Pete sat in the corner of the wagon and watched Aaron Rowley and Bennett each brace one hand on the wagon’s side and leap over the edge. Their feet hit the ground with a solid thud, and dust rose. Aaron swung his children to the ground one at a time, then held his hands out to his wife while Bennett sauntered to the back of the wagon and released the hatch. “There you go, folks,” Bennett said with a cocky grin. Cookie Ramona and her daughter, Lorna, climbed out. Then Bennett reached over the edge and snatched up his bag. Giving Pete a quick wave, he swaggered toward the orphans’ school, completely unaware of the envy tangled around Pete’s middle.
Pete painstakingly climbed out, using his good leg and his hands to scoot himself across the wagon’s bed. Like an old man would do. He wished he could jump over the side and land two-footed. The last time he’d done that he was a boy of seven, and it had been out of a trolley with his arms full of newspapers. He tapped his peg against the hard ground, willing away the persistent tingle that felt like a sleeping limb. But his foot wasn’t asleep. It was gone. Forever.
Matt peered down from the seat and grinned at Pete. “You gonna grab your bag outta there now, or do you want me to get it for you after I put the horses away?”
“I’ll get it.” Pete hadn’t meant to snarl, but the words came out on a harsh note that made Matt’s eyebrows rise. Pete apologized.
Matt shrugged. “No offense taken. I just figured you’re tired after your train ride, and I’d be glad to tote it in for you.”
“I can do it, but thanks.” Pete reached into the back for his bag, but his arm wasn’t long enough to reach. He tried to go up on tiptoe, but he lost his balance. Slapping the side of the wagon, he grunted in frustration.
“Pete, seems to me you got a bee in your bonnet.” Matt held loosely to the traces, his head angled to meet Pete’s eyes. “Wanna let it loose?”
Pete rubbed his finger under his nose and considered Matt’s offer to let him talk. Pete admired this man who’d been kind enough to bring him to Shay’s Ford almost a dozen years ago, saving him from squandering his childhood working for an uncaring employer. If he were to trust anyone with his resentment about his missing leg—and the people responsible for it—it would be Matt. Pete loved Aaron Rowley, who had raised him, but Aaron wouldn’t be able to understand how it felt to grow up parentless and unwanted. Matt had been orphaned at a young age and lived a hard life as a child. He’d know exactly how Pete felt.
Curling his hands over the edge of the wagon, Pete gave a nod. “I need to let it loose, Matt. And I know what’ll get it done. I’ve known for a long time. I’m just not sure how to go about it.”
Matt tipped sideways, the brim of his ever-present cowboy hat throwing a shadow across his face. “An’ what is it that needs doin’?”
Pete sucked in a deep breath. “I need to find my folks.”
“Hmm.” Matt scratched his head, sending his hat askew on his head. He jerked the brim back into position. “Well, seems to me you’ve got people right at hand who could help with that. Aaron an’ Isabelle; Jackson an’ Maelle. Have you asked any of ’em for help?”
Pete shook his head.
“Talk to ’em while you’re home this weekend. As important as family is to all of them, they’d be more’n willing to help you meet up again with your parents.”
Matt apparently misunderstood Pete’s reason for wanting to find his folks, but he decided not to divulge his intentions. Matt was amiable and valued family, having been separated from his sisters for most of his growing-up years. He was an even-tempered, kind-hearted man, but he’d surely chide Pete for holding on to a grudge. And he’d be right to do so. Pete wanted to cast off the ugly feelings—and surely spewing his anger at the emotion’s source would finally bring freedom. He nodded. “You’re probably right.”
Matt reached into the back and gave Pete’s bag a push that sent it to the hatch. “There you go now.”
Pete easily swung his bag from the back of the wagon and fastened the hatch. “Thanks, Matt.”
“You’re welcome, partner.” Matt slapped the leather traces down. The horse lurched forward, and Matt called over his shoulder, “Good luck to you, Pete! I’ll be prayin’ you find ’em soon!”
Me too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wake up, Libby. There’s lots to do if we’re to be ready for my brother’s wedding at six this evening.”
Libby bounced out of bed and rubbed her eyes. Although the room was shadowed, she could see Maelle wore trousers rather than a skirt. She pointed. “Can I borrow a pair and wear some, too?”
