The Romancing of Evangeline Ipswich

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Hutch chuckled, swooped Evangeline up in his arms, and said, “Well, Jones will just have to wait.” As he carried Evangeline to their bedroom, gently laying her on their bed, he added, “And it could be a long wait at that.”

  As shared kisses as hot as the embers smoldering in the hearth and as delicious as nectared ambrosia passed between them then, Evangeline thought of nothing but Hutch—Hutchner LaMontagne—and all the joy they would know in their life as husband and wife—as lovers—beginning that night.

  EPILOGUE

  As Evangeline held her two baby sisters, one in each arm, she could hardly believe it! Ever since she and Hutch had moved to Meadowlark Lake just before Thanksgiving to find that Kizzy had given birth to twin baby girls, Evangeline was amazed to think that her father now had six daughters—when less than two years before he’d only had three!

  “Kizzy,” she began as Hutch returned from the kitchen and clapped his hands to indicate he wanted to hold one of the twins, “I know they’re real, and I know they’re yours and Daddy’s. But every time I look at them, I still cannot believe it…twins!”

  Kizzy laughed. “I know what you mean, Evie,” she said. “I still stand awestruck when I look at them.”

  “I don’t,” Shay said, hopping up into Evangeline’s lap and kissing little Leonora’s forehead. “To me they’re the baby sisters I’ve always prayed for.” Shay smiled and kissed Evangeline’s cheek. “To go with the big sisters I always prayed for.” Hopping from Evangeline’s lap, Shay tugged on Hutch’s shirttail, indicating she wanted to kiss Peanna, as well.

  Hutch smiled and hunkered down, enabling Shay to kiss Peanna’s forehead.

  “And now,” Shay announced, her dark curls bouncing this way and that as she twirled around in the new dress her mother made and gifted her for Christmas, “everybody gather round. I have prepared a performance.”

  “Another performance, Shay?” Brake teased as he helped Amoretta, who was expecting her first baby in just a month or so, take a seat on the sofa in the parlor.

  “Yes, Uncle Brake,” Shay said. “Another performance…and this is one you’ll really love!”

  “I’m sure we’ll love it, Shay Shay,” Rowdy said as he pulled Calliope to sit on his lap in sharing his chair.

  “Daddy,” Shay began, “will you please hold Leonora and Peanna for me? They’ll need to be with you during part of the performance.”

  “Of course, honey,” Lawson Ipswich agreed with a chuckle.

  Evangeline and Hutch both handed the babies off to Lawson before taking a seat on the floor at the foot of the sofa.

  Evangeline admired her father’s patience with their little sister. In fact, the more she thought of it, the more she realized that their father had more patience and understanding with Shay than anyone else.

  Shay’s marmalade cat meowed from her place on the rug in front of the hearth fire, and Shay snapped her fingers, calling, “Jones? Jonesie? Molly wants company, please.”

  Hutch mumbled with amusement, “That child amazes me with that dog of ours, Evie.”

  “She certainly is a wonder with animals,” Evangeline agreed.

  “She’s a wonder with people too,” Hutch quietly chuckled. “Look at all of us here, just waiting and willing to do her bidding.”

  “I know,” Evangeline giggled.

  “Mama, you sit there next to Daddy and the babies,” Shay instructed.

  “I will, darling,” Kizzy agreed. Then lowering her voice, she added, “But be mindful of being too bossy, all right?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Shay agreed, blushing with a having been slightly reprimanded. “But I promise all of you…you will love this performance.”

  Everyone laughed and watched as Shay produced a wooden box from under the sofa. “Quiet down now, quiet down. I’m about to begin.”

  Everyone did as instructed, and Hutch whispered to Evangeline, “I do find her performances very entertaining. I can’t wait for Jennie to see one when she and Calvin finally get down here.”

  “Oh, Jennie will love Shay!” Evangeline exclaimed in a whisper. “Those two will be fast friends, I know it.”

  The room went quiet as Shay opened the wooden box and retrieved a cabinet card. Clearing her throat, the dark-haired, wide-eyed angel began to sing, “There were three little girls dressed in blue.” Whirling about in her new red Christmas dress, Shay offered the cabinet card that Evangeline recognized as Amoretta and Brake’s wedding photograph to Amoretta. As Amoretta accepted the cabinet card, Shay whispered, “Hold it up so everyone can see, Amoretta.”

