Книга - Suddenly A Frontier Father

Suddenly A Frontier Father
Lyn Cote


His Ready-made FamilyMason Chandler is home to meet his mail-order bride—six months too late! Little wonder Emma Jones wants to honor his letter releasing her from their agreement, especially when Mason has returned from his father’s deathbed with two adopted girls in tow. And the dark secret he’s hiding makes the homesteader feel unworthy to woo anyone.As Pepin, Wisconsin’s new schoolteacher, Emma can support herself without a husband. Yet she’s touched by Mason’s kindness to his half-sister and her orphaned companion. Taking the little girls under her wing comes naturally to Emma—and they dearly want her for their mama. Can Mason break free of his past to fight for their surprise family?Wilderness Brides: Finding love—and a fresh start—on the frontiers







His Ready-Made Family

Mason Chandler is home to meet his mail-order bride—six months too late! Little wonder Emma Jones wants to honor his letter releasing her from their agreement, especially when Mason has returned from his father’s deathbed with two adopted girls in tow. And the dark secret he’s hiding makes the homesteader feel unworthy to woo anyone.

As the new schoolteacher in Pepin, Wisconsin, Emma can support herself without a husband. Yet she’s touched by Mason’s kindness to his half sister and her orphaned companion. Taking the little girls under her wing comes naturally to Emma—and they dearly want her for their mama. Can Mason break free of his past to fight for their surprise family?


A USA TODAY bestselling author of over forty novels, LYN COTE lives in the north woods of Wisconsin with her husband in a lakeside cottage. She knits, loves cats (and dogs), likes to cook (and eat), never misses Wheel of Fortune and enjoys hearing from her readers. Email her at l.cote@juno.com. And drop by her website, www.lyncote.com (http://www.lyncote.com), to learn more about her books that feature “Strong Women, Brave Stories.”


Also By Lyn Cote (#ubdc00e85-5f05-5cbd-a5c9-2ca880e6a0a0)

Wilderness Brides

Their Frontier Family

The Baby Bequest

Heartland Courtship

Frontier Want Ad Bride

Suddenly a Frontier Father

The Gabriel Sisters

Her Captain’s Heart

Her Patchwork Family

Her Healing Ways

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Suddenly a Frontier Father

Lyn Cote






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08042-2

SUDDENLY A FRONTIER FATHER

© 2018 Lyn Cote

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The day played through Emma’s mind.

Her shock at meeting Mason Chandler on Main Street, seeing his two little girls—the silent and troubled Charlotte, the bright and sweet Birdie—and hearing the unguarded words he’d said when he woke after falling from the roof. You’re so good. You could have been mine.

If only she was young and unmarked by war, she might have reacted differently. But for four years, she had prayed and hoped and kept up her spirits. Trusting that Jonathan, good-natured and honorable, would return whole and they would spend their life together. Instead he’d been buried in Virginia. She stopped her thoughts there.

She did not think of Jonathan often anymore. Mason Chandler returning and the words he’d said to her had brought it all back—all the pain, all the waiting. She would keep her distance from him. But then she remembered Mrs. Ashford’s remark about judgment and little Lily’s unusual reticence. Those girls, Charlotte and Birdie—how could she help them?


Dear Reader (#ubdc00e85-5f05-5cbd-a5c9-2ca880e6a0a0),

Well, my stories of the twin mail-order brides comes to an end, a happy one. Mason discovered that his father’s past sins were not his own and Emma learned that her heart had not died with her first love. And sweet little Birdie and Charlotte have a real family at last.

This is the fifth story set in Pepin, Wisconsin. I’ve enjoyed researching and writing about this town so rich in history, beginning with the birth there of Laura Ingalls Wilder. If you recall, Pepin was the setting for Little House in the Big Woods, the first of the Little House stories.

The romances of Sunny and Noah (Their Frontier Family), Ellen and Kurt (The Baby Bequest), Rachel and Brennan (Heartland Courtship), Judith and Asa (Frontier Want Ad Bride) and finally Emma and Mason (Suddenly a Frontier Father) have been delightful stories to write. I’ve enjoyed each one and hope you have, too.

