by P. Creeden
“Ethan! I hope you brought your appetite along with that pie,” Ruth said as the two of them made their way into the dining room.
It relieved Ethan to find the places set for three. “I did. I’m just about hungry enough to eat a horse.”
“Excellent,” Ruth said with a smile. “I made enough to feed a horse, for certain.”
They both laughed at their inside joke, as they often used these exact phrases whenever Ethan came for dinner. He shot a glance toward Tabitha who smiled as she set plates of food before each place setting. She looked up at him. “Have a seat.”
He stood behind the chair but was unsure what he should do. Wouldn’t it be more gentlemanly to help Tabitha with her chair when it was time for her to sit? Or would he be remiss by waiting? Ruth smiled up at him and nodded toward the chair. After chewing his lip a bit, Ethan pulled out his chair and took a seat at the same time as Tabitha did across from him. She hadn’t waited for him and didn’t even meet gazes with him as if expecting him to help her sit. At least that much was good. They’d gotten past one of Ethan’s irrational worries. He still wasn’t certain how to behave around the young woman, but as they settled into eating Ruth’s shepherd’s pie, he began to relax a bit.
“Have I told you, Tabitha, that the piano in the parlor used to be Ethan’s mother’s?” Ruth asked as she swallowed a bite of food.
Tabitha shook her head, swallowing, her gaze darting from her aunt to Ethan. “I had no idea. Did your mother play?”
Ethan nodded. “She played for me quite frequently as I was growing up. She used to claim it was the only thing that would calm me down when I was a baby and teething. If she’d play the piano with one hand while bouncing me on her knee with the other, I’d stop crying.”
Ruth laughed. “It’s true. Although sometimes, I’d carry you about the room myself while your mother played. It seemed to be the one thing that could put you to sleep at times, too.”
A bit of loss pricked at Ethan’s heart. “I didn’t even know that, myself.”
Ruth nodded. “Ethan had the pleasure of growing up as a young child with two mothers. Neither Rebecca nor I had family in Belle when we were both married here. As neighbors, we became fast friends. When Rebecca was with child, I helped every way I could and afterward, acted as godmother to Ethan. I would have been godmother to his little sister, too, had both of them survived the breach birth.”
That pinprick of loss at Ethan’s heart turned into a squeeze as though his heart was in his farrier’s tongs. “I was only nine years old then.”
“Eight, actually, it was a couple months before your birthday. Both Rebecca and I were there for each other through several miscarriages. Although I never successfully carried a child to term, we both felt blessed that Ethan was in our lives.” Ruth’s voice grew quiet as she looked upon Ethan as only a mother could. “And Rebecca was there for me when I lost my husband, Herald, as well.”
Yes, Ethan missed his mother, but he loved that he had had Ruth all these years. How could he ever thank her?
“It’s good to have a strong friend like that, Aunt Ruth,” Tabitha said quietly, her eyes growing watery. “And you’re being a good friend to me, too. I thank you for it.”
Ruth reached across and patted her niece’s hand. “That’s what family is for. And you’re family, too, Ethan. I hate that you’ve been missing from my life the past few days, and hope that you’ll remedy that.”
The lump in Ethan’s throat lodged there tightly. He nodded and cleared his throat before speaking. “I will be by more often. I just wanted to give you time to spend with your niece without getting in the way.”
“You’ve never been in the way, Ethan. Never.”
How could he ever thank Ruth for all she’d done for him? His heart warmed at her words.
After supper, while Ruth and Ethan talked at the table, Tabitha cleaned up the kitchen. She was seeing a new side to the brawny man who lived next door. When he was sitting at the table with her Aunt Ruth, Ethan showed a softness that Tabitha didn’t know he was capable of. Without question, the man loved her aunt like one should love the godmother who helped raise him. But he hadn’t visited at all over the last few days. Apparently, that was a new development, since it seemed he used to come over daily. She hoped that she wasn’t the cause of it, though she knew she was. The pie that Ethan had brought over was just an ordinary apple, and Tabitha set it in the oven to warm it. Nothing tasted better than a warmed apple pie. And if John were there, he’d love to have some of that Boston vanilla ice cream that they made at the shop down the street.
