Dorothy Clark (13 page)

Her grandfather leaned over the chair arm and examined the gears, then grasped the lever with his good hand.

I don’t know if it will even work.

She couldn’t watch. She closed her eyes.
Please, Lord...

There was a clicking sound, then another and another that settled into a rhythm.

“Well,
gracious!
”

Her grandmother’s shocked voice mixed with her grandfather’s happy chortle and a deep chuckle. Cole was laughing. The chair must be working. She opened her eyes. Poppa was propelling himself across the room in the rolling chair, his face a picture of pure joy. Tears gushed. A sob caught in her throat. Her poppa could move around by himself again. He no longer had to sit in one place and wait for someone to carry him where he needed to go, and Cole had made it possible.

She blinked the tears from her eyes and looked over at Cole, standing straight and tall and watching her grandfather move around in the rolling chair. His expression was almost as joyous as Poppa’s, except there was a bit of cautiousness in it. And he
was
truly handsome. In that blue shirt, with his hair cut and his beard gone, he didn’t look at all like— His gaze shifted. He’d caught her staring at him again! She mouthed “Thank you” and looked away, hoping he’d think the heat spreading across her cheeks was from excitement.

Her grandfather stopped the chair in front of the wall and looked over the arm at the mechanism that worked it. “How...turn it?”

“The pin.” Cole strode across the room and crouched down beside the chair, then tapped something.

She rose on tiptoe to see over his broad shoulders and watched the movement of his hands. He had hardworking, helpful hands, not cruel, hurtful ones like his brother. Something hard and tight inside her released. She pressed her hands against her abdomen, caught her breath. She’d been so wrong....

“This pin holds the axle so the wheels turn together. When you pull out the pin, only the right wheel turns and the chair moves in a circle.”

“Ah.” Her grandfather nodded, smiled. “Cle...ver.” He yanked the pin and pulled the lever. The chair turned. He put the pin back in place, swiped his hand across his eyes and held it out to Cole. “Thank...you, son.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Her grandmother rose, bustled across the room and tugged Cole’s sleeve, kissed his cheek when he bent down. “Thank you, Cole.”

He straightened, touched his cheek and smiled. “Thank
you,
Mrs. Townsend.”

Her grandmother’s face creased into a smile. She patted Cole’s arm, then ran her pudgy hand over one of the chair’s wheels, her over-bright eyes twinkling. “And lest there be any doubt, you may leave the chair.”

Oh, Nanna, you understand.
Sadie’s heart swelled, and her throat closed. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked down at the floor, fighting for control.

“I’m...tired, Cole. Too much...excitement. Go to...bed...now.” The chair clicked. Her grandmother’s skirts swished as they headed toward the hall. Cole followed.

“Good...night, Sa...die.”

She swallowed hard and smiled, afraid to run and hug her grandfather as she longed to do lest she start bawling. “Good night, Poppa. Good night, Nanna.”

She held her place until the room was empty, then buried her face in her hands and let the tears come. When she gained control, she took a breath to steady herself and walked across the hall to the library.

* * *

Cole closed Manning’s bedroom door and grinned. The chair had worked better than he had dared to hope. Manning was reveling in his new freedom. He’d even refused—

“May I have a word with you, Cole?”

His pulse leaped at the sound of Sadie’s soft voice, and he frowned at the unwanted reaction. He had no business being interested in any woman, especially Sadie. “Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” Her long skirts rustled.

He turned and followed her toward the sitting room trying to ignore the graceful way she moved, remembering how her long hair had come free of its restraints and tumbled down her back that day in the stable. He glanced at her waist, so small he could span it with his hands, and stopped walking. It was best to keep space between them. Sadie Spencer drew him in a powerful way.

She stopped, turned and looked at him—straight up into his eyes, just the way he’d wanted. His heart slammed against his chest wall so hard it made him cough. He looked into the depths of her beautiful brown eyes and hated himself for his thudding heart and thundering pulse, for cutting his hair and shaving off his beard, for ever following her into the room. He clenched his hands, hard put to keep from reaching out and drawing her into his arms to taste her full, rose-colored lips.

