by Lilly Inman
“Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you!” she smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I was just going to make breakfast.”
“Right, yes, I —” Joe stuttered. “Let me help you.”
“Don’t you have work to be doing?” she asked as the pair walked down the stairs. Joe searched for a reply. “Are you always so hesitant?”
“I… well, yes, I guess so.”
Isabelle laughed. In the kitchen, he noticed that Isabelle had found her way around really quickly. She flew around the room, setting the table in between flipping pancakes on the griddle. Joe stood helplessly in the centre of the room, watching. Hesitating.
“Yes?” Isabelle asked, without turning around.
Joe knew it was the right time to tell her. It was just the two of them here; the Old Man was upstairs in bed, and the whisky had probably worked its magic and sent him off for another nap. They had time. But his mouth had gone dry.
He cleared his throat. “Coffee?” Isabelle nodded.
Joe stirred the bowl of pancake batter silently as the coffee brewed. His brain was rushing, he couldn’t make sense of his thoughts. He was distracted by her presence at his side. He didn’t know where to start.
“Did you sleep well?” Isabelle interrupted his ruminations. “You seem tired.” She eyed him curiously.
He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at her sideways. “Actually, I didn’t really. Lot of thinking…” He felt her gaze on him and turned away. He couldn’t do it.
Isabelle cleared her throat. “Me too,” she said quietly.
The pair of them remained silent.
*
Joseph had gone back upstairs to hide in his office when breakfast was finished, leaving Isabelle to tidy up the house before their guests arrived. He admitted to himself that he didn’t know how to talk to her. Joe wasn’t always one for making conversation, but with Isabelle the words simply deserted him. He was helpless next to her. But drawn to her all the same.
Isabelle had seemed distracted this morning, too. He hoped she wasn’t afraid since meeting Robertson yesterday. He scolded himself for not having done something to reassure her. Must be terrifying for her, leaving all she knew for a man she’d never met, and to top it all off she’d arrived in a town with ruthless criminals running around free. Joe sighed angrily at himself, staring at the papers spread across his desk—notes from recent interviews with the local townsfolk. He put his head in his hands, scrunching his hair up. He was still no further forward with the case. And time was pressing.
The sound of a horse trotting up the dry dirt path, its reins jingling, brought him out of his anguish. Matthew and Maureen had arrived.
“Hello, hello!” The Old Man had answered the door, his usual sing-song voice greeting the guests. “Oh, hello wee one!” He tickled Maureen’s baby under her chin.
They all filed into the sitting room and drinks were served. Joe couldn’t help but notice that Isabelle was transformed by the arrival of their guests. Smiling radiantly, laughing and joking with the others… maybe everything was alright; maybe he’d imagined her distance this morning. He should stop worrying so much. It would surely do her good to have friends here, Joe thought. It would surely do him good, too.
The baby kept everyone entertained. Isabelle took to her naturally, and when the baby began to cry, Isabelle was the first to offer her arms for a cuddle.
“Teething?” asked the old man. Maureen nodded and let out a weary sigh. “Just rub a wee drop of whisky round her gums, that’ll send her off to sleep in no time! Antiseptic, too,” he nodded earnestly. Maureen looked horrified and handed the baby to Isabelle.
Isabelle calmed the child in record timing. She sang a soft lullaby, rocking her gently as she made small circles around the room.
“Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot.” The tune was simple but the room fell silent immediately. Everyone was transfixed. “Prête-moi ta plume pour écrire un mot.”
The baby was asleep in minutes.
Her light brown eyes brimmed with joy as she gazed lovingly at the baby, but a tear escaped down her cheek. She caught Joe’s gaze from across the room and grinned, wiping her eyes quickly.
“Sorry, I don’t know where that came from!” She tried to brush off her embarrassment but Joe had too many questions.
“You speak French?” he blurted out.
Isabelle blushed. “No, not really. My mother was French. She used to sing that lullaby to me as a child.”
