Tracie Peterson - [Land of Shining Water 02]

by The Quarryman's Bride

  Her mother continued to gaze toward the window. There was nothing to see, however. Emmalyne knew the glass was coated with grime since she’d not yet had time to clean it. Besides that, the view was limited to the rickety old building they called a barn. Even so, the glass did allow for some light to enter the room. Perhaps cleaning and opening it would introduce Mother to the doctor’s suggestion of fresh air and sunshine.

  “A mother never recovers from the loss of a child,” Rowena said in a hoarse whisper. “A mother never intends to dress a child for burial or touch her cold, lifeless face. The pain in my heart is only made stronger by returning to this place. It would be better for me to have died.”

  Emmalyne felt her heart constrict. “Now, Mother, you know such talk gains you nothing,” she said. “Obviously God had a reason for you remaining here with Father and Angus and me. The tornado could have just as easily taken any of us.” She gripped her mother’s hand.

  “But if I hadn’t sent the girls to town that day, they might still be alive. Your father has oft said as much.”

  She murmured something, but Emmalyne couldn’t make out the words. In times of deepest sorrow her mother would often revert to the Welsh language of her youth.

  “Mother, you had no way of knowing there was to be a storm.” Emmalyne reached for her mother’s robe. “Why don’t you sit here in the rocker while I straighten your bed?”

  Her mother seemed oblivious to the question. “They were so close to home when the storm hit. If I’d sent them earlier, they might have returned in time to take cover in the cellar.”

  Emmalyne knew it was useless to attempt to halt her mother’s regretful memories. They would simply have to play themselves out.

  “Mother, you have often told me that only God has the power of life and death. Doreen and Lorna loved God just as you taught us. We mourn their passing, but they are in a better place now.”

  “It was such a bad storm.” Mother slowly shook her head. “So much damage. So much death.”

  “Aye, many lives were lost,” Emmalyne agreed. “Ours was not the only family to have faced death that day.”

  Her mother looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Of course you’re right.” She looked at the robe Emmalyne held. “Is that for me? I’m not chilled.”

  “I didn’t think you were, Mother. I need to straighten your bed, however. You will be much more comfortable with nice smooth sheets.”

  “Aye. ’Tis true.” She allowed Emmalyne to help her up.

  With her mother settled in the rocker, Emmalyne went quickly to work to remake the bed. “We have some very nice trees on the property, Mother,” she said, hoping to engage her mother in more pleasant conversation. “Aspens, mulberry, juneberry, oak, maple . . . Oh, and there are several pines, although I’m not certain of their type. There are plum trees, just as Father told me. It looks like there will be a nice crop of fruit this year.” Emmalyne tucked in the sheet and smiled. “There’s a nice stream that runs behind the barn and a clearing in the shade nearby that might be a good place to set up a lounge for you.”

  “We had a lovely burn that ran along our property in Scotland,” her mother murmured, her voice sounding far away. “My brothers oft fished those banks, and we girls liked to wade there in the warmth of summer.”

  With the bed made and the pillows fluffed, Emmalyne said, her voice light and encouraging, “Wouldn’t you like to stay up for a while? You could keep me company while I do the kitchen walls.”

  “I suppose I could sit up for a short time,” her mother said, sounding less than enthusiastic about the idea.

  “Good.” Emmalyne gave her no time to change her mind. “Come along, then. You can sit at the table. Angus put it together this morning before he left.” She helped Mother to her feet. “I can make you some tea if you’d like.”

  “That might be nice.”

  Once she had made her mother comfortable, Emmalyne went to the stove. “I’ve managed to get things fairly well arranged. It was very dirty in here, but not as bad as I’d originally thought. Only two of the cabinets were in need of repair.” She didn’t bother to add that one of those had suffered only because of her grip on it when she fell . . . into the doctor’s arms.

  Checking the stove’s fuel, Emmalyne added a few pieces of wood. The day would be much too warm to keep the stove heating at full capacity. She’d already put together a nice hash for their dinner and baked it during the cooler hours of the morning.

