A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  Joshua nodded, stole another look at Daniel and turned into the hall. “C’mon, Happy. C’mon, Sally. Mama said not to stay too long.” He dipped his head in her direction. “Bye, Miss Ellen. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “Goodbye.” She stepped to the door and watched them walk to the stairs. Uncle Daniel. They had prayed for him. What adorable children. How blessed Willa was to have them. And Matthew. And the baby. Her throat tightened. How empty her own life was. She pressed her hand against a swelling pressure in her chest, turned back into the bedroom.

  Daniel was watching her. The intensity of his gaze brought warmth rushing into her cheeks. “You’re awake.” An inane statement. “Would you like some water, or—”

  “Supper?”

  “Bertha!” She turned back to the doorway, took the tray from Willa’s housekeeper and took a delicate sniff of the steam rising from the two bowls. “This smells delicious.”

  “It’s only stew. But it’s nourishing for sure. There’s bread and butter ’neath that towel. And a bit of jam, too. I figured something sweet might coax him to eat a mite more. He’s always helping himself to cookies and such.”

  “That’s b-because they’re so good.”

  “As good an excuse as any, I’d suppose.” The housekeeper leaned in the door and gave Daniel a stern look. “I expect that bowl to be empty when I come for the dishes. You can’t get better without nourishment.” Bertha turned and hurried off.

  “Sorry c-can’t help—” A fit of coughing stopped Daniel’s words.

  “I can manage.” She caught her lower lip in her teeth and moved toward the nightstand, stared down at the bowls to be sure she didn’t spill the stew. “There!” She set the tray on the table and heaved a sigh of relief. “I don’t know how Bertha carried that stew up the stairs without spilling any.”

  “Practice.”

  Terse and to the point. An indictment of her incompetence. “Yes. Something I’m woefully lacking in.”

  He shoved to a sitting position. “I didn’t—” The coughing convulsed him. When it passed, he leaned back shivering.

  “The chills have returned?”

  “When I m-move.”

  She nodded, removed the towel from the tray and spread it over his chest. “Some hot food in you should help stop the shivering.” She picked up the bowl and a fork, stabbed a piece of beef, swiped it through the gravy and held it out to him.

  He took the fork from her hand and grabbed hold of the bowl. “I can d-do it. You e-eat.”

  He didn’t want her help. She swallowed hard, turned to the tray and buttered a piece of bread, added some jam and set the plate on his lap where he could reach it. “I once asked Mother if I could help Isobel cook.”

  She looked up, saw the surprise in his eyes. “She said no, of course. And I was made to practice reciting verses. Which was too bad, because otherwise I would know how to carry a tray of food.”

  “I—”

  She shook her head and gestured toward his bowl. “Don’t talk or you’ll start to cough again.” She looked into those green eyes she knew so well and forced her lips to smile. “And I suggest you eat your stew before it gets cold, else both Dr. Palmer and Bertha will be annoyed with you. And me.”

  She brought a chair from the corner to the nightstand, pulled her bowl close and forced herself to eat. Daniel might want no part of her, not even her help when he was sick and needed care. But she had told him something he didn’t know about her—something that had surprised him. Perhaps it would help change his opinion of her. At least it was a start.

  * * *

  The chills shook him awake. Daniel drifted his gaze over the strange room, frowned. His mind refused to work, his thoughts no more substantial than the wisps of smoke floating off the logs and up the chimney.

  A fireplace. That was a clue. Was he at the cabin? No. Then where? He closed his eyes, tried to remember, to piece the bits of information together. He was in a bed. His head ached and he had chills. He was ill.

  The frown turned into a scowl. He was never sick, so what—

  The spinner! Yes. Joe was pinned in the creek, and he went in to get him out. He must have taken ill from the cold— Willa. He was at Willa’s. And she— No, Ellen. His heart jolted. Ellen had come to care for him. Ellen, who was so terrified of becoming sick she refused to enter a house where anyone was ill. What had brought her here? Or had he dreamed it all? No, she had come because of Willa.

