Lady of Light (34 page)

Besides, if she told Evan too soon, the odds were strong he would insist she not work so hard. Yet who else could take over if she didn’t cook the meals and run the house? It wasn’t fair to continue imposing on Hannah. And it wasn’t as if, Claire added, she wasn’t strong and healthy. She was a Highlander born and bred, after all.

Nay, Claire resolved, it wouldn’t serve any purpose to tell Evan too soon. He had enough to deal with, without adding needless worries about her pregnancy. But, just as soon as Abby and Conor were safely home….

Claire washed up, donned a plain white blouse and dark navy woolen skirt, and made her way downstairs to start breakfast. As was their usual routine, Evan, on his way out to begin a few pre-breakfast chores, had already started a good fire in Old Bess. Claire soon had a large kettle of water on the stove to heat, and she began taking out fry pans to make flapjacks. She quickly discovered, however, that there was barely enough flour left in the pottery canister to make her usual amount of flapjacks.

“Now where did all the flour go?” she muttered to herself. “I distinctly recall …” At the memory of Beth’s request to bake cookies for a party they were having at school three days ago, Claire’s dilemma was solved. Beth had made an inordinately large batch of cookies. She had then shared a generous portion with everyone at that night’s supper and the next day’s lunch. Unfortunately, Claire hadn’t thought to check the supply of flour afterward.

“Well, there’s naught to be done for it but make a quick visit to town today,” she decided as she donned her jacket, took up a bowl, and headed out first to the chicken coop to gather eggs, then to the springhouse for a jar of milk. Besides, she added as an afterthought, if there was time and Doc Childress was about, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to pay him a wee visit, either, just to make certain the babe was all right.

A light frost had fallen last night, and the grass crunched underfoot. In the east, mauve, tinged at its base with rose, faintly washed the horizon. The air was still, but crisp and bracing, reminding her of countless Highland autumns.

It would be dawn soon. The dawn of yet another day of her childbearing, and the first day of the realization of her impending motherhood. It was truly a day that the Lord had made, and she rejoiced in it and was glad.

A mother … she was going to be a mother. Clutching the bowl to her, Claire opened the door to the chicken coop and all but skipped in.

“Well, and what brings you, all beaming and rosycheeked, to Grand View this fine morning?” Noah Starr asked as he walked up four hours later, just as Claire stepped from Doc Childress’s office. The priest glanced at the shingle hanging above the door, then met her startled gaze. “Nothing serious in any physical sense, I hope?”

Claire couldn’t help it. She blushed, then quickly lowered her head. “Nay, naught serious at all. Just a routine checkup.”

“I didn’t mean to pry, Claire,” Noah hurried to say. “Please accept my apologies.”

She glanced up then, just in time to note his own embarrassed countenance. “Och, it’s naught,” she exclaimed, touching his arm. “It’s just …” At the realization that she most certainly couldn’t tell Noah the real reason for her visit to Doc Childress’s, leastwise not until she first told her husband, her voice faded.

“So, how are things going at home?” the priest asked with a chuckle, in an obvious attempt to change the subject and avoid further awkwardness. “Had any talks with anyone important?”

At the roguish wag of one brow as he asked, Claire couldn’t help but laugh. “Och, aye. In fact, I’ve had a talk not only with Evan, but Hannah, too, and everything now is just wonderful!” She gave Noah’s arm a quick squeeze before releasing it. “Thank you ever so much for your patience and excellent advice the last time I saw you. You were right about everything, of course.”

“Was I now?” Noah grinned. “Then I’ll have to mark that auspicious date down in my journal. No one will ever believe me otherwise.”

“And I,” Claire teased, joining in on the fun, “think mayhap you don’t give yourself enough credit. Why, I recall last Sunday, you finally managed to get through a complete sermon without having to caution Tommy Dillon not to bang the hymnal on Mr. Hodgen’s back even once. Seems to me when you can keep Tommy Dillon mesmerized by a sermon, you’ve reached the pinnacle of preaching.”

“Well, since several other parishioners were equally impressed by that very same accomplishment, I’ll tell you a secret. You must promise, though, not to spill the beans.”

“Aye? And what would that secret be?” An impish grin on her face, Claire leaned close.

“I promised Tommy a sour-apple candy stick if he could sit through the entire service without once disrupting it.” Noah shrugged. “Amazingly enough, it worked!”

Claire cocked her head. “And what if that little secret gets out to the other children? Did you mayhap think to swear Tommy to secrecy as well?”

Fleetingly, the young priest’s eyes grew huge, then his face fell. “Oh, my. You’re right! I didn’t think to ask Tommy not to tell anyone else. If he should mention it to even one or two other children …”

“I only hope your priestly stipend is up to affording candy for all the children each and every Sunday.”

Noah sighed and hung his head. “And it seemed like such a brilliant solution to Tommy Dillon’s antics.”

“Mayhap it’d be better to attempt a variation on your plan.” Claire pursed her lips and frowned in thought. “Why not offer to throw a small party every few months during children’s Bible class, then give out special treats for the most well-behaved in church? It would, I imagine, be a sight less costly for you in the long run.”

“What a brilliantly simple plan!” The priest clapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “And, speaking of parties, have you heard about the town dance being held a week from today? We’re calling it the Fall Festival Social, and we’ll have music and dancing. In addition, the ladies of the Grand View Quilting Society will be raffling off box suppers to raise money for a new quilting frame, and for supplies to make Christmas quilts for some of the poorer families in town.”

