“It’s all right, Ellen. Dr. Palmer said Daniel has passed the crisis. I can—”
“Daniel is—” It all came rushing back. Tears stung her eyes. She sat up and grabbed Willa’s hands, smiled her joy. “Daniel is better, Willa. He truly is! He doesn’t have a fever, and he isn’t wheezing so much, and he talked to me! He did. He asked for water and—”
She stopped, blinked and shook her head. “Dr. Palmer was here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
She frowned, rubbed her temples. “I can’t remember....”
“That’s because you were sleeping.”
“Sleeping!” She shot Willa an accusing look. “Why didn’t you wake me? I need to take care of— Yesterday?”
Willa nodded, smiled. “Yes, yesterday. And I didn’t wake you because Dr. Palmer told me not to. He said you were exhausted and needed to sleep and get your strength back as much as Daniel did. So Matthew carried you in here to sleep in Sally’s bed.” She gave a soft laugh. “I must say, you and Daniel are both very easy to care for. You have slept the entire time. And so has Daniel, except for waking to drink or eat. Dr. Palmer says Daniel will be as good as new after a couple more days of rest.”
Willa smiled, her blue-green eyes shining down at her. “It wasn’t the way I had planned for our Christmas to be with Matthew at the church preaching and supervising the children’s speaking roles while I stayed here to care for Mary and watch over Daniel and you. But it was the best Christmas ever!”
“I slept through Christmas?”
Willa nodded and wrapped her in a warm, fierce hug. “Thank you, Ellen, for all you’ve done. Dr. Palmer said strong and healthy as Daniel is, he probably wouldn’t have...gotten better without your excellent care. Now—” Willa straightened, pulled in a breath “—you rest, my dear friend. And when you wake, I’m going to fix you and Daniel the best breakfast you’ve ever had!”
She watched Willa rush out the door, threw the blanket off of her legs and staggered across the hall. She had to look at Daniel, to see for herself that he was all right. The room swayed. She grabbed for the doorframe.
“I’ve discovered if you don’t move fast, you don’t get dizzy.”
Daniel. She looked over at him, caught her breath. He was better. He was sitting with his back against the headboard, his arms resting on the blanket that covered him to the waist. The color was back in his face, the alert look in his eyes. He looked...normal—only tired. And handsome. Someone had shaved him and combed his hair. She liked it better with his curls all mussed. She flushed at the thought, looked down and frowned at her wrinkled skirts. She must look a sight. She held to the door and glanced toward the dressing room. It was so far....
“You look b—worn out.”
She met his gaze. He looked away, scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry to have been a b—”
“Don’t you say burden, Daniel. Don’t you dare!” The flash of anger brought a surge of energy along with it that allowed her to meet his startled gaze without bursting into tears. She ached to tell him all she’d discovered about herself while she waited through those long, fear-filled days. To tell him she loved him, had always loved him and would love only him forever. But the set look on his face buried the words deep within her. “Willa needed help and I gave it. As for caring for you—it’s the least I could do after all the times you’ve watched over me. Including pulling me from Stony Creek and saving my life.” She curled her fingers around the stone in her pocket.
He gave a curt nod. “I guess we’re even now.”
She looked at his shadowed eyes, his firmly pressed lips, the twitching of the little muscle along his jaw. How little he thought of her. The hurt squeezed her heart, left her breathless. “I guess we are.” She clenched her teeth to hold back the sobs rising into her throat, crossed to the dressing room, closed the door and collapsed against it.
Daniel didn’t want her near him. It was in his voice, his posture, the way he refused to look at her. He would never believe she had changed. She had realized her love for him too late.
The pain was unbearable. She had to go away. She couldn’t bear to stay here. She would go somewhere she wouldn’t have to face Daniel’s disdain and her friends’ pity. Somewhere she could keep safe the memory of the way it was when he had been her friend and hero and love. Her world. And she would leave with her head high.
