Chapter 10
Outside sweeping the front porch, hearing a distant shout of “hal-oo!” made Torin jerk his head up to see a man striding down the road.
Not believing his ears, he tensed—a protective reflex, never entirely gone.
Still holding the broom, he walked to the edge of the porch and then recognized the approaching walker.
Hank.
Relief and pleasure flooded through him in equal measure. With a smile, he waved, leaned the broom against the porch rail, and leaped down the steps, moving to meet his friend. He hadn't seen Hank in several weeks, and he was surprised by how keenly he'd felt his neighbor’s absence.
His friend wore a broad grin and had a rolled paper tucked under one arm and a cloth-wrapped parcel in his free hand. “I come bearing gifts.” Hank held up the parcel. “Elsie's cinnamon cookies. She made me promise to deliver them personally and not eat a single one on the ride up.”
I hope he left plenty for us. “And did you keep that promise?”
Hank's grin widened. “I kept most of it.”
Torin shook his head and clasped Hank's hand, pulling him into the rough, one-armed embrace that had become their greeting over the years. “It's good to see you, brother.”
“And you.” Hank stepped back and studied Torin with the frank, assessing look of a man who'd known him through every season of his grief. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded once. “You look well. Better than well.”
Torin ignored Hank’s implication. “Come inside. Ivy and Jewel are at their lessons.” “Plan to make myself at home.”
“I wouldn’t have expected otherwise.”
At the sound of the door and hearing their voices, Jewel came barreling down the hall. “Han! Han!”
Hank hastily handed the roll of paper and parcel of cookies to Torin.
Jewel threw herself at him with the full-bodied enthusiasm she brought to every reunion, as though weeks apart were an eternity barely survived.
Hank scooped her up and twirled. “Jewel Baby! I’ve missed you. Have you been good for your papa and Miss Ivy?” He kept holding her in the air.
“I can count to twenty.” Jewel held up her hands, fingers splayed, as if twenty could be demonstrated with ten digits, and waved them around, knocking off his Stetson. “And I writ-ed Aay, Bee!”
“Wrote,” Ivy corrected gently, coming up behind them. She smiled at Hank. “Mr. Canfield. How nice to meet you.”
“Miss Jackson.” Hank only nodded, his arms being occupied with Jewel.
“Elsie sends her regrets that she couldn't come along.
She's dying to meet you properly—said to tell you that the next visit, nothing will keep her away.
But she and Constance Taylor are up to their elbows in silk and pins.
Andre Bellaire commissioned two gowns for his daughter, and the man won't hear of anything less than perfection.”
Ivy's brow lifted with interest. “Isn't Mrs. Norton about to have a baby?”
“In a few weeks.” Hank lowered Jewel to the ground.
“That's rather late to be making new dresses.” Ivy tilted her head. “She'll only be able to wear them for a little while.”
Hank pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “I’m the mail carrier today.” He handed the letter to Ivy.
She glanced at the address. “Oh, from my sister.” She held the envelope to her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Canfield.”
“Now, now. Not of that Mister Canfield. I’m Hank to my friends.
” He chuckled, scooped up his Stetson, and walked over to place it on the hatrack.
“Her father's doing. Mr. Bellaire thought some new outfits made specifically for her…” He gestured in a rounded arc over his midsection, indicating a very pregnant belly, “would help her through the last uncomfortable weeks.” He removed his coat and brown scarf and hung them up. His gloves went into a coat pocket.
“And because he likes to spoil her,” Torin added. "Even I've heard of Mr. Bellaire's generosity. After all, he provided for the extra bedroom to be built at Brian's house when he was recuperating from the bullet wound.”
“The man has a heart the size of Montana,” Hank agreed. He reached to take the parcel from Torin and handed it to Jewel. “Cookies from Elsie. Why don't you carry these to the kitchen and put them on a plate? Can you do that?”
Jewel nodded solemnly, accepting the mission with adorable gravity. She marched down the hall toward the kitchen with Brave trotting at her heels.
When she was out of earshot, Hank tapped the end of the rolled paper Torin held. “I didn't just come for the pleasure of your company, much as I enjoy it. I need your eye on something.”
Curious, Torin held up the plans. “These?”
“I'm building us a house in town. Elsie doesn't know yet—I want to surprise her when the plans are properly drawn up. But I remembered how you set me straight on the bedroom addition for the house up here.” He glanced at Torin.
