Brides of Iowa (56 page)

His father cleared his throat. “Is there another reason you’re considering this offer? Does this have anything to do with Tillie?”

Everett thought his friendship with Tillie a healthy thing until his feelings toward her changed. Now he knew better. Since Tillie had finally taken his advice and accepted Ben’s attention, seeing the two of them together was far more painful than he’d anticipated. At least if he moved back to Baltimore, he wouldn’t have to watch Tillie being courted by another man. His father had seen through the smoke and nailed the real reason the Baltimore offer was so tempting.

“I’d like your opinion, Father.”

No smile tweaked his father’s mustache. “Son, please don’t make up your mind yet. Pray about this. God will never start something in your life that He doesn’t intend to finish.” He squeezed his son’s shoulder. “You know I want you to stay, but
you
must weigh the reasons you’re considering this move. My opinion isn’t the one that counts.”

Everett’s fingers itched to take up paper and pen and reply to the attorney’s letter, but Father’s advice was wise. It had to be for the right reasons. He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. Before he could accept this offer, he needed to spend some time in serious thought…and prayer.

Everett wrestled for three days trying to compose a reply to the letter, only to crumple countless pages of stationery. During his time of prayer, he only heard one word from God:
“Wait.”

With Ben out on a delivery, Everett had to keep the door to his inner office open so he’d hear if a customer came in. He bent his head over the invoices on his desk and tried to concentrate on the figures, but the letter in his desk drawer fought for his attention.

The outside door opened, and Everett glanced up. A gust of wind accompanied a gentleman into the outer office, and from his vantage point in the shadowed inner office, Everett recognized Tillie’s father. He rose from behind his desk and stepped to the doorway, his hand jerking up and then hesitating. Would Mr. O’Dell find his maneuver to conceal his scars offensive? He dropped his hand to his side.

“Good afternoon, sir. You’re Mr. O’Dell, are you not?”

The Irishman removed his hat and raised his chin a bit, exposing his own facial scar to the light pouring in from the open door. “That I am, young fella.”

While Everett could detect a lilt in Tillie’s speech from time to time, Mr. O’Dell’s brogue was much more pronounced. He could see where Tillie got her green eyes. If he didn’t miss his guess, he was about to find out where she got her stubbornness as well.

Everett stepped into the front portion of the office. “What can I do for you, Mr. O’Dell?”

The man leveled a look at Everett that he could have sworn went all the way through to his back collar button. “Thought I’d see if you had time for a wee chat.” Without waiting for Everett’s reply, O’Dell continued, “I suppose my Matilda has told you that I love tellin’ stories. Well, Mr. Behr, I have a story I’d like to tell ye.”

It sounded more like a command than an invitation, and Everett bristled slightly. He doubted telling Mr. O’Dell that he didn’t have time for stories would win him any points from the man. He dragged his desk chair from the inner office and offered O’Dell the seat. Tillie’s father tossed his hat on the work counter and sat.

“A long time ago, a wee lass was born to a wretched man and his dear wife. The rogue wasn’t worthy of such a sweet, beautiful baby girl child, but God saw fit to bless him anyways. One day, God took hold of this scurvy rascal and shook him so that he could finally see what a heathen he was. He told God he wanted to change his despicable ways and not hurt those he loved anymore, and God changed him. From that day on, that sweet little girl became the pride and joy of the man’s life.” O’Dell paused for a moment to clear his throat.

Tillie had already told him about her father’s past, so it wasn’t hard to figure out O’Dell was talking about himself. But why did the man think it necessary to tell Everett?

O’Dell placed both hands on his knees and continued his story. “One day, this man—
whist
—he turned around, and his baby girl was grown. ‘When did this happen?’ says he. Ah, but the man knows because he’s watched his girl growin’ into a beautiful young woman.”

Tillie’s father didn’t have to remind him what a beautiful young woman she was. He spent his days and most of his nights trying to forget that very fact.