Since Claire had purposely missed this month’s meeting in order to avoid having to deal with Mary Sue, she hadn’t heard about the quilting society’s plans. Still, the box supper raffle was for a good cause, and some music and dancing would be fun. “Nay, I hadn’t heard about the dance, but I’ll share the news with Evan. It sounds so much like a Highland
ceilidh,
that it makes me feel homesick even thinking about it. If there’s any way to talk Evan into coming, you can be certain I will.”

“Good.” He paused. “If you have the time, I’m sure Millie would enjoy a visit. She’s a bit under the weather right now, with her lumbago acting up and all. I’m headed back to the rectory. May I tell her you might stop by later?”

“Well, Jonah Goldman is waiting for me in the buggy …” She gestured to the black carriage parked just down the street. “After he heard Brody Gerard had returned to town, Evan insisted I now take a ranch hand with me whenever I come to Grand View. But I don’t see the harm—”

Just then, the door to the newspaper office directly across the street opened. Mary Sue Edgerton stepped out. As luck would have it, her gaze immediately settled on the two of them standing there on the boardwalk outside the doctor’s office. From even across the span of the wide, rutted dirt street, Claire could see the other girl’s eyes narrow with keen speculation. Her heart sank.

“I’m sorry, but I have to pass on your request to visit your aunt today,” Claire murmured, backing away even as she spoke. “Time is short and I must return to Culdee Creek. But mayhap another time?”

Understanding tinged with regret gleamed in Noah Starr’s striking brown eyes, but he nodded and tipped his hat in farewell. “Of course, another time then,” he said.

Before she could reconsider her decision and begin to make amends, Claire forced herself to turn and quickly stride to the buggy. Still, though the walk was short, it was one of the hardest journeys she had ever made. Anger seethed within her at the pain she must have caused the kind-hearted priest, and all because of a mean little gossip. It wasn’t fair that a person possessed so much power to do so much harm.

It was a power, however, Claire reminded herself as she allowed Jonah to help her into the buggy, that others had given her. But how to wrest that power back? And, even more importantly, what motivated Mary Sue to wield it so cruelly?

The Saturday night of the Fall Festival Social was a perfect autumn eve. The sky was clear; the moon a huge, orange orb hanging low in the heavens. The temperature was cool, but without apparent threat of wind or snow. As Evan helped Claire down from the buggy, the sound of gay fiddle music, clapping hands, and pounding feet floated from the town hall. An eager anticipation filled her. Och, how she wanted to join the others and dance!

Beth and Ian jumped from the backseat. Hand in hand they ran up onto the boardwalk fronting the town hall and entered the building. Evan, occupied with tying the horse to the hitching post, glanced up and scowled.

“You’d think they could’ve at least offered to help me with the horse, or you with the box suppers,” he muttered.

“Och, dinna fash yerself,” Claire chided with a laugh. “You’re quite capable of tying up the horse, and these four box suppers I prepared aren’t that heavy. Let them have their fun. It isn’t often there’s a dance for all ages to enjoy.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Her husband walked up to take the basket containing the box suppers from her. He tucked it over one arm and held out his other to her. “Come along, Mrs. MacKay. It isn’t often
we
get much of a chance to do some dancing either, and I aim to make the most of it.”

With a giggle, Claire slipped her arm through his, and together they headed toward the town hall. It was good to walk with your husband, she thought. To spend a night of fun and fellowship with others. In many small ways, life here in Colorado was beginning to take on a comforting patina of familiarity. Though it would never be Scotland, this land possessed its own unique value and significance. It was her husband’s home, and hence, now hers. It would be the birthplace of their unborn child and, God willing, of many more to come. She now had friends and family here, a life and purpose that seemed to deepen with each passing day. A life and a purpose she could share with others, and gain so much from them in return. Somehow, she knew that the Lord’s hand was in this, had been in it from the beginning, and that it was good.

“I love you, you know, husband,” Claire whispered, looking up at him as they walked along.

“Do you now, lass?” Evan replied with a grin and a thick Scottish burr. “And did you know that I love you, too?”

“Och, of course I knew.” She giggled. “And do you know what it does to me when you speak to me so? Why, it sends shivers down my back, and makes me want to throw my arms about you and kiss you senseless.”

“Weel then,” he replied, laying on the accent even thicker, “mayhap we should be turnin’ about right now and headin’ fer home. Any Scotsman worth his kilt willna e’er turn down such a temptin’ offer from such a bonnie lassie.”

“Well, this Scotsman will just have to wait until we get back home, which will be much later this eve, by the way,” Claire said, nudging him in the side. “For no Scotsman worth his kilt would ever deny his lady a night of dancing and song. Or not, leastwise, if he long valued his kilt.”

As they halted before the town hall’s main door, Evan threw back his head and laughed. “Not a pretty picture. A Scotsman running about without his kilt, I mean.”

“To be sure,” Claire agreed, then opened the door and walked in.

The town hall had been cleared of its neat rows of chairs and decorated for the occasion. Tall sheaths of pale gold wheat were stacked in each corner, orange and brown ribbons festooned the rafters, and plump pumpkins perched on the windowsills. Over on the punch and cookies table, a large cornucopia filled with a variety of winter squash and fall leaves served as a colorfully festive centerpiece.

At the far end of the room, a small, makeshift stage had been set up. Upon it were seated two fiddlers, a banjo player, and a man with an elaborately painted, ebony accordion. Beside the stage stood an old upright piano. Claire recognized Russell Gates at the keyboard.