Matthew was in awe. He whispered to Maureen, “I think we’ll bring the baby here more often!” and everyone chuckled.
The afternoon went on in a haze of iced tea and laughter. The child was beginning to experience the joys of freedom, crawling away from Isabelle’s pretend lion roars and giggling profusely. Joe watched as Isabelle played with her on the floor. The Old Man dug his elbow into Joe’s side and joked, “When will it be your turn? I’m not getting any younger!”
Joe turned beetroot red. Isabelle questioned him with a look.
“Always wanted kids. Lots of ‘em.” He grinned sheepishly.
“The boy grew up as an only child, never had a family.” The old man explained to Isabelle. “Don’t know how he was planning on having those kids, though! Never courted any of Close Ridge’s young ladies,” he hiccupped.
“Yeah, well, I suppose I was quite shy…” Joe shuffled in his seat awkwardly.
“Didn’t help that he spent all his days in my office, reading my grisly crime notes. Poor soul never had any friends, never mind girlfriends!” The Old Man teased him. “That’s why I had to put an ad in the paper.”
“Time for you to go easy on the whisky, I think!” Joe sprung up, embarrassed, and grabbed the old man’s coffee cup. He wasn’t used to all the attention being focussed on him and needed to escape.
Isabelle followed him silently to the kitchen and closed the door behind them, muffling the laughter of their guests.
“My father set this up for me, too,” she said.
Joseph stood with his back to the room, gazing thoughtfully out of the window. He didn’t reply.
“Is it true, what you said back there?” Isabelle asked with a small voice. “About wanting children?”
Joseph cleared his throat and turned around. “Well… yes. Truth is, I’d love to have a big family. Bring some life into this big empty house.” He was still blushing and glanced away bashfully. He turned redder as a small smile grew on Isabelle’s face.
Chapter Ten
After their guests were gone, Isabelle was in the kitchen washing the dishes from their evening meal. They had eaten quietly, everyone tired but happy from the afternoon of entertaining. Isabelle finally had a moment to herself to process the events of the past twenty-four hours. She relished the time alone.
Her mind went over the conversation from that afternoon. She had never imagined Joseph to be the kind of man who would want a large family — he seemed so career-driven. But then again, he had sent for a mail-order bride.
An image of Joe awkwardly holding the child in his arms came to her. The baby had cried the entire time but Joe remained patient, trying and failing to calm her. Isabelle thought of the dimple in his cheek as he handed the baby back to her mother, admitting defeat and grinning his apology. She smiled to herself. She thought of her father’s note, tucked into the pocket of her dress. Maybe they could make this work.
Isabelle sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. She was torn. Still troubled by the argument she’d overheard the night before, her thoughts shifted to that morning, when she’d been so upset that she hadn’t been able to face coming downstairs. She’d heard Joseph’s words echoing in her head all night. I wish you’d never shown me her letter. Her eyes prickled.
She thought of how she’d spontaneously sung that old French lullaby, and how she’d shed a tear when she finished. Something about holding the baby had brought up some old memories inside her. Her heart strings tugged. Joseph had seen it, too. His expression had been
a mixture of wonder and sadness. Isabelle wasn’t sure which one.
She dried her hands on the dishtowel and went upstairs with a heavy heart. She needed to sort this out before her feelings went any further.
Isabelle walked slowly down the hall and hesitated outside Joe’s office door. Closed. He shouldn’t be disturbed. She wouldn’t. She carried on to her bedroom.
Opening the door, her eyes landed immediately on her suitcase. She’d finished packing that morning, before their tea date that afternoon. Before she’d had the chance to learn more about Joe.
I didn’t even want her here in the first place.
His words bounced around her head. Stubbornness welled up inside her and she pushed thoughts of Joseph with the baby away. She had sworn she wouldn’t allow herself to be hurt by anyone. But he had hurt her.
She twirled around and knocked on the office door, opening it abruptly. Joseph was sitting hunched over his desk, brow furrowed, a single lamp turned down low illuminating him.
