Carol Ritten Smith (26 page)

Mary wrapped a consoling arm about the young woman, recognizing Beth’s ailment as a serious case of heartache. “Come in the back, Beth, and let’s have a talk. Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

Beth shook her head and then sniffled loudly as she dug in her pocket for her hankie. “I don’t want to bother you with my problems. I’ll be okay in a little while. Really.” She flashed a valiant smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally a crybaby.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a good cry once in a while. Tears cleanse the soul.”

Beth thought her soul must be sparkling clean by now, for she’d wailed a bucketful every night since she’d broken off with Tom. She had no idea she would miss him this much, miss his kisses, miss his touch. Another small sob escaped her lips.

Mary led Beth to the back of the store, through the archway and down a short hall to the adjoining living quarters. Beth recognized the parlor where she’d sung songs with Tom at Christmas and the memory pulled painfully at her heartstrings. They passed through the parlor into the kitchen, and Mary sat Beth down at the table. The mistletoe of course was gone now, but Beth remembered clearly her first innocent kiss in this room, and then all the other kisses and so much more she and Tom had shared. Flooded with emotions, it was all she could do not to break down completely and sob all over Mary’s crocheted tablecloth.

Mary set about making tea, humming to herself. She poured them both a cup and then sat down. “Here, dear, sip this.” She reached for a plateful of cookies sitting on the sideboard beside her and set them on the table. “And have a cookie. Food is very calming.” She patted her round girth. “It works for me, anyway.”

In spite of how dismal she felt, Beth managed a smile and removed her coat. “Thank you.”

Mary studied Beth and then stated, “Unless I miss my mark, Tom has something to do with this. Am I right?”

Beth nodded, staring at the tea leaves swirling to the bottom of her cup through tears welling in her eyes. One round tear escaped and dropped into her tea and the tea leaves lifted before settling again. Mary handed Beth a napkin before tears diluted her tea further.

“He never told you he was planning to go to Toronto, did he?”

Beth shook her head.

“Oh dear, I thought that tiff you and he had at the Valentine’s dance would have been resolved by now.”

The Valentine’s dance?
That night seemed almost a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then, none of which Beth could possibly share with Mary. She raised her hands to her face, wishing she could just crawl inside herself and die.

Mary patted her shoulder. “There, there. It can’t be as bad as that.”

“It’s worse. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

Mary huffed. “Well, if that’s true, then pigs fly and flies oink. Look at you. You don’t look like a girl who’s getting what she wants.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know
what
I want,” Beth bemoaned, though in her heart she knew exactly what she wanted. Tom. And now he was leaving, because “he had nothing holding him back.” She didn’t think she would ever forget those words.

“Then maybe a little time apart is just what you two need to sort things out.”

Fresh tears brimmed. “But he’s going to see Abigail. What if he finds out he still loves her?”

“Heavens! Do you really think if he still had any amorous feelings for her, he’d want to attend her wedding?”

Beth swallowed a sob, shook her head and then dabbed at her eyes. “I guess not,” she conceded and then sat in miserable reticence, sipping her tea and nibbling at a cookie, which contrary to Mary’s advice, did nothing to soothe her. Beth still felt ill at heart.

Mary chatted on and on about how the time would fly by. Beth listened, but didn’t believe a word. After some time, she resigned herself to the fact that life in Whistle Creek would carry on without Tom’s presence, and so would hers.

Mary took another cookie. “I hear Bill is staying at the livery now.”

Beth nodded. “We had a disagreement and he moved out. I was hoping he’d be ready to come home, but apparently not. Mr. Compel has fixed up a bit of space for him and Bill says he likes having his own place.”

“Well, don’t you go worrying about Bill. What I’ve heard of that boy, he can take care of himself.” Mary gave Beth’s arm a squeeze. “And don’t you go worrying about Tom either. Knots always have a way of working themselves out if you don’t pull too hard. Some just take longer than others.”

Beth nodded, rose and donned her coat. “I have to go and pick up Davy. He went to see Bill after school and I don’t want him interfering with Bill’s work.” On impulse, Beth gave Mary a hug. “Thank you. I do feel a little better.”

