by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
“You always say that when you start in on Walden.” Lewis laughed at her.
She lifted her chin. “I shall go there with my students, at the very least.” She turned the page to the first chapter and began reading. “ ‘When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had built myself, on the shore of Walden Pond, in Concord, Massachusetts, and earned my living by the labor of my hands only.’ ” She spared a glance at Lewis, wondering if this was the best choice of reading material when encouraging her brother to seek steady employment, but she shrugged and lost herself in the beauty of the woods.
The flames burned low while she read. Her voice cracked as she sneezed and coughed, and at last she gave up. Lewis stirred and put fresh logs in the fireplace. “I’ll finish up down here.”
Times like this, Lewis was so sweet, she could almost forget the worry he had caused her over the weekend. Almost.
“ ‘Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.’ ” Daniel closed Walden and put it back in its space on Grandpa’s shelf. Thoreau alternately enlightened and confused, expanded and enraged. The mental exercises had proved most helpful while Daniel was in the army, helping to keep long hours of boredom at bay. He wondered what Miss Schoolmarm Farley would say if she knew he had carried a slim copy of the book with him in his knapsack, next to his Bible. When a rainstorm had washed away his tent and the two books with it, he wasn’t sure which he missed more.
He shook his head. He knew better. Thoreau was only a man, with man’s words. He doubted people would be reading them two, three, or however many thousands of years from now, the way they did the Word of God as given in the Bible. No man’s words could change a life the way God-breathed scripture could and did.
He walked around the house, as he did each night before bed. Should he go down to the jail to see if any news had come in about the robbers? He shook himself. No need. If something happened, Dixon would alert him straightaway. He needed sleep, but as he had been so many nights before battle, he was too restless to do more than doze. Unlike the battlefield, where he could stare at the enemy’s campfires, here he battled an invisible and unknown enemy.
As in the war, his enemy was someone close to him, a fight between brothers and neighbors, the bitterest fight of all. He frowned. At least he had proved his two brothers innocent of the crime. Hiram stayed busy night and day at the farm, and besides, he was well short of five-nine. Simeon had been at his side when the robbers came.
Not that Daniel seriously suspected either one of them. But he had vowed to consider every man in the vicinity, be they friend, family, or foe. As constable, he had to act fairly, but his heart heaved a sigh of relief when he could eliminate his cousins and nephews from the suspect list.
About two dozen possibilities remained, three if you counted men a little too old or who didn’t quite fit the physical description they had of the robbers. Tomorrow, he would check the alibis they had provided.
Perhaps he should have gone out tonight. He could have spoken with the barkeep who had served Lewis Farley and his cronies. No, best he wait until morning, when the man might be sober, if cross.
Daniel strayed up to the top floor of the house. Opening the door to the nursery, he could almost see shadows of his former self kneeling in front of the toy chest. He’d had enough toy soldiers for a battalion, and they marched into battle time and again. He recreated the two battles of Fort Ticonderoga. When he could convince Simeon to join him, they took the parts of their father and his friend Tobias, lurking around Burlington during the second war with Britain. As a boy, Daniel had dreamed of the day he would become a soldier like his father and grandfather. He cupped his left elbow with his right hand. Others before him had died. He shouldn’t complain about the loss of a limb.
Although, God forgive him, at times he thought he’d be better off dead. God had protected him from himself, and he had survived healthy of body and of mind. But the sooner he got out of this house, designed for family and children, the better off he’d be. He shut bedroom doors to the taunting echoes of childhood laughter before retiring downstairs.
Hiram counseled him to hold on to the house until the day he had a family of his own to fill the rooms. But Daniel knew better. He would never have a family of his own.
Chapter 6
Early the following morning, Daniel heard someone pounding on the door. Frantic that he had missed a new development regarding the bank robbery, he jumped into his breeches and fumbled into his shirt while racing down the stairs. Clara Farley waited at the door. One look at his disheveled state, and she glanced overhead, her nose wrinkling up into her glasses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so early. You did say to come by this morning and …”
He became aware of the empty sleeve dangling below his elbow. He hadn’t taken the time to pin it up as he usually did. His shirttails dangled below his waist. Stubble covered his cheeks, which was a good thing, because he could feel heat rushing into them. Since she had a brother, she must have seen men before their morning ablutions, but he was nonetheless embarrassed.
Propriety might dictate she remain outside while he dressed more thoroughly, but the gusty wind stirring her hair convinced him otherwise.
“Come in and wait in the parlor while I make myself presentable.” Without further pleasantries, he escaped to his bedroom and dressed himself properly. This morning no comb could tame his hair, so he settled for a splash of tonic. That reminded him of the description of the odor Beaton had detected during the robbery. He didn’t feel comfortable asking men what kind of hair tonic or cologne they used; he had peeked around their homes when he could and let his nose do the investigating the rest of the time. Nothing had come to light so far.
