“I’m afraid I couldn’t, Mr. Daughton. But I will certainly look forward to seeing you and your family there.”
His smile went a little crooked, but despite her refusal, the pleasure on his face didn’t disappear. “All right, no escort needed. Mind if I save a seat for you?”
Lukas Daughton was definitely easy to look at, and difficult to resist. Yet she knew any change in seating would require some kind of discussion between her and Willis. Besides, she ought not even consider sitting anywhere else. What would Willis think? She was not as eager to get married as Willis seemed to be, and as the entire town seemed to expect, but she knew she could grow fond of him if only because of his persistence. Most importantly, like Sally herself, Willis had no intention of leaving Finchville.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Daughton—”
“Lukas.”
She couldn’t help but grin, though she refused to be swept up so easily in his flirtation. “I’m sorry, but my family and I have been sitting with the Pollits for some time now, and I’m sure they would be disappointed in any change. And there isn’t really room. . .”
“Ah,” he said slowly. “The mayor and his son. So I should squash my wishes to shower you with my undivided attention?” His tone was light, even with the disappointment still lingering in that little furrow.
She glanced at her departing family. Only Alice seemed to have noticed that she hung back with Mr. Daughton, but she threw her a grin. Of everyone in town, only Alice supported Sally’s unhurried pace toward the altar with Willis. Even her parents seemed convinced it was only a matter of time before she and Willis made an announcement.
“I thought your undivided attention would be devoted to the gristmill, Mr. Daughton.”
“Lukas isn’t such a hard name to say, is it? I’d love to hear you say it.”
She couldn’t stop the corner of her mouth from rising, but she refused to answer his wish. Instead, she squared her shoulders and listened to the sensible words forming on her own tongue.
“This is a small town, Mr. Daughton. One I will likely live in for the rest of my life. I can offer the same sort of friendship to you that the town will be prepared to offer to someone bringing the benefit of a gristmill. But that’s all.”
She turned, proud of herself for having issued such a speech without a hint of the shy nervousness that often plagued her when speaking to strangers. Somehow he already seemed less than a stranger, despite only having met him earlier that day.
She would have walked on, but he spoke again. “Let me ask one more question. Should I withhold my special attention toward you because your heart is already elsewhere, or because you don’t trust how easily you might enjoy my special attention?”
Sally felt her eyes widen at his boldness, but no answer came to mind. Not a reproach for his diligence after she’d hinted her connection to the mayor’s son, nor even a whisper to defend what so many people in town already believed about her and Willis.
Chapter 6
Change was coming, people said, and Sally didn’t doubt it was true. For the first few days after the official vote was won, all anyone in Finchville talked about was erecting the mill. While no transformation could happen overnight, a gristmill to be built in a matter of months seemed to present swift change indeed.
She told herself she would grow with the town. She wanted her family and friends to prosper. She just hoped Finchville would stay the kind of town it was now, one where inhabitants either knew everyone firsthand or knew with whom they belonged. She wanted Finchville to stay a town that cared about its neighbors.
After two weeks of little change, life slipped back into what it used to be and Sally breathed easier. She rarely saw the Daughtons except at church, where Lukas Daughton chose to sit directly behind her. She learned he was polite, and had the kind of singing voice she’d suspected the first time she heard him speak. His presence, she had to admit, was a distraction she struggled to hide.
They began felling trees for the mill from wherever they were given permission, while the elder Mr. Daughton marked land that was to be dug. To her own consternation, she found herself eager for the day they would begin digging through her father’s field. An eagerness she could only ascribe to seeing Lukas on a regular basis, a fact that tugged at her spirits each and every time she saw Willis.
Today, as she delivered her butter and eggs, she saw several townspeople gathered outside the store, and Willis in the center of the group. As Sally approached, Willis raised a hand in supplication to the two men he’d obviously been arguing with. “All I’m saying is that the location of the mill seems strange to me. Mills are powered by the flow of water. I still don’t see how that will work with a building so far from the river’s edge. It seems to me the Daughtons might be what my father and I feared: at best incompetent, at worst deceivers, here just to take advantage of our pocketbooks. They’ve admitted they haven’t yet built a mill so far from the actual source of water.”
“How are they profiting from this? We haven’t paid them a dime.” It was well known Mr. Granger had allowed them to remove more trees from his land than anyone else.
“I just wanted to remind you that neither my father nor I have supported this, not from the beginning, and if it proves as foolhardy as we fear, we hope you know we’ll still do all we can to right the matter when it falls apart.”
Mr. Granger shook his head, but didn’t say anything as he walked back in the direction of his bakery. The others soon dispersed, leaving Willis now smiling at Sally, as if nothing unpleasant had just taken place.
“Can I talk you into an early lunch?” he asked Sally. “I passed by The Arms’ dining room today, and they’re baking a meat pie I promise will be delicious.”
“I’m sure it will be,” she said, “but my father is expecting me out in the field, and I’ll have just enough time to drop off my eggs and get back.”
He shrugged, taking her elbow to direct her inside the store.
“I wonder, Willis,” she said, “what the Daughtons must do to convince you that they know what they’re doing?”