“I want to apologize, Cole. I’ve been judgmental and inhospitable in the face of your considerate kindness to Poppa and Nanna, and that was wrong of me. Very wrong...”

Did she have to look so contrite? So beautiful? His hands flexed. He shoved them into his pockets. “But understandable in the face of my brother’s actions.”

She stiffened, looked down and expelled a breath.

That had come out far from the way he’d intended it. Where was his considerate kindness now? He looked at the way she’d wrapped her arms around herself like a shield, at her delicate hand rubbing her upper left arm and wished he could take back the words—wished he had been in Pinewood four years ago to protect her from Payne. “What I meant to say was—I’ve never blamed you for distrusting me, Sadie.”

His words drew her gaze back up to meet his, and his heart slammed against his ribs again. His gut tightened, twisted into a knot at the cloud that shadowed her eyes. She looked so vulnerable.

“Nonetheless, I was wrong to judge you by your brother’s...behavior. And I’m sorry for doing so.”

She stepped to the lamp stand at the end of the settee, picked up something and came back to stand in front of him. He glanced down at the green ledgers in her hands.

“Thank you for helping Poppa, Cole. I know, now, that you saved his sawmill business and prospered the logging camps as well.” She held the ledgers out to him. “You’ll be needing these. Please take them back to the mill. And please, take adequate compensation for the work you do. I noticed that you have taken no wages thus far.”

“I want no wages.” His voice was gruff, the words more brusque than he intended, but she’d touched a sore spot.

“I don’t understand.” A tiny vertical frown line formed between her delicately arched brows. “It’s only fair. I’m certain Poppa would insist.”

He shook his head. “My compensation is in making up, in a small measure, for the pain my brother caused you and your grandparents. I wish I could change what Payne did, Sadie, but I cannot.
This
is all I can do.” He took hold of the ledgers, careful not to touch her hands, and turned to leave before he said more than he ought.

“Cole...”

“Yes?” He tucked the ledgers under his right arm, sucked in air and looked back at her. There were tears in her eyes. They might as well have been knives the way they pierced his heart.

“What Payne...did—” Her throat worked, her hand rubbed her arm, and everything in him wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to take away the hurt of the past four years. “—it’s not your fault.” She blinked her eyes and smiled, but her lips trembled. “Thank you for your kindness, and for making the rolling chair for Poppa.”

He clenched his jaw and nodded, then looked away from the temptation she presented and headed for the door.

* * *

The curtains fluttered, flapped and snapped in the rising wind. The flame in the oil lamp flickered. Sadie settled her nightgown on her shoulders, shook out the long skirt, then slid the lamp out of the direct draft and glanced toward the window. The stars had disappeared. A storm was brewing.

She snatched the ribbon off the spindle that held the tilting mirror to the frame attached to the washstand, slipped it beneath the hair at the back of her neck and tied it. A rainstorm fit her unsettled state perfectly. Clouds roiled around in the sky. Wind bowed the trees, their leafy branches quivering at its approach.

How happy Poppa had looked tonight, propelling himself around the room. Her throat tightened at the mere thought of his new freedom. And it was all due to Cole’s kindness and ingenuity. How had he ever thought of such a thing as a rolling chair?

She walked to her bed, propped a pillow against the headboard and stepped out of her slippers. She’d meant to ask Cole about that after Poppa had settled in bed for the night, but she’d been...nervous.

Nervous. Yes. Her stomach had quivered like those leafy branches.

She sat on the edge of the bed, then leaned back against the pillow, pulled the other pillow into her arms and hugged it against her chest. She hadn’t been frightened tonight. Not even outside in the dark,
after
she’d learned it was Cole who’d come out of the woods. Of course, she’d been distracted by the chair and by his appearance. The way the corners of his mouth turned up was surprising. He looked pleasant, not at all cruel. And his eyes...

I wish I could change what Payne did, Sadie.

The way he had
looked
at her. Her stomach fluttered as it had then. She patted the pillows into place, blew out the lamp, then stretched out and drew the folded-down sheet up over her. It was when she looked into his eyes she’d become nervous. They were dark gray, though not at all like...like his brother’s. Payne’s eyes were hard and glittery, almost black. She’d never forget the cold, cruel look of them.