  “The water will heat shortly. I made some scones this morning. Would you like one? You hardly ate any breakfast, and it’s already well past lunch.”

  “I suppose I must. Do we have any jam?”

  “Of course,” Emmalyne said with a smile. “Remember all the preserves we put up in Minneapolis?” Mother hadn’t participated all that much in their preparation, but Emmalyne knew she would remember the steaming jars lined up to cool. “I have some plum, blackberry, or apple jelly.”

  “Plum sounds fine.”

  Emmalyne prepared her mother a small scone with butter and the plum jam and brought it to the table. After the water heated and the tea was prepared, Emmalyne finally pulled on one of her brother’s old shirts and went back to her brush and the whitewash.

  “Don’t you think the white color brightens things up considerably?” she asked over her shoulder as she retouched areas where the wash seemed thin.

  “I suppose so.” Mother nibbled at the scone, and Emmalyne gave her a smile.

  “Perhaps one day you will feel like making some curtains for the window. I had to throw the old ones away. You always make such nice curtains, Mother. I especially like it when you sew them with smocking and lace. They make a kitchen look so inviting.”

  “I haven’t the energy to even think about such things.”

  Emmalyne continued to wield her brush. “Well, I think in another few days you’ll start to feel better.” She was going to say something more, but the sounds out in the front yard drew her attention. “Sounds like someone is here. Maybe Dr. Williams has come to check up on you.”

  She put the brush down and went to the front door. “Oh, it’s Father and . . .” She fell silent at the sight of Mr. MacLachlan. Tavin had always favored him, and even now the resemblance was enough to silence her. Emmalyne swallowed hard. “It’s Mr. MacLachlan.”

  “Oh dear. You must help me back to bed. I can’t be welcoming people in my condition.” Mother was already struggling to her feet.

  Emmalyne returned to assist her mother, but found she was nearly to the bedroom. Rowena could move quickly enough when she needed to; perhaps her condition wasn’t quite as serious as they’d thought. Emmalyne decided she would allow her mother to get herself back to bed while she saw to the matter of welcoming their guest.

  Her father halted the wagon and met Emmalyne’s curious gaze as she stepped out onto the porch.

  “We’ve brought a few needed items,” he said, motioning to the back of the wagon.

  Emmalyne saw several crates, and upon closer inspection found they held laying hens. She looked beyond that and saw that her father had procured an icebox. It was quite unlike him to even concern himself with such things, much less spend money on such a luxury.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Emmalyne,” Robert MacLachlan said, stepping down from his horse. “Lass, ye do me heart good. Yer the very picture of springtime.”

  Emmalyne couldn’t help but smile. “More like autumn with my red hair.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, grinning. “’Sakes, Luthias, but ye ought nae keep such a beauty hidden away. She’s a right bonny lass.”

  Emmalyne blushed. “And how are you, Mr. MacLachlan?”

  “I’ve fared well enough. Morna too. Ye’ll come to visit?”

  “Aye,” she replied.

  “Visitin’ will have to wait,” her father interjected. “There’ll be more than enough work to keep her hand to.”

  “Aye,” Emmalyne said again. She looked to her father’s stern face.
“I see you’ve brought us an icebox.”

  “We had an extra,” MacLachlan said before her father could respond. “Chickens too. And yer guid faither bought a milk cow.”

  Emmalyne was more than surprised by this news. Just then the cow bellowed mournfully as if in greeting, and Emmalyne stretched on tiptoe to find it tied at the back of the wagon. It certainly would be nice to have a milk cow, but with no one but herself to care for such a beast, she knew her workload had just been significantly altered.

  “She’s missin’ her wee one,” MacLachlan offered. “Sold the little fella only last week.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll make a fine addition to our family. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to milk a cow myself, but I’m sure it will all come back to me.”

  Mr. MacLachlan laughed. “Ye ne’re forget such useful things. I’ll untie her and put her in the barn. The hens, as well. Ye can do with ’em as ye like.”

