Home to Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 3)

by Nanette Kinslow

  Louisa looked at her father and pursed her lips. “We can have another later?” She was concerned whether it was right to have two Christmases.

  “We will,” Timothy assured. He wished with all of his heart that the promise he was making now to his daughter could in some way be fulfilled.

  “Alright,” Louisa decided.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Colleen settled her father into his favorite chair and tucked the blanket in around him. She checked the pot for the leftover stew and found it empty. Colleen was certain there had been something leftover so that she could feed her father as soon as they arrived home. She began peeling potatoes quickly and the thought crossed her mind that perhaps Mark had left the safety of the barn and eaten the food. Colleen decided that if he had she would not admonish him tonight. Once her father was fed and settled in she was anxious to give Mark the gift she had fashioned so carefully.

  Colleen remembered the fine stockings Mark had been wearing when she had found him. She wanted to give him something that was well made and personal, something he could take home proudly and that his mother would see was made with care. Colleen wanted to show that she was more than a simple country milkmaid and create a gift he could wrap around himself on the cold trip home. She stopped her peeling and looked around the dreary dwelling and a single tear rolled down her wind-chapped cheek. She looked at the simple meal she was preparing and smiled. Again and again he had told her that she was a wonderful cook. Colleen hoped Mark would remember her fondly. She sprinkled her herb mixture over the potatoes and fed several pieces of wood into the small stove.

  Shane Muldoon finished his meal, laid his head back in the bed and fell asleep immediately. He knew that the cold was the reason he was so exhausted at the day’s end. He also knew that soon he would not be able to make the rounds with his daughter. If she had married he would rest easier, but he was too exhausted to go over it again tonight. The girl seemed only to want to run off to that old barn to read and daydream. He wished he had done better by her, and her mum as well.

  Colleen put together Mark’s supper and slipped out to the barn. It was not quite dark and she found him raking the barn floor and piling straw against the north walls in an attempt to block the wind.

  He turned to her and smiled broadly. Setting down the rake he crossed the barn towards her, rubbing his hands together.

  Colleen saw that he used both arms equally well now, and although he had a noticeable scar he seemed to be in good health and gaining strength every day.

  He pulled up a wooden crate he had found and turned it upside down, gesturing gallantly.

  “A table for our meal,” he bowed.

  Colleen giggled and set out the food she had brought. She had never eaten with him. Instead she’d have a few pieces of bread alone when she returned to the house. There was barely enough food for her and her father and Mark was young and healing. It strained her larder as it was to feed him every day.

  He dove into the food, as he had every night, complimenting her vigorously and nodding in appreciation. When he finished eating he downed the huge glass of milk and leaned back against the post.

  “I brought you something.” Colleen lowered her eyes bashfully. “Tomorrow is Christmas and I made this for you.”

  Mark frowned at the realization that the holiday had arrived so quickly. He had tried to block it from his mind for so long that he had nearly succeeded in forgetting it all together.

  Colleen set a carefully wrapped bundle in his lap and he looked up at her questioningly.

  “Open it,” she urged.

  “Colleen, I…” His words drifted off.

  “I know, not much shopping to be done here in the barn,” she smiled. “Open it.”

  He carefully peeled back the stiff brown paper and picked up her creation slowly.

  Colleen took the scarf and wrapped it around his neck carefully. “To keep you warm on your trip home.”

  He lifted one end and inspected the design. The piece looked like it was woven, like a fine basket, but soft and light as goose down and he could already feel the warmth of it as she coiled it around him tenderly.

  “Colleen, this is beautiful. Where did you get this?”

  “I made it,” she smiled sweetly, pleased that he seemed to like it.

  Mark had watched Rebecca with her needles and knew that to make even the simplest thing she would pour herself into it, working on it at every available opportunity. He had seen Colleen do nothing but work constantly to care for him and run her deliveries. He couldn’t imagine when she could possibly have found the time to do this for him.

  He stood up and took her hands, pulling her up to face him. “It is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. But, I meant what I said earlier, I will not leave without you.”

  “Oh, Mark,” she sighed. “You need to hear what I have to say.” Colleen had thought of nothing else all day, and she knew it was time to explain her plan to him.

  “I asked someone I know, a friend, to see about the price of a ticket to your home station. I have been putting away a little every day so that we can get you a ticket. I don’t think you should leave from Barite, there’s another station not far from here. If we can get you there you can go home. I need a bit more money, but I’m going to have Da stay home for a few weeks, that way I can go faster and deliver more and with just a little more money you can leave. I’ll pack you food, as much as I can.”

  It occurred to him that if it had taken this much time to get the money for one ticket that it would take that much time again before they both could leave. “That’s all the money you have?”

  “Well, yes,” she admitted.

  It was suddenly clear to him and he began to feel like a fool. “Colleen,” he said. “Have you eaten today?”

  The young woman looked at him puzzled. “I’ll eat later.”

  “How much money have you saved, Colleen?”

  The young woman pulled a small bag from beneath her apron, spread the coins out in her hand and began to count.

