by Linda Ford
He stopped pounding in a nail to tip his head toward the house next door, hoping for the sound of voices, but the windows were closed and he heard nothing. A trip to the stack of lumber allowed him to look at the house and he saw Isabelle at the stove. Was she making more hot cocoa? A good memory of her mother.
She had suggested he share memories of Violet with Mattie but there were no sweet memories. She had never made cocoa for Mattie. Had avoided as much as possible lifting her from her cot when she wakened. When Dawson was home, Violet never held Mattie on her lap. She’d never rushed to the door to welcome Dawson home or made him a cup of coffee. Nor baked cookies. Dawson had done his best to make up for Violet’s lack of interest in their daughter. Thankfully, his mother had lived nearby and she gave Mattie the attention she deserved.
He worked steadily—if somewhat distractedly—for two hours, then went to the door and knocked.
Isabelle opened the door. “Come in. She’s just getting her coat on.”
“Smells good in here.”
“We baked cookies. Would you like some? Mattie, bring your papa some of the cookies you made.”
Mattie picked up a plate of misshapen objects and offered it to him.
“These look delicious.” He chose two and bit into one. “They’re as good as they look.”
“They’re snickerdoodles.” Mattie choked back a giggle.
“That’s a funny name for a cookie.” He waggled his eyebrows and was rewarded with the flicker of a smile. He could wish for more but would take that as a sign that she would soon be back to her normal, cheerful self.
They went to the livery barn, got his horse and rode home in silence—but not an uncomfortable one. She leaned her head against his back and he tucked her arms under his.
The next day Mattie eagerly prepared to leave. He knew school wasn’t the draw… Visiting Isabelle was. Tension edged through his insides. He was allowing a lot to ride on Isabelle’s time here. His fists clenched on the reins.
They arrived at the store and he dropped Mattie off to go to class, took the horse to the livery barn before he set to work on the school, where again he was the only man to show up. If Grandfather knew, he would likely ride to town and call a meeting in which he would make every man understand this to be a joint project…not a Marshall one. Dawson didn’t mean to tell him. Besides, they’d all promised to work on Saturday.
Again he found his gaze and his thoughts turning toward the house next door. Isabelle went to the store once and twice came out to get wood.
Mattie again came over after school, this time allowing Dawson to hug her. Things would soon be back to normal between them.
Friday morning, he hoped they’d reached that place as Mattie clung to him on the ride to town. Maybe she was discovering it took too much energy to remain angry.
Something about those words accused him, but before he could analyze that thought they’d arrived in town. He left Mattie at the store and went to work. “Morning,” he called to two men already working on the school. Finally some help, and having the other two there, calling out to each other, asking questions, standing side by side to muse over a problem, made it possible for him to keep his thoughts from wandering to the house next door. The day passed quickly until the time when Mattie skipped over after school.
She said hello to the others and gave Dawson a quick hug, in a hurry to go next door.
He stared after her. Would she and Isabelle sit and discuss Violet? Would Isabelle give Mattie an unrealistic picture of a loving mother? Wouldn’t the truth destroy his daughter?
“Here, give me a hand with this.”
He shook off his endless questions and focused on the work before him. But his concern returned with a hundred companions when he went to get Mattie.
Isabelle and Mattie both looked pleased. Mattie tucked something into her coat pocket. He couldn’t see what and a warning bell tolled in his head.
“Thank you,” he said to Isabelle.
“My pleasure,” she said, a smile lighting her face. “She’s a sweet child.”
He waited, wondering if she had more to say. When it seemed she didn’t, he agreed with her statement.
“I made something.” Mattie pulled the folded papers from her pocket. “You want to see it?”
The warning bell increased in volume. “Of course I do.”
“Come in and sit down.” Isabelle indicated the chairs at the table.
He sat down and pulled Mattie to his knee. Isabelle sat in the chair beside him.
Mattie laid a little booklet on the table. “It’s a story about my life.”