She shuddered, rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, drawing her thoughts back to Cole. His eyes were softer, and warmer...and kind...and...caring... and...

She sighed and snuggled deeper beneath the sheet.

* * *

Small, dark objects struck her head and shoulders with soft patting sounds. Bats! She couldn’t move. The horse wouldn’t let her move! She covered her head with her arms, felt the bats’ small, bony bodies strike her flesh and screamed.

A green ledger flew open. Cole rode out of it astride a golden chestnut horse with flaxen mane and tail. He dropped his raincoat over her and pulled away the mare that had her trapped.

The patting grew louder against the rubber cloth of his coat that covered her....

* * *

Sadie opened her eyes and stared into the darkness, became aware of a real pattering sound and yanked the sheet up over her head. This was not a dream. And there was no Cole to save her. “Lord,
please
make the bats go away!”

The sound grew louder. She burrowed deeper beneath the sheet, tensed and listened. It was
raining.

Laughter bubbled up. She lowered the sheet, turned on her side and listened to the raindrops dancing on the porch roof outside her open window, thinking about Cole rescuing her from the bat and Sweetpea. If only he hadn’t been riding that chestnut horse...

Chapter Sixteen

D
inner felt wrong. Sadie put down her fork and glanced at the empty chair across the table. She’d become accustomed to Cole sitting there—to the sound of his deep voice as he engaged in conversation with Poppa and Nanna. Not with her, of course. She’d been cold and terse in any response she’d made to him when he’d tried. Guilt reared, an unwelcome addition to the meal sitting in her stomach.

I’ve never blamed you for distrusting me, Sadie.

He’d been so kind when she apologized last night. But he wasn’t here today. Of course, there was no need. Her grandfather sat at the head of the table in his rolling chair, a glimmer of his old self shining in his eyes. Cole had given him back at least a measure of his independence—and had gained back a portion of his own in doing so.

She folded her napkin and placed it on the table, looked to her grandmother and smiled. “Gertrude baked maids of honor for our dessert, Nanna. Would you like me to serve them now?”

“I believe we’ll wait and have them later with Pastor Calvert and Willa, Sadie. He’ll be paying his Sunday call soon.”

“Oh, no! I forgot I promised Willa white cookies!” She shot to her feet and started gathering up the dishes.

Her grandmother stood and grasped her wrist. “You go start the cookies, Sadie. I’ll bring the dishes along.”

“But Poppa—”

He shook his head and smiled. “Don’t need...help. I’m going to...sitting room and...read my...Bible.” He placed his palm against the table edge and pushed his chair backward, then grasped the lever and propelled himself toward the door.

Poppa didn’t need help, and Nanna had remembered about the pastor’s visit.
Thank You, Lord.
She cleared the lump from her throat. “I’ll carry these in with me, Nanna.” She picked up the plates she’d stacked and hurried for the kitchen.

* * *

Sadie placed the last of the cooled cookies into the tin and turned to survey the clean kitchen. Nanna had washed, dried and put away the dishes—once. Had whatever been vexing her mind healed?
Please, Lord, let it be so. Let it be more than simply a good day.

She sighed and removed her apron, hung it on its peg and rubbed cream into her hands. The fresh, warm breeze coming in the window beckoned. She smoothed her hair back, tugged the waist of her gold-on-gold embroidered cotton gown into place, then crumbled a dry piece of bread in her palm and went out onto the porch.

Chickadees called to one another and flitted from tree to tree. She stepped to the railing and held out her hand. “Chicka-dee-dee-dee. Chicka-dee-dee-dee.” One of the tiny, black-capped birds flew to a branch of the lilac bush beside the porch and looked at her. She smiled at the curious tilt of its head, held perfectly still and spoke in a low, quiet voice. “Come along, now. You know you want to.” The friendly little bird hopped to the end of the branch, then spread its wings and flew to her hand, took a crumb into its beak and flew back to the branch.

She laughed and strewed the rest of the crumbs along the top of the railing, brushed off her hand, then hurried to the steps at the sound of a horse and buggy turning into the gravel way.