If you’d like to keep up with my next book or check on older titles, drop by my website: www.lyncote.com (http://www.lyncote.com). I maintain a printable booklist there. Also you can sign up for my newsletter so you don’t miss what I’ll be doing. Hope you’ll keep in touch.

Blessings,

Lyn Cote


And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28


To my late mother, Catherine Jean Baker.


Contents

Cover (#u10376392-48df-56ea-a850-6e3c66d1feb5)

Back Cover Text (#u33615d5a-4549-5c09-8bf2-af54ed9ec462)

About the Author (#u58e9626d-aedd-55d3-8877-de45e800f4cb)

Booklist (#u81898f79-2de0-5038-850e-e668ec871778)

Title Page (#u0da9946b-56d1-5dc5-82b2-a6f7f2990ddc)

Copyright (#u4969b22a-4ff9-55e4-8d4a-abe7f79fa8d2)

Introduction (#u654d136a-61da-5e55-bf4a-56f8a1f9dc40)

Dear Reader (#u2b2082db-d94f-57ff-9066-c52d56631075)

Bible Verse (#u395853b8-6372-5a9f-b648-97638d2d5109)

Dedication (#u5cd487d5-486b-5cc4-b014-2a46b515011f)

Chapter One (#uaa71a08a-00ab-5aeb-a1b7-702e08e95be7)

Chapter Two (#u5dfa0990-a8cf-5aee-aa9b-215a5ca1ce28)

Chapter Three (#u731d7e9b-dac8-5334-9041-9cb8bf60c5cc)

Chapter Four (#u5ce465c1-17ac-5394-8626-9e253aaaf2c3)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ubdc00e85-5f05-5cbd-a5c9-2ca880e6a0a0)

Wisconsin Wilderness

Early September, 1873

Standing on the sunny riverboat deck, Mason Chandler was painfully aware of the intense curiosity of the other passengers. No doubt it did look odd for a man to be traveling with two little girls yet without a woman. Little Birdie stood on his right and Charlotte on his left in their new matching starched blue calico dresses. The tops of their bonneted heads barely reached his belt. If the girls had resembled each other or him, people might have merely assumed that he was a widowed father with two daughters.

Certainly, Charlotte with her light golden-brown hair and green eyes could pass for his child. But Birdie with skin the shade of dark chocolate could not. And of course, there was the other matter, Charlotte’s special problem, that set them apart.

People had stared at them ever since he’d boarded the boat in Illinois. He might as well get used to it. He had no doubt that some of his once-friendly neighbors here in Pepin, Wisconsin, would be shocked and then no doubt cool toward him. What about Miss Jones, the woman who’d answered his newspaper advertisement for a wife?

After corresponding with her for months, he’d proposed to her by letter earlier this year. But he’d been called away to his father’s deathbed and could not be in Pepin in March to marry her as they’d planned. Now it was September. He was six months too late. And his circumstances had changed so dramatically that he had sent her a letter months ago releasing her from their agreement. What else could an honorable man do?

He could only hope that he would have time to get settled in again before he finally met Miss Emma Jones. He hoped to be able to mend the situation. But it was a faint hope. So much had changed.

Well, this wasn’t the first time in his life he’d swum against the current. He placed one arm around each little girl. These two little ones were his now, and he wouldn’t let them down, no matter what.

The crew suddenly began calling to each other and hurrying around, casting the ropes ashore, jumping onto the pier. The steamboat slowed, glided on the sky-blue water and bumped against the dock. Mason picked up his satchel and the small valise that belonged to the girls. And soon they were walking onto the Wisconsin shore.

Though his life had changed, the town looked much the same as it had when he’d left in March. There was a blacksmith, Ashford’s General Store, and a few other stores on Main Street, along with a saloon at the end of town. Now, in early autumn, the street was dusty and the trees were still green, though scarlet edged a few high maple leaves. The blacksmith’s hammer on the anvil pounded clear in the afternoon air.

