The Song Weaver

by BJ Hoff

  Standing behind her, watching her in the mirror as she worked her way through this unexpectedly intimate undertaking, he was surprised to realize that it seemed as much a mystery to her as it did to him.

  “Eva Grace has me incredibly spoiled,” she muttered as she attacked yet another swatch of hair. “She usually helps me with this. I’ve never been any good at dressing my own hair. Not at all.”

  “Is there anything more I can do?” Jonathan ventured. “I don’t seem to be contributing very much.”

  She met his eyes in the mirror. “You can stop smiling, for one thing. You seem to find this entirely too amusing. Here—I need another pin.”

  He handed it to her, still grinning like a simpleton.

  She tilted her head a little, stabbing the hairpin into place.

  “Why must you go through all this anyway? Why don’t you just wear it down or tie it back with a ribbon as you do at school? That’s the way I like it best,” he volunteered.

  She shot him a look of reproach. “I can’t do that anymore, Jonathan. I’m a married woman now.”

  “Indeed.” He thought about that for a moment. Apparently there was a connection between being a married woman and putting her hair up. She must know something he didn’t.

  “Well, you wouldn’t want your wife to go around with her hair flying in the wind like some floozy, would you?”

  “I…wouldn’t. No, of course not,” he said with more emphasis. “Absolutely not.”

  She nodded and reached for another hairpin. “Mum says a woman shouldn’t take her hair down except for her husband,” she said, lowering her gaze.

  Jonathan studied the crown of her head and then the plush knot she’d somehow anchored in place at the nape of her neck, the tendrils of copper already escaping their confines at her temples.

  He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “I couldn’t agree more with your mother,” he said, handing her another hairpin.

  Still in her dressing gown, Maggie stood back a little to admire the new suit she’d just laid out on the bed. Unbeknown to her, Jonathan had connived with Cora Dillon, who had fashioned her wedding gown, to also fashion two new suits from material he himself had selected: the lovely, deep-forest green she planned to wear today and the caramel-colored “traveling outfit” she’d worn yesterday for their trip to Lexington. Both were of the softest wool imaginable and perfect fits.

  Her initial protests at his extravagance had lasted only until she saw the warm look of approval in his eyes yesterday, the first time she’d worn the travel suit. She hoped he’d be just as pleased with her appearance today.

  She glanced across the room to see that he was still standing at the window, watching the snow. Maggie had been surprised to realize that the weather held a fascination for him that went beyond mere interest. He seemed particularly taken with thunderstorms and snowstorms.

  Storm aptly described what was going on outside today. She allowed herself one more admiring look at her new suit and then went to stand next to him. “How long do you suppose it’s been snowing?”

  “It must have started up again well before daybreak. And there doesn’t seem to be much sign of it stopping soon.”

  Outside the window, the snow came in blowing waves. Uneasiness tugged at Maggie in spite of her attempts to simply enjoy the scene. Last night’s snowfall had been playful, a capricious dance that rose and fell on the wind. This seemed more a heavy invasion.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to get around the city today?” she asked, taking hold of Jonathan’s arm.

  Even though he claimed to have no desire to live in the city, Maggie knew he still felt genuine affection for the place where he’d grown up and had been looking forward to showing her some of his favorite haunts. She hated to see him disappointed.

  Jonathan turned to look at her. “I thought you liked the snow.”

  “Oh, I do. When we were all still at home, Nell Frances and I could scarcely wait for the first snow of the season so we could build a snowman.” She smiled at the memory. “Not Eva Grace, of course. She thought both of us were as mad as a bag of squirrels. She stayed inside and watched out the window. No, I was just thinking how disappointed you’d be if we were to end up snowbound.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, touching her hair. “I can think of far worse things than being snowbound with you. But you needn’t worry. It takes more than a snowstorm to bring Lexington to a halt. We’ll manage just fine. But dress warm.”

