Chapter 15
The sound of hooves and wheels on the dirt road brought Torin to the partially opened window with the alertness of a man who’d spent twelve years cataloguing every sound in his small world.
He knew the crunch of Inga Swensen's boots on gravel, the skitter of squirrels on the porch roof, the particular thud of a pinecone falling on hard ground versus soft.
Hooves and wheels meant visitors, and visitors—once so rare they could be counted on two fingers—had become no longer startling and most certainly welcome.
What Torin saw through the glass made his heart lift with an intensity that surprised him. A surrey with his brothers and their ladies, rented from the livery, approached down the road, kicking up small clouds of dirt.
Brian held the reins with casual competence, while Cora sat beside him, her blue hat ribbons streaming behind her, one hand waving madly, even though she was still a hundred yards away.
Hank and Elsie sat in the backseat. With broad smiles, both waved as they drew closer.
“They’re here!” Ivy appeared at his elbow, her face alight with an excitement that made her look like a girl rather than the woman who'd spent the past weeks in quiet, disciplined routines of teaching and housekeeping.
She'd known about the visit for almost a week—Hank had sent word through a note delivered by Inga—and had been in an uncommon state of barely suppressed anticipation that rivaled Jewel's enthusiasm with learning something new.
This morning, Ivy had risen even earlier than usual, baking cinnamon rolls from a recipe she'd been saving for a special occasion.
The scent had filled the house with a warm, spicy sweetness that made Torin's mouth water and his daughter practically levitate with excitement.
Ivy had also swept the porch, arranged flowers in the vase on the dining room table, and changed into one of her best dresses—a gold fleur-de-lis print on an emerald background—that brought out the gold and green flecks in her brown eyes.
Not that Torin noticed. He'd made a point of not noticing.
“Let’s go meet them,” Ivy said, moving toward the entryway and out onto the porch.
The reunion that followed was, as Hank said later, a proper ruckus, with more excitement than if the circus had come to town. Although, he personally refused to be likened to a monkey.
Before Brian had set the brake, Cora launched herself from the seat with reckless disregard for safety or decorum. With a cry of joy, she flew around the back of the surrey toward Ivy.
The two women collided in a hug so fierce, Torin winced on behalf of their ribs.
The squealing commenced—a pitch and volume that threatened his eardrums—accompanied by a flood of words spoken simultaneously, each trying to convey six weeks’ worth of news in sixty seconds. He could only make out a few snippets.
“You’ve grown out a fringe.” Ivy fluffed Cora’s bangs.
“You look so well.”
“I have so much to tell you.”
“Delia’s baby is a girl, just as everyone guessed! Andrea Mary Rose Norton. She looks just like her mama, and everyone, including me, is madly in love.”
Brian climbed down from the surrey and walked over to greet Torin with a proper shaking of hands.
Then his friend stood beside him and watched the spectacle of the womenfolk with the fond, slightly bemused expression of a man who’d learned that the female capacity for excited conversation exceeded anything his authorial imagination could have invented.
“The ladies have been like this since dawn,” Brian said.
“Cora barely slept last night. She was packing and repacking the food basket until midnight. She acted antsy all through church. Be grateful Dr. Angus got called out this morning, or Constance would be here, too, making quadruple feminine energy.”
“Don’t forget Jewel,” Torin thought of how his daughter could squeal and pretended to wince. “Some things never change.”
“The only thing that changes,” Brian said philosophically, “is the volume.”
Hank helped Elsie down with the careful attention of a man who considered his beloved to be made of porcelain. She wore a simple but well-designed brown dress, dotted with pink flowers—her own creation, no doubt—and carried a cloth-wrapped package that she held with protective care.
Pulling away from Hank, with her typical exuberance, Elsie bounced over to Torin and went up on tiptoe to give him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
She thrust the package into his arms. “New dresses for Jewel. Constance designed them, and we both sewed them. Three, in different colors, with room to grow.”
She whirled and then slowed to approach Ivy with more reserve than Cora's headlong rush but showing equal warmth. When Ivy extended her hand to greet the young woman she’d heard so much about, Elsie bypassed it entirely and pulled her into a hug—a gentler embrace than Cora's almost-tackle, but no less heartfelt.
Ivy stiffened for a fraction of a second, and then her arms came up. She hugged Elsie back. When they pulled apart, both women were laughing, and something in the air shifted.