Maelle gave Libby a little push toward the hall. “Isabelle would have my hide. Hurry now.”
Thirty minutes later, she and Maelle joined Jackson in his two-seat buggy for the drive to the orphans’ school. Sitting three abreast in the narrow seat made for a tight fit, but Libby didn’t complain. They watched the sun sneak from its hiding spot beyond the horizon and chase away the gray and pink of dawn, revealing a clear, blue mid-October sky—a perfect backdrop for Mattie and Lorna’s special day. And they talked. First about the town’s ferry operators’ continued opposition to the railroad coming to Shay’s Ford, and then about the possibility of Libby returning to work for the town’s newspaper when she graduated from college.
The opportunity to spend the rest of her life in Shay’s Ford should have filled her with glee—she’d have the chance to stay close to Maelle if she made Shay’s Ford her permanent home— but for some reason excitement didn’t build at the thought. How could she become world-renowned if she settled in a little-known town like Shay’s Ford?
When they reached the school, they discovered Mrs. Rowley in the yard, pacing and watching for them. Even before they alighted from the buggy, she began giving orders. “Jackson, go to the barn and help Pete, Bennett, and Clancy build benches.” The sound of pounding hammers indicated the others had already started. “Would you please make sure there will be adequate seating for two hundred guests? I trust you to estimate accurately.”
Jackson gave a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.” He hitched his sorrel horse to the post outside the large school building and trotted for the barn.
“Maelle, you—” Mrs. Rowley broke off and scowled as her sister rounded the buggy. “Oh, you wore those detestable britches! You will change before the wedding.”
Maelle winked at Libby. “ ’Course I will. These are my workin’ clothes.”
Mrs. Rowley shook her head, as if clearing it, then went on.
“Cookie Ramona needs your assistance with the wedding dinner preparations.”
Maelle’s face reflected uncertainty. “You want me to help with the cooking? Isabelle, you know I’m not a good cook.”
“No, you aren’t,” Mrs. Rowley agreed, “but Cookie Ramona is, and she’ll tell you everything you need to know. Hurry now— she has mounds of potatoes that must be peeled.”
Maelle scuffed off, muttering.
“And Libby, come with me.” Mrs. Rowley caught Libby’s elbow and propelled her across the dusty ground to the barn. The din of pounding hammers was nearly deafening inside the sturdy building. “I know it’s dreadfully loud, but if this is where Mattie’s wedding is to take place, this is where we must decorate the trellis.”
Libby knew Mrs. Rowley wished her brother had chosen to be married in the chapel where she and her husband had exchanged vows ten years earlier—the same chapel in which Maelle and Jackson had united their lives. But Matt insisted he wanted his ceremony at the place where he and Lorna had met. While several buildings comprised the orphans’ school, only the barn had a space large enough to accommodate a sizable gathering.
Mrs. Rowley pointed out an arched wooden trellis at the front of the barn. She skimmed her fingers across the chipped white paint and made a sour face. “It’s a sorry-looking canopy for the bride and groom as it is, but I purchased crepe paper in a variety of soft colors for rosettes. I’ve already made one—” she reached into a box and withdrew a pale pink rosette as
big around as a grapefruit and placed it in Libby’s hands—“and I should like to see the entire structure laden with flowers and draped with white tulle. Do you think you can figure out how to twist the paper into rosettes and fasten them with wire to the lattice?”
Libby examined the paper rose. Her head was already beginning to throb as a result of the off-beat percussion concert provided by hammer, nails, and enthusiastic builders. But the rosette didn’t appear to be too complicated. She could complete the task. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. I trust your creative abilities will turn this decrepit lattice structure into a thing of beauty. There’s little we can do to hide the fact that Mattie and Lorna are marrying in a stable, but at the very least they should have a lovely place to stand.” Sadness tinged Mrs. Rowley’s voice.
Sympathy swelled in Libby’s breast. She touched Mrs. Rowley’s arm. “Ma’am?”
“Yes, Libby?”
“I was just going to say . . . Jesus was born in a stable. I suppose if a barn was good enough for His birth, it’ll make a fine place for Matt and Lorna to become man and wife.”
