A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

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

  The words grated. She shoved her curls back over her shoulders and tossed her head. She’d show Daniel Braynard. He’d have to swallow those words when he saw the work she did with Willa on the costumes and the decorations—and she hoped he choked on them!

  She leaned forward onto her knees and plowed through the pile of dresses again. The lace-edged net of the overskirt on the silver gown would make lovely wings. She yanked the gown from the pile, dropped it on the floor beside her and dove back into her search. There had to be other things she could find that would be helpful in making the costumes. She’d show Daniel! She’d make the best costumes Pinewood had ever seen!

  * * *

  Silence reigned, the only sounds the soft, muted thud of the Belgian’s hoofs and the whisper of the pung’s runners over the deep snow. It was as if the forest were holding its breath. Daniel smiled at the whimsical thought, looked up at the snowflakes shimmering in the moonlight that lit the forest track and wished he had a wife beside him to witness the beauty.

  Ellen.

  His imagination placed her beside him, their shoulders touching, their laps covered by a thick, warm blanket. He frowned and glanced at the folded, snow-covered horse blanket on the seat to disperse the yearning. That dream had died years ago. There would be no wife, only grim reality. He would not subject any woman to the sort of life his mother had known—most certainly not the spoiled Ellen Hall with her fancy gowns and fur-trimmed bonnet and cloak.

  “Hup, Big Boy, hup!” He snapped his wrists and rippled the lines, and the huge Belgian dragged the pung off the track into a small clearing, his great muscles rippling as he plodded through the knee-high snow. He reined the gelding to the right, around the edge of the clearing to a spot a short way beyond a small thickly branched hemlock. “That’s far enough. Whoa, Big Boy.”

  The Belgian stopped, tossed his head and snorted. Hot breath puffed from his nostrils, forming small gray clouds. He pawed the snow with his right front hoof and snorted again.

  “I know. You don’t like having to work tonight. But orders are orders. And it’s to help Willa.” He grabbed the horse blanket beside him, jumped from his seat, then tossed it up over Big Boy’s back and tugged it into place. The buckle on the hold strap glinted against the gelding’s massive chest. “There you are, fellow.” He patted the thick neck and went back for the feedbag. “This will keep you content while I work.” He slipped the bag on, adjusted it and left Big Boy munching on his oats and bran while he lifted his ax out of the pung and trudged through the snow toward the hemlock.

  The moonlight gleamed on the snow-covered ground and reflected off of the snow-burdened branches of the trees that circled the small clearing, protecting it from the worst of the winter storm. Wind rose, tossed the tops of the towering pines and whistled softly through their lower limbs, its power diminished by the thickness of the forest.

  At least he could see. He smacked the hemlock’s branches with the flat side of the blade to knock off the snow and grimaced at the shower of white that rained down on him as the limbs flew up to their normal position. He yanked off a glove and swiped the cold, moist flakes from his face and neck. The things he did in the name of friendship! No. It was more than that. He tugged his glove back on, took hold of the ax and lopped off the lower limbs. Willa and Callie and Sadie and Ellen had pestered him mercilessly when they were kids, but he’d grown to love them like sisters. All except Ellen. What he had felt for her had nothing to do with brotherly affection. Would that it had.

  He scowled, dragged the branches he’d cut off to the pung, tossed them into the box and returned to the tree. His first hefty swing buried the blade deep into the exposed trunk. He yanked it free and swung again, the power of his strong shoulders behind the stroke. Thunk! A chip flew from the trunk and buried itself in the snow. More chips followed in rapid succession. There was a creaking, cracking, splintering sound.

  He leaped aside, watched the small tree wobble, then fall with a soft thud across the track made by the pung. Perfect! He hurried to the downed tree and lopped off the smaller top branches with one stroke each. In five minutes he had denuded the top of the tree. He buried the blade of his ax in the bared trunk and used both arms to scoop up the small branches. Snow packed in between his gloves and the sleeves of his jacket, chilled his flesh. He pulled off his gloves, shook the snow out of his sleeves, then tugged his gloves back on and picked up the ax.

