A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  There was a soft gasp from the doorway. He shot Willa a look, then dipped his head to Ellen. “My felicitations. It must be hard to choose, with all that wealth involved.”

  She gave him a cool smile with anger shadowing its edge. “And prestige. One mustn’t forget that.” She gave her skirts a sharp shake and bits of clinging snow fell off onto the warm stone hearth and melted into small dark blotches.

  “Oh, I’m certain you won’t. Prestige and wealth. My, my, however will you choose?” He shook his head in mock gravity and watched the pools of moisture shrivel and dry up like the dream of marrying her he’d had years ago.

  “That’s none of your concern.” She looked down at the infant in his arms. “Aren’t babies supposed to cry a lot?”

  “Mary Elizabeth knows she’s safe with Daniel. Babies are very intuitive. And smart enough to follow what their hearts tell them.”

  How could the swish of a skirt sound angry? Or maybe it was the decided edge in Willa’s voice. He jerked his gaze to Willa’s blue-green eyes—dark and shooting sparks. She had her dander up all right. “You are a proud mama, Pest.” He chuckled and stepped forward to stand between Willa and Ellen, blocking their view of one another. “Take the tiny one, Pest. I have to go. Doc will be through with his stitching by now.” He put his mouth close to Willa’s ear and hissed, “You don’t have to protect me, Pest. I was over her long ago. Remember your promise.” A quick glance in her eyes told him she would say no more; her tight-pressed lips said she didn’t like it. He winked, turned toward Ellen and made an exaggerated bow. “If you’ll excuse me, Musquash, some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.”

  “Stop calling me that name!”

  He grinned, turned his back on her furious face and headed for the kitchen to get his jacket and hat.

  * * *

  Ellen looked away from the unsettling expression on Willa’s face and watched Daniel stride from the room, irritated by the uncomfortable notion that she had missed something. Willa considered Daniel the brother she’d never had, which was understandable as they’d lived next door to one another all their lives, but it had bred a closeness between the two of them that was annoying at times.

  The pile of worn clothes and pieces of fabric on the settee looked higher. She seized on the opportunity to talk about a neutral subject. “It looks as if you’ve gathered more material for making the costumes.” She lifted her skirt hems and stuck her right foot out closer to the fire to dry her damp stocking.

  “Yes. Matthew brought more offerings home with him after his round of visits to sick parishioners yesterday.”

  A long sigh followed Willa’s words. Ellen glanced over her shoulder. Willa was fingering the top garment, a look of frustration on her face.

  Some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.

  “Willa.” Her friend looked over at her. “You are always so efficient, I can’t believe you can’t manage to make the costumes, but if you need me—”

  “I do, Ellen. Truly, I do.”

  She lowered her gaze from Willa to the pile of fabric and tried to remember the last time she’d done any sewing. “All right, then. I’ll help you.” Doubt over her ability to do so rose with the declaration. Her face tightened. She shouldn’t have allowed Daniel’s words to goad her into offering to help.

  “Oh, Ellen, truly? What of your preparations for your suitors’ visits?”

  The perfect opportunity to back away from her offer without losing face! She drew breath to explain she wouldn’t be able to help after all and glanced up—there was such a hopeful look in Willa’s eyes. The recantation died unspoken. “Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert will be staying at the Sheffield House when they come. And Mother will arrange any entertainments. I have only to look fetching and be charming while they are here.” She brushed her hand down her skirt. “Not that I can manage that in this old green wool dress.”

  “You don’t need fancy gowns to look beautiful, Ellen.”

  She looked down at her dress, eyed the plain bodice and the long full skirt devoid of tucks or ruffles. “Thank you, my dear friend. But I’m afraid Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert would not share your opinion.”

  “Then they do not deserve you.” Willa sank onto the settee next to the pile of old clothes. “I can’t thank you enough for offering to help me, Ellen. I’m sure I don’t know how I would have managed the costumes and the decorations and— The decorations.”

  She stared at Willa’s aghast expression. “What decorations?”