  He opened his eyes and turned his head to look on the other side of the room. The rocker was empty. A coughing fit took him. He wrapped his arms about his chest, held it tight to ease the pain that slashed across it. Footsteps hurried from the direction of the dressing room. Glass clinked on glass.

  “Drink this, Daniel. It will help.”

  He opened his eyes and looked up. Ellen stood beside the bed, a graceful silhouette against the dim light spilling through the open door from the hallway. Firelight flickered, enhancing her long curving eyelashes and delicate cheekbones, her finely molded nose and soft full lips. Curls fell in disarray about her face, caught in a ribbon at the nape of her neck, then cascaded down her back. Her beauty stole what remained of his breath.

  He pushed to a sitting position and reached for the glass she offered. The soft warmth of her fingertips touched his, and he hadn’t the strength to draw his away. He tucked away the memory of the feel of them in his heart, the beauty of her in his mind and prayed God would heal him quickly so he could return to work and earn the money to leave Pinewood.

  Chapter Eighteen

  His coughing woke her again. Ellen threw off the blanket, rose from the rocker and poured a glass of water. “I have your drink ready, Daniel.”

  “L-later.”

  She looked down at him, the dim lantern light flowing in the open door at the other end of the bedroom of little help. All she could see was his huddled form shaking in spite of the blanket and quilt covering him. “Please, Daniel. You need the water.”

  She watched him roll onto his back, brace his arms and shove himself upright. The quilt and blanket fell off his shoulders. He coughed, hunched forward, his body shaking. She felt like a beast for making him move.

  “Take the glass.” She pushed it into his hands, grabbed the blanket and lifted it to cover his shoulders.

  He jerked back and looked up at her, his green eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the fire. “Don’t d-do that.” He swallowed some water, leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

  He didn’t even want her to touch him. She blinked back a rush of tears, swallowed hard and lifted the glass from his trembling hand. “When you are settled again, I’ll straighten the covers over you.”

  She set the glass on the nightstand, waited. He didn’t move, only leaned against the cold wood headboard and shivered. “You need to get under the covers, Daniel. You’re not supposed to get chilled.”

  “I c-can breathe b-better this way.”

  He was having trouble breathing! The fear took her by the throat, squeezed. Please help him, Lord! I don’t know what to do! She whipped around to go call for Willa and spotted the rocker. She ran to it, snatched up the pillow and blanket and ran back to the bed. “Lean forward.” It was a command, not a request. She was too frightened to care about being polite.

  He opened his eyes, looked at her, then leaned forward, his shoulders hunched.

  She snatched up his pillow, fluffed it, placed it behind his back, added her own and covered them with the folded blanket, leaving the ends free on each side. “All right, lean back.”

  He pushed up, straightened his shoulders and rested back against the blanket covering the pillows. “F-feels good. W-warm from f-fire.”

  “I’m going to cover you now.”

  His brows rose. He opened his eyes, looked at her. “You’
re g-getting as b-bossy as Pest.”

  “I’ll consider that a compliment.” She grabbed the ends of the blanket and pulled them forward over his arms and shoulders, then overlapped them in front of him. Her hands trembled as she snatched hold of the edges of the blanket and quilt jumbled in his lap, yanked them up over his blanket-covered chest, slid them beneath his chin and tucked them down between his back and the pillows. “There.”

  He’d gone rigid. She placed her hands against the headboard above his shoulders and pushed herself erect. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. That little muscle along his jaw was twitching. He was angry with her for touching him. Well, he could be mad! She wasn’t going to let him make his illness worse simply because he didn’t like her!

  The surge of unaccustomed resolve carried her over to the fireplace. She added wood to the fire and looked around for something else she could do to help Daniel. No idea came to her. She thought back to conversations her elite friends had about ill family members, hoping to glean some wisdom. But, again, there was nothing. Her wealthy friends didn’t interrupt their lives. They had their servants care for the person who was ill.

