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He frowned and started throwing the branches in the pung. It was likely the jobber would call off operations until the storm stopped. If so, he would stay in town and help Willa. And there was another blessing to the worsening storm. Ellen would stay at home in front of a nice warm fire, sip hot tea brought to her by the housekeeper and ponder which of her two wealthy beaux she should marry. There would be no chance he would accidentally meet her when he delivered the boughs to the parsonage tomorrow evening or while he worked with Willa on the decorations. “Thank You, Lord, for the storm.”
Chapter Five (#ulink_dcbd1b7a-47cf-5e49-b416-97ccce7ebb9c)
The horse’s nicker stilled her hands. Ellen shot a curious glance toward the dining room window. Who would be paying a call on Willa in this weather? Or perhaps it was someone needing the reverend. She dropped Willa’s scissors on top of the skirt she was cutting from the old brown wool dress and hurried to the window. A man, head lowered against the blowing snow, halted a team of huge horses, jumped to the ground and headed up the shoveled pathway for the back porch. Daniel.
She didn’t need the pung heaped with pine boughs to identify him. She would know those broad shoulders and that confident stride anywhere. What was he doing here this time of day? Why wasn’t he at the camp hauling logs or something? She stepped to the side, lest he look up and find her watching as he passed the window. He had always been—
“There! Joshua and Sally are on their way to visit Mama. Now I can— What are you looking at, Ellen? There’s nothing outside but snow.”
She started and whirled from the window to face Willa, heat rushing into her cheeks as if she were guilty of a misdeed—which was ridiculous. “I heard horses. Daniel has brought the boughs.” She fluffed the curls at her temples, walked to the table and picked up the scissors.
“Already? That’s wonderful! I didn’t expect them until this evening.” Willa rushed to the window and peered through the frost-rimmed panes. “Oh, look! The branches are heaped. We shall have enough boughs to decorate the gazebo, too. May God bless Grandfather Townsend for—”
“The gazebo?”
The growled word jerked her gaze from Willa to the doorway. Daniel stepped into the room wearing a mock scowl.
“Are you planning to decorate the whole town, Pest? And what about a blessing for me? I cut and hauled those branches—near killed myself, too. It’s going to cost you.”
Willa laughed and left the window. “Not me, Daniel. It’s Grandfather Townsend you work for.”
“Not alone and in the moonlight, I don’t. And not when I’m cutting branches for your husband’s church.”
A chill traveled up Ellen’s spine. Daniel had downed the trees alone? At night? How could he make light of the danger? Or had he made it up to tease Willa? She lifted her gaze to his face. Light from the candelabra glinted on his green eyes and played over his uncovered head, making his hair look more red than brown—the way it was when he was young. Memories surged. She frowned, breathed in the scent emanating from him. He had always smelled of the outdoors—and now a bit like horse. She resisted the urge to sniff and instead lowered her gaze to rest on the knit hat he clutched in his gloved hand. He had big hands. And strong. Even when he was—
“All right, you win. What is it to cost me?”
Willa’s laughter cut into her reverie. She looked up, caught her breath at the warm smile curving Daniel’s lips. He’d once smiled at her that way.
“Two afternoons of skating and sledding with Josh and Sally.” He turned slightly and his gaze fell on her, hardened. “Hey, Musquash. I didn’t see you there at the table. What are you— Scissors?” His gaze dropped to the table, and his brows shot toward the ceiling. “You’re sewing?”
His shocked tone stiffened her spine. She jutted her chin into the air. “You needn’t be so—”
“Ellen is helping me make costumes for the children who will be speaking in church at Christmas, Daniel. Isn’t that kind of her?”
Willa’s voice drowned out hers—which was probably for the best. She took a calming breath, then made the mistake of meeting Daniel’s gaze. His green eyes were dark, his expression dubious. She lifted her chin another notch and glared at him. “There’s no reason for disbelief, Daniel. I am capable of performing an act of kindness on occasion.”
A grin slanted across his lips, showed his teeth white against his red beard. “No doubt you are, Musquash...on occasion. But, sewing?”
