Chapter 7 #2
“Jewel’s been sad. Restless. She asks about them all the time.” Torin lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know how to help her understand why they are gone and when they’ll return. I don’t want to turn her against Elsie and Cora, as if they’ve taken the men away.”
“What if,” Ivy ventured, “you made her a calendar, scratched off the days…?”
He shook his head. “The weather’s too uncertain to keep to a schedule or make plans to meet.
I don’t want to promise her that we’ll see, for example, Hank and Elsie on a Sunday afternoon.
But then it snows, which means they can’t come.
Finding time to drive up here for a visit on the short winter days is hard enough.
Neither Hank nor Brian owns a surrey or sleigh.
They are thinking of acquiring vehicles.
But then there’s storage, training a horse or horses to pull, or buying one or more just for driving. ”
She kept her gaze on Jewel. “Makes sense.”
“You were lucky yesterday. Not too cold. Roads hard. No snow, little ice.” He sent her a sidelong glance and partial smile. “Practically perfect driving weather.”
She gave a dramatic shiver. “Not too cold felt pretty cold to me.”
“Probably because you were outside for several hours. Believe me, our cold weather can get much worse.”
“I can endure the cold longer for a chance to enjoy nature close up.” She waved her arm in a circling motion to indicate their surroundings. “Instead of watching through a train window.”
“I can guarantee the snowdrops are blooming. They usually poke through the snow in February.” Looking back, he couldn’t believe he and Jewel hadn’t checked. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much their gloomy moods impacted their activities.
“I’ve seen snowdrops in Central Park a few times. They are such a hopeful flower, aren’t they? Courageous, too, for such delicate blooms, pushing through the snow to let us know what seems like an endless winter will eventually give way to spring.”
“Snowdrops aren’t native to Montana. But Jewel loves flowers, and when she was a toddler, I sent for the bulbs and planted them. They’ve spread since, and I’ve also transplanted many to help them cover more ground.”
“Have you planted other bulbs?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “And spoil the surprise?”
She giggled. “Guess I’ll have to wait.”
The small exchange of levity made being with her feel more comfortable.
The path curved to expose a wide swath of dainty, white flowers covering the ground on each side, winding around tree trunks and a large boulder, and extending forward about twenty feet. Their honey-like fragrance permeated the air.
Ivy gasped, stopped, and placed a hand on her heart. “It’s like a fairy tale,” she breathed out the words.
Torin couldn’t help the pride welling up inside.
He’d wanted to create a magical place for his daughter and hadn’t realized how having someone else appreciate his efforts would feel.
“Jewel likes to gather a bouquet.” He pulled small sewing scissors from his pocket and handed them over, handles first. “My guess is you will too.”
Her bright smile illuminated her pretty face, transforming her from pretty to beautiful, stunning him almost like a push of energy to his chest. He fought not to step back.
Jewel turned, grinning, and waved her close. “Look, Ivee.” She squatted beside the path and gently touched one bell-shaped bloom. “Pre-tee.”
Seemingly unaware of her effect on him, Ivy took the scissors and hastened over to Jewel.
She crouching next to his daughter, heedless of the hem of her dress dragging on the ground.
“So pretty, aren’t they? Your papa says we can take some home.
But we mustn’t cut them all from the same area.
You point out the ones you want, and I’ll gather them for you.
Your papa has big hands. He can hold them for us. ”
“Pa-pa, big hans.”
Ivy chuckled, twisting to look up at him. “Did she just gift you with a nickname?”
“I’ll carry your flowers, but I refuse to be called Papa Big Hands,” Torin said with mock sternness. “That is, unless you reconsider the name of Just Ivy.”
Did I just make a joke? The idea was so foreign, he had to stop and think. I tease Hank and Brian. Just not very often.
“All right.” She obviously attempted to sound sorrowful. “No Papa Big Hands.” She glanced at Jewel. “Which flower should we cut first?”
Torin watched them, amused by Ivy receiving her first taste of Jewel-time—how the deliberation over which flower to choose made the task take three times as long.
He suspected the woman’s legs were burning from the uncomfortable position, and he had to give her credit for not hurrying his daughter along.
“Jewel, it’s going to be dark soon. Time to go back.” He arranged the flowers carefully on a nearby log and extended a hand to help Ivy up.
Her face showed her surprise at the gentlemanly gesture. Quickly smoothing out her expression, she gave him her free hand and let him pull her to her feet.