Mr. O’Dell held his chin between his thumb and forefinger and looked off to the side as though Tillie were standing there. “He’s watched her so closely, mind you, that he knows every little thing about her—her laughin’ and her cares, her wishin’ and her hopin’. And the man knows when she’s glowin’ inside with joy and when her heart is breakin’—even though, the girl, she tries so hard to hide her woeful face from her da. She takes long walks all alone so she can do her cryin’ in secret. But her da knows.” O’Dell leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Everett. “And this da wants to know what you did to make his baby girl cry.”

The man could not have inflicted more pain if he’d run Everett through with a blade. He dipped his head and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to erase the picture O’Dell’s story had painted in his mind.

“Mr. O’Dell, I hope you can believe me when I tell you it was never my intention to hurt Tillie. On the contrary, I was trying to spare her.” He shook his head and raised his hand to run his fingertips over his scars. How could he tell this man who bore scars himself the real reason why he decided to stop seeing his daughter? “Mr. O’Dell…I couldn’t…Tillie deserves better than me.”

O’Dell’s eyebrows arched. “Does she now? She told you that, did she?”

“Well, no, she would never…That’s why I knew it was up to me. She’s too tenderhearted.” He stared down at his shoes, his stomach twisting into a knot. “Doesn’t it bother you when people stare or when you see pity or repulsion in their eyes?”

“Are ye tryin’ to tell me my Matilda pities you?”

Everett jerked his head up to meet Mr. O’Dell’s steely gaze. “No! No, she doesn’t. But other people do, and I couldn’t ask Tillie to endure a lifetime of that. I’m sorry if that offends you, Mr. O’Dell, but I love your daughter too much to put her through that.”

The moment the words blurted from his lips, Everett couldn’t believe he’d spoken them. Fire rose up from his belly, searing his face almost as hot as the flames that had scarred him. He clamped his teeth together to prevent any more words from escaping.

Mr. O’Dell crossed one leg over the other. “So that’s the way of it.” The man angled his head and fixed his eyes on the trail the flames had made across Everett’s face and neck. “Mm-hmm.”

Everett fought to keep the grimace off his face under the man’s scrutiny. It seemed O’Dell’s eyes combed over every inch of his face.

Once his inspection was complete, O’Dell leaned back in the chair again. “I’m havin’ a hard time understandin’ exactly what ’tis you don’t want to put my Matilda through.”

Every reason, every argument Everett could employ would be an insult to the man sitting before him. His mind fought to put words into a coherent defense. “It’s different for me than it was for you. You were already married and had children. You didn’t have a choice. I do, and I choose to not hurt Tillie.”

“It’s a wee bit late for that way o’ thinkin’. My Matilda is already hurtin’.” Mr. O’Dell’s expression softened. “Son, God won’t never leave ye alone, in your joy nor in your troubles. That don’t mean God will take your scars away, and I’m thinkin’ the Almighty has a bit of work to do on you still. But don’t be closin’ the door on a blessin’ He’s tryin’ to give ye.”

Everett nodded mutely. He leaned his elbows on the work counter and rested his forehead in his hands. “A couple of weeks ago, I gave considerable thought to asking Tillie to the harvest picnic. I’d just about made up my mind, but…”

He could hear Mr. O’Dell shifting in the squeaky desk chair. “I’m put in mind of another story. There was these five frogs sittin’ on a log. Four of ’em decided to jump off. So how many frogs was sittin’ on the log?”

Everett had about had his fill of Irish stories, but respect dictated courtesy. “One?”

The man rose from the chair and clapped him on the back. “Why, there’s still five frogs sittin’ on the log. There’s a difference between decidin’ and doin’.” O’Dell patted his shoulder. “Son, don’t be runnin’ from what God is tryin’ to do in your life. The blessin’s He gives us each day are the blessin’s we need the most.”

W
hy did I even come here today?”