  “I forgot....” Willa rose, crossed the room and stood looking out of a snow-encrusted window.

  “What have you forgotten?”

  “To ask Daniel to make arrangements for the pine boughs. I’ll never have time to get the wreaths and swags finished now.” Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t leave the baby, and I can’t take her out in this weather to go and ask Grandfather Townsend if he will donate the branches. And Matthew is too busy to help me make the decorations even if he does.”

  “Why, Willa! I’ve never heard you speak in such a discouraged way.” She stared at her friend’s dejected posture, uncomfortable in the position of comforter. She was always the one being cosseted. “Of course you will manage. You always do.”

  “I’ve never been the wife of a pastor with two children and a new baby at Christmastime before.”

  Willa’s defeated tone tugged at her heart. “Even so, everything will be all right. I’ll help with the decorations, as well.” Had she lost her mind?

  Willa turned and looked at her, hope in her eyes. “Are you certain, Ellen? With your beaux coming—”

  “We’ll make the decorations before they arrive. I’ll take Father’s cutter out to Butternut Hill to ask about the pine boughs today. I’ve been wanting to see Sadie anyway.”

  “But the snow, Ellen... You can’t—”

  “Of course not. I’ll have Asa drive me. I’ll leave as soon as I’m warmed. Meanwhile...” She stepped to the settee and lifted a threadbare brown wool dress from the pile to distract herself from the panic building at her rash offers. “This would serve for a shepherd’s robe.” She glanced up as Willa joined her, reading relief and something more in her friend’s blue-green eyes—satisfaction? Willa truly needed her. It was an odd sensation. She had always been pampered and taken care of. No one had ever needed her. She tilted her head and smiled. “I assume there is a shepherd?”

  “Yes. And the Three Wise Men. And Joseph and Mary, of course.”

  “Of course. Is there anything green in this pile? I think green would be lovely for Mary—it’s the color of life.”

  “A wonderful suggestion, Ellen.” Willa smiled and scooped the pile into her arms. “Let me put these on the chair by the hearth while we make our choices. That way you’ll get nice and warm before you leave for Butternut Hill.”

  “A good idea. Perhaps we can— Oh, my...”

  “What?”

  She laid aside the brown wool dress she held and touched a bit of white lace peeking out of the pile. “Look at this.” A tattered lace-trimmed tablecloth unfolded as she pulled it from the pile. “Is there an angel?”

  “Certainly. We can’t have the Christmas story without including the angel that brought the good tidings.” Willa smiled at her, then leaned down and riffled through the pile. “What have we to use for Joseph? Perhaps dark blue? Ah...”

  “What?”

  “Here is something green.” Willa tugged a dress from the pile and held it up. “Is this the color you had in mind for Mary?”

  She stared at the deep green color of the dress—the color Daniel’s eyes turned when he was angry. The color they were whenever he looked at her. Her pleasure in their quest for the right fabrics dulled. “It’s perfect.” She draped the white tablecloth over the chair back and moved closer to the fire to warm hersel
f. Daniel was on his way back to camp, and soon she would be following his path on the sleigh ride to Butternut Hill. He was leading the way, cutting a trail as he always had. A bittersweet smile touched her lips, then turned to a frown. She had to stop remembering. Thankfully, Daniel would be busy at work hauling logs during her time home and would not be around to remind her of her silly, childish dreams.

  Chapter Four

  “Ease up, Big Girl. Whoa, Big Boy.” Daniel hopped off the sledge and tromped forward as yard workers, peaveys and steel rods in hand, swarmed onto the pile of logs he’d hauled in.

  “Daniel!”

  He turned at the hail, spotted Cole Aylward and trudged through the trampled snow of the log yard to the sawmill. “You wanted me?”

  “Yes. Come into the office while the men unload your sledge.”

  He glanced up at the smoke rising from the chimney. “With pleasure.” He stomped up the log slide to the sawmill deck and followed Cole into the attached room. Warmth from the woodstove greeted him. He tugged off his hat and stayed close to the door, lest he get chilled when he went back outside. “Is there a problem?”

