A Season of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  “Then hire someone to care for him.” He smiled, resumed his seat. “Surely you see the impropriety of your actions?”

  “No, I do not, Mr. Cuthbert.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Daniel is an old friend. He is sick and needs care and has no one to tend him. I am doing so in a most proper way, well chaperoned by my friend Willa and her husband, Reverend Calvert.”

  “I believe you, my dear Miss Hall.” Earl Cuthbert’s boot heel tapped against the floor; his fingers drummed on his jiggling knee. “Nonetheless, the very idea of an unmarried woman tending to an ill man is unseemly. I’m afraid I must insist that you stop this inappropriate behavior immediately.”

  Inappropriate behavior? She shot to her feet. “And by what authority do you make such a demand, sir?”

  He rose, his face flushed. “No wife of a man in my position can conduct herself in such a manner.”

  “Then it is most fortunate I am not your wife, sir.”

  “Well, you will be.”

  It was the moment she had worked toward, waited for. And now... She turned toward the corner, looked at the Christmas tree Daniel had cut and helped decorate and shook her head. “No, Mr. Cuthbert, I will not.”

  He scowled, strode to the center of the room, turned and came back. “You refuse my hand?”

  “I would were I asked.”

  “But you refused Lodge.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I don’t understand, Miss Hall. Why would you refuse me, also?”

  “Because I find I am no longer interested in warmed soapstones, Mr. Cuthbert.” She smiled at his puzzled expression and led the way to the entrance hall. “Thank you for coming, sir. I’m sorry your journey was for naught.”

  * * *

  Daniel frowned, watched Ellen through his slitted eyelids. Why did she keep looking out the window? Waiting to see her beau appear? What was his name? Dodge? Hodge? Lodge! That was it, Lodge. He smiled inwardly, inordinately pleased with himself for thinking of the man’s name.

  He was hot. Too hot. He scowled, shoved the blankets down off his shoulders and rested his arms on top of them. Chills shook him. That woman by the window should put more wood on the fire. It wasn’t right to make a man so cold he got sick. He’d tell her as soon as he remembered her name. Willa? No. Musquash. Hah! He remembered!

  “Daniel, you need to stay covered.”

  Who was Daniel? Why was that woman putting a blanket on him? He didn’t want a blanket on. He didn’t like...what? The man. There was something about the man he didn’t like. His looks! He didn’t like his looks. All pinched and...pinched...and—

  Her hands were soft. Softer than his ma’s. But he didn’t want her to touch him. He frowned, turned onto his side...coughed. Somebody drove an ax into his chest. He felt around but couldn’t find it. There were only blankets, but he needed to pull the ax out....

  “Daniel, please...you need to stay covered.”

  A tree broke free, twisted on the stump. “It’s a spinner!” He threw himself to the side, coughed and shivered.

  The woman lifted his head, tucked a pillow beneath, then pulled the covers over him up to his neck. He fought against the darkness that was dragging at him. There was something he had to tell her. Something he had to do...

  He rolled onto his side and looked up at her. She was crying. Maybe she knew already. He struggled to get enough air to speak. “Pa’s dead. I’ve got to bury my dream.” There—it was done.

  He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “He has a fever, Willa. I’m certain Daniel has a fever.” Ellen looked at Willa, wished she could step into the hall and fall into her arms. But that was not allowed. She had to find the courage to fight her fear within herself.

  “Are you all right, Ellen? Oh, I so wish I could come in and see Daniel and help you care for him!”

  She stared at Willa, at her clenched hands and the shadows in her blue-green eyes—competent, strong Willa was afraid, too. And she couldn’t come in and see Daniel for herself. Willa needed her reassurance. She took a breath to steady her voice.

  “I know it’s hard for you not to see Daniel, Willa. But you do help me by giving me advice. Now, about Daniel’s condition. He is as Dr. Palmer described. He is flushed, his forehead is hot beneath my hand and his eyes—” she choked, went on “—his eyes when he opens them are bright and shiny like glass.” She pressed her lips together to hold back all of the things begging to be said.

