A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  The look she’d witnessed between the Townsends that morning swept into her mind. A smile curved her lips. “They still are.”

  “How inappropriate at their age. But Manning and Rachel have nothing to do with the decision you must make.” Her mother lifted her hands and gripped her shoulders. “Listen to me, Ellen. You are young and beautiful. But beauty fades, and other, younger women take a man’s eye. Unless you are very certain Mr. Cuthbert intends to call upon your father to request his blessing to ask for your hand, you must thrust all comparisons and indecisions aside and accept Mr. Lodge’s offer. You do not want to miss your opportunity to gain all your father and I have raised you to achieve, all you have dreamed of.”

  All she had dreamed of... Something stirred deep inside her. That nagging sense of dissatisfaction strengthened, no doubt because of her indecision. She had to do something that would help her choose.

  * * *

  “Why did you insist on our taking a walk, Miss Hall?” Harold Lodge tucked his gray wool scarf more closely beneath his long chin with his free hand. “It’s turning colder since the sun has gone down. I should think you would prefer to stay indoors in front of the fire.”

  Not tonight. “My cloak and bonnet are warm. And there is something I want to show you.” Moonlight glimmered on a patch of ice on the walkway. She took a firmer hold on his arm.

  “The footing is treacherous. Ease your grip, Miss Hall, or you’ll make us both fall.” He stepped ahead, led the way around the ice and stopped at the corner.

  The memory of Daniel moving to block the force of the blizzard from her flashed into her head. She’d walked blind, with her face hidden behind his shoulder, trusting him to lead her. Trusting him. She’d always trusted Daniel. He’d always protected her. Like this afternoon.

  “Which way do we go?”

  She looked up at Harold Lodge, his tall, slender form a shadow against the lamp-lit windows of the Sheffield House Inn and Restaurant standing across the snow-trampled expanse of Main Street. “To the left, past the church.” She kept her gaze from the gazebo and focused instead on the parsonage, thought about the Christmas tree and had a sudden wish that she might go to the woods with Daniel to cut it down. They’d all spent so much time in the woods as children. She’d always loved going on their adventures.

  “It’s so silent and lifeless here.” Harold Lodge gestured across the road to the block of stores with their closed doors and dark windows. “The only place that shows any activity at all is the Sheffield House, and, staying there, I know that is trifling. Whatever does one do for entertainment in this...village?”

  Trifling? She fought back the urge to spring to Sophia’s defense. “It is true that compared to the city, Pinewood has little in the way of formal entertainment, Mr. Lodge. But there are sleigh rides, and sledding, of course. And hymn sings and skating parties.”

  “How very amusing.”

  His tone said different. They passed the church and the Cargrave home, then picked their way over the snow-and ice-covered planks that formed Church Street. She could hear shouts and laughter faintly now, could smell the bonfire. She glanced up at him. “Do you skate, Mr. Lodge?”

  He laughed and looked down at her, his top hat a small dark tower against the night. “That is an odd question for you to ask, my dear Miss Hall. You know people such as you and I find our entertainment in the theater and opera, in fine dining and soirees.” He placed his gloved hand over hers. “All places where beauty such as yours is admired and, I dare say, envied.”

  Which is why you covet to possess it. The truth was too blatant to ignore. She quelled the urge to pull her hand from beneath his, took a breath and forced another smile. “You’re too kind, sir.”

  “Not at all. You are an extremely beautiful young woman, Miss Hall.” He lifted his head, looked around. “I see nothing but a livery beside us and closed stores across the way. Where is this thing you want me to see?”

  Faint light glowed against the darkness ahead. Her stomach tightened—the way it had when she was young. “We’re almost there.”

  “Is that shouting I hear?” He started forward into the night. “It seems to be coming from around that bridge.” He stopped, glanced over his shoulder. “I think it would be wise if we turned back, Miss Hall. There could be danger from ruffians lurking ahead.”

