Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Since the storm was still raging and the snow was deeper than ever, Gabe didn’t attempt to make the arduous journey to the little church at the edge of town for Sunday morning services.
Leaving Hector in the house, much to the dog’s displeasure, and keeping a careful grip on the rope he’d strung from there to the barn, Gabe looked after the horses and the cow, checking on them every few hours, and did what he could to keep the chickens happy in their relatively spacious, well-built coop.
When it seemed as if the day would stretch on forever, with nothing to do but wonder when his younger brother would finally put in an appearance, he bundled up, returned to the barn, uncovered the dollhouse he’d been building for Abigail before the bottom fell out of his world, and loaded it onto the old sled he and Finn used to share when they were boys.
It was a difficult task, even with a sled, because the miniature house was good-sized, and Gabe was winded by the time he reentered the kitchen, after struggling to get the thing through the doorway.
Hector, who had been lying in front of the cookstove, looking forlorn over his recent desertion, got to his feet and gave a curious yip.
“Don’t ask what I was thinking,” Gabe muttered, then smiled to himself, just realizing how much he talked to the dog. “I don’t have an answer.”
Maybe his best friend was right; he was alone too much.
He wrestled the bulky toy onto the kitchen table, where it took up most of the space. He’d practically have to hold his plate in his lap when suppertime rolled around.
The dollhouse was in worse shape than he’d anticipated.
Mice had chewed up some of the furniture, and two of the windows, made of real glass and installed with great care, were cracked.
And the whole thing was caked with dirt.
The sight of that dollhouse caused a scalding sensation behind Gabe’s eyes.
He’d spent months putting it together as a Christmas surprise for his little girl, with lots of help and advice from Bonnie, and somewhere in the house—most likely the attic—there were tiny dolls and dishes and other fittings tucked away in a box.
Over time, Bonnie had collected these and other small items she couldn’t make herself, purchasing some from the general store in town, ordering others from Sears, Roebuck and Co.
She’d been as excited about the gift as Abigail would have been, had she lived to see that Christmas.
Choked up, and thoroughly unable to sit still, Gabe left the kitchen, Hector on his heels, crossed the parlor and climbed the stairs.
At the end of the corridor, he lowered the attic steps by pulling the dangling loop of rope marking the spot, and started up.
Almost immediately, he wished he’d brought a lantern; the attic area was gloomy, with shadows clinging to its corners, and he nearly stumbled over Hector, who squirmed past him to explore.
There were trunks aplenty, some going back as far as his parents’ younger days, and even his grandparents’ time.
He ignored those and, after bracing up, walked over to the place where Bonnie’s and Abigail’s things were stored.
Abigail’s heavy wooden cradle, handmade by Gabe’s father, seemed to rock briefly, stirred by an invisible breeze.
He supposed he ought to donate the cradle to someone who needed it, since there weren’t likely to be any more babies born on Whitfield farm in the near future.
It was a surprisingly sad concept.
Gabe shoved a hand through his hair and blinked until his vision cleared. There were probably a lot of things going to waste around the place besides the cradle, like the dollhouse and even the old but serviceable sled he’d used to haul it in from the barn.
For the moment, though, he could do nothing.
He hadn’t touched either Bonnie’s or Abigail’s things since he’d packed them away, with help from John Avery, three years ago.
They would have been constant reminders of his lost wife and child, so he hadn’t wanted them in sight. On the other hand, though, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of them.
Now, with his hands shaking a little, he lifted the lid of a beautifully carved chest that had been Bonnie’s father’s gift to her, when she and Gabe were married.
The scent of her, whispery and faint, rose to greet him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight against a flood of memories, some sweet, some sorrowful.
Hector nudged his leg and whimpered sympathetically.
Gabe regained his composure, reached out and patted the dog’s head reassuringly. “It’s all right, boy,” he murmured gruffly. “It’s all right.”
That was a lie, and Hector probably knew that as well as Gabe did.
Bonnie and Abigail were gone, forever.
There was nothing “all right” about that.
He riffled through the clothing and jewelry and embroidered items Bonnie had stored in that trunk, not really looking at any single thing in case it ambushed him and brought him to his knees.
Fortunately, the shoebox where Bonnie had kept the miniatures for Abigail’s dollhouse was near the surface.
Gabe tucked it under one arm, carefully lowered the lid of the trunk and turned toward the door.
He and Hector were halfway down the stairs when Gabe heard someone in the kitchen, stomping snow off their boots and then clattering one of the stove lids.
When he reached that part of the house, steeling himself to find Finn there, making himself at home, he found his best friend there instead.
John had hung up his coat and begun adding firewood to the stove. He was a big man, broad in the shoulders, with curly brown hair, now lying wet against his head, and he wore an amused expression, despite the difficulties he must have undergone making his way out from Silver Hills.
“Can’t a preacher get a cup of coffee in this place?” he asked, in his jovial, booming voice. Hector was jumping at his feet, wanting a pat on the head.
“The pot’s on the stove,” Gabe answered, setting aside the shoebox. “There should be some left from breakfast. Help yourself.”
John tried to grin and look put-upon at the same time as he bent to ruffle Hector’s floppy ears in greeting. “By now, it’ll be cold as old Henry Middlebrook’s heart, that coffee,” he said. “After the ride I just made, I was expecting some hospitality.”