  Willa nodded, straightened. “You’re right, Ellen. He is fevered. Do as Dr. Palmer said—get him to drink lots of water. Bully him into it if you must! Daniel can be very stubborn.”

  “I know. Remember the bee tree?” She met Willa’s watery gaze, and they stood looking at one another over the threshold, assailed by memories of strong, adventurous Daniel—and of Walker. She caught a shuddering breath and smiled. “He’s our hero, Willa. We’ll take good care of him together—you with your knowledge and skill, and me with...my hands.” She had nothing of substance to offer, nothing of worth to give. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some bullying to do.”

  She wanted to cry. Oh, how she wanted to cry. But she wouldn’t. Daniel needed her to be strong. And she would be. For him.

  * * *

  It was snowing again. The large fluffy flakes that had been falling all day had covered the world outside the bedroom window with a fresh white blanket. She shivered in the cold coming off the snow-framed glass panes and listened to Daniel’s unintelligible muttering. The instances were becoming fewer and the time between them was lengthening.

  Should she try giving him water again? He had turned away from the glass the last time. A spoon! Perhaps a spoon would work.

  “Ellen.”

  Relief shot through her. She spun toward the door. “Is Dr. Palmer on his way?” The look in Willa’s eyes was answer enough. Her stomach sank.

  “Dr. Palmer can’t come. He’s attending Phylinda Arden. She’s having difficulty birthing the baby.” Willa stepped closer, looked toward the bed where Daniel lay quiet except for the wheezing of his hard-won breaths and blinked away tears. “He said there is nothing he could do if he could come. That there is nothing anyone can do for him now. Daniel has—has reached a crisis.” Willa blinked, straightened her shoulders, jutted her chin. “He will be better in the morning.”

  The unspoken alternative hung in the air between them. She couldn’t speak, merely nodded.

  “I have other...distressing news.” Ellen reached her hand out toward her, drew it back. “Oh, Ellen, I’m so sorry, but Mary is fretful and will not be comforted or settle down to sleep. And there is no one here to help with her. Matthew and the children are at church. And Bertha has gone to spend Christmas with her daughter. I can’t bring Mary here to the hallway and have her cries disturb Daniel.”

  “No, of course not.” She tried to keep her fear from creeping into her voice. “But there’s no reason for you to do so, Willa. All we can do is wait. And I will be staying at Daniel’s bedside to make certain he stays...covered.”

  “Matthew had to go, Ellen.” Willa’s shoulders sagged. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “Christmas Eve... I’d forgotten.”

  Willa tilted her head, listened. “Mary is crying.”

  “And I need to tend to Daniel.”

  They looked at one another.

  Willa reached in her pocket and pulled out a small packet. “Here is more ginger for you. I’ll be back whenever I’m able.”

  She nodded and watched Willa walk away, then crossed the room to the nightstand, poured some water into the glass and picked up the spoon from the supper tray. There is nothing anyone can do for him now. Something inside her rebelled at the thought. She glanced up at the plastered ceiling. “I’m not gi
ving up, Lord. I’m not giving up.”

  The spoon clinked against the glass. She turned to the bed, the water in the spoon quivering in her trembling hand. “It’s time for some water, Daniel.” She reached down and drew the fingertip of her free hand lightly across his mouth. His lips moved, parted. She slipped the spoon into the slight opening and dribbled the life-giving liquid into his mouth.

  “Angels we have heard on high...”

  Singing floated into the room, muted by distance.

  “Do you hear the carolers, Daniel?” There was no sign that he heard them, or her.

  She walked to the window. Dozens of lanterns gleamed against the darkness, encircled the gazebo, shone on the carolers. Their blended light bathed the snow-covered railing and the pine-bough swags and red bows in a golden glow. An image of Daniel leaning back to pound in a nail, one leg wrapped around a post and one foot braced against the railing, filled her mind. Tears poured from her eyes.