“Good afternoon!” She returned Willa’s smile and wave as the carriage rolled to a halt, then watched Matthew Calvert leap lightly to the ground, tie the horse and lift his wife out of the phaeton. The happiness and contentment in her friend’s eyes brought a hollow feeling to her heart. She smiled a welcome as they came up the stone walk.

“Let me guess...you’ve been feeding the birds.”

She looked from Willa’s smiling face to the chickadees, nuthatches and titmice flying from the trees and bushes to the railing and gave a soft laugh. “That’s not much of a guess.”

“I know.” Willa took Matthew’s offered arm, lifted her hems with her other hand and started up the steps. “Did you have them eating out of your hand as you used to do?”

“One of them.” She glanced at Willa’s hand holding so comfortably to her husband’s arm, as if it was meant to be there, and wondered, for a brief instant, what it would be like to be able to have that sort of trust in a man. She veered her thoughts from that direction. There was no profit in thinking about things that would never be. “I thought your children would be with you. I was looking forward to meeting them.”

“Not today. There is a new foal and a new litter of kittens at the Finsters’. Kurt asked Joshua and Sally to come see them.” Willa shrugged and smiled. “I hadn’t the heart to deny them the chance.”

“I should say not.” She laughed and stepped back. “I would like to see that foal myself. And the kittens.”

“Actually, I’m fearful of the outcome of the children’s visit.”

“Is there danger?” She glanced at Matthew and saw the look he gave Willa.

“Taking Sally to see kittens can have consequences. Sometimes, lovely, life-changing ones.”

There was a teasing note in Matthew Calvert’s voice, but even so, there was a fullness to it that made her think of pews and soft light coming through stained-glass windows. It was obvious from the loving look on Willa’s face she was thinking of something else.

“Well, perhaps Joshua and Sally will come next time. For now, Poppa and Nanna are waiting for you, Reverend Calvert.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Poppa has something to show you.”

“Indeed? Well, then, I must hurry inside.”

“And you, Willa. You must come and see also.” She turned and led the way through the door Matthew held open for them.

“What is it, Sadie?”

Willa had caught her excitement. “You’ll see.” She laughed and crossed the dining room. Willa caught up and walked at her side with Matthew close behind as they went down the hall to the sitting room.

“Wait here.” She motioned them to stand by the door and stepped into the room. “Poppa, Reverend Calvert and Willa are here. I’ve told them you have something to show them.”

“Indeed I...do! Step...in...folks.”

She turned to face the door as her grandfather grabbed the handle on his chair and pulled. Willa’s eyes widened with every click. Matthew’s lips slanted in a lopsided grin.

Her grandfather stopped the chair, pulled the pin to turn it around, put the pin back in place and grinned. “What...do you think...of...that?”

“Well, I—I don’t know what to think. Praise the Lord! A rolling chair!” Matthew laughed and raised his hands palms up in front of himself in a gesture that bespoke disbelief and wonderment.

“Well, I do. I think it’s wonderful, Grandfather Townsend!” Willa hurried forward, leaned down and hugged him.

“Wherever did you find such a chair, Manning?” Matthew rubbed the back of his neck, shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even in the city.”

“Cole...made it...for me.” Her grandfather patted the mechanism. “Come see...how it...works.”

Nanna smiled and rose from the settee to accept Willa’s hug as Matthew strode across the room and knelt by the chair. “I’ll just get the refreshments. I believe this will take some time.”

Sadie looked at her poppa, happily explaining how the chair worked to Matthew, and nodded. “Willa and I will be out on the porch visiting, if you wish to join us, Nanna.”

“Thank you, dear. But I’ll stay in here and listen to Reverend Calvert’s message.” Her grandmother glanced at the two men, looked back up at her and smiled. “If there is to be one, that is.”

* * *

“
Cole
made that rolling chair for your grandfather?”

The words popped out of Willa’s mouth as soon as the kitchen door closed behind them. And the way she said Cole’s name made it clear that she was remembering their last conversation.

“Yes. Isn’t it
marvelous?
” Sadie carried the refreshment tray to the table. “You were right about Cole, Willa. He made Poppa the chair. And he saved Poppa’s businesses, too.”

“Oh?”

The single little word held a plethora of questions—and the tiniest bit of smugness. She stuck out her tongue at Willa.