He ground his teeth together. Her life, according to Isabelle, must include Violet.
Mattie turned the first page. She’d drawn a crooked barn with what he understood to be a horse beside it. Beneath she had printed the words I live on a ranch.
With a rattle of paper, she turned to the second page, a picture of a table with several stick figures sitting around it. I have lots in my family.
Dawson’s tension mounted with every turn of the pages. Aunt Annie is a good cook. Grandfather reads to me. My papa hugs me lots. I like my kittens. Each page had a picture drawn by Mattie. They came to the final page and he closed his eyes, afraid of what he’d read.
Mattie read the words aloud. “‘God loves me lots.’”
Dawson opened his eyes and stared. Nothing about Violet.
Isabelle chuckled. “You needn’t look so surprised.”
He hugged Mattie. “That was a very nice book. You must show it to Aunt Annie and Grandfather and the others when they get back.”
“I will.”
“Now run outside and wait by Jumper.”
She faced him. “Are you going to say something mean to Isabelle?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“’Cause you do.”
Her words accused him. He wished he could deny it but he couldn’t. Yes, he’d been harsh with her. If this booklet was any indication, he had perhaps been wrong. She could have used the afternoon to encourage Mattie to think about Violet. They could have drawn fancy clothes, big-city life. Instead, she’d guided the child into seeing how much she loved the ranch.
“I won’t be mean. I promise.”
“Okay.” Mattie went outside. He waited until he could see her by the horse then turned to Isabelle.
“You surprised me.”
She lowered her gaze. “I gathered that.” Her dark eyes met his. “I hope it was a good surprise.”
“It was. I half expected…” He shrugged.
She quirked her brows. “You thought I would want Mattie to talk about her mother. I only asked that I be allowed to answer any questions she had.” She studied him a moment, her gaze sliding over him making him want something…a connection, a sharing, a—
He shook his head. He could not trust those feelings. Nor could he deny them.
Isabelle chuckled softly, further unsettling him. “Mattie is a very happy, content child. I have no wish to change that.” She put her hand on his arm, gentle and warm. “Isn’t it time you trusted me?” Her eyes were as dark as a new moon, full of kindness and something more. Something he recognized as an echo of his own heart. Longing for someone to share life with.
He covered her hand with his own. “Trust does not come easy for me.”
“I understand that. But at least give it a chance.”
Their look went on and on. He couldn’t say what she saw or felt but he found a whole world of possibility. Possibility that both attracted and frightened. He had trusted before and paid an awful price. But Grandfather was right—he had to stop judging Isabelle to be like Violet.
The door opened and Mattie rushed in. “Papa, are we going home?”
“Be right there.” He smiled at Isabelle. “Thank you again.” He could almost wish tomorrow wasn’t Saturday. Mattie wouldn’t be attending school. He’d have no excuse to visit the doctor’s house.
*
Da
wson returned to the school the next day, glad to see a group of men ready to go to work. They looked to him for direction and he soon had them cutting wood and adding it to the walls. He paused a moment after he nailed a board in place and stood back, pleased to see how quickly the work proceeded with so many hands. At this rate, the school would soon be finished.
He’d be able to go check on his cows.
He’d have no more need to be in town.
But, of course, someone would still need to get Mattie after school. He would do that and perhaps be able to catch glimpses of Isabelle.
As if on cue, she stepped from the house to get firewood. He watched her pick up an armful. She turned and their gazes locked. A smile lifted her lips and lit his heart. The look went on and on until she ducked away as if embarrassed by his long study of her, and she slipped inside and closed the door.
The wood-chippy smell of freshly sawn wood mixed with the odor of men hard at work faded, replaced with the remembered scent of gingerbread and something more that tugged at his thoughts, settled deep into his heart—a delicate sweetness. He shut his eyes and let the memory of that scent fill his mind. It was Isabelle. He’d discovered a different sort of city woman in her…one who strove to learn the skills she lacked, one who cared tenderly for a little girl. One who—
“Hey, Dawson.”
