“Not so fast.” Clarinda shoved a pan of brownies into his hands. “Take these to the truck. Sure you don’t want to drive with us?”
Wallace shook his head. After Howie’s remarks, he’d welcome the solitude. “I’ll take the cross country route. It’s more direct. I’ll get there before you if I hustle.”
His sketchbook perched on the windowsill beside the coat rack. His hand hovered over it, the magnet of habit drawing him toward it.
Clarinda saw the direction of his glance. “Don’t. You’ll find some Winslow sparrow—”
“Henslow,” Wallace corrected.
“—and stop to take a look and before you know, it will be suppertime.”
Wallace almost placed it back on the sill, but he took it anyway. He might find something even more interesting to sketch at the ice rink. Someone, with blond hair turning brown and a swirling blue skating skirt.
* * *
Mary Anne hoped to learn some basic techniques before the others arrived. Ice skating couldn’t be that much different from the roller skating she had enjoyed as a girl. The thin blade beneath the boot she was lacing made her doubt it. Maybe she shouldn’t venture on the ice today, after finally healing from the accident. What if she hurt herself all over again? Her fingers paused, ready to undo the laces.
Winnie had already fled to the ice to warm up. Mary Anne didn’t know where she belonged, on the ice or among the women bringing food for the party. She was helpless on skates and in the kitchen. To hear Winnie tell it, people in Maple Notch were practically born with ice skates on their feet.
Overhead, the light in the office went out. In the quiet of the darkness feet plodded on a rickety wooden staircase before a salt-and-pepper-haired man came to the bench where Mary Anne sat, her skates half-tied.
“You haven’t moved since you came in with Winnie.” He took a spot next to Mary Anne.
“You must be Preston Nash.” Winnie talked about her skating mentor all the time. “I’m Mary Anne Laurents. I’ve been staying at the Tuttle farm.”
He simply smiled, leaving Mary Anne to wonder how much Winnie had told him about their unexpected guest. “I’m sure Winnie meant well when she invited you today, but as you can see, she forgets everything else when she’s on the ice.”
“I’ve been watching her. She’s amazing.”
They sat in companionable silence, watching Winnie glide across the ice for a couple of minutes, her skates skimming the surface easily. A spurt across the ice led to a jump that took her so high in the air that a toddler could have walked beneath her without being touched.
“She’ll do.” Preston nodded his head a single time.
A universe of approval lay beneath those two words.
“But I expect you want to learn more about skating before the church descends on us.” He nodded at her partly laced skates.
No wonder Winnie valued this man. He understood things left unspoken. Bending over, Mary Anne finished lacing her right boot.
Before she could start on the left foot, Mr. Nash stopped her. “Let me help you.” He tugged the laces on the boot she had finished, tightening them so that her leg felt snug. He looped the extra length of the shoelace around her leg once before knotting it in front. “You need ’er tight and snug like that, you see, to support your ankle.”
Following his example, she worked on her left foot, and when she finished, he didn’t stoop to tighten it any more. “Ready to go?”
He had slipped his skates on while she struggled with the left boot. Although he held her hands as she stood, her ankles wobbled over the thin blades. He walked backward, a feat Mary Anne couldn’t imagine doing on skates. She took a tentative step, then another. “It will get easier once you’re on the ice.”
Mary Anne doubted that. On the ice, what would prevent her feet from sliding out from underneath her while she tumbled down?
The door opened, and Wallace sprinted around the perimeter of the ice until he reached them. Preston nodded in greeting. “I was about to show Miss Laurents the basics of skating, but I will turn that privilege over to you.” With a flash in his eyes that was as good as a wink, he placed Mary Anne’s hand on the rail that surrounded the rink and waited with her until Wallace changed into his skates. Mr. Nash let go of her hand after Wallace stood, and then he joined Winnie in the center of the ice.
“Do you object to me taking over for Preston?” Wallace stepped onto the ice with ease. “He’s the professional among us.”
Mary Anne shook her head.
