Ripples Along the Shore (5 page)

An innocuous and respectable reason to see the man.

“Auntie Carol-i?”

Caroline glanced at Mary. “Yes, sweet pea?”

“I’m sad you miss Unca Phillip so much.”

Her lips pressed, Caroline nodded. She swung Mary into her arms and kissed the little girl’s soft forehead. She needed to focus on something new. Everyone around her surely had to be weary of her grief. She certainly was.

“There’s the wheel man.”

The wheel man was Garrett Cowlishaw, and Mary was pointing at him. Smiling, Caroline pressed Mary’s arm to the child’s side.

“You didn’t want to see him?”

“No.” Caroline sighed. “Yes. But it’s not polite to point.” She watched as he and Rutherford walked out of the granary. Rutherford turned toward the barn while Mr. Cowlishaw walked directly toward them. He wore a shirt the color of an evergreen forest.

Mary tugged at the shoulder on Caroline’s cape. “I need to—”

“Mrs. Milburn.” Smiling, he reached up and tapped the brim on his white slouch hat. “Hello, Miss Mary. My, but you look handsome in pink.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cow …” Mary looked at Caroline, her brow bunched.

“Cow-li-shaw. His name is Mr. Cowlishaw.”

He held Caroline’s gaze, his eyes more green than hazel today. “I’m fine with Mr. Cow, but I’d much prefer you call me Garrett.”

“Very well, Garrett. Feel free to call me Caroline, if you wish.”

“I’d like that.” His chin dimpled in a knee-weakening smile.

Embarrassed by her puzzling reaction to the man, Caroline tugged her cape straight with her free hand, while holding Mary on her hip with the other. “Thank you, again, for your help Tuesday.”

“You’re welcome. Your brother-in-law—” He glanced at Mary, then back to Caroline. “Is he always like that?”

“Only when he’s awake.” Neither of them laughed.

“Auntie Carol-i!”

Immediately following Mary’s exclamation, a rush of warmth soaked through Caroline’s skirt and petticoat. This, when she was finally beginning to feel a measure of ease around the man. Determined not to humiliate Mary, she fought to hide her discomfort.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr., uh, Garrett.”

“Yes ma’am.” He brushed the brim of his hat. If he knew what had happened, he didn’t let on.

Perhaps he was a kind man, after all.

Five

W
ood-slat chairs lined the center of the barn. Bunting and ribbons decorated the beams and stalls. Much effort had been made to rid the building of any evidence of its usual inhabitants. All of the stall doors on the downwind side were open to let in light. Twin lanterns hung from the posts at the front of the makeshift chapel. Despite the chill in the air, the barn was quite cozy. Caroline sat on the inside of the second row, fidgeting while she waited.

First, she fiddled with the lace on her gloves, then with her handkerchief. Waiting wasn’t one of her strengths. Actually, she was hard-pressed to name a strength she did possess. If she were a good friend to Emilie and Maren, she’d be happy to be here celebrating their joy as they married Quaid and Rutherford. As it was, she’d almost rather be home moping with Jack. She was happy for her friends, and if this hadn’t been the first wedding she’d attended since Phillip’s departure, the waiting may have come easier.

Jewell laid her hand atop her sister’s knee. That’s when Caroline realized she’d been tapping her heel against the packed earth floor. No doubt Jewell had meant to still her, but her sister’s gesture also sent a calmness through her being. She looked into Jewell’s warm gaze and smiled.

“You’re going to be all right.”

Caroline nodded, wishing she could say the same to her sister. Bearing her own sorrow was burden enough, but watching Jewell suffer was almost impossible to bear.

Music drew Caroline’s attention to the back of the barn, set up as a stage this morning. Four-year-old Gabi stood atop a bushel box, her lips pursed on a flute. The child played “Home! Sweet Home!” for the quieted crowd.

A pastor in a long black vestment entered the barn from behind Gabi, with Rutherford, Quaid McFarland, and Brady McFarland at his side. The fifth man was the one who held Caroline’s attention. His limp barely noticeable, Garrett Cowlishaw stepped onto the platform wearing a frock coat with a top hat, his head held high and his smile mesmerizing. She scolded herself for noting such things, but hesitated before looking away. She had no business paying that close attention to the man.

Nonetheless, she was. And Garrett Cowlishaw hadn’t been the only man she’d noticed since Phillip.

Perhaps Mrs. Kamden from the
New Era
was right. Had the time come for her to consider the possibility that she could marry again one day? She hadn’t thought her head could be turned again, or that she could still turn heads, but her time on the boat to Memphis and back had demonstrated otherwise.

Lewis G. Whibley was long gone, and she’d been anything but kind to Garrett Cowlishaw. Not that either of them would be interested in romantic matters. Certainly not the latter man, not with a caravan of wagons to lead west.

If she were the pillar of faith Emilie and Maren were, she’d pray about such matters of the heart. But given her history with God, she saw no reason to trouble Him with such notions.

Garrett’s knees weakened for countless reasons. The excitement in the air, for one thing. His best friend was about to marry, which necessitated he be dressed like a performing monkey.

As if all that weren’t enough to topple him, Caroline Milburn sat perched on the aisle, looking like a fine porcelain doll.

It seemed a veil had lifted. He’d seen her as a grieving widow, a caring sister, and a devoted aunt. Today, though, she was something else entirely …

A fetching woman.

A lacy scarf draped her velvety dress, which was the color of cranberries. Pink tinged her creamy cheeks. Her fiery red hair, piled on her head, exposed a graceful neck.