The little girls huddled close to him. He caught himself as he began to stride normally, and instead he shortened his steps. Before going to his cabin, he needed to buy a few necessary items at the general store but dreaded facing the inquisitive, talkative Mrs. Ashford. Why put it off, though? He led the little girls across the street and up the two steps to the store.

Plump and grandmotherly, Mrs. Ashford met him on the porch. “Mr. Chandler, you’re back.”

“Yes, ma’am. I need—”

“And who are these little girls?”

He was saved from replying when the woman looked over his shoulder and exclaimed, “Miss Jones! Here is your intended, Mason Chandler. He’s come home at last!”

Mason turned. His heart was thumping suddenly and his mouth dry. Miss Emma Jones, the woman he’d hoped to marry, halted just a few paces in front of him. He drank in her appearance. Tall but not too tall. A trim figure. Bright golden curls atop a face so lovely he thought he might be dreaming. Miss Emma Jones was a beauty. His hope of winning her favor bumped down another notch.

Mason shook himself mentally and, after setting down the baggage, descended the two steps again. He bowed politely. “Miss Jones, I’m happy to meet you face-to-face at long last.” An understatement.

“Mr. Chandler.” Her voice devoid of welcome, she offered her gloved hand.

He shook it and held it in both of his. Neither her words nor tone encouraged him. “I apologize again,” he said, forcing out the words, “for my not being here to meet you in March. I’m afraid I had little choice. Still, I wish things were different.”

“The arrangement you made for me to stay with the Ashfords worked out well. They made me very welcome.” She paused to smile at Mrs. Ashford. “I’m sorry about the loss of your father.” She withdrew her hand from his.

He felt his neck heat with embarrassment for holding her hand too long.

“I was just asking Mr. Chandler,” Mrs. Ashford interrupted, “who these little girls are.”

At this moment, Charlotte spoke to Birdie with her hands, as was her way. Birdie replied in kind.

“What’s that they are doing with their hands?” Mrs. Ashford asked.

Mason replied, “This is Charlotte, my little half-sister, and her friend Birdie. Charlotte cannot hear. They speak in sign language.”

“She’s deaf?” Mrs. Ashford’s voice fell. “Oh, the poor little thing. What a judgment.”

“A judgment?” Miss Jones challenged her. “What could a little child have done to deserve being judged?”

Mason looked at his once-intended bride. She’d said what he’d wanted to.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mrs. Ashford apologized. “I’m just sad for the child.” Then the woman looked worried. “How long will your sister and her little friend be visiting here with you?”

“I have adopted both girls,” Mason said, bracing himself for the backlash, not looking toward Miss Jones.

Mrs. Ashford’s face widened in shock. “How can you take care of two little girls all by yourself?” Before he could answer, she turned to Miss Jones. “You two will have to get married right away.”

He couldn’t help himself. With a quick glance, he sought Miss Jones’s reaction.

She looked as if someone had slapped her.

Mason had not expected her to be pleased with the change in his circumstances, and it was worse to find out here in such a public place where they couldn’t talk this through. He closed his eyes in defeat.

“Mrs. Ashford,” Miss Jones began, “Mr. Chandler has just returned—”

“Aren’t you going to go through with your engagement?” Mrs. Ashford asked.

Here, right here on Main Street—was this where Miss Jones would let him down?

At that moment he heard someone approaching. He turned and saw Levi Comstock, the burly blacksmith and his good friend, coming. Or, he had been a good friend. Would he remain so?

Still in his leather apron and with his soot-blackened face, Levi held out his hand. “Good to see you back. Asa’s still got your cow and—also a new heifer—”

“A heifer?” Mason asked with surprise.

“Yes, your cow had a nice little calf in the spring.”

Mason couldn’t speak. Such good news.

“And those two and your chickens are all in good order with Asa. I still have your horses and wagon at my place. When would you like to come get them?”

In reply to all this warm welcome and news, Mason clasped Levi’s large, strong hand and shook it heartily.

