Dorothy Clark - A Season of the Heart

Beyond the park stood the new parsonage, but the snowfall was so thick all she could distinguish was a small glow of lamplight from a window. Had she made a mistake by offering to help Willa? Performing such mundane tasks would lessen her worth in Mr. Lodge’s and Mr. Cuthbert’s opinions. If she could even do them. And her mother was right. What about her hands? What if she suffered needle pricks? Or if her skin became roughened and dry from handling the pine boughs? Oh, why had she let Daniel’s words prod her into saying she would help? It would, of a certainty, displease her parents as well as her beaux. Still...

Cold coming off the window chilled her. She let the drape fall back into place and crossed the room to her bed. She’d felt odd but nice all afternoon. The truth was, she had enjoyed helping Willa. Still, there was no possible way she could do the work without it becoming known. There were no secrets in Pinewood.

A wry smile tugged at her lips. That was one thing she and her friends had learned while very young. No matter what secret adventure they set off on, it was always already known by the time they returned home. Or soon confessed. Especially if they faced Callie’s aunt Sophia. The woman was formidable! She laughed and shook her head. The truth was, she’d always been a little frightened of Sophia Sheffield in spite of her kindness. What a timid child she’d been....

The silk of her dressing gown whispered softly as she shrugged it off her shoulders and down her arms. A chill slithered down her spine in spite of the fire as she stepped out of her slippers. She slid beneath the covers searching out the heated, towel-wrapped soapstone at the foot of the mattress with her cold feet. “Ahh.” Warmth caressed her toes as she tucked them in a fold of the warm cloth. Did Willa enjoy even such a small luxury as this? Likely not, even though she was married to Reverend Calvert and had Bertha Franklin for their housekeeper.

Suitable society.

A twinge of apprehension tingled through her. How would she entertain her beaux? Reverend Calvert and Willa would qualify as suitable society, but neither Mr. Lodge nor Mr. Cuthbert cared about church—except for appearances’ sake. Callie and her husband would qualify—Ezra Ryder was wealthier than either Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert. Unfortunately, Callie and Ezra were away visiting Ezra’s sister for the Christmas season. Sadie and Cole? No. Sadie spent her time looking after her grandmother and grandfather, and Cole—well, Cole was too straightforward to get on well with her beaux.

That thought gave her pause. She frowned, closed her eyes and directed her thoughts away from the unflattering comparison. Her parents would simply have to entertain her beaux—there was no one else who would be...compatible. She would keep her word and help Willa, but she must finish the tasks quickly. It would not do for her beaux to come and find her working like one of their servants. That would not do at all.

How long would it take to make the children’s costumes? She was certainly not skilled at sewing, and Willa had the baby and Joshua and Sally, as well as her husband and home to care for. A smile curved her lips. Sally was a sweet little girl. And she would make a beautiful angel with her fair skin and her golden curls. The white lace tablecloth would make her a lovely flowing gown. But what of a halo? Or— Her old gowns! Perhaps she wouldn’t have to ask her mother for leftover dress trimmings after all.

She threw the covers aside, pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and hurried across the bedroom to open the large chest that held some of her old dresses. There was a yellow watered silk with a narrow band of gold braid that tied around the waist....

Firelight flickered on the various fabrics as she dropped to her knees and looked through the piles. Rose...green...silver—she’d always liked that dress—blue...copper...yellow. Ah! There it was. She slipped the yellow dress out of the pile and sat back on her heels to free the band of gold braid. It was stiff enough to hold a circular shape. A perfect halo. Wait until she showed Willa. A tiny twinge of excitement wiggled through her. She smiled and set the gold braid aside, put the dress back in the trunk.

Some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.

The words grated. She shoved her curls back over her shoulders and tossed her head. She’d show Daniel Braynard. He’d have to swallow those words when he saw the work she did with Willa on the costumes and the decorations—and she hoped he choked on them!

She leaned forward onto her knees and plowed through the pile of dresses again. The lace-edged net of the overskirt on the silver gown would make lovely wings. She yanked the gown from the pile, dropped it on the floor beside her and dove back into her search. There had to be other things she could find that would be helpful in making the costumes. She’d show Daniel! She’d make the best costumes Pinewood had ever seen!

* * *

Silence reigned, the only sounds the soft, muted thud of the Belgian’s hoofs and the whisper of the pung’s runners over the deep snow. It was as if the forest were holding its breath. Daniel smiled at the whimsical thought, looked up at the snowflakes shimmering in the moonlight that lit the forest track and wished he had a wife beside him to witness the beauty.

Ellen.

His imagination placed her beside him, their shoulders touching, their laps covered by a thick, warm blanket. He frowned and glanced at the folded, snow-covered horse blanket on the seat to disperse the yearning. That dream had died years ago. There would be no wife, only grim reality. He would not subject any woman to the sort of life his mother had known—most certainly not the spoiled Ellen Hall with her fancy gowns and fur-trimmed bonnet and cloak.

“Hup, Big Boy, hup!” He snapped his wrists and rippled the lines, and the huge Belgian dragged the pung off the track into a small clearing, his great muscles rippling as he plodded through the knee-high snow. He reined the gelding to the right, around the edge of the clearing to a spot a short way beyond a small thickly branched hemlock. “That’s far enough. Whoa, Big Boy.”

The Belgian stopped, tossed his head and snorted. Hot breath puffed from his nostrils, forming small gray clouds. He pawed the snow with his right front hoof and snorted again.

“I know. You don’t like having to work tonight. But orders are orders. And it’s to help Willa.” He grabbed the horse blanket beside him, jumped from his seat, then tossed it up over Big Boy’s back and tugged it into place. The buckle on the hold strap glinted against the gelding’s massive chest. “There you are, fellow.” He patted the thick neck and went back for the feedbag. “This will keep you content while I work.” He slipped the bag on, adjusted it and left Big Boy munching on his oats and bran while he lifted his ax out of the pung and trudged through the snow toward the hemlock.

The moonlight gleamed on the snow-covered ground and reflected off of the snow-burdened branches of the trees that circled the small clearing, protecting it from the worst of the winter storm. Wind rose, tossed the tops of the towering pines and whistled softly through their lower limbs, its power diminished by the thickness of the forest.

At least he could see. He smacked the hemlock’s branches with the flat side of the blade to knock off the snow and grimaced at the shower of white that rained down on him as the limbs flew up to their normal position. He yanked off a glove and swiped the cold, moist flakes from his face and neck. The things he did in the name of friendship! No. It was more than that. He tugged his glove back on, took hold of the ax and lopped off the lower limbs. Willa and Callie and Sadie and Ellen had pestered him mercilessly when they were kids, but he’d grown to love them like sisters. All except Ellen. What he had felt for her had nothing to do with brotherly affection. Would that it had.