She offered him a slight smile, then looked away. But not before he detected a spark in her green eyes. Something was different.

When the pastor cleared his throat, Garrett returned his attention to the ceremony at hand. “Miss Jensen will enter first. Then Miss Heinrich.”

The two grooms nodded. Gabi played her last note, jumped down, and pulled the crate to one side. Rutherford walked to the rail of the horse corral where his zither awaited him. He picked up the flat instrument, then began strumming and plucking a halting rendition of the
Wedding March
. Good thing his fingers knew their way around the strings, for his gaze wasn’t on the musical instrument but on his soon-to-be-bride. Miss Maren stood just inside the barn door with Mr. Heinrich at her side.

God had given Rutherford a second chance at love and marriage. Joy for his friend welled inside Garrett, mingling with regret in the memory of his own joyous wedding day.

He tugged his jacket sleeve straight. This day wasn’t about him. Besides, he was better off alone. Oh, how he wanted to believe that.

Her heart beat so fast Emilie expected at any moment it would leap from her chest and race into the barn without her. Outside the open door, she’d heard Rutherford play the zither and watched
PaPa
escort Maren to the man she loved. Now PaPa stood beside Emilie at the door of the barn while Quaid played a lilting tune on his harmonica. He looked resplendent in his top hat and tails. Overcome by her love for the Irishman, she lunged over the threshold.

PaPa joined her. “Is it time?”

Emilie nodded with care so as not to upset the wispy lace veil pinned to the braid circling her head. “I’m ready.” Too ready to wait for the last refrain.

PaPa raised his bent arm, and, looping it, Emilie rested her hand on his woolen sleeve. Tears shimmering his blue eyes, he bent and kissed her on the forehead.

She faced the friends gathered before them and matched PaPa’s long strides toward her future.

His smile widening, Quaid lowered the harmonica and struggled to finish singing the song, his cracking voice winging its way to her heart.

Emilie had little confidence her legs would’ve carried her the rest of the way to Quaid had her father not been supporting her.

Pastor Munson pushed his spectacles to the bridge of his nose and met her father’s gaze. “Who gives this woman in holy matrimony?”

“I do. Her PaPa.” He gently placed her hand in Quaid’s.

When all four of them had recited their wedding vows and the two couples shared a proper kiss, they lined up in front of the reverend for his introduction. That’s when Emilie noticed the rest of the quilting circle had filled the first and second rows. Mrs. Brantenberg, Hattie, Mrs. Pemberton, Lorelei Beck and her mother-in-law, Anna Goben, Jewell, and Caroline.

She was indeed a blessed woman to have so many dear friends and to now be Mrs. Quaid McFarland. As she and Quaid embraced family and friends, Emilie smiled at Anna and breathed a prayer for the grieving candle maker and for the young widow—that they would one day soon be blessed by love.

Six

W
ednesday morning, Anna strolled down the hill and onto Main Street toward Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery, still reveling in the merriment she’d experienced watching her friends wed on Saturday. The beauty. The music. The tears of joy. The warmth of friends gathered in celebration. The love filling the barn had defied the February chill in the air. She wished to always hold the memory close. Her witness to the festivities had hinted at a hope that one day she could find the kind of loving bond Emilie shared with Quaid, and Maren with Rutherford.

“Anna!”

Hattie Pemberton’s voice stilled Anna’s steps. She turned to face her friend. Hattie’s knack for fashion made Anna smile. Today, Hattie wore a stylish two-piece dress that dusted her boots at her calves. A hussar hat with layers of lace and tulle sat atop her piled curls.

Anna smoothed her serviceable woolen skirt and shifted the sack of candles to her other arm. Careful to avoid a collision with her friend’s rigid hat brim, she stepped into Hattie’s warm embrace. “It’s good to see you.” Anyone cheery would be a boon, but Hattie’s Christian joy, despite her father’s death in the war, helped to lessen the throes of grief.

Hattie pressed her gloved hands together. Her eyes widened. “Wasn’t the wedding divine?”

“It was so beautiful … charming.” Hearing her own dreamy tone, Anna chided herself. She had family to take care of and couldn’t afford to entertain romantic notions.

Hattie looked at the sack Anna carried. “On your way to Heinrich’s?”

“Yes.” She lifted the sack. “More candles.”

Hattie raised her chin, her blue-gray eyes no longer hidden beneath the brim of her hat. “Wonderful timing! Mother asked me to stop in for border fabric for our square of the friendship quilt.”

Anna nodded. She needed to think on the quilting squares herself, but first she had to be sure her family was among those remaining in Saint Charles.

“Are you still making hats for the dress shop?” Hattie glanced across the street at the Queensware Emporium.

“Fewer than during the winter months. But I’m working on five new spring styles.”

Hattie’s generous smile warmed Anna’s heart. If anyone appreciated fashionable hats, Hattie did. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“I’ll make sure you’re the first.” Anna had gone so far as to design the hats on paper and was anxious to make them, but she’d need to sell a lot more candles before she could afford the materials.

They strolled in comfortable silence up the cobbled brick sidewalk until a couple passed them arm in arm.

Hattie peered at Anna. “Do you think about marriage?”

Anna gulped.

“You’re getting to that age, Anna.”

“That age?” A nervous giggle bubbled inside her. “You make me sound like a spinster. I’ve just turned eighteen.”

Hattie’s eyebrows arched. “Surely you think about love and marriage and having a home of your own.”

“Since returning to the quilting circle, it’s been nigh unto impossible to think of anything else, with Maren and Emilie so enamored with Rutherford and Quaid.”