Willa laughed and lifted the glasses of tea punch off the tray, placing them on the table.

“Cole brought Poppa’s ledgers to me.” She handed the small plates to Willa, put the plate of white cookies and maids of honor in the center of the table and set the tray aside.

“And?”

“And when I looked over the books, I discovered that Poppa’s sawmill and logging camps had been failing the past few months before Cole began managing them.”

“
Failing?
” The plate Willa was placing in front of her clattered to the table. She looked up, her eyes wide with shock. “Why?”

Sadie shook her head, smoothed her skirts and slipped onto her chair. “I don’t know why. I’ve thought that perhaps Poppa was unwell before he had the seizure. Or perhaps he was distracted by Nanna’s illness of the mind...” She looked down at the brown liquid in her glass. “Whatever the reason, I should have been here.”

Willa reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “That wouldn’t have changed anything, Sadie. What could you have done?”

She sighed and dredged up a weak smile. “I don’t know. Perhaps nothing. But I still feel guilty.”

Willa nodded and withdrew her hand, picked up a cookie. “What will you do about the ledgers?”

She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I’ve already apologized to Cole and returned them to him.”

“Oh, Sadie, I’m so relieved! I felt terrible when he caught us sneaking—”

“We were not sneaking!”

“It felt like we were.”

“Not to me. I had a perfect right to go after Poppa’s ledgers.”

Willa’s brows rose. “Without telling him?”

Heat crawled into her cheeks. “I didn’t know what I would find. And I didn’t want to give Cole a chance to alter the ledgers or prepare a story to cover the truth.”

“Which turned out to not be necessary.”

“It
could
have been.” She snapped a cookie in two and put it on her plate. “And there is still the matter of the clapboard delivery to Dibble’s. The sale is recorded, but Cole lied about delivering it.”

“How can you be so certain, Sadie?” Willa broke off a bite of cookie. “And don’t jut your chin at me.”

The sound of the breath she huffed out reminded her of her grandmother. She frowned and reached for her glass. “I told you he was riding a
horse
that day. You can’t deliver lumber on horseback.” The words left a sour taste in her mouth. She took a sip of her tea punch, looked up and found Willa staring at her, a speculative glint in her blue-green eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” Willa popped another piece of cookie in her mouth. “Mmm, these are as good as I remember. Mine never taste quite the same.”

“It’s souring the milk first.”

“You never told me that!”

“You never asked.” She took another sip of her drink and tried to forget about that horse. And the bank note. And the way the day seemed so long.

* * *

The dusky light cast its warm glow on the pond. A willow growing along the bank hung the tips of its drooping branches in the still water. Cole picked up a handful of the small stones strewn along the dirt path and threw them one by one into the water, watching the ripples and listening to the birds twittering their night songs. He never should have accepted that supper invitation from the Conklins—even if it was to thank him for stopping that runaway mare. Chloe was too...friendly.

He scowled, brushed the dirt from his hands and made his way back along the path to the log yard. He’d caught Chloe glancing at him several times with an appreciative, interested look. And a few young ladies in church had done the same that morning. And the other night Sadie had, at last, looked at him...
really
looked at him. His heart jolted at the memory. Maybe he shouldn’t have shaved his beard after all.

He threaded his way through the piles of logs waiting to be sawn into rough lumber, made note of the quantity, then climbed the steps to the mill deck and leaned against a support beam. The rough grained wood pressed into the skin on his back as he looked out over the pond to the forested hills. The last rays of light outlined the feathery tops of the pines standing tall and proud along the ridges. There was a loud click as a June bug threw itself against the globe of the oil lamp dangling from the bracket that hung out over the water. Crickets chirped.

He glanced up at the darkening sky, shifted his back to a more comfortable position, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. It was still too early to go to the Townsends’. Another half hour or so and he’d get ready. His pulse quickened, proof that he should stay away. If Sadie looked at him the way she had last night...

A mosquito flew around the lamp, dipped low and hovered over his bare hand. He swatted it away and picked up a sliver of wood, shredded it with his thumbnail and threw the pieces in the water to float away, glanced again at the sky. His gut tightened.

Another thirty minutes...