The familiar ache that came when she thought of her husband remained but had dulled. Had the distance made things better? Or maybe it was just the fact that she wasn’t alone in the house. Either way, she was both happy that it had dulled, and guilty that it was fading. She wanted to respect her husband’s memory. She wanted to never forget him, but it hurt to remember him, too. She knew he wouldn’t want her to be in pain. John wasn’t that kind of man.
“Ruth sent me in here to see if you might need a hand,” Ethan said softly from behind her.
Tabitha swiped at her eyes before turning around and offered Ethan a smile. “Um... I’m not entirely sure where Ruth’s dessert plates are.”
Ethan nodded, his eyes crinkling a bit as he smiled back at her. Then he stepped up beside her and opened the cupboard to her right. He stood close enough to her that she could feel his heat against her shoulder. He smelled of musk and leather and sandalwood soap. Her heart fluttered in response. The plates overhead clattered together as he counted them with his fingertips and then pulled them down for her.
She held her breath as he handed them to her, her heart still racing. His fingertips touched hers as she took them, forcing her to swallow hard. Their gazes met, and for a moment, she could see the heat in them that she’d only ever seen in her husband’s eyes. It sent a shiver through her that she suppressed. Then he stepped back, and she could suddenly breathe again. As much as she wanted to, Tabitha couldn’t deny the attraction she had for the man. She didn’t understand why he would affect her so. He was nothing like John. Ethan was rough and abrupt and short-tempered. He didn’t seem to have much of a like for her. But then he’d shown her moments of kindness, soft smiles, and shown himself capable of a great deal of respect and affection toward her aunt.
He chewed his lip as though uncertain what to do for a moment, when Ruth called from the dining room. “Is there anything the matter?”
That’s when Tabitha smelled the slightly acrid odor of burning pie. She gasped and grabbed hold of the towel to take it from the oven. More smoke rose from the pie than should have as she placed it on the counter. She waved the towel at it and shook her head, meeting eyes with Ethan again. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to warm it just a little. I didn’t mean to leave it in there for so long.”
He shook his head and eyed the darkened pie. Then he offered her a smile. “Although the crust is one of my favorite parts, it seems that if you cut the outer edge, it will still be edible.”
She looked at the dessert and let out a sigh. The outer edge was the only part that was completely black although the rest of the pie had browned a bit more than it should have. Her stomach twisted, and she couldn’t help but stick out her lip in a pout. “I wish there were time to bake another.”
He set a hand on hers against the counter, and her heart skipped a beat. She nearly gasped again.
“It will be all right. Do you want me to cut the pie for you?” He squeezed her hand and then let it go.
How could he be so calm? Was her heart the only one racing? She shook her head. “I’ll do it,” she barely could whisper past her suddenly dry throat.
With a nod, he stepped away from her again and headed out into the dining area. This was the second time that he’d held her hand, and both times, she’d felt warmth to her core from his touch. Why did he have such an effect on her? Was she so lonely after losing John that just any man would do?
Her jaw clenched at the thought. She certainly hoped not.
Chapter 6
As Ethan lay on his pallet that night after the dinner of shepherd’s pie, he couldn’t get Ruth’s niece out of his mind. She was puzzling. Each time he looked at her, he saw a different facet of her. Like a jewel. This wasn’t the way most women were. It wasn’t the way Laura had been. After Laura, he’d seen how mean and vindictive a woman could be, even when they wore a kind exterior. He began to feel that maybe it was just women his age—that maybe they liked to pretend to be coy when in reality they were ready to tear out men’s hearts and stomp on them. They weren’t like Ruth.