  “Yes. Mine, not yours...yet.”

  He lifted a brow, stared at Cole’s grin. “I’m not sure I like the word you tacked onto the end of that sentence.”

  His boss’s grin widened. “Ellen Hall came to see Sadie today. She passed on a request from Willa. She needs pine boughs for decorating the church and asked if Townsend Timber would provide them.”

  He stuffed his hat into his pocket and rubbed his gloved hands together to create some warmth. “We’re behind in our lumbering because of the snow.”

  “Yes. I mentioned that.”

  He studied Cole’s face, let a grin tug his lips aslant. “Sadie cajoled you into it, did she?” He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m thinking it didn’t take much coaxing on her part.”

  Cole’s grin matched his. “I collapsed like a felled tree. As did Manning. We’ve donated a wagonload of boughs. And more if needed.”

  There was something in Cole’s voice.... Daniel tugged off a glove to scrub his hand across the back of his neck. “Ah, yes. The ‘yet.’ Let me guess.... I’m elected to deliver the boughs?”

  “That would be correct.” Cole’s face sobered. “After you’ve cut them.”

  He raised his brows.

  “I know.” Cole settled into his chair. “I’d like to give you a man to help you, Daniel, but I can’t spare a logger while we’re so far behind.”

  He nodded, tugged his glove back on and pulled his hat from his pocket. “You can’t spare your teamster either. It won’t help any to cut logs if you’ve no one to haul them here to the mill. Fortunately, there’s a full moon at present, and with it shining on the snow, it’s as bright as day. I’ll down a couple of small pine and hemlock tonight, fill the pung with the boughs and deliver them after I’m through hauling logs tomorrow.”

  “That’s a lot of extra work for no pay, Daniel. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me—thank your wife.” He grinned and pulled his hat on, tugged the rolled brim down to cover the tops of his ears. “I never could withstand Quick Stuff’s coaxing either.”

  * * *

  Ellen glanced at her mother studying the fashions in the new Godey’s Lady’s Magazine she’d received, drew breath to speak, then exhaled and turned back to the fire. She’d started to ask her mother if she would donate trims left over from dress orders at least a dozen times since dinner and then stopped. It would be best to wait a few days, until the costumes were finished but for the final touches. Coward. She frowned at her lack of will and pulled her wrap closer about her bare shoulders. The silk gown she’d donned before her parents came home was stylish but chilly.

  “You seem restless tonight, Ellen. I hope you’re not feeling adrift because of the lack of suitable society in Pinewood.”

  “No, Mother, I’ve been spending time visiting with Willa. And I had Asa drive me out to see Sadie today. I’m only...thinking.”

  “You took the cutter out to Butternut Hill in this weather?” Her mother gave her an astounded look. “Whatever for?”

  She drew breath to explain about the pine boughs for the church, then swallowed back her words. “I wanted to see Sadie.”

  Her father lowered his book and peered up at her. She held still, determined not to fidget beneath his penetrating gaze. Her answer had been the truth—as far as it went.

  “Are you any closer to a decision as to which gentleman you will accept as your husband?”

  “No, Father.” She’d been so busy she hadn’t even thought about her beaux today. Only Daniel. But that was natural, since he’d been present—and annoying. She leaned down and added a piece of log to the fire lest her father read the truth in her expression, and she read disapproval in his as a consequence.

  “Well, you tend to what your mother and I say. Don’t allow your old friends to talk you into accepting less than you can achieve in life by a good marriage.”

  “Indeed.” Her mother looked up at her, a hint of a frown on her face. “Willa, Callie and Sadie have done quite well for themselves considering they have settled for village life. But we have groomed you for the greater, more important things of high society, Ellen. You mustn’t forget that. Now go and cream your hands. And don’t handle any more rough wood, dear. You want your appearance to be perfect when Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert arrive.”