He turned at the familiar voice. “Johnny, when did you get back?”
“Two days ago.” His smile flattened. “Pa isn’t feeling well. He needs my help. Otherwise I would never have returned.”
“Why not? Your friends are here.” Dawson gave his pal a playful punch on his shoulder.
“And everywhere I turn, I’m reminded of Phebe.” He stared into the distance.
Dawson nodded sympathetically. Phebe had been a friend of Violet’s and had treated Johnny poorly…just as Violet had treated Dawson. A muscle in his neck twitched. Both were city women.
Isabelle came out again for more wood and Dawson watched her every move until she returned inside. Then he realized Johnny had observed it all. He swung his hammer. “Got to get back to work.”
Johnny dogged his steps. “You fancy that gal?”
Dawson didn’t have to ask whom he meant. “She watches Mattie for me after school.”
“You didn’t learn your lesson with Violet?”
“What lesson would that be?” He clenched the hammer so hard his knuckles whitened.
“Dawson, my friend, if you think a rich city girl is better than an ordinary city girl, you are headed for a lot of trouble.”
“Rich? Why do you say that?”
Johnny snorted. “Because I have eyes. Do you?”
“Of course I do.” He’d seen the black skirt and white shirtwaist Isabelle wore. Not unlike what many of the women wore. Perhaps a little better quality.
“I’m going to hazard a guess that all her clothes are extra fine and fit like a seamstress made them.”
“I don’t know how one could tell that by looking at her.” Dawson’s mind harkened back to the woolen coat she had arrived in, with its matching bonnet, to the blue dress she’d gone to the ranch in and to the dark purple dress she’d worn on Sunday. Yes, he might have noted that she wore fine clothes…city clothes. Did that make her rich?
“Seems to me you’re asking for more heartache if you let yourself be interested in another woman like Violet.”
“You’re awfully quick to judge. Who’s to say she’s like Violet?”
“I got eyes. What did you say her name was?”
Dawson gave her name, again wondering why it seemed familiar. “Looks like I’m needed over there.” He hurried away before Johnny could say anything more.
Was he repeating his earlier mistake of caring for someone who would hurt him? This time he had more than himself to be concerned about. He had Mattie to consider.
*
Isabelle wandered about the rooms. She’d tidied and dusted. She’d put meat and vegetables in the oven. Oven pot roast, the recipe said. Isabelle thought it too simple to justify a recipe…not that she minded. Or perhaps she had grown in her ability to make meals and run the house. The thought brought a pleased smile to her lips.
She’d been in and out of the house a number of times for different reasons and always stopped to watch the work on the schoolhouse. Eight or ten men had shown up bright and early. Soon the school would be ready. Sadie would be so pleased. So would Grandfather Marshall. Isabelle gathered he fretted at how slow the rebuilding progressed and chafed because he couldn’t help.
Everyone who passed or who went to the store stopped to watch the progress, so Isabelle’s interest could not be misunderstood. Even though she watched Dawson more than she watched the building. Surely she wasn’t mistaken in thinking his gaze sought her and settled on her for a moment with a smile and nod.
But she couldn’t stand about all day watching him, and she hurried back inside and found another chore to do.
The morning passed quickly enough but the afternoon yawned. Kate and the doctor were kept busy with patients. After dinner, the doctor was called away and Kate went with him.
Isabelle had to find a way to amuse herself without standing outdoors watching the men work…though she couldn’t have said who any of them were apart from Dawson.
She picked up her book A Guide to Practical Housewifery and tried to concentrate on the chapter discussing gardening. No doubt Annie planted a big garden at the ranch. Could Isabelle plant a garden here? She’d ask Dawson. She chuckled. He’d be surprised at such a request, but then, he was slowly learning that Isabelle was not like Violet, apart from being from the city.
She chewed on her bottom lip. What would happen if anyone learned the truth about who she really was?
