The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  “I already had breakfast, but a cup of coffee would be nice.” She laughed. “Real coffee. No offense meant.”

  “And none taken.” He offered her his arm, as if they did this kind of thing every day, and she accepted it.

  If they walked arm in arm in plain sight around the common many more times, the town would buzz with gossip of their courtship. Clara allowed herself to look up at his face, his strong chin, matching her strides to his purposeful movements, and she forgot anyone who might be watching.

  Good cheer fell like mist when they entered the café; the red-and-white checkered curtains and the white linen tablecloths made even a lowly breakfast meal feel special. Fannie greeted them at the front. “I’m glad to see you again. We have two cinnamon rolls left. I’ll ask Cook to set them aside for you.”

  Daniel’s murmur of approval overrode Clara’s protest. Fannie poured coffee without asking while she took his order, the Lumberjack’s Special, and then disappeared into the kitchen. He noticed Clara’s astonished look. “I may not get any lunch. This’ll have to do me.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. Lewis rarely eats breakfast.”

  At the mention of her brother’s name, Daniel’s cheeks darkened, and Clara regretted her comment. She didn’t want anything to mar their pleasant exchange. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

  “Of course you should. He’s your brother.” Daniel poured cream and sugar into his coffee but paused before stirring it. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking all men are like him.”

  His gaze seared her from the top of her head down to her toes, and she drank from her glass of water to cool off. “I don’t.” Her voice sounded small, even to herself. She forced her lips into a smile and looked up. “You said you’ve considered the changes I requested?”

  He took a handful of papers from his pocket and unfolded them, evening out the creases as he placed them on the table. “I agree with most of them, but I have alternate suggestions for a couple of your ideas….”

  Daniel could have stayed at the café all day. As it was, he put his hand over the top of his coffee cup when Fannie tried to refill it for the fourth time. A few people had already started to wander in for their luncheon.

  Discussing the school—both the physical space and Clara’s rather radical ideas—brought her to life. Daniel loved watching this Clara. She argued her ideas as skillfully as Lincoln and Douglas in their famous debates, and her voice rose in pitch as she hurled words at Daniel. With every cup of coffee, her speech sped up, and her cheeks blazed with more color until the red and white patches on her face could have provided the inspiration for the checkered pattern of the curtains. Her hands flew in a dozen directions as she explored and explained what she needed for the school. Through her eyes, he could see her vision.

  With his refusal of that final cup of coffee, the time had come to go. “So if we are agreed, I’ll order supplies from Dixon and arrange for the work to start.” A part of him wanted to deny her the school, to instead offer a future with gray-eyed children who would bring his grandparents’ house to life again. But no. The man who won Clara’s heart must understand the passion that drove her. Daniel would no more snatch that away from her than … he would have given his arm if he had had a choice.

  But someday, maybe …

  A man could dream.

  Maybe the time for dreaming was over. Maybe it was time for this man to act.

  Chapter 12

  Daniel rode down the road that connected the Tuttle farm with Maple Notch. Land west of the river that separated them from town had once been mostly wilderness. His great-grandfathers had worked their entire lives to carve holdings out of the forest.

  In time, the Tuttle and Reid families multiplied. Now a patchwork of small farms belonging mostly to members of Daniel’s family spread west from the river toward Burlington. Hiram lived on his father’s land. The family would make room for him if he chose to lay down his badge once his term of office was over.

  Daniel knew he could succeed in farming, even if his arm would make adjustments necessary. After all, he had grown up with the rhythms of the seasons, of planting and waiting and harvesting. But his heart didn’t lie with the land, nor with the bank, the way Simeon’s did. He had come to enjoy his job as constable, even the testing that the robberies brought.

  Before he lost his arm, he had considered joining the cavalry to protect the expanding western frontier. But continued military service was no longer an option. Not to mention the reasons he had discovered to stay—especially one gray-eyed beauty.

  He paused by the original Reid homestead. Its current resident, one of his cousins, worked in the field, harvesting the last of the pumpkins and winter squash. Would Clara like to be a farmer’s wife? Like him, she had grown up on a farm. But her eyes were on a bigger prize—training young women for the future. They both longed for new horizons.

  He clucked to his horse and urged him forward. If he didn’t live in the Bailey house, and if he didn’t want to farm, where would he choose to live? Except for an occasional stand of trees, the wilderness on this side of the river had been transformed to cultivated land. He couldn’t hide in a hermit’s cabin and live off the land, not here, not like Thoreau talked about in Walden.

  He reached the bridge. At some point, his father had stopped charging tolls. Simeon reinstituted the practice, stating they needed money to maintain the bridge. Some day the town might take over management of the bridge, but for now, the Tuttle Bridge remained the possession of the family that built it.

  His horse pounded onto the bridge, the sound of hooves echoing in the empty space. Not too long from now, Hiram would need to keep the floor snow-packed, so that sleighs could run across the boards unharmed. The wood had dulled to a weathered gray, a sturdy testament to its workmanship.

  In the silence, Daniel could sense fiddle music and the shrieks of children. The cold air cleared the scents of horse and food and dirt ground into the boards. If the wood could talk, it would tell the tale of Maple Notch’s history. Tomorrow would add another chapter to the ongoing story.

