by DiAnn Mills
A sigh quivered from Livy’s chest at his familiarity. She eyed the empty doorway. Resting her hand on Davy’s arm, she listened to the raspy breathing and waited.
When Helen returned, she carried a folded cloth. The pungent odor of mustard permeated the air. She peered at the concoction in Helen’s hand, two pieces of muslin cloth with a dark ocher paste spread between them.
“It’s ground mustard and meal mixed with hot water,” Helen said. She pulled down the cover and opened Davy’s nightclothes, pressing the poultice to his chest. His eyes fluttered open then closed. “There now, if this doesn’t work, we’ll send for the doctor.”
Livy gazed at the sleeping child then pulled a sturdy rocker to the bedside. “Thank you, Helen.”
“You’re very welcome, Livy.”
“I believe I’ll sit here for a while,” Livy said, her focus on Davy.
“Remember, worry helps nothing.” Helen patted her arm. “If his fever doesn’t break, the doctor will come.”
As Helen left the room, Livy sank into the rocking chair. While Davy slept, she rested her gaze on the gentle fall and rise of the blanket. A mother? Was she meant to be a parent like Andrew said? Her present life was free, unburdened, and—to be honest with herself—self-centered. Would she have patience to care for little ones who needed her totally? The questions tumbled in her head.
Children meant marriage. She sighed, imagining a life with Henry. She would live above the mercantile and, perhaps, work in the store. But she would teach her music lessons as well. A life with Henry? Somehow the idea did not settle well in her mind.
And what about love? Must marriage and love go hand in hand? She was fond of Henry. Were fondness and love the same? What is love? Perhaps her fondness for Henry was love. Then what was it she felt for Andrew? Passion? The dreaded word rose in her mind again.
Suddenly an image appeared. The wooden pieces in Helen’s room—two jagged sides pushed together to form a perfect heart. With its peculiar shape, she felt positive that it was half the wooden heart she had carried to Grand Rapids. John called it a keepsake. A keepsake? But why did he return the remembrance to Helen? Her pulse accelerated at her conjecture. What did it mean? Would she ever know?
Chapter 4
Andrew left the carriage with the attendant and mounted the wide porch steps. The music reverberated through the brick exterior. When the door opened, a cacophony of sound billowed out into the quiet night—music, voices, and pandemonium.
Leaving his outer wrap with the servant, he turned to the large parlor. Matthew’s parents had stored pieces of their fashionable furniture somewhere. Tonight, chairs and sofas lined the walls, leaving the bare wood floor open for dancing.
Across the hall, friends waved to him. They gathered around a piano, its tinkling notes blending with the music across the way. He stepped toward the smaller parlor as a hand nabbed his arm. “Why, Andrew, how lovely to see you again.”
Without looking, he recognized Rosie’s voice, and a shiver raced up his arm to his neck. He turned and looked at her. Dressed in a fashionable vibrant purple gown of velvet, her bustle and peplum were designed in a deeper shade like a polished plum. Her neckline scooped to reveal the soft white skin of her neck and shoulders, and for a moment the view startled him.
He had longed to view her lovely feminine frame, yet his subconscious thoughts reminded him of God’s Word, “Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.” Livy would never wear a gown cut as low. Her dresses were modest.
Rosie smiled at him, and a lilting laugh rose from her throat. All eyes turned from the small parlor to watch them in the hallway. She was a beauty. Her eyes sparkled and her lashes fluttered like a coquette. Yet he liked to think she flirted only with him. He pushed the Bible verse from his mind, assaying the admiring crowd, and she followed him into the small parlor.
Gathering around the piano, the crowd clapped their hands and sang to the merry music. When Rosie tugged on his sleeve to divert him to the dance floor, Andrew took a step forward to follow her; but at that moment, a gentleman slid onto the bench, and instead of the popular songs, he struck a series of introductory chords. The voices around him lifted in a Christmas carol. “Good Christian men rejoice with heart and soul and voice.”
Andrew lingered, turning again to the music. Rosie spoke his name, but he quieted her. His mind soared back to the day Livy arrived and, sitting at the spinet, played the same carol. He had yet to hear her sing, and she said that singing was more her talent than playing. He longed to be with her now, to hear her sweet, sensitive voice raise in song.
