He thought back to the other night, still hating himself for his weakness, almost hating Anna for using it against him. Because he was sure she knew that he’d spent the hours before going to her room fighting against his desire, knowing he despised himself because this was the one area of his life he’d been unable to get under control. He also knew she’d been praying that he’d win, for once, and leave her alone.
Oh how he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. To tell her that she was no better than the prostitutes she professed to hate. Offering her body to one man for jewelry and other costly goods rather than to countless strangers for money. If he thought it might do any good, that she might actually take his words to heart, he might just try.
But Anna would have to be willing to take a good long look at herself to see that he was right. To take her eyes off herself and her desires, and see what she’d become. Colby knew that wasn’t likely to happen though. Like everyone else in the world, Anna was allowed free will. And a servant’s heart would be the last thing she’d ever want.
Finished with the pews, he walked purposefully to the small coat closet in his equally small office, setting the cleaning rag and bottle of lemon oil on the high shelf and exchanging them for the broom and dustpan.
Sweeping, he’d discovered a number of years ago, was actually more productive than he’d ever dreamed it could be. Unless he’d been too busy during the week and was hurrying to get it done just before opening the door on Sunday morning. But today he had plenty of time, and began the chore in a leisurely fashion. As was his custom, he did what he always did while he swept, and that was to meditate and pray.
After the service the day before, he’d overheard a small group huddled in the corner near the stove worrying about the war. Again. It seemed that many of the residents around town were afraid. That the fighting might spread to American soil. That, perhaps, it might be one of the wars spoken of in the Bible, meaning that the end of the world was near.
He supposed it could be, but seriously doubted it. Too many other things needed to occur first, and unless the newspapers were lax in their reporting what was going on around the globe, those things hadn’t yet happened. He’d given the matter a great deal of thought, studied the scriptures and, was convinced that the fearful members of his church wouldn’t have to worry about meeting their maker any time in the near future.
Spotting a couple of hymn books laying on the floor beneath a pew, he reached down and replaced them in the little wooden pocket on the back of the seat in front of it, still pondering the conversation he’d overheard.
Perhaps it was time to reassure everyone, and this coming Sunday seemed as good a time as any to do it. Abandoning the broom, Colby made a beeline for his desk, opening his Bible and, quill in hand, began to make some notes.
~~~
Elliot watched Jonathon run out of the store, and didn’t even mind when the door slammed hard enough behind him to rattle the glass. Heaven forbid anything should slow him down, or get in the way of his mission to continue spying on their neighbor.
He looked down at the single sheet of paper in his hand and chuckled. He’d already read the words his son had written while the boy stood there, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for his father to give his approval. Which Elliot had, wholeheartedly - if for no other reason than it would be a good experience. He did, however, keep to himself the belief that the letter would soon find itself lying in the bottom of a waste basket.
Shaking his head, he reread the letter, and then paused thoughtfully before walking over to the counter. It wouldn’t hurt to include a note to explain the situation. And, he had to admit, he felt a little thrill himself at the thought of writing words that someone in the White House might read. So picking up the fountain pen he began to write,
“Dear President Wilson, This letter is from my son, who fancies himself another Sherlock Holmes…”
~~~
After nearly a week on crutches, Daniel figured he should have been an old hand at using them. That, however, was not the case, especially given the icy patches here and there on the sidewalk. The fact that he was also trying to keep the small box of chocolates from becoming a mangled mess didn’t help. Nor did the frigid temperatures.
The bulky splint had necessitated the ripping out of the seam in the affected side of his trousers, and he had the distinct feeling he now knew what ladies braving the cold temperatures must endure. But at least they didn’t have the additional burden of going around with only one shoe. Even though he’d slipped two woolen socks on, his poor foot was nearly frozen.
But he was determined to see Miss Hakes, his shy – though sometimes sassy – nurse. Three days since his release from the hospital and he found that he missed seeing her lovely face. Something he would be doing very shortly, unless there had been a schedule change. Daniel hoped not, and bit his lip nervously. It had taken all the courage he could muster to come tonight.
A strong gust of wind nearly knocked him off his feet, and he awkwardly reached up to tug the collar of his gray Chesterfield coat more snugly around his neck, when another gust had him grabbing frantically for the crutch. He was vaguely aware of the sound of a nearby door closing as he hopped and danced about to regain his balance.
“Mr. Pullman! What are you doing?” the startled voice of Nina Hakes demanded, as she hurried to help him right himself. Daniel grinned sheepishly as he finally found his footing. “Are you all right?”
Better now, he thought, gazing intently into her eyes. They called to mind the color of the sky just before night fell. Almost blue-black. The biggest, most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.
“Shall I go fetch the doctor?” she asked, looking up at him, her expression much as it had been the first morning he‘d been able to open his eyes. Except he didn’t particularly want her looking at him as a nurse.
“I’m fine,” he assured her, taking note that her hand still gripped his arm. He grinned again. “Just lost my balance for a second there.”