He returned downstairs to a deserted parlor. From the back of the house, the odor of sizzling bacon grease and stout coffee teased him. As he made his way down the hall, he heard sounds stirring in the kitchen. Clara had unearthed one of Grandmother’s aprons, a yellowed pinafore, and was stirring enough scrambled eggs to feed Hiram’s family. Bacon nestled on a stack of toast in the center of the table.
“You’re fixing breakfast.” Brilliant conversation.
She turned around so fast that she almost spilled the eggs from the cast-iron skillet. “It was the least I could do, since I arrived at such a terrible hour.” Wrapping her hand with the pinafore the way he had seen his mother do hundreds of times, Clara used it as protection against the heat of the coffeepot as she poured him a mug. “I made it extra strong. I believe you said you liked it that way.” She wrinkled up her nose in that endearing way of hers, as if she couldn’t believe it.
“I do.” He blew on it to cool it a tad and then took a deep drink. “Ah. Just right.” He gestured at the eggs she spooned into a bowl. “I hope you’re planning on eating something with me.”
“Don’t worry about me. I had breakfast before I left home.” She poured tea from a teapot she had steeping and sat down across from him.
She was so thin, it wouldn’t hurt her to eat a little more. She needed someone to take care of her. “I insist. I can’t eat all this by myself. You must have developed some appetite on your walk into town.” Without waiting for her answer, he grabbed a plate from the cupboard and added bacon and buttered toast to a mound of eggs.
She smiled and nibbled on a slice of toast the way he had seen his sisters do when they wanted to be polite. He pretended not to notice, and soon she tucked into the food with a genuine appetite.
As soon as she cleared her plate, she reached for the now-empty bowl and stood to her feet.
“Sit down.” Daniel was surprised how much he enjoyed bossing her around. “Keep me company while I finish eating these delicious eggs. I’ll clean up later.” He smiled at her, and she eased back into the chair.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten such a pleasant breakfast. The only thing mi
ssing was hot buttered biscuits.
“I didn’t even think of biscuits.” Clara looked ready to jump from her chair again, and Daniel realized he had spoken aloud. Now he felt heat rushing into his cheeks. Maybe she would blame the color on razor burn.
Daniel swallowed every bite while drinking three cups of coffee and could have eaten the food Clara had consumed if she hadn’t already finished it.
She looked so right, so comfortable, in that kitchen, which had intimidated even his mother. The room had been the cook’s domain, and few people challenged it. He could get used to sharing breakfast with a woman like this every day. Stop it, he reminded himself. No woman would want him, certainly not a woman as fine as Clara. He took care of the dirty dishes and stilled his racing feelings before returning to the business at hand.
“Thank you for that delicious meal.” He rubbed his midsection in appreciation. “Where do you want to look first?”
“I’d like to start with the attic rooms.” Her fingers fumbled with the apron ties.
“Let me help you.” As soon as he reached for the bow, he could have cursed himself. Her two hands were better than his single hand. He stood behind her, breathing in her fresh scent, like gardenias. She seemed to sense his hesitation and leaned back into him, making it easy for him to hold the strings in place with his stump while his right hand picked the knot apart. He managed to untangle the threads, and she lifted the loop over her neck before replacing it on the hook. He looked at her, their eyes only inches apart. “You said you want to see the attic first?” His voice came out like a schoolboy’s.
She nodded.
He smiled, hoping to put them both at ease, and moved to the stairway. He’d never seen her in a hoop dress that he could remember. He didn’t know how women managed with those things, although Dixon said they sold almost faster than he could get them in. She didn’t lack the funds, so maybe she found the style silly?
They reached the staircase, and he decided she avoided them because of their impracticality. Hoop skirts called for sweeping staircases, even wider than the ones in this house. He enjoyed watching the sway of her hips as she ascended the steps without the assistance of the rail, not pausing even at the second-floor landing. On the third floor, she peeked into the two smallerside rooms, where the staff had slept, without taking measurements.
A pleasant sigh escaped her lips when she walked into the nursery. “What a lovely room. You must have many happy memories of this place.” She walked straight across the room to the window looking out the back. “From the looks of it, there was once a lovely garden back here.”
“My mother’s pride and joy. Her interest in growing things is what drew her to my father, back in that horrible Year of No Summer when frost killed the crops.”
“I don’t know how my parents met. Mama never told me before she died, and then Papa was too sad.”
How unfortunate. Daniel knew the history of his family back to the days his great-grandfathers had helped settle Maple Notch at the end of the French and Indian War. “I was sorry to learn of your father’s passing. I didn’t know him well, but from what I could tell, he was a fine man.”
“He was.” She bent down to examine the books on a low shelf, and a nostalgic look crossed her face. “I see some old favorites here.” A smile erased the earlier pain. She pulled out a book with a cracked leather binding. “Your Bible. Of course.” She leafed through it, smiling here and there. “I can tell this has been well used.”
“A chapter every morning and night from the time I could read. Grandfather wouldn’t let me read anything else until I heard from God.”
Continuing her perusal, she giggled. “Weems’ Life of Washington I might have expected, or Webster’s spelling book, but Love Triumphant by Abner Reed?”