  She rested her fingertips on the horizontal bars of the wood grids framing the small glass panes of the window and cleared the lump from her throat. “They’re gathered at the gazebo, Daniel. I can’t even count the lanterns. Half of Pinewood must be there.” She turned from the window, gazed at Daniel struggling to breathe, to live. A constricting tightness gripped her own chest.

  “Silent night, holy night...”

  The voices grew louder. Light flowed into the dark room. She looked out, caught her breath at the sight of the carolers gathering below, the light of their lanterns driving back the darkness of the night. “Daniel, they’re here! They’re singing for you, Daniel.” Thank You, Lord. Thank You for all of these good people who love and care about Daniel.

  The singing stopped. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and opened her eyes. The parsonage yard was filled with people kneeling in the snow, their lanterns casting small circles of golden light on them as they prayed.

  * * *

  Every minute seemed like an hour. An hour became an eternity. Her thoughts tortured her. She’d been blind. So blind. And now it was too late. Daniel felt nothing but the remnant of childhood affection tinged with disdain for her. A disdain she deserved.

  Be not high-minded... That was exactly what she’d been, high-minded—looking down on others, on these good people who had shown her nothing but kindness and care all of her life. How could she ever have thought herself better than them because she lived in a larger, finely furnished house and had fashionable clothes? Tears stung her eyes.

  Trust not in the riches of this world... But she had. Until she’d come home, that was all she had sought, all she had trusted in. Blind, blind, blind!

  Love...honesty...peace...joy...whatever has virtue, is pure or lovely, these are the things we are to think on and value... Truly, her beauty was all on the outside. And Daniel, who always understood her, knew it.

  Trust not in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy...

  “Forgive me, Lord. Please forgive me. I’ve been so wrong. So very, very wrong.”

  Daniel coughed, moaned. She reached into the bowl of water on the nightstand for the cloth, twisted it and turned to the bed. Fear clutched at her again. He was so flushed. His face so hot against her hands. She replaced the cloth on his forehead with the cool one, tossed the other into the bowl.

  He was so quiet, so weak it was unnerving. Daniel, her hero. Her love in her romantic childhood dreams. And in her heart. She knew that now. She’d fooled herself for so long, thinking it was Daniel’s friendship she missed, longed for. It wasn’t his friendship. It was him. She loved him. And somewhere deep inside her heart she’d always known she loved him. From the day he’d pulled her gasping and struggling to breathe from that flood—

  She whirled about and ran to the dressing room, dug to the bottom of her toiletry box. It was in here somewhere. She’d never thrown it away. She found it beneath a scented sachet.

  She closed her trembling fingers around the flat stone shaped like a lopsided heart and went back to Daniel. His breathing was labored, his face below the cold cloth on his forehead flushed, taut with his effort to draw breath.

  “I have the stone, Daniel.” She uncurled her fingers to show it resting on her palm. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Do you remember? It’s the stone you gave me to stop me from crying the day you dove into Stony Creek and pulled me from those raging floodwaters. You saved my life, Daniel.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks, took a steadying breath. “You’re my hero, Daniel. You’ve always been my hero. Please, please, don’t leave me. I know you don’t want me as a friend anymore, and I deserve that. But please, please, don’t leave me. Fight, Daniel. Fight to live! I need you here. I need to know you’re here, even if I never see you again.”

  She sank to her knees by the bed, the fear rending her heart, the rock clutched in her folded hands.

  “I know it’s too late for my dreams to come true, Lord. I know how Daniel feels about me, and he’s right. I see now the shallow woman I’ve become, and I don’t blame him for distancing himself from me. But please spare him.” Her voice broke on a sob. She took a ragged breath. “I can’t bear to lose Daniel, Lord. I need to know he’s here, even if he never again calls me friend. But, oh, how I long to hear him call me Musquash again.”

  The sobs lessened. Her tears stopped. She slipped the stone in her pocket and rose from her knees shaking and spent, ashamed of breaking down when Daniel needed her to be strong. But it was so hard to face the long hours of fear all alone.