“Well, Mr. Chandler,” Miss Jones spoke up, “I am happy to have met you and I will see you again soon, I’m sure.”

“But Miss Jones,” Mrs. Ashford spoke up, “you’re on your way to your sister’s home today, aren’t you? Mr. Chandler’s homestead is just up the road from there. You two might as well keep each other company on your way. You can bring Mr. Chandler up to date about all that’s happened in our little town while he was away.”

Mason did not appreciate the storekeeper’s wife’s suggestion. The last thing he wanted was to “keep each other company.” And it was more than obvious that Miss Jones didn’t want to, either. But what could they do here on Main Street but comply?

* * *

Emma literally clamped her teeth on her tongue, holding back a sharp retort. She wanted to get away from Mason Chandler. Coming upon him without warning had jumbled her thoughts and emotions in a way she had not expected. But what could she say to Mrs. Ashford? She could not be rude on the main street of town. “Of course,” she said politely.

Mason appeared uncomfortable, too.

She liked him better for that.

“You’re pretty,” one of the little girls said, looking up at her with big brown eyes and chubby brown cheeks.

Emma wished once again that people wouldn’t point out her outward appearance. She knew that they meant it in a complimentary way. But she was more than just a pretty face. However, saying this would not be polite, so she merely smiled at the little girl.

Mason asked Mrs. Ashford for the few items he needed to purchase, and then soon the four of them started up Main Street, heading toward her sister’s place. Then Mason could go on from there to his homestead.

For the first few minutes while they were walking through town, neither of them said anything. She didn’t want to be thrown together with Mason, the man she planned to let down lightly. She wasn’t rejecting him personally. After losing Jonathan, she’d never wanted to marry. Only dire need had forced her to accept a proposal from a stranger. But she did not need to marry now as she had in March. So she would be polite and distant.

Soon the four of them were walking a grassy track up a rise from town, thickly guarded on both sides by towering maples, oaks and fir trees. Emma decided talking was better than this awkward, heavy silence. Besides, she wondered how had he come to adopt two little girls. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’m interested in your girls.” She left the question open for any way he chose to answer it.

He cleared his throat. “My father, a widower, told me about losing Charlotte’s mother. When he died, I went to Illinois to find my little sister.”

That commanded Emma’s attention. Some men might not have been concerned enough about a little sister, especially a little half-sister, to go looking for her. Again, this was to his credit. She wanted to ask about the other little girl, but again her desire to keep her distance and her idea of politeness held her back.

“Birdie also lived at the orphans’ home in Illinois,” Mason continued as if sensing her unspoken question. “When Charlotte came to live at the orphanage well over a year ago, the woman who runs it, a Mrs. Felicity Gabriel Hawkins, located someone in Chicago who knew sign language and hired her to come teach it to Charlotte. That teacher said that it was better to have two pupils because they could help each other. And Birdie was already Charlotte’s best friend.”

“I liked Charlotte right away,” Birdie said. “And I wanted to learn how to talk with my hands.”

At that moment Charlotte looked up to Emma for the first time.

Emma was moved by the lost expression in Charlotte’s green eyes. And she was fascinated as she watched how Birdie worked her hands, communicating with the quiet girl walking beside her. Emma suppressed the urge to hug Birdie and silently promised to be a good friend to this little sweetheart. “I’m glad you did, Birdie. I like Charlotte already and I like you, too.”

Birdie smiled up at her as she evidently signed to Charlotte what Emma had said. Charlotte almost smiled.

Suddenly Emma realized that somehow Mason was slipping past her carefully constructed defenses. He was kind. Generous. And not hard to look at, either. Blushing, she quickened her step, hurrying them as much as was polite.

Another question niggled at Emma. Should she ask it? Yes, it would distract her from her awareness of him and not give him time to turn the conversation to “them.”

“So you were allowed to adopt both girls?”

“That was what caused the further delay in my returning,” Mason said. “Mrs. Hawkins questioned me about my qualifications to take charge of my little sister. Which wasn’t surprising since she didn’t know me.”

