A Season of the Heart. Dorothy Clark

How devoted would your fine gentlemen friends be if they’d seen you looking like a drowned muskrat?”

      A sound, somewhere between a gasp and a growl, escaped her. He jerked his head up and barely missed getting his jaw clipped by the top of her head as she spun about and stormed to the waist-high shelf in the mailbox wall.

      “Mother’s mail please, Mr. Hubble.”

      “There’s nothing today, Miss Ellen. That new Godey’s Lady’s Magazine your mama’s waiting on didn’t come in yet.”

      “Very well. I’ll come back tomorrow. Good day.” She gave a stiff little nod in the direction of the counter, turned and swept to the door. The bells jangled, then fell silent.

      “Miss Ellen, so beautiful she is. Ahh, to be young again...” Ilari Fabrizio’s deep, heavily accented voice sighed through the store.

      There was a loud snort. A checker brushed across the wood game board. “Forget the dreaming and take your turn, Romeo.”

      Good advice, Mr. Grant. There’s no one in this town good enough for Ellen. Not anymore. Daniel ducked his head and stole a look through the window. Ellen’s fur-adorned blue cloak and bonnet blurred and disappeared into the rapidly falling snow. Another image to join the others he’d stored up through the years. A fitting one—Ellen walking away. He took a firmer grip on the tools and headed for the door.

      Allan Cargrave came from behind the counter and reached to open the door. “You two scrap with each other the same as when you were growing up, Daniel. I guess some things don’t change.”

      “I guess.” He braced the keg on his shoulder and stepped outside. “Put the gloves on my account.”

      He ducked his head against a rising wind and headed for the pung. The new snow was already higher than his ankles. He frowned, stashed his burden in the back of the long box, freed the reins and turned the horse to face the road. Allan Cargrave was wrong. Everything changed with time. Ellen certainly had. And so had their old friendship and the childhood crush he’d once had for her. He didn’t even like the woman she’d become.

      * * *

      Ellen turned into the shoveled walk that led to the parsonage, her boots crunching the newly fallen snow, her dragging hems leaving a wide swath behind her. A gust of wind flapped the front edges of her cloak and sneaked beneath the warm wool. She shivered and hurried to the porch. How she hated winter! Of course, the cold did give her a chance to wear her cape and bonnet, and the fur around her face was very flattering. Harold Lodge and Earl Cuthbert had both been lavish in their compliments of her beauty in the new garments. As had others.

      The thought tugged her lips into a smile. She withdrew her gloved hand from her muff, fluffed the fur brushing against her cheeks and knocked. Daniel, of course, hadn’t even noticed. Her smile faded.

      The door opened a crack. She stared at the blank space, slid her gaze downward. A pair of brown eyes peered up at her from beneath a mop of blond curls. “Oh. Good morning, Joshua. Is—” The boy’s head disappeared.

      “It’s Miss Ellen, Mama!”

       “Ellen?”

      There was delight in the muffled reply. She smiled, then sobered at the sight of a furry black muzzle poking through the crack, the black nose twitching. The dog barked, thrust his head and shoulders through the opening and jumped out onto the stoop.

      The memory of the snarling dog that had leaped at her out of the woods behind Willa’s home when they were children snapped into her mind. Don’t let him know you’re afraid! The words Daniel had shouted at her that day as he dropped from a tree and rushed between her and the dog held her in place. She stood perfectly still. There was no Daniel to save her from an attack today.

      “Don’t let Happy out, Joshua! Take him to your room.” Hurrying footfalls sounded in the hallway.

      Joshua leaned out and thumped his dog’s shoulder. “C’mon in the house, Happy!”

      The dog rose, shook and leaped back inside. Willa appeared in the doorway. “Ellen! Matthew heard you’d come home last night. I’m sorry about the dog. Come in.”

      She looked at Willa’s smile, the welcoming warmth in her friend’s blue-green eyes, and gathered her courage. “I didn’t know the children were home. I’m afraid I’ve come at an inconvenient time, Willa. But I wanted to see you and your baby.” She brushed off the snow as best she could and stepped into the small entrance, watched the boy thunder up the stairs with the dog at his heels and held back a sigh of relief.

      “There was no school because of the storm, but I’m glad you came, Ellen. I was hoping to see you today. It’s been months since you were home. My, what a lovely cloak and bonnet!” Willa held out her hands. “Let me hang it on the peg and we’ll go into the sitting room and visit by the fire.”

      “That sounds delightful.” She slipped off her gloves and tucked them inside the muff, then removed her cloak and untied her bonnet. “You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

      “I’m fine, Ellen. My confinement went smoothly. Did you have a pleasant trip home?”

      “Yes.” She smiled and fluffed her curls, relieved at the change of subject. “Mr. Lodge insisted on accompanying me as far as Dunkirk. Then he sent me on in his enclosed sleigh while he tended to business there. With the wind blocked out, a warmed soapstone under my feet and the fur lap robe covering me, it was a comfortable ride.”

      “I heard about the enclosed sleigh. But then, of course, I would.” Willa laughed and led the way to the chairs by the fire. “Tommy Burke and Kurt Finster saw your arrival last night and were very impressed by the odd-looking equipage. They spread the word.”

      “I’m sure they did. There’s certainly nothing like Mr. Lodge’s sleigh in Pinewood. Truth be told, there are very few in Buffalo. Of course, Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert both have one.” She stopped and leaned over the baby sleeping in a cradle beside the hearth. “So this is Miss Mary Elizabeth Calvert.” A smile curved her lips. “She has your auburn hair.”

      “Yes, though it curls like Matthew’s.”

      The love in Willa’s voice drew her gaze. Her friend’s face was a picture of contentment and happiness. A twinge of envy curled around her heart. She sat and smoothed out her skirts, then fingered the layers of lace that formed a frothy V at her throat, taking comfort in the richness of her gown. She brushed back a curl and gestured toward the settee. “What is all that?”

      “Several children are going to speak Scripture verses at church for Christmas and I thought it would be nice if they wore suitable costumes.” Willa gave the cradle a gentle rock and went to stand beside the settee. “I asked for donations of material to make the costumes, and this pile is the result.”

      “You’re going to make the costumes?” She lifted her skirt hems higher to warm her feet.

      “Yes. Agnes was going to help me sew them, but her aunt took sick and she’s gone to stay with her. Callie would help, of course, but she and Ezra have gone to visit his sister for the holiday—and Sadie has to watch over Grandfather and Grandmother Townsend. All the others I’ve asked have no time.”

      Ellen swept her gaze over the narrowed blue-green eyes and slightly pursed lips that Willa always wore when she was considering something. Surely she wasn’t— No. She misunderstood Willa’s intent. No one ever asked her for help. She laughed and stretched her feet out closer to the fire.

      “There is something amusing?”

      She shook her head and fluffed her curls. “Not really. It was only that, for a moment, I thought you were going to ask me to help you.”

      “Would you, Ellen?”

      “Would I help you?” She frowned. “Stop teasing, Willa. I get enough of that from Daniel.”

      “I’m