“You know full well mother is a seamstress! Even I was bound to learn something of the skill from watching her over the years.” She tossed her head and resumed her cutting, praying there was at least a modicum of truth in her words so she could make Daniel Braynard swallow his.
“Did you need something in town, Daniel? Is that why you were able to deliver the boughs so early?”
A sigh rose to her throat at Willa’s less-than-subtle change of subject. She glanced up through her lashes, caught the easy smile Daniel gave Willa as she moved toward the table. The sigh turned to a painful pressure. All he ever gave her now was that mocking grin.
“No, it’s because of the storm. The jobber has stopped logging operations until this blizzard passes and the temperature warms a bit. So I’ll leave the pung here at the parsonage until it’s time to go back to camp—if that’s all right.”
He would be in town! She frowned and placed the cut-off skirt on the growing pile of ready-to-work material.
“Yes, of course it is, Daniel. It will save you having to unload all those boughs into the back room of the church.”
“Is that where w—”
“Oh!” Willa lurched, bumped against Daniel.
“Careful, Pest....” Daniel gripped Willa’s arm and steadied her.
“I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me.” Willa brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto her forehead. “What were we— Oh, yes.... What of the horses? We haven’t stalls for them.”
Her frown deepened. What was wrong with Willa? She sounded flustered.
“I know. I’ll stable them at Dibble’s, then get settled in at home. Do you want me to com—”
Willa broke into a coughing fit.
Alarm tingled along her nerves. Willa had said Matthew was busy visiting those sick with the grippe. Had he brought the illness home? Was that why Willa looked a bit flushed? She took a step back. Willa glanced her way, and understanding flashed in her eyes.
“There’s no cause for alarm, Ellen. I’m not ill. It’s only a tickle in my throat. I’ll be fine when I get a drink.” Willa spun toward the door. “Come with me, Daniel. We’ll finish our discussion in the kitchen.”
She stared agape as Willa all but shoved Daniel out the door ahead of her. She’d never known Willa to act so...strange. So...undone. She really did need her help. That odd sense of satisfaction she’d felt the other day returned. She smiled, picked up the scissors and began cutting the sleeves from the old green overdress they’d chosen to make Mary’s garment.
Daniel would be in town. Her stomach flopped. She would have to be watchful to not run into him. If he called her Musquash one more time— Oh, no! She froze, then took a breath and slanted a glance up at the ceiling. “Please, Lord, make the storm stop so Daniel will be back at camp working soon. Please don’t let him be in town when Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert arrive. Please.” She clenched her teeth and cut off the other sleeve. It would be bad enough if her beaux came and found her helping Willa with the sewing or decorations, but if Daniel were to—
“Steady, Big Boy. Back, Big Girl...back.”
Daniel’s muted voice came from outside. Chains rattled. He was leaving. Good. She glanced at the window, pressed her lips together and cut along a side seam to turn the green dress into a flat piece of material. Where was Willa? They had to get this work done!
She rose and started for the doorway, paused as the chains rattled again, then gave in to her urge and crossed to the window. The pung now sat behind the church. She wrapped her arms about herself and watched Daniel unhitch the team, his movements confident and sure. She couldn’t even imagine Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert attempting such a feat. What a disaster that would be. And how disloyal was she to even think such thoughts?
She whirled from the window and hurried back to the table, picked up the green dress she’d finished cutting and folded it. What did it matter if Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert knew nothing of hitching and unhitching horses? They had money enough to hire others to do it for them.
“I’m sorry for my delay in returning, Ellen. The baby was fussing.”
Ellen pulled her thoughts back to the task at hand, looked up and smiled as Willa entered. “No matter—you’re here now.” Her fingertip poked through a threadbare spot as she shook out a piece of what was once a blanket. “I have the fabric ready for Mary’s cloak. That leaves only Joseph’s garment. Do you think there will be enough of this blanket left when I’ve cut around the holes?”
* * *
“More gingerbread?”
Daniel shook his head and grinned. “There’s no place for any more, Ma. I ate too much pork pie. Smiley’s food is good, but he can’t cook like you.”
