by Dorothy Love
Wyatt’s heart seized. Ada’s tender way with the child filled him with longing and reminded him of how alone he was. Even when he was surrounded by his workers, a deep inner loneliness remained. He had been part of this community for years, but in some ways he was still a solitary man.
He didn’t like feeling this way. He wished he’d never come to the celebration at all, and he couldn’t explain why he had. After years of avoiding Founders Day, with all its reminders of strife and loss, it was as if some greater force had brought him and held him here.
What he needed was a long walk in the woods. Solitude always cleared his head. Put things in proper perspective.
He got to his feet and headed off into the trees.
FIFTEEN
Ada had just sent Sophie off to play on the merry-go-round when she heard a fierce commotion behind her. Turning around, she saw a crowd running toward the river.
Urgent voices echoed through the trees. “Help! Somebody! Help!” Ada followed them to a place where a sodden Toby McCall and a couple of other boys stood, frantically pointing downstream. “You got to save them!” Toby yelled. “Their raft came apart and they fell in!”
“Who?” A panicked Mariah grabbed the boy by the shoulder. “Toby! Who fell in?”
“Jacob! An’ Robbie. We tried to pull ’em out, but the current’s too strong.”
Mariah kicked off her shoes and jumped into the water. Immediately, she was dragged under. Ada scanned the roiling river. Bits of lumber, broken tree branches, and masses of waterlogged leaves swirled in the coffee-colored water. Then, far downstream, she saw a dark head break the surface. She took off her shoes and raced along the bank, her feet sinking into the soft earth. Tears blurred her vision as she looked around for a sturdy branch, a piece of rope, anything to get them out. Mariah had already lost one child to drowning. She couldn’t lose Robbie too.
Just ahead of Ada, a man hurtled through the trees and arced into the river. Ada saw only a flash of dark hair in the sunlight as he hit the water, but it was enough. Wyatt.
Seconds later, Sage and the doctor arrived with ropes. Sage dove in after Wyatt, and the two men fought the raging current toward the person in the water. Ada stood frozen, barely able to draw breath. She sent up a fervent prayer for their safety.
Sage gave a shout, and Dr. Spencer tossed the rope. Moments later, they hauled a lanky body to shore. Jacob! But where was Robbie? And Mariah?
The doctor’s wife bent over Jacob, murmuring words of comfort. The young man coughed and spat a mouthful of brown water. “I’m all right,” he rasped. “Get Robbie.”
A moment later, Sage hauled Mariah from the river. She clawed at his shirt, her eyes wild. “Let me go! I have to find our son!”
“We’ll find him!” Sage shook her hard. “It won’t help him if I have to worry about you too. Stay put, Mariah.”
He dove back into the water. For several tense minutes, the crowd waited silently on the bank, watching the angry current. At last Wyatt surfaced and yelled, “Over here!” and Sage swam frantically toward them.
“Robbie!” Mariah screamed.
The boy lay face up, wedged between the remnants of his log raft and a downed tree. Water swirled around his head, threatening to drag him down. Wyatt dove again and again, trying to free the heavy logs, while Sage kept his son’s head above the water. At last, Wyatt gave a mighty shove, and the raft broke free. Holding Robbie between them, the two men grabbed the ropes and swam for shore.
The doctor, Mr. Greer, and a couple of farm boys pulled them onto the bank. Mariah rushed to her son. Ada sank to her knees, trembling with fright and relief. Dr. Spencer dispersed the crowd and bent over Robbie. The boy was pale. His lips had turned blue, and he shivered despite the warm July afternoon. Someone brought a blanket. Another handed the doctor his medical bag.
“How are you doing, boy?” The doctor gently moved Robbie’s arms and legs, checking for broken bones.
“C-c-cold,” Robbie’s teeth chattered. But his gaze was steady as he sought his mother’s. “I’m sorry, Mama. I sh-should have s-stayed away from the river like you said.”
One leg of his trousers had been torn away, revealing a deep gash in his knee. His arms and hands were covered with angry red scrapes. A huge bruise was forming near his temple.