  “I’m going to wear my new suit,” Maggie said, pointing to the bed. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Why don’t I have a fresh pot of coffee sent up since I suspect we might be here for a while?”

  Maggie rolled her eyes at him, scooped up her suit off the bed, and headed for the dressing room, happiness humming through her.

  Jonathan had arranged for a cab to pick them up in front of the hotel at ten-thirty. By ten o’clock Maggie still hadn’t emerged from the dressing room, so he returned to the window and again stood looking outside. He saw that the snow had intensified and felt a tug of concern. He hadn’t wanted to spoil Maggie’s excitement by admitting the possibility that they might actually end up stuck at the hotel. And as yet it shouldn’t be a problem. In truth, getting stuck away from the hotel would be much more of a problem. Was he being foolish, taking her out in such a storm?

  The door to the dressing room opened just then, and he turned to see her step out with a flourish and do a little whirl for his inspection. His intuition had been right on the money about the new suit. Its deep, rich green emphasized the fiery copper of her hair, the faint blush of her complexion, and the design nipped and tucked in all the right places to show off her adorable figure.

  The minx! That impish glint in her eye plainly said she knew she had him tongue-tied, and not for the first time.

  “I love it, Jonathan!”

  He continued to stare. “I love it more.”

  Had he ever, even in his youth, imagined that he would one day be so happy? There were times, like now, seeing his love for her reflected in her eyes, when he thought he might strangle with the joy she brought to him. All he wanted for the rest of his life was to return that joy to her.

  He started toward her, bent on showing what he was feeling since words had clearly failed him, but he stopped when someone rapped on the door.

  He glanced at Maggie. “Probably someone letting us know the cab is here,” he said. He opened the door to reveal a youth in the hotel’s black-and-gold bellboy uniform.

  “Mr. Stuart?”

  Jonathan nodded.

  “Western Union, sir.”

  Jonathan frowned, hesitating a moment before taking the paper the boy held out to him. When the youth made no overture to leave, Jonathan fished in his pocket for a coin and handed it to him, then stepped back into the room and closed the door.

  “Jonathan?”

  He glanced at Maggie and then at the telegram.

  His father had a telephone in the house. He would have called. No one local would send them a telegram. They would simply call the hotel.

  He felt Maggie watching him, hard, as he opened it.

  Even before he could begin to read, she was at his side, clutching his arm.

  Eva Grace taken bad. She’s asking for you. Come home right away. Your da—Matthew MacAuley.

  Maggie’s grip on his arm tightened like a vise. Bringing his hand around to cover hers, he found it cold.

  She made a sound like a sob and leaned into him, trembling. “Jonathan—”

  He gently pressed her head against his chest and held her securely against him. “Yes, I know. We’ll go at once.” He cast an uneasy glance across the room as another blast of wind-driven snow rattled the window.

  They had been sitting in the train station well over two hours when Jonathan got up and walked over to the window again, just as he had no more than fifteen minutes ago. And fifteen minutes before that. He’d made at least a dozen trips back and for
th since they’d first sat down on the bench. Maggie knew that his next move would be to approach the middle-aged man with the tired eyes behind the ticket window and ask for any news.

  She glanced around. They weren’t the only ones waiting for a train. An elderly woman on a nearby bench sat staring worriedly out the window while the white-haired man beside her dozed. Across from them stood a woman with two small children. Every so often she would cross to the window, peer out, and then return to her station near the bench, both fussy children in tow. Near the entrance a young man fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, adjusting his carrying case, his gaze darting from one corner of the building to another.

  Jonathan was on his way back to her now. Maggie could tell from his tightly drawn features that there was no news.

  “They’re clearing the tracks ahead,” he said, sitting down beside her again. “It’s only a matter of time now.”

  Maggie made no reply for a moment, but she couldn’t ignore the growing sense of urgency pressing at her. “If it keeps snowing like this, the tracks can’t possibly stay clear. And we need to leave now. We have to get home.”