“I have my man out there watching them every day,” Willis said. “This trench they’re planning on digging isn’t coming from the nearest section of the river behind town. They’re digging a longer trench than necessary.”
His man, Sally knew, was Cyrus, an older man who’d been with the Pollit family from childhood, Willis had once told her.
“Perhaps you could speak to Mr. Daughton if you have some concerns.”
“Oh, we intend to, believe me. They may not officially report to my father, but you can be assured we’ll keep a close eye on them every step of the way.”
“Willis,” she said, low, “I hope you’re only doing this out of concern for the town.”
Willis patted her hand. “Of course. Why else would I spend so much time thinking about this? Or spare Cyrus from his other duties?”
His smile, as always, was so sincere, his gaze so guileless, that Sally couldn’t doubt him. Still, she wondered if the Daughtons might appreciate knowing they were being watched nearly every moment of the day.
Chapter 7
Lukas was the first to wake the morning he was to start digging the trench. They’d already dug a preliminary pit, butting up to what was to be the cellar of the mill—a cellar Fergus and Nolan were lining with limestone. The collection pond to hold water for running the mill’s wheel would connect with the millrace he would dig, deep enough to tap into water flowing beneath the ice in the winter, allowing the mill to run year-round.
Today he would begin digging from the source of the spring, and be joined tomorrow by Bran, who would follow him and deepen the initial cut. The flow, according to Pap, was more important than digging the shorter distance from the portion of the river that ran closer to town. Their canal would divert some of the water exactly where they needed it to be, while leaving the rest of the river untouched.
He had to admit this was the portion of work he’d antici
pated ever since learning who owned the land they needed to use nearest the fountainhead. Mr. Hobson had easily agreed, for a portion of the mill’s future income, to let them take the back end of his cornfield for part of the canal. All day Lukas kept one eye on the horse-drawn slip scoops digging into the ground, and another eye on the Hobson house in the distance.
Though he’d gone out of his way to catch Sally Hobson’s eye if he happened to see her in town or at church, Lukas had already learned quite a bit about her, in spite of spending so little time alone with her. He knew she blushed easily, chose her words carefully, prayed with her eyes closed, and looked at friends and family alike with open but quiet affection. He wanted her to look at him in such a way. . .but first he needed to figure out her relationship with the mayor’s son. So far, he had reason to believe Sally wasn’t exactly smitten with the young man, even if he was with her. Lukas wasn’t in the habit of stealing other men’s girls—unless, of course, they wanted to be stolen.
“Ho, there!” Lukas called to the horse hitched to the scoops that dug into the earth ahead of them. “Ho, Leonidis!”
There, coming from the house in the distance, across the new sprouts of corn, he spotted the very silhouette he’d hoped all morning to see. There was no mistaking that graceful, bonneted form—and she was coming his way.
Taking off his hat, swiping a forearm across his forehead to catch whatever sweat his hat left behind, he pulled off the leather shoulder straps he’d used to direct Leonidis, and stepped around the equipment. He wanted nothing between him and what he hoped was his own special visitor.
“Nice to see you, Miss Hobson,” he said. “In fact, you’re about the prettiest sight I could imagine.”
Without meeting his gaze, she pulled something from the basket on her arm—a corked stone pitcher with a tin cup strung to its handle. She handed it to him and took out another item wrapped in a checked napkin. “I’m in the habit of bringing refreshment to my father when he works this field,” she said. “He usually comes home looking like Adam before God’s polish: all earthen as if he’d just been created.”
Laughter burst from Lukas. “I guess I look like that already, and it’s not even noon.”
He welcomed her offering, seeing the napkin fall open to reveal a treat of bread, cheese, and a slice of cake. But most of all he was pleased with her company, and not only because she was so unexpected.
“My father enjoys two light lunches while he works, one before noon and one mid-afternoon. I thought you might not mind an interruption.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but you couldn’t be farther from an interruption.”
It was her turn to laugh now, and it made him marvel. It wasn’t just her ready cheerfulness. It was how easily he enjoyed her company. Lukas had been on the receiving end of enough smiles and winks to be confident around women, but somehow this was different. He’d sensed intelligence in Sally from the first day she’d followed them to the meeting with the mayor. Lukas imagined he could talk to her about anything, and she would have something to say.
The sandwich and cake melted in his mouth, the cider—last year’s batch, she confessed—sweetly chased down every crumb. But even as she waited while he enjoyed the treat, he saw something else on her brow as she scanned the clearing. She almost looked worried.
He might be a new student to reading her face, but he was certain he’d read her clearly. “Anything wrong, Miss Sally?”
“There is another reason for my visit. I wonder, Mr. Daughton—”
“Lukas,” he said.
“—if you’re aware of those who’ve been watching your progress? Not here, perhaps, but cutting trees, or digging at the mill site.”
“Oh, sure,” he said. “Boys, mostly. Not that I blame them. When I was a kid we always prowled around looking for something of interest to see. Just wait until we raise the water wheel. That’ll give them something to watch!”
