Brides of Iowa (48 page)

The gray cat jumped from the windowsill to the desk and squeaked a meow at him as if expecting Everett to answer.

“Hello, Gray. I suppose you think it’s suppertime?” He rubbed the cat’s head. “Sorry, but you’ll have to wait a little longer. Pearl sent over a fine stew, and I promise I’ll save you some.” The feline produced another kitten-like chirp in response. Everett pulled his face into a grin. “You know that pitiful sound you call a meow doesn’t sound very masculine. I thought male cats were supposed to yowl.” He ran his hand down Gray’s back and noticed he could barely feel the cat’s ribs now that his new friend benefited from regular meals. Gray arched his back and leaned against Everett’s stroking, a rumbling purr communicating pleasure. Everett chuckled at the cat’s response to the gesture of affection. “One of these days, I’ll have to try my hand at fishing the creeks around here and see if I can catch you a fresh trout. Would you like that?”

Everett scratched the cat’s ears and stood, glancing out the window at the position of the sinking sun. God’s paintbrush had begun to sweep the twilight sky with shades of lavender and orange edged with deeper purple. Ever since he’d established a close relationship with God, he never ceased to be amazed at the works of God’s hand—things he never took the time to appreciate before.

Hunger made his stomach rumble, but when he stepped out and turned to lock the door, the nearly empty street caused him to pause and savor the freedom of not having to duck his head or tug his hat down to hide his face. Supper could wait.

He stepped off the boardwalk and crossed the street. A few people came and went from the hotel, but they paid him no attention. He strolled past the mill and admired the willows dangling their delicate tendrils along the ground near the creek bank. The breeze teased them into waving an invitation to him.

The sun hugged the horizon to his right, indicating perhaps thirty more minutes of daylight, and he intended to take advantage of the solitude. He headed toward the shadows among the willows lining the creek. A sweet calmness fell over him. Here, in the refuge offered by the sweeping willow trees and the gathering dusk, he felt no need to hide himself. He pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly. A few night birds had already begun tuning up for their evening serenade, and fireflies played tag in and out of the willows’ curtains. An easy smile slipped across his face as he immersed himself in the pleasant sanctuary. A song deep within him rose to his throat, and he began humming “O for a Thousand Tongues,” one of the hymns sung at last week’s church service.

“The glories of my God and King…”
“Thank You, Lord, for this place and this beauty.” He gazed through the crisscrossed branches at the ever-changing colors in the sunset sky.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

Everett spun to see who was intruding on his seclusion. Tillie stood a few feet away, outside the willows’ fringe. He instinctively took a step backward into the deepening shadows and shrugged. “Yes, it is.”

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” Tillie pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “I was on my way home and saw you walking this way. It’s lovely this time of the evening when stillness covers the town. I love listening for the whippoorwills and watching the fireflies come out.”

He couldn’t blame her. The very things that had coaxed him to take an evening walk along the creek bank were the same things she mentioned enjoying.

“Yes, I love the—” He started to say
privacy.
“The quiet.” He sent her a short nod and briefly touched the brim of his hat before stepping away and continuing farther down the creek bank. A flat rock offered a place to sit and enjoy the solace. To his consternation, Tillie followed and took a seat on the grass a few feet away. His initial inclination—resentment—melted before it grabbed hold of him. Instead curiosity niggled. He bent and picked up a few pebbles and tossed them into the gurgling water.

Tillie said nothing, and Everett was glad, if not surprised. He recalled the Sunday Pearl invited Tillie to dinner. Her endless chatter in the wagon on the way home that day nearly drove him to jump out and walk. At least this evening she didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with conversation. She leaned forward and plucked a few clover stems, setting them into the water and watching as the gentle current wound around a few rocks and carried them downstream. He studied her out of the corner of his eye but found it unnecessary to hide his observation, since she leaned her head back and closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath. A small smile tipped the corners of her lips.

After a few minutes she glanced sideways at him, a playful look in her eye. “Would you think me scandalous and unladylike if I took off my shoes and stockings and dipped my feet in the creek?”

Everett almost chuckled out loud. “Not at all. I was just thinking of doing the same thing.”

They both removed their shoes and let the cool water run over their toes. Everett couldn’t remember ever doing something so undignified, even as a child. What other simple pleasures had he missed because he’d been reared by a grandmother who put more stock in social standing than enjoying the gifts God gave His children?

Tillie sighed. “Ahh, that feels so good.”

Everett took in her profile, and her expression was pure bliss. Of course her feet must be tired. He presumed she didn’t have much opportunity to sit down during the day, working in the hotel dining room. Less than a year ago, he’d held Tillie in disdain for her menial job. Odd, how the thought of Tillie’s occupation no longer filled him with scorn. On the contrary, he felt a new respect for her, working as hard as she did. No one could accuse her of being lazy.

“Won’t your family wonder where you are?” Everett almost bit his tongue the moment the inquiry slipped out. He didn’t mean for it to sound as though he was anxious for her to leave. But she didn’t seem to take offense.

“No. Sometimes when I work the supper shift, I don’t get home until after dark.” She flicked a mosquito from her arm. “When I have to work late, my brother and sister do some of my chores.”

Everett raised his eyebrows. On top of working at the hotel, she had household chores to perform. “Doesn’t your brother work at the mercantile for my father?”

She splashed her foot in the creek. “My brother Phillip. Regan and Grady help with my chores when I get home late. Grady’s only ten, but he likes to think he can do the work of a grown-up.”

“And who is Regan?”

Tillie placed her hands on the grass behind her and leaned back. “My oldest sister. Well, I mean, I’m the oldest, and Phillip is the next oldest at fifteen, but Regan is the sister closest to me in age at fourteen. Then comes Fiona—she’s twelve. Then Grady. Brenna is my youngest sister—she’s six. And the baby is Cory—he’s four.”

