Dorothy Clark (15 page)

Chapter Eighteen

S
adie glanced at her grandfather, rattled the paper in her hand and heaved a loud sigh. No response. He was too involved in reading his new book to notice. She gave the paper another shake, rose and paced about the room. “Hmm...”

“What is making you so restless tonight, Sadie?” Her grandmother looked up from the apron she was hemming. “Is there bad news in that letter you’re reading?”

Her grandfather lifted his head. “What...let...ter?”

Bless you, Nanna!
She stepped closer to her grandfather’s chair. “The letter Cole received from Mr. Eastman, Poppa.” She looked away from his frown. “And I’m quite certain it is good news, Nanna, though I don’t understand all of it.”

“That’s foolishness, Sadie. If you don’t understand it, how can you be certain it’s good news?”

Her grandmother shook her head and went back to her sewing, but she’d inadvertently given her the opportunity she needed. She leaped at it. “Well, Mr. Eastman writes, ‘the machinery, though simple, is so constructed that it will cut two clapboards in a minute, regulate itself without any manual labor, and cut from a block, two feet in diameter, one hundred and twenty clapboards. These are found much superior to rifted clapboards.’”

“Two...clapboards...a min...ute?”

“That’s what he says, Poppa.” She’d caught his interest! She pulled her brows together in a frown. “That is good, isn’t it?”

He nodded and laid his book on his lap. “Fast. How...many from...block?”

She held back a smile and glanced down at the letter. “One hundred and twenty clapboards.”

He stared off into the distance, his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed.

She pressed on lest he go back to his reading. “There’s more, but I don’t understand this part. It says, ‘The novel feature of the clapboard machine is the method of converting the bolt log into feather-edged clapboards of uniform thickness. The saw cuts from the exterior or circumference toward the center of the log. The bolt is made to revolve between iron centers, and the self-regulating machinery saws a series of clapboards all around the log.’”

“Hmm...”

She looked from his face to his fingers drumming on his book and smiled. He was thinking about how the machine worked. She wiped her smile off as he looked back at her.

“Does he...say...cost of...machine?”

“Yes. Forty dollars.”

His eyes clouded. He took a breath then shook his head. “Can’t...do it.” He looked back down at his book.

But it was obvious he wanted to, so why was he standing stubborn? She studied his face, caught her breath. If he thought— “Poppa, have you seen your business ledgers since Cole became your manager?”

His head jerked up, his gaze locked on hers. “You’ve...seen them?”

There were so many emotions in his eyes...shame...anger... With Cole? She hadn’t thought of that. She cleared her throat and nodded. “I—Cole knew I wanted to see them, so he brought them to me.”

His eyes narrowed on her the way they’d done when he was displeased with her as a child. “How...did he...know?”

The conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn she hadn’t expected. She squared her shoulders. “I noticed the ledgers were missing and I went to the sawmill to look for them.”

“Why...”

The look in his eyes made her want to fidget. And Nanna was peering up at her now. She lifted her chin. “Because I thought Cole was stealing from you.”

“Stealing!”
Her grandmother gasped out the word. “Why, Sadie Spencer! Whatever gave you such an idea? Cole is a wonderful young man. He would never steal from us.”

“I know that now, Nanna. But, then, I thought— He
is
Payne’s brother.” She wrapped her arms about herself, and the letter crinkled in her hand. “I couldn’t imagine why Cole was in our home, of all places, after...what happened.”

“Sa...die...” Her grandfather reached up and tugged her arm free, took hold of her hand, a fierce look of love in his eyes. “Cole is...good man. He...hunted...for Payne. Still looks...for him. Cole would...never hurt...you.”

I wish I could change what Payne did, Sadie, but I cannot. This is all I can do.

Cole’s words filled her head—and her heart. “I know that now, Poppa. And I knew then you would never have Cole in your home if you thought...” She drew a breath and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about the past, Poppa. It’s over—and someday I will forget. What I wanted to tell you is that the sawmill is making a profit. And the logging camps as well. Not as much as when you were running them, of course, but some. Enough that you might consider signing a bank note to buy that clapboard machine as Cole recommends.”