  What she would like would be to go back to having no chickens and no cow, but since they lived a good distance from town, it was probably best that they keep both.

  The two men made short order of the work, and by the time they brought the icebox into the house, Emmalyne was ready for them. She had a substantial area of the kitchen walls already whitewashed and a nice little spot for the icebox.

  “I put some ice in it afore we came,” MacLachlan said as he patted the top. “Ought to be guid and cold.”

  Emmalyne nodded. “Thank you.” She saw Mr. MacLachlan give her a glance and then look away, muttering something about it being a pity. She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but it made her feel sad.

  “It was guid of ye to help me,” Emmalyne’s father told his friend. “I’m sure we’ll be better for it.”

  Feeling a bit uncomfortable with Mr. MacLachlan’s expression as he watched her, Emmalyne hurried to interject, “Would you like some tea or perhaps a scone? I baked them fresh this morning.”

  Emmalyne waited for Mr. MacLachlan to respond, but he said nothing. He now was busy surveying the walls she had completed.

  “I feel bad that we could nae make this place ready for ye. I knew it would need a good bit of work. We did get the pump runnin’ well. Water ought nae be a problem.”

  “It’s not,” she assured him.

  “’Tis no matter, Rabbie,” her father declared. “The lass is quite capable.”

  “Aye, that she is.” Tavin’s father turned his gaze back to her. His eyes looked so like Tavin’s.

  Without even thinking, Emmalyne asked, “Do you ever hear from Tavin?”

  Her father frowned and grunted something about the wagon. He left the room before Robert MacLachlan had a chance to speak. Emmalyne was just as glad he did. She was embarrassed at having blurted out such a question.

  “We get a letter from time to time, but Tavin ne’re seems to stay put for long. He was well the last time I heard.”

  She nodded, realizing that to ask anything more would be unseemly. “And Fenella? Is she doing well?”

  The man’s countenance changed, and a frown crossed his face. “I’m afraid she’s been quite unwell.”

  “Oh no!” Emmalyne searched his face. He seemed unwilling to discuss the matter further, so Emmalyne didn’t pry. “I am sorry to hear that. I hope to make a visit to see her and Mrs. MacLachlan soon.”

  “I’m sure Morna will be lookin’ forward to that.”

  Without another word he turned to go. At the door he gave her a smile and looked as if he were going to say something, then must have thought better of it and departed. Emmalyne couldn’t help but wonder what he had wanted to add. Maybe he wanted to say something more about Tavin but knew her father would be displeased. Emmalyne frowned and turned back to the new icebox. She touched it rather tenderly, idly wondering if perhaps Tavin had used it at one time.

  Her mind was filled with images of the dark-haired young man with his thick brown-black brows and green eyes. She was sure those eyes had been able to look straight through to her soul. How she missed him. Seeing his father only deepened her longing. How could it be that a woman could love a man so fiercely? Had she ever seen such love between her mother and father?

  Years of longing and separation had toyed with her heart. Emmalyne hurried to busy her hands. Stop thinking about the past.

  Stop thinking of what might have been.

  Stop thinking of . . . Tavin.

  Chapter 6

  Tavin MacLachlan sat quietly contemplating a now-tepid cup of coffee. All around him boisterous, rowdy men guzzled ale and told tales of hard times at sea. The ancient dockside tavern was no stranger to these men. If the walls could speak they would no doubt retell tales from a half-century ago. Tales of lives lost to rogue waves and acts of bravery that would rival Greek myths.

  “You want somethin’ to put in that coffee?” the barkeep asked, looking hard at Tavin and awaiting his response.

  “No. I’m just waitin’ to board the Liza Jane. Shouldn’t be much longer.” Tavin knew the man was concerned that little money would be made by Tavin’s patronage, but he didn’t really care.