  Willa and Sadie were going to pay for this. It would cost Sadie a batch of those good molasses cookies she made, and Willa would have to let him take Joshua and Sally skating on his next weekend in town. It was as close as he’d ever get to being a father. He pressed his lips together against the pain of the thought and went back to work.

  The snow came faster. It piled on his shoulders, hat and collar of his jacket, found the bare spot between them and melted against his neck. He ignored the shivers it caused and looked around for a small pine. None offered.

  He trudged through the snow to the smallest pine standing on the edge of the clearing, eyed the snow-laden branches and frowned. He’d really get a snow shower this time.

  The quick, sharp blows of his ax shook the tree. Snow cascaded from the upper branches, fell in large clumps that plopped against the ground and broke into pieces against his head and shoulders. That was two batches of cookies for Sadie! And an added afternoon of sledding with Willa’s children. No penalty for Ellen, though he knew the one he’d like to claim. He’d like to send her back to Buffalo! As much as she hated the cold weather, how had Willa talked her into going out to Butternut Hill to ask Manning Townsend to donate boughs, anyway? He swung again and the large limb split from the trunk and fell at his feet. He dragged it out of the way and took his frustration out on the next one. Snow showered down on him as he chopped it off.

  He dragged it over beside the other one. It was dangerous to fell a tree this large alone using only one notch. When the trunk got thin enough, the tree could twist and fall in the wrong spot. He frowned and swept his gaze over the area at the tree’s base. The snow was too deep and the branches of the trees too tangled together for him to get behind it to make a second notch. He eyed the branches on the back side of the tree. They were half-buried by the snow. It was possible they would hold the tree from twisting or kicking out and toppling before he could get out of the way.

  “I’m going to need Your help with this one, Lord. Please let the trunk hold until I can get free.” He shot a look toward the sky, took a firm grip on his ax and swung it again and again, watching the trunk as the chips flew off into the snow, listening to the sound as each stroke hit. There was a creak. The trunk trembled. The far edge of the thin remaining piece of trunk splintered. The tree lurched and twisted, the buried back branches bursting out of the snow into the air.

  He threw his ax through the branches of the neighboring pine and dove after it, hit the snow and rolled toward the massive trunk.

  Craaack! The hewed tree slammed against the pine. A shudder traveled down the trunk. He curled tighter, covered his head. Snow and sheared-off branches rained down. “Lord Jesus, be with me!” The falling tree slid down the pine’s trunk and crashed onto the limb over him, its large branches driving deep into the snow, cracking and splintering when they hit the frozen ground.

  Silence. Nothing but the whisper of the pine needles on the quivering branches, the soft plop of bits of snow sliding off to hit the ground. The snapping and shattering of wood had stopped.

  He pulled his hands away, raised his head and opened his eyes. Pieces of broken branches, pine needles and shreds of bark littered the snow, while larger boughs formed a tangled tent over him. A weight pressed against his back, pushed down on his shoulders. He craned his neck around, eyed the deep crack in the broken limb above him and the trunk of the fallen tree that rested across it, its branches
buried in white. “Thank You, Lord, for the deep snow.”

  His words were swallowed by the night. A cautious sweep of his arm cleared away the debris between him and the pine’s trunk. He said another quick prayer for the cracked branch to hold, pawed the snow from beneath his chest and slithered out from under the damaged limb. Free!

  The end of his ax handle was sticking up out of the snow at the base of the sheltering pine. He grasped it in his trembling hand and pushed through the snarl of broken branches, then looked up at the sky. “Thank You, Lord, for Your protection. I’ll take You for my partner over any other, anytime.”

  His hat was dangling from the nub of one of the small offshoot limbs he’d broken when he dove for safety. He shook it free of snow and debris, tugged it on, then hacked his way clear and went back to work, tossing the branches into a pile.

  The snow came thicker and faster, closing out the moonlight. Time to quit. He shouldered his ax, tromped through the snow to the pung, removed Big Boy’s feedbag and led him toward the downed pine’s skeleton. There would be another five or six inches by morning, and it was already too deep for safely logging and hauling out timber—as he’d just proved.