Dr. Spencer cleaned and dressed Robbie’s wounds before turning his attention to Wyatt.
“He seems to be all right,” Mrs. Spencer, who had been tending to Wyatt, reported to her husband. “He has a deep wound in his shoulder and a bump on the back of his head.”
The doctor bent over Wyatt. “How’s your belly? Any nausea?”
“Some, but it might be from swallowing river water and too much blackberry cobbler. Not to mention the three pieces of stale cake I had for breakfast.”
Dr. Spencer grinned. “Double vision?”
“A little at first. But I’m all right now.”
The doctor cleaned the gash in Wyatt’s shoulder and frowned. “This needs stitching up, my friend. It might hurt quite a lot. Can you stand it?”
“Will it hurt less than a bullet wound?”
“Considerably less, I should think.” He rummaged in his medical bag for a needle.
Ada cringed as the doctor began sewing the wound. Watching Wyatt as he struggled in the water and lay there in pain had awakened new emotions in her. What if Mariah was right and God had a plan? What if she were destined to find someone to love?
Someone like Wyatt.
She retrieved her shoes and walked some distance away to pull them on, still thinking about her conversation with Mariah. Near the gazebo, a small crowd had settled in to await darkness and the start of the fireworks display. Others, their spirits dampened by the afternoon’s events, were packing up their wagons and buckboards and making for home.
In the weary aftermath of the day’s excitement, Ada found herself thinking about her father. Who was Cornelius Wentworth? The brash, reckless businessman or a lonely, brokenhearted father who had no inkling of how to relate to his grief-stricken daughter?
All those years she’d thought that he failed her. Perhaps he had. But she had failed him too.
“Miss Wentworth?”
Ada jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone approaching. She got to her feet.
“I’m getting ready to call it a day,” Patsy Greer said, “and I was wondering if you checked your ad in the Gazette. If you’re pleased with the way it turned out.”
“Very pleased.” Now was the time to cancel the ad, as Wyatt expected. But the words wouldn’t come. Norah Dudley had reminded her that she wasn’t completely welcome here, that she needed to think about where she might go next and what she would do. Perhaps if the ad ran for just another week or two, she’d get a few more orders and, from then on, word of mouth might be all the advertising she would need. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll pay you.”
“No hurry. We can settle up on your next trip to town. Daddy is completely worn out from all the excitement.” She glanced toward the bank, where the doctor still worked on Wyatt. “I was planning to run a story about Founders Day on the front page next week, but this rescue will knock the founders clear over to page three. I just wish I had an illustrator around. A picture of Mr. Caldwell and Mr. Whiting bringing Robbie out sure would add some drama.”
“I think we’ve had enough drama, don’t you?” Bea Goldston stepped from the shadows and turned to a startled Ada. “I heard Robbie Whiting telling his mother that it was you who told him to build a raft. What’s the matter with you? Couldn’t you see how high the river is? Didn’t you know he could get himself killed?”
“I didn’t tell him to build a raft.” Ada fought to control her anger. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Everything that happens in Hickory Ridge is my business.” Bea’s earlier friendliness had disappeared. “You have been nothing but trouble ever since you got here. And now, thanks to you, Wyatt Caldwell is hurt.”
The look on the scho
olteacher’s face was open, revealing. Ada’s heart jolted. She loves him.
“I talked to Mr. Caldwell not fifteen minutes ago, to get a quote for my newspaper piece,” Patsy said. “He’s making jokes about the whole thing.”
“Wyatt makes jokes about everything, no matter how dire,” Bea said. “That’s just the kind of man he is.” She pointed a finger at Ada. “If he dies from this, Ada Wentworth, I will never speak to you again.”
Ada returned the schoolteacher’s hard stare. “I’ll try to bear it.”
Patsy laughed out loud. “Good gravy, Bea. Nobody is going to die.”
Bea’s eyes flashed. “How do you know? Remember that girl from Chattanooga who broke her leg getting out of her carriage? Everybody said she’ d be fine, but she died of pneumonia. From lying in bed too long.”