  The bartender shrugged and moved to the other end of the bar. Tavin downed the cooled coffee and slammed the mug down harder than he’d intended. His heart was torn between seeing this thing through and running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

  Going home to St. Cloud wasn’t something he’d planned to ever do again. The place was filled with memories that haunted him and refused to leave him at peace. It didn’t matter that his parents had moved to a new house situated on the quarry land his father had purchased only a year ago—or was it two now? Why his father had given up the freedom of working for whomever he chose to manage his own business was beyond Tavin. Sure, working for yourself had its advantages, but disadvantages were many. There was no getting away from the greater responsibility that came with being in charge. It was something Tavin had learned more than once. He neither enjoyed being the boss nor sought it, but his natural leadership skills seemed to always put him in that role.

  A brief scuffle across the room drew Tavin’s attention. Two large men seemed bent on pummeling each other, but then just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. The men laughed heartily, slapped each other’s backs, and returned their attention to their drinks.

  “So where are you bound on the Liza Jane?”

  Tavin looked up to find the barkeep had returned. “Heading west.”

  “A lot of folks answer that call. You goin’ out to the Wild West to start a ranch?” the man asked with a cocky grin.

  “No. I’m Minnesota bound.”

  The man considered the answer a moment. “Never been. What’s it like?”

  Tavin had no desire to continue the conversation. He put down a coin for the coffee and got to his feet. “Quiet,” he said, reaching for his bag.

  Outside, the bright sunlight made a sharp contrast to the darkness of the tavern. Tavin had to blink several times in order for his eyes to adjust. He walked to where the Liza Jane was berthed and noted that the crew had finished loading her.

  There’s still time to change your mind, a voice seemed to whisper in his ear.

  He shook his head. He’d deserted his family before when times weren’t nearly so bad. Now with his sister gravely ill and his father injured, they needed him. His brother, Gillam, wasn’t able to manage the business alone. Of course, the last letter he’d had was some months earlier. Could be things were much better now.

  Or they could be much worse. Again the nagging voice pierced his thoughts.

  Guilt washed over him. Tavin knew he’d not been a good son to his parents. He hadn’t bothered to keep in touch very often to let his poor mother know that he was still alive and well. He was lucky to get a letter off to them twice a year, and usually it was from a different location, which he did not explain. The fact that this latest letter from them had caught up to him had been something of a miracle. Months old, the letter had found its way to him through some assoc
iates who happened to locate Tavin quite by accident. By the time they forwarded the letter, even more time had passed.

  He had thought about trying to telephone someone in the St. Cloud area or sending his mother a telegram to learn more about his father’s condition, but it seemed an unnecessary expense. Besides, his parents lived far beyond the city limits and wouldn’t have a telephone. Who would he call? He didn’t know much of anyone in St. Cloud. After all, he’d been gone for nearly eleven years. He brushed away his concern for his father. Worrying wouldn’t change a thing.

  “We’re ready to board our passengers,” a ship’s steward announced through a megaphone. “Please make your way forward and have your ticket in hand.”

  Tavin slung his bag over his shoulder and reached into his pocket. He presented the ticket and waited for the man to look it over. The steward raised a brow at the lack of cabin assignment but said nothing. He no doubt knew that the captain of this steamer was more than happy to make a few extra dollars selling tickets to those who were willing to sleep on deck. So long as the Great Lakes and the weather cooperated with them, Tavin figured it would be an easy enough journey even without a room of his own.

  The man directed Tavin to the appropriate deck and turned to the next passenger. Without another word, Tavin boarded the ship and went in search of a comfortable place to bide his time. He glanced down at the deck and pondered the days to come. Not looking where he was going, he ran headlong into a young woman.

  “Oh my!” the redhead declared. Her bonnet slid to one side, and she quickly put up her hand to secure it.

  “I apologize, ma’am,” Tavin said, tipping his own hat. He was startled for a moment at the woman’s brilliant blue eyes. They were so like Emmalyne’s that he nearly reached out to touch the young woman’s face.

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. “I’m no worse for the wear.” She smiled and made her way past him to the rail.