Chapter 3
A storm had dumped a foot of snow on Three Bend Lake.
The next afternoon, while Jewel was napping, Torin figured he should shovel his front walkway.
When last he saw Brian, his friend had indicated that the next Sunday Cora wasn’t working and the snow lay heavy enough, Mr. Bellaire would let them borrow his two-person sleigh to drive up the mountain.
Truth be told, Torin didn’t need an excuse to get outside and have some exercise.
After being cooped up with his daughter for three days, except for hurried visits to the stable to see to the livestock, he was exhausted with trying to entertain her, so sick of the Ps and Js that she wanted to discuss and write that he wanted to banish the letters from the alphabet.
Instead, each time he’d smile and reach deep inside for patience.
As he shoveled, taking slow breaths of the fresh, snow-scented air, he pondered dark thoughts. Most times, he didn’t notice his daughter’s differences. She was just Jewel, his little sweetheart. And there weren’t other girls around to compare her to.
Maybe it was the glimpse he’d gotten of Inga Swensen that put some dissatisfied ideas in his head.
He’d never before thought that by this age Jewel should be reading books and sewing a sampler—activities that didn’t require his involvement so he could do other tasks.
True, she’d taken on the domestic duty of cleaning the kitchen after a meal. But he still needed to supervise.
And on days without the physical exertion of a long walk, she often wasn’t tired enough for a nap.
Due in part to bad weather, today’s nap was the first in three days, and only because she’d “helped” him shovel the back walkway and bring in a stack of wood.
Both activities took three times longer than usual.
It’s just the winter dismals, he told himself. It’s March. According to the calendar, the weather is supposed to be heading for spring.
But other Marches had been cold and snowy, and I didn’t feel so discontented.
I had Hank and Brian around. In fact, he seldom needed to shovel his walkway, because Hank— and occasionally Brian—often beat him to the task, claiming they needed to have their time with Jewel and wanted her to bundle up and come play in the snow.
With a wave of loneliness, he glanced at the pristine blanket of snow on either side of the walkway. Usually, by now, they’d built several snowmen. Two snow forts for snowball fights—or in Jewel’s case, snowball drops. And don’t forget the snow angels.
How could I have forgotten? We should have been out here playing these last two days.
Those dismals seemed to have grayed the windows as if the outdoors didn’t exist. Even though he’d looked outside, he hadn’t felt inspired to go have fun with Jewel.
Guilt rocked him. I’m being a bad father. Before he could spiral down into darkness, he heard the chime of sleighbells, making him jerk his head up and look down the road.
Torin hadn’t seen a sleigh since moving here.
He remembered the sleigh rides when he was courting Mary Beth.
How he’d take her out with his family’s two-seater, or they’d join several friends in a bigger one, sometimes meeting up with even more friends.
He remembered the teasing, the laughter, and their carefree attitudes… .
I can barely remember the young man I was back then.
Cora, her head, covered with a fur hat, waved a gloved hand. He stuck his shovel upright in the snow and trudged over to meet them.
A grinning Brian pulled the sleigh to a stop and set the brake.
Torin could only shake his head at the change in the man. A brush with death and falling in love had worked wonders on his formerly grumpy friend. He still had his irascible moments. But he smiled and laughed more and seemed all around to be lighter. Cora Collier truly was a miracle worker.
Well wrapped up with a fur-trimmed hat framing her pretty face, Cora beamed at Torin. She thrust off the heavy blanket covering them and scrambled out of the sleigh in a most unladylike manner.
Torin averted his eyes from the flash of flannel petticoats and held out a hand to steady her rapid descent, which is why he didn’t see her exuberant hug coming, so he didn’t brace himself for the unaccustomed contact.
Bouncing back from the embrace, she playfully smacked his shoulder. “You did it, you sly old thing.” Her gray eyes sparkled.
Did what? Bewildered, Torin gaped at her.
“I can’t believe you wrote Ivy about becoming Jewel’s governess without telling me! Here.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, flicking the end against his chest. “This one’s yours.”
