The Heirloom Brides Collection (54 page)

“So Zach informed me.”

“You spoke with him about this?”

“He delivered coal earlier today, and your name came up in conversation.” A sweet grin tipped Nicolas’s mouth. “He said that anything you two once had got lost in the growing up.”

Darla wasn’t sure how much growing up Zachary had done, but she breathed a sigh of relief anyway. She apparently didn’t have to concern herself with him causing a scene.

“That’s not all he said.”

Her neck warmed, and she braced herself to hear the worst of it.

“Zach said if I was willing to let you get away, I wasn’t as smart as he thought I was, and that if given a choice, you’d choose me.” He leaned forward. His forearms resting on his knees, he looked her in the eye. “Is that true?”

“I did choose you.” Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I’m here.”

The chocolate-melting smile returned to his face. Nicolas did truly care for her. But he didn’t know all he needed to know about her.

“In my note, I asked you to accept the candy as a token of my remorse,” he said.

“Yes. And affection.”

His eyes widened, and he nodded. “I didn’t erase it because it wasn’t true. It is true. I tried to erase it because I wasn’t sure how my apology would be accepted. And I didn’t want to narrow my chances by laying bare my deeper feelings. I—”

She raised her hand to stop him. “There’s more you need to know before you can allow yourself to have true affection for me.”

“Darla, the past doesn’t matter to me. Like Paul said in his letter to the Philippians, I want to forget about those things that are behind us and reach for what lies ahead of us.”

“Please. Let me tell you.”

He relaxed against the back of the chair.

She took a deep breath. “I was a snappish teenager who didn’t appreciate being the parson’s daughter. I didn’t like the way some people watched me and seemed always ready for me to step out of line, a line they had drawn. I grew tired of their lofty expectations.”

“That sounds understandable.”

“Yes, well.” She lifted the teacup to her dry mouth and took a sip. “Unfortunately, my rebellion led me to seek male attention. Yes, Zachary. But first was a doctor who had just arrived in town from Boston.”

“Morgan Cutshaw?”

“Yes, and he’s now my boss. That’s one of the many strange turns of events I’ve experienced since my return to Cripple Creek. Another being Miss Hattie having married Kat Sinclair Cutshaw’s father. My landlady is now the stepmother of the woman I wronged.”

Nicolas stood. “I think I will grab a cup, if you don’t mind.”

She motioned toward the kitchen, grateful for a short break before telling the worst of it.

Nicolas returned to his chair with a steaming mug of tea. “Sorry for the interruption. You were saying?”

“Yes.” Darla set her saucer on the table beside her. “Dr. Cutshaw had grown fond of Miss Kat Sinclair, but his lack of interest in me didn’t stop me from pursuing him. To the point of being deceitful and intentionally trying to come between them. I really was terrible to Kat.”

“You were yet a child, just becoming a woman. We’ve all done things in our youth we’re ashamed of. Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

“I have. At church.”

“And does she hold the past against you?”

Darla shook her head. “She said the trouble between us was old news.”

“Well, then. I don’t see—”

“I kept a diary about that shameful time in my life. I buried it under a floorboard in the parsonage just days before my father sent me to Philadelphia to live with my aunt and go to nurse’s training.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’d found Zachary and I in the church basement. We were… uh, kissing.”

His gentle nod told her she needn’t say any more about that.

“Part of the reason I came back was to retrieve the diary and a pendant that had belonged to my grandmother.”

“And have you?”

“No.” More tears stung her eyes. “I should’ve told the parson and his wife about it, but I didn’t.” She sniffed and blotted her eyes. “Instead, I snuck in while they were away, and Ida returned to the parsonage for her parasol while I was trying to pull up the board.”

“What did she do?”

“After my confession, she grabbed a pry bar and helped me. But my things were no longer there.” Darla bit her bottom lip. “So you see, it was me all along who needed redemption. Not you.”

“We all need redemption.” Nicolas rose from his chair and walked toward her, knelt in front of her, and took her hands in his. “You seem to be the only one in town who can’t accept the fact that you’ve changed. Everyone else you’ve mentioned seems to have extended grace. Isn’t it time you accept God’s forgiveness, forgive yourself, and reach for those things in front of you?”

Darla nodded, glancing down at their joined hands. Yes. It was time.

The aroma of a simmering creamy chicken stew and a fresh loaf of French bread perfumed the house. The woman he loved wore the faded gingham apron again, this time over a pink dress with lace and black-and-pink trim. Knowing how she’d struggled then and now had endeared her to him all the more.

Darla sat in the rocker in front of the open trunk while the girls took turns unwrapping his carvings and handing them to her. He couldn’t help but stare as she examined each one, admiring the detail.

“I like this one a lot.” Julia held up a playful kitten, stroking its wooden fur.

Darla added a miniature stallion to the collection on her lap and took the kitten. “I can see why you like it. She’s cute—like you.” She poked Julia in the belly. When giggles spilled out, tears filled Darla’s eyes again, but he could tell they were joyful tears.

She may have thought God had brought her back to resolve her past with Zach and to retrieve her belongings from the parsonage, but he believed God had brought her to Cripple Creek to rescue him and his family.

Jaya lifted a small shelf from the trunk. “Did Papa tell you he has to go back to work?”

Darla looked to where he knelt on the floor at the end of the trunk, a frown narrowing her green eyes. “At the mine?”

He nodded. “Yes. According to Mrs. Alexander, the doctor’s release is for this Thursday.”

A deep sigh rounded her shoulders. “What if you didn’t return to the mine?”

“I have thought about it, but—”

“I’m sure there are many other things you could do.”