“Such a large family,” Everett mused. “It must be noisy at mealtimes. I never had any siblings.”

Tillie’s laugh blended with the sound the water made as it danced over the rocks. Together the harmony played on Everett’s ear like a gentle interlude.

“The only time it’s not noisy around our house is when Da reads the Bible and prays with all of us before bedtime. Even Cory has learned to be quiet and listen.” She grinned. “But you’re right. Such blarney around the breakfast table every morning. And supper time.
Whist!
What a chatter. Da claims he can’t even hear himself ask for seconds.”

Everett tipped his head back and laughed. “All of a sudden I feel my meals are very lonely. It’s just me and the cat.”

Tillie shifted around and began drying her feet on the grass. “So you decided to keep that mangy cat, did you?”

“He’s not so mangy anymore.” Everett followed Tillie’s example and twisted around to set his dripping feet on the rock beside him. “He’s getting sleek and fat. I think he’s adopted me.”

Her musical laughter gifted his ears once more. “Have you given this fat cat a name?”

“Gray.”

“Gray what?”

“The cat’s name. I just started calling him Gray. He doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t come when I call him anyway, unless I have food in my hands.”

Tillie’s hands halted in their task of pulling on her shoes. “Gray? What an unimaginative name. I think I would have named him…Sir Lancelot or Solomon.”

“That’s the name of one of my horses.”

“You named your horse Sir Lancelot, but you named the cat Gray?”

“No, Solomon. I bought four horses from Gideon Maxwell, and I gave them all biblical names.”

Tillie cocked her head to one side as if weighing his choice of names for his livestock as he described each animal. They continued for a few more minutes, laughing as he relayed an amusing story of Gray bringing a mouse to him, only the mouse was still alive. Tillie responded with an account of one of her brothers sneaking a squirrel into the house that he intended to keep as a pet until it got loose from its box and led the entire family on a merry chase. Everett couldn’t remember a time when he’d laughed so much, or enjoyed a conversation with such a lovely young woman.

Realization hit Everett that they’d spent a half hour in each other’s company and he felt completely at ease, unlike the Sunday afternoon he’d worked so hard to distance himself from her. The gathering darkness surely had something to do with it, but at some point he became aware that while she looked him directly in the eye, she hadn’t once stared at him. He detected neither pity nor repulsion in her expression or tone. Being in Tillie’s company as dusk settled in around them was more pleasant that he could have imagined.

She finished tying her shoes and tugged the hem of her skirt down to cover her shoelaces as she stood. The murmuring water provided background music. Shadows blended with the encroaching night, and Everett rose and faced her fully.

Tillie bent to retrieve her reticule. “Do you go walking in the evening often?”

“Not really, but it is quite pleasant this time of day, isn’t it?” A flicker of hope tickled his stomach.

She dipped her head, and in the retreating streaks of the sunset, Everett saw a demure smile grace her lips. “Perhaps…I might see you again out walking some evening.”

The pinpoint of hope became a glimmer. “Perhaps.” In unison they stepped away from the grassy creek bank and walked toward the edge of town, Everett measuring his strides to match hers.

Their easy conversation continued, and before he realized what was happening, he’d walked with her nearly all the way to her family’s farm a mile past town. He hadn’t intended to walk her home, but the relaxed manner Everett discovered in the twilight made being with her so pleasant that his self-consciousness faded like the daylight. To his surprise, they now stood at the edge of her father’s cornfield. The small farmhouse, silhouetted against the darkening sky, didn’t look large enough to hold the number of family members Tillie had told him about, but the welcoming lamplight that spilled from its windows opened its arms in a warm greeting. He wondered what it might be like to step through the door of one’s home and embrace loved ones. A momentary picture flitted through his mind. What if Tillie were the one greeting him at the door with her gentle ways and ready smile? The image stole quietly into his mind and lingered.

“I’d best go in now. Da and Ma will be wondering about me.”

Tillie’s soft voice jolted him out of his reverie. “Oh—uh, yes, of course. Well, good night, Tillie.” His hands seemed to not have an occupation, for they fidgeted between clasping together and seeking refuge in his pockets. “Thank you for walking me home, Everett. It was very kind of you.”

He couldn’t be sure in the darkness, but her voice sounded like she was smiling.

All the way home, Everett chided himself for his foolish thoughts. Tillie was merely being polite and charitable. She might concede to sit with him in the shadow of the willows or walk with him at nightfall when nobody could see them, or even speak to him in the churchyard after hearing a sermon on compassion. But no respectable young woman would care to be seen in public with the likes of him. The garish light of day would always reveal the ugliness he would never be able to hide.

He clenched his fist and punched the side of his leg as he strode toward town. “I suppose, Lord, that I should get used to the idea that I’ll live out the rest of my days alone.” He shook his head. “I accept the blame, Lord. The way I tried to separate my father and Pearl last year, the arrogance that drove me to be so hateful and manipulating—Lord, I know I have no right to think I could find happiness with anyone. You’ve forgiven me, and I’m grateful. I just have to learn to live with…with a face that offends people.”

He slowed his steps as he passed the grove of cedars that edged the churchyard. Their pungent scent wafted on the night air. “I know I shouldn’t allow myself to think about how things might be with Tillie. Because they can never be.” He crossed the street to the mercantile, cut through the alley, and climbed the stairs at the back of the building.

Gray greeted him, having found his way between the freight depot and Everett’s living quarters over the mercantile. Everett absently rubbed the cat’s head. Gray didn’t mind his scars. Neither did God. He might never experience the intimate communion a husband and wife shared, but God’s all-consuming love would be enough. After all, God saved him from the fire. Surely there must be something more God intended for him other than running a freight company.