by Dorothy Love
The map marking the location of his timberlands had fallen down, and he tacked it back into place. He drank a dipper of cool water from the bucket beside the door and glanced at the stack of order forms, shipping invoices, receipts, and canceled checks Sage had placed on his desk that morning. He raised the window shade and settled into his chair, waiting for Lillian’s buggy to roll past. He felt a pang of regret. He shouldn’t have expected Ada to drive the buggy today. He didn’t blame her for being angry with him.
He didn’t know quite what to make of Ada Wentworth. She tried so hard to appear strong and independent, yet underneath her bravado he sensed a sad resignation that was both heartbreaking and intriguing. And she was such a pretty little thing. He couldn’t stop thinking of the warm fragrance of her skin and the way her soft curves had pressed against him when he lifted her in and out of the wagon.
He hadn’t been so attracted to a woman in a very long time. Unlike Hannah and Bea, who had signaled their interest in him in none-too-subtle ways, Ada was a woman of refinement. The kind of woman who could be an intellectual equal and still retain the gentler qualities so long missing from his world of ranchers, soldiers, and mill workers.
He’d definitely felt a spark between them. He was sure she felt it too. A lazy grin began somewhere deep in his gut and migrated to his face.
The rig came into view, Lillian’s gentle horse behaving as Wyatt had expected. Both Ada and Lillian sat up straight, their hats perched neatly on their heads. Lillian seemed to be smiling, and for that Wyatt was grateful. His aunt had tolerated Hannah Fields’s ministrations, but Wyatt could not recall seeing Lillian smile even once during the younger woman’s stay.
He sighed. Perhaps Lillian had sensed Hannah’s unrequited attraction to him. It still embarrassed him to recall the evening in February when Hannah appeared at his door unannounced, a picnic basket over her arm. Exhausted from meetings in town and a long afternoon at the mill, he’d been looking forward to a plate of scrambled eggs and some quiet time with a new book. But with the temperature dropping fast and a light snow falling, he couldn’t turn her away.
The decision to invite her inside proved to be a mistake. After plying him with warm bowls of chicken pot pie and cherry crumb cake, Hannah boldly announced that she was in love with him and intended to marry him. He was flattered and sorry for the girl and deeply relieved when she left town with that fellow from Denver.
Oh, Hannah was pretty enough, with a peachy complexion and red hair that fell in thick ringlets down her back. But never once had he felt about her the way he was feeling about Ada Wentworth. Which didn’t make one iota of sense, considering the way he usually felt about Yanks. It wasn’t just because of the war. It went way past politics and fighting. It was personal. But somehow when it came to Ada Wentworth, it didn’t seem to matter quite so much.
When the buggy was out of sight, Wyatt found his leather work gloves and went out to the cavernous shed to help Sage and the others. He cocked an ear. One of the saws was making that funny noise again. He couldn’t afford to have it malfunction when they were so swamped. He made a mental note to check it out.
Sage hurried over with a question about the Friday shipment. One of the sawyers, a young man from Alabama, was right behind him, asking Wyatt for a day off. Robbie Whiting tore around the corner to ask whether he could ride Cherokee.
Wyatt responded in turn to each of them, but his thoughts were still of Ada. Pulling on the gloves, he helped load the finished lumber onto the wagons, feeling a deep sense of loneliness that just wouldn’t go away. He sensed in Ada that same sense of isolation, a holding back, as if she didn’t trust him.
He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. Given his distrust of Yanks, maybe that evened the score.
SEVEN
Ada set aside her thimble and closed her eyes. Her fingers were sore from the constant pressure of the needle, and her insides were a jumble of nerves. Now that the quilt was finished, Mariah would expect to talk about her hat, and Lillian was sure to disapprove. The older woman had been quiet during the afternoon. Whether she was preoccupied or just feeling poorly, Ada couldn’t tell.
Mariah got to her feet. From a small cupboard on the far wall, she took out glasses and plates and opened her woven basket to retrieve jars of lemonade and a platter of cookies. Carrie and Bea removed the quilt from the frame and carefully folded it for delivery to the orphanage.