Breath gusted from him. He sat straighter in his chair.

She’d saved his pride. And she hadn’t lied. The mill and camps
had
made more profit under him—until the decline began. “Why don’t you read Mr. Eastman’s letter, Poppa? I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.” She placed the letter in his lap and straightened. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to the library to write Ellen a letter.”

She hurried from the room before he could tell her to take the letter away.

* * *

Sadie closed the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath to settle the emotions stirred by talking about the past. “Almighty God, please let my words be true. Please let me forget someday.”

Would she?
Could
she? It didn’t seem possible. But perhaps there would come a day when Payne’s attack would only be a memory in the back of her mind she seldom thought about. She was already much better since coming home.

She breathed in the scent of Poppa’s room, frowned and took a deeper sniff. Her lips curved. Joy bubbled up. He’d been in here. The smells of wood smoke and leather were still faint, but those of candle wax and bayberry were stronger. Poppa could enjoy his room again—thanks to his rolling chair.

Tears stung her eyes as a fresh set of emotions rose. How she wished things could be as they were, with her grandparents healthy and strong. But time could not turn backward. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and pushed away from the door. She must be thankful Poppa was improving a bit, and grateful for her nanna’s love. That had not changed. That would never change, even if Nanna forgot.

She opened the desk and took the writing supplies from their cubicles, pulled Ellen’s letter from her pocket and placed it in front of her as she penned her answer.

* * *

Dearest Ellen,

How lovely to receive your letter. I do apologize for not writing you of my move home to Pinewood. I left Rochester immediately upon learning of Poppa’s illness, and I have been occupied in caring for him and Nanna since my return. To answer your question, they are doing as well as can be expected. Poppa grows a bit stronger with each passing day. Alas, I cannot say the same for Nanna. She remains confused but as loving as always. Thank you for your concern.

I must say, Ellen, that your social life, with all the teas and soirees, theater engagements and balls you write of, sounds a bit overwhelming to me after my reclusive life. I am happy you are enjoying your time in Buffalo with all of your many suitors. However do you keep from confusing them? Were I you, I should live in fear of calling one by the wrong name, or—

* * *

“Oh!” She jerked at the knock on the door, frowned at the line her pen had made when she jumped, blotted it and went to open the door. “Yes, Nan— Cole! Does Nanna or Poppa want—”

“They’ve retired.”

“Is it that late?” She glanced at the dark outside the window, returned her gaze to him and resisted the urge to press her hand against her stomach to stop its fluttering. “You wanted something?”

“Yes. To thank you for helping me.”

“Poppa talked to you about the letter?”

He nodded and moved back. She followed him out into the entrance, grateful to be out of the confines of the small library. His commanding appearance was still unsettling.

“Manning told me to arrange for a bank note and send for the clapboard machine.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad, Cole.” She led the way into the sitting room, then turned to look at him. “I’m certain, after reading Mr. Eastman’s letter, that the machine will increase profits as you said.” She looked away from his eyes. Something in them made her nervous. She focused on the hint of a dent in his chin, wishing it were permissible for her to touch it. He grinned. “Your ‘sidewise’ approach worked.”

“Perhaps a little.” She gave in and pressed her hand against her stomach to stop another surge of fluttering. “But it was when I told Poppa the sawmill and lumber camps were making a profit that he considered buying the machine.” She picked up her grandmother’s sewing and started snipping out the oversize stitches instead of being polite and waiting until he was gone. It gave her an excuse not to look at him. “Why haven’t you shown him the ledgers?”

“For the same reason you’re taking out those stitches. I wanted to spare his feelings.”

His soft-spoken words landed square in her heart. She looked up, caught her breath. She tried to think of something to say to break the feeling that rose and stretched between them, but her mind refused to cooperate. All she could think of was the look in his eyes.

