A Season of the Heart. Dorothy Clark

      A log popped. Cinders dropped to the shimmering coals and the flames flared. She pulled her long full skirt back away from the edge of the hearth, smiled and ran her hand over the smooth Turkish satin material. She loved the way the skirt was caught up at random intervals with a silk knot securing the resulting puff. She was the only one she knew who had a dress of this design. Of course, the other women in the social set would have copied it by the time she returned to Buffalo.

      Her smile faded. Her women acquaintances in the city would not be standing in an empty room wishing for something to do. They would be at the dressmaker’s being fitted for a new gown, or paying calls on others of their set and enjoying a gossip over tea this afternoon, before hurrying home to prepare for the evening’s entertainment. What would it be for tonight? A dinner party? A musical? Or the theater? There was always something important to attend. One had to be seen at the right places. Had she erred in coming home for the holiday?

      She sighed and ran her fingers over the silk knot that secured the narrow band at her waist. What good was a stylish gown if there was no one to admire or envy it? The silence pressed in upon her, increased her restlessness. Her mother and father had gone to their shops. There was no one to talk to and nothing to do. Her mother didn’t even need her for a fitting for her new gowns. And she certainly wasn’t going to walk to town in this weather.

      She shivered at the thought, walked back to the window and looked out. There was nothing to see but the road, the empty field across the way and the parsonage, barely visible through the rapidly falling snow. She huffed out a breath, turned away, then turned back. The parsonage wasn’t that far. And Willa was there. Of course, there was that open field to cross.

      The wind gusted, drove the falling snow sideways and moaned around the window, dashing her hope. It was foolishness to even think of going outside. Still, her cloak was warm....

      The lure of tea and conversation with her old friend pulled at her. She whirled from the window and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. Wading through that deep snow in the field would ruin her silk gown. She would wear one of her old dresses.

      * * *

      “Give me twenty minutes or so, Daniel. That wound is going to take some cleaning before I stitch it up.”

      “All right, Doc. I’ll be back to get him.” Daniel led Big Boy to a spot beside Doc’s stable where he’d be out of the wind, fastened the blanket on him, then trudged his way across lots to the parsonage.

      “Woof!”

      “Hey, Happy...” He bent down and scratched behind the ears of the dog standing watch at the top of the back porch steps. “Waiting for Josh, are you?” The dog let out a whine, lay down with his muzzle resting on his crossed front paws and stared toward the road. He grinned and thumped the dog’s solid, furry shoulder. “I wish I’d had a dog like you to roam the woods with me when I was a kid. We’d have had ourselves a time.”

      He brushed the snow from his shoulders and pant legs, stomped it from his boots crossing the porch, rapped three times and opened the kitchen door. “Hey, Bertha.” He hooked his hat and jacket over one of the pegs on the wall. “Those cookies sure smell good.”

      “I’ve never had no complaints.” The housekeeper dropped small mounds of dough onto the emptied tin and slid it in the oven, then swatted at his hand as he helped himself. “You might ask first.”

      “Why waste time? We both know you always say yes.” He grinned, took a bite of the warm cookie and smacked his lips in approval. “Where’s Willa?”

      “In the sitting room. And leave some of them for Joshua and Sally.”

      He waved the second cookie he’d snatched in the air and headed down the hallway to the sitting room devouring his treat. “Hey, Pest, what’s that you’ve got?”

      “Daniel! I thought I heard your knock.” Willa dumped the load in her arms onto the settee and smiled up at him. “I might ask you the same question.”

      He popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth. “Nothing.”

      Her lips twitched. “You’re not very imaginative, Daniel. That’s the same answer you always gave Mama, Grandmother Townsend and Sophia.”

      “It was always true.”

      “After you swallowed.”

      He gave a loud gulp, and they both burst into laughter. A cry came from the cradle sitting by the hearth. He stepped over to it and squatted on his heels, his chest tightening at the sight of the sweet baby face topped by downy auburn curls. He’d hoped to have children one day. He shoved the thought away and rocked the cradle. “Sorry, tiny one, I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.” The cries grew louder. He shot to his feet and sent a panicked look to Willa. “What’s wrong? I only rocked her.”

      “Our laughter startled her. She wants comforting.” Willa leaned down and wrapped the baby in her blanket, cuddled her close for a moment, then held her out to him. “You hold her while I sort through those clothes.”

      “Me!” He shoved his palms out toward her and backed away. “She’s too little. I don’t want to hurt her.”

      “You won’t. You only need to keep her head supported.”

      His heart lurched as Willa placed the baby in his arms. He cuddled the infant close, rocked her gently. The cries turned to a whimper, then stopped. He lifted his gaze to Willa and grinned.

      “She feels safe.” She smiled and turned toward the settee. “Mama said you were going to come see me, but I didn’t expect you to come to town in this blizzard.”

      He stayed rooted in place, afraid to move lest the baby begin crying again. “A hick slipped with his ax and sliced open his leg. I had to bring him to Doc to get the wound sewed up, so I came on over. I’ll need to take him back to camp shortly.”

      “I hope the man heals well. What was it you wanted?”

      “Your mother said you needed help with Christmas decorations or something.”

      Willa lifted a shirt that had seen better days off the top of the pile she’d dropped on the settee and grinned at him. “You needn’t whisper. Mary won’t waken.” She set the shirt aside. “So you are obeying Mama’s orders to come help me?”

      He matched her grin. “Something like that.”

      “Good! I accept your help. But I’m not ready yet. I need—” She stopped at a knock on the front door. “Someone must need Matthew, to come out in this weather. The grippe is hitting people hard....” She hurried toward the entrance hall.

      “Ellen! Is something wrong?”

      Ellen? What was she doing out in the storm? He glanced down at the baby, wished he dared put her down and leave.

      “No, everything is fine. I only came to visit.”

      He took a long breath and braced himself to see her again so soon.

      “I can’t believe you braved this snowstorm, but I’m so glad you did. Here, let me take your cloak and bonnet. You go in by the fire and warm yourself.”

      “Thank you, Willa. I’m chilled through and through. The wind is terrible.”

      Soft footsteps crossed the small entrance toward the sitting room. Ellen swept through the doorway, stopped and stared at him, her azure eyes looking bluer than ever above her rosy cheeks. Her blond curls had been blown into disarray around her forehead and temples, and one dangled from behind her ear to lie against the high collar of her dark green gown. She’d never looked more beautiful. But he always seemed to think that. He slanted his lips in a teasing grin. “Hey, Musquash. What are you doing out in the cold?”

      Her eyes flashed. She tossed her head, lifted her snow-rimmed hems and came toward the fireplace. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hauling logs or something?”

      The words cut deep.