  With an entertained giggle of delight, Evangeline’s beautiful, brown-haired sister held up her wedding photograph for everyone to see, at which point Shay bowed low before Amoretta and sang, “Then one married and left only two.”

  Taking another cabinet card from the box, Shay whirled over to Calliope, offering it to her. Evangeline’s striking blonde-haired, blue-eyed little sister smiled and held up her wedding photograph for everyone to see as Shay sang, “Then one fell in love with a boy…who loved her and gave her much joy.”

  Everyone chuckled when Rowdy mumbled, “Boy?” feigning offense.

  Going to the box once more, Shay removed one more cabinet card, whirled over to Evangeline, and offered it to her. Evangeline smiled as she quickly studied her own wedding photograph. In that moment, tears filled her eyes as she thought of the day Hutch came home with a wedding dress he’d asked Kizzy, Amoretta, and Calliope to make for Evangeline. Offering her the dress, a beautiful white fox fur muff, and matching hooded cape, Hutch had whisked Evangeline off to the new photographer man that had moved to Meadowlark Lake while Evangeline had been in Red Peak.

  “It just won’t do, Evie,” Hutch had told her. “It just won’t do, us not having our own wedding photograph. Especially considering your six-year-old sister has one.”

  A few tears of emotion provoked by the memory—of inconceivably deep love for Hutch and his profound consideration for her—trickled over Evangeline’s cheek as she looked at the image of her handsome husband, dressed so eloquently in his suit and hat.

  “Hold it up, Evie,” Shay whispered.

  And as Evangeline held up her wedding photograph to be displayed for all to see, Shay sang, “Then the last little girl had a dream…and she dreamed she was saying, ‘I do.’ And when she awoke, it was true!”

  Spinning in the middle of the room then, looking like a shiny red top, Shay finished, “Happy three little girls dressed in blue!”

  Everyone applauded with true admiration and emotion at Shay’s performance. Having taken the tender song that Lawson Ipswich had sung to his three older daughters from the day they were each born, and then to Shay when she came to be his own, and linked it with Evangeline’s, Amoretta’s, and Calliope’s wedding photos, Shay truly had performed a beautiful gift.

  But as everyone kept applauding, Shay waved her hands in gesturing they should stop.

  “Everyone settle down,” the child giggled. “Now it’s time for part two!”

  “Oh, Shay, everyone’s so tired, darling,” Kizzy began.

  “It will be worth it, Mama, don’t worry,” Shay assured her mother.

  Then, going to the box again, Shay retrieved three folded pieces of fabric. Evangeline gasped in unison with Amoretta and Calliope as instant understanding simultaneously struck them all.

  “Mrs. Montrose helped me make these, Daddy,” Shay explained. “They’re so you can start everything all over again.” Unfolding one of the pieces of fabric, Shay held it up to herself and said, “See? This one is mine!” Unfolding the other two, she laid one each over Leonora and Peanna as they slept in her father’s arms. “And these are for Leonora and Peanna.”

  As Kizzy fairly burst into weeping, Lawson’s eyes filled with moisture as Shay hopped up into his lap and began to sing, “There were three little girls dressed in blue.” Pausing she said, “Sing with me, Daddy!”

  Tears streamed down Evangeline’s cheeks as her father’s vo
ice quivered as he joined Shay in singing, “Then one married and left only two.”

  By the next line of the song, everyone in the room was singing along, every woman in the room weeping.

  “Then one fell in love with a boy…who loved her and gave her much joy. Then the last little girl had a dream…and she dreamed she was saying, ‘I do.’ And when she awoke it was true! Happy three little girls dressed in blue.”

  *

  Hours later, as Evangeline lay in the arms of her handsome lover and husband in their bed in the little cottage in the Meadowlark Lake woods, Evangeline whispered, “I can’t believe how wonderful you are to me, Hutch.”

  “What do you mean, sugar?” Hutch asked.