Mrs. Rowley looked at Libby in surprise. Then her lips curved into a soft smile. “You’re very right, dear. Thank you for the reminder.” She gave Libby’s hand a quick squeeze. Releasing it, she stepped back. “I’ll send out some help. You’ll need it to get this done in time.” She turned and scurried out of the barn.
Moments later, two girls, one of whom held a thick bolt of white netted fabric, entered the barn and looked around as if confused.
Libby waved them over. As they neared, she realized she’d never seen these girls before. “Are you new?”
The pair nodded in unison, and one said, “Come on the train two weeks ago. I’m Hannah. She’s Hester. We’re twins.”
Libby needed no clarification. If they hadn’t been dressed in different colors, she wouldn’t have been able to tell one from the other—their unsmiling faces were identical in every way. Remembering how out of place she felt her first days at the orphans’ school, she offered the girls a warm smile. “Well, I’m very relieved you’re here, Hannah and Hester. I need your help.” She quickly explained the process of creating rosettes and set them to work. Although they were young—probably no more than twelve—they proved amazingly adept. She praised their ability, and Hester shrugged.
“Nothin’ to flower twistin’. Could do it already by the time we was four.”
“Four?” Libby paused in attaching a lavender flower to the trellis and stared at the girl. “Do you mean four years of age?”
“Yes’m.” Hannah sat cross-legged on the ground and quickly formed a perfectly shaped rosette out of yellow crepe paper. “Me an’ Hester helped Mama make little poppies to sell on the corner. Got two pennies a dozen for ’em. It helped pay the rent.”
Libby shook her head in amazement. “I’m sure your mother was very grateful to have your help.”
Hester went on working without looking up. “Oh, not so much, but then she was sick. Hard to be grateful when you ain’t feelin’ good. Now she’s dead.”
Libby’s chest tightened at the girl’s blithe recital, and she paused to touch Hester’s tangled blond hair before reaching for another flower. Here she thought she had suffered immeasurably by losing her parents. But at least she’d not been forced to work from a very young age. In some ways, perhaps she’d been fortunate.
By noon, with the twins’ help, the trellis wore a lovely swag of tulle coiling amongst a bevy of pastel rosettes. The arch bore little resemblance to the scarred trellis that once supported vines in the school’s flower garden. Libby sighed in satisfaction. The canopy would certainly earn Mrs. Rowley’s approval. She thanked the girls for their assistance, and the pair shuffled off without so much as a smile in return.
Watching them go, a rare prayer formed in Libby’s heart: God, let someone come along to adopt Hannah and Hester and teach them to be carefree little girls before they grow up all the way.
She gathered the remaining scraps of paper, dropped them in the box, and tucked the box in the tack room in the far corner of the barn. Then she headed for the house to ask what Mrs. Rowley would like her to do next. Halfway across the yard, she heard someone call her name. She turned to spot Lorna, Matt’s fiancée, racing toward her.
Lorna came to a panting halt in front of Libby, grabbed her hands, and gasped, “Oh, Libby, something awful’s happened. I’m gonna need your help.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Libby held a cluster of wild pink foxglove and faced Reverend Shankle. Although she was a last-minute replacement for Lorna’s chosen bridesmaid—the poor girl had contracted a fever and been ordered to bed by the doctor—she couldn’t deny a sense of pride in playing an important part in the wedding ceremony.
From the front bench, Cookie Ramona cried copiously into an embroidered handkerchief while the reverend solemnly advised the bride and groom of the sanctities of marriage. Libby’s gaze drifted across the row of faces at the front of the barn. Maelle and Isabelle, serving as the bride’s attendants, each wore expressions of introspection. Libby wondered if they were reliving their own wedding ceremonies in their minds.
On the other side of Lorna and Matt, Clancy—the weathered sheepherder—repeatedly cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot, as if eager to be finished with the ceremony. Next to Clancy, Aaron Rowley seemed to be examining his wife, and the
tenderness in his face made Libby’s heart skip a beat. She tried to memorize Mr. Rowley’s expression—it would be the perfect look for one of her story heroes to offer his beloved.