She poured water into the bowl and began to wash, shivers rising at the touch of the cold water. Her new velvet gown dangled from the peg where she’d hung it the day she’d come. How ironic that she had taken it off because she’d thought, hoped, seeing her wearing her old gowns might make Daniel realize she had changed, that she didn’t care about having fashionable clothes anymore. Now it would be the gown she wore as she walked away. The one he would remember her in.
A few quick strokes of the brush brought her flyaway curls under control. She bunched them, used the gown’s matching velvet ribbon to hold them in place, gathered her toiletries and fastened the box. She picked up the gown she’d stepped out of and folded it to fit in her bag. A hard lump bumped against her fingers. Her throat closed. She drew a long breath to control the tears welling into her eyes, took hold of the stone, slipped it into her pocket and closed the bag.
Daniel was sleeping. Thank You, Lord. I won’t have to say goodbye—to pretend. She grabbed her toiletry box and the bag and tiptoed across the room and out into the hallway, stopped and looked back over her shoulder. She couldn’t leave...not this way. Compelled by an urging she couldn’t deny, she set down her things and walked back into the room.
A few steps took her to where Daniel’s jacket hung on a peg. She breathed in the scent of it, pulled the stone from her pocket. He had always understood her. Perhaps he would know.... She took a breath to ease the ache in her heart, slipped the stone in his jacket pocket and walked from the room.
Willa was in her bedroom changing Mary. The sight of her friend deepened the pain in her heart. It was good Willa was busy. She hadn’t the strength for a long goodbye. She fastened her old, polite smile on her face and lifted her chin. “Willa, I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re tending Mary, but I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” Willa turned, swept her gaze over her new velvet gown. “You’re going home.”
“Yes, you are able to care for Daniel now. There’s no reason for me to stay.” She put on another phony smile. “Tell Joshua he may have my breakfast to share with his dog. And please tell Sally and Matthew I said goodbye.”
She made an elegant turn, the rich velvet of her gown whispering softly, picked up her things and walked down the stairs, her heart breaking. If she hurried, she would have time to visit Sadie before dinner. She’d plan what to say while Asa hitched up the sleigh.
* * *
Daniel forked up another bite of stew and chewed. It tasted like sawdust. And he should know. He’d probably swallowed a bucketful of the stuff hanging around the mill while they unloaded the logs he hauled in. It wasn’t the food. Willa was an excellent cook. Right up there with his ma. It was his sour mood.
“You don’t seem to have much appetite, Daniel. Is there something wrong?”
He looked up at Willa, noted the speculative look in her eye. He might have known she’d start thinking about his change of mood. He couldn’t deny the lack of appetite, or she’d really get suspicious. He shook his head and forked up another mouthful with more enthusiasm. “I guess it’s from being sick.”
“Hmm, that’s possible.”
She didn’t sound convinced.
“And a man doesn’t get that hungry when he’s sitting around doing nothing.”
“I suppose.”
He was of no mind-set to spar. He scowled up at her. “Have you got something to say, Pest?”
“No.
I’m sorry if I seem distracted.” She smiled. “I was thinking about Ellen refusing Mr. Cuthbert’s proposal the other day. Oh, but you didn’t know about that, did you?”
He gritted his teeth, put down his fork.
“Are you through with that?” She took the plate and put it back on his supper tray, then poured a cup of coffee. “It happened while she was caring for you. She wasn’t even going to see him, but I arranged to sit in the hall and keep watch over you so she could. She sent him and his proposal back to Buffalo in short order. The same as she did Mr. Lodge. Be careful—this is very hot.” Willa handed him the coffee, smiled down at him. “Did you know she refused Mr. Lodge’s hand? Or were you back at camp before the news spread around town? I can’t remem—”
“Willa, stop. Or I will get out of this bed and carry you bodily from this room, sick or not.” He met her gaze full on. “I’m in no temper to talk about this, Pest. If Ellen refused those men, it’s because she has a dozen more wealthier or more prestigious beaux waiting to court her. And even if she doesn’t, it’s nothing to do with me. I’ve told you before—I have nothing of worth to offer her. Now, go tend to your family and let me drink my coffee in peace.”