“I can’t stay.” Bea tossed her hair and picked up her sewing bag. “I must prepare for tomorrow’s school-board meeting.” She sent Ada a withering glance. “Some of us have important work to do.”
Mariah flipped the pages of her fashion magazine. “Good-bye, Bea.”
When she departed, Mariah set the magazine aside. “I know we’re supposed to love everybody, but it’s difficult to have any charitable feelings toward someone as cantankerous as Bea.” She patted the empty chair next to hers. “Ada, come and look at these hats. And don’t give Bea Goldston another thought.”
She handed Ada the Godey’s Lady’s Book, opened to a page featuring the latest styles in hats. “I like this one. Can you make one like it for me?”
Ada studied the drawing of a pale yellow postilion-styled hat with a cinnamon brown brim and matching brown pompoms on each side. The crown was encircled with three rows of cinnamon velvet. “It’s simple enough to make,” she said, “but I’d want to trim it with a color other than brown. Green satin, perhaps, or an ostrich feather.”
“Perfect! How about green satin and ostrich plumes?”
“I can do that. It’s easy to change the trimmings to match whatever dress you want to wear.” Ada flipped through the magazine and tried to shake off her lingering irritation toward the schoolteacher. “For instance, this hat has a buckle trim.”
“I like feathers better. When can you start?” Mariah laughed at her own excitement, and Carrie smiled. Despite Bea’s sour comments and Lillian’s disapproving frown, Ada felt, for the first time in a long while, the sweetness of belonging.
Mariah flipped through the book until she found a drawing of a round, crowned hat with a wide brim, decorated with flowers and feathers. “I like this one too.”
Ada considered Mariah’s small form, her warm brown eyes, heart-shaped face, and thick copper curls. “I could make that hat for you as well, but before you decide, would you take a look at my sketchbook?”
Mariah took the book and turned the pages, exclaiming over Ada’s sketches of feathered bonnets, satin toques, and small flat hats in leghorn straw decorated with pleating, flowers, netting, and beads.
Ada pointed to the sketch she’d made with Mariah in mind— a small toque fashioned of the finest straw, trimmed with chocolate brown velvet and blond lace, and set off with tiny green-feather ferns surrounding a single rust-colored flower. “This is a copy of a hat my mother bought in Paris one year. It’s still very much in fashion, and it’s perfect for you.”
Mariah pored over the sketch. Even Carrie seemed momentarily interested. Her eyes lingered on the page before she left her chair to stare out the window. Ada’s heart broke for her.
“I adore it!” Mariah said. “How much will you charge?”
Ada stole a glance at Lillian. She could ill afford to anger the old woman, but she had to think of her own future. The sooner she could bring in some paying customers and get her business started, the better. Lillian stared out the window, feigning disinterest, but Ada could tell the older woman was taking in every word.
“Another two dollars should cover it.” Taking into account the cost of her supplies and the number of hours it would take to make the pattern, shape the hat, and attach the trimmings, she would not make a cent on this hat, but perhaps it would serve as a good advertisement of her skills.
She opened her bag and took out her mother’s worn tape measure. “I’ll need your size, and I’ll have to buy supplies. I don’t have any milliner’s gauze or any wiring. I’ll need some new trimmings as well. Those will have to
be ordered.”
“How long will that take?” Mariah stood still while Ada took her measurement.
“A few weeks perhaps.”
“But it will be finished by October? The harvest festival is the biggest event in town.”
“Surely by October,” Ada assured her. “I’ll let you know as soon as my materials arrive.”
“Wonderful!” Mariah consulted the small watch suspended on a chain around her neck. “Now, I must run. If I hurry, I can deliver our quilt before suppertime.”
She said her good-byes and left the church. Carrie swept up the cookie crumbs, gathered their glasses, and went outside to wash them at the water pump. Leaving Lillian ensconced by the window, Ada followed Carrie outside.
“Need some help?” She primed the pump and lifted the handle. A thin stream of water trickled out. “These old pump handles are so heavy, aren’t they?”
