.”

  “I hope today is pleasant for you.” Wendell turned to Christopher. “I was able to place that newspaper ad like I’d hoped this morning, so my attention is all yours now.”

  “Excellent. Where are you taking us?”

  Wendell handed Christopher a piece of paper. “You had mentioned liking the idea of having water flowing through your land. This first property has a stream that cuts across it from the northwest to the southeast. It’s not a river or anything that broad, but it creates a nice water feature, especially during the spring runoff.”

  “Let’s take a look at it.”

  Mary thoroughly enjoyed the day that followed. They visited sites out toward Bachelor, toward Topaz, and closer to Creede. The weather was absolutely perfect for a long drive, and she filled her heart with the beautiful sight of nature all around them.

  “You look happy,” Christopher said to her when they stopped for lunch. They were alone for a moment as Wendell watered the horse.

  “I am,” she replied, looking up at him from the blanket they’d spread out. “I have nothing pressing on me, there’s chocolate cake in the basket, and I even have the guarantee of extra cheese if something goes wrong. How could I not be happy?”

  Christopher sat down next to her and leaned back on his elbows. “Your eyes are the most curious things to me, Marigold. One minute, they’re bright and alive and interested, and the next, they seem to be holding back a secret, hiding in shadow.”

  Mary didn’t answer that right away. She picked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers while she considered what to say. “I’ve always been a fairly complicated person,” she said at last. “I have strong beliefs and thoughts and opinions, and yet I hesitate to share them because my mother didn’t think I should. It’s so difficult to move past that early training even though I’m well aware I can be my own person now. That’s not all, though.” She swallowed. “I feel guilty about being so happy when my husband is dead. I feel like part of me should always be contemplating his loss or that means I didn’t really love him.”

  Christopher sat beside her in silence, not replying, but just letting her be. After another moment, she said, “I realize, of course, that’s not true, and I’ve been counseled by good friends to look at the possibilities in my future instead of dwelling on my past. I recognize what they’re saying as the truth, and yet internalizing it . . . it’s so difficult.”

  Another moment passed before Christopher spoke. “I think people confuse the purpose of mourning,” he said. “When we lose someone, we think we’re honoring their memories by carrying around our sorrow over losing them. What if instead, we carried around our happy memories of them? What if we turned those sad thoughts and feelings into gratitude that we had them in our lives as long as we did? The death of a loved one changes us—that’s a fact. But it doesn’t always have to be the burden it is when it first happens.”

  Mary nodded. “You said you’ve never thought about marriage after your fiancée died. That’s one part of you that changed.”

  “Yes, but we can change our minds about that, too.” He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t push. The statement was too vague, the moment too delicate to disrupt.

  Wendell finished with the horse and joined them. “Please tell Patty thank you for me,” he said as he accepted the plate Mary handed him. “This looks delicious.”

  “I will,” she replied. She glanced over at Christopher, who had taken his plate and begun to eat without saying anything. The expression on his face was hard to read, and she wondered if that’s how he felt looking into her eyes—that there was something just out of reach, untouchable, undefinable taking place there.

  If only they had the ability to look into each other’s souls and see all that remained to be discovered.

  Chapter Eight

  Mrs. Deveraux all but squealed when Mary and Patty came into the dress shop on Tuesday. “It’s done, and I think you’ll look stunning in it,” she said, taking Mary by the elbow and leading her back to the changing room. “Put it on and let me see if there’s anything else that needs to be done.”

  Mary wasn’t nearly as hesitant this time. She stepped into the small room and undressed, her hands shaking as she put on the gown. She’d been anticipating this moment ever since the afternoon before when Christopher had taken her by the hand and told her how much he was looking forward to the dance. It had been a simple thing, just a slight touch, but it had made her heart skitter into her throat, and she hadn’t been the same woman since. Amazing how just the smallest moment of connection could so utterly turn her world on its side.

  She stared at herself in the mirror.

  “What do you think?” Mrs. Deveraux asked through the door.

  “I hardly know.” Mary opened the door and allowed the woman to see. “I don’t recognize myself at all.”

  Mrs. Deveraux clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh, you look just beautiful. Doesn’t she, Patty?”

  Patty, standing behind the dressmaker, wiped a tear from her eye. “Yes, she does. She’s always been beautiful—she’s just needed to see it in herself.”

  Heat rose to Mary’s cheeks. “It’s the dress,” she replied.

  “It’s the woman in the dress. Fabric and ribbons don’t have soul, and the soul is where beauty comes from.” Mrs. Deveraux reached out and gathered up some fabric at Mary’s waist. “I want to take this in just a little bit more. Could you possibly come back in an hour?”

  Mary glanced at Patty. “We did have a little shopping to do . . .”

  “Perfect! Why don’t you take care of that, and I’ll finish this up for you while you’re gone. I can’t even remember the last time I had this much fun dressing someone—thank you for letting me help you.”

  “Gracious. I’m the one who should be thanking you, and I do. This is so much more than I even dreamed,” Mary replied.

  She changed back into her regular clothing, then joined Patty at the front of the shop. “We’ll be back in an hour,” she told Mrs. Deveraux.

  “And I’ll be ready!” The woman waved a pair of scissors in farewell, and Mary winced, hoping nothing would slip and cause an accident.

  Once outside the shop, Patty tucked her arm through Mary’s. “Now, let’s get you over to the mercantile. You need to buy some of those ready-made clothes to tide you over until we have the chance to make some.”

  For the first time since the subject was broached, Mary didn’t feel a sense of resistance. “Yes, let’s. I’ve been in the mood for something pink lately.”

  Patty’s eyes widened. “Pink? My goodness. You’re certainly
becoming brave, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I think I am, and it’s exciting.” She gave Patty’s arm a little squeeze. “Let’s hurry.”

  As they passed the tea shop on the way to the mercantile, Regina Honeycutt, Ariadne Thurgood’s sister, stepped out and greeted them. “Hello, Mrs. Olson, Patty! Are you going to join us for our weekly tea gathering?”

  Mary hesitated. “We’re on our way to the mercantile, and we only have an hour . . .”

  “All the better! Come inside and have a cup, and then let us come with you to the mercantile. We’ll help you finish up your shopping in a trice.”

  “I don’t know if I could impose . . .”

  “Nonsense.” Regina held the door open and made a grand sweeping gesture. “I have a new tea blend, and if you don’t try it, I’ll be mortally offended.”

  “Well, I suppose I can’t have that,” Mary replied with a smile, stepping into the tea shop.

  The ladies of Creede were gathered around the blue-and-white-checkered tables, sipping tea and nibbling at cakes, and they welcomed her with cheerful smiles. “It’s about time you decided to join us,” Beatrice Jameson said, waving Mary and Patty over to her table.

  “I’ve been so busy,” Mary said falteringly. She didn’t know how to explain the reluctance she’d felt to engage in society after Vernon died.

  “And she’s busy again today, so we’re going to help her,” Regina announced to the room at large. “As soon as she’s passed judgment on my tea, we’re headed for the mercantile, where we’ll buy . . . What are we buying, Mrs. Olson?”

  “Mary, please. And we’re buying clothes.”

  Toria Jackson’s eyes lit up. “Clothes? Oh, yes, please—I have some lovely things in stock, and I’ve been so eager to help you choose something out.” The other women nodded in agreement.

  Mary looked down at what she was wearing. “I didn’t think I looked that bedraggled.”

  “Your clothes are nice, dear. They’re just so somber,” Seffi Morgan told her.

  Ariadne came from the back and placed a small plate of desserts between Mary and Patty. “Here you are, and here’s Regina with your tea.”