“Of course,” Emma murmured. A blue jay sounded its raucous song as if jeering at her, trapped in this uncomfortable situation, talking politely to a man she had agreed to marry but no longer wished to.

“I told her I was homesteading in Pepin, Wisconsin. That’s when she said her childhood friend, Noah Whitmore, was also homesteading in Pepin.”

“She knew Noah Whitmore?”

“Yes, they grew up going to the same Quaker meeting in Pennsylvania. And she decided to write to him to gain a character reference for me.”

“It’s amazing how God orchestrates matters.” Emma believed this, yet felt the old tug of disappointment. She’d prayed fervently for her fiancé Jonathan to survive the war. But evidently God had denied her request. Someday she hoped she could accept that with peace. She drew in a slow breath, wishing the brittle feeling around her heart would leave her.

“I suppose,” he said.

His uncertain tone caught her attention. What disappointment had he sustained? She brushed away this sudden sympathy and went on. “Since you are here with your girls, Noah Whitmore must’ve given you a good character reference.”

“I am very grateful for my girls.” Mason glanced with obvious affection at the two little ones.

The paternal glance softened her resistance again. She would have to be careful around this man, so as not to mislead him. She’d given all her love to Jonathan and she had nothing more to give.

“Some man kilt Charlotte’s mama and she couldn’t hear no more,” Birdie said. “The doctor say she ’sterical deaf.”

Shocked, Emma glanced at Mason. Was this true?

His jawline had tightened.

Emma could tell he did not like this being spoken of. And she didn’t blame him. “Bad things happen in this world,” she commented, trying to bring the uncomfortable topic to an end.

The little girl nodded solemnly and began to sign to Charlotte.

Without looking at Emma, Mason said, “Birdie, please don’t sign what I’m going to say now to Charlotte. It upsets her when people talk about it.” Then he did look at Emma. “The doctor called Charlotte’s condition hysterical deafness. He said he couldn’t find anything wrong with the structure of her ears, inside or out. We fear that Charlotte’s mother was murdered and perhaps Charlotte witnessed it. That’s what Mrs. Hawkins was told by the person who brought Charlotte to the orphanage.” He appeared to want to say more but he didn’t.

The hair on the nape of Emma’s neck prickled at the horror this sweet little girl might have witnessed. Emma completed his thought. “I will not speak of this.”

“I think it’s best for the girls if we don’t. People somehow transfer what a person’s family has suffered to them—as if they have been judged, as Mrs. Ashford said.” He glanced downward. “Will you remember that, Birdie?” he asked gently.

“Yes, sir!” Birdie said. “I only said it ’cause I can see Miss Emma is a fine lady.”

This uncomfortable conversation ended as they turned the bend and ahead lay her sister’s farm. Judith was doing laundry in the shade of an old oak tree beside the cabin.

“Judith!” Emma called out with sincere relief. “You’ll never guess who this is!” Emma made an attempt at teasing, trying to lighten the moment. She hoped Judith’s husband, Asa, would appear and relieve her of Mason Chandler. She wanted to be alone to sort out her unexpected reactions to him. Or better yet, talk it over with Judith in private.

* * *

Hoping to distance himself from Emma, Mason wished Asa Brant would appear and he could claim his livestock and then head on to his place. He wanted to be alone to sort out his unforeseen response to Miss Emma Jones. But he glued a smile onto his face and pulled up all his reserves of courtesy.

Emma led him toward Asa’s wife, who appeared flustered at his finding her in the midst of the weekly chore. Of course, he knew she was Emma’s twin sister, but they did not favor one another. Judith had brown hair and eyes to match, and possessed none of Emma’s startling beauty.

Then blessedly, the familiar tall and tanned, dark-haired Asa Brant stepped out of his barn. His face lifted into a welcoming smile and he hurried forward, his hand outstretched.

Emma continued on toward her sister.

Dropping the baggage, Mason gripped Asa’s hand, once again grateful to find another person who remained a friend—so far. “I’m just on my way home and wanted to stop and get my cattle. I hear I have a calf.”