Carrie nodded and concentrated on swirling clean water through the glasses.
“It sure is hot, isn’t it?” Ada blotted her forehead. “Is it always this warm here so early in the summer?”
Carrie shrugged.
“I heard your husband died at Shiloh,” Ada said quietly. “I can only imagine how that must feel.”
Carrie’s hands stilled. Water ran over them and into the trough. “Everyone said I’d get over it, but I don’t want to.”
Ada nodded. For years she’d felt the same way about her mother. “I realize that losing one’s parents isn’t the same thing as losing a husband, but I—”
“I didn’t lose Frank,” Carrie said with surprising fierceness. “Why do people say that—as if I carelessly misplaced him somewhere? It’s so stupid! He was taken from me, and in the end, what did it matter anyway?” She brushed away tears. “If I stop thinking about Frank, if I stop mourning him, then he’s gone forever.”
“Carrie.” Ada took the glasses from Carrie’s hands and set them aside. “We’ve only just met, and I hope you won’t think I am speaking out of turn, but here’s something I’ve learned. Our grief, however profound, doesn’t keep our loved ones alive.”
“Then what does?”
“Honoring them with our own lives.” She grasped Carrie’s hands. “You’re still a young woman. There is much that you can do to bring honor to your husband’s memory.”
Wordlessly, Carrie finished washing the glasses and started back inside.
“I saw the way you looked at my sketches,” Ada said. “Please let me make a new hat for you. I won’t charge you anything.”
Carrie paused without looking back. “Miss Wentworth, I know you mean well, but please . . . leave me alone.”
Stung by Carrie’s rejection, Ada lingered for a moment before following her inside. Lillian had fallen asleep in her chair, her head lolled to one side, her hat with its yellow flower trim askew.
“Lillian?” Ada shook the old woman’s shoulder. “Time to go.”
Lillian jerked awake, blinking. “What time is it?”
“Almost five, I would think.”
“Now why did you let me fall asleep? We’ll be late making supper for Wyatt.”
Carrie finished putting the clean glasses away and picked up her quilting bag. “Don’t worry, Lillian. This morning Henry told me that Sage and Wyatt are planning to work an extra hour today to get the milling done.”
Lillian got to her feet and straightened her hat. “Is that a fact? Why didn’t Wyatt say so?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ada said. “Now we’ll have plenty of time to make supper.”
They went out to the churchyard. Carrie climbed onto her buckboard and started home. Ada looked up. The sun had disappeared behind thick clouds, threatening rain. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Ada settled Lillian on the seat, unwound the reins from the hitching post, and climbed into the buggy.
“Get up there, Smoky.” She was surprised how quickly she was growing accustomed to driving. They turned out of the churchyard, and another flick of the reins had the gray horse trotting toward home.
“I enjoyed the quilting circle,” Ada said. “I’m glad you invited me.”
Lillian sat stiffly, her hands folded on her lap, her face stony. She seemed acutely interested in Smoky’s hindquarters.
Ada sighed. “I’m sorry if you’re upset with me about the hat.”
“My nephew hired a lady’s companion, not a milliner.”
“I won’t neglect my responsibilities to you.”
“For what Wyatt is paying you, I should have your undivided attention.”
Heavenly days! Had Lillian gone shopping lately? Had she no idea of the cost of even the barest of necessities? Seven dollars a month might sound like a lot, but it would go all too quickly.
“You will have my full attention whenever you need me. But in the evenings—”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You’ll do what you want to do no matter what I say. But—”
A sudden gust of wind stirred the dust on the road. Lillian clamped one hand on her hat and looked up. “I don’t like the looks of that sky. We may be in for a blow.”
Ada urged Smoky into a faster trot. They passed the lumber mill. Men scurried about, covering the equipment with tarps and driving the loaded wagons into the long sheds.
“Should we stop here?” Ada glanced at the sky with growing apprehension. Thick black clouds boiled up, obscuring the mountaintops.
