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“Teddy!” Abigail repeated.
He appeared to ignore his sister while walking toward the door, but once outside, he paused long enough for Abigail to catch up with them. Hannah forced a smile to form and prepared herself as she turned to face the other woman.
The glare was there. As icy as the tremor had been. Having lived with such glares her entire life, Hannah’s heart sank. She just couldn’t endure that again. Wouldn’t.
“I want an etching of the children’s performance for the paper next week,” Abigail said, never once glancing toward her brother.
“I’m sorry, Miss White,” Hannah said. “I didn’t bring any paper with me.”
“Abigail—”
“You can’t draw one from memory?” Abigail interrupted Teddy. “To hear my brother talk, you can draw anything. Everything.”
“You’ve commented on what an expert artist Mrs. Olsen is, too, Abigail,” Teddy said. “As has the mayor and practically every person who has seen one of her drawings in the Gazette.”
“That I have,” Mayor Josiah Melbourne said. “Every week when I read the newspaper.” Patting Abigail’s arm, the man continued, “You certainly can’t expect Mrs. Olsen to draw all those children from memory.”
Hannah figured she could draw a few, but not all of them, and sincerely hoped Abigail would agree with the mayor. Josiah and Brett had butted heads when it came to Fiona—mainly due to the fact the mayor had brought her to town to marry him—and Hannah certainly didn’t want to be the cause of Brett standing against the man again. Or Teddy. That would be even worse. Especially in Abigail’s eyes, which were narrowing and making her face all the more hawkish.
“I expected you to realize an event this large would need a picture to go along with my article,” Abigail said, holding up her pad of paper. Of course her pencil was stuck behind one ear as always.
“I didn’t,” Teddy interjected, “and I own the paper.” Taking ahold of Hannah’s arm once more, he nodded. “Now, if you two will excuse us, we have pumpkin pie waiting for us.”
“So do we, Abigail,” the mayor said.
Abigail didn’t speak as she spun about. Didn’t need to. Her eyes had said all Hannah needed to hear.
“I don’t believe the mayor has missed too many desserts in his life,” Teddy said with a smile as they started walking.
The mayor was portly, and short, and Hannah had a hard time believing Fiona had ever considered marrying the man every time she saw him. That wasn’t what she thought of now. Although Teddy was obviously trying to make her think of other things, she couldn’t. Nor could she stop the heavy sigh that escaped her as they crossed the street.
“Don’t let Abigail bother you.” Teddy’s hold on her arm tightened while they stepped onto the wooden walkway that ran the entire length of the street, including past the Gazette office.
Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make her dislike me so much.”
“You haven’t done anything,” Teddy said. “Abigail has never learned how to make friends. I’ve tried to make her understand things, but...” He shrugged. “I thought she’d grown out of it.”
“No,” Hannah insisted. “I know hatred when I see it.” If she had the wherewithal, she would kick up her heels and run back to Brett’s house, but in her condition, that wasn’t an option. At most, her gait would be a fast waddle.
“It’s not you,” Teddy said. “It’s me. She’s upset because you’re, well, similar to a woman I was engaged to marry once.”
Hannah footsteps faltered briefly. “I am? Engaged to? What happened?”
He shrugged. “She married someone else.”
There was no shine in his eyes, no smile on his face, and Hannah got the impression he regretted saying as much as he had. After several quiet moments, she said, “Eric’s family hated me. Still do. They hate my entire family. Always have. And my family hated him. His entire family. The feud has been going on for years. Long ago, two brothers were in the fur trade together, but when one stole the other one’s wife, the two became enemies. They moved to opposite sides of the lake, and one changed the spelling of their name.”
“Their name?”
“Olsen. One of them changed it from an O-l-s-e-n to O-l-s-o-n, according to my father. According to Eric’s father it was the opposite way. From o to e, not e to o.” She wasn’t sure why she’d told him all that. Maybe because in a somewhat different way, she knew how he felt. Not being loved by someone you wanted to love you. “The feud was reignited when I was a baby. By then both families owned logging companies. Eric’s grandfather and my grandfather both tried to claim an island in the middle of the lake, wanting to harvest the lumber off it.”
“Who won?” Teddy asked as they turned the corner and started walking toward Brett’s blacksmith shop and seed company.
“Neither. A fire burned all the trees to the ground. Both sides claimed the other one started the fire.”
“What does your grandfather say?”
“He died in the fire. So did Eric’s grandfather. They were the only two on the island.”
After a few steps, he asked, “I thought your grandfather taught you how to draw and etch wood.”
“He did. But Pappy is my mother’s father. John and Glenda Gunderson.” Saying her grandparents’ names added to her melancholy. She missed them terribly. “I stayed winters with them from the time I was a baby. I’m the youngest. My sisters and mother went to the logging camp to cook for the men. When I got old enough to go to the camp, too, Gram asked if I could stay with her and Pappy instead because they were getting older and could use my help. I have plenty of sisters—seven, actually—so my mother agreed I could stay behind, and my father... Well, he was glad to not have me around. I angered him. Because I was supposed to be a boy.” The baby inside her shifted and she placed her hand upon her stomach as a familiar and special feeling eased some of her sorrow.