Skating backward, Wallace held out his hands to Mary Anne. His hands tugged her forward, and she lifted her right foot to step onto the ice. A moment later, her left foot joined it, and, to her surprise, she didn’t fall.
Laughing, Wallace skated back a few inches. How he managed without lifting his feet, she didn’t know. When she lifted her right foot, her left leg buckled and she lurched forward.
“Steady!” Wallace held her hands tight to keep her from falling. “Skating’s not like walking. You push forward with one leg, then the other. Like this.” He switched sides, so that he stood next to her, slipping one arm behind her to hold her hand on her far side. “Do like I do.”
She gave her left leg a hesitant push and she glided forward.
“That’s it. Keep going.”
Left, right, left...the rhythm reminded her of roller skating. “I’m doing it!”
“You’re a natural.” Wallace dropped her right hand, then her left, and she glided as far as forward momentum could carry her. She tottered for a moment before Wallace gently took hold of her hands, facing her again as he skated backward. “Let’s try that again.” He kept his hands on hers, only the lightest of touches, and she began again. “We like to skate to the song ‘Faith is the Victory.’ Do you know it?”
The tempo of the song made it easier to move her legs in rhythm. Wallace whirled to her side again, taking only her right hand with his left, while they completed the circle of the rink. As they approached the entrance, Wallace let go. The gate rushed at her. “How do I stop?”
“Like this.” Wallace made a gradual turn, scraping one skate across the ice.
As Wallace demonstrated the stop, Howie rushed onto the ice and crashed into both of them.
* * *
One moment, Wallace was gliding across the ice, watching Mary Anne skate on her own as if she were born on skates. The next, Howie jumped onto the ice in front of Mary Anne, knocking her down first, before crashing into Wallace. The three of them landed on their behinds.
Howie jumped up first. “Good to see you skating, Miss Mary Anne!” He raced across the ice. Winnie escaped a similar fate by sidestepping him.
Shaking his head, Wallace got to his feet. He hadn’t let Howie catch him that way for years. Mary Anne remained sprawled on the ice, first lifting one shaky arm, then the other.
“Are you all right?” He helped her to her feet. Although she appeared not to be seriously injured, she was shaken from the fall. Wallace helped her to the edge of the ice and pulled a pair of blade protectors from his pocket. “Let me put these on your skates. They’ll make it easier to walk and keep the blades from getting dull.”
Bending over, he lifted one foot that dangled only inches from the floor. He snapped the protector in place, then added the second guard. Mary Anne trembled so that he worried she would fall down before he finished. “I’m so sorry.” His voice dropped. “You must still be sore from the accident.”
When she leaned against his side, a desire to protect this woman from all harm swelled up in his heart. On the bench, he basked in the warmth of her closeness. Preston appeared without speaking, offering her a cup of hot cocoa.
“Thank you.” By the time she emptied the cup, color had returned to her cheeks, and about a dozen people were on the ice.
“Are y
ou all right? Do you want to see the doctor?” Wallace jerked his head in the direction of the door, where Dr. Landrum was entering with his family.
“No, I’m fine, but I’ll leave the ice for those who are more experienced with it.”
Wallace’s concern about lingering soreness from the accident brought him to his feet, but at her decision, he sat again.
At that, Mary Anne shook her head. “Don’t stay here on my account. You deserve a break from all your work. And you might not get another chance to skate until next winter. Go out there and have fun.”
Wallace prepared to refuse when a familiar voice almost shouted in his ear.
“Wallace Tuttle, as I live and breathe. I haven’t seen you since graduation.”
Wallace would know that voice anywhere—Margaret Landrum, the doctor’s daughter. Mary Anne shrank back as Margaret’s shadow fell on her.
“And you must be Dad’s mystery patient at the Tuttle farm.” Margaret remained oblivious to her reaction. “I’m Margaret Landrum.” She stuck her hand out for a shake, and Mary Anne had no choice but to oblige.