He closed his eyes and pictured Livy seated at Davy’s bedside. Her dainty hand probably rested on the child’s arm. Did she sing him lullabies when no one listened? He shook his head in wonder. God meant her to be a mother. He had no doubt. She had all the attributes: gentleness, compassion, love, generosity, and kindness.
A pressure on his sleeve brought him back, and he turned to gaze into Rosie’s pouting face. “I thought you enjoyed my company,” she mewled.
“I am sorry, Rosie,” he responded. “Would you please me with a dance?”
She nodded and her bright yellow curls bobbed at the fringe of her upswept hair. He took her arm and lead her across the hall to join the dancers in a lively polka, but his thoughts crept back to a quiet room with a sick child and a gentle woman.
As she rubbed the cords in her neck and shoulders, Livy studied the sleeping child. Her eyes drooped as if weighted, and she struggled to dispel sleep. A soft sound through the window alerted her that Andrew had arrived home. She had no idea of the time, though hours earlier, the grandfather clock in the upper hall chimed ten o’clock.
She waited until she speculated Andrew had retired for the evening, then rose. A cup of tea might relax her so she, too, could climb into bed and sleep. For the past two nights, she had keep vigil at the boy’s bedside, praying for improvement. Though he had gotten no worse, his cough and fever lingered. Tomorrow she would recommend they send for the doctor.
Her plans to return home seemed thwarted by Davy’s illness, but she had not given up hope. She felt it imperative to receive Henry’s Christmas call. The visit could be the beginning of their relationship, and though she questioned her motive, she believed that God’s will might be done after all.
Stepping quietly through the doorway, she tiptoed down the upper hall, to not awaken those asleep, and edged her way down the darkened staircase. The glow of a softly burning lantern lit the foyer. A bright moon shone through the fanlight above the door as well.
Moving with caution, she made her way to the kitchen. Coals still glowed in the range grate, and to Livy’s surprise, a pot of heated milk sat on the top cover. Grace must have warmed a cup for herself. Livy sprinkled sugar and cinnamon into a mug and stirred the warmed liquid. As she turned, her heart leaped to her throat, and her hand flew to the neck of her shirtwaist where she had loosened a button. In the dim hall, a shadowy figure watched her.
“I’m sorry I frightened you.” Andrew stepped from the darkened hallway into the kitchen with a mug in his hand. “I didn’t hear you come down.”
Her speeding pulse slowed as Andrew spoke. “I thought you’d gone to bed. The time sitting with Davy has been stressful, and I hoped to calm myself with a warm drink. But I’m afraid I have taken your milk.”
“Please, it’s not a problem. I made far more than I wanted.”
She lifted the pot from the range. “Would you like the rest?”
He stepped forward, and she drained the simmering milk into his mug. “Let’s sit in the keeping room,” he suggested.
He turned, and she followed him down the hall to the keeping room.
A warm glow shimmered from the hearth, and she slid into a cozy chair, wrapping her skirt about her legs. “Did you enjoy the party?” Livy asked, sipping the sweet liquid.
“Yes, as party’s go, it was jolly. Music, dancing, and singing Christmas
carols.” He leaned forward, staring into the glowing embers. “I thought of you, Livy.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, and her pulse tripped at his directness. “Thought of me? But why, with so many friends around you?”
“The singing, perhaps. I have yet to hear you sing, and I’d like to. I hear it’s lovely.”
Her heart hammered with confusion, and she was convinced he might hear it in the room’s silence. “You embarrass me, Andrew. You’ve only heard idle chatter.”
“Tell me it is not lovely, and I will believe you.”
She pondered how to respond. Others told her she sang like an angel, but she was no judge of her own voice. “I cannot answer you. I have never heard my own voice except in my head. I only know what others say.”
“And do they say it is lovely?”
The heat rose again to her cheeks.
“Then I am correct.”
His gaze captured hers until she lowered her head to quell the pounding in her chest. Her vindictive nature sneaked out of hiding. “And how did you find Rosie this evening? As charming as ever?”