  Evangeline shook her head where it lay against his warm, broad chest. “All of it, Hutch,” she explained. “The telegrams and letters to Daddy for one. When you contacted him and told him we’d been married…and that you wanted me to love you but weren’t sure I could be happy away from my family.” She sat up in their bed and looked at him. “For Pete’s sake, Hutch! You sold your livery in Red Peak and bought the one here from Lou Smith! You moved here, Hutch, after all you worked for…just so I could be close to my family.”

  Hutch shrugged. “So?” he asked. “I don’t care where I am, Evangeline. As long as I’m with you.”

  Evangeline ran her fingers back through her long hair. “And this cottage,” she said, shaking her head. “Buying the cottage from Daddy and Kizzy—and helping Calvin and Jennie and the baby, even Calvin’s mother…all of them, moving here in the spring—and Calvin working for you at the livery.”

  Again Hutch shrugged. “The livery here is bigger than mine was in Red Peak. I need the help.”

  Evangeline brushed tears from her cheeks. “Even our wedding photograph…my gown! You overwhelm me with your heroics, Hutchner LaMontagne.”

  “You overwhelm me with the fact that you love me, Evie,” Hutch said, sitting up and gathering her into his arms. “Why wouldn’t I do everything in my power to make you happy? To make your life as happy and as filled with the company of everyone you love as it can be?”

  “But I could never do so much for you, Hutch!” she exclaimed. “You make it impossible for me to repay you for all you do for me.”

  “Hey,” Hutch said then, taking her face between his hands so that she would look directly at him. “You do everything for me, Evangeline. You love me, and that’s more than I can ever repay you for. And besides, it’s not about repaying things. It’s about building the best life together that we can…for each other. We both make sacrifices, we both work hard at being lovers forever—not just husband and wife…truly best friends and lovers.” He grinned, adding, “And didn’t I tell you I’d make a good lover? That day I was teasing you at Jennie’s?”

  Evangeline giggled. “Yes, you did.”

  “And wasn’t I right?” he teased.

  “Yes, you were,” she laughed. “And you’re not too humble about it either.”

  “Now,” he began, “come here, my raven-haired beauty.”

  Evangeline smiled as Hutch laid her back down on the bed, hovering over her as he studied her face.

  “You know that I want at least three daughters, don’t you?” he said, smiling.

  “Why?” Evangeline asked—though she suspected she knew.

  “So I can sing your father’s song to them when I rock them to sleep at night,” he admitted.

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do someday, all right?” Evangeline whispered as her hand moved to her tummy a moment. She didn’t know for sure—at least not sure enough to tell Hutch and get his hopes up. But if her every month didn’t appear again in two or three more weeks, she would visit Doctor Gregory to be certain, and then she would tell Hutch what her heart already knew was true.

  Hutch chuckled. “And how about I do the best I can right now, hmm?”

  “You’re a scandalous man, Hutchner LaMontagne,” Evangeline sighed as Hutch pressed a soft, caressive kiss to her neck.

  “I’m a man in love with his wife, sugar,” he sang against her ear. Then he quietly sang, “Then the last little girl had a dream…and she dreamed Hutch was saying, ‘I do.’”

  “And when she awoke it was true,” Evangeline sang breathlessly. “Happy me, little girl dressed in blue.”

  ###

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Okay, what’s the phrase that people use when they ask a person to do something they know they really don’t want to do, but figure they’ll enjoy or accept in the end? Oh yeah! “Humor me, if you will.”

  I’ll begin this author’s note with that very phrase and beg you to humor me, if you will. I’ve included a couple of excerpts from two authors that I revere as my favorites, whose writing I believe can also be life-changing. I’m asking you to take just a minute or two and read (slowly and with the purpose of enjoyment) these excerpts before you read the rest of this author’s note—please. Okay, here we go:

  Description of Ichabod Crane, taken from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving, now public domain, first published 1819–1820:

  He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.

  An excerpt from my favorite poem, “The Southwind and the Sun,” by James Whitcomb Riley, now public domain, first published 1890:

  O The South Wind and the Sun!

  How each loved the other one—

  Full of fancy—full folly—

  Full of jollity and fun!

  How they romped and ran about,

  Like two boys when school is out,

  With glowing face, and lisping lip,

  Low laugh, and lifted shout!