  He frowned and started throwing the branches in the pung. It was likely the jobber would call off operations until the storm stopped. If so, he would stay in town and help Willa. And there was another blessing to the worsening storm. Ellen would stay at home in front of a nice warm fire, sip hot tea brought to her by the housekeeper and ponder which of her two wealthy beaux she should marry. There would be no chance he would accidentally meet her when he delivered the boughs to the parsonage tomorrow evening or while he worked with Willa on the decorations. “Thank You, Lord, for the storm.”

  Chapter Five

  The horse’s nicker stilled her hands. Ellen shot a curious glance toward the dining room window. Who would be paying a call on Willa in this weather? Or perhaps it was someone needing the reverend. She dropped Willa’s scissors on top of the skirt she was cutting from the old brown wool dress and hurried to the window. A man, head lowered against the blowing snow, halted a team of huge horses, jumped to the ground and headed up the shoveled pathway for the back porch. Daniel.

  She didn’t need the pung heaped with pine boughs to identify him. She would know those broad shoulders and that confident stride anywhere. What was he doing here this time of day? Why wasn’t he at the camp hauling logs or something? She stepped to the side, lest he look up and find her watching as he passed the window. He had always been—

  “There! Joshua and Sally are on their way to visit Mama. Now I can— What are you looking at, Ellen? There’s nothing outside but snow.”

  She started and whirled from the window to face Willa, heat rushing into her cheeks as if she were guilty of a misdeed—which was ridiculous. “I heard horses. Daniel has brought the boughs.” She fluffed the curls at her temples, walked to the table and picked up the scissors.

  “Already? That’s wonderful! I didn’t expect them until this evening.” Willa rushed to the window and peered through the frost-rimmed panes. “Oh, look! The branches are heaped. We shall have enough boughs to decorate the gazebo, too. May God bless Grandfather Townsend for—”

  “The gazebo?”

  The growled word jerked her gaze from Willa to the doorway. Daniel stepped into the room wearing a mock scowl.

  “Are you planning to decorate the whole town, Pest? And what about a blessing for me? I cut and hauled those branches—near killed myself, too. It’s going to cost you.”

  Willa laughed and left the window. “Not me, Daniel. It’s Grandfather Townsend you work for.”

  “Not alone and in the moonlight, I don’t. And not when I’m cutting branches for your husband’s church.”

  A chill traveled up Ellen’s spine. Daniel had downed the trees alone? At night? How could he make light of the danger? Or had he made it up to tease Willa? She lifted her gaze to his face. Light from the candelabra glinted on his green eyes and played over his uncovered head, making his hair look more red than brown—the way it was when he was young. Memories surged. She frowned, breathed in the scent emanating from him. He had always smelled of the outdoors—and now a bit like horse. She resisted the urge to sniff and instead lowered her gaze to rest on the knit hat he clutched in his gloved hand. He had big hands. And strong. Even when he was—

  “All right, you win. What is it to cost me?”

  Willa’s laughter cut into her reverie. She looked up, caught her breath at the warm smile curving Daniel’s lips. He’d once smiled at her that way.

  “Two afternoons of skating and sledding with Josh and Sally.” He turned slightly and his gaze fell on her, hardened. “Hey, Musquash. I didn’t see you there at the table. What are you— Scissors?” His gaze dropped to the table, and his brows shot toward the ceiling. “You’re sewing?”

  His shocked tone stiffened her spine. She jutted her chin into the air. “You needn’t be so—”

  “Ellen is helping me make costumes for the children who will be speaking in church at Christmas, Daniel. Isn’t that kind of her?”

  Willa’s voice drowned out hers—which was probably for the best. She took a calming breath, then made the mistake of meeting Daniel’s gaze. His green eyes were dark, his expression dubious. She lifted her chin another notch and glared at him. “There’s no reason for disbelief, Daniel. I am capable of performing an act of kindness on occasion.”