“I suppose with all the new buildings going up, if I’m healed enough, I could hire on as brick layer. But those crews tend to travel from town to town.”

Her eyes widening, she glanced down at the carvings on her lap then up to the phoenix. “What about your woodworking? I saw that the watchmaker’s building is empty. You could open a shop.”

“My own shop for whittling?”

“It looks to me like woodworking means more to you than a mere hobby might.”

“Papa did the wainscoting at the church,” Jocelyn said. “And Miss Hattie’s, too.”

Jaya set the shelf on the floor. “And that bench in the foyer. You made that, too, Papa.”

Darla nodded. “I think you’d have more work than time to do it.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Jocelyn looked at him, her eyebrows raised. So did Darla and the little ones, as if waiting for his response.

Of course he liked the idea, but he couldn’t say it would be realistic for him to think he could quit the mine and start a business. “I appreciate the votes of confidence.” He met Darla’s gaze and smiled. “We’ll see. I’ll think about it.”

Jocelyn pressed her hand to Darla’s knee. “I’m so glad you came back, Miss Darla.”

“I’m glad I did, too.” She patted Jocelyn’s hand.

“Me, too.” Julia leaned against Darla’s other leg, and she stroked the little one’s curls.
Like a mother would.

“That makes five of us,” Jaya said.

Nicolas nodded, tears pooling his eyes.
Five of us.
He liked the sound of that.

H
attie’s modern stove was far newer and bigger than the one in the company house. But Darla couldn’t imagine being happier than she had been yesterday, cooking for the Zanzucchi family with Jocelyn at her side. Never had she laughed so hard as when Nicolas and his girls decided eating a French meal required using a French accent. Her time with them made her miss her brother, Peter, and Mother and Father. But she couldn’t fathom making the long train ride to New York any time soon, and she doubted they had any notion to come clear across the country.

Now she stood in the boardinghouse kitchen with her landlady, stirring cranberry sauce for a meal that was likely to be almost as special as the chicken fricassee. The two elderly sisters boarding at Miss Hattie’s had gone for a buggy ride to Victor. Cherise was spending the day with Kat and her children. And Nicolas’s three girls were playing at Nell’s house for the afternoon.

Hattie looked up from the meat platter on the countertop and glanced at the small pot in front of Darla. “About ready?”

Darla lifted a spoonful of sauce, watched the sauce flow back into the pot, and nodded.

“So are the pork chops. The potatoes should be getting close.” Hattie resumed her task of filling the platter.

Darla reached to the back burner and gave the roasting potatoes another stir.

“It’s so kind of you and Mr. Sinclair to host us. Thank you!”

“It’s our pleasure, dear.” Her landlady and friend set the last pork chop in the center of the platter.

With the saucepan and ladle in hand, Darla drizzled the cranberry sauce over the meat. “It will be especially pleasurable for Nicolas and me to eat supper in the company of other adults.”

Hattie tittered. “You mean with another couple, don’t you?”

She and Nicolas were a couple. They had both admitted to feeling they belonged together that Saturday when she’d played checkers with the girls and stayed for supper. Darla set the empty saucepan and wooden spoon in the sink. “Just don’t pinch me. I don’t want to wake up from this dream.”

Last night, after she and Jocelyn succeeded in preparing their first French meal, she had shared her chocolate with the family and beat Nicolas at checkers. When the girls were tucked in, he’d walked her home to the boardinghouse. Inside, she’d had a long conversation with Hattie before retiring to her room to dream about the possibilities that lay before her.

Still, she’d feel better if she could cut the nagging tie to her past. Her diary. But Nicolas was right. Diary or no diary, she needed to trust God with her past as well as with her future.

While Darla framed the pork chops with the roasted potatoes, Hattie poured the honey-glazed carrots into a cut-glass bowl. They both hung their aprons on a hook inside the pantry. When they swept into the dining room, carrying platters and bowls, both Harlan and Nicolas stood, the latter looking positively delicious. He wore a gray tweed jacket over a white shirt and blue string tie. His free-spirited curls cascaded above warm chocolate-brown eyes. Kat Sinclair had been right—she wasn’t likely to find a patient as charming as Nicolas Zanzucchi. Or a man as compassionate and courageous as this widowed father of three girls. This was the man she loved.

Harlan took the bowl from Hattie and set it on the festive cherry-wood table. “We hesitated to appear too hungry or anxious, but we didn’t vacillate very long before seating ourselves.”

“Darla and I are glad to hear you’re hungry.”

Darla added the platter of pork chops to the mouthwatering spread.

“That is a lot of food, and it all looks delicious.” Nicolas smiled at her and pulled out the chair beside his. “A feast.”

“And rightly so.” Seated, Hattie pulled the napkin from her place setting. “We have much to celebrate.”

They did have much to celebrate. Nicolas had recovered, and they were now a couple. And this afternoon she was spending time with him somewhere other than the company house.

Following Harlan’s brief prayer, they each began filling their plates and passing the serving dishes around the table.

Nicolas started the meat platter on its rounds. “I’m eating especially well this week.” He held the platter while Darla scooped a pork chop and potatoes onto her plate. “The girls do well enough, but I’m sure you heard Darla and Jocelyn prepared a French meal for us yesterday. The food was
magnifique,
as Jocelyn would say.”

Darla loved the joyful sound of his baritone chuckle.

A few minutes later, a knock on the front door quieted their conversation, and Harlan started to stand.

The door clicked shut, and a happy baby’s chatter filled the entry. “Father? Hattie?”

“Ida and Joshua.” Harlan settled back onto his chair and speared his last bite of potato. “We’re in the dining room, Ida.”