“Mary Anne Laurents.” Mary Anne inched away from Wallace’s side. “Go ahead. I’m sure you have much to discuss.” She practically pushed him to his feet and into Margaret’s arms.
Pasting a smile on his face, Wallace escorted an all-too-willing Margaret onto the ice.
Chapter 11
Wallace stepped onto the ice with Margaret. Since their high school graduation almost five years ago, he hadn’t seen her for more than a few minutes at holiday church services. When she was a student and boarder at the Maple Notch Female Seminary, Margaret had spent a lot of time with the Tuttle family. Like many other promising students, she had gone out of state for further education.
“And how is medical school going?” he asked.
“Well.” She was doing better than well. She was attending Geneva College, the same school where Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female physician in the United States, had trained. Even as a teen, Margaret had known she would follow in her father’s footsteps. Grandma Clara would have been so pleased. The few opportunities for girls with Margaret’s kind of talent had convinced his grandmother of the need to start the seminary all those years ago.
Margaret had changed in other ways as well. She wore trousers—a rarity for women in Maple Notch—and she had bobbed her hair. “You look...different.” His hand reached for his head even as he told himself not to emphasize it.
She reached up to touch her hair. While it was short, it was still her own light brown color. “I’ve been wearing it this way for several years. It’s much easier.”
They made their way around the rink twice. Margaret didn’t feel nearly as light in his arms as Mary Anne had. He glanced to the side of the rink, where he could see she had exchanged her skates for her shoes. Gone was his opportunity to coax her onto the ice one more time.
“I fear I have gotten out of shape.” Margaret bent over, wheezing. “I need to spend more time on the ice while I’m here this summer. Will I be seeing you?”
She was being as forward as any girl Wallace had met at university. He shook his head. “I doubt I’ll have the time. I am a hardworking man.”
“You always were serious.” Her smile took the sting out of the words.
They sat on the bench abandoned by Mary Anne only minutes ago. As Margaret reached to untie her left skate, she scooted closer to him. In a lowered voice, she asked, “So are you serious about Miss Laurents?”
“Mary Anne?” Long experience with Margaret kept Wallace from feeling affronted by her question.
“Is there another Miss Laurents about?” A light laugh accompanied the question.
“It’s none of your business, you know.” Why Wallace didn’t assert a negative escaped him, except Margaret might take that as an open door for her to waltz through.
Two legs peeking beneath a slim blue skirt came to a stop in front of the spot where Wallace sat. Dainty brown oxfords encased tiny feet. Only one woman besides Winnie had feet that small.
“Would either of you like hot cocoa?” Mary Anne waited in front of them like a restaurant waitress, carrying a tray that held several steaming mugs. Wallace looked up into her face, her cloudless blue eyes, a slight smile lifting the edge of her lips.
“Yes, thank you.” He gulped the first swallow so fast it burned his throat.
“No, thanks.” Margaret put her skates away and stood. “I see some old friends I want to catch up with.” She bounded away.
Mary Anne hesitated before continuing around the railing.
“I was afraid you might leave.” Wallace searched for something to convince her to put the tray down and join him on the bench. “Why don’t you sit down and rest that leg? I hope you can come out to the cabin next week. I’ve spotted some new birds you might like to see.”
The smile lurking around the edges of her mouth burst into a grin. “I would enjoy that very much. But for now—” she lifted an elbow to emphasize the tray in her hands “—I’d better hand out the hot cocoa before it cools into chocolate milk.”
Wallace watched her straight back, the graceful movement of her skirt swishing around her legs, the simple bun resting at the top of her blouse’s sailor collar. The natural color of her hair peeked out at the roots, a shade of brown somewhere between an acorn and a walnut. She changed day by day, and Wallace liked what he saw.
* * *
“I don’t know if I want to wear these.” Mary Anne twirled, studying the fit of the blue jeans Clarinda had lent her. “They cover my legs nicely, but I just don’t feel right wearing them. This—” she patted her favorite blue jersey skirt waiting on the hanger “—has done a yeoman’s duty since you adjusted it to fit me.”
