ONE #2
Maggie was almost back to the house when she saw him.
He walked out of the shadows near the well.
She froze mid-footstep, eyes wide. Had he heard her?
Couldn’t have from this distance. But had he seen her?
The moon shone brightly tonight. But thankfully, not bright enough to show the redness in her face.
Henry nodded towards the direction she had come from. “Nice night for a walk, isn’t it?” He was smiling. Maggie narrowed her eyes at him—he had definitely seen her.
“Is that why you’re prowling around?” Pushing past him, she tried to get to the porch.
“Maggie, wait. Please.” His voice was serious.
That was all it took to stop her. She kept her back to him, only turning her head slightly. “What do you want, Henry?”
Walking to her, he came around the front of her. “Would you stay out here for a moment more? Maybe walk with me?”
As much as she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Fine. But only for a few minutes.”
They walked in silence towards the corral, but Maggie kept several feet between them. Ever eager for visitors, Samson stuck his head out as they approached. He went to Maggie first and sniffed her hand. She smiled and stroked his velvety nose.
“You know, I think it might be just as hard for Samson as it will be for me to leave tomorrow,” Henry said, watching the interaction.
At the mention of tomorrow, her hand stilled, and her smile dropped.
Henry turned to face her directly. “What were you praying for, Maggie?” He wasn’t teasing her this time.
Her pulse quickened. “What makes you think I was praying?”
“Well, if you weren’t, you picked an interesting spot to dirty your skirt.” He pointed to the dark, damp patches near her knees.
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped and bent over to try to brush it away.
“You still believe.” It was said as a point-blank statement, without question.
She knew he wouldn’t let it go. He was like a dog with a bone. She rolled her eyes and said, “I’m not entirely sure that I do, but you and your sister seem awfully convinced. It doesn’t hurt, I suppose, but I doubt it will do much good. Never did for my mother, so why should it work for me?”
Henry didn’t comment and instead looked up at the stars. She glanced up, too, reflexively. It was a clear night. Several constellations were visible. Hugh had always pointed them out to her when they were growing up.
“Can I ask you something?” Henry interrupted her thoughts of the past.
Peeling her eyes away from the heavens, Maggie nodded.
“I heard you once call yourself a sparrow. Why?”
The question caught her off guard and she frowned. “It’s a long story. Why do you want to know?”
He shrugged. “Just curious. When I was in the fields today with Levi, I saw a sparrow and it made me think of it.”
Self-conscious, she picked up a piece of her hair and twisted it around her finger. “It was a nickname… of sorts. My mother had me recite the passage from Matthew about the birds of the field quite often—and because of my looks, it just stuck, I guess.”
He turned and studied her. Fighting the urge to turn away under his scrutiny, she wound her hair tightly. “You know, if I had to pick a bird, I’d say you favor more of a Carolina Wren.”
“A Carolina Wren?” She asked lamely.
“In the light, your hair is a rusty-brown shade. Rich like cinnamon. And your throat is a pale, creamy white. Just like theirs.” His gaze flickered to her throat.
Glancing away, he continued, “Besides, they’re known to be quite vocal birds.
And feisty. Using their loud voice to scare off intruders and defend their home—” He broke off in a laugh when she gave him a fearsome look.
“I don’t nag that much.”
“But I will miss you berating me every step of the way to camp.” At the mention of his imminent departure, all traces of good humor were gone.
“Sure you will,” she mumbled and pushed away from the fence rail. “I must turn in. There will be plenty of chores to help Abigail with, come morning.” Fighting back tears, her voice was low from emotion.
She felt him come up behind her, but he stopped when he was close.
“Maggie, please don’t hide from me. Do you honestly think I can’t tell when you are upset?”
Reluctantly, she turned around. “Happy now?” She asked angrily and the tears spilled over, trailing down her cheeks. The man couldn’t leave anything alone. Everything had to be out in the open.
His eyes tracked a tear running down her cheek and an odd change rippled across his face. His body shuddered.
Had she been too harsh in her reply? It was perplexing.
When he finally answered, he spoke softly. “You never have to hide how you are feeling from me. When you’re sad, I’m sad. When you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Her lips parted, once again stunned at his words. The breeze blew Maggie’s hair and a lock flew in her face. Seemingly subconsciously, he reached up and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers never touched her skin.
His arm dropped to his side, and he bowed. “Good night, Maggie.”
He was walking away before she could even conjure up a reply. Covering her mouth with her hand, she replayed his statement over and over in her mind. Phrases that she’d heard all of her life between her parents.
Papa held Mama as she grieved for one of their stillborn babies. “When you cry, I cry. When you are heartbroken, my heart is crushed beyond repair. My love,” Papa had whispered in her hair.
Did—Could Henry love her?