Love's First Bloom (8 page)

Yet the more he closed the distance between the two of them, the more he worried that Capt. Grant might have sent him here on a fool’s errand, designed solely to keep Jake from returning to work in the city. Even if this young woman, known locally as Widow Malloy, matched the description he had been given of Ruth Livingstone, he could not disregard the existence of the young child she claimed was hers, a claim he was not able to prove or disprove. The woman he was approaching looked very annoyed, if not defiant.

He was ready to turn back, admit he had made a costly mistake by coming here, and return to New York City on the morning tide to investigate there further, when she relaxed her stance and smiled sweetly at him.

“Now look at you,” he murmured under his breath. Heartened and intrigued by her transformation into the shy young woman he expected to find, he also found the freckles on her cheekbones uncommonly appealing. Fully confident now that he had chosen the right ruse to penetrate whatever shield she chose to hide her real identity, he had to remind himself not to rush forward and instead hold steady to the persona he had adopted.

He kept his pace slow until he finally stepped out from the shadows into the full glare of the sun, only to see the woman undergo yet another transformation. Although she nervously twisted her hands together, her shoulders snapped back as if someone had reminded her that she had a backbone. Her tentative smile drooped into a frown of disappointment that almost instantly tightened into disapproval, giving him just a hint of the rather annoyed woman she had been only moments ago.

When her gaze finally lit with surprise, he immediately pressed his advantage. Leaning his full weight on the cane, he frowned. “I believe you’re trespassing. Please leave,” he said firmly, hoping his words sounded harsh enough to get her full attention, but not gruff enough to actually frighten her into leaving.

“Y-you’re not old at all. Y-you’re actually quite y-young,” she stammered, as if she could not believe her own eyes.

“And you’re still trespassing. Please leave,” he repeated.

He watched her pale gray eyes darken with the same embarrassment that turned her cheeks bright pink. “I was told the Canfields abandoned this property years ago and that no one lived here.”

He cocked a brow. “At best, you’ve been misinformed, which proves to be decidedly unfortunate today for me.”

“And for me as well,” she murmured so softly he almost missed hearing her.

“I expected the news that I’d rented the property for the next several months would spread rather quickly in a village that wasn’t even large enough to warrant being called a town. I came here specifically to be alone while I finish recuperating. With some privacy—which I will not have if you venture back here again and which I most assuredly will not have if others follow you,” he said and winced for effect. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the cabin so I can rest, which is exactly what I would have been doing right now if you hadn’t shown up here.”

He paused, looked down at the rocks she had set into a pile, and shook his head. “I can’t even begin to fathom why you’d be harvesting such ordinary rocks, but I’m quite certain you’ll be able to find what you need elsewhere.”

After drawing in a long breath, he turned around to walk back to the cabin. He took several slow steps, but she did not even try to argue that his assumption that she was looking for rocks was completely ridiculous. He was disappointed, more with his own inability to lure her into a prolonged conversation than he was with her for having far less backbone than she needed if she expected to outwit the many reporters looking for her.

Ruth held very, very still. It just was not fair that she would have to give up the one place she hoped to call her own. Not fair at all. Resentment that God would allow her private sanctuary to be taken away from her tugged yet again at her troubled spirit.

She quickly reassessed her situation and focused her gaze on the man who was struggling to get back to the cabin. He was not the elderly man she had first assumed him to be. In point of fact, he was probably only a few years older than she was. The sun highlighted his dark auburn hair, which he wore pulled back into a queue, and his eyes were a deep shade of hazel. He was not a particularly tall man, but next to her slight frame, even a short man would look quite tall. He had a deep cleft in his chin that added a bit of impishness to his features, but he was definitely in no physical condition to pose any threat to her well-being.

Her father had always enjoyed robust health, but she had nursed him through enough minor illnesses to know that he found his weakened state to be an embarrassment that often displayed itself in gruff words and complaints he later regretted and tried to assuage with a host of apologies.

Hopeful that the man who was walking so painfully away from her was no different and that she might be able to forge some sort of compromise that would allow them both the privacy they desired, she hurried forward and easily closed the short distance he had put between them. “I’m not certain what folks do wherever it is that you come from, but I wasn’t harvesting rocks,” she offered, following only a few paces behind him.

He ignored her and kept walking.

“No one harvests rocks. They harvest crops, of course, but I doubt anyone would ever consider rocks to be a crop. They’re quite a nuisance, actually, and I had to work very hard just to remove a few of them this morning. See? I even tore one of my gloves,” she offered and held out her hand, hoping he would turn around to see it.

Again, no response from him as he entered the shaded area beneath the trees where she had first seen him.

Frustrated, she refused to give up until she had prompted him to acknowledge the fact that she was walking right behind him, instead of acting like she had simply evaporated when he had dismissed her. “I was trying to clear the rocks from the soil so I could replant the garden that once grew here. I’m told Jane Canfield grew the prettiest flowers in the village.”

“Well, she doesn’t live here anymore. I do, and I’m quite certain I’ve no need for flowers,” he grumbled, without bothering to stop and turn around so they would be able to have a normal, face-to-face conversation.

“Perhaps if you would stop, for just a moment, we might—” She swallowed the rest of her words and charged forward when the poor man stumbled and dropped his cane. “Here. Let me help you.”

When his hand gripped her shoulder, she planted her feet in order to bear some of his weight without losing her own balance. Grimacing, he held onto her long enough to regain solid footing before he let go. “Thank you,” he offered, although he kept his gaze averted, no doubt embarrassed that he’d needed to accept her help.