  She tiptoed back to the bed and looked at Daniel. She’d swaddled him like a baby in blankets, but he was still Daniel. He was still her hero. And nobody was going to take care of him but her! Whether he liked it or not. Please make him well, Almighty God. Please make him well!

  Tears threatened. Sobs welled into her throat. She clasped her hands over her mouth and ran for the dressing room, closed the door, leaned back against it and let the tears flow.

  * * *

  “All right, your personal needs have been taken care of, and my examination is over. There’s no one else in the room. I expect some honest answers, son.” Dr. Palmer looked down at him, worry lines etching his forehead. “How’s your strength?”

  He gathered what little he had. “I’m—”

  “The truth, Daniel.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Weak as a n-newborn babe.” The coughing took him again. He winced, pressed his hands to his chest.

  “Chest hurt when you cough?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at him.

  The doctor nodded, frowned. “All right, foolish question. How’s your head?”

  “Hurts.”

  “Hard to breathe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep drinking lots of water—that’s important. And rest. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow.”

  “When w-will I be b-better, Doc?”

  Dr. Palmer picked up his bag and looked him in the eye. “I can’t say, son. Depends on too many things. But you’re a strong, healthy young man. It shouldn’t be too long.”

  He didn’t like that little word too. He nodded, watched the doctor walk from the room and closed his eyes. I need Your help, Lord. Seems like I’m getting weaker instead of stronger. I need You, Lord....

  A coughing spasm convulsed his throat, clutched his chest and took his strength. He sagged into the pillows and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Daniel has pneumonia....

  The fear was there, waiting outside the limits of her determination. Ellen clasped the extra pillow Willa had given her to her chest and hurried to the bed.

  Keep him propped up—it will help him breathe...watch for fever...cold cloths on his forehead...don’t let him get chilled...no one to go in the room...

  Dr. Palmer’s instructions repeated over and over in her head. She cast a glance at the hearth to be sure the fire was going well, hurried on toward the bed.

  “Is Uncle Daniel sleeping? Is he getting better?”

  Joshua’s whisper came from over her shoulder. She laid the pillow on the bed and walked toward the doorway, paused. “Will you hold your dog, please?”

  Joshua put his hand on his dog, looked up at her. “Mama said you’re scared of dogs because you was—were—attacked by a dog when you was—were—little like Sally.” He frowned and shook his head, his blond curls bobbing. “That’s scary, all right. But you don’t have to be afraid of all dogs. Dogs are like people—a few are mean, but most of them are nice and friendly.”

  Joshua looked toward the bed, his handsome little face sober. “Mama said Uncle Daniel saved you from that mean dog. And now he’s saved that logger by jumping in that cold water to help him. Uncle Daniel’s a brave man. I like him lots.” Joshua’s lower lip trembled; he blinked his eyes and turned away. “C’mon, Happy. Let’s go get a cookie.”

  He’s afraid for Daniel. She stared after Joshua and his dog, her heart hurting for the little boy, then took a deep breath and turned back into the bedroom.

  —he’s saved that logger by jumping in that cold water to help him. Uncle Daniel’s a brave man.

  Her mind flashed back twelve years to a worn-smooth log that spanned Stony Creek and the rushing floodwater beneath it. She recalled the feel of the soles of her new shoes slipping on the damp wood and the cold, muddy water closing over her head, of being swept downstream while her sodden skirts dragged her deeper....

  She shook her head, crossed to the bed and looked down at Daniel. Willa and the others had told her how they had turned at her scream and witnessed her fall into the water. How Daniel had run out on the log and dove into that roaring floodwater to save her.

  She remembered the fear, the choking sensation as the water filled her nose and throat, the tug when Daniel had grabbed her collar. She’d never forget the gleam of the sunshine on her eyelids as he lifted her head above the suffocating water and dragged her to shore. Daniel. Her hero. She still had—

  “Ellen.”

