Love Blooms in Winter (11 page)

“With whom?” He was planning on being long gone by Sunday.

“Pauline, Jeremy, Jake, and me. Afterward, we can have dinner together. Chicago is so far away. Surely lingering a few days here in Dwadlo wouldn’t hurt.” She glanced out the window at the house down the way with dogs roaming the yard. “Considering Pauline’s condition—well, you never know when the Lord will call her home.”

His gaze traced hers and also rested on the dogs. He wasn’t used to this kind of upheaval in his life. Besides, he’d already made his assessment of Pauline’s yard, and the last thing he wanted to do was have a midwinter picnic in it. Although, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t mind spending more time with Miss Wilkey. “I’m not sure I’ll be around by then.”

“But if you are?”

She turned, her warm gaze melting his protests. Oddly enough, something inside of him bought her invitation. “I’ll see how things go.”
Curtis, that’s crazy. You have a well-earned promotion waiting for you in Chicago. Don’t go getting involved with a woman, not at this point
.

He had to clear his mind. “Guess I need to get to work.” As he was leaving, he called, “Have a nice day, Dale!”

Lifting a jar of tomatoes, Dale acknowledged his departure.

Closing the door behind him, Tom released a long breath. Shy? He’d have to describe the owner as downright strange.

A loud crash, and then the sound of glass breaking, came from inside the store. Tom hoped Dale hadn’t broken anything—like a bone. He didn’t hear screams, so Mae must not be worried.

Shaking his head, he went in search of someone he didn’t know to care for someone he didn’t know.

Didn’t make a lick of sense.

L
ater that evening Tom realized how hungry he was, so he stopped by the café. Dale and Jeremy would have eaten by now. Business was slow. The owner, Rosie, was cleaning up in the back room. A lone man brought his plate over to Tom’s table.

“Can you pass me the salt?”

Obliging, Tom handed him the shaker. So far nobody he met had treated him like a stranger. Must be the small-town atmosphere. Surely there wasn’t something about him that made folks pick up their plates and want to have supper with him.

The man took a bite before he even sat down. “Name’s Jester.”

The newcomer liberally salted his meat loaf. White grains fell on the red-and-white checked tablecloth. Tom sized up his dinner guest beneath lowered lids. The man was big—well over six foot, he’d bet, with a heavy red beard. He wouldn’t miss two hundred and fifty pounds by a pound or two. “Mr. Hester.”

“Jester. Just like it sounds. J-E-S-T-E-R.”

“Jester,” Tom corrected. How was he supposed to understand someone with a mouth full of food? Silence fell over the table while the two men ate. When Jester pushed back, Tom still had half his meal on his plate.

“Hear your Pauline’s kin.”

“That’s what I’m told.” It didn’t take long for news to travel here.

“She’s a good woman, but real strange. Know what I mean? I found her in back of the café a couple of days ago, planting a garden.”

“In January?”

“Tell her that. This morning I caught her with her hoe and shovel, again behind the café, planting some sort of seeds in the snow, muttering something about growing a fine crop of bread.”

“Losing your mind is a sad thing.”

“Yes.” Jester motioned Rosie over for a coffee refill. “Likely we’ll all get there if we live long enough.”

“I have a couple pieces of lemon meringue left.” Rosie refilled both cups. “Dessert’s on me tonight.”

Tom refused with a shake of his head and a smile, but Jester accepted. “I’ll eat anything that won’t eat me first.”

Chuckling, she left and the stranger returned to the conversation. “What do you think of Mae?”

“Mae Wilkey?”

“Dwadlo don’t have but one Mae.”

Shrugging, Tom picked up his cup. “She’s pleasant enough.” She’d be a whole lot more agreeable if she hadn’t dumped a peck of responsibility on his plate. The gentleness of her touch when she wiped the mud from his face and the smell of jasmine came to mind. She was a kind soul. Why else would she be so concerned about Pauline?

“Yes, sir. She’s a keeper. Never could figure out why she takes to Lil the way she does. Those two are best friends. Now, there’s a woman who’ll put a knot on your head for looking at her wrong.”

A grin formed on Tom’s lips. “You talk as if you’ve looked at her once or twice.”

“Me? Never. She’d like to put a knot on my head, but she ain’t met her goal yet.”

Hearing that the woman was Mae’s best friend fueled Tom’s curiosity. “So who is Lil?”

“Oh, she’s a loudmouthed female who lives just outside of town. Raises big ol’ hogs. Always smells like one too. Like Pauline, she gathers any stray that comes her way. Stubborn as a Missouri mule. She and Mae met in school, and they been soul mates ever since.”

“I gather Lil isn’t spoken for?”

“Lil?” Jester threw back his head and laughed, a deep baritone rumble. “Don’t know of a man who’d have her!” Lacing his coffee with heavy cream, he sat back, assessing his table companion. “Hear you’re with the railroad.”

Change of subject. Nodding, Tom swallowed the last of his coffee.

“Been there long?”

“Sixteen years.”

“Me? The town’s so small I run the livery and do the smithy work. Lost the missus awhile back, so it’s no problem. Now I eat all my meals at Rosie’s.” The owner returned and set the pie on the table. He glanced at Tom. “Sure you don’t want a hunk of this?”

Tom waved the offer aside. That slab of lemon meringue pie, if eaten, would fell a moose.

“Guess you’ve met Jake.” Jester took a bite of the dessert.

Fishing in his back pocket, Tom removed his wallet. “Don’t believe I have.”

“Jake Mallory? Claims he’s going to marry Mae—if he ever gets around to asking.”