He glanced up in surprise. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned the top button. He looked relaxed, but tired. His thick dark hair was sticking up all over the place, but despite that, he was handsome.
“Isabelle.” He sat back. “Is everything alright?”
“I need to talk to you, Joseph.” Her voice shook a little but she looked fierce, determined.
“Is there a problem? Can I do anything to make your stay here more comfortable?” His brow furrowed in concern.
“No… it’s not that.” She dragged an armchair from the corner of the room closer to Joe’s desk and sat down. She studied his face, his worried expression, and remembered how he’d been so caring towards the residents of the town. She felt her anger draining away. How did he do this to her? She looked away. “I… I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”
A long pause filled the air as Isabelle fidgeted in her seat. Joe watched her until she broke the silence in a tiny voice.
“I think I want to go home.”
Joe’s face fell. He looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. When he looked up again, Isabelle felt her eyes fill up with tears. He looked wounded.
“What’s going on, Isabelle?” he asked quietly. “I thought we were getting along just fine.”
“I… I just…” She couldn’t tell him what she’d heard him say. It would only cause him more pain. She didn’t want to see that wounded look again.
It was better if she just left. He’d find someone else, she was sure of it.
“I miss my family.” Her voice broke.
“Oh, Isabelle, I’m so sorry. I’ve been working so much lately, I didn’t realise.” Joe put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t see. Of course, you’re so far from home. Forgive me.” He ran his hands through his hair and leaned forward. The kerosene light cast great shadows over his face. “I’ll spend more time with you. I really mean it, this time. And we can invite Maureen and the baby over whenever you want. Give it some more time. Please stay. At least until we get to know each other…” he trailed off into silence.
Isabelle swallowed hard.
“Have you really decided to leave?” Joe fixed his gaze steadily into her eyes.
She couldn’t look at him.
“Belle…” he reached out to her. “Don’t go.”
She glanced up and met his gaze. Her heart throbbed in her chest. She wanted to take the sadness from his gaze, now and forever. She wanted to care for him.
Isabelle reached up and took his hand in hers.
Chapter Eleven
In the study, Joseph watched Isabelle secretly from over the top of his newspaper. She was curled up in the armchair next to his desk, where it had stayed since their serious discussion a few weeks previously. She was engrossed in a history book she’d peeled off the shelves behind him, chewing her bottom lip and twirling her hair around her delicate fingers thoughtfully. He smiled. Joseph felt himself relaxing for the first time in a long time.
He had grown used to her company here in the office, the two of them reading together in comfortable silence. Sometimes Isabelle would read Joe’s notes over his shoulder as she brought them both some tea, making helpful observations and suggestions. Partners in crime.
Much to Isabelle’s and the Old Man’s delight, Joseph had been making an effort to be more present at the house. He would come home from the Sheriff’s office in town at a reasonable time so that they could share an evening meal together. Isabelle was a wonderful cook, sharing many recipes she had learned from her mother. The Old Man in particular was a great fan of French cooking, and his cheeks grew rosy with delight when they managed to get their hands on some French brandy. The days pushed towards autumn in a haze of laughter around the dinner table.
In the morning, Joseph shared a coffee with Isabelle in the kitchen, the pair of them giggling over one of the stories the Old Man had told the previous evening. Isabelle mimed the Old Man’s enthusiastic arm gestures as Joe mimicked his accent, exaggerating his rolled Rs. Theirs had grown into a true friendship. A magnetic one. And Joseph was thrilled.
*
On the ride into town one late-summer morning, Joseph knew that the old man had been right. Isabelle was seated next to him, their shoulders knocking together on the bumpy ride, and Joseph couldn’t stop himself from grinning.
“What are you so pleased about, Mr. Cartwright?” Isabelle looked at him curiously.
“Oh, nothing…” he teased her. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist not getting an answer. He brushed his floppy hair out of his eyes and looked down at her.