“Local boys aren’t the only ones watching,” she said quietly, but not looking at him, as if she felt the town and everyone in it guilty of not believing in the quality of their work.
He finished the cider, handed the cup back for her to reattach to the jug. “I know. I’ve seen them.”
“Then you should also know they’re talking about calling another meeting. Evidently they’re concerned about the placement of the mill, so far from the water.”
“Let them. We know what we’re doing.”
She held his gaze steady for the first time, inadvertently giving him the opportunity to admire the blue flecks in her eyes. Various shades mixed together to create the color of the sky. My, she’s pretty. He was surprised how comfortable he was in her presence. More than one girl had brought up the topic of marriage before he even knew a girl’s temperament. Some girls didn’t need much more encouragement than he’d already given Sally to start such thinking. But somehow he knew Sally Hobson wouldn’t try nabbing anyone who didn’t present the idea first, and whoever did would be lucky to win her.
“I believe you do know what you’re doing,” she whispered, and hurried away.
But her words were all he wanted to hear.
For the next four days, Sally delivered refreshment to Lukas—and to Bran, when he was there—as they worked behind her father’s field. She refused to show her disappointment on the days his brother was there, or acknowledge the cause of her disappointment at not finding him alone. She brought larger meals when she saw more than one Daughton at the trench, but her real enjoyment was watching Lukas savor the meal, listening as he told her about the other mills they’d built, the towns they’d left in their wake. She’d always enjoyed listening more than talking, and Lukas didn’t seem to mind.
On the fifth day when she headed back home after her visit with Lukas alone, she was surprised to see Willis’s carriage waiting at the hitching post.
Entering through the back of the house, she paused to drop off the empty jug and basket, and left her bonnet on a chair beside the kitchen table.
“Is that you, dear?” her mother called from the parlor. “You have company.”
She walked through the small dining room that separated the kitchen from the parlor, and greeted Willis with a smile that was in sharp contrast to the frown she saw immediately on his face.
“I came to speak to you, Sally.”
“Then I’ll leave the two of you to talk—”
But Willis was shaking his head before Sally’s mother had finished. “You ought to stay, Mrs. Hobson. You’ll want to know what I came to say.”
“Goodness,” her mother said, “that sounds serious. And here I thought you’d just stopped by because you haven’t seen Sally since Sunday.”
“That’s right, I haven’t. But my man Cyrus has seen you, Sally. Hasn’t he?”
“Has he?”
“Yes. Quite a few times, in fact. Delivering refreshment to those Daughton men. Is that where you’ve been just now?”
“That’s right,” Sally admitted. She ought to be indignant that Willis sounded as if this was something to be ashamed of, but knew she couldn’t be. If her visits had only been neighborly, perhaps she could have returned his attitude with a righteousness of her own.
Sally’s mother was still smiling amiably, looping one arm through Sally’s and the other with Willis. She led them to the sofa, as if a comfortable seat would forestall the possibility of disagreement. But no one sat. “Sally always delivers food to her father when he’s out on our field. Seeing the Daugtons working so hard in the sun reminded us how much her father appreciates the refreshment.”
“And it’s been no trouble,” Sally added.
Willis made an effort to lift his frowning brows, but Sally saw it was too much for him to conceal the exasperation he no doubt felt. “Don’t you see how it might look, dear? It’s one thing to be naturally kind to your own father, but to deliver repast to a family you barely know—”
“The Daughtons have been here for weeks now, Willis. They’ve proven hardworking,
and they all attend church and sing with the best of us. How can it be wrong to be neighborly?”
“But they’re not neighbors and will never be,” Willis insisted. “You must know they’re only passing through.”
“All the more reason to show them Christian kindness.”
Willis’s frown was in full view again, and he looked from Sally to her mother as if expecting her support. But she dropped her contact with him instead.
“I’m afraid I agree with Sally, Willis. I’ve helped put the refreshment together each and every day.”
If he cared to extend the argument, he seemed to change his mind after neither one of them agreed with him. He smoothed his brow, with better results this time, and looked at Sally.
“I only brought it up because I thought you shouldn’t go alone to carry out such a friendly duty. You are, after all, an unmarried woman, and the Daughtons are all men.”
“I’m sure no one would think it odd to treat such hard workers with kindness in the openness of our very own field.”
Willis didn’t look placated, but he did manage a smile. “Will you come out to the porch with me for a few minutes, Sally? Just so we could visit?”
She followed him dutifully out to the porch, where Willis sat a bit closer on the swing than she expected from someone so obviously concerned about what others thought. He smelled slightly of his midday meal, onions perhaps, mixed with peppermint that hadn’t quite conquered the other odor.
“I think we ought to spend more time together than just sitting next to one another at church, don’t you, Sally?”
“What do you have in mind?”
Willis looked at her, his eyes now warm, brows smooth. “I see no reason why we shouldn’t announce a wedding date.”
She let her gaze flutter away, knowing her usual shyness wasn’t the culprit for her confusion over what to say now. “There is one good reason we haven’t announced anything, Willis. We haven’t really spent much time together. And besides that, you’ve never asked me to marry you.”
The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #2 Page 12