His lips pressed together as if in thought, then his mouth curved to a droll smile. “Why yes, she is an alluring woman.”
Livy’s heart quieted then fell like a weight. “I’m glad. You are a handsome man, Andrew, and I pray God will bless you with an equally handsome wife.”
“God? You believe God’s working for me, Livy? I’m afraid you are looking in the wrong direction.” His dimples deepened with this wily chuckle. “God’s Word leads me to a woman pure in deed, not one who is flirtatious. No, Miss Parker is not God’s choice.” He tilted his head, gazing at her. “Nor my mother’s.”
His mother? Livy struggled with his meaning. And who did Helen choose for him as a wife? Apparently, someone “pure in deed.” Her mind shifted to Agatha. Was the dinner invitation as much to bring Agatha and Andrew together as it was “in her honor” as Helen had stated? She smiled at the idea.
“And what makes you smile?”
“Only a private thought.”
“Private? Well, my sweet Livy, you should have ‘private thoughts’ more often. The smile lights your face and puts diamonds in your emerald eyes.”
A tremor rushed along her arms to her chest, and her breath escaped in a short gasp. No man had ever said such bold, yet lovely, words to her before. Like the devil, Andrew beguiled her. She needed to be wary. When she caught her breath, she murmured a thank you, having no idea how to respond to his compliment. “I need to go to bed. It’s very late.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve had a trying day. How is Davy this evening?” he asked, concern blanketing his usual grin.
“The same, I’m afraid.”
“I admire you, Livy. You and your selflessness. You sit at the boy’s bedside with rare devotion.”
“Me? Thank you, but no, Andrew. I am ashamed at my selfish thoughts. I was resentful coming here with Davy. As a spin…an unmarried woman, I have only myself to consider.”
“Perhaps, but you have changed. Your concern is for the boy alone.”
“I do feel a responsibility. Davy is my brother’s only child. I would do everything in my power to keep him safe and healthy.”
“You see? What I have said is true.”
His words amazed her. Perhaps she had changed for the better. “Though he’s no worse, I think we should send for the doctor in the morning…to be certain.”
“The doctor, yes. Rest, Livy. I’ll go for him at sunrise.”
She rose. “Thank you, Andrew.”
“You are welcome.” He stood and, with one stride, stopped beside her. He raised his hand, tilting her chin upward, and his gaze locked to hers. “I’m right. They are emeralds. Beautiful.” He brushed her cheek as he lowered his hand. “Time for bed, and I’ll rise early as I promised.”
He turned and sped from the room with Livy peering at his shadowed form ascending the staircase. When he vanished into the darkness, she brushed her cheek where his hand had rested. A sense of pleasure washed over her, and she lifted her eyes toward the ceiling spangled with light from the hearth. Dear Lord, guide my path. Clear my mind. Rein my unbridled passion to self-control in Your Son’s holy name.
Chapter 5
Andrew kept his promise, and by nine in the morning, Dr. Browning arrived. Livy rose from the rocker at the sound of the footsteps. When he entered, he greeted Livy and set his bag on the rocker she’d abandoned. Andrew and Helen hovered in the doorway.
“What have we here?” he said, leaning over Davy and peering into his eyes. “How are you, lad?”
Davy stared at the stranger. “I cough,” Davy said, his voice raspy from his hacking.
“How is his appetite?” the doctor asked as they hovered near.
“He’s taken broth and some bread with apple butter. Little else.”
The elderly man nodded, then leaned over his patient. “Open wide, lad.”
Davy dropped his jaw, and the doctor peered inside, then pulled a stethoscope from his bag. He pressed the instrument against the boy’s chest. “His lungs sound congested, but nothing serious.”
He straightened his back, placing the stethoscope in the bag, and looked at Livy. “I’d like you to prepare some alum and honey mixed with sage tea. It’s a valuable gargle. Continue with an elixir for his cough, and keep him warm to sweat out the fever.”
He turned to Davy. “And lad, you must eat.” The doctor pulled the blankets around Davy’s shoulders, tucked them in, then grabbed his bag. “I see nothing serious. He’ll be fit again in a few days.”