“You told me to make it longer, add a fireplace, give a lady room for her wardrobe.
You were right about all of it. So, I figured I'd better get your advice before I go any further.”
“You haven’t even built on that bedroom yet.”
“Was a bit busy trying to convince a certain young lady to allow me to court her.”
Torin cupped a hand to the side of his mouth. “A loonngg courtship,” he said in a teasing aside to Ivy.
“Cora told me.” She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you think Elsie should see the plans before they’re drawn up? After all, it’s her house, too.”
“Miss Jackson, I assure you that I have no problem with having the plans redrawn as often as we need them.”
She bestowed an approving smile on him. “Call me Ivy.” She headed toward the doorway. “I’ll go oversee Jewel and the cookies.”
“Let’s look at these in the dining room.” Torin led the way, placing the roll on the table and going to the fireplace to start a fire.
Hank followed Torin and Ivy into the dining room, where he unrolled the paper across the table, weighting the corners with the salt and pepper shakers and a vase.
Torin leaned over the plans. The drawing was rough—Hank was a skilled craftsman but no draftsman. However, the layout of a house was clearly discernible. Rooms were sketched in firm pencil lines, each one labeled in his friend's blunt hand.
Hank walked him through the floor plan, his finger tracing room to room.
“Kitchen here, facing east for the morning light.
Parlor here, big enough for Elsie's piano if we ever get one. Dining room. Two bedrooms upstairs—ours and a spare.” He tapped a room at the back of the ground floor.
“And this is the important one. Elsie's sewing room.”
He’s certainly taking her into consideration. “She’ll love that.”
“Elsie's so talented, and I want her to be able to work at home, if need be.” The pride in Hank's voice was quiet and deep, the kind that came not from boasting but from genuine wonder at another person's gifts.
“I want her to have a proper space. Good light, room for her worktable, shelves for her fabrics and notions.”
“Put it on the north side," Torin said, straightening up. He had a vague memory of escorting one of his cousin’s to a dressmaking shop and then having to wait a tedious hour while she chose fabric, trim, and buttons.
He traced a line on the plan with his finger.
“Dressmakers prefer north-facing windows.
The light is even—no direct sun to fade fabrics or cast harsh shadows.
And make it wider than you've drawn here.” He paced two steps to demonstrate.
“She'll need room to lay out fabric for cutting. A table against this wall, shelving on the opposite, sewing machine here, and leave floor space in between.”
Hank pulled a stub of pencil from his pocket and began making notations.
“The kitchen…” Torin leaned back over the plans. “You've got the stove against an interior wall, which is good—keeps the heat in the house. But move the dry sink under the window. She'll want light for washing up, and the view will make the chores less tedious.”
“Elsie doesn't mind tedious work,” Hank said, but he was already sketching the change.
“Everyone minds tedious work. Some don’t complain, is all.” He touched one square of the floorplan. “The parlor's generous. That's fine for entertaining, but you might steal a foot from it to widen the hallway. Carrying furniture through a narrow hall is a misery—take it from a man who's done it.”
Hank nodded and made a note near the parlor.
“And I suggest another bedroom. You don’t know how many children you’ll have, and you’ll want one for the boys and one for the girls.”
“I guess I hadn’t thought much beyond one,” he said sheepishly.
“And what about a guest room, for if Elsie’s family comes to visit?”
“Good thinking. Or my sister and her brood.”
They worked through the plans for the better part of an hour, Torin suggesting adjustments with a quiet authority that surprised him.
He’d always had an interest in architecture.
However, his father was adamant that his sons follow him into the family business.
But occupational path didn’t keep him from paying attention to the outsides and insides of homes.
Until this moment, Torin hadn’t realized he’d missed satisfying his curiosity in that manner.
When the plans were rolled up, Torin walked Hank to the front door. “I, um…” He kept his voice low. “I have a favor to ask from Jewel’s uncle.”
Hank raised an eyebrow.
“The Northern Lights have been strong this week. I'd like to take Ivy to see them. There’s this overlook up from Brian’s house.”
“Good spot.”
“Being a city girl, she won’t have seen anything like them.” He tried to sound matter-of-fact instead of eager. “Would you be willing to come over around ten o'clock and stay with Jewel while she sleeps? We wouldn't be gone more than an hour, two at the most.”
A slow smile spread across Hank's face.
The kind of smile that made Torin immediately regret asking.