Glancing at the bill, Tom shook his head. “I only arrived yesterday.” So Mae had a suitor. That didn’t surprise him, but it didn’t please him too much either. She was a fine-looking woman. Tiny, with a waist a man could span with both hands. Godly, pleasant personality, pretty dark eyes and blond hair—and she was a good sister to Jeremy. Until now he hadn’t realized he’d noticed that many things about her.

Mouth full of pie, the man nodded. “You’ll meet him. It’ll take a spell to find somewhere to put Pauline, lessen you figure on stickin’ around to take care of her yourself.”

Tom supposed he needed to tell him that he’d been assigned an impossible task. “Do you know anyone who will take the dogs and cats?”

Jester glanced up, frowning. “No.”

“Pauline?”

“No.”

Tom had been given the same answer all day. He laid two quarters on the bill. “If you run across anyone, will you send them my way? I’m staying at Mae’s.”

The man choked and spit out the sip of coffee he’d just taken. Tom smiled at Jester’s reaction and reached to whack him on the back. “Mae is staying in Dale’s quarters at the store, and he, Jeremy, and I are at her place.”

Fumbling in his back pocket, Jester produced a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Whew. You gave me a scare there for a minute. I know Mae has the patience of Job, waiting all these years for Jake to propose, but I thought she’d gone off her rocker.”

Tom smiled and then headed for the front door. When he got there, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see that the man was following him. Jester apparently wasn’t finished saying what he had to say.

“Put mine on my bill, Rosie! Thanks.”

“Night, Fisk!”

The two men stepped onto the porch, pausing to lift their collars. Mae had done a fine job mending Tom’s coat and shirt and cleaning his clothes. It was good to be wearing clothing that fit. The snow had stopped falling, but the cold wind rattled the bones. When Tom set off, he noticed Jester was still with him. “Thought you said your name’s Jester.”

“Did. Jester’s my surname. Fisk is my given.” The man glanced over. “Figure we’re walking in the same direction.”

Nodding, Tom trudged through snow drifts. “Have you lived here long?”

“Born and reared a couple of miles away.”

“Then you’ve seen a lot of change.”

“Some. The train’s the biggest thing that ever happened in Dwadlo.” Jester’s tone dropped to one of reverence. “I took the blacksmith job when the town formed. When I first moved here, I’d get up before the sun rose, pour my coffee, and then go sit on the train platform to wait until that big ol’ steam engine would pull into the station, puffing smoke and wheels screaming against steel. Truth is, you can still find me there about any morning of the week.” A wistful tone filled the man’s voice. “I’d give an arm and a leg to drive one of those sleek, black iron horses.”

“Maybe you’ll get your chance one of these days.”

Jester shook his head. “I’m a blacksmith, not an engineer. But if I were younger…” His words trailed off in a cold vapor.

Tom knew the longing. Railroading got in a man’s blood. He knew the excitement he’d felt as a young boy living close to the rail yard. He’d hung out there from daylight to dawn. His mother thought he was in school until the teacher visited his home one day and reported on his actual activities. The engineers, conductors, and flagmen all teased him about being underfoot, but his love of the rail eventually paid off.

When he turned fourteen he’d snagged a job sweeping floors and slowly worked his way up the chain. He understood the tingling in the pit of a man’s gut when he was around one of those steel monsters.

“Me?” Jester chuckled. “I’m pushing forty years old. Just about lived up my life, I ’spect.”

Tom laughed softly. “I think you still have a few good years yet. Pauline doesn’t think she’s lived hers up yet, and she’s ninety.”

“Ninety-two, but she’s lost her mind. She has one foot in the grave and another on a chunk of ice.”

The men paused in front of the livery. Fisk stuck out a dry, rough hand. “Much obliged for letting me sit at your table tonight. Gets a might lonely in the evenings.”

“How long ago did you say your wife passed?”

“Eight months next week.”

“Sorry.” After the shake Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. Sadness was evident in the big man’s eyes, and suddenly he really did feel sorry for Fisk Jester.

Pulling his worn coat collar closer, the man smiled. “Wish the good Lord would have taken me with her.”

“Appears He still has use of you.” Tom wasn’t an overtly religious man, but the assurance seemed in order.

Nodding, Fisk agreed. “That’s what I tell myself. Problem is, I can’t imagine what He’d have in store for this old man.”

Tom watched the man walk off and into the livery, darkness enveloping his tall frame. Turning into the night, Tom headed toward the Wilkey place, his mind skipping to a portion of the earlier conversation. Mae was spoken for—well, according to Jester, the man hadn’t asked her yet, but he supposed it would be the same as being spoken for if everyone knew about the courting.

Her letter had indicated that work and family kept her busy. She had failed to mention that Pauline had become an anchor around her neck. Or maybe it was that her future husband—what name did Fisk mention?—wasn’t willing to take on both a slow child and an old woman.

What if Mae Wilkey was using him to benefit herself? What if the note in Pauline’s desk drawer didn’t have anything at all to do with him?

But no. As much as that might now seem possible, common sense told him there had to be some reason for his name and address to be in that woman’s possession. He had to try harder to discover what that was.

His footsteps grew heavy as he trudged toward Mae’s cottage and his roommate, Dale. He hoped to goodness the store owner wasn’t sitting at the table, bib tied around his neck, knife and fork in hand, waiting for supper.

Trying to put the thought aside, his steps slowed even further. What if he were? How far did the fellow intend to carry out this nonsense, and why did the man think Tom was his servant? Speaking of why, why did God suddenly decide to drop distant kin on him? Crazy kin, if she actually was kin, and a huge pack of cats and dogs. Shaking his head, he walked on.