“Mr. Pullman.” Now her lips were pursed, as though she might be the slightest bit annoyed with him. “I distinctly remember Doctor Garlington telling you to go home and rest that leg. I don’t believe that walking around in the cold could be, by any definition of the word, resting” Even annoyed, Daniel figured he could listen to her talk forever, just to hear her voice.
“I wanted to bring you this-” he began, and then realized he no longer held the candy. A quick glance showed that it rested neatly in a snow drift near the street. Nodding toward it he said, “That.”
Nina’s eyes followed his gaze, and he saw a blush color her cheeks. As he tried to lean down to retrieve the foil wrapped package, she pulled him back and picked it up herself.
“Why? Why would you be bringing me candy?” she asked quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Because you were my favorite nurse,” he told her honestly. “And because I wanted an excuse to see you again.”
“But your leg-”
“If I’d waited for my leg to heal, it would be nearly spring. I didn’t want to wait that long.” This last was said almost inaudibly.
“You didn’t?” Now she was looking at him. With just a trace of yearning in her gaze. At least he hoped that’s what he was seeing.
“I didn’t. I got used to seeing you every day and…well…I missed you.” There. He’d gotten it out in the open. Now she would know why he was here, though whether the admission was something she might find acceptable, he didn’t know. After several long moments of silence he glanced away, feeling color rush to his cheeks.
“I missed you, too,” she finally whispered. “Thank you for the present.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled at her and, as best he could, offered her his arm. Appearing a little dubious, she took it. “May I walk you home?”
“Mr. Pullman-”
“Daniel.”
“Daniel. I live several blocks from here. Perhaps I should se
e you home so you can rest that leg.”
“Miss Hakes-”
“Nina.”
“Nina, my leg is fine. And, being a gentleman, I insist.” He could see that she was torn, ever the nurse. “Please?”
“All right,” she finally agreed with a sigh, telling him that she lived near the corner of Harris and Bostwick.
“I live two blocks west of you,” he told her with a smile, heading off in that direction. “You’re on my way home. Are you warm enough? Unfortunately it might take a little longer walking with me than if you were on your own.”
“I don’t mind. I’m fine. Warmer than you, probably.”
“I’m fine, too.” Better than fine, in fact. “Will your parents worry?”
“I don’t have parents,” she murmured, looking intently at the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized at once. “Have they been gone long?”
“I don’t know where they are, or whether they‘re alive or not,” Nina admitted reluctantly. “I was raised in the orphanage in Lansing.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“No one.”
“Then we have something in common. I’m alone, too.” She glanced up, a shy smile lighting her face. Daniel felt warm to his tips of his frozen toes.
“I guess we do.”
Most of the walk was silent, but that was okay with Daniel. He was just pleased to be with her. Soon, he knew, conversation would be easier. It was just this first time, as they left the nurse/patient relationship behind and forged into new territory.
“Would you do me the honor of having supper with me before you go to work tomorrow?” he asked as they came to a stop in front of a well–kept rooming house.
“I have tomorrow off,” she told him softly.
“Then would you care to accompany me to the nickelodeon after?”
“I’d like that very much.”
~~~
“Hey, Pop,” Jonathon said, from where he stood behind Elliot and Richard in the sleigh. “How long till we get there?”
Elliot couldn’t help but grin at his son’s enthusiasm. Little did he know that in a few hours he’d be wishing he’d listened to his mother, who had wanted him to remain at home, safe and warm. Elliot wished he could have stayed there because he was as far removed from warm as the east was from the west.
But it was the extended period of frigid cold that had prompted Zeke Hatfield to check the lake yesterday and, upon finding that the ice was over two feet thick, he’d called everyone. This was proving to be a particularly good winter for ice harvesting. The first, in late December had been just as thick, and with a few days still remaining in February, they just might get in a third before April ushered in the beginnings of spring. If the weather held, and Elliot wasn’t exactly sure he wanted it to.
While he could summon visions of how much he would enjoy glasses of ice cold lemonade, tea and water, and how wonderful a batch of Meg’s ice cream would taste, he simply dreaded the thought of a long day spent fighting the bitter winds, and the exhaustion that would accompany all of them on the way home.
Lucille Hatfield would spend the day in the little soddy, built next to the hill that contained the ice house – a huge cavern that he and a dozen other men had labored over eight summers ago. Paul Sprague had pointed out that basements were always cooler in summer months, and he figured it had to be because they were surrounded by earth. Therefore, an ice house surrounded by dirt had to be cooler than the buildings other harvesters used. So far it seemed that his theory had been correct, and they’d all enjoyed long summers with plenty of ice. But that meant long days working hard to fill it.
As usual, he knew they all would be grateful for the many pots of coffee Lucille would have ready throughout the day, along with kettles of steaming hot stew and dumplings that they would consume for both meals.
“Pop! How long?” Jonathon asked again.