“Well, if you’re certain, I’ll clear this mess away.” His mother beamed a smile at him, rose and began stacking the dirty dishes. Her long skirts swayed from her plump hips as she carried the dishes to the sink cupboard, scraped the scraps into a bucket and slipped the plates into the water in the wash pan. “I hope we don’t have a storm like this over Christmas. It’ll delay my trip to Syracuse to care for your aunt Ruth. I’m plannin’ on leavin’ when you go back to camp. Ruth’s rheumatiz is bad with the cold, and I was figurin’ to go and stay with her till the weather warms. She’s no one to do for her since Asel passed.”
“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?”
“No, but a fire has been started at the church. Smoke is beginning to rise from one of the chimneys—the rear one.”
“Are you certain? It’s hard to tell with the snow.” Willa tossed the dress back onto the pile, hurried to her side and peered out the window. “Yes, you’re right—there is smoke. He’s here.”
She stared, taken aback by the flash of satisfaction in Willa’s blue-green eyes. “So you were expecting someone?”
“Not exactly. Daniel only said perhaps he—”
“Daniel?”
“Why, yes.” Willa looked down, brushed at the front of her skirt. “Didn’t I tell you he is going to help us with the decorations?”
“Daniel is going to—” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “No, Willa Jean, you did not. And if—”
“Well, I meant to. It must have slipped my mind while I was caring for Mary.” Willa sighed, slanted a glance up at her and sighed again. “Babies take so much time, Ellen. I simply don’t know how I would manage all I have to do without your help.”
Her protest died. It was plain she would have to endure Daniel’s presence for Willa’s sake. She had given her word. And he would be going back to the lumber camp soon. Please, Lord! Meanwhile, she would avoid him as much as possible. The parsonage wasn’t a large house, but it was big enough to—
“Come along, Ellen.” Willa lifted her hems and hurried toward the doorway.
“Come along where?”
“To get our cloaks and go to the church. We will make the decorations in the back room, and I want to get started while Mary is napping and Bertha can watch over her.”
Her stomach sank. She took a breath and offered the only excuse she could think of that might delay the inevitable. “What of the sewing? I’ll stay here and—”
Willa didn’t even pause, merely glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll work on the costumes in the evenings after the children are abed. It’s the decorations I’m most concerned about—or was, until your kind offer of help. And Daniel’s, too, of course.”
Willa’s smile stole her resistance. “Very well.” She laid the costume pieces she held on the table and frowned down at her old green wool dress. If she had known about having to work with Daniel, she would have worn one of her lovely gowns. Not that he would notice. But, even so, they gave her confidence. And she needed that around him. Daniel was the only man she knew who could undermine her self-assurance with merely a look. She blew out a breath, fluffed her curls and followed Willa into the hall. At least her old dress would be hidden from Daniel’s view by her lovely new cloak.
Chapter Six (#ulink_e736c320-f79f-5829-adcc-02d68dab494a)
Daniel dumped his armful of branches on top of the growing pile in the corner. That would be the last load until they were used up. Any more and he and Willa would be crowded right out of the small room.
He brushed his jacket free of bits of bark and pine needles while he took inventory. His small hand ax lay on the upended piece of log he would use for lopping the offshoots from the branches, the coil of twine Willa had requested was on the table, the woodbox was full and the stove was going. It was time to let Willa know he was here and they could start working. He slapped his gloves together over the pile to rid them of snow and tugged them back on. The latch clicked. He jerked his head around as the door swung open, hit the heel of his boot and stopped.
“Daniel, the door is stuck!” The door was drawn back, shoved forward again with more force.
“Whoa! Hold on, Pest.” He turned and pulled the door open. “That’s my foot you’re—” The words froze on his tongue. He stared at the blue wool visible between Willa and the doorframe, scowled and shifted his gaze to Willa’s face. She gave him a sweet smile. Asked and answered. His scowl deepened. Willa stepped into the room and his vision filled with blue wool and rabbit fur.