  * * *

  Suitable society. Ellen rubbed cream into her face and hands, swirled her silk-and-lace dressing gown on over her nightdress and stepped to her bedroom window. Cold air seeped from beneath the hems of the winter drapes her mother had fashioned from a woven bed coverlet and chilled her slippered feet. She drew her dressing gown close and pushed one drape aside far enough to look out. Large snowflakes fell through the moonlight that shone on the rutted ribbon of Oak Street and glistened on the snow-covered ground across the way.

  Beyond the park stood the new parsonage, but the snowfall was so thick all she could distinguish was a small glow of lamplight from a window. Had she made a mistake by offering to help Willa? Performing such mundane tasks would lessen her worth in Mr. Lodge’s and Mr. Cuthbert’s opinions. If she could even do them. And her mother was right. What about her hands? What if she suffered needle pricks? Or if her skin became roughened and dry from handling the pine boughs? Oh, why had she let Daniel’s words prod her into saying she would help? It would, of a certainty, displease her parents as well as her beaux. Still...

  Cold coming off the window chilled her. She let the drape fall back into place and crossed the room to her bed. She’d felt odd but nice all afternoon. The truth was, she had enjoyed helping Willa. Still, there was no possible way she could do the work without it becoming known. There were no secrets in Pinewood.

  A wry smile tugged at her lips. That was one thing she and her friends had learned while very young. No matter what secret adventure they set off on, it was always already known by the time they returned home. Or soon confessed. Especially if they faced Callie’s aunt Sophia. The woman was formidable! She laughed and shook her head. The truth was, she’d always been a little frightened of Sophia Sheffield in spite of her kindness. What a timid child she’d been....

  The silk of her dressing gown whispered softly as she shrugged it off her shoulders and down her arms. A chill slithered down her spine in spite of the fire as she stepped out of her slippers. She slid beneath the covers searching out the heated, towel-wrapped soapstone at the foot of the mattress with her cold feet. “Ahh.” Warmth caressed her toes as she tucked them in a fold of the warm cloth. Did Willa enjoy even such a small luxury as this? Likely not, even though she was married to Reverend Calvert and had Bertha Franklin for their housekeeper.

  Suitable society.

  A twinge of apprehension tingled through her. How wo
uld she entertain her beaux? Reverend Calvert and Willa would qualify as suitable society, but neither Mr. Lodge nor Mr. Cuthbert cared about church—except for appearances’ sake. Callie and her husband would qualify—Ezra Ryder was wealthier than either Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert. Unfortunately, Callie and Ezra were away visiting Ezra’s sister for the Christmas season. Sadie and Cole? No. Sadie spent her time looking after her grandmother and grandfather, and Cole—well, Cole was too straightforward to get on well with her beaux.

  That thought gave her pause. She frowned, closed her eyes and directed her thoughts away from the unflattering comparison. Her parents would simply have to entertain her beaux—there was no one else who would be...compatible. She would keep her word and help Willa, but she must finish the tasks quickly. It would not do for her beaux to come and find her working like one of their servants. That would not do at all.

  How long would it take to make the children’s costumes? She was certainly not skilled at sewing, and Willa had the baby and Joshua and Sally, as well as her husband and home to care for. A smile curved her lips. Sally was a sweet little girl. And she would make a beautiful angel with her fair skin and her golden curls. The white lace tablecloth would make her a lovely flowing gown. But what of a halo? Or— Her old gowns! Perhaps she wouldn’t have to ask her mother for leftover dress trimmings after all.

  She threw the covers aside, pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and hurried across the bedroom to open the large chest that held some of her old dresses. There was a yellow watered silk with a narrow band of gold braid that tied around the waist....

  Firelight flickered on the various fabrics as she dropped to her knees and looked through the piles. Rose...green...silver—she’d always liked that dress—blue...copper...yellow. Ah! There it was. She slipped the yellow dress out of the pile and sat back on her heels to free the band of gold braid. It was stiff enough to hold a circular shape. A perfect halo. Wait until she showed Willa. A tiny twinge of excitement wiggled through her. She smiled and set the gold braid aside, put the dress back in the trunk.