Torin could tell they’d just become friends and marveled at the capacity of two strangers to trust and bond. Of course they came already vetted by Cora.
“I’ve wanted to meet you for weeks!” Elsie stepped back, sliding her palms down Ivy’s arms to grasp her hands.
“Cora talks about you so much that I feel I already know you. And Hank says…” She tossed an infatuated glance at her beau, who suddenly found something fascinating about the surrey's wheel hub.
“Hank says Jewel has blossomed since you came.”
Color rose in Ivy’s cheeks—the pretty flush that appeared whenever she received a compliment she hadn't anticipated.
In spite of himself, Torin couldn’t help but admire her, his gaze lingering longer than he should allow.
“And I've been desperate to meet you.” Ivy gave Elsie’s hands a little swing. “Thank you for the beautiful curtains in my room. Every time I open or close them, I think of you. And Jewel's nightgowns and dresses—you and Constance have such talent.”
“Wait until you see the dresses we’ve brought. She’ll look adorable in them.”
This is what has been missing in Three Bend Lake, Torin thought. Not just a woman’s presence—but women, plural. Friendship. The things I took from Ivy by bringing her to this isolation.
The guilt stung.
“Elsie brought enough food for an army.” Hank strode over, heft the basket from the surrey, and moved to stand next to his beloved. “I’ll bet I’ve put on ten pounds since we’ve been courtin’.” He didn’t sound at all bothered.
“You needed ten pounds.” Elsie elbowed Hank’s side. “You were skinnier than a fence post.”
Hank rubbed his ribs with theatrical hurt. “She’s got a mighty pointy weapon in that elbow.”
Torin's mouth twitched. Hank had never been that thin. But he couldn’t help enjoying their banter—so natural, so easy—the casual intimacy of two people who had chosen each other and couldn’t quite believe their luck.
Their interaction stirred something deep within that he immediately tried to suppress.
Jewel came barreling out of the house with the full-bodied enthusiasm she brought to every reunion, Brave trotting behind on her leather lead as if she, too, had friends to greet. The child’s arrival triggered a fresh round of exclamations and hugs.
They gathered in the parlor, which felt almost crowded with six adults, a child, and a cat—the most people Torin had entertained in his own home since moving to Three Bend Lake.
Earlier, he’d lit the porcelain stove against the spring chill that lingered indoors despite the warm day, and Ivy had set out plates of her cinnamon rolls alongside the oatmeal cookies Torin had baked yesterday.
The combination of warm spice and sweet oats made the room smell like a bakery.
Brian settled into the wing chair with the satisfied air of a man returning to a familiar spot, stretching out his legs. “You’ve done wonders with this place, Ivy. It almost looks like a woman lives here.”
“A woman does live here,” Cora said tartly, perching on the arm of Brian's chair.
Her fiancé appeared to find the position both delightful and precarious, for Brian kept a hand around her waist. “I meant it smells better.” He grinned up at Cora, unrepentant, and then winked at Ivy. “Like flowers and baking instead of woodsmoke and bachelor.”
“You bathed,” Hank deadpanned, lifting his chin at Brian. “That might account for the improvement.”
A startled bark of laughter escaped Torin.
Elsie covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.
Brian clutched his chest in mock outrage, while Cora dissolved into the bright laugh that was one of her most characteristic sounds.
Torin caught Ivy’s eye across the room and saw her pressing her lips together, her eyes dancing.
The shared amusement—the kind that came from knowing each other well enough to enjoy a joke at a friend’s expense—felt warm and right and dangerously close to the intimacy he was supposed to be avoiding.
He forced himself to look away from her pretty face.
Jewel had been showing her manners and politely—for her—waiting for a lull in the conversation, bouncing in her seat on the sofa next to Hank with the energy of a child who had news too important to withhold.
She could contain herself no longer and jumped up.
“I spell!” She threw out her arms and announced to the room, her voice ringing with the peal of a miniature town crier. “Jewel spell words!”
The room went quiet. Even Brian set down his cookie. “Show us, Sugar Princess.”
With enormous pride and careful concentration, Jewel took her letters from their temporary home, a basket in the corner, and plopped onto the floor. She arranged the letters on the parlor rug. C-A-T. She pointed to each letter, said its sound, and then swept her finger across. “Cat!”