The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #2

by Mary Connealy

  Willis never hid his doubts about the mill. When he realized they could collect enough water to run the mill exactly where they’d placed it, he claimed the redistributed water would flood the town. But even Sally could see the center of the town stood on higher ground, and with the newly dug millpond and penstock directing the water toward the mill’s giant wheel, it would take a great deal of water indeed to threaten even the deepest cellar on main street.

  Her confidence in the mill seemed to deepen Willis’s resentment, making his sullenness harder to bear his company. She refused to dwell on comparisons to Lukas, but somehow her heart did anyway.

  However, believing in the permanence of the mill didn’t mean she should trust the permanence of the Daughtons. Lukas may have hinted he would stay after the mill opened, but he’d never said for how long.

  Alice looped her arm with Sally’s, each with her own thoughts about the festival as they left the store. But shouting in the vicinity of the Sheriff’s office caught Sally’s attention the minute they stepped outside. Sheriff Tilney stood in heated discussion with none other than Lukas Daughton.

  “I just don’t know what you expect me to do about it, that’s all,” the sheriff was saying.

  “You can ask around, starting with anyone you know who doesn’t want the mill.”

  While the sheriff claimed he’d do all he could about whatever concerned Lukas, Sally caught Lukas’s eye. He left the sheriff without another word and came to her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Someone took a sledgehammer to one of the grinding stones,” he said.

  Sally’s gasp matched her sister’s.

  “It didn’t do more than send a message that somebody wants trouble,” Lukas said. “We can make a replacement.”

  “But what a horrid message,” Sally said softly. “Who among us could have done such a thing?”

  Lukas’s eyes narrowed nearly imperceptibly. But the quick gesture was enough to reveal his suspicions. Who didn’t want the mill to succeed? Surely Willis wouldn’t have done such a thing!

  She stiffened, automatically defending the unspoken name—while at the same time determining to speak to Willis the first chance that presented itself.

  Chapter 11

  As usual on Sunday morning, Willis escorted Sally home from church. All morning she barely kept her mind on anything but talking to him—except she had no idea what to say.

  It didn’t help that Lukas sat nearby during the service. His silence dared her to confront Willis about the grinding stone, but his obvious suspicion made the impending conversation that much more serious.

  At her father’s wagon, Sally held back. “Willis,” she said, “it’s cooler today. Would you mind walking rather than riding?”

  He looked delighted at the idea of walking back to her family home alone with her, which would take some time indeed, and her parents went off without another word.

  “I certainly enjoy our Sundays,” Willis said. “And you know why, don’t you, Sally?”

  “Willis,” she began slowly. Many thoughts collided in her mind, no longer only about the grindstone, but other thoughts she’d been unable to conquer ever since Lukas had brought it up. Lukas was right; she was far too comfortable around Willis. She’d told herself that couldn’t possibly be a bad thing, except she couldn’t remember her heart ever fluttering at the sight of him, even when she’d first met him. She couldn’t remember wishing for just the right words around him, fretting over her appearance, wondering if he thought of her as easily as she thought of him. Because the truth was she rarely thought of Willis unless she knew she would be seeing him. If she were as honest with herself as Lukas had dared her to be, she would admit even if she did feel occasional affection for Willis, it wasn’t enough to consider marrying him. It wasn’t fair not to tell him the truth.

  “Yes, Sally?”

  Forcing calm to her jarring thoughts, she stole a glance at him. “I thought you should know I can’t consider marrying you.” The words had nothing to do with what she’d planned to say, but she couldn’t call them back and felt only the utmost relief that they were out.

  “What?”

  His shock nearly matched her own, but having a suspicion that Willis might have crushed that stone was enough to convince her of what she’d just said. It didn’t matter if she accused him or not; it wouldn’t change anything, and she doubted he would simply admit it even if he had done such a thing. Right now, all she knew was that she wanted more to marriage than what she felt for Willis. That was true whether or not Lukas Daughton left town.

  “I’m sorry, Willis,” she said softly.

  The initial hurt on his face turned to anger when a brow curved inward. “I was good enough for you before those mill builders came to town. That Lukas, anyway.”

  “No, Willis. I was wrong to encourage you, when I knew from the start I wasn’t ready.”

  Now one of those brows lifted. “If I’m hurrying you, I can wait longer. I’ve already waited—”

  She shook her head again. “My idea of marriage is. . .different from what I think yours might be.”

  “Why? Marriage is marriage. Faithful to each other, raising children together. How could your idea of marriage be different from that?”

  “I just don’t love you the way a girl should,” she said at last, and the hurt in his eyes reappeared. “I didn’t want to say that, Willis. But I don’t know how else to explain how I feel.”

  He sucked in a breath as if she’d robbed him of air. “Well,” he said slowly, stopping altogether. He looked at her, away, then back again. “I suppose you can see yourself home.”

  An overwhelming rush of guilt swept Sally. Perhaps she’d been too hasty; perhaps once Lukas was gone she truly would regret this decision. But those fleeting doubts weren’t enough to stop the sensible words already forming on her lips. “Isn’t it better to know I would be so hard to make happy, Willis? Now, rather than later? You would be unhappy, too, then, and it would be my fault.”