“Good evening, Sadie.”

His voice felt like a touch. She watched him turn and stride from the room, leaving her breathless, wordless, helpless to understand what was happening to her. It felt as if her entire insides were coming undone.

She sank onto the settee cushion and stared down at the sewing in her trembling hands.

* * *

He had to stop going there. Cole stooped and scooped up a handful of wood chips, leaned against the support beam and tossed them one by one into the pond. They floated aimlessly a moment, then were caught and pulled by the unseen current toward the runoff downstream—the same as everything in him was pulled toward Sadie.

He straightened, shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. Tonight, for the first time, he had seen a tentative response in Sadie’s eyes—an innocent questioning, confusion and vulnerability. It made him ache to hold her. He sucked in air and scowled down at the water. If he kept spending time with her, his strength to resist would be eroded. He had to be strong enough to deny himself for her sake. If he ever hurt her...

He dragged his hands from his pockets and stared at them, thought about their power and strength, about what could happen if the monstrous violence that flowed in his father’s blood and had surfaced again in Payne rose in him and he used those hands to abuse the woman he loved. His stomach soured.

If he only knew what had happened to change Payne there might be a chance— No. That was useless speculation. He’d had no responses to the letters of inquiry he’d sent. Not one. He might never know what had happened and that meant he had no right to woo Sadie, or even think of marrying her. He had nothing to offer her but a tainted name and the possibility he could someday harm her due to some heinous lack of self-control.

He shrugged out of his shirt, twisted around and dove for the pond, his well-muscled body arcing through the moonlight, cleaving the water with barely a ripple. There would be no sleep for him tonight unless he drove away the thoughts that haunted him. He stroked for the far bank and began the circles of the pond he would continue until he hadn’t strength left to drag his arms through the water.

* * *

Sadie folded and sealed the letter, directed it to Ellen’s aunt’s home in Buffalo and set it aside to wait for her next trip to town. The thoughts she’d been holding at bay swarmed while she put the desk to rights.

She rose and went to the settle, kicked off her slippers and curled up in the corner the way she used to do. The old, worn pillow she pulled into her arms and hugged against her chest was a poor substitute for Nanna’s shoulder. She blinked her eyes and burrowed her chin into the feathery softness. “I need you, Nanna. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I need you to help me to know what to do....”

Her whispered words bounced around the library and came back to her as empty as the room. She sighed and closed her eyes. One thing was certain; the fear that had ruled her life had somehow become less dominant since her return home. She hadn’t shivered once when she saw men in town today. And tonight, when she’d looked into Cole’s eyes...

She heaved another sigh and hugged the pillow tighter. What had made his dark gray eyes go all smoky that way? Whatever it was, it unnerved her. Her insides had coiled as tight as rope around a well arm, but it didn’t frighten her. That was the odd thing. She was no longer afraid of Cole. Cautious, yes—but not afraid. “Thank You, Lord, for taking that fear from me.”

She leaned her head back against the settle, thought about Cole chasing away the bat and rescuing her from the stubborn mare. He hadn’t lied that day. He’d been telling the truth when he said he’d come back to help her in case Sweetpea had her cornered. A delicious feeling, rather like a warm, cozy blanket, spread through her. It had been a long time since she’d felt protected.

Chapter Nineteen

“I
believe we have enough for supper, Nanna.” Sadie picked up the overflowing bowl of green beans, held it against her hip and smiled at her grandmother. “Why don’t we go sit on the porch and snap them for Gertrude.”

“Gertrude?” Her grandmother frowned and tugged another handful of beans off the vines climbing the tripod of sturdy branches that supported them. “The cook’s name is Martha, Ivy. And, I’m sure I don’t know why you persist in calling me Nanna. You are to call me Miss Rachel.” Her grandmother sighed, tossed the beans she held on the ground and picked another handful. “Truly, I don’t know why Mama keeps you on. You are so forgetful.”