Was Miss Jackson offended by my offer? Torin tore open the envelope, scanned the short missive, and felt his eyes bug out. Oh, no, she accepted my invitation. He stepped back as if to flee.
Apparently not noticing his reaction, Cora extended her arms and did a spin. “I’m so happy Ivy is going to live here!”
Brian chuckled.
His amused expression made Torin want to scoop up a snowball and throw it in his friend’s face, wiping away any traces of levity. Doesn’t he understand what a disaster this could be?
Cora moved over and placed a hand on Torin’s arm.
“I can tell you’re starting to fret. Don’t worry.
I’ll take care of all the details, from Ivy’s journey—” she waved a hand toward the house “—to fixing up her accommodations. I already have a list. All you have to do is provide the funds.” She curled her gloved hand as if coaxing money from him.
“And I’ll have to inspect the room you have for her use. ”
Gazing into Cora’s glowing face, Torin couldn’t bring himself to say, No, this is all a bad idea.
She looked over his shoulder in the direction of the house and waved. “There’s Jewel.”
He turned to see his daughter at the window waving back, a broad smile on her face. “She’s missed you and Brian and Sassy.”
“Well, we didn’t bring Sassy.” Brian tied off the reins and stepped out of the sleigh. “She’s taken a shine to Micah Norton and is perfectly glad to stay with him when we’re busy. Is it all right if I go inside and let you men deal with the horse?”
Torin waved a hand in an airy gesture toward the house. “Feel free to do that inspection of the spare room. But don’t mention Miss Jackson to Jewel. I’d rather wait until closer to the time of her arrival.”
I’d rather not have to tell her at all. But he’d rolled the dice and lost. Now he’d have to prepare for a female invasion.
The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels had become almost as familiar to Ivy as her own heartbeat.
The Northern Pacific train carried her onward, toward whatever fate awaited her in Three Bend Lake.
For four days now, she'd listened to that steady percussion, watching America unfold beyond her window like the pages of a picture book—first the tall buildings, crowded tenements, and sooty factories of New York gave way to rolling farmland, towns and cities, the vast emptiness of the prairie, and now the rugged wilderness that signaled she was drawing close to her destination.
Fatigue is making me fanciful. She pressed her gloved hand against the cold glass, watching the dawn light paint the distant mountains in shades of rose and gold.
Somewhere beyond those peaks lay Sweetwater Springs and a new life she could scarcely imagine.
Companion and teacher to a special child.
She'd repeated the words so many times they'd become a kind of prayer, giving her a whisper of purpose she hadn't felt since Cora left.
The train began to slow, its whistle piercing the morning air.
Ivy straightened in her seat, smoothing the wrinkles from her coat.
Her reflection in the window showed a face pale and tired from travel, brown hair escaping its pins despite her best efforts, and hazel eyes that still held shadows of fear about the risks she’d taken to leave her familiar life behind.
“Millbrook Station!” the conductor called, making his way down the aisle. “Twenty minutes for breakfast!”
Out of habit, Ivy tightened her hair pins, straightened her battered felt hat, and pulled the faded green scarf around her neck and high on her chin.
She went to brush off her worn coat but then stopped lest she smudge any soot deeper into the cloth.
Cora had warned her to travel in old garments since she’d arrive smelling of smoke.
Around her, passengers stirred and stretched, gathering belongings and shuffling toward the exits.
Ivy's stomach growled in a most unladylike fashion. Luckily, no one glanced over. Even after days of travel, they were still strangers, focused on their own affairs. The noise of the train made conversing difficult, and most didn’t even try.
After removing her crocheted reticule from her satchel and looping the strings around her wrist, Ivy stepped onto the wooden platform, wrinkling her nose at the stench of lingering smoke and pulling her coat tighter against the March wind.
The depot was little more than a clapboard building with a hand-painted sign, but the smell drifting from within made her mouth water—fresh coffee, frying bacon, and something sweet that might have been cinnamon.
During the trip, she’d learned to choose food that was quickly eaten or could be carried back on the train.
She longed for a chance to linger at a table for a leisurely meal.
Inside, passengers crowded around a long counter where a heavyset man with a walrus mustache dispensed food with surprising efficiency.