A wagon rattled by on the street.
Footsteps clattered on the front step. More people to see the doctor. But a knock sounded on the door to the living quarters. Before Isabelle could call out an invitation to enter, the door burst open and Annie rushed inside.
“Who wants to go to the river and see if the ice is breaking up?”
“But isn’t the water already running? It was at the waterfall.”
“Just underneath. Soon the entire ice surface will break up.” Annie grabbed her arm. “Come on. I’ve never seen it even though I’ve always wanted to. Get your coat. Where’s Kate?”
At least Isabelle knew how to answer that question. “She’s helping her father.”
“What about Sadie?”
“I saw her go into the store a while ago. I think she’s preparing lessons.”
Annie glanced out the window. “Dawson will see me if I go over there. I don’t want him to know where I’m going.”
Isabelle hesitated with her coat half on. “Why?” Reckless was a word spoken often in connection to Annie. Was she about to embark on one of those adventures?
“He thinks I should stay home and twiddle my thumbs. Just because Violet did foolish things and got herself killed. She was a city woman and never liked the ranch. But because of her, Dawson thinks everything I do that’s fun is dangerous. Phfft. I’m only nineteen. I don’t intend to be old just yet. Come on.” She half dragged Isabelle out the door.
Isabelle pulled back. “Wait. I better leave a note so Kate will know where I’ve gone.”
“Very well. But be quick.” Annie watched out the window.
Isabelle studied her a moment. Was she afraid Dawson would see them? Would he forbid Annie to go? Isabelle almost snorted. Annie wouldn’t heed Dawson if she had a plan of her own in mind, so Isabelle scribbled out a note. An adventure sounded like what she needed at the moment.
“Good. Now hurry.” Annie raced down to the side street to where she’d left the wagon. Isabelle knew no one at the school would have seen it.
Annie had the reins in her hands before Isabelle could climb aboard and she scrambled to get to the bench before Annie drove off.
“Hi.” Mattie jumped up from behind the seat, giving Isabelle a fright.
She laughed and returned the child’s greeting.
“Did I scare you?”
“You did indeed.”
“We’re going to see the ice break up on the river.”
“That’s what your aunt says.” They traversed the length of the street. Carly waited for them, mounted on horseback.
“I thought you changed your mind. Or Dawson changed it for you.” She directed her comments to Annie.
“Nope,” Annie replied, checking over her shoulder. “Now let’s get going.”
They headed to the east. Isabelle glanced back to town. What was going on? “Isn’t the river behind us?” On their trip to Bella Creek they had crossed a narrow, frozen stream south of the town.
“That’s just a little creek. We’re going to the river that borders Carly’s father’s land. The Mineral River. Her father said he thought the ice would break up today.”
The wagon rattled on at a pace that made Isabelle cling to the bench, and that made it impossible to carry on a conversation. Isabelle glanced back to make sure Mattie was safe. She clutched the back of the seat, her eyes flashing with sheer pleasure. Isabelle could only hope and pray none of them would be tossed from the racing wagon. They careened around corners and bounced over rocks. “Lord, keep us safe,” Isabelle shouted in prayer.
Annie spared her a pained look. “You’re sounding like Dawson.”
Isabelle decided she respected Dawson very much at the moment.
She could see the river ahead. “Thank You, God.” Now their frightening journey would end.
They jerked to a stop and Annie and Mattie jumped down. Carly was already on the ground waiting.
“Are you coming?” they asked in unison.
Isabelle ordered her hands to let go of the wood of the seat. She forced her shaking legs to climb off the wagon and followed the others toward the river. Well, she reassured herself, at least she wasn’t bored.
Carly pointed out the water bubbling through the ice and spreading across the surface. “It will be soon now, if Father is correct.”
Isabelle glanced up and down the bank. A dozen or more people watched the river. This must be a special event, though she was at a loss to know what was so special about watching water coming up from under the ice.