Sadie watched her grandmother throw the second handful of beans to the ground and swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Poppa is calling for you.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Her grandmother threw down the beans she held, wiped her hands on her apron and hurried toward the house, her long skirts swishing back and forth with the sway of her ample hips.

She took a tighter grip on the bowl and followed. Her grandmother always responded to the mention of her grandfather. The connection between them seemed to penetrate the fog of confusion that came over her as nothing else could.

The kitchen door clicked shut. Sadie sighed, dumped the beans on the porch table, set the empty bowl beside them to hold the scraps. The clean bowl waiting there, she placed it on her lap. Poppa would take care of Nanna now. He was so gentle and patient with her. He always had been.

She grabbed a handful of beans, pulled the stems and leaves from some her grandmother had picked, tossed them into the bowl on the table then snapped the beans into the bowl on her lap. She couldn’t remember ever hearing Poppa and Nanna speak harshly to one another, though she’d caught them snuggling and whispering to each other a few times. A smile curved her lips. Poppa’s voice had a special tone when he spoke to Nanna that he never used with others, not even her. And when he looked at Nanna—

Her hands stilled. She stared into the distance, remembering how her grandfather looked into her grandmother’s eyes as he handed her in and out of the carriage, how he smiled the special smile he gave to Nanna alone when she entered a room.

She shook her head and grabbed another handful of beans. How could she have forgotten how Poppa’s eyes looked when— Her breath caught. The pieces of bean she’d snapped fell from her hand into the bowl. That was the way Cole—

She jerked to her feet. The bowl crashed to the floor and pieces of beans scattered everywhere. That couldn’t be. It
couldn’t
. Poppa loved Nanna. Her imagination was running away with her.

She dropped to her knees, batted her puffed-up long skirts out of the way and righted the bowl, snatched up pieces of beans and tossed them into it to erase the image of the way Cole had looked at her last night. She was wrong. She had to be wrong. But her fluttering stomach said otherwise.

Her stomach. Last night, when Cole had looked at her that way, her stomach—no, her whole insides—had quivered.

The whistling streaked through her like lightning.

Cole.

She jerked her head toward the wooded path, listening. He was close, almost to the yard. She couldn’t face him now! She had to sort this out first. She lurched to her feet, yanked open the kitchen door, leaped inside and ran past Gertrude into the hallway.

“Why, Sadie, what— Where’s the beans?”

“On the porch!” The slap of the soles of her slippers on the stairs drowned out her reply. She grabbed the railing, whirled around the landing and sped up the last few steps and down the hall to the safety of her room.

* * *

Cole stepped out of the woods and looked toward the house, caught the flash of a blue skirt at the kitchen door and heard the slam as it closed.

Sadie. It had to be. Rachel couldn’t move that fast. His gut tightened at the thought of seeing her. He forced himself to stroll up the path but couldn’t stop from watching the kitchen door, hoping she’d come back outside.

He climbed the porch steps and frowned. Fresh-picked green beans were piled on the table. A bowl sat on the porch floor, pieces of snapped beans scattered around it. Had she hurt herself? Or had she heard his whistle and dashed inside to avoid him? He’d revealed more of what he felt for her than he intended last night. He’d probably either frightened or disgusted her. Either way it seemed he’d undone the progress he’d made in gaining her trust.
Fool!

He scowled, picked up the bowl and set it on the table, scooped the pieces of beans into his hands, then threw them over the railing.

Birds flew from the nearby trees and bushes and hopped along the ground, pecking at the unexpected bounty. He watched them for a minute, then turned and strode to the dining-room door. He had business to discuss with Manning, and he’d do well to keep his mind fixed on that. His heart was a different matter.

* * *

Sadie climbed from the buggy, wrapped Sweetpea’s reins around the hitching post and started toward the parsonage, stopped and ran her palms down the sides of her skirt. Perhaps this spontaneous visit was a bad idea. Willa was even better than Poppa at sensing her moods, and— Yes, it would be better to wait until the confusion of emotions roiling around inside her calmed. She’d been foolish to panic like this. She’d come back tomorrow, after she’d given things more thought. She blew out a breath, turned and reached for the reins.