Even as he muttered the question to himself, Everett knew there were two answers, and neither of them had anything to do with satisfying his appetite. A makeshift table, constructed of wide planks the men had laid across several sawhorses, contained a scrumptious array of food that would tempt any normal man. From the safety of the shadowy cedars, Everett watched the women of the congregation load the tables to groaning, but the turmoil in his stomach left little room for food.

He’d finally given in to his father and Pearl and agreed to attend with them so they would stop pestering him. Understanding their good intentions soothed his irritation somewhat, but it wouldn’t make the day any easier. Thankfully, they’d chosen a spot under the wide cedar boughs at the far edge of the churchyard, where he could distance himself from the activity.

The other reason was harder to define but no less compelling. It made no sense. Part of him wanted to see Tillie, even if it was from a distance. He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh, and know she was enjoying herself. Satisfying himself that she was happy compelled him to scan the gathering of people, but the prospect of seeing her with Ben stirred his stomach into a whirlpool. Dread ate a hole in his heart.

From his vantage point, he found the pair making their selections at the food table, Ben’s heaping plate dwarfing Tillie’s half-empty one. He escorted her to a blanket spread across the way, not far from the one where her parents sat. She wore her light green dress, the one that made her eyes look like pure green crystal, and something in his chest rolled over.

“This is the way it’s supposed to be. She’ll be happier with someone like Ben.”

“Did you say something, son?” His father and Pearl returned to the blanket with quizzical expressions and three plates laden with all manner of delicacies.

“I was just talking to myself.” He started to scoot farther back under the low-hanging cedar boughs, but Pearl passed a filled plate to him.

She gave him a motherly smile. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing you a plate. I was afraid if I didn’t, you wouldn’t eat.”

His father’s wife was developing an uncanny insight into his thoughts and feelings, but he didn’t resent it. Instead he found it comforting that she cared. He reached out to accept the plate and smiled his thanks to Pearl.

He took a few bites, forcing himself to swallow. The ladies of the church always brought their best culinary efforts to these affairs, but at the moment everything he put into his mouth tasted like sawdust. Only vaguely aware of the conversation between his father and Pearl, Everett kept his eyes trained on Tillie and Ben. Tillie smiled and nodded from time to time. Ben seemed to be doing most of the talking. Was it his imagination, or was Tillie looking out over the crowd of folks? Was she looking for him? He shifted his position, precariously balancing his plate, until he felt certain the shadow of the cedar boughs concealed him.

“How’s business, son?”

Everett pulled his attention back to his father and stepmother. “Fine. We’re staying busy.” He managed a stiff smile and bit into a piece of fried chicken.

Pearl poured water from an earthenware jug into a tin cup and held it out to him. “Have you thought any more about the letter from the attorney?”

Everett nodded his thanks and accepted the cup. “I’ve done a lot of thinking.”

Pearl’s gaze lifted across the churchyard. Everett followed her line of sight, and his eyes landed on Tillie and Ben. What were they saying to each other? Tillie reached up and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, and angst lurched in Everett’s stomach. He looked down at the drumstick in his hand, unsure of what he might do if Ben reached over to touch those honeyed strands.

Stop it. It’s out of your hands. Let her go.
Had he stayed long enough to appease his father and stepmother? If he got up to leave now, would people stare?

“Everett?”

He looked up from the partially eaten chicken leg he was studying. His father’s expression indicated Everett had missed something. “Yes?”

Everett read compassion in the elder Behr’s eyes. He suspected Father understood the turmoil swirling in his middle.

“I noticed you had a visitor the other day.”

“I did?”

“Timothy O’Dell?”

“Oh.” The Irishman’s story of Tillie going off by herself to cry seared him again. “Yes, he stopped by.”

When Everett didn’t say more, and the silence was broken only by the hum of nearby voices and the laughter of playing children, Pearl rose from the blanket. “I think I’ll go and cut some pieces of gingerbread cake for us.”