by Jillian Hart
“I know the feeling.” He grabbed Patches’s bridle bits. “My advice is not to get caught up in it. Life is hard. Best to simply accept it.”
“Hard times pass, I’m sure they do, and good times come around again.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You gotta have faith, Tate. Maybe by this time next year, the heartache we’ve all known will be behind us. That’s what I’m praying for.” Devin kept pace on the other side of the horse, keeping his voice low so the wind wouldn’t carry it back to the women, keeping to the shadows. “Ma and Pa would have adored her.”
“Felicity? Yes, and she would have loved them.” His throat choked up as it always did thinking about his folks. His mother had passed before the trial and his father after. The strain had been too much. Both of them had died of broken hearts, one right after the other. Unable to say more, he bowed his head. Devin’s understanding felt like a lifeline.
He took comfort in the silence that fell between brothers as they broke through the snow on the way to the barn. He felt pulled to Felicity, unable to go the length of the yard without searching for her through the veil of snow.
Her light trill of laughter snared him like a trap. Held captive, unable to blink, he watched as she pretended to race Gertie up the steps and lost, on purpose. Ingrid applauded, while the little girl raised her hands in victory at the top, and yet his attention remained on Felicity.
He was going to let her down. He couldn’t stand the thought. He rubbed at the pressure cracking across his chest, thinking over Devin’s words. Maybe good times were waiting up ahead. Maybe hardships were behind them, but he feared his marriage to Felicity would be a hardship for her. She wanted love. She deserved love.
He drew Patches to a stop in the lee of the barn, watching as the lamplight spilled across the tiny porch like a carpet of gold at Felicity’s feet. She ushered Gertie inside and steered Ingrid in ahead of her. She must have felt the weight of his gaze because she turned, searching for him. Her smile could light up the dark.
She lifted her hand in a fluttery-fingered wave. Love lingered in her wake as she slipped into the house. Her love, not his. His failing, and he hated it. He wanted to love her, he wanted to gaze at her the way she looked at him.
But he had nothing left in him. Nothing of value left to give.
He wished more than anything that he did.
Chapter Nine
“You are a wonder, Felicity.” Ingrid leaned close to scoop a handful of flatware out of the rinse water. “Look at how happy Gertie is. It’s heartening to see.”
“She’s a doll. I had nothing to do with that. Tate did.” She held up a plate to the lamplight, water dripping, and gave it a final scrub. Gertie’s happiness heartened everyone and Felicity felt anchored, no longer alone and drifting. She belonged here with these people. After a family supper full of conversation, she was no longer a stranger. She slipped the plate into the rinse water. “Tate raised her. I’ve done hardly anything at all. Mostly just made a few meals for the girl.”
“Oh, you’ve done a great deal more than that.” Ingrid’s dark eyes filled with caring. “You have brought her back in a way I couldn’t. Don’t think I didn’t try. She needed you.”
“I needed her.” That was simply the truth. She might have been lost and forever drifting without that child. Standing at the table she had a good view as Gertie swung open the door, hopping in place, her feet barely touching the floor as she waited for the men to haul in the tree. A mother’s affection took deeper root in her heart, an ever-growing love.
“And the difference you’ve made in Tate…” Ingrid shook her head, tearing up, blinking hard as if fighting strong emotion. “The man released from that prison was not the same one who went in. The man we knew didn’t exist anymore. It was as if he’d died, too. Tonight at supper, I saw glimpses of that man again. You have no idea what that means.”
“I didn’t do so much. I didn’t search for his lost daughter. I didn’t visit him at the prison. You did that.” Felicity set down the dishcloth, remembering their conversation together when she’d first arrived in this house. “You and Gertie would take the train to the prison, so you could see Tate. That’s why you were sad.”
“Yes. It was hard knowing he was there, knowing he didn’t belong behind those bars and leaving him behind. Worse than those things, it was seeing him lose all hope. With every visit, there was less of it. Less of him.” Agony lined Ingrid’s face, a testimony to the hardship of that time. She shook her head, visibly struggling to erase the emotion. “He’s coming back to himself. Look.” She nodded toward the door. “He’s coming back to us.”