Gabe spared his friend a slight smile. “Sit down and I’ll brew some up fresh,” he said. “In the meantime, maybe you can tell me what possessed you to risk your life traveling so far in a blinding snowstorm.”
John was examining the dollhouse, and his grin faded a little as he probably remembered happier times when Gabe was building it. He’d helped with that, too, forming delicate metal pieces in his blacksmith shop, including a cookstove with a working oven door and even chrome trim.
“You didn’t show up for church on Sunday,” John said presently, one huge hand gently exploring the shingled roof of the dollhouse.
“I figured you stayed home because of the weather, but when you didn’t come into town after a couple of days, I decided I’d better come out here and make sure you’re still breathing. ”
“Church wasn’t a priority,” Gabe answered. “Besides, I don’t participate much when I’m there.”
“But you still come,” John said, grinning again, “and that’s what matters.”
“Sit down,” Gabe said, already pumping water into the coffeepot. He’d be lucky, he reflected, if the pipes didn’t freeze. “I’ll move the dollhouse someplace else.”
John sighed. “This is a fine piece of work, Gabe,” he said quietly. “Maybe you ought to forget farming and take up carpentry. Plenty of folks wanting to build new houses and barns and the like, with the war over and all. Country’s booming.”
Gabe measured ground coffee beans into the pot and set it on the stovetop with a slight bang.
“You been letting Middlebrook bend your ear about me selling him this farm, John?”
John’s cheeks reddened, though part of that flush was probably the lingering effects of a long, cold ride out from Silver Hills.
“Henry’s a member of my congregation,” John said, “and I keep his horses shod, among other things, but we don’t talk about much of anything else, Gabe. We especially don’t discuss your business.”
Gabe sighed, got a clean mug down from the shelf to fill for John, once the coffee had come to a boil and then settled a little.
John had remarked, more than once, that Gabe’s coffee tasted fine, but it had to be chewed.
Today, though, he just looked at Gabe and waited for what he had coming to him—an apology.
“I know you don’t,” Gabe admitted, with a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”
He started to hoist the dollhouse off the table, so they could set their cups down, anyway, but John stopped him with a brief touch to his arm.
“Leave it,” he said. “It’s a good sign.”
“What’s a good sign?” Gabe retorted, testy again, without really knowing why.
“It must have been a job to drag that thing in here from the barn, and in a near blizzard, no less, and I figure it must have stirred up a lot of hard memories. Still, you did it, and that tells me that you’ve got a plan.
You’re fixing to set this dollhouse to rights and give it to some child who’ll get some pleasure from it, aren’t you? ”
“Something like that,” Gabe admitted, thoughtful as he considered again that he couldn’t give Lizbet’s sister a present without providing one for her brother, too. He’d be sure to build something for the boy, too. A toy wagon, maybe, or a sled. That would make it even.
To change the subject, and because he truly wanted to know, he added, “How’s Pearl? Did Doc Gannon look in on her?”
Since John boarded at Ornetta’s, he’d know.
“She’s holding her own,” John answered, with a nod and a sigh. “I don’t know what Ornetta would do without the newcomer, Lizbet Fontaine. She’s been cooking for all of us, and spelling Ornetta by sitting with Pearl, so she can get some rest.”
Seated now, John rubbed his beard-stubbled chin thoughtfully and then went on. “She’s a good-looking woman, Miss Fontaine. Smart and competent. If I weren’t saving every spare cent to bring Mabel out here from Ohio and marry her, I believe I would court her myself.”
Gabe bristled at this, even though he had no right, no claim on Lizbet.
“I don’t know much about her,” he said, as heat began to surge through the coffeepot on the stove and set it to rattling, metal against metal. He’d wanted to sound casual, nonchalant, but he knew he probably hadn’t fooled John.
His friend knew him too well.
Now John’s eyes danced with mischief. “That so? I heard you carried her across Main Street the other day, in broad daylight. Whole town’s been talking about it.”
“I thought you didn’t talk about other people’s business,” Gabe remarked, grabbing the handle of the coffeepot, burning his hand, swearing under his breath and grabbing a pot holder before pouring for each of them.
“I don’t,” John said, the merriment still in his eyes. “But I’m a preacher, which means I do a whole lot of listening. And the townsfolk, even the ones who’ve never graced our little church with their presence, seem to have plenty to tell me these days.”
“Such as?” Gabe asked, leaning against the counter, coffee cup in hand.
Suddenly, John’s expression turned serious.
“Such as, she’s been looking everywhere for honest work, and good old Henry Middlebrook has put out the word that anybody who hires Lizbet Fontaine will face the consequences of their actions.
He wants to marry her—has some kind of devil’s bargain with her stepfather. ”
Gabe nearly dropped his coffee.
It was clear to him now why John had gone to so much trouble to pay him a visit.
“Who told you that?” Gabe asked gruffly.
“It doesn’t matter who told me,” John answered. “What matters is that Lizbet Fontaine and those two children need help. More help than Ornetta Parkin can give them, bless her soul.”
“Henry’s stepped over the line this time,” Gabe said, and he was dead serious. “Bad enough that he’s driven folks off their farms, out of pure greed. Bad enough that he makes life hard for as many people as he can, as often as he can. If he gets away with this , it will be over my bloody carcass.”