  A grin slanted across his lips, showed his teeth white against his red beard. “No doubt you are, Musquash...on occasion. But, sewing?”

  “You know full well mother is a seamstress! Even I was bound to learn something of the skill from watching her over the years.” She tossed her head and resumed her cutting, praying there was at least a modicum of truth in her words so she could make Daniel Braynard swallow his.

  “Did you need something in town, Daniel? Is that why you were able to deliver the boughs so early?”

  A sigh rose to her throat at Willa’s less-than-subtle change of subject. She glanced up through her lashes, caught the easy smile Daniel gave Willa as she moved toward the table. The sigh turned to a painful pressure. All he ever gave her now was that mocking grin.

  “No, it’s because of the storm. The jobber has stopped logging operations until this blizzard passes and the temperature warms a bit. So I’ll leave the pung here at the parsonage until it’s time to go back to camp—if that’s all right.”

  He would be in town! She frowned and placed the cut-off skirt on the growing pile of ready-to-work material.

  “Yes, of course it is, Daniel. It will save you having to unload all those boughs into the back room of the church.”

  “Is that where w—”

  “Oh!” Willa lurched, bumped against Daniel.

  “Careful, Pest....” Daniel gripped Willa’s arm and steadied her.

  “I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me.” Willa brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto her forehead. “What were we— Oh, yes.... What of the horses? We haven’t stalls for them.”

  Her frown deepened. What was wrong with Willa? She sounded flustered.

  “I know. I’ll stable them at Dibble’s, then get settled in at home. Do you want me to com—”

  Willa broke into a coughing fit.

  Alarm tingled along her nerves. Willa had said Matthew was busy visiting those sick with the grippe. Had he brought the illness home? Was that why Willa looked a bit flushed? She took a step back. Willa glanced her way, and understanding flashed in her eyes.

  “There’s no cause for alarm, Ellen. I’m not ill. It’s only a tickle in my throat. I’ll be fine when I get a drink.” Willa spun toward the door. “Come with me, Daniel. We’ll finish our discussion in the kitchen.”

  She stared agape as Willa all but shoved Daniel out the door ahead of her. She’d neve
r known Willa to act so...strange. So...undone. She really did need her help. That odd sense of satisfaction she’d felt the other day returned. She smiled, picked up the scissors and began cutting the sleeves from the old green overdress they’d chosen to make Mary’s garment.

  Daniel would be in town. Her stomach flopped. She would have to be watchful to not run into him. If he called her Musquash one more time— Oh, no! She froze, then took a breath and slanted a glance up at the ceiling. “Please, Lord, make the storm stop so Daniel will be back at camp working soon. Please don’t let him be in town when Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert arrive. Please.” She clenched her teeth and cut off the other sleeve. It would be bad enough if her beaux came and found her helping Willa with the sewing or decorations, but if Daniel were to—

  “Steady, Big Boy. Back, Big Girl...back.”

  Daniel’s muted voice came from outside. Chains rattled. He was leaving. Good. She glanced at the window, pressed her lips together and cut along a side seam to turn the green dress into a flat piece of material. Where was Willa? They had to get this work done!

  She rose and started for the doorway, paused as the chains rattled again, then gave in to her urge and crossed to the window. The pung now sat behind the church. She wrapped her arms about herself and watched Daniel unhitch the team, his movements confident and sure. She couldn’t even imagine Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert attempting such a feat. What a disaster that would be. And how disloyal was she to even think such thoughts?

  She whirled from the window and hurried back to the table, picked up the green dress she’d finished cutting and folded it. What did it matter if Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert knew nothing of hitching and unhitching horses? They had money enough to hire others to do it for them.

  “I’m sorry for my delay in returning, Ellen. The baby was fussing.”

  Ellen pulled her thoughts back to the task at hand, looked up and smiled as Willa entered. “No matter—you’re here now.” Her fingertip poked through a threadbare spot as she shook out a piece of what was once a blanket. “I have the fabric ready for Mary’s cloak. That leaves only Joseph’s garment. Do you think there will be enough of this blanket left when I’ve cut around the holes?”