  She splashed cold water on her puffy, burning eyes, squeezed out the cloth in the bowl and replaced the one turned warm on Daniel’s forehead. She hated the sound of his tortured breathing yet listened for it, held to it as the one assurance he was still with her. He was still fighting.

  She rubbed at the ache in her temples and walked to the woodbox. Matthew would have to bring in more wood in the morning. She added two pieces of split log to the fire, straightened and rubbed her upper arms. How many more hours to this endless night? She walked to the window but there was only darkness, and she had no way to tell how long it would be until the dawn.

  She returned to the chair by the bed and seated herself.

  The fire crackled.

  Daniel breathed.

  She prayed.

  * * *

  She’d dozed off. How could she? What if— She held her breath, listened. There was something— Daniel wasn’t wheezing. No! Lord, please, no! Fear chased down her spine, turned her weak. She forced breath into her lungs, commanded her legs to work and started to rise, wobbled. She tried again and made it.

  A slight wheeze brought a surge of relief so strong it left her light-headed. His breathing might have gotten less strong, but he was still alive.

  She stepped to the head of the bed to change the cloth on his forehead, then drew back. The cloth already there wasn’t hot. It wasn’t even warm. Either she’d slept only a few minutes or... She removed the cloth and placed her trembling hand on Daniel’s forehead, her heart pounding out hope. He was cool. The fever was gone! Was that good? Or—

  “Mouth’s dry.”

  “Oh!” She jerked back, stared at Daniel’s opened eyes. “You’re awake!”

  “Thirsty.”

  It was a raspy croak, followed by a cough.

  She whirled to the nightstand, tossed the cloth in the bowl and poured him some water. “Here.” She held the glass to his mouth willing her hand to stop shaking.

  He took a few swallows. “Enough.” He stared up at her. “What are you—” he dragged in a breath “—doing here?”

  “You’ve been very sick.” She brushed back a curl, flushed when his gaze followed her movement. He was probably thinking how vain she was. Her cheeks warmed beneath his steady gaze. “Would you like more water? Dr. Palmer said—”

  He no
dded. “I’m beginning to...remember.” He drank the rest of the water when she held it to his mouth. Coughed again. “How long have I—” another breath “—been here?”

  She tried to think back but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. All she could think of was that he was better. “I’ve lost track of the days. It’s only a few.”

  He nodded. His eyelids slid closed...opened again.

  “I think perhaps it would be best if you try to rest, Daniel. You can ask questions later.”

  His gaze met hers. “If you rest, too. You look...tired.”

  His concern for her while he was so ill brought the tears surging. She turned around and set the glass back on the nightstand. “All right. I’ll be right here in the chair, if you need me.”

  “No. Rocker.” His eyelids drifted closed. “I can...call...”

  She looked down at him sleeping. His face was peaceful, not taut and tense like before. He still had a bit of a wheeze when he breathed but, oh, he was so much better. Joy welled, filled her heart. Thank You, Lord. Thank You for sparing Daniel.

  Exhaustion hit. It took concentration to walk to the hearth and add wood to the fire. She glanced at the window. Dawn was breaking. It had been a long, long night. She swayed, grabbed hold of the rocker, rubbed her tired eyes and patted her cheeks. She couldn’t sleep yet. She had to...to tell Willa...what?

  Soft footsteps sounded in the hall. Willa was...coming.... She struggled to capture the elusive thought. Daniel. Daniel was better.... Yes, that was it. She looked toward the door, saw Willa and smiled.

  Chapter Twenty

  She’d fallen asleep! Ellen jerked to a sitting position. The room spun. “Oh!” She grabbed her head, sank back against the pillow. Daniel!

  She struggled to rise. Hands gripped her shoulders, pushed gently. She fell back, forced her eyes to open and blinked to clear her blurred vision. “Willa!” There was something wrong. She frowned, searched through the fog in her mind and found what she was seeking. “You’re not supposed to be in here. The doctor—”