  Horse hooves struck the boards and stopped. Sunshine outlined a feminine figure on horseback at the other end of the bridge.

  Clara didn’t have a good excuse for coming to the bridge. She only knew that when she didn’t find Daniel at the jail, she felt compelled to keep riding west in the direction of the Tuttle farm.

  The cold of approaching winter hardened the mud underfoot and made a smooth ride. With no one to report to and no duties for the morning, she indulged in a brisk ride. Miss Featherton would approve of the exercise.

  Clara gave Misty her head and let her race, spirit free, just shy of dangerous abandon. Wind whipped her hair and beat her skin, ridding her of any doubts and imperfections. When they reached the rise before the bridge, she pulled Misty up and started again at a slower pace.

  “What a glorious day!” As she shook her head, her hair tumbled to her shoulders, and she laughed. When she spotted the Frisk farm, she realized her clothing had gone awry. She tugged her skirts farther down her legs and swept her hair into the hairnet. A few stray hairpins allowed her to pin wisps of curl into place. Horse and rider proceeded at an orderly pace to the bridge. Clara peeked over the edge of the bank, where the river gurgled over a few rocks in its path.

  She paused at the entrance to the bridge to allow her eyes to adjust to the light. In here the river sounded louder, almost ready to explode from its banks and run across the fields. She dismounted and took a few steps forward.

  “Hello, Clara.” A voice spoke out of the semi-darkness.

  She jumped back. “Daniel? Is that you?”

  “Nobody else here except us mice.” Daniel stepped out of the gloom a few yards away from her.

  “Mice?” The word came out as a squeak.

  “Are you afraid of a few little mice?” He tilted his head, waiting for her answer.

  “Let’s just say I don’t care to run across o
ne unexpected.” She moved forward, eyes scanning the walls for any sign of vermin. A mouse skittered by her feet, and she shivered. Approaching, Daniel hung his coat around her shoulders. The warm wool, saturated with his masculine scent, chased away her nervousness.

  “Where were you headed? I don’t often see you out this way.”

  Clara didn’t want to admit the truth—that part of her hoped to run into him. “I used to ride all over town when I was a girl. Misty could take me home even if I didn’t touch the reins; couldn’t you, girl?” She leaned over and ran her hand down the mare’s neck, and Misty nickered in response. “You’ve discovered another one of my unwomanly vices. When I was younger, I pulled on Lewis’s britches to make riding easier. I’ve grown up some.” She sighed. “But I still love a good ride. We won’t have many more beautiful days like today this year, so I indulged myself.”

  Daniel chuckled. “I doubt you could hide your gender if you chopped your hair as short as a man’s and swore like a sailor.” His hand swept up and down. “From the pretty curls on top of your head to your tiny feet, you’re all woman.”

  This time heat started from the roots of her hair and traveled to her shoulders and below. She could only hope the dim light hid her high color. Averting her face from him, her gaze wandered the walls of the bridge. A spit of light shone through the cracks, highlighting spider webs overhead.

  Daniel took his place beside her and stared in the same patch of wall. A half smile formed on his face. “I was looking at that just the other day.” He tugged her hand in the direction of a scarred plank of wood. Its significance didn’t register for a handful of seconds.

  “That’s—”

  “The reason it’s called the Courting Bridge. New initials have been added since I left for the war.” He peered at some of the newer etchings in the wood. “ID and DR—Isaiah Dixon and Deborah Robson, 1862, unless I miss my guess.”

  Clara had seen the spot before, of course. Whenever the school picnicked near the bridge, the girls would giggle about who might carve their initials on the bridge someday. For someone who knew the parties involved, the couples’ plank was better than the church registry as a record of love and marriage in Maple Notch.

  Daniel leaned in before shifting a few inches to the side. He ran his fingers along the older marking on the wood, then stopped, his fingernail tipped into a groove. “There it is.” He beckoned her closer.

  The letters had worn over time. “I’m sorry, is that a T?”

  “JT and SR. My grandparents, Josiah Tuttle and Sally Reid.” His hand dropped by a couple of inches. “And here are my parents—CT and BB.”

  “Calvin Tuttle and Beatrice Bailey.”

  He smiled an acknowledgment. “My father discovered the tree when they felled lumber to build the bridge. He added his initials later.” He stood back. “Hiram and Simeon are here, too, somewhere.” His voice sounded wistful, as if uncertain if he would ever get to add “DT” to the family tree.

  And whose initials did he dream of coupling with his on the plank? She could see them, bold, decisive strokes—DT and CF. Tears stung her eyes. In spite of his seeming admiration for her, how could the town constable have any interest in the sister of a common thief?

  Daniel felt Clara pulling away from him, when he wanted to hold her close and safe from harm. He had bared his heart; she must know of his interest in her. Unless she was rejecting him. He went cold at the thought.

  Somehow in this moment on the bridge, where they seemed as alone in the world as Adam and Eve in the garden, he had hoped for a kiss. For some sign that at least she returned his affection. But when he glanced at her face, her eyes glittered with some dark emotion that left no room for romantic fiddle faddle. She turned in the direction of her horse.