  Mark sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew he would have to devise another plan.

  “It will just be a little longer I think,” she offered eagerly. Colleen could see he was upset and she felt sure it was because he was eager to get home.

  “We’re going to need much more than that. You are coming with me,” he said aloud.

  “Mark,” she said, taking his hand. “Please, I understand. You don’t need to tell me that. But there’s my father to think about and, if I went with you, people would wonder what happened to me. It’s not possible. For now let’s not talk about it. At least not tonight.”

  He looked into her eyes. He would not leave without her. He would find a way, no matter what it took.

  Chapter Forty

  Timothy Elgerson was pleased and relieved to see Rebecca wake with some color in her cheeks. She had slept hard, her head on his chest and had clung to his hand through the night. He felt her shudder once in her sleep and she snuggled close. He had reached his arms around her and pulled her to him. He could feel that she struggled to keep warm. Emma had told him that she had lost a lot of blood during her miscarriage. He was glad to be beside her to keep her warm.

  “Merry Christmas,” he whispered as she opened her eyes.

  “Christmas?” She looked up at him puzzled. “But I thought we were going to wait until Mark came home.”

  “We will,” he assured her. “But today is Christmas and there is a houseful of children here. We’ll have another when Mark returns.”

  “Let’s go.” He got up from the bed and helped Rebecca into the chair and dressed her in a new thick velvet robe.

  “Oh, Tim,” she gasped. “This is so beautiful!”

  He scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the stairs, watching her eyes fill with tears. He took her into the parlor where the family had begun to gather and the cook had set out hot cider and pastries.

  “Oh look!” R
ebecca sighed.

  Timothy and Roland had decided that a smaller tree, in the warmer parlor was a fitting choice for this celebration and they had found a compact pine that fit nicely into the area of the bowed windows. With Emma’s help they had shopped hastily and in the late evening two gifts had arrived from the Evens family.

  Louisa and the younger boys had done the decorating, so all ornamentation encircled only the lower branches of the tree.

  “When Mark comes home,” Louisa had said, “he can do the high up branches.”

  Everyone agreed that it was a good plan.

  As children will do on such a morning, they tore open paper, blew whistles, spun tops and dressed dolls. Little Phillip wanted to do all of his unwrapping while in his father’s lap and Ottland was busy hurrying from his own gifts to Phillip’s to see what the packaging revealed.

  Louisa took every gift that had Mark’s name on it and set it reverently aside, making a neat pile in the corner of the room.

  Emma had gathered all of the knit gifts that she knew Rebecca had made over the year and wrapped them all neatly. She passed them out to everyone announcing that they had come from Rebecca. Rebecca smiled to her with warm appreciation and felt better than she had in weeks.

  When all of the gifts were opened, Timothy retrieved the large packages that had arrived from the Evens and opened the envelope that came with the boxes. He read the words aloud to the family.

  To the Elgerson and Vancouver Families,

  Before our beloved sons began their perilous journey they spent many afternoons here, in Samuel’s shed, creating these pieces for you. It was a time of joy and anticipation for both boys. We will always cherish the times that they would call us out to admire their work and the proud smiles on both of their faces. Catherine and I felt that it was fitting that these gifts be delivered for Christmas.

  Neither of our boys are with us this year but we pray that Mark will find his way home. Know that he is in our hearts as is our Samuel this Christmastime.

  Fondly,

  Nils Evens

  Timothy looked around the room and it was plain that everyone else was as puzzled as he was.

  “You open yours first.” Roland handed the larger package to Timothy and Rebecca.

  “Both at the same time!” Louisa hopped in the center of the room.

  “Do you think so?” Timothy asked his daughter.

  “Yes,” she nodded her head, her expression serious.

  “Let’s all open them together,” Rebecca suggested.

  Timothy set the boxes on the table and he began to lift the top of the larger box as Louisa lifted the other.

  Father and daughter revealed two beautifully crafted birdhouses, one a perfect replica of Stavewood and the other of the Vancouver house.

  Rebecca gasped and put her hand to her throat and choked back tears.

  “Oh, my!” Emma whispered.

  Roland picked up the smaller house and turned it around in his hands. “These are remarkable,” he said in wonder.

  “They are exactly like our houses.” Louisa turned her head to the side and peered inside of the tiny Stavewood.

  “They must have worked very hard on these,” Rebecca began to cry softly.

  “Sam told me once about how he was setting up a workshop behind his house,” Roland said, admiring the workmanship. “He asked me if he could have some of the scrap lumber behind the mill. I told him to take all he wanted and when he came into work the next day he brought a wagon and filled it up. He cleared out nearly the entire pile. Now I know why. These are remarkable.”

  “I wondered where the pile had disappeared to.” Timothy’s face filled with sadness.

  “We can put them out for birds to live in?” Louisa inquired.

  “That’s exactly what they are for,” Timothy responded.

  “Then Mark can put them up when he comes home,” she announced.