“If I know my brother, Wallace will be dragging you over mountains and rivers in search of those birds. Your legs will be scratched, if not worse.”
Poison oak, poison ivy, poison sumac. Wallace had pointed out each plant and warned her against them. He was almost surprised she didn’t already recognize them, but she hadn’t encountered them on her few trips to Central Park with Daddy.
A crazy thought crossed Mary Anne’s mind. Pulling the waistband of the blue jeans up as high as she could, she tugged the skirt over her head and past her waist.
From her spot on the bed, Clarinda laughed. “I’ve done that with Betty a time or two, in the winter, when it was too cold to go outside with only a skirt. It’s probably still chilly up in the mountains.”
The skirt barely fit over the blue jeans. The ease of movement she associated with the skirt disappeared beneath the tight constriction of the trousers. The resulting surface resembled a rocky seashore, not at all attractive, and not very practical either.
“The blue jeans it will be, then.” Mary Anne took off the skirt, easing it over the places where it caught on the blue jeans before replacing it on the hanger. The sweater was the color of a blue lobelia that went well with the blue jeans, so she didn’t change it. Daddy had once said it reminded him of the color of Mary Anne’s eyes. Would Wallace notice the same thing? A tiny flame built in her heart at the thought.
“You look like you were born for the woods.” Clarinda nodded in approval. “If I hadn’t seen the transformation myself, I would never guess you were the same young lady who arrived here last month.” Her brown eyes brimmed with warmth.
Mary Anne planned to ride as far as the footpath in the car with the family. Downstairs where the children waited, Winnie was reading a picture book with animal characters to the boys.
“I think you like that story more than the children do,” Clarinda said. “Hurry now, out to the car, before we’re late.”
Winnie dragged her book bag over her shoulder, her homework done in spite of Clarinda’s worries, and raced for the door. “Of course I love it. Mi
lne named the bear for me, after all. Winnie-the-Pooh. What is a pooh, I wonder? Some slang word they use in England?”
“You can blame Shakespeare for that word,” Clarinda remarked as they climbed into the car.
Mary Anne climbed beside her, grateful for the warmth of the blue jeans.
As the children tumbled into the car, Clarinda said, “Hamlet exclaimed ‘Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl.’ It was one of Wallace’s favorite sayings at one time.”
Shakespeare and Hamlet. Of course. Only someone with an education like Clarinda’s would make the connection between a children’s book and Shakespeare. Mary Anne giggled as she made a connection of her own. Her friends had taken her to see a comic opera that she found delightful. “I also heard the word used in a comic opera by Gilbert and Sullivan, The Mikado. The Lord High Everything Else was called Pooh-Bah. It sounds kind of like Pooh Bear, doesn’t it?” Especially among these Vermonters, who tended to drop Rs from the ends of words.
“Lord Pooh-Bah?” Arthur laughed.
“Yes, it was a very funny show,” Mary Anne said. Soon even little Betty joined in the laughter.
Clarinda stopped the car by the path leading past the cemetery to the cabin, and Mary Anne hopped out. She started humming another melody from The Mikado. “‘Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!’” The song suited a day when she would be searching for birds. Was a titwillow an actual bird, or only one in the imagination of Gilbert and Sullivan? In that case, it was the most endangered species of all. She started laughing.
As had become her habit, Mary Anne paused by the cemetery to think about Daddy for a few minutes. He would enjoy both Winnie-the-Pooh and Pooh-Bah, the Lord High Everything Else. He had a good sense of humor.
Taking the pencil she had started carrying with her, she let her imagination take flight as she drew a titwillow. The bird should have a high crest on his head, she decided, like a crown. His eyes slanted on both sides of the beak. Her mind gave him a white face with a red beak. Quickly she sketched the rest: a fat breast hanging over two spindly legs, wide feet almost like the geese. But she didn’t have the skill Wallace did to bring the bird, even an imaginary one, to life.
Hidden Dreams Page 7