  And the South Wind—he was dressed

  With a ribbon round his breast

  That floated, flapped and fluttered

  In a riotous unrest,

  And a drapery of mist

  From the shoulder and the wrist

  Flowing backward with the motion

  Of the waving hand he kissed.

  And the Sun had on a crown

  Wrought of gilded thistle-down,

  And a scarf of velvet vapor,

  And a raveled-rainbow gown;

  And his tinsel-tangled hair,

  Tossed and lost upon the air,

  Was glossier and flossier

  Than any anywhere.

  These are examples of the kinds of things I like to read, my young bonnie lasses and my dashing handsome lads! Considered far too wordy (Irving) or far too fluffy (Riley) for most readers today, this type of writing I hail to be downright soul-soothing! I so miss this kind of beauty being in our world. I even miss the writing styles of authors such as Victoria Holt and Georgette Heyer!

  I mean, how can anyone not love that description of Ichabod? Doesn’t it just perfectly set his appearance in your mind? Even if you’d never seen Disney’s animated version of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow or the movie starring Jeff Goldblum as Ichabod Crane, you’d know exactly what Ichabod looked like. Not only would you know what he looked like, but you’d also be left with the feeling of the time period, just as if you had been whisked back to 1820, you know?

  And the poem! How can anyone keep from sighing with respite or smiling with joy after reading words woven together in such wonderment: “And the Sun had on a crown, wrought of gilded thistle-down, and a scarf of velvet vapor, and a raveled-rainbow gown.” Okay, well admittedly maybe guys don’t smile and feel respite at reading that. I’m thinking my husband wo
uld quirk an eyebrow and look at me like I’d lost my mind if I suggested he would be thrilled with this poem. Still, you know what I mean, right? These kinds of beauties are lost today!

  But the world (as a whole) is what it is—has dumbed-down its vocabulary and ability to simply sink into a descriptive passage and bathe in truly savoring it, you know? That being said, however, I do not feel that you and I have given up on beauty and fluff in our reading. And in truth, that is what my goal is (and always has been) when writing my stories—to attempt to give my reader just a whiff of what I feel when I read Irving and Riley. I want a reader to feel happier when they’re finished with one of my stories. I want words like resplendent, caressively, ambrosia, autumn, and delight to bounce around in someone’s mind once they finished a book I’ve written. I just want you to feel happier and as if you’ve had a moment of escape from everything tugging at your mind.

  To be honest, sometimes my goal for my readers does backfire on me. I can’t remember where I saw this, but somewhere out there is a review of A Crimson Frost where the person simply wrote, “I’m not a fan of poetry.”

  Naturally, I was crushed! I don’t know if the average person who doesn’t write for a living knows how time-consuming and difficult the kind of poetry included in A Crimson Frost is to write! Believe me, I love to write poetry (as is evident in Shackles of Honor and the Time of Aspen Falls as well, right?), but it does take some time and concentration of thought. And to have the only comment in that review be, “I’m not a fan of poetry,” was kind of crushing. I mean, what? Didn’t she like the Crimson Knight when his shirt was off? And I was brave enough to make reference to his “navel.”

  Of course, not everybody is a fan of poetry, and I totally get that. But long ago, most things a body had access to read were poems, sonnets, or derivatives, you know?

  And yet there was to be a much greater purpose intended for those poems in A Crimson Frost, and my crushed ego was instantly healed when I received an e-mail from a reader and friend, informing me that her son (I believe he was in eighth grade at the time) had received a school assignment to memorize a poem and recite it in front of the class. Needless to say, he was less than thrilled about the whole project. Therefore, his mother (wise woman that she obviously was) suggested he memorize one of the poems from A Crimson Frost—you know, since a couple of them are epic where masculinity and battle are concerned. The boy actually liked the poem, memorized it, and pulled off a fabulous recitation. And that was worth more to me than any other review (good or bad) A Crimson Frost had ever received! Somewhere out there is a young man who at least read a poem in this day and age, right? And maybe it actually entertained him. I can’t think of a better compliment than having an adolescent boy memorize one of my poems! (It’s right up there with the college professor’s wife who once told me that her literary professor husband really enjoyed my poetry! Fabulous!)