“Daniel—”
He looked at her.
“Oh, very well! But you, Daniel Braynard, are too stubborn for your own good!”
He acknowledged the truth of the statement with a dip of his head.
Willa snatched up his tray and flounced from the room.
* * *
“What do you mean, you’re not going back to Buffalo, Ellen?” Her father frowned, set his pipe in its holder. “You’re not thinking clearly. You may have erred in refusing Mr. Lodge’s and Mr. Cuthbert’s offers of marriage, but there are other men—perhaps not quite as wealthy or prestigious as they—who are worthy of consideration. And where else would you go?”
“Rochester.”
“Rochester?” Her mother frowned. “We have no connections to the elite in Rochester, Ellen. How will you meet eligible men?”
She took a breath, braced herself for the coming battle. “I’m not going there to search for a husband, Mother. I’m going there to teach school.”
“Teach school?” Her mother and father looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Yes. At the young ladies’ seminary where Sadie taught. I’m certain I will be able to obtain a teaching position there. I went to see Sadie this morning, and she gave me a letter of recommendation.” After a good deal of persuasion.
“Utter nonsense.” Her father gave her a reproving look. “We have not raised you to waste your time in such profitless pursuits, Ellen. Things can still be salvaged. You will go back to your aunt in Buffalo. My plans—”
“Have come to naught.” She straightened her back, lifted her chin. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Father. But I am going to Rochester.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “I think not. I’ll not pay for something that has no expectation of gain.”
Was that all she meant to him? A means of obtaining wealth? “There are things other than money to be gained, Father.”
“Don’t be impertinent, young woman!”
“I’m not. I’m being honest, Father.” She lifted her chin another notch. “And I’m going to Rochester. Tomorrow.” She looked at her parents’ faces, shock and anger warring for expression on their features. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have my packing to do.”
* * *
Daniel stared at the chair in the corner, the one Ellen had brought to his bedside. Whenever he’d opened his eyes, she’d been there. And the sight of her had given him strength, made him fight harder to breathe, to live.
He frowned, stared at the flickering fire. All day long bits and pieces of memories had been stealing into his thoughts. The way she looked tending the fire. The feel of her hand on his forehead as she checked for fever and changed the cloths that had helped the pain in his head. The featherlight touch of her fingertips against his lips. The fear in her eyes. The sound of her crying.
The room was unbearably empty without her.
He clenched his hands, drew in a breath, blew it out, then drew in another. The terrible pressure was gone. His lungs expanded without pain.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, touched his feet to the floor and shifted his weight onto them. His first step was a little shaky but nothing alarming. He took another, then another and another, leaned against the mantel to rest, then did it again.
How would he ever get the vision out of his head of her standing looking down at him with her blue eyes swimming with tears, her face warm and flushed from the fire, and her blond curls tumbling every which way against her face and onto her shoulders? He knew he’d never get it out of his heart.
He had to get out of this room. He had to get out of Pinewood.
He made two full circuits, stepped into the dimly lit hall and walked up and down, up and down, his stocking-clad feet noiseless against the floorboards. He could do it. He wasn’t ready to fell a tree, but he could make the walk to the Townsend sawmill. He’d leave first thing in the morning.
Chapter Twenty-One
It felt good to be dressed in his own clothes again. Daniel glanced up at the window. He’d overslept. It was full dawn. He folded his thick wool socks down over the tops of his calf-high boots, stood and shrugged into his jacket.
He could hear Willa and Matthew stirring around downstairs, hoped Joshua and Sally were still asleep. This was going to be hard enough without having to say goodbye to them. But Willa would explain to them. And make a better job of it than he could.