“Surely that didn’t really matter to him.”
“Yes, it did. The other Olsons had sons to carry on the family name.” Tired of the hurt that encompassed her when thinking about her father, she changed the subject. “Pappy didn’t mind that I was a girl and he was proud of my etchings. He’s a carpenter. Makes furniture as fine as Jackson Miller here in town. But Pappy’s pieces are all uniquely carved. Pinecones and oak leaves, birds, fish and many other personal designs. They are truly wonderful.” The memory of one particular piece made her sigh. “When I was a baby, he made a cradle for me to sleep in while I was at their house, and always said that my children would sleep in it, too. It’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure it is.” They walked in silence for a few more steps before he said, “Did things get better between your families once you and Eric—”
“No,” she answered before he could finish. She didn’t want to lie to him, but wasn’t ready to reveal she and Eric had never been married. “One of his brothers saw Eric talking to me at the lumberyard one day. Both of our families sold logs to Brett’s family’s sawmill. His father made sure my father heard about it, and we were forbidden to see each other.”
“But you didn’t stop.”
“No,” she replied, “we didn’t.” Her throat was suddenly on fire, and swallowing only made it worse, but she continued, “Eric died because he loved me. He may have drowned while floating logs across the lake, but he wouldn’t have been given that job if his father hadn’t been mad at him because of me.”
* * *
Teddy wanted to tell her that couldn’t be true, that she couldn’t blame herself for Eric’s death like that, but tears weren’t the only thing in her eyes. There was so much grief, so much sorrow, it stole his breath. They’d crossed the field and now stood near Brett’s house. Still holding one of her elbows, he grasped her other arm, to pull her close to offer comfort, but she shook her head.
“His father told me so. Told me I was the reason his son died. Eric was a faller. He loved cutting down trees.” She blinked back several tears while pinching her lips together. “But he hated the water. Was afraid of it. Everyone knew that. Especially his father, but he’d made Eric float the logs across the river as a punishment for loving me.”
The desire to pull her close grew at every tear that fell from her eyes. “Hannah—”
“I don’t want my baby to ever know that kind of hatred. That’s why I left Wisconsin.” She twisted against his hold until he released both arms. “And that’s why you aren’t on my list.” Covering her mouth with one hand, she hurried toward the steps.
Teddy watched her enter the house as new and unusual emotions flooded him. It was a moment before everything connected in his head. He wasn’t on her list because of the way Abigail treated her. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the tiniest desire to defend his sister. Instead, he wanted to protect Hannah. Protect her from all the people who had ever hurt her, and from any of those who might ever do so in the future.
He now fully understood why Brett’s mother had sent her to Oak Grove when she had. Under the ruse of becoming Brett’s wife. And he understood why Brett had been so protective over her since the day she’d arrived. Hannah had been hurt badly. Compared to flesh wounds, inner ones took longer to heal. Some never healed. His grandfather had explained that to him in a way he’d never forget.
Around the age of ten or so, after a fight with Abigail, who was five years younger than him, where he’d said some mean things to her, his grandfather had taken him into the print shop and pulled a sheet of paper off the same press Teddy still used to print the Gazette.
A person’s heart is like this paper, Grandpa had said. It’s as fragile as it is strong. When someone’s heart gets hurt, for whatever reason, it crimples a bit, and though we can smooth the crinkles out, the paper will never be the same. If it’s run through the press, ink will gather in the fine creases, remnants of the crinkles, and the print will be smudged. A man should take care to never say or do something that will crimple someone’s heart.
He’d never forgotten that lesson. It had gotten him through the ordeal with Becky. Although his heart had been crimpled, he hadn’t wanted hers to be, so he had generously wished her well in her marriage to Rex Arnold.
His mind had momentarily gone to Becky, but his gaze was still on the house. Hannah’s heart had been crimpled for as long as she could remember.
The sound of his name had him turning about.
“Did you like the performance, Teddy?” Rhett asked as the two boys slid to a stop beside him.
“Yes, I did,” he answered, ruffling the boy’s mop of brown hair, which earlier had been combed smooth, but was no longer. “It was the finest recital I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s what Brett said, too,” Wyatt answered, beaming. “And now we get to eat some of Hannah’s pie!”
Teddy had been looking forward to that pie as much as the boys—they’d talked about the dessert even while eating the turkey and fixings. He no longer felt like eating pie. Might never feel like eating again.
“Aren’t you joining us for dessert?” Fiona asked as she and Brett arrived, holding hands.
“No,” Teddy replied. “I have to go to the hotel, but thank you, Fiona. That was the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had.”
Brett laid a hand on his shoulder as he said to Fiona, “I’ll be in shortly.”
Fiona eyed them both curiously, but hurried inside.