  “There is no danger, Mr. Lodge. It’s a skating party.” She looked up at him, watched his face to catch any change of expression. “I saw them clearing the snow from the ice today when I was on my way to my friend’s home—” Daniel, holding the horse’s reins and laughing with the children and other men, until he’d looked up, seen her and then... “—and I thought perhaps we might come and watch the festivities.”

  “Skating?”

  His lip didn’t quite curl. “Yes.” She released her grip on his arm, gathered her skirts close and stepped off the walkway onto a trodden path through the deep snow that led past the Dibble house. The path curved to the top of the creek bank, then descended in a series of steps cut into the snow. Swaths and ruts on either side testified of the children who preferred to slide down to the creek. Her pulse quickened at the memory of her afternoon slide into Daniel’s arms. She hurried her steps.

  Torches atop posts thrust into the deep snow piled on the edges of the far bank shone on laughing boys trying to outskate one another on a long cleared path of creek ice while others awaiting their turn to race cheered them on. Lanterns that would be used to light trips home hung from pegs driven into the bridge supports, and people of all ages skated in and out of the golden pools of light mirrored by the ice. On the creek bank below them, people stood eating roasted chestnuts while they visited and warmed themselves around a large bonfire.

  She caught her breath. It was exactly as she remembered, though it had been years. She turned to look up at Harold Lodge. “Your hand, sir. They’ve cut steps in the snow, but—”

  “Surely you are not thinking of going down there, Miss Hall.”

  “Why, yes.” She looked at his stiff posture, his taut face. “Is it that you do not wish to go down and stand among the villagers, Mr. Lodge? Or that you do not wish to watch the skating?”

  “Both, my dear Miss Hall. Such activities are for children and...others. Not for us.” He smiled, reached out and took her gloved hand in his. “I have seen your quaint little village party. Now let us return to the quiet and warmth of your parents’ home. I must leave for Buffalo tomorrow, and I have a question to ask you.”

  Her stomach churned. This was not working out as she had hoped. She nodded and turned. A victorious shout turned her back around again. The race was over. She looked at the boys happily thumping one another and moving out of the way as others skated to the starting line. Daniel had always won. And he’d taught her how to skate backward....

  “Are you coming, Miss Hall?”

  “A moment, Mr. Lodge.” She stepped closer to the top of the bank, scanning the skaters. He wasn’t there. But Sadie was. She watched her friend glide into view from the protected area beneath the bridge, skating with her arm linked with Cole’s as he pushed her grandfather across the ice in a chair that had a footboard and runners attached to the bottom. Sadie’s grandmother skated beside the chair, holding to her husband’s good hand and laughing. They were all laughing. Her throat swelled at the happiness on their faces.

  “Miss Hall?” Harold Lodge stepped close, again took hold of her hand.

  She nodded and started to turn, looked down for one last glimpse and froze. Daniel was standing by the bonfire looking up at them, the leaping flames throwing flickering light across his face. Their gazes met. He gave a curt nod, then turned and added a log to the bonfire. Clearly their meeting earlier had meant nothing to him. He’d only been helping her. He helped everyone.

  “The moonlight is fading, Miss Hall, and it’s beginning to snow. We’d bes
t hurry before it becomes too dark to find our way.”

  She tucked away the hurt of Daniel’s snub and led the way back to Main Street.

  Snow crunched beneath their feet as they traced their steps back to Oak Street and turned the corner. Paltry bows. She should have known then what her answer to Harold Lodge’s proposal should be. She yanked her gaze from the dark form of the gazebo and fixed her sight on the shadowed shape of her home. A flame burned in the post lamp at the end of the shoveled walk.

  Harold Lodge took her elbow and climbed the porch steps beside her, reached for the door. She took a breath and turned to face him, pasted on her phony smile. “I’ll say good evening here, Mr. Lodge.”

  His face tightened. “I’m afraid that will not do, Miss Hall. As I mentioned earlier, I must leave for Buffalo tomorrow, and, though I realize I have not yet asked my question, I must state that there are matters of importance concerning our wedding that need to be discussed before I go.”