Torin knew she wouldn’t complain. A lady didn’t mention pain in her lower limbs to a man. He held her hand a few extra seconds to allow her to steady, pretending an interest in a nearby tree, so she could discretely shake out her legs.
She glanced up at him through lowered lashes. “Thank you.” Becoming color rose in her cheeks.
His daughter hadn’t moved from her enthrallment with the flowers.
Ivy stepped to the child’s side. “Jewel, do you want to go back to the house and see Brave?”
Popping to her feet, Jewel overbalanced, almost toppling onto the flowers.
Ivy grasped her shoulder to pull her upright. “You almost ended up sleeping with the snowdrops.”
Jewel grabbed Ivy’s hand and tugged. “Folla me ta Bave!”
While Torin picked up the cut snowdrops, the two females disappeared around the corner, and he realized how seldom he let Jewel out of his sight.
Normally, he’d hurry to catch up or call for her to wait.
But, in spite of the urge to do so, he slowly gathered the flowers, luxuriating for a few minutes in the freedom to move at a more leisurely pace.
That night, Torin went contentedly to bed, very aware of the woman sleeping down the hall in his home.
Their doors were open to allow in the slight heat from the banked fires.
Although he strained, he didn’t hear any sound from Ivy’s room.
Elle s'endormit du sommeil des justes, he dredged up the French quote from his memory. She slept the sleep of the just.
As she should. Their interactions today had eased some of the tension inside him. Having a governess just might work.
He soon followed her into slumber.
Until…
A nightmare crashed him into the past, intertwining with the future.
He flashed on the disdain on Mary Beth’s face as she repudiated him, dropping their baby onto the floor. Even though he dove to catch Jewel, he wasn’t fast enough. He lay crumpled on the ground and wept by her broken body.
Ivy’s uncaring expression as she spoke harshly to his daughter. Before he could stop her, she smacked Jewel’s hand with a ruler. His daughter cried out in pain.
Mary Beth danced Ring-Around-The-Rosie with her three perfect children. His darling daughter sobbed, left alone with no one to comfort her. He struggled to reach her, his arms outstretched. But his legs felt too heavy to move. He called her name, and she didn’t hear him.
A witch-like, wild-eyed Mary Beth, her hands with their long fingernails stretched out like claws, changed into Ivy, who then smothered Jewel in her sleep.
With a gasp, he sat up, his chest heaving as if he’d chopped an hour’s worth of wood in five minutes.
The room was cold and dark, with a hint of green and pink from the northern lights, coming through the window.
Scrambling out of bed, he didn’t bother to thrust his stockinged feet into slippers.
He only grabbed his robe, shrugging it on as he hurried down the hall and into Jewel’s room.
Rushing to the bedside, he could barely make her out. But he caught the slight gleam of the cat’s eyes when Brave lifted her head. As he had so many nights throughout Jewel’s life, he placed two fingers on the side of her neck.
At the feel of her pulse under his fingertips, he let out a wavering breath. I didn’t fail to protect my precious gem. Jewel’s fine. The relief brought tears to his eyes. He wanted desperately to weep, to purge the emotional bile from within him. But the release didn’t come. It never had.
He bent to kiss Jewel’s forehead and sent up a short prayer of gratitude that God had entrusted this special girl to him. “Keep watch over her,” he whispered to Brave, before leaving the room.
He wanted to stop in the doorway to check on the governess. Just a quick glimpse to reassure himself she hadn’t turned into a witch. But he was a gentleman and forced himself to keep walking.
The cold air made him shiver. Not bothering to undo the robe, he slid under the covers, grateful a slight warmth remained. But a long time passed before he drifted off.
The rest of the night he slept fitfully, waking up far too early.
Instead of his usual routine—bundling up in a blanket, taking his clothing with him into the kitchen to light the fires, dropping the clothes over the back of a chair positioned in front of the stove, and then crawling back into bed until the kitchen warmed, and he dressed by the fire—he punished himself by donning his clothing in the chill of the room.
Then he went to the kitchen to light the fires.
He wanted to creep from the house before Jewel and Ivy were awake in order to take care of the cow and the chickens, so he wouldn’t leave his daughter alone with the governess.
Then, too, he needed to get breakfast started, lest Ivy awoke and wanted to help.
He needed to keep his distance from the woman for as long as possible.
Hopefully, I can look at her without revulsion.