“What happened?” Brett asked. “Where’s Hannah?”
“Inside,” Teddy answered. “She told me about her and Eric’s family. About the feud. How they hated each other.”
Brett huffed out a sigh. “Her father and Eric’s are cruel men. From what my mother said in her letters, it’s gotten worse over the years, and it would be best if Hannah never saw either of them ever again.”
“How can grown men...” Teddy shook his head, knowing Brett would have the same sentiments, and no answers. Some people were just mean. Too mean. Couldn’t see past their own noses when it came to recognizing how their behaviors hurt others.
“You care about Hannah, don’t you?” Brett asked.
Glancing toward the house, Teddy admitted, “More than I should.”
Chapter Six (#u434339cb-5be3-5d69-bedc-d3dab67c93bf)
The slamming of cupboard doors said Abigail was as angry this morning as she’d been when she went to bed last night. Teddy continued setting type. She had plenty to be mad about—in her mind. He’d forced her to leave the hotel and confronted her on how she’d spoken to Hannah. Her response had been to inform him they would be doing their own etchings again.
He’d disagreed, and would stand his ground on that, as well as on a few other things.
“Did you not make any coffee this morning?”
“If you want some, make some,” he answered.
“You didn’t even build a fire.”
“If you want one, build one.”
“I don’t have time. I have articles to write today, and—”
“And several to rewrite,” he interrupted, pointing to the two articles he’d already edited this morning.
She flew across the room and grabbed the sheets of paper off the desk. “There is nothing wrong with these.”
He walked up behind her and pointed to one particular section he’d circled.
Oak Grove Community members will be excited to learn that every store in town will be hosting special sales for the upcoming Christmas Season. Except for Blackwell’s Blacksmithing and Feed and Seed. Evidently, Mr. Blackwell doesn’t believe in the Christmas Spirit.
“What’s wrong with that? I’m being honest,” she said, jutting out her chin. “That’s the first thing a reporter must be. Honest. Brett hasn’t purchased an advertisement about any Christmas specials, so he must not be having any.”
“That’s not being honest, that’s being rude.” He took the papers from her. “Articles like this are the reason we’ve moved so many times. I was serious when I said no more, Abigail. And I still am.”
“That’s not why we left Missouri,” she snapped. “And that’s what won’t happen again.” She spun about and marched over to her desk in the corner. “I won’t let it.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a newspaper he didn’t recognize. “Hannah Olsen will give birth to a bastard. She. Was. Never. Married.”
The chill that raced over him was colder than water pulled from the well in January. “What have you done?”
* * *
Hannah held her breath against an onslaught of sensations that made her shake. She couldn’t help but glance across the street, toward the front office of the Gazette. Someone was on the other side of the glass and she quickly glanced away. Even on the other side of the street she could feel the glower that Abigail was sending her way.
“Rhett, slow down,” Wyatt said. “Hannah can’t walk that fast.”
Pulling her attention back to the two boys walking with her, she said, “I will one day soon,” she said. “I think I’ll challenge you both to a footrace after this baby is born.”
Rhett, who had listened to his older brother and slowed down, laughed. “Mothers don’t have footraces.”
“They don’t?”
“No.”
“We’ll have to see about that.” Winking at Wyatt, she added, “Right after I beat you in one.”
While Rhett laughed again, Wyatt changed the subject. “Are you really going to draw a picture of all of us?” he asked.
“If it’s all right with Miss Burnett,” she answered. The idea had come to her last night. If Abigail wanted an etching of all the children, that’s what she would receive. Despite how the other woman might feel toward her, Hannah was not going to promote hatred in any way. She’d left Wisconsin to get away from it. Forever.
She’d thought about that late into the night, and while unable to sleep had remembered something Brett’s mother had said to her. Whenever hatred is allowed to thrive, bad things follow. But where there is love, there’s goodness and grace.
At the time, she’d taken that as a simple statement of truth, but last night, she’d begun to look upon it as a piece of advice, as well as Fiona’s idea of looking at things from a different perspective. It might prove hard, but her first thought had been that Abigail was Teddy’s sister, and Teddy was very easy to like. He was also at the core of her thinking. She couldn’t help but wonder how or why the woman he’d been engaged to had married someone else.
“Hannah came to school with us!”
Rhett’s shout pulled her attention back to the task at hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Olsen,” Miss Burnett said as they arrived at the school building. “I hope you enjoyed the recital yesterday.”
“Oh, I did. Very much,” Hannah answered. “So much I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is that?”
“I’m hoping to spend some time in the classroom today. I didn’t think to bring a piece of paper with me yesterday, and I’d like to draw a picture of the children during their performance.”
“Whatever for?”
“The newspaper,” Hannah answered. “I promise it won’t take long. But I will need everyone to stand at the front of the room like they were yesterday. Just long enough for me to get an outline, then I’ll sit in the back, drawing some of their features.” For the etching, she only needed a prominent feature for each child, so they’d be somewhat recognizable, mainly to their families.