“Sadie!”

She whipped around, stared at the young woman with a mass of black curls atop her head running down the porch steps. Who...Callie?
“Callie!”

She broke into a run and was caught up in a fierce hug. She clung to her childhood friend, laughing and crying, gulping out words. “It’s so good—to see you. I thought—” She cleared her throat, stepped back and wiped her cheeks. “I thought you were in New York City.”

“We returned last night.” Callie’s dark-violet eyes, bright with tears, sparkled at her, her full red lips curved in a tremulous smile. “Oh, Sadie, I can’t believe you’re here. Willa told me you had moved back to town. We were going to come visit—” Callie gave her another hug. “Are you all right?”

Her tone gave the words their meaning. Callie was honoring the promise she’d given never to speak of what had happened four years ago. “Not yet, but I’m getting better.” She was. She wasn’t even trembling at thinking about it. She blinked her vision clear and stared at her friend. “Callie...You’re so beau—”

“Don’t say it, Sadie! She hates to hear that—except from Ezra.” Willa laughed, braced her hands on the porch railing and leaned toward them. “Tell her she’s a wonderful cook. She likes that.”

“Oh, hush, Willa Jean.” Callie laughed and looked toward the porch. “Sadie can say anything she likes to me. And we all have so much to catch up on. I know—let’s go to the gazebo and talk the way we used to.” Callie’s black curls bobbed as she looked back at her. “Shall we?”

Sadie nodded and grinned. “I say yes. We’re too big to fit under your aunt Sophia’s porch.”

“Too bad. That was fun.” Callie blinked, giggled. “You still have that impish grin, Sadie. You look ten years old!”

“She can still run, too.” Willa trotted down the porch steps.

“Then I’m not racing!”

She laughed, feeling like a kid again. “That’s what you always said, Callie. But you always did.”

“And I always
lost.
”

Willa giggled. “Well, your running has improved somewhat, Callie. You certainly led Ezra a merry chase when he was trying to court you.”

“As you did Matthew!”

The mention of their husbands brought Sadie’s dilemma back to the forefront. She could feel their happiness. Would the peace and release from fear she sought be enough for a lifetime? She’d thought so, but now... She gathered her skirts and started across the park toward the gazebo. “If I correctly remember what you wrote me in your letters,
both
of you gave your husbands-to-be a merry chase—all the way to Buffalo.” She forced lightness into her voice and kept her face averted.

“That’s true.” Willa and Callie chorused the answer, laughed and took up places, one on each side of her.

“And, Callie, not only are you stunningly beautiful, but you look radiant with happiness.” She glanced to her left. “As do you, Willa.” She faced front again, lest they read envy in her eyes. “I’m so glad for both of you.”

“I am happy, Sadie.” Callie gave her a sober look. “I never knew marriage could be this wonderful. Of course, you have to marry the right man.”

It was the perfect opportunity to ask the questions burning in her mind. How did they know their husbands were the right ones? And once they knew, how did they get beyond the fear and doubt and— She took a breath and let the moment go. The questions had no true purpose. The very idea of falling in love...

“I can’t believe you’re here in Pinewood, Sadie...that after all these years, we’re together again.” Callie shook her head. “Isn’t it strange to see each other as we are now? All this while I’ve pictured you as a bigger version of the young girl you were when we moved away. And while your features are the same, they’re so delicate and refined now. You’re much lovelier than I imagined.”

She pulled a face.

“Now, that’s the Sadie I remember!” Callie laughed and linked arms with her. “Anyway, it’s good we’re all together again.”

“Except for Ellen.” She looked from Callie to Willa. “Do you think she will return to Pinewood?”

“Only on occasion to visit her parents.” Willa frowned and led them up the gazebo steps. “Ellen fancies herself too good for our small village.”

