Dorothy Clark - A Season of the Heart

“You’re a good woman to make that long trip during the cold weather, Ma.”

“Bein’ good or not ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” She lifted the steaming kettle off its trivet over the coals in the fireplace and tossed him a look over her shoulder. “She’s a need, and you do for family.”

He rose and put his arm about her soft shoulders. “And you do for any others that need help, as well, Ma. Even if it costs you time or discomfort.”

“Well, it’s the Christian thing to do, helpin’ others.” Steam rose in a cloud as she poured the water into the pan. “I’m strong and able, and you share the blessings God gives you with them less fortunate. Don’t you forget that, son.”

“I won’t, Ma. How could I, with you for my example?” He leaned down and kissed her pink cheek. Her green eyes shone up at him, warm with pleasure.

“You’re a good man, Daniel. You put me more in mind of your pa every day. It’s good to have you home.” She set the kettle aside, tossed a bar of soap into the water and picked up a cloth. “What will you be doin’ to help Willa with the Christmas decorations?”

“She hasn’t told me. But I know it will take longer than I figured.” He crossed to the door, took his jacket off the peg and shrugged into it. “She’s decorating the gazebo, too. Says it will make it more festive for the carol sing.”

“The gazebo...” A smile touched his mother’s mouth, then disappeared. She ducked her head and soaped the cloth. “Seems like you’ll be spendin’ a lot of time at the parsonage.”

“Seems like you’re probably right.” He pulled his hat from his pocket. “Maybe that’s why we’re having this storm. Maybe Willa took her need for help to her Abba, Father. He seems to pay close mind to her prayers.”

“And mine.”

“What? I didn’t hear, Ma. I was putting on my hat.”

“Nothin’ important.” She swished a plate through the rinse pan and set it on the towel on the wood drainboard. “It gonna bother you, havin’ Ellen so close by while you’re there workin’?” She flashed a look in his direction. “Her bein’ across the street, I mean.”

There was no sense pretending he didn’t understand her. “That’s an old dream that died long ago, Ma.” He pulled up a grin and shot her a teasing look. “Surely you know Ellen’s come home to decide which of her rich beaux she’ll marry.”

“I heard. But she ain’t betrothed yet.”

There was a determined note in his mother’s voice that said clearly she wasn’t letting up on her prayers. Twelve years she’d been at it. He tugged his hat down over his ears, exposed by his newly trimmed hair, frowned and ran his hand over his clean-shaven face. Did she think... “Look, Ma, Ellen will be at home sitting cozy and warm in front of their fire while Willa and I are working on the decorations in the back room of the church. She won’t even see me. I stopped at Fabrizio’s for a haircut and shave to get rid of the itching, not to change Ellen’s goal. Besides, I’m not that good-looking—except maybe to you.” He chuckled and put on his gloves.

She looked at him.

He wished for the hundredth time he’d never told her that making himself an acceptable suitor in the eyes of Ellen’s parents when he was old enough to court Ellen was the reason he’d apprenticed himself to the counting house in Olville when he was twelve. She knew that had all come to a halt when his father died. And she still felt guilty that he’d had to give up his dream and become a logger in order to keep the cabin and provide a home for her. “Look, Ma, I was only a kid with a crush that lasted longer than it should have. It’s over. You can stop praying for me.”

“And what makes you think it’s you alone I’m prayin’ for?” His mother looked down, swished the cloth over another plate.

What did that mean? He stared at her, shook his head and walked over to pick up the bucket. “I’ll throw these scraps out back for Millers’ pigs on my way to Willa’s. See you at supper, Ma.”

Snow was still falling, though it had eased up. He tossed the scraps onto the trampled-down area where the neighbor’s pigs rooted, set the bucket back inside the kitchen door and tromped out to the road. The wind picked up, blew cold against his bare cheeks. He tucked his chin down into his collar and wished it were as easy to bury his scruples. He hadn’t exactly lied to his mother, but he hadn’t told her the truth either. He hoped Ellen would see him around town, all clean-shaven and with his hair trimmed just like those rich beaux of hers. Not to try to change her mind, though. That part was true. It was a pride thing.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. He sure couldn’t tell his Ma that. He knew exactly what she would say— Pride goeth before destruction, Daniel . But in his case, there was nothing for pride to destroy but the memory of his childhood love for Ellen—and he’d sure welcome that. He’d been carrying it around for too many years. It was time to be done with it.

* * *

Ellen snipped the thread and stuck the needle in the pincushion that was fastened to the arm of Willa’s chair. That was the last seam. She caught her breath, turned the garment and held it up. Nothing was crooked or puckered. A smile tugged at her lips, but she refused it possession. It was silly to feel such a sense of accomplishment. Sewing straight seams required no real talent with a needle.

“You’ve finished the shepherd’s robe.”

She glanced at Willa, her heart warming at her friend’s smile. “Well, I’ve sewn it together. But I’m afraid my ability with a needle is unequal to the hemming required around the neck and armholes.”

“That’s not needed, Ellen. That wool won’t ravel. And it need last only one day. Which is a very good thing because my finger keeps poking through this cotton!” Willa wiggled the exposed fingertip of her hand tucked beneath the fabric on her lap. “I’m afraid one of the Wise Men is going to look quite tattered.”

“Well, he has been on a very long journey.”

Willa laughed, real, genuine laughter, not the polite titter of the elite women in Buffalo. The sound of it brought her own laughter bubbling up. It felt wonderful. How long had it been since she’d really laughed? She shoved the thought aside, carried the folded robe to the table and eyed the costumes waiting to be sewn. She so wanted to make the angel’s costume, but she was simply not that capable with needle and thread. She picked up the pieces for Joseph’s robe and turned back toward her chair. Willa was looking out of the window—again. “Are you expecting a caller?”

Willa started, sat back in her chair and resumed sewing. “What put that notion in your head?”

“That’s the third time I’ve seen you looking out of the window.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean— Bother! I’ve poked another hole.” Willa cut her thread, stuck her needle in the shared pincushion and jumped to her feet. “I’d best find different fabric and cut another Wise Man’s costume. This cloth will fall apart if Tommy moves.”

She watched Willa hurry to what remained of the old clothes and start sorting through the pile, pursed her lips and crossed to the window to see for herself what was so interesting. If there was one thing she easily recognized, it was evasion—the elite were masters at it. There was no horse and buggy, not even the tracks of one, only undisturbed snow. And more falling. Would it never stop? She sighed and lifted her gaze toward the sky. Ah. “So that is what you were watching for—a glimpse of your husband as he walked over to the church.”

“What are you talking about, Ellen? Matthew went to Olville directly after dinner, and—” Willa jerked upright, a faded red garment in her hands. “Is someone out there?”