“It’s amazing what a little cup of tea can do,” Mary said as she saw Beth out.

If it were possible to be sick from missing someone, Beth was. A good dose of melancholy had hold of her and all weekend long she fought the urge to stay in bed and cry. She had no appetite and cooked merely for Davy’s sake, nibbling sparingly at her own food because he insisted. “Remember how sick I felt when I didn’t eat after Jack died?” he reminded.

Monday morning she felt even worse, but she forced herself to get up. There was school to teach and moping about in bed on a school day would only get her fired. Besides, pining for Tom wouldn’t bring him back any sooner.

Her legs were weak and she felt dizzy when she crawled out of bed, and little wonder, she thought as she wrapped her shawl about her. She’d hardly eaten for two days
. Davy is right. I’d better eat.

Resolutely, she made a hearty breakfast for the two of them — eggs, thick slabs of bacon, toast with puddles of melted butter. Beth forced down the breakfast, only to race to the outhouse minutes later where it all came up.

When she returned, pale as egg whites, Davy was concerned. “Are you okay?”

Beth mopped her brow with a cool damp cloth. “Not really.”

“Were you throwing up? I always throw up when I’m sick.”

If Davy said the words “throw up” once more, Beth was certain she would have to make a run for the outhouse again. Feeling wretched, she sank into a chair. “Just go get ready for school.”

“Are you going to teach today?” he asked.

“I’m going to try. Once I’m up for a while, I’m sure I’ll feel better.”

“But what if you throw up at school?”

Her stomach heaved and Beth flew out the door, wondering if she’d even make it to the outhouse, let alone the school to teach.

Midway through the morning classes, Beth started feeling better. She wondered if she had eaten something tainted, except Davy exhibited no ill effects and they’d eaten the same food. No, she decided, she must have some bug. It would be early to bed for them both. The last thing she needed was Davy to come down sick too.

• • •

“How many more sleeps until Tom gets back?” Davy asked as he crawled under the covers.

“I’m not certain. He said he’d be gone about a month.” Had it been only three days since he’d left for Toronto? It seemed so much longer.

Davy held his hands out before her face, fingers spread. “How many?”

“Okay. Let’s see.” She sat on the edge of his bed and folded down his fingers as she named the sleeps. “Tonight is Monday night. Then there’s Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday … ” When she started through a third set of ten digits, she felt more disheartened than Davy looked.

“Jeepers. That’s almost three handfuls. How will I ever be able to wait that long?”

How indeed would either of them?

Beth stayed awake in bed for many hours. Tom’s words kept repeating in her head.
Nothing holding me back. Nothing holding me back.
What a fool she had been. Tom was gone and all because of her ridiculous notion they shouldn’t see each other for a while.
Nothing holding me back.
Beth pulled the covers up over her head. Was she really nothing to him now? She had no more tears in her, but she had regrets, a heart full.

• • •

Tom didn’t mind the smell of a good cigar, but what was drifting from that roll of tobacco across the aisle was anything but pleasant. It had no sweet lingering aroma, but an acrimonious stench that permeated everything on the train. Tom opened his window slightly to let in some fresh air, shifted to a more comfortable position on the hard leather bench seat, and stared out at the vast emptiness, counting the hours until he’d be home.

It took nearly two weeks going and two weeks coming back. The few days in between while he was in Toronto had passed quickly. He wondered how everyone was at home, how his horses had fared and if the Flanagan boys had had any trouble with the shop. It would feel good to get back to work.

He brought back maple sugar candy for Earl’s sweet tooth, and maple syrup and a tin of fancy biscuits for Mary. He brought nothing for Davy or Beth, not because he forgot, only because he didn’t know how he would be received when he returned.

He thought of them every moment he was away, and he wished he could show them the beautiful sights of Toronto. Maybe one day he would. It all depended on Beth. For all he knew, she might have decided to accept Lars Anderstom’s attention. Mary had always told Tom not to borrow trouble, but try as he might to heed her warning, worry was his seat partner all the way home.