  She blinked the tears from her eyes and hurried over to the doorway. “What is it, Willa?”

  “You have a caller. Mr. Cuthbert is downstairs.”

  “Mr. Cuthbert?” The name sounded from a different world.

  “Yes. And you needn’t worry about privacy. The children have been told not to go near the sitting room until your caller leaves.”

  “But...no. I can’t, Willa.” She glanced toward the bed. “You’ll have to make my excuses to Mr. Cuthbert. I have to stay with Daniel.”

  Willa stared at her a moment, then peeked around the doorframe. “Daniel is sleeping. I’ll stay here in the hall and watch. If he wakes, I’ll come get you. Give me a minute to get Mary.”

  She stared after Willa, trying to find some enthusiasm, some excitement at the news that her beau was here. There was none. Perhaps the excitement would come when she saw Mr. Cuthbert.

  She crossed to the mirror and fluffed her curls, smoothed the bodice of her old blue gown. How shocked he would be to see her dressed so out of fashion. But there was no time to change.

  Willa’s footsteps sounded in the hallway.

  She turned, bumped a chair and lost her balance. She put out her hand to steady herself and brushed against Daniel’s jacket hanging on a peg. A faint smell of horses and pine trees and the out-of-doors released at the contact. She clasped his jacket in her hands, buried her face in its folds and breathed in the scent of Daniel. Her heart swelled, filled with memories of him.

  “Ellen, I’m back.”

  The whisper drew her out of her thoughts. She hung Daniel’s jacket on the peg and walked to the door, looked at baby Mary asleep in Willa’s arms and sighed. Mr. Cuthbert was waiting downstairs. The choice was before her. What was it that she wanted?

  “Willa, do you have a warmed soapstone in your bed when you retire?”

  Willa looked up at her with a question in her eyes, then shook her head. “No, Ellen. I don’t.”

  She nodded, turned toward the stairway.

  “I don’t need a soapstone. I have Matthew to warm me. And I wouldn’t trade his love for all the luxuries and riches in the world.”

  The answer followed her dow
nstairs.

  * * *

  Earl Cuthbert stood by the fireplace, his black suit of the finest wool, tucked-front shirt and snowy-white cravat with its diamond stickpin announcing his importance. There was a look of distaste on his face as he gazed at the Christmas tree in the corner. She looked at the apple-and-cranberry garlands draping the tree, the white paper angels and stars with red and green ribbon loops that adorned its branches, the brown paper dog and cat with bright red bows Joshua and Sally had made. She’d loved every minute of decorating that tree with— She caught her breath, looked up at the white paper star, then stepped into the sitting room.

  Earl Cuthbert looked up at her entrance, smiled and came toward her, made a polite bow. “My dear Miss Hall, how good to see you again. I’ve been most eager for this visit.” He swept his gaze over her gown and raised a brow but made no comment. “I called at your home as arranged, but your parents informed me that you are visiting an ill friend and wished me to call on you here at her home. I hope her condition is improving?”

  “I am sorry for the inconvenience of this visit to you, Mr. Cuthbert. Had there been time, I would have written telling you not to come.” She smiled and gestured toward the chairs by the hearth. “Shall we have a seat while I explain?”

  She led the way to the chairs, sat and waited for him to take the opposite chair before she continued. “I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding, Mr. Cuthbert.” She took a breath, spoke the truth. “I am not visiting my ill friend. I am caring for him.”

  “Him? This friend of yours is a man?”

  He did not look pleased. “Yes.”

  “And you are overseeing his care?”

  Should she let his misconception stand? She glanced at the Bible resting on the lamp stand beside his chair. “No, Mr. Cuthbert. I am caring for him myself.”

  “My dear Miss Hall!” He rose, looked down at her. “That must cease at once.”

  Indeed. She took a calming breath. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. My friend’s condition has grown worse.”