“Yes, both of us increased our cattle this spring.” Asa beamed.

“Asa, I can’t thank you enough for taking care of them. I’ll pay you back—”

“Not a word about that.” Asa forestalled him with an upraised hand. “What are friends for?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mason glimpsed another little girl, a blonde about Charlotte’s age, who had come out of Asa’s cabin and who was staring at his two little girls. Then he noted a boy with shaggy brown hair around eight or nine years old standing near the barn door.

Mason paused, wondering who they were.

“Before we take care of the cows, I need to introduce you to my wife. Or, I should say, my family,” Asa said with obvious pride. Asa led Mason to the woman who was now his wife, standing near the little girl. And the little boy hurried to Asa’s side. Asa rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Acute envy caught around Mason’s heart. If he hadn’t been called away, he would be settled now with Emma as his wife. He wouldn’t have spent the whole growing season away. Leave it to his father to interrupt and bring disaster to his only son. Mason forced himself to relax his face, tightened by regret. He tried to focus as Asa introduced him to Judith and to the two children, Lily and Colton, whom they had evidently taken in.

He noted that Lily continued to stare at Charlotte and Birdie. Perhaps the little girl was just shy. He hoped that explained her lack of welcome.

Emma stooped to eye level with Asa’s girl. “Lily, say hello to Charlotte and Birdie. They will be your new neighbors. You can play with them.”

Lily turned her face into Judith’s skirt.

“I guess Lily is a bit shy today. But you three will get to know each other over time,” Emma said gently.

Mason was grateful for her attempt. It was obvious that Miss Emma Jones was not only beautiful but kind. He needed to go before he revealed even a hint of the sadness that had begun years before when his father had changed for the worse. And his secret now separated him from everyone, not just Emma Jones. “I need to get home, Asa. I want to get the house straightened up and everything settled before evening comes.”

“I’d come and help you,” Asa apologized, “but I’m right in the middle of something.”

“I don’t need any help,” Mason said.

“Yes, you do,” Asa replied. “You have that luggage to carry and the girls and the cattle. I can bring them over later—”

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“I would come along,” Asa’s wife said, motioning toward the laundry tubs, “but I’m right in the middle of this week’s clothes.”

“I don’t expect any help,” Mason said again. He held up his hands and stepped backward. “You all have your own work to do.”

“I’ll come and help,” Emma said. “I can drive a few cows.”

She surprised Mason into silence. He wanted to study her face to find out why she’d offered help, but of course, he couldn’t.

“It’s settled, then,” Asa said, sounding relieved. “Emma and Colton will lead the cattle, Mason.”

“And you’ll come back here for supper,” Judith said. “We have plenty and would be glad to have your company.”

“That’s right. We insist,” Asa agreed.

After the slights and reflected shame he’d suffered over the past few months, Mason felt humbled by their warm welcome. He only hoped no one here ever discovered the truth about his father, how he’d lived and where he’d died. That might be a bitter pill too big to swallow even by friends.

Soon Mason, still burdened with the baggage, walked beside Emma with Colton.

“I’ll box up your chickens and bring them over when I’m done!” Asa called after them.

Mason called back his thanks. The road turned to the north at the beginning of Asa’s property, going around it and leading to Mason’s homestead.

Emma and Colton carried prodding staffs they barely needed. The cow and young heifer strolled along, pausing occasionally to nibble grass. Mason wished he could hurry them, but no one hurried a milk cow. A contented cow gave more milk, and he would need it. Without a crop, he would depend much on his chickens and cows to keep the girls fed this winter.

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” Mason murmured to Emma as they rounded another bend in the road.

“It’s no trouble. I was raised on a farm. I like cows.”

He didn’t know what to say to this. “You’re too pretty to be herding cattle” didn’t seem appropriate. And they were certainly well chaperoned with the silent boy, and Birdie chattering in word and sign, and Charlotte, as always, guarded and silent. All the words he wished to say to Miss Emma must be held back. And she probably didn’t want to hear them, anyway.