  “There is no such need, for there will be no wedding, Mr. Lodge.”

  Shock spread across his face. “You are refusing my hand?”

  She dipped her head. “I am most flattered by your offer of marriage, of course, but I must decline.” She would have been sorry had there been any sign of hurt, but anger had already taken the place of his shock. His dark eyes glittered in the light from the lamp by the door.

  “You are young, so I will give you a chance to reconsider your answer, Miss Hall. You will be making a serious error in choosing Mr. Cuthbert over me. His fortune does not compare to mine. And I am already taking steps to ensure his political future will be a short one.”

  How had she ever considered spending the rest of her life with this man? “I appreciate your concern for my well-being, Mr. Lodge. Nonetheless, my answer stands.”

  “Very well, but you and Cuthbert will both live to rue your decision! Good evening, Miss Hall.”

  She watched him pivot and stride down the steps and sidewalk, then lifted her chin and went inside to tell her parents she’d made her decision. Mr. Cuthbert’s fortune might be less than Harold Lodge’s, but combined with his political prominence it was more than enough to please her mother and father. And he was not as unbearably arrogant as Harold Lodge had turned out to be.

  Ellen hung her bonnet and cloak on a peg, took a deep breath and walked to the sitting room. Her parents looked up, expectant expressions on their faces. “I refused Mr. Lodge’s proposal.” She smoothed her hands down over the front of her dress, shook out the long skirt and crossed to the hearth to warm herself.

  Her mother drew an audible breath. “We discussed this before you went for your walk, Ellen.” She rose from the settee and came to face her. “Why would you refuse Mr. Lodge? He—”

  “Is prideful and—”

  “And has every right to be so! You told us yourself he is one of the richest men in Buffalo. That he has one of the finest homes and the best of everything. And his appearance is impeccable. Why, his clothes are rich and...and...” Her mother stuttered to a halt, spun around. “Perhaps it’s not too late, Conrad. You can go to the Sheffield House to see Mr. Lodge and explain that Ellen was...was overly excited at his proposal and refused his hand because she did not consider herself worthy to be his bride. Yes, that—”

  “Is untrue, Mother.”

  “What reason did you give Mr. Lodge for your refusal, Ellen?”

  She looked over at her father, lifted her chin at his disapproving expression. “None, Father. I merely said I would not marry him.”

  “That’s not what we discussed.” Her father removed his pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem toward her. “You were to tell Mr. Lodge you would give him your answer after Mr. Cuthbert’s visit.” His brows lowered. “I would have met both men, and you and I would have had time to discuss their prospects and come to a decision then.”

  “I made my decision, Father.” She lifted her chin higher, met his gaze. “You told me the choice was mine.”

  “After we had discussed the men’s merits.”

  “I believe you mean finances, Father.” She held her voice steady, denying the tremor traveling through her at the chill in her father’s gaze. “As for merits, I found Mr. Lodge quite lacking in them. And I was right. He threatened me.”

  “Threatened you?” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “In what way?”

  “He said that Mr. Cuthbert and I would both rue my decision. That he was already taking steps to ensure that Mr. Cuthbert’s political future was a short one.”

  “I see. Well, that puts a different face on things.” Her father rose, stepped to the hearth, tapped his pipe against a log and set it in its holder.

  She relaxed and glanced toward her mother, wished she were as reasonable as her father.

  “If Mr. Lodge is that powerful, he could disrupt Mr. Cuthbert’s career—and after talking with him, I am convinced he is. You have made a serious mistake, Ellen.”

  She shot her gaze back to her father. “But—” His raised hand stopped her from speaking.

  “However, I believe your mother is right. As are you.” He looked down at the fire, stroked his beard, nodded. “Yes, you are both right. Harold Lodge’s pride is such that he may be willing to accept the excuse your mother concocted for your refusal, if it comes from me.” He brushed his hands together over the fire, looked at her and smiled. “Don’t be concerned. It’s not too late. I’ll go to the Sheffield House and speak with him. I’m not without persuasive powers.”