She shot a surprised look at her friend. “I’ve never heard you sound so disapproving, Willa.”

“With reason, Sadie.” Callie smoothed out her skirts and sat on one of the benches. “We love Ellen, but she has become exceedingly vain and
grasping—
to put it kindly.”

“Truly?”

Willa nodded and sank down on the bench beside her. “We’re very concerned about Ellen and her plans, Sadie.”

“What plans?” She glanced from one to the other. “She only writes me of her social life.”

“That’s part of it.” Callie shook her head and sighed. “Remember how I wrote you that the socially elite men in Buffalo are all determined to have the best, the shiniest, the biggest or the prettiest of whatever they are seeking?”

“Yes, but that was about them seeking to outbid one another for your hand.”

Callie’s face tightened. “Well, now it is Ellen. And unlike me, she is determined to take advantage of their competitive ways and trade her beauty for their lavish lifestyle. She is using one suitor against the other to achieve her goal, and I must say, she is quite artful at it.”

“Callie and I have tried to talk to her, to tell her that the most important things to seek in a marriage are respect and trust and love. But she refuses to listen.” Willa sighed and brushed at her skirt. “We’re dreadfully afraid she will make an unhappy choice.”

“Enough about Ellen.” Callie twisted toward her on the bench. “I want to know about you, Sadie. How are you doing since you came home? And how are Grandmother and Grandfather Townsend?”

She looked away from Callie’s concerned gaze and skirted around her unspoken question about coming back to the place where Payne had attacked her. “It was very difficult when I first came home, but as I said, that is better now.” She took a breath and forced out the truth she didn’t want to acknowledge. “Nanna is as you wrote me. And Dr. Palmer can offer no hope for her recovery. He simply doesn’t know what causes her mind to slip away as it does. And that is dismaying and heartbreaking.” She blinked away the tears that sprang to her eyes and looked down at her friends’ hands holding hers. “But Poppa is improving.” She raised her head and smiled. “He’s getting stronger, especially since Cole made him his rolling chair. It gives him much more independence.”

“A rolling
chair?
What is
that?
”

Callie looked dumbfounded. Sadie launched into an explanation, grateful to be off the hurtful subject of her grandmother’s health. “Exactly as you might suppose. Cole attached wheels and gears to a chair, and now Poppa pulls this lever and propels himself all about.”

“Cole?” Callie’s brows furrowed, then arched in surprise. “Cole
Aylward?
”

“Yes.” A twinge of irritation shot through her at the way Callie spoke his name. Yet who was she to judge? She’d done the same until she’d come to know Cole for himself and not as an extension of his brother. Now she respected—

“Cole has been caring for Grandfather Townsend since he returned home after his seizure.”

Callie gaped at Willa. “
Truly?
My, a lot has happened since we left for New York City. Oh, Sadie...” Callie looked back at her, sympathy and concern darkening her eyes. “To have Cole Aylward around Butternut Hill has to be...hard...for you.”

Warmth stole into her cheeks at the thought of him and how he had looked at her. She dipped her head to hide her face and framed her answer carefully. “It was at first. But I’ve become accustomed to his presence.”
More than you know.
“And he’s very kind to Poppa and Nanna. And helpful—he manages Poppa’s businesses. And as I said, he made Poppa that rolling chair, and now Poppa is able to do more for himself. Of course, that means Cole does not have to come around as often as he did. He only comes mornings and evenings now to help Poppa in and out of bed—or when he has business to discuss.”

She was prattling. She stopped, feeling Willa
looking
at her. She took a breath and rose. “I’d love to visit more, but I’m afraid I must get back. I don’t like to leave Nanna and Poppa for too long.” She leaned down and gave them both a hug. “Please come to Butternut Hill for a visit soon. It’s so wonderful to talk with you instead of writing letters.”

She hurried down the steps accompanied by their called farewells, then angled across the park to her buggy, well aware that she had lacked the courage to ask the questions that had prompted her visit. Nonetheless, she had come away with at least a partial answer.