“Somehow I can’t picture Wyatt Caldwell languishing in bed long enough to ruin his lungs,” Patsy said.
“Fine, make fun of me. But I know what I’m talking about.”
Bea strode away, and Patsy shook her head. “Mercy sakes, what a pistol. Well, I’m off. I’ll see you later.”
Patsy left to collect her father, and Ada returned to the little group on the river. Mariah huddled with Robbie beneath the blanket and sipped tea someone had provided. Wyatt was sitting up, resting his back against a tree. Lillian sat on a quilt beside him, holding his hand. Jacob Hargrove, apparently none the worse for his ordeal, had left.
The doctor closed his medical bag and nodded to Ada. “Wyatt will be good as new after a couple of days’ rest. The question before the court at this moment is where said rest shall transpire. He wants to go home, but I’d prefer he stay with someone who can look in on him overnight. A blow to the head can often be much more serious than a flesh wound.”
“He’ll stay at Lillian’s, of course,” Ada said automatically.
“Lillian is all for it, but he’s resisting.”
Ada strode over to Wyatt and dropped onto the grass. “You need looking after. You will stay with us. I won’t hear another word about it.”
“I appreciate the offer, but to tell you the truth, I’ll rest better in my own bed.”
“The bed in your room is your own bed, Wyatt!” Lillian said. “I haven’t changed a thing since the day you moved out. You’re just being contrary for its own sake.”
“It’ll make more work for Ada.” He probed the swollen knot on his head and winced. “Besides, somebody has to drive my rig back.”
“I can do it,” Ada heard herself say.
Wyatt looked up at her, admiration in his eyes. “Cherokee is more spirited than old Smoky. Sometimes she’s hard to handle. She’d rather be ridden than pull a buggy.” He grinned. “I think it hurts her pride. I’d better ride along with you.”
“That’s settled,” the doctor said. “Let’s see about getting you all home.”
Sage helped Mariah and Robbie to their feet. “I’ll get our things and bring the wagon out here. I won’t be long.”
He soon returned, the wagon creaking and rocking over the uneven ground. He helped Mariah and Robbie, then Lillian, onto the wagon and turned for home.
Wyatt and Ada took a shortcut through a stand of trees to the road where Cherokee waited. Wyatt started to lift the harness, but Ada stopped him. “It won’t do to pull those stitches out. Tell me what to do. I can handle it.”
“Yes ma’am. I reckon you can do just about anything you put your mind to.” He stood by, talking her through the process of hitching Cherokee to the rig. When it was done, Ada helped him climb in and then went around to the other side. She flicked the reins. The rig jolted as the mare trotted onto the road.
Wyatt fell asleep almost as soon as they left town, jostling awkwardly in his seat. Ada followed behind Sage’s wagon. She turned her face to the burst of light in the trees and watched the setting sun rim the high clouds with gold. On the seat beside her, Wyatt stirred. Sunlight played over his face.
What a strange and unsettling day it had been, a day with many more questions than answers. She needed some time to sort it all out.
By the time they reached Lillian’s house, dusk was falling; fireflies blinked in the rosebushes, and the whip-poor-will called from the branches of the magnolia tree.
Sage helped Wyatt into the house and up the stairs to his childhood room. When the lamps were lit and the kettle was on the stove, Ada walked Sage out to the porch.
“I’m sorry for telling Robbie about Wyatt’s boyhood rafting adventure, and I’m sorry for whatever influence it might have had over what happened today. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I should be going. I need to get my family home.”
Ada watched him turn the wagon onto the road. How easy it was to cause harm when none was meant. She hoped Mariah would forgive her. She went inside, settled Lillian in her bed, and opened the window. “Would you like me to read to you?”
“Not tonight. My head hurts something awful.” Lillian yawned. “See about Wyatt.”
Ada climbed the stairs and knocked softly on Wyatt’s door.
“Come on in.”
She had never before set foot in this room. It was larger than her own, with a commanding view of the road and the distant river. The window was open to the last rays of light turning to silver on the water’s dark surface. A pair of nesting doves cooed softly from the treetops.