Her gaze shifted to Petey, on the far right. And her heart swelled. How handsome he looked today in his finest suit, his thick blond hair combed straight back and glistening with macassar oil, his chin high and shoulders square. The solemn set of his lips told her how seriously he held the privilege of standing up with the man who had brought him to Shay’s Ford.
Countless times, Petey had talked about the day Matt Tucker rescued him from the hands of a cruel employer. He held Matt in high esteem, and Libby’s admiration for Matt grew in those moments that she witnessed Petey’s pride at being in the wedding ceremony. Matt could easily have chosen Jackson Harders instead— his standing in the community would certainly be elevated by having a lawyer serve as one of his groomsmen—but instead he’d chosen Petey, a cast-aside, unwanted boy.
Today, however, Libby realized with a start, Petey bore little resemblance to the boy she’d met ten years ago. When, she wondered, had he grown from adolescent awkwardness into this handsome, self-assured man? While she stared at him, awed by the transformation that seemed to have taken place before her eyes, his face shifted. His gaze collided with hers and held. For several seconds they stared at one another across the swept dirt floor while the minister’s voice continued, paper fans stirred the air, and Cookie Ramona softly sobbed.
Libby’s breath caught in her lungs as Petey’s lips curved ever so slightly and tenderness set his blue eyes aglow. She saw in his face the same expression of rapture Aaron Rowley offered to his wife—the same look she’d frequently seen pass between Jackson and Maelle. Pleasant chills climbed her spine and wriggled down her arms to her hands, where her fingers trembled, causing the wild flowers to quiver. Uncertain and overwhelmed, she glanced away, and looked instead at Matt. She gasped. Petey’s expression while looking at her had mimicked the one Matt was—at this very moment—bestowing upon his bride.
Unbidden, her focus returned to Petey, and disappointment sagged her shoulders. He’d shifted his attention to the minister, who lifted his hands and announced, “I now present Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Tucker.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Matt, you may kiss your bride.”
The barn exploded in wild applause as Matt leaned forward and touched his lips to Lorna’s. Tears rained down Lorna’s face, and she dashed to her mother’s arms for a hug before returning to Matt with a joyous giggle that echoed from the rafters. Matt and Lorna exited the barn amid
st applause and congratulations. Clancy offered his bony elbow to Maelle, and they followed the newly married bride and groom down the aisle. Mr. and Mrs. Rowley trailed behind them, and only Libby and Petey remained.
With a crooked grin, Petey offered Libby his arm. Odd feelings coursed through her middle, making her hesitant to place her hand in his elbow. But why? Hadn’t she clung to Petey’s arm hundreds of times over the years? Yet suddenly everything had changed, and she didn’t know why.
Reverend Shankle cleared his throat, bobbing his chin at them. Libby recognized his silent command for them to leave. Drawing in a shaky breath, she gingerly slid her hand into the curve of Petey’s elbow. The same chills that had swept her frame earlier returned, and her fingers tightened. They walked together, Petey’s slight limp causing his arm to bump against her ribs as they moved up the aisle. With each brush of his sleeve against her side, her awareness of him grew.
They entered the sunny yard, and Petey stepped away from her. He flashed one more smile before moving to the tables set up with food, where Bennett clapped him on the back. The wedding guests streamed from the barn, forcing Libby to dart to the side. But even then, puzzled yet captivated, she continued to seek Petey. For reasons beyond her understanding, she had a need to hold him in her sights. Or perhaps, more accurately, she longed to hold him in her heart.
Pete accepted a cup of punch from the little girl at the serving table and limped toward the corral fence, moving slowly to avoid sloshing the pale pink liquid over the rim. His leg ached from the lengthy time of standing still. Standing was always worse than moving, although he didn’t understand why. His stump throbbed, but the discomfort gradually lessened as he walked across the hard-packed earth.
He reached the corral fence and rested his elbow on the top rail, using the sturdy wood rail to help him balance while he gently tapped the tip of the peg on the ground to take his mind off the persistent subtle ache. He lifted the cup and downed its fruity contents without pause. The cool liquid felt good on his dry throat, and he loosened his tie and sucked in a relieved breath. As a minister, he’d be expected to wear a suit every day, so he’d have to get used to the tight collar and formal tie. But for now it felt good to give himself some breathing room.
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