“Pa! I’ve got the door open.” Gertie gave another hop. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you.”
“And letting out all the hot air,” Ingrid quipped, chuckling.
Yes, the girl’s wide carefree grin and sparkling blue eyes were good to see.
Footsteps knelled on the steps, a cane clunked on the porch. Branches rustled and whispered as the men strong-armed the tree through the doorway, base first. Devin angled in, but it was Tate she saw. No longer a remote mountain of a man, she realized as he ambled out of the shadows. To her, he was larger than life, the center of her world, and everything faded around him, paling until there was only the man shouldering the tree around the door.
I love him so much, she thought. Surely it was happening. He was beginning to love her in return.
“Over here, Pa.” Braids bobbing, Gertie bounded across the sitting room. “Put it right there, Uncle Devin.”
“You brought Christmas into this house.” Ingrid leaned close. “Thank you.”
“No, not me. It takes a family to do that, but I’ll take credit for the tree. That was my idea.” Laughter filled her, a wonderful feeling.
“Is this the right spot?” Devin hunkered down to lower the trunk to the ground, holding it upright. “Right here? I don’t want to get this wrong. Tree placement is very important.”
“Let me see.” Gertie sailed around the tree, bobbing from side to side, the hem of her pink calico skirt springing along with her. “Yep, it’s just right. Isn’t it, Pa? It couldn’t be nicer.”
“I agree.” Tate bent down on one knee to tweak his daughter’s chin. For a moment he looked like someone else, a man she did not know. The granite set to his handsome face softened into a warm and real smile without a trace of sadness. It was easy to see the gentle and loving father he’d been, the one he was now. “Good work, Gertie. Let me get the trunk in the stand I made, and we’ll be set to decorate it. Will you do me a favor?”
“Yes. Do you need candles yet? I can get those.”
“Great, but not yet.” With no shadows to darken him, his eyes shone brighter, not midnight blue but an arresting shade of navy. “First we need to give this tree a drink. Fetch a cup from Felicity and fill it from the water pail.”
“Okay!” Determined to do her part, Gertie skipped across the room, too buoyant to simply walk. “Felicity, do you see? Don’t you just love the tree?”
“I absolutely do.” How she adored this child. The strength of it crashed through her like an ocean, growing ever stronger. She caught the girl’s cheek in her hand, love overpowering her at the bliss shining in those wide, dark blue eyes. Tate’s eyes.
She felt him across the room like a magnet pulling and her heart responded, turning toward him until he was all she could see. The lamplight glossed his thick dark hair, still in need of a cut, and highlighted the dimples bracketing a smile as he watched his daughter accept a freshly dried cup and saunter over to the water bucket. The unguarded love in his poignant navy-blue eyes riveted her, love for his child.
A reason to adore him more. Gertie dipped the cup, water splashing. What a dear. She couldn’t seem to drag her attention away. A brush whispered across her face, not a touch but a sensation. Her pulse tripped, lurching in her chest. Tate watched her. Their gazes connected, freezing time. The room silenced until there was only
the beat of shared emotion between them.
There was no affection dazzling in his honest eyes. It was not his love for her that bound them together, but regard did beam from his halting smile. His respect stretched across the room to touch her soul, where it mattered most.
Can you love me? she silently asked.
“This way the tree won’t get thirsty.” Gertie cradled the full cup in both hands, carrying it with care across the room. “I’m gonna check the water every day, so it stays green and pretty.”
“It’ll look prettier once you gals get it all decorated.” Devin was a less-shadowed version of Tate, quick to grin. “I reckon that means this tree will look dapper before evening’s end.”
“I’ll put the cup down,” Tate broke in, accepting the water from his daughter. “If Devin will lift up the tree.”
“Sure thing. I might as well make myself useful,” his brother quipped.
“Why start now?” Ingrid teased gently. Good-natured laughter rippled through the room as the trio in the sitting area hunkered down to tend to the tree.