  “Look,” he said, pointing to the window. “It’s not so dark now as it was earlier. I think it’s going to clear up soon.” He took her hand. “It’s going to be all right, Maggie. It is.”

  She studied his face and saw the effort it was costing him to bolster her spirits. But in this instance, even Jonathan couldn’t help her. Even so, she wished they weren’t in a public place. She wished she could just go into his arms and let him hold her, impart his strength to her.

  “I know you’re trying to reassure me, Jonathan,” she said, keeping her voice low. “And I appreciate it. But we both know that sometimes things aren’t all right—and might never be all right.”

  Dear Lord…please don’t let this be one of those times.

  He pulled a long breath, squeezed her hand, but said nothing.

  How could everything have changed so quickly and without warning? In the midst of a happiness so overwhelming there was no thought that anything could ever dim it, and now, all in a moment, a fear as real and grave as she’d ever known cast its shadow. In only seconds—as long as it took to read a telegram—life had gone from incredible joy to crushing dread.

  Maggie’s head ached as fear hammered at her. Da never would have called them home from their honeymoon had the situation been anything less than dire. He hadn’t even said whether the baby had been born. Just that Eva Grace had been taken bad and they should come home now.

  Her stomach roiled again, and she swallowed hard. Poor Jonathan. She was nothing but a burden to him just now. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to help her, yet he was trying so hard to put on a bright face for her sake.

  Oh, Evie. How did it come to this for you? You—always so lively and bright…you used to shine…

  All through her teenage years, Eva Grace had been the most comely girl in school. Probably it was fair to say that for years she’d been the prettiest girl in Skingle Creek. Her place had always been at the center of things, as the focus of attention. For the boys, a prize to be won; for the girls, someone to admire and emulate.

  But Evie had made no secret of the fact that she hated Skingle Creek, that somehow, some way, she would escape it.

  Was that why she married Richard? To get away from the town of their childhood and the hard existence that fell to a miner’s wife and family?

  No. Almost certainly her sister had loved the man she married—or at least thought she did. Eva Grace was too honest, too fine a person to latch on to a man just to escape a bitter life. She would have gone to Richard Barlow as a young bride with stars in her eyes and love in her heart only to be horribly beaten and mistreated.

  For her unborn baby’s sake, she had fled his cruelty and returned home. Betrayed, broken, wounded in body and spirit, she’d nevertheless found the courage to escape, to leave everything behind but her resolve to protect her child.

  Maggie shuddered, more from the cold in her soul than the drafty train station. How could this be happening to her sister? What would they find when they reached Skingle Creek? And how long would it be before they could get there?

  Jonathan patted her hand, gripped it, and then released it. He again got up from the bench, but before he could reach the ticket window, their train was called.

  Maggie almost went limp with relief. She stood, only to find that her legs were shaking as badly as her hands. She swayed a little, but Jonathan saw and rushed to catch her arm, steadying her.

  As they stepped outside, she discovered that the skies indeed had brightened somewhat. But it was still snowing.

  Chapter Three

  Going Home

  Sometimes, I think, the things we see

  Are shadows of the things to be.

  Phoebe Cary

  Snow veiled most of the slow train ride back to Skingle Creek. Twice they had to stop and wait while the tracks ahead were cleared. An hour the first time, nearly two hours the second. Jonathan must have looked at his pocket watch no less than every fifteen minutes during each delay.

  Maggie didn’t ask about the time. She didn’t care what time it was. Her only concern was to start moving again, to get home. With each delay her thoughts traveled further away from Jonathan than they’d been since she’d come back from Chicago and started teaching at the school.

  She’d been scarcely aware of the world outside the train window since they left Lexington, only vaguely taking notice as they raced by the snow-covered trees, the creeks and ponds that had become glazed mirrors, the roofs of farm houses that sagged with the white weight blown upon them, and the dark lines of track that curved into each turn along the way.