  After she climbed onto her horse’s back, she faced him. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted tell you that Lewis knows the shipment will be coming early tomorrow morning.”

  Lewis. Daniel wished his name had some Bs and Ts, sounds he could spit out of his mouth. The name Lewis sounded weak, like the man. How could he ever hope for a future with Clara as long as her brother stood between them?

  “I want to be here when you spring the trap.”

  An objection rose in Daniel’s throat, but he swallowed it down. She didn’t like setting her brother up, and who could blame her? She had a right to see how everything turned out. Besides, if he didn’t plan for her presence, she’d still come, putting herself and the whole operation in danger. “Very well. I’ll show you where to wait.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but had the good sense not to speak. If he thought she would put herself in danger, he might lock her in a cell for the night. “Where?”

  His mind raced. The convoy would approach the bridge from Burlington to the south. The robbers might hole up on either side of the bridge, or even underneath. He led her to the far end. “The best place is going to be that stand of trees.” He nodded toward a spot at the corner of his cousin’s property.

  She nudged her horse forward, and he followed until they were both beneath the evergreen boughs. Swinging the mare around, she peered through the dense branches. “I can’t see anything from here.” She trotted the horse forward until only the tail ends of the branches stood between her and the clearing. “I can see a little bit from here, but not much.”

  The problem was that they could see her as well. Once again he wished he could lock her in a jail cell until the excitement was over.

  She sat back in the saddle and looked at him over her shoulder. “Your men won’t be waiting here. It’s too far away to help if something goes wrong.”

  Even before she opened her mouth, he knew what she would say. “I want to be with them.” She must have seen the hesitation in his face. “I insist. I have a right. If I’m … betraying—” At the word, her voice broke, but her back remained ramrod straight. “If Lewis is involved, I want to see it for myself.”

  Daniel’s admiration for Clara grew in proportion to his frustration. This maddening woman refused to stay behind the sidelines. She didn’t close her eyes to what was wrong with the world, but rather sought to change it. He couldn’t change her mind any more than he could change himself. He didn’t know that he wanted to.

  “A sentinel will be up there.” He pointed to a small hilltop a short distance away, almost indistinguishable from the forest around it. “He can see the road as well as much of the surrounding countryside. He’ll know when someone approaches the bridge.”

  “What if they come early?”

  “He’ll be in place before dawn. In fact, he’s spending the night up there.” He smiled grimly. “It’s my brother Hiram. There’s no one better than he at this kind of thing. He climbs up there when he’s hunting for deer and always comes home with meat.”

  “And the others?”

  “The men driving the wagon—young Dixon and a few men from Burlington—will circle back after they hand the money bags over to me.”

  “Money bags? Surely you’re not carrying actual currency.” Her gray eyes had retreated behind her glasses and the hood of her cloak, to where all he could see was a dark gleam.

  “No, but the bags will look full. They have to believe we have money.” He and Simeon had spent a couple of hours weighing out stones equivalent to a shipment of gold coin.

  “Will you have someone waiting at the bridge?” She broke the edge of the trees and returned to the open, her eyes scanning the empty farm fields. A lone eagle hovered overhead.

  Daniel stared at her a long moment. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  She shook her head and urged her horse to move ahead. “I don’t much know about such things, but I haven’t seen anything that would provide good cover.”

  “How much do you know of the Tuttle family history?” He came beside her.

  “Enough. You told us a lot on Thursday.”

  “I didn’t mention this part. Come this way” He left the road and guided them through a narr
ow stand of trees. “They’ll be waiting here. At the Reids’ cave.” He brought the horses to a halt in front of an opening low enough that both of them would have to stoop to enter.

  “Of course.” Memories washed over Clara, tales so tall she never quite knewif she believed them, stories of the Reid family living in a cave during the War for Independence.

  “Yes, it’s all true. At least most of it is.” Daniel smiled and offered her his hand. “I was about to say the bank is too steep, but if my great-grandmother managed it when she was in a family way, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just watch your footing.”

  Clara bent over and peered into the dark recess. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Let me.” He took her place at the opening and felt around inside, coming up with a candle. He lit it and, bending down, entered the cave. She followed behind.

  The cave smelled dank and musty, as if no air blew through to an exit on the other side. Stones marked an old fire pit in the center. A mouse whisked away in the shadows, hiding in the spout of an old coffeepot. For some reason, she didn’t mind his presence here. Mice belonged in underground places. She only hoped she would never have to share their living quarters.

  “Look out the entrance.” Daniel interrupted her inspection.

  She stuck her head out the opening and let the fresh air caress her face. He stooped down beside her. “There’s the bridge.” He pointed up and to the left. “We can see people entering the bridge from either end or even someone hiding underneath.”

  Clara could almost imagine shadows dancing on the rocks beneath the bridge, and she fought a temptation to pull back. She had nothing to fear on a sunny afternoon. “Can you see the cave from the bridge?”

  She felt more than saw him shake his head. “Not unless you know where to look. Or unless someone lights the candle.” She heard his hiss of breath, and the candle sputtered out.