The plea remained within her, an innocent longing. She dowsed the cloth in the sudsy water and came up with another plate to swipe. Hammer beats of Gertie’s shoes reverberated through the room as she skipped around the now-watered tree. Tate watched her, no longer stoic, no longer bleak even in the shadows.
“I’ll finish up these last things.” Ingrid’s suggestion came from very far away, drawing Felicity back.
“What?” She blinked, realizing she still held the plate in mid-rub. “Oh, no. It will only take a few minutes more with both of us sharing the work.”
“Forget it.” With affection, Ingrid stole the plate and the cloth. “You go get started with the decorations. Look at that girl. She’ll skip herself into exhaustion if you don’t.”
That wasn’t the reason Ingrid sidled into place beside the wash basin.
“Look at Tate.” Ingrid’s voice fell, too heavy with emotion to carry far. “I’m starting to think love can heal anything. Go to him. Go on.”
Tate knelt beside the tree, substantial shoulders wide, one forearm resting on a bended knee, shadows gone. Lamplight gravitated toward him, as if to celebrate the moment when the man, who’d been so lost, laughed full and hearty as his daughter twirled like a snowflake whirling around the tree.
“Bravo, Gertie!” Devin called. “Excellent twirling.”
“Did you see that, Felicity?” Gertie spun an extra time, the most precious ballerina on earth.
“I saw. Beautiful spin. Are you ready to start decorating?”
“Yes!”
“Then run and fetch the scrap bag from my room.”
“Okay. I’ll be fast!” The girl took off in a blur of flying braids and jubilation.
“I was worried about decorations.” Tate slowly climbed to his feet, leaning on his cane. “I should have known you had something planned.”
“Always. I’m full of ideas.”
“So I’ve noticed.” A wry touch of humor hooked the corners of his mouth and brought him more to life. The craggy strength of his features and the life force he could not hide softened his hard edges, giving depth to his voice that was no longer hollow.
Breathtaking. He stole more than her breath as he turned away. He had her heart. Tate without his shadows ambled away to talk with his brother, flesh and blood, genuine and real and she could not stop the beat of anticipation that thudded in her ears.
He’s coming back to us. Ingrid’s thoughts strengthened her as she plucked her sewing basket from the corner. Please, Lord, let that be true.
“Here. I got it.” Gertie pounded into sight, her arms wrapped around the bulging scrap sack. “Do you have decorations in here?”
“With a little work, we will.” Felicity settled on the sofa and opened her sewing basket. “First, look inside to find a red ribbon. It should be right on top.”
“Here it is.” Gertie held up the thick, cheerful spool of velvet.
“That would make a perfect garland.” Ingrid appeared with her sewing basket in the crook of her arm. “It should be long enough to wrap around the entire tree.”
“Oh, I want to do it. Can I?” Gertie clutched the thick roll of ribbon hopefully.
“You could, but aren’t you a little short for the job?” Devin lumbered over, hooked one arm around the girl’s waist and lifted her off the floor. Her squealing giggle made everyone laugh.
“I’m tall enough now,” she called as he hefted her high into the air, ribbon trailing. “I’m taller than everyone, even you, Pa. Look.”
“I see, shortcake.” The nickname tumbled off his tongue, unspoken for so many years. The shock of it rattled him and punched like a fist between his ribs. “You can reach the top of the tree.”
“Pa, you called me shortcake.” Gertie’s hand froze in midair, ribbon dangling, quiet with wonder.
“So I did.” The sad girl he’d come home to had faded. He saw it now, the changes that were happening. Even the bitterness began to fade. Maybe he could be the father he’d once been, the father he wanted to be. A smidgeon of tenderness eased up his windpipe and mellowed his baritone. “Why wouldn’t I call you shortcake? You’re the sweetest girl I know.”
“Definitely the sweetest. And a fantastic decorator.” Felicity slipped next to him, sweetness, too. Her fingertips rested on his arm, a butterfly touch that made his pulse gallop into a panic. Unaware, she briefly gazed up at Gertie high in Devin’s arms, who was busily tucking the ribbon into the tree’s high branches. “You’re doing a lovely job, Gertie.”