Wyatt had lit the lamp and piled the pillows behind his back. He was sitting up, thumbing through one of the many volumes from a bookcase beneath the window. Atop the bookcase sat a glass jar filled with arrowheads, a porcelain horse, a broken slingshot, and assorted rocks and fossils—remnants of his boyhood.
It felt strange, too intimate, being in this room with him. Nerves skittered along her arms. Ada retreated to the doorway. “How do you feel? Would you like me to change the bed linens?”
He marked his place with his finger and smiled up at her. “Truthfully? I feel ridiculous. I barely got a scratch. I should be home, looking over my accounts. I was hoping to get caught up today.” He grinned. “And these sheets are fine.”
She leaned against the doorjamb. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“I hadn’t planned to go to the picnic, but I got word I had telegrams waiting and I went into town to retrieve them.”
And then you saw my ad in the Gazette. “Good news, I hope.”
“Afraid not. One of my orders is on hold for a while. Waiting on the legislature to appropriate the money.” He set his book aside. “I was on my way back to the mill when I ran into a couple of my workers heading to the park. We got to talking, and before I knew it that good food was calling my name. By the time I ate half of your blackberry cobbler, the afternoon was almost over.”
She smiled. “How do you know it was mine?”
“Nobody uses lemon juice and butter quite the way Lillian does.”
“I’m glad you were there today, regardless of the reason. Sage couldn’t have pulled Robbie out by himself. The current was too strong.”
She glanced around the room. “Is there anything you need? Some tea? Something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” He cocked his ear to the soft night sounds coming through the window. “I’m usually so busy at the mill that I fail to notice how very long these summer evenings are.”
It was the perfect opening to prove her point: that the long evenings afforded plenty of time to handle her millinery business without jeopardizing Lillian’s well-being. But to bring the subject up would be to remind him of her promise to cancel her ad. She felt another sharp stab of guilt at keeping a secret from him, but her future was at stake.
Wyatt shifted on the bed and propped another pillow behind his injured shoulder. “So how do you spend these long evenings, Ada?” He smiled. “Since you’re not much for the piano and such.”
“When I traveled abroad, I kept journals of the places we visited and the interesting people we met. Sometimes I reread them in the evenings while Lilli
an sleeps. They remind me of happier times.”
“I’ve always had a hankering to see the world, but somehow I think it’s a trip better shared than undertaken alone.”
“My aunt chaperoned me, and I enjoyed it. Except for the times she introduced me to certain young men of her acquaintance—sons of her old friends in London.”
He grinned. “Tried to marry you off, did she?”
Ada blushed. “Something like that.”
In the flickering lamplight, his gaze sought hers. “I’m pleased that she didn’t succeed.”
She met his gaze. A strange trembling began in her midsection and spread all the way to her toes. “If you’re sure there’s nothing you need,” she said quickly, “perhaps I should say goodnight.”
He nodded. “Goodnight, Ada.”
Wyatt waited until he heard Ada’s door close. He undressed and slid beneath the covers. The linens smelled a little musty now, but he could still recall his first long summer with Lillian, the way they’d smelled like sunshine and lavender. He couldn’t remember precisely the last time he’d slept beneath this roof. Was it after his years at the university or the summer before he went off to war?
He was surprised and pleased that his aunt had kept all his books and treasures just as he’d left them. For a while, the war had stolen his spirit as surely as Cabot stole his father’s money. During the worst of the fighting, when he came so close to dying, he had doubted that any part of his old life could remain.
He’d lost his faith then. Lost his belief that there was a purpose to anything.
He thought of that brutal dawn at Cold Harbor when Sage had dragged him to safety. The luck of the draw, he’d told Ada. But now, after today’s events, things looked different somehow. Was it possible that he’d been wrong—that life wasn’t so random after all, that God had a purpose in sparing him? Maybe he was meant to save Sage’s only son from drowning. To build the mill that was reviving Hickory Ridge. And to find Ada.