“I want to go home. If you’ll stop dawdling, we can make it before the rain hits.”
Ada pushed the horse as fast as she dared. Just as the house came into view, the sky opened. Lightning arced across the darkened sky. Rain pelted their faces.
“Drive into the barn!” Lillian yelled.
Ada flicked the reins once more and Smoky obeyed, coming to a halt at the barn door. Ada jumped down, and her shoes sank into mud that was rapidly becoming as thick as cake batter. She lifted the bar, heaved open the door, and led the horse inside, past hay bales, rakes, pitchforks, and a heap of dusty harnesses. The smell of hay and manure filled her nose.
“Wait here,” Ada told Lillian. “I’ll fetch your rain cape and umbrella.”
“I’m all right. Or I will be as soon as I get out of these wet clothes. I feel like a drowned rat. Help me down.”
Ada wrapped one arm around Lillian’s waist and led her across the mire. By the time they reached the porch, they were soaked to the skin, and Lillian was pale and shivering. They took off their muddy shoes and went inside.
“Do you need help changing your clothes?” Ada sat on the bottom stair and peeled off her clammy stockings.
“I can manage.” Lillian waved her away. “You should get out of your things, too, before you catch a cold.”
“I’ll change as soon as I put the teakettle on.”
“Forget tea. My feet are wet and cold as a wagon tire. A day like this calls for spirits.” Lillian gestured toward the sideboard. “Pour us a brandy, girl—purely for medicinal purposes, of course. Then we’ve got to get supper started.”
Half an hour later, dressed in dry clothes and warmed by the brandy, Ada spread her wet clothes on the porch rail beneath the overhang and went to the kitchen to start supper. Lillian snuggled into a blue dressing gown and sat in her wheelchair near the cookstove, directing Ada as she mixed the dough for biscuits and sliced apples for dumplings. While the biscuits baked, Ada set the table and started a pot of coffee.
Wyatt arrived a short time later and went straight to the barn to see after Smoky, then opened the front door and stepped into the parlor.
“Take that rain gear off, Wyatt Caldwell!” his aunt called. “Don’t you drip water on my floor.”
“No ma’am, I won’t.”
He stepped into the kitchen holding a wrinkled wad of soggy white linen, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth, his eyes full of merriment. “Did one of you ladies lose your unmentionables?”
Ada stopped dead still, a laden platter in each hand. Her cheeks flamed. “I . . . I put it out to dry.�
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“Must have blown off the porch. I didn’t want it to get muddy.” He pulled a chair close to the cookstove and carefully spread her soggy chemise over it. “There. It’ll be dry in no time.”
Ada watched his hands smoothing the thin fabric. He smiled a slow smile that made her insides go soft, seeming not to notice her acute discomfort. He seated his aunt and took his place between the two women. “Something sure smells good.”
“Shall we pray?” Lillian peered at her nephew, her gold-rimmed spectacles flashing in the lamplight.
Considering what he had told her at the river, Ada wondered if he would object to praying. But he enveloped Ada’s hand in a warm and gentle grip as he asked the Lord to bless the house, the food, and the company. He thanked God for the rain and asked his blessing on the mill and his workers. “Amen and pass the biscuits.”
Ada picked up her fork and studied Wyatt beneath lowered lashes. Despite her earlier irritation over having to drive the buggy, she felt something sparking between them, a connection, an energy that was both exhilarating and unsettling.
“Ada?” He smiled at her across the candlelit table. “I have to go into town on Friday to oversee a shipment and talk to some people at the bank. I thought you and Aunt Lil might like to come along. She hasn’t been to town in quite a while, and you haven’t really had a chance to see the place.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
The rain had stopped. Outside the kitchen window, water dripped from the eaves into the rain barrel beside the door. He nodded and concentrated on his meal.
Ada found herself studying the planes of his face, the way his eyes shone with pleasure when he tucked into the apple dumplings she’d made. She quickly dropped her gaze. It would be much too easy to fall in love with Wyatt Caldwell, to trust her future to someone else. She knew better than that now. It was safer to rely upon herself.