  He nodded, not looking at her, then walked back toward the main street where he lived.

  Chapter 12

  Rainclouds threatened to dampen the festival, so Mr. Daughton invited the women providing the food to set up refreshments in the wide, open second floor of the brand new mill.

  Sally walked up the stairs, the scent of fresh wood and varnish mingling with the chicken and pies she carried on a large tray. As usual, she kept her eye out for Lukas, who had been especially polite but surprisingly distant since Willis no longer sat beside her and her family at church. But even if he had swooped in on her, she would have refused his company. She might have failed to keep her heart in check, but she would not encourage her growing love for him by spending more time with him before he left town. She spent enough time with him in her imagination.

  Especially since it was no secret that Mr. Daughton was training Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons’ oldest son, Charley, to work the mill after they left. That had been enough to seal Sally’s resolve against Lukas, even though his face haunted nearly all of her thoughts.

  Sally stepped into the large, open upper room, where planks and boards had been set upon trestles to hold all of the food for the party. Wind howled through an open window, rippling the cloths draped over the makeshift tables. Before she could drop off her goods to shut the window, someone beat her to it.

  Suddenly the large and empty room was far more intimate. Lukas turned from the window, a welcoming smile on his handsome face.

  “When I learned you would be working up here with the food,” he said as he walked steadily toward her, “I volunteered to help. I even promise not to taste the goods until you give permission.”

  She laughed but knew she sounded nervous. And why shouldn’t she be? She ought to run right out of this room, demand Alice take over. That’s what Sensible Sally would do.

  Instead, she stood perfectly still until he stopped, a hands width away.

  “I want to talk to you, Sally,�
� he whispered.

  But before either could say another word, voices clamored up the stairs along with clomping feet and laughter.

  “Before the day is out,” he added, and went to greet Mrs. Gibbons to help her with a basket of food.

  Two hours later, the town gathered for the opening of the sluice. Water flowing from the spring some half mile away now collected on one side of the mill, to be released along the shaft running toward the huge wooden and iron wheel which turned the stones inside the mill. That same water spilled into the millpond on the other side of the wheel, where Sally now stood in anticipation of the mill’s official opening.

  She heard whispers from every direction, in one form or another: the mill is a marvel of engineering. Her heart swelled with pride—for the town, for those who, like her, never doubted it would work, for those like Arthur and her father who had worked on it alongside of the Daughtons. For Mr. Daughton who designed it. And for Lukas, because it had been his invitation that convinced others to let them build the mill right here in Finchville.

  She knew he was destined to leave soon; she didn’t expect anything else. But she would always have the mill, a shining spot of community and success, to remember the handsome young man who had captured her heart. Even if she never told him he’d done so.

  No doubt the reason he wanted to talk to her today was to tell her good-bye.

  With a wave to the crowd surrounding the mill, Lukas stood on the platform above the millrace, where the turn of a wheel would release the water and start the mill. Just as he did so, Sally heard another voice closer to where she stood.

  “Lukas! Owny!”

  Mr. Daughton shouted from the mill’s cellar window, but the desperate call was drowned by the suddenly rushing water and turning wheel.

  “Stop the water!”

  Sally knew neither Lukas nor Owny had heard their father. But Lukas looked her way, and she frantically waved her arms, pantomiming to spin the wheel to shut off the source of water. Either he understood her motion or had heard at least the tone if not his father’s words. Something was amiss below the wheel. Hurriedly he closed off the portal and Lukas and Owny ran to the cellar door and disappeared inside.

  By the time she reached the same door, there was no room for her. Mr. Gibbons was already waving people away, preventing anyone else from squeezing inside the already crowded cellar.

  The same whispers that only moments ago had touted the project a pioneering wonder were already abandoning their praise. Too big a job. Some things just aren’t meant to be built. I knew it would never work.

  Sally pressed forward again, determined to find out what had happened. She refused to believe anything had really gone wrong. Surely the mill wasn’t a fancy shell of a failure!

  Someone called for the sheriff, who was already nearby, and Sally stepped aside only long enough to follow him inside.

  In the cellar’s darkness, Sally could barely see. She searched for Lukas, but she was too short to see above the head and shoulders pressing into the cramped quarters. She couldn’t even hear what they said to Sheriff Tilney, but before long the whispers started again. Intentional damage. Sabotage.

  The outrage and suspicion in those whispers mirrored her own—but something else grew in Sally, and she stopped looking for Lukas. She slipped back toward the door.

  Guilt filled her on waves of nausea.

  Accusations made her heart sink. Willis had many reasons for the mill to fail. Damaged pride because no one listened to his distrust of the Daughtons. Avarice that he wasn’t able to hire someone of his own choosing for the job, perhaps share in the wealth that was sure to come with such a town-altering improvement. And jealousy that it was Lukas who had changed Sally’s mind about possibly marrying him.