  At some point, she had already gone home in her memory. It was still winter in her thoughts as she walked to school with her two sisters. Nell Frances lagged behind to delay the start of the school day, and Eva Grace charged ahead to get out of the cold. Mondays they were all three quiet and often grumpy, depending on how they’d spent the weekend. Fridays were better. They dawdled, even in the morning, sometimes stopping for a brief snowball fight. Hurrying on the way home in the afternoon, they would tease Eva Grace about her latest beau or argue among themselves as to whose turn it was to help with supper or do the dishes, not really minding the chores ahead because the weekend usually held some fun along with work.

  Especially when it snowed. Snowmen and snow forts, snow angels and sledding, Christmas and ice skating. Snow always brought good times.

  But not today. This day the snow brought dread like a falling rock landing on her chest, smothering her and weighing her down. Fear came upon her, a howling wind unleashed inside, battering her without mercy. She couldn’t stop thinking of Eva Grace, of the doctor’s warnings about the toxemia, and every thought was a physical blow.

  Her mind lost all sense of order. Her thoughts darted back and forth from the past to the more recent days when Evie had come home after leaving Richard. One moment she was gripped by the memory of her sister helping her with homework by the light of an oil lamp at the kitchen table, only to remember next how, in weeks past, Evie had encouraged her love for Jonathan, even confronted her with the stern announcement that she and Jonathan needed to face the reality of their love for each other.

  So many memories…

  So lost was she in remembrance that it came almost as a surprise when she realized the darkness of the winter afternoon had gathered in on them, and they were finally home.

  A blast from the train whistle. Smoke and ash falling by the window. Jonathan’s hand on her arm. His voice gentle, but edged with the same apprehension that clutched at Maggie’s heart ever since the telegram came.

  “We’re here, Maggie,” he said, increasing the pressure on her arm. He helped her up. “We’re home.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Ben. You should have brought my buggy, though, instead of risking yours.”

  “Mine’s
a bit heavier, I think. It’s always done pretty well in the snow.”

  Jonathan had wired ahead, asking Ben Wallace, their pastor and Jonathan’s closest friend, to meet them at the depot. On an ordinary day they could have walked to the MacAuleys from the train station—it wasn’t all that far. But this was no ordinary day. It was still snowing, and the wind was even more raw than it had been earlier.

  Besides, they needed to get to the MacAuleys as quickly as possible. Maggie looked tight enough to snap if they had to wait much longer.

  After getting her settled into the buggy under a heavy lap robe, Jonathan and Ben went to retrieve the luggage from the platform.

  “Eva Grace—have you seen her?” Jonathan asked.

  His friend nodded. “I went as soon as I got your telegram. I was going anyway. I’d already heard she was in trouble.”

  “And?”

  Ben shook his head. “Not good.”

  Jonathan’s heart sank. “The baby?” he asked, his mouth dry.

  “She was still in labor when I stopped by. That was about half past two. Dr. Gordon was with her.” The pastor’s usually pleasant features were taut, his eyes shadowed.

  “Tell me, Ben. If it’s that bad I want to know before Maggie does.”

  “It’s that bad, Jonathan,” said the older man. “I’m afraid it’s very bad indeed.”

  Dr. Sally Gordon’s buggy was parked in front of the house. Clearly she’d been there for quite some time. The horse’s blanket was covered with snow, the wheels only partly visible above a drift. This kind of snowstorm wasn’t typical for the area. Jonathan fervently wished it hadn’t surprised them today.

  He helped Maggie out, taking both her hands in his for a moment as he searched her eyes. “All right?” he asked.

  Her features were pinched with apprehension, and her hands trembled in his. But she took a deep breath and nodded.

  Ben came up just then and put a hand to Jonathan’s shoulder. “I’d best go on home. Regina’s nervous about being alone with the children in the storm. But promise you’ll send word if you need me.”