But Tabitha wasn’t quite like Ruth, either. She was different. Different from Ruth and different from Laura. It was the reason he couldn’t stop turning things over in his mind. What made Tabitha different was the way she had her heart on her sleeve. He could see her every emotion full on her face. Fear, sadness, happiness—Tabitha didn’t use guile to hide her emotions. And she seemed to have so many of them, even compared to Ruth’s calmness.
The crickets chirped outside the open window of the room above the shop and a breeze blew in. Ethan lay on top of his blanket because of the heat. He’d noticed that he tended to be hotter than most people, and often needed to take measures to cool down when others were fine. Then, like clockwork, the music began. His heart skipped a beat.
Every night at around nine o’clock, Tabitha had taken to playing the piano. Sometimes it was that lullaby that his mother used to play. Sometimes it was something else. It made no difference what she played. The music had an effect on him. Tabitha was having an effect on him. He didn’t want to admit it, but after spending time with her that night at dinner, he’d come to realize that it was true. His affections toward her were growing, and he wanted to see more of her.
He let out a slow breath. Even though she only played for about a half an hour, it was a moment in time that he’d begun to look forward to all day long. Sometimes during the day and in the morning, he’d hear the piano playing, but it was different. The first time he ventured a peek toward the house and saw someone else playing the piano, he hadn’t been surprised. He’d known it was someone else’s hand.
Tabitha played like his mother did. The students that Tabitha taught didn’t play in the same soft way.
And he didn’t enjoy listening to their works as much as he enjoyed it at nine o’clock at night. With a sigh he let the worries of the day fall away as he listened to the music. And by the time it ended, he’d fallen asleep.
Over the next few days, it had become a routine. Sometime during the day at about lunch time, Tabitha came into the shop to invite Ethan for dinner. Each time she came in, she seemed a bit timid, but he finally figured out that it wasn’t about him. She was afraid of the horses. It occurred to him when she flinched as one of the horses snorted. But she was getting braver. He had respect for the fact that she continued to come into the shop whether there was a horse in it or not. She wasn’t the kind to let fear stop her from doing what she needed to do. That’s what bravery was. It wasn’t about not being afraid, but not letting fear overcome sense. And Tabitha was doing just that.
When Sunday came around, Ethan was excited but nervous for church. His normal routine was to walk to church in the morning with Ruth, allowing her to lean on him since she’d hurt her foot, and then sit with her in the pew during service. The night before, Ruth had said she’d see him in the morning, so though they hadn’t discussed it, he was certain that Ruth expected him to be there promptly in the morning so that they could make it to church early enough for some fellowship with the other parishioners.
Once he’d cleaned up and wore his best shirt and jacket, he headed over to Ruth’s house. Only a few clouds dotted the pale blue sky overhead. Birds sang in the trees. June was promising to be a pleasant summer. But before he could reach Ruth’s, he found his father marching toward the shop with a frown wrinkling his forehead. The older man’s hair was a mess from him running his hands through it. “They won’t do anything about it, son. Those men are coming this way whether we like it or not. A whole group of blacksmiths. How are we going to function? What are we going to do?”
The frown on his father’s face had been contagious, and one tugged at Ethan’s lip even though the day seemed like it was going to be so nice. Honestly, with everything else that had been going on, he’d forgotten about what his father had told him earlier in the week. He cleared his throat. “I guess we’ll have to keep doing things the way we’ve always done them, Dad. There’s nothing we can do about it if they come. We just have to work hard and keep things honest. God-willing, we’ll keep all the customers we have.”
“God-willing?” the old man hissed between his teeth as he shook his head. “You know the bible says that ‘God helps those who help themselves.’”
“Actually,” Ethan said softly. “It doesn’t say that. That saying isn’t in the bible.”
His father narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you sassing me, boy?”