  She stared at her father and shook her head. “I’m not concerned, Father. And I am not going to marry Mr. Lodge. I find I cannot abide the man.” She lifted her hand and tucked a curl tickling her cheek behind her ear. “And as for his threat—you need have no fear. The governor is Mr. Cuthbert’s close friend, and Mr. Lodge has no power to equal that connection. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m weary and am going to retire.”

  She dipped her head toward her mother and swept from the room, leaving them staring after her. She had been well trained in making entrances and exits.

  * * *

  Daniel checked to be sure the fire was out, picked up the lantern and left the cabin. The clothes he’d stuffed in the burlap bag slung over his shoulder bumped against his back with every stride as he walked up Brook Street, turned onto Main Street and tramped across the Stony Creek Bridge. Smoke rising from the embers of the bonfire stung his nose, sharpened the memory of Ellen standing on the creek bank holding to Harold Lodge’s hand while he sneered down at them all. His fingers clenched the neck of the bag. It would take some time, but the feel of Ellen’s hand in his as he helped her up the creek bank this afternoon was a memory he intended to forget. He’d forget them all if he had a lick of sense!

  The squeak of the stable door brought forth a series of snorts and whickers. He set the lantern and his bag on the floor and crossed to the stalls in the shadowy light. “Hey, Big Boy.” He stroked the velvety nose, opened the stall door and led the Belgian into the open area in the center of the barn. “Stand, boy. I’ve got to get Big Girl.”

  The mare lifted her head and whinnied at her name. He hurried to her stall, pulled a note for David Dibble from his coat pocket and stuck it on a nail, then led her out to stand beside her mate. “Quiet, now. Don’t be stirring up the rest of the horses.”

  He slipped off their blankets, buckled on the harness, replaced the blankets and took hold of the reins. “All right, let’s go.”

  Their hoofs thudded against the planks. The door hinges squeaked. He led the team outside, went back for his things and closed and latched the stable door. The snow that had started earlier that evening was coming harder. He gripped the reins and his bag in one hand, the lantern in the other and turned the horses toward the street. A door opened and closed.

  “Everything all right, Daniel?”

  He looked over
at David Dibble standing on his porch and nodded. “I left a note telling you I was taking the horses back to camp. It’s in Big Girl’s stall.”

  “You need anything?”

  “Only to get back to work, limited as it will be without the loggers cutting timber.” He pulled up a grin. “That cabin’s fearsome quiet with Ma gone.” And neither one of those reasons were the whole truth. Nor was the Christmas tree he’d promised to cut. That was only a convenient excuse.

  He lifted the lantern in farewell and walked the horses out to Main Street, the thud of their hoofs muted by the packed snow. Circles of gold bobbed at his feet, cast by the lantern dangling from his hand. He led the Belgians onto Church Street, walked them by the Cargrave house, dark and quiet against the night, and turned into the parsonage carriageway.

  A lamp glowed in an upstairs window, a shadowy figure moving behind it. Willa, holding the baby. He set his mind against the ache that spread through him, tossed his bag in the pung and put his lantern on the seat.

  “Back, back, now.” He positioned the team and set about hitching them to the pung, working quickly, wincing at every unavoidable sound.

  The kitchen door opened and closed. “No. Stay, Happy, stay!”

  Willa. There was no avoiding her now. He turned, strode to the bottom of the porch steps. “Go back inside, Pest. It’s snowing. There’s no reason for you to come out and get chilled.”

  She grabbed her cloak close and came to the top of the steps. “What are you doing, Daniel? No one has been called back to camp.”

  “Ma’s gone. There’s no reason for me to stay in that empty cabin.” It’s no lie, Lord. Please let her accept it and go inside. I can’t tell her about the Christmas tree, and she wouldn’t believe me anyway.

  “So you’re leaving in the middle of the night?” She moved down the steps until she was looking him straight in the eye. “This is about Ellen, isn’t it? Matthew said her beau—”