Moonlight on the Millpond (3 page)

“You don't deserve it,” she told Woody, her eyes sparkling with hidden laughter, “but there it is!”

Woody grinned at her, but Clara only shook her head and moved back to the kitchen. Jace cut large slices for both of them, knowing they were enjoying some of the fruit Clara had put up last summer. Since this was mid-March, it wouldn't be long before she would be planting her garden too.

Thank you for praying, Mother.
Alison—thoughtful over Douglas' news—wrote in a letter that afternoon. She continued,

I have something to tell you. Douglas came home for
dinner and announced to the family that he'd received a
letter from the manager of the bank. Someone has given
a large donation through the bank to our small church
family. Doug will meet with the other elders this week to
discuss it. His plan is to be patient and go slowly in
order to develop a path that will work well for the church
family.

As you may recall from my letters, the church
family is growing here. We love meeting in our home,
and also love the hospitality we're able to offer. We've
been so thankful for the space, but it might be time to
think about having our own building.

Douglas has such a heart for Tucker Mills. Please
keep praying for us and for hearts to continue to soften. Please also pray that we will be wise with this gift. Douglas' main concern is our unity, which affects our
testimony here. He reminded us that we can keep the
work going, no matter where we meet. Our building
matters very little. Praying for the lives of all in Tucker
Mills is of paramount importance.

I miss you, think of you often, and pray for you. I
know you pray for me.

Your loving daughter,
Alison

Alison reread the letter and realized she hadn't shared a word about the family. She added a paragraph to let her mother know how the children were doing and even to say that they might be able to come to Boston to see her sometime later in the year.

She closed the letter just as Martin came looking for her. He had pinched his finger in a cupboard door and wanted the comfort of her lap. Happy to sit in silence with his warm body close to her, Alison prayed for the little boy in her lap and for their small church family to never lose its focus: to walk humbly with their God.

Midafternoon found Jace at Shephard Store looking for a tool that Woody requested. Cathy was working on her own in the store, but Jace caught a glimpse of Doyle in the office—not working but sitting at the desk. Jace called to him, but Doyle only waved and held his place.

“Well, Jace,” Cathy greeted him. “What brings you into town?”

“A file. Woody seems to have misplaced the one he likes and wants a new one.”

Doyle would have normally handled such a request, but Cathy knew where the tools were stored.

“We have one or two, I think,” she said, leading the way to the back. She dug in a drawer and put two long tools on the wooden countertop. The front door opened and closed, telling Cathy that someone else had come in, but she called that she'd be right out and stayed with Jace.

“So how are you?” she asked. Jace had come to be a regular at the store and in their home, visiting them whenever time allowed. Both Doyle and Cathy liked and enjoyed him tremendously.

“I'm okay.”

“Just okay?”

“We're awfully busy,” he said, sounding tired. “I wonder how it will all get done before we have to be in the fields.”

“Woody'll show you.” Cathy spoke with supreme confidence. “He's a master.”

Jace nodded and looked down at the tools in front of him. He wished Woody would have come on his own. He wasn't exactly sure which one to take. He knew he could return one to Cathy if he took both and let his uncle decide, but he didn't want to have anything else on his mind.

“I'll check on you in a bit,” Cathy promised, and seeing he was going to need some time, she moved back to the front of the store.

Jace barely heard her. One of the doors that led into the office was right in front of him, so he decided to slip in and ask Doyle.

“Doyle, do you think Woody would have a preference between these two?”

“Let's see,” Doyle said. His voice was weary, but Jace was too distracted to notice. “I like the one with the curve, myself,” Doyle told him. “But it all depends on what Woody's going to do with it.”

Jace nodded.

“Take both, let him decide, and bring the other one back.”

“I think I'll do that. Thanks, Doyle.”

The older man waved him on his way, and Jace exited to discuss it with Cathy. Not five minutes later he was back in the wagon, the day's post and files in hand, and headed back to the mill. He felt he'd taken entirely too long, but he was wrong. Woody thought he was back in record time, and with a slight sense of relief, Jace continued the afternoon's work without further delay.

Doyle Shephard closed up shop come evening, wondering when a day had been so long. He was tired, much more than his 48 years should betray, and all he wanted was to lie on the floor and sleep. Even making the effort to leave the store and go to his home some 30 yards away seemed more effort than it was worth.

“Are you hungry, Doyle?” Cathy asked from behind him. He hadn't even heard her and thought she had already gone home.

“Not very,” he answered, not wanting to tell her how he really felt.

“Please let me get Doc MacKay, Doyle,” she pleaded softly. “He's not too quick to bleed a person. I'll just slip over when the town center grows quiet.”

Doyle wanted to argue. He wanted to fight this, but there was no fight left in him. Like an old beast working to carry his last load, Doyle nodded and made his way to the rear door. Once at the house, he completely skipped the parlor, where Cathy had laid out their tea and evening snack, and went straight to the stairway that led to their bedroom. Cathy was behind him the whole way. He lay down on the bed, not bothering with his clothing. So weary was he that he didn't move, not even when he heard Cathy leave or when he heard the door again and realized she was returning with old Doc MacKay.

Jace and Woody worked until sundown, but the walk home still afforded plenty of light. When they arrived, Jace knew that Clara would be gone to her own small home on a corner of the farm, but things would be laid for their evening meal: leftovers from dinner, tea, and something sweet to be enjoyed, perhaps the remainder of the pie.

Tired and a bit labored in his breathing, Woody went directly into the house, but Jace lingered outside. The lowered sun cast a glow over the farm and farmhouse that Jace found irresistible. Not in his wildest dreams had he ever pictured himself living out of the city and in such a beautiful setting. Woody's death could be pushed far from his mind at times like this. Jace was only glad to be here and not back in the stifling heat of the glass factory in Pine River.

That he would someday be living here alone, without his uncle's guidance and company, was not something he chose to dwell on, even as he realized that an opportunity such as this came along rarely. At times he tried to tell Woody how he felt. Twice he tried to thank him, but Woody would have none of it.

“You'll work hard or it won't last,” Woody had said. “And I'm not as generous as you might think. I want to die in peace, and I can't do that if I don't know I have someone who wants to make this work, someone who is here to carry on.”

Well,
Jace thought to himself,
I'm certainly that someone.
Almost from the moment he'd seen Woody's farm, he'd fallen in love. He hadn't been as keen about the work at the sawmill, but that was before he'd tried it. Soon he found himself intoxicated by the smell of freshly sawed wood, and the satisfaction of filling orders and stacking boards he'd cut himself was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. His pride grew with each passing week, and before long he understood why Mr. Vargas, the owner of the glass factory, had come through on a regular basis. He cared in a special way. His was the pride and caring of ownership.

“Jace?” Woody called from the house.

“Coming.” Jace turned that way, but he didn't hurry. The evening air was cool, and the sights and aromas were too tempting. Still looking around as though he'd just moved into town, Jace walked slowly up the front steps, the town of Pine River and the boardinghouse he grew up in a distant memory.

“I hope you know,” Alison told Douglas as they readied for bed, “that I did some worrying today.”

“Worrying about what?”

“The donation. Will the church family keep it in perspective? Will the elders agree about what to do?”

She would have gone on, but Douglas' laughter stopped her.

“I don't think it's funny,” Alison told him, her dress half off. “At one point, I was in a terrible state. I wrote Mother a letter, and that helped, but I was worried off and on all day.”