She took a step back after handing his cane back to him and nodded. “You’re welcome. Perhaps … perhaps your decision to live here alone, without anyone to help you, was a mistake. I could help you,” she offered, voicing the idea before she had quite thought it through herself.

He snorted. “The next time I stumble over my own two feet, I’d rather not have to worry about whether or not I’ll snap you in two if I lean on you too hard. I’ll manage on my own, thank you.”

“You’re probably right in that regard, but I could help you in other ways. Assuming we could come to some sort of arrangement that would let me tend to my garden, that is.”

He cocked a brow. “I already told you. I don’t need any flowers.”

“Yes, you made that very clear,” she said.

“I can also cook for myself, so if you’re thinking that you might—”

“I wouldn’t want to cook for you. I don’t have the time,” she insisted. “But I could bring you supplies from the village from time to time or take something into the village for you. Some mail, perhaps.”

He let out a long sigh, but before he offered yet another objection, she continued. “You can barely manage to walk and—”

“Which is one of the consequences of falling off a roof and breaking your back, which I did several months ago. I assure you, lying abed, waiting to see if my back would heal well enough for me to even attempt to walk again was far worse,” he said quietly. “Now that I can get around a bit, there’s nothing I need more right now than a place where I can finish healing up with a bit of privacy, especially when my back decides to indulge in very painful spasms.”

Her heart swelled, both with admiration for his courage to survive such a devastating injury and in hope they might find common ground. “One of the consequences of becoming a widow with no means of supporting a little one is having no choice but to move into a relative’s home. And … and there’s nothing I need more right now than a place where I can go for a few hours each morning for a bit of privacy,” she replied.

He dropped his gaze.

For several painfully long moments she was afraid he would turn her down and send her away, but she was completely unprepared for the offer he finally made.

“Pile up the rocks you dig out, but leave them for me. I’ll need some of them to repair the cabin hearth. There’s a small shed behind the cabin. You can store your garden tools there and take or use anything else you might find in there. If I need something from the village, I’ll leave a note for you in the shed. Otherwise I expect you to respect my privacy; in turn, I’ll respect yours.”

Nine

Ruth was more than halfway home before she realized she did not even know the name of the man now living in the abandoned cabin.

There was a bit of traffic up and down Main Street now, and she waited until several wagons passed by before she paused midway on the bridge and glanced downriver. Just beyond her garden on the narrow tip of land that jutted into the river, she could see smoke was still curling up from the top of the chimney that just barely poked over the treetops. The cabin itself, however, was completely hidden from view.

Ruth assumed the occupant was back inside and shook her head. “Poor man,” she whispered, thankful that the heavy burdens that troubled her own life did not include a devastating injury like the one he had suffered.

“Poor man, middling or rich, to each a natural body is sown, but to each, a spiritual body must be raised, for a home in Paradise awaits only the faithful.”

Ruth looked up, recognized the man who was standing at the railing just a few yards away, and clapped her hand to her heart to keep it from leaping out of her chest. “Reverend Haines!”

He walked over to her, his eyes glistening. A good thirty years her senior, he was quite ordinary in looks, but he had been blessed with a deep, rich voice. “I’m so sorry, Ruth. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just sounding out an idea for a sermon. I thought you saw me standing here when you stopped.”

She let out a long breath. “No, I didn’t see you, which isn’t your fault at all. I’m afraid this is the second time this morning that I’ve been too preoccupied to notice what’s going on around me.”

He smiled. “Since you were working again this morning in that garden you’re trying to restore, I can only assume you met Jake Spencer at some point.”

“You know about my garden?” she asked, and tucked Jake Spencer’s name away for future reference.

Turning back to face the railing, he pointed downriver. “It’s right over there. Same spot as Jane Canfield’s garden used to be.”

“I suppose it’s the talk of the village,” she said, disappointment edging her words. She stared down at the water flowing beneath the bridge.

He chuckled. “No, not yet. It won’t be long before folks take notice, though, unless those flowers you plant don’t bloom until fall.”

“How did you know that I—?”

“I slip out here to the bridge early in the morning to think and pray a bit when I’m having trouble with my sermon, which is how I came to see you over there for the past few days. I’m usually gone by the time most folks even start their day and before you cross the bridge on your way home.”

“But not today,” she noted.

“Perhaps we’re both a bit … unsettled,” he offered.

When she looked over at him, she saw that he was leaning against the railing now and had dropped his gaze to stare at the waves below.

“My wife, Wealthy, passed six years ago tomorrow. As the date approaches, I’m afraid it’s still a difficult time for me, even though I know with all my heart that she’s safe and happy again now,” he whispered.

Ruth was surprised by the pain that laced his words. Even this long after her death, he was still pining for his wife. She now understood why the childless widower had not remarried, although she could not explain why the women she had overheard gossiping about him did not know why their efforts to attract his attention had been in vain.

He cleared his throat and gazed at her. “Being strong of faith doesn’t mean we don’t grieve or question God’s will. It just means we have to learn to trust Him more completely, which our faith helps us to do. I still struggle with trusting Him, just as everyone else does when their lives seem overburdened. Just as you must do. I know it’s still difficult to accept your husband’s recent passing and how hard it must be to be forced to accept the charity of relatives, but you still have your precious Lily to love and to hold and to remind you of the love you once shared with her father. God will help you. Trust in Him.”