“Just be patient, son. It’s going to be a long ride,” Elliot said with a chuckle. It would take at least two hours to get to Pine Lake since they had to stop to pick up five more men along the way. They would also be changing horses at the midway point. That was if the snow covering the narrow road was hard packed the entire way. If it wasn’t, it could be longer. “You should sit down and try to stay as warm as you can.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to freeze when we get there,” Richard told him, with just the barest hint of sarcasm.
Unlike his brother, who was almost giddy at the thought of his first ice harvesting adventure, Richard was well aware of what awaited them. Cold, backbreaking work – and more of nothing but the same as the hours dragged on.
Not that it was all a misery. No one ever enjoyed the actual work, but they did enjoy one another’s company, and there was always lots of laughter and teasing. Although as the hours passed, exhaustion would set in, and it would be a much quieter group climbing into the wagons to head home.
The next couple of miles passed in silence as the sleigh glided easily along. The very best thing about winter, Elliot was quick to acknowledge, was that the scenery surrounding them was beautiful. Even though the sun had shone brightly for the past few days, the temperatures had hovered near zero, so the snow hadn’t melted off the trees yet. Sometimes he felt that if he had to choose a scene to look at for the rest of his life, it would be one much like this.
He waved at the driver of an automobile who passed by, heading for town, and wished he’d decided to drive his instead. It might have cut an hour or so from their travel time. It would have been a little more comfortable as well, protecting them from the cold more than the sleigh did. As it was, he decided to let Tom Buckley take over the driving when they picked him up, and then Elliot would wrap up in one of the quilts Meg had handed to him on his way out the door.
He just hoped that no one would have need of the extra change of clothes that everyone brought along, just in case. Though it had only happened a handful of times through the years, they’d learned to come prepared. The only thing worse than falling through the ice into the frigid water was having to endure the long, cold ride home in wet clothes. At least according to Paul Sprague who, being the first to experience that particular downside to ice harvesting, knew just exactly how miserable it was.
~~~
Jonathon had been so enthralled with the process of ice harvesting since their arrival at the lake that he didn’t even mind when Richard placed a finger under his chin, pushing it up as he stood there in open–mouthed awe.
“You’ll be sorry you came along in about two hours,” his older brother predicted as he, too, watched Tom Buckley and Chester St. John walking behind their horses, guiding the ice markers in lines so straight it seemed impossible that they weren’t drawn with a yardstick.
Nearer to the ice house, their father worked with Zeke, Paul, Ed Fletcher and Hank Wardell, cutting a channel so they could float the massive blocks to shore, wrestle them onto the specially made sleds, and then stack them deep inside the hill for use on sweltering summer days.
“I’ll never be sorry,” Jonathon murmured, paying little attention to Richard.
He couldn’t wait until it was time for the sawing, when he would finally be able to help. But that would be awhile. First the grid had to be marked, then the ice plows would follow the same paths, cutting even deeper grooves, and finally the fun part would begin.
Richard had been accompanying the men for five years now. Five years that Jonathon had been forbidden to come, forced to sit at home jealous and resentful that he was missing out on yet another adventure. It wasn’t fair that Richard always got to do everything first. For once it would be nice if he got to do something important before anyone else.
He shook himself out of his thoughts and concentrated on the fact that he was here. When Mama made ice cream in August, he could remind his sisters that, but for him, they might not be enjoying their lovely treat.
“Oh I wish they’d hurry up,” he muttered, his hands itching to curl a
round the handle of the saw. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Richard shake his head, a know-it-all smirk on his face. “I won’t be sorry,” he repeated adamantly, ignoring the snicker that followed.
~~~
Elliot sighed as he helped Chester maneuver the ice plow back into the soddy. Judging by the position of the sun, high in the sky, it was somewhere around eleven o’clock. They’d been hard at work for about three hours now, and the worst was yet to come. Still, he had to chuckle as he glanced at his middle son. Jonathon was chomping at the bit to get started on the sawing, believing this to be one of the rites of passage on his journey to becoming a man.
“That boy of yours is about as thrilled as can be, isn’t he?” Chester asked, grinning as he closed the door behind him.
“He certainly is,” Elliot said with a laugh. “I remember how excited Richard was the first time he came with me.”
“I remember how glad he was to leave. And that he wasn’t excited at all the next year. Or any year since.”
“You try to tell them but I guess they have to experience it firsthand.”
“Somehow I don’t think Jonathon is going to be sorry he came. From what I’ve observed, he’s enthusiastic about everything he does.”
“That’s certainly the truth. But he’s like every other young man. Work is work, and it’s rarely fun.”
“If I didn’t know for a fact that your wife would have your hide, I’d make a bet with you, Elliot. That boy is going to be just as happy when we leave as he was when we arrived.”
“If I didn’t know for a fact that my wife would have my hide, I’d take that bet,” Elliot said, chuckling. “I’ll give it another couple of hours, and then Jonathon will be keeping Lucille company for the rest of the afternoon.”
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