His face tightened. It was time to go. He reached into his pocket and tugged out his hat, something thudded against the floor. He looked down. Pain slashed through his heart, stole his breath. He bent and took the rock into his hand, straightened with the stone shaped like a lopsided heart resting on his palm. His pulse drummed in his ears. It was the same stone. It had been over twelve years, but he’d know it anywhere. It was the one he’d found in the muddy grass where he’d laid Ellen after he’d pulled her from Stony Creek. He’d picked the stone up, wiped the mud off on his pants and given it to her to stop her from being so afraid. How had it come to be in his pocket?
His heart lurched. There was only one answer. Ellen had kept the stone all of these years. And she had put it in his jacket pocket. But why? The truth slipped into his heart, nestled there as if it had finally found its home.
He closed his eyes and shook his head, denying what he knew was true. He clenched his fingers around the stone, his heart pounding. Ellen loved him. That was the message she’d sent by leaving him the stone. He wanted to be wrong. But he wasn’t. He’d read the same message of love in her eyes and in the touch of her hands while she’d been caring for him. He’d simply refused to acknowledge it, hadn’t want it to be true, because it made what he had to do so much harder. And more necessary. Why now, Lord? Why now? It would have been better to have never known.
* * *
“No, Daniel, you can’t go. I won’t let you. I can’t bear it! And, anyway, it’s foolishness for you to go out in this weather before you’re fully well.”
Daniel’s chest tightened. Willa’s pleading was another wound to his already-bleeding heart. “Look, Pest. I’m thankful for all you’ve done for me, and I know you’re likely right.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, closed his fingers around the stone. “But I have to do this. I’ll be back to visit—someday.”
“Daniel, please—” Willa’s voice broke on a sob. She whirled about, looked up at her husband. “Matthew, do something.”
“I’m going to.”
Daniel shot a look at Matthew Calvert, waited. He sure didn’t want to have to fight with the man who had come to be his friend. But he was leaving Pinewood this morning one way or the other.
“Willa, I’ve been an ordained minister for several years.” Matthew leaned over his wife’s shoulder, lifted his coat from its peg and shrugged into it. “And there are a lot of things I don’t know or understand.” He grabbed his hat and put it on. “But one thing I have learned is that when God is working in someone’s life, it’s best for men to keep their hands off the situation.” Matthew planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek, clasped her chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. “It’s time for you to let go, Willa. Now, tell Daniel goodbye, while I go hitch up the sleigh. I’m going to take him to the sawmill.”
The heart-wrenching business of saying goodbye had become a little easier. Daniel looked at Matthew over the top of Willa’s head and sent him a silent message of thanks.
* * *
She should have packed last night, but she’d been too...undone. Ellen looked at the array of fancy, stylish gowns spread over her bed and heaved a sigh. None of them were appropriate for a teacher in a young ladies’ seminary, but she had to choose. Asa said they had to leave for Olville directly after dinner if she was to be at the station in time to catch the stage. As if she could eat. She eyed the gowns again and turned away in disgust. She would leave them all here and pack the old gowns she’d been wearing since she started helping Willa. The new velvet she was wearing would serve for any important occasions.
Her stomach churned. Was Daniel further improved this morning? Was he getting stronger? The ache in her heart became unbearable. She folded the petticoat she held, put it in the smaller trunk and crossed to the window. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t look at the parsonage again, but she couldn’t stop herself. All that she wanted was within its walls. Oh, why had it taken her so long to realize what was truly in her heart? Her parents’ dreams were not hers. She didn’t need or want fancy gowns or jewels or any of the other trappings of wealth. She wanted Daniel. To marry Daniel had been her childhood dream. And now she knew that dream had never died. It had only been buried beneath the pursuit of things.
The tears started again. She arched her neck and placed her forehead against the cold glass to ease the throb in her head. She wanted to be Daniel’s wife and bear his children. And for them to have a dog and a cat and...and she wanted to cook for him and mend his clothes the way his mother had mended his torn jacket.
A Season of the Heart Page 22