Ethan blinked at his father, his hands suddenly forming fists as heat rose in his body. In the past his father had used those same words moments before he’d take Ethan to task. Although his father hadn’t hit him in about ten years, the anger in his father’s face was evident. It was not an unusual thing for Abraham Younger to lose his temper. But Ethan had to remain logical. “No, sir,” he said through his teeth. “I’m not sassing you.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand Ethan’s father turned away from him. “I gotta get to the church. Loads of our customers are going to be there today and I need to make an appearance and talk to people and make sure that they all know what’s going on. Maybe if I can get ahead of these new blacksmiths and cut them off... I hear they’re Mexican. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.”
Bile rose up in Ethan’s throat as his father continued mumbling to himself and marching away. Would he really try to use someone’s heritage against them? He hoped his father wouldn’t stoop so low. God wouldn’t bless that kind of behavior, and neither would Ethan. But as he stood there frowning, he heard the front door to Ruth’s house shut against the jamb. He swallowed hard as the sun glinted off the golden highlights in Tabitha’s hair when she stepped off the porch, a hand out to Ruth. Ethan’s eyes went wide as he rushed forward and jogged over to help.
Before Ruth had reached the bottom step, she leaned upon his arm. “It’s lovely to see you this fine morning, Ethan.”
“Not as lovely as you look in your Sunday best, Ruth,” he said with a grin. It was another bit of playful banter that they’d often engaged in on the way to church.
Tabitha shook her head. “I could have helped Ruth to the church today, Ethan. You already do so much for her... for us.”
Ruth lifted a brow. “Nonsense. I raised the boy—he can never do too much for me. Right, Ethan?”
He patted her hand upon his elbow. “That’s right, Ruth. I owe you my life.”
“Well,” Ruth said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Together the three of them strolled toward the church. The slightest hint of honeysuckle reached his nose. Tabitha’s scent. He nearly shivered in response to it. Instead he swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. By the time they made it to the rectory and found their pew, most of the members of the church were already in the building and milling about. Ethan frowned when he saw his father huddled together with a group of the deacons.
“Is something wrong?” Tabitha asked from next to him.
He blinked and then drew his gaze away from the group around his father and met her eyes. Her maple brown eyes were soft pools he could get lost in. He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Her forehead wrinkled as she lifted a brow. Then her gaze darted to the group of deacons and back to him. “Are you certain?”
The tension in his shoulders released as he let out a breath and smiled. For some reason it felt good that she cared, and she wasn’t ready to let him just offer her a pl
atitude. In that way, she was like Ruth. She cared. He nodded. “Do you know the story of Henny Penny?”
An incredulous look flickered across her features. “The children’s story about the chicken?”
He huffed a laugh. “The same. Well, my father is a lot like Henny Penny. If the sky is not falling this week, it might next.”
Her eyebrows shot up as she peered over toward the group again. Then realization came over her. “The man in the light brown shirt is your father.”
It wasn’t a question. And a blind man could nearly see the resemblance between them. Though, in honesty he hoped that he only took after his father in appearance. Instead of saying any of that, though, he just offered Tabitha a knowing smile. She returned it and then turned toward a woman her aunt introduced her to. At the same time, Ethan’s father called him over to the group. Ethan’s jaw tightened as he bit down hard on his molars. It would suit him just fine if his father didn’t bring him into the middle of his imagined conflict. Still, as a respectful son, he needed to see to his father. He squeezed Ruth’s hand and leaned in toward her. “My father wants to see me.”
Ruth nodded and pulled her hand from his elbow and leaned instead on the back of the pew. “We’ll save a seat for you.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. Ruth always knew how to get one out of him, even when he didn’t want to smile. Then he made his way over to his father.
Just as he got there, his father set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “You all know that my son is a fine farrier. A natural. He might even be better than me... someday. But his growth could be stifled if suddenly we find our small shop with only half the business it used to have. So we’re both asking you as longtime citizens of Belle—please keep bringing your horses to us. We will continue to give you better service than you can get anywhere else. And if you find that the new blacksmith has a better price, we’ll match it. Don’t let anything draw your eyes toward unfaithfulness. Many a man has regretted his infidelity.”