  Emma looked at Roland and she saw him swallow hard. No one wanted to imagine that the beautiful gifts would be installed at the houses any other way.

  Chapter Forty-One

  A hard chill permeated the barn, pale slivers of frost settling on the hard packed floor through the open cracks in the boards. Mark watched his breath billow out into the cold air as he listened to Colleen talk about her rounds of delivering milk. He knew it would be a long night without the warmth of her beside him, but he feared that if she spent another night in the barn they might not wake in time. He had decided that he would find a way to meet Colleen’s father and try to explain to the man who he was and make him understand how he felt about his daughter.

  “Are you thinking of Stavewood?” She looked up at him, her appearance exhausted and her soft blue eyes filled with sadness. She had seen that faraway look in his eyes before and decided that he would never be happy until he was once again home. Colleen began to accept that she could not keep him in Missouri and expect him to be happy.

  “I was thinking about your father actually. I was contemplating how I might tell him about us.”

  “Oh, Mark, you mustn’t!” She turned to face him.

  “If I plan to take you home with me I will have to.” He looked into her eyes seriously.

  “We won’t talk about this tonight!” she scolded. She returned to the warmth of his arms and felt the edge of his scarf.

  “Tell me a story about Stavewood.” Colleen knew her asking about his home never failed to distract him.

  Mark looked off into the shadows of the barn and his eyes grew misty.

  “In the spring I remember tapping the trees for maple syrup. The best are the sugar maples. Their syrup is rich and sweet.

  “You have to wait until the days get warm, but it’s best if the nights are still cold. I have some favorite trees, out behind the newer mills, on the edge of the woodland there.

  “You have to drill the hole just right, a little bit of an angle so the sap runs easy into the bucket.” He could remember the sticky, sweet sap would stick to his fingers as he drilled.

  “Then the tap goes in. It’s like a tube and you run it into a bucket, one that has a lid to keep out the rain and leaves. You have to go back every day. Sometimes, when the sap runs just right, the bucket can fill up quickly.

  “We’d gather up all of the heavy pails and take them to the smoke house. While it’s boiling down you can smell the syrup for miles, rich and sweet in the spring air.

  “Then that first morning you’d pour it over your flapjacks or a nice pile of sausage and there’s nothing like it in the world.”

  Colleen watched him run the very tip of his tongue along his lips and she sighed.

  He looked down into her eyes and she kissed him tenderly.

  He tried to speak, but she knew he only wanted to tell her that she was going with him. She hushed him with another kiss and he pulled her close to him. She leaned her head against his chest. She didn’t want any promises for the future, she wanted only now.

  When he began to feel her start to fall asleep in his arms he roused her gently.

  “Go to bed, Colleen.”

  She nodded silently and wearily gathered the dishes she had brought out, stacking them on the overturned box.

  He stood beside her and pulled her to him. He remembered a time he had watched his father when Rebecca had only been at Stavewood for a few weeks. He had watched the two of them together, falling in love, through fear and complications, both struggling to put aside their pride and admitting they wanted only each other. He had laughed at them then, thinking it was so silly that they were plainly in love, and yet they did not just surrender to it. He thought it was so easy then, to just fall in love.

  Mark took Colleen by the shoulders and held her in front of him. Her face was the picture of sadness and the weary expression of her difficult world. He wanted to protect her, spoil her, to love her with no complications. He bent and kissed her passionately and she leaned into him.

  “Merry Christmas,” he whispered and helped her fill her arm
s with the dishes, then closed the door behind her slowly and sank down into the straw. He held up one end of the soft scarf and inhaled deeply. He could smell her sweet scent in the wool and he closed his eyes and lay back in the hay.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Colleen slipped into the house and saw that her father was still in bed, sleeping silently. She set the dimmed lantern down and placed the dishes as quietly as she could in the big tub.

  She stood exhausted, gazing at the dirty dishes for several moments and when she turned she was certain she saw some kind of movement in the corner. Uncertain of what she had perceived she slowly pulled the pistol from under the bowl on the table and held it at her side.

  “I see you there,” she stated clearly, her voice piercing the silence of the room. “I will shoot, make no mistake about it.” Colleen thought perhaps an animal had gotten inside, as had happened before. But there was no disturbance in the room. She held her breath realizing that it must be a person and hoped her father would wake.

  “I don’t believe you’ll shoot,” a voice responded and Colleen froze.

  “Show yourself.” She struggled to keep her voice clear and strong.

  Lem McHerlong stepped out into the circle of light and Colleen reached over slowly and turned up the wick.

  “You need to leave now before I put a hole through you.” She stepped aside, giving the man room to exit.

  Lem could see that she did indeed hold a pistol, but could not imagine that she would ever pull the trigger.

  “You’re even prettier up close.” He took a small step towards her.

  “Leave now!” she shouted. Colleen could not imagine why her father was not at least rousing the littlest bit. She knew he had another pistol under his pillow and he would not hesitate to use it.

  “Now you just take it easy there,” Lem moved closer.