  It might have been Willis’s actions, but the damage was Sally’s fault. She could have stopped him, if only she’d confronted him weeks ago about the millstone. Surely he wouldn’t have been bold enough to ruin today if she had accused him when she had the chance.

  The sheriff ordered people out, and for a moment it felt as if she were in the millrace itself, being carried outside on a current—not with water but with people.

  She searched for Willis, someone she hadn’t seen all day. She’d thought nothing of his absence until now.

  Marching up the path toward Main Street, Sally quickly reached the post office building, where Willis lived with his father. But she barely had a chance to knock before the door swung open. There stood Willis, just straightening a crooked tie.

  “Well!” he greeted her. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think you’d want me as an escort when today will be the crowning glory for the Daughtons. Or have they left already, now that the project is finished?”

  Folding her arms, she glared at him. “How dare you! How could you do such a thing?”

  “What?” His brows rose indignantly but faltered ever so slightly—whether in anger or guilt, she couldn’t tell.

  “Someone tampered with the mill. Just as someone broke one of the grindstones a few weeks ago. Who else but you have hated the idea of this mill from the start?”

  He raised both palms, but before he could speak something caught his eye from over her shoulder. She turned, seeing the entire town, led by not only the sheriff but by the Daughtons, coming straight toward them.

  Sally caught Lukas’s eye, who looked at her curiously. Perhaps he, too, believed if it weren’t for her no damage would have been done, if only she had voiced her suspicions. Looking away, she stepped aside; no longer bold enough to make her accusations with the entire town ready to cast their own.

  “You have anything to do with tampering with the mill, Willis?”

  Willis’s eyes rounded at the sheriff’s question. Fear crept into his eyes as first one, then another man behind the sheriff demanded he confess.

  “I don’t know what any of you are talking about!” Willis protested. “I was nowhere near that mill. I’m a lawyer, you know. You’ll need evidence if you want to make this kind of accusation.”

  “Somebody put this on a shaft above the gears,” Mr. Daughton said, holding out a small metal object. “It was supposed to fall in and gum up the works. This yours?”

  It was a simple shoehorn, something any number of people owned; even Sally’s father had one. Willis looked at the object as if he didn’t even know what it was. Even his telltale brows didn’t give him away.

  “Of course it isn’t mine! I don’t even own such a thing.”

  A commotion broke out at the side of the post office—shouts, pounding feet, a chase. Everyone turned to look, but when Sally looked again at Willis, his formerly rigid face filled with renewed fear at the sound of Cyrus’s voice rising above the others. The servant cried out for all to hear. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t even want to do it! But he—he made me do it!”

  His finger pointed to none other than Willis Pollit.

  Chapter 13

  After a thorough inspection of the mill, Mr. Daughton learned several of the pins had been loosened along the millrace, inviting collapse. Rags had been stuffed in the hopper that fed grain onto the stones, and one of the mesh screens to separate grain from chaff was sliced.

  The sheriff, however loyal he might have been to the Pollit family, had no choice but to take both Cyrus and Willis to the jail.

  But repairs to the mill were completed in less than an hour, and once the mill proved it worked, any sourness toward Willis dissipated as the delayed celebration began.

  Lukas searched once again for Sally, but he hadn’t seen her since the confrontation with Willis. Looming worry edged closer. Perhaps she thought Willis needed her, now that he hadn’t a friend in town. Even his father, ashamed of the damage his son had arranged, or perhaps still eager to hold on to his job, stayed at the festival and openly derided what had been done.

  It was already growing dark, and the sound of music carried over the gently spinning mill amid conversations and laughter. Lukas was more eager than ever to f
ind Sally. This festival was her idea, and he’d planned from the moment he heard about it to say all he needed to say to her. Tonight. He was tired of waiting, of giving her time to make sure she didn’t regret that she no longer allowed Willis Pollit to sit beside her at church.

  If only he could find her.

  Sally watched the festivities from the second floor window, in the room now emptied since the weather cleared and the leftover food had been taken outside. The earlier storm had passed through quickly, blessing the rest of the day with fresh air and now with starry skies. She stood at the very window Lukas had closed earlier, enjoying the sounds from below but without a sliver of desire to join the party she herself had suggested.

  “Do you know I’ve been looking for you all evening?”

  The deep voice should have startled her, but the sound was far too welcome. She’d spotted him several times while he passed through the crowd below. Now and then he stopped to talk, to Alice and Arthur, to her parents. To his own father and brothers. He’d never lingered long, lending credence to the search he’d just confessed.

  “I like watching people enjoying one another’s company,” she said, warning herself silently to keep the conversation light. No use saying anything silly just before he left.

  He stopped at her side. “Only watching?”

  The room was lit only by moonlight streaming in through the new glass. The quiet room and shadowy light added intimacy to the moment, making it more difficult than ever for Sally to tame her tongue and speak only politely. Her mind filled with the truth she couldn’t reveal. She wished he would stay. She would never forget him. And the most secret truth of all: she’d fallen in love with him.

  “I like people,” she admitted. “But at a distance.”

  “Me, too.”