“What do I owe you, doctor?” Livy asked, sliding her hand into her pocket where she’d tucked her currency.
“Four dollars,” he said.
She pulled the paper money from her pocket and laid bills into his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
He looked at the crisp dollars and nodded. When he passed through the doorway, Andrew followed him. Helen hurried into the room. “Olivia, please let us pay for the doctor’s expense. You shouldn’t use your savings.”
Livy shook her head. “Thank you, Helen, but I’ve paid him this time. If he visits again, I’ll let you pay.”
Helen acquiesced with a nod. “I’ll ask Grace to stay with Davy tonight while we’re at the dinner party.”
Livy rubbed her temples. “I think I’ll excuse myself and stay at home. If he wakes, he may be frightened with a stranger.”
“Grace is no stranger, Olivia.” She leaned over the child. “Davy, you know Grace, don’t you?”
He nodded. “She gives me pudding,” he said in his raspy voice.
“You see,” Helen said. “I insist you come with us. Tomorrow you’ll leave and all you’ll remember is sitting in this chair.”
“I’ve enjoyed myself, Helen.”
If Helen knew the truth, Livy’s heart flew heavenward recalling the time she’d spent with Andrew. Leaving Davy—and Andrew—tomorrow weighed in her mind. And though she longed to stay, she felt driven to leave. “I’ll see how Davy is in the morning. I’m not comfortable going unless he’s totally well.”
Helen pressed her arm. “You know you’re welcome to stay, Olivia. More than welcome. We’d be delighted if you changed your mind.”
“Yes, delighted,” a voice echoed from the doorway.
Livy swung toward the sound of Andrew’s voice.
“Please, convince Olivia to join us this evening, Andrew,” Helen said. “She says she’d rather stay home to sit with Davy.”
“Nonsense. What would a party be without you, Livy? You’ve had no fun at all. In fact,” he volunteered, “I’ll stay home, and you go along with mother and father.”
Livy drew back in surprise. “You? Thank you, but no. If anyone stays home, it’ll be me. Anyway, your mother said Grace would stay with Davy. If he’s well enough, I’ll join you. I promise.”
Helen nodded. “Then let us do as the doctor said.” She rested her hand on Davy’s arm. “I’ll send Grace up with some soup, and
I want you to eat. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said, his head bobbing against the pillow.
“That’s a good lad.”
Helen swept from the room, but Andrew remained and ambled to the bedside. “Livy, Father suggested I go out this morning and cut the Christmas tree. I’d like you to come along. If you go bundle up, I’ll sit with Davy until Grace comes with his soup. What do you say?”
“I’d like to. It sounds nice. I saw the snow falling from the window.”
“Good. Dress your warmest. I’ll meet you at the side door in a few minutes.”
Livy nodded, and Andrew turned to Davy. “Would you like me to tell you a story of the lumber camp? How about a tale of Paul Bunyan and his great blue ox, Babe?”
Davy’s face brightened, and he scooted his head upward on the pillow. “Paul Bunyan? Is he a logger man?” His voice grated, but the cough seemed to have vanished.
Andrew chuckled. “Paul Bunyan is the greatest lumberjack around. And his ox, Babe, is so large he measures forty-two ax handles and a plug of chewing tobacco between the horns.”
Livy inched her way to the door. Though she was eager for a break, she’d love to stay and hear the tales of the mythological lumberjack. Guilt tugged at her, too, knowing she had little time for the luxury of a sleigh ride; but Andrew asked, and she couldn’t refuse.
“One day when Paul Bunyan came to the logging camp,” Andrew continued, “he spied a giant tree that…”
In the hallway, Livy peered a final time into the room as Andrew sat in the rocker, his animated hands detailing the story of Paul Bunyan. He had captured Davy’s interest, and Livy was grateful.
As Livy exited, Andrew’s gaze followed her to the doorway. To his amazement, his chest fluttered like an inexperienced oaf when she agreed to the sleigh ride. He forced himself to concentrate on the tale of Paul Bunyan, and when Grace arrived with the soup, he darted from the child’s bedside, anxious to meet Livy.