“I like it.” Gertie adjusted the ribbon a tad, surveying her work. The child was a blur to him. Felicity filled his vision, filled his thoughts, filled his senses. He couldn’t focus. Panic raced through his veins. He’d never felt like this before.
“What do you think?” She held up the circle of fabric she’d cut and hung it on a branch. A printed gold snowflake on white fabric dangled by a red thread. “Will it work?”
“It’ll do.” The words croaked out as if he were choking.
“It looks great from here,” Ingrid called, her sewing scissors flashing in the lamplight as she worked. The strain on her round face had faded. For tonight, his sister looked young and carefree, the way a woman her age ought to. For tonight, Devin laughed, the way he used to.
It was Felicity who shone the most. Joy polished her with a rare radiance. She breezed away from him with a flash of a grin and her calico sweetness, talking as she went. Gertie answered with laughter, Ingrid commented and Felicity plopped onto the sofa, creating makeshift beauty out of unwanted scraps.
She was the reason for the laughter in this room, for Gertie’s transformation. The hollow where his heart once was throbbed sorely like a broken tooth unable to be soothed. He rubbed his hand over the spot, but the torment did not ease.
Not until her gaze met his. Deep, honest affection glinted in those gentle pools of blue.
Affection he wished he could return. Ashamed, he looked away.
* * *
Tate’s baritone rumbled pleasantly through the house as Felicity dried the last dessert plate. What a fun time they’d had. She played over the memories, each a treasure to hold dear. Laughing conversations, working alongside Ing making all those decorations, Gertie’s glee at the sight of the finished tree, memories she would never forget.
She set the plate on its shelf. The loneliness of her past was gone. She belonged with these people, tonight had proven that. Tonight she’d gained a sister and a brother, to go along with the daughter she already had.
And Tate? Emotionally, he felt a step closer to her. All she wanted was his love.
The mantel clock chimed, breaking into her reverie, reminding her that time was passing. Ingrid and Devin had gone home and the main room echoed with the faint rumble of Tate’s baritone. She took a moment to listen, to savor the deep notes and emotion giving his baritone depth. She hung the towel to dry and followed Tate’s voice.
Every step she took closer to him made the hook he had in her heart deepen and take better hold. She paused in the doorway, cherishing the sight of him sitting on Gertie’s bed. The indomitable breadth of his shoulders, the mighty line of his back and the shaggy length of his dark hair, all so dear to her. Maybe now she could bring up the subject of giving him a trim. After all, that was a task a loving wife did for her husband.
Her husband. The wedding ceremony was merely a technicality, too. Her heart already belonged to him. Tenderness gathered within her so powerfully it blotted out the room, leaving only the glittering brilliance of her feelings. Overwhelmed, she grabbed the door-frame for support.
“One more chapter, Pa. Please?”
“Sorry. It’s way past your bedtime.” The book snapped shut, the tattered volume that had once been Ingrid’s favorite book. Gertie had told her so. “Look at you. I see that yawn.”
“I can’t help it, Pa.” One hand covered her mouth. Her face worked, struggling to stifle a yawn. Sleepy eyes were half-shut, but she struggled so hard to stay awake. Nothing on earth could look more endearing than Gertie tucked into bed, with her hair freshly brushed and falling in gold ringlets. Merry was tucked in beside her. “I don’t want the day to end.”
“I know just how you feel, shortcake.”
The little girl took hold of her father’s much larger hand. “Was today really real, Pa? Did it happen, or was it just a dream? I’m so happy I can’t tell.”
“It happened.” Tate’s voice broke. “You close your eyes and get some sleep. Merry looks tired. She needs her rest.”
“Pa?” Gertie held on to him, white-knuckled tight. “We aren’t going to lose this house, are we? And have to leave everything behind?”
“No. That’s what I’m working hard for. So you can have everything you lost.” The shadows clung to him as he leaned down to graze a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m here, now. I won’t let anything that bad happen again.”