The train had chugged westward through Manitoba and then Saskatchewan. Mile upon endless mile of snow-covered fields passed Tom’s window. At times, it was difficult to distinguish between land and sky, and Tom decided nothing could be bleaker than the flat prairies. Spring had arrived by the calendar, but nature didn’t know that yet. Occasionally, he saw a desolate farmstead, standing brown and foreign against the banal white landscape. Only a gray plume of smoke rising from its chimney indicated the shack was inhabited.

Eventually the landscape changed. Rolling hills loomed in the distance, and the snow didn’t appear as deep. Patches of brown grass and clumps of trees dotted the hillsides while amber colored bushes erupted through the melting snowdrifts along the rails. Tom began to get restless, knowing he was getting closer to home.

Farmyards were more frequent now. Fences marked where one homestead ended and another began. Horses ranged the pastureland, nibbling at the fresh sprouts of spring grasses. Cattle, penned during calving season, rested on the straw mounds, while others licked up the last few wisps of hay fed during the morning chores.

By late afternoon, the train had reached the foothills and it snaked its way through the valley, passing through Tannerville. It crossed the trestle spanning the deep creek bed of Whistle Creek.

Tom peered down. In the fall, only a small creek trickled along there and during winter it was frozen dormant. But in the spring, the run-off from the hills and mountains to the west filled the creek bed. Today, the water was deep, murky with mud, twigs and debris washed along by the swift current.

Far ahead, Tom saw the spire on the Whistle Creek Methodist Church. He was home.

The train rocked from side to side, and Tom widened his stance as he hauled down his belongings from the overhead shelf, ready to disembark even before the conductor announced the next stop was his town, Whistle Creek.

The man with the cigar had fallen asleep again, his hands folded upon his generous belly, which rose and fell in rhythm to his loud snoring. Glad to be rid of him, Tom headed down the aisle, and waited by an exit. When the train eased to a brake-screeching stop, Tom stepped from the train. His legs felt hollow, now that the train’s rocking motion was absent.

He looked toward the station, and his heart skipped a joyous beat. Beth and Davy were waiting there. Davy waved exuberantly and broke free from his sister’s grasp to run to him, throwing himself into Tom’s open arms. “I’m so glad you’re back! I missed you so much!”

Tom hugged him close. “I missed you too, Bud. How have you been?”

Davy pulled back. “I lost a tooth. See?” He bared his teeth and poked his tongue through the vacant space. Then he pushed against the adjacent one with his tongue, wiggling it. “And this one’s loose, too.”

“Well, so it is!”

But Tom wasn’t interested in loose teeth. He straightened to look across at Beth, still standing by the station. From the distance, it was impossible to read her face, and he wondered if she still felt the same about him. He allowed Davy to lead him over.

“Hello, Beth.” He kept his voice carefully passive. “It’s good to see you.”

She nodded. “How was your trip?” she asked when really she wanted to ask, “Did you miss me?”

“Good … long,” he answered when really he wanted to answer, “Lonesome, terribly lonesome.”

There was an awkward pause in the conversation, but Davy quickly filled it. “Beth’s been sick,” he volunteered.

Tom raised a worried eyebrow.

She waved his concerns away. “Nothing serious.”

Suddenly Davy remembered his gift. He pulled a short crude-looking wooden spoon out of his pocket. “I whittled this for you with the knife you gave me.”

Tom accepted the gift graciously.

“Only a couple of nicks in his fingers too,” Beth said, smiling.

Davy reached out, turning the spoon for Tom’s inspection. “It’s good, huh! I worked on it every night before bedtime. I had lots of time to make it real good. Beth and I counted the sleeps until you got back.” In his excitement, one sentence led to another.

Tom grinned.

“He missed you,” Beth said.

Tom looked into her eyes as if trying to see into her soul. “Just Davy?”

She blushed and shook her head. “No. I missed you too.”

Tom smiled in relief. He had a thousand things he wanted to say, a thousand things he wanted to ask, but not with Davy around.

“Bill’s still living at the livery.” Davy answered one of Tom’s questions. “He’s got it fixed up real good. Got a cot in there and a place for his clothes and everything. I can sleep over sometime if I want. And guess what? I might be able to sleep in a manger … ”

Davy rattled on, but Tom barely heard past the part about Bill still living at the livery. “So, he won’t come home?”