“I do have two sisters.” He managed to keep a straight face. He would never admit to reading the book to discover how to get a girl interested in him. His attempts had failed, in any case. No sweetheart stayed behind when he went off to war.
She lifted a stack of magazines with pages half torn out. “Oh, I read so many of these. They look like they’ll fall apart if I handle them, though.” She settled them back into their place on the shelf and stood. “This room would make a marvelous studio.” She took out the same notebook he had seen before and made notations.
A pang struck Daniel’s heart at the thought of dismantling the room that held so many childhood memories, but he chided himself. “Will you want to make changes to the structure?”
She finished making a note before she looked up. “If I buy the house, I might.”
“And you plan to turn it into a school? For women?”
She looked at him as if he was slow. They had discussed all this before. “Yes.”
His heart beat rapidly. He hated to think of this place that had once been both home and retreat turned into an institution. Where’s your sense of family, of the legacy you’ve been handed?
Simeon’s voice played in his head. It’s too much house for you by yourself. And the truth is, it’s too valuable an asset to let it sit unoccupied and unused.
If they were in a different part of the country, the house would make an excellent place for recuperating wounded. A lot of houses had been pressed into service that way. But praise God, the only action Maple Notch had seen was the robbery last Friday, and only Whitson had sustained any injury.
Be a good steward. Pass it on to someone who can make use of it. Simeon’s advice came back to mind. Ever the businessman, he was also a faithful Christian. Trust him to make a spiritual application out of a business decision.
But Daniel wasn’t ready to let go, of either the house or its history. He would also miss the excuse to meet with the opinionated Miss Farley. His desire not to see the house changed warred with his curiosity about what she would do with it.
Clara snapped her notebook shut and turned to him. “I’m ready to see the first floor.”
Clara took in every detail of the solid carpentry of the house, the smooth finish of the floor, the quality of wood in the stair rail. Hiram Bailey had prepared a fine home for his bride, built with pride and quality, and had kept it equipped with the latest of conveniences. It offered plenteous space and a pleasant learning environment—both important qualities in any institution of learning.
She had peeked into the front rooms on her way to the kitchen that morning. An occasional guest in the Bailey home, she had seen the front parlor on numerous occasions. The only room she had never visited on the first floor was the study. Rumor said Hiram Bailey kept a fine library, and she wanted to see for herself.
One glance at the walls of the room confirmed the rumor. She had only seen so many books in one place at the seminary’s library. “May I?” When he nodded approval, she took down a title at random—a bound copy of Thomas Paine’s Common Sense. The pages showed signs of multiple readings. She put it back on the shelf and ran her fingers along the row until she came to a Bible.
“Be careful,” Daniel said.
A chunk from the middle of the Bible fell into her hands. Pencil and pen marks covered the pages. “You should keep this somewhere safe.” She put it together again and laid it carefully on the edge of the desk, not attempting to stack it back on the shelf.
“I probably should put it away somewhere, but I enjoy reading my grandfather’s thoughts. I still read a chapter morning and evening, like he said. Besides, not many people come in here.”
Clara continued skimming the titles, row after row of neatly aligned books alphabetized by the author’s last name. At last she came to a shelf with an empty spot among the books, suggesting a volume had been removed. She had reached the place where Thoreau’s books would be. She found Civil Disobedience and Slavery in Massachusetts, but Walden was missing.
“I’m reading Walden at the moment. You won’t find it there.”
She felt his hazel eyes burning into the back of her neck.
“I made it my goal to read every one of Grandfat
her’s books.” He came alongside her. “Then I might start adding to his collection.”
She covered her laugh with a hiccup, but Daniel glanced at her.
“Do you find the thought amusing?”
Her hiccup hadn’t convinced him. “Oh, no, not at all. I was just reading Walden myself last night. I find parts of his work—unsettling. Thought provoking.” Clara’s hand dropped from the spine of the book she was touching. “I was smiling at the thought of a verse from Ecclesiastes that my schoolmistress used to quote.”
“ ‘Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.’ Ecclesiastes 12:12. It was my favorite verse when I wanted to get out of schoolwork.” Daniel smiled as he quoted the verse, peeling years away from his face. “Now I find reading very restful.”
“I envy you. Access to all these wonderful books.” A quick estimate suggested more than a thousand books lined the shelves, and she hungered to read them all. She turned to face Daniel. “I want to buy the books with the house.”
Daniel didn’t answer, but rather circled around behind his grandfather’s desk and took a seat. From there he exuded power and authority, but she refused to let him intimidate her. She took the seat facing him, inching forward, holding her back ramrod straight.
He placed his right hand on the desk, and Clara caught herself looking for the other one. He didn’t appear to notice her rudeness. “So you are interested in purchasing the house.” He said it as if engaged in a game of chess, plotting his next move. His normally expressive eyes had darkened, blank as wood.
She wondered what he had in mind. She could only play the game piece she had planned to start with. “Yes. I have an appointment to discuss terms with Mr. Simeon Tuttle when we finish here. I am certain we can reach an equitable arrangement.”