“That little girl back there didn’t like us,” Birdie said. “She wouldn’t talk to us.”

The boy on the other side of the cattle said nothing in explanation.

“Some girls and boys are shy with strangers...people they are just meeting,” Emma suggested.

But Mason doubted it.

Birdie considered this. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Is this a nice place to live?”

“Yes, it is. I’m the schoolteacher here,” Emma said.

Oh, Mason thought. Another indication that this lady’s situation had altered. Just like his had. His hopes about her dimmed further. A woman with a paying job would not need a husband.

Birdie’s eyes widened. “You’re the teacher? Charlotte and me were supposed to start school this year in Illinois.”

“Oh?” Emma’s voice sounded a bit uncertain.

And no wonder. Mason had been at a loss how Mrs. Hawkins thought his girls could attend school. After all, Charlotte wouldn’t be able to hear the teacher.

Again, Birdie’s fingers were busy talking to Charlotte.

Charlotte replied in kind and appeared to be scolding her friend.

“Oh, Charlotte still thinks she can’t go to school,” Birdie added.

Exactly, Mason commented mentally.

“Children need to go to school,” Emma said. “All children.”

Mason looked away. His little sister would only be the recipient of stares and unkind words. And he wouldn’t let that happen.

Only three-quarters of a mile separated the two homesteads, so very soon he glimpsed his place—the sturdy log barn and cabin. After all the years of war and then wandering, he had once again a home to return to and now he had his sister and Birdie, too. His heart twinged at the thought. He was glad, but when he cast a sideways glance at the lady near him, he was sad. He’d hoped to employ finesse over when to meet and get to know Emma. But Birdie had even blurted out the cause of Charlotte’s deafness. What might have been would probably never be.

Then he saw something that shocked him. Behind his cabin, a corn field was tall and green and golden, nearing harvest. “What?” He halted right there.

Emma stopped, too. “What is it?”

“I...how do I have a corn crop?”

She followed his gaze. “Oh, yes, Asa planted your fields, one of corn and one of hay.”

“He...” Mason couldn’t speak from the shock and the feeling of being humbled by a friend’s help.

“And ours got wrecked,” the silent boy suddenly spoke with plain disgust.

Mason swung to him. “Yours? You mean Asa’s crop? Wrecked? How?”

“Yeah, a bad man drove his horses through it, trampled it bad,” the boy said.

Mason shifted his attention back to Emma. “What happened?”

“Just what the boy said,” she replied, looking unhappy. “The culprit left the county, though the sheriff has a warrant out for his arrest.”

Mason couldn’t ask any more questions. The thought of Asa planting his crops while losing his own was too much to take in.

“Want me to drive the cows into the barn?” the boy asked.

“Yes, I’ll just put the cases inside and be out to help you. Thanks.” Mason turned to Emma, ready to let her go. She must be as uncomfortable in this situation as he was. “Thank you for your help.”

She paused, studying him. “I will sweep out your cabin before I leave.”

She must be offering to do this because of the girls. He couldn’t believe she was staying for his sake. “That’s not necessary—”

“I know it’s not, but you’ll have enough to do settling the cattle and getting firewood and water inside. Dusting and sweeping won’t take long.” She paused to touch first Birdie’s, then Charlotte’s shoulder. “The girls can help me.”

“We can help!” Birdie parroted with glee.

He again realized that Miss Emma was a very kind lady. Gratitude clogged his throat. Overhead the sun was sliding toward the western horizon. He needed to do the things she’d mentioned, get the house fit for occupation so he and the girls could settle in before night. Finally he regained his voice. “Thank you, Miss Jones.”

“Thank you, Miss Emma!” Birdie crowed.

Mason hurried ahead, unlocked the chain he’d secured the cabin door with and pushed it open. He set the baggage just inside and shed his traveling jacket on a peg on the wall by the door. Then he turned back to the barn. “I’ll go see to the cattle.”

* * *

“Fine,” Emma said, watching Mason go with both relief