“Come on, Joe, tell me!”
Joe chuckled and directed his gaze back to the road ahead. “Just thinking it’s about time you learned to drive, is all.” He drew the horse to a stop and passed her the reins but Isabelle backed away nervously.
“Don’t you remember what happened last time?” she exclaimed.
“I sure do, Miss Williams.” Joe grinned broadly as the memory came back to him. She’d cracked the reins too sharply and the horse had sprung forward, veering recklessly around corners and leaving Isabelle just barely hanging onto control. Joseph had remained calm the whole time and hadn’t raised his voice once, but since then Isabelle had developed a strong aversion to riding on the cart.
She studied the reins from the corner of her eye.
“Well I never… Miss Isabelle Williams, are you scared?” Joe knew she would rise to the bait.
Isabelle sat up haughtily and exclaimed, “Not one bit!” She took the reins from Joe’s hands.
“Easy, now.” Joe cautioned. He sat firmly back and gripped the edge of his seat theatrically. Isabelle rolled her eyes.
“Show me how you do it. That clicky thing,” she asked.
Joe guided her hands into a relaxed, easy position and mimed the upwards flick of his wrists.
“No, not that clicky thing. The other one. With your mouth.”
Joe’s brow wrinkled as he wondered what she meant. He clicked and the horse shuffled forward, surprising Isabelle. Her knuckles were white. Joe calmed the horse and Isabelle relaxed.
“How do you do that? Works better than shaking the reins.” Isabelle looked at him in earnest.
“Simple. Just click your tongue against the inside of your cheek.”
She tried and produced a tutting sound, from the front of her mouth. The horse’s ears swivelled back, confused.
“Inside your cheek, here at the side.” Joe gently reached out and let his fingers graze Isabelle’s cheek, designating the correct area. Her skin felt soft and warm. She blushed.
Isabelle clicked and the horse began to clop forward.
“Excellent. See? No false starts, this time.” Joe spoke quietly, almost to himself.
Chapter Twelve
Isabelle’s cheek still felt warm where Joe’s fingers had brushed it. She daydreamed about his touch for the rest of the journey, wishing they lived further from the town so that she could stay
next to him a little longer.
They arrived at the main street in companionable silence. Joe jumped down from the cart and hitched the horse up to a post outside the Sheriff’s office, and Isabelle followed him inside to greet Matthew and catch up on news of Maureen and the baby.
“We loved our visit last time — Maureen’s been chewing my ear off to get us another invitation,” Matthew teased.
“Yes, please, that would be wonderful!” She gushed.
Joe nodded. “Next Saturday?”
“It’s a date!”
Isabelle wished the men a good day and left the office excitedly, heading towards the bakery. She’d need some extra supplies to welcome her guests.
She placed an order for a few lovely little teacakes and continued on towards the general store to pick up some necessities for the house. She gazed for a while in the window of the dressmaker’s, marvelling at the intricacy of the stitches. Her little sister had wanted to be a dressmaker. She wondered if that was still the case. Only a few weeks had passed since her arrival here in Close Ridge but it already felt like her siblings had probably forgotten about her. They would be growing up fast. She hurried on to the mail post.
Isabelle drew the letters from her shawl and passed them over to the clerk. She’d written notes to her sister and brother, and a longer letter to her father going over the events of her stay so far. She’d truly poured her heart out to him. Isabelle was desperate to hear back soon.
With a sigh she turned around to head back towards the Sheriff’s office. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man with a familiar long, easy stride leaving the general store. Joe.
What was he doing at the store? Shouldn’t he be at work?
Isabelle watched suspiciously as he chatted light-heartedly with the shopkeeper, a pretty young woman who gazed at Joe with a look Isabelle recognised only too well. Frowning, she marched straight over.
“Oh, Isabelle!” Joseph seemed a little put off seeing her there. “I thought you’d be getting fitted for that new dress you wanted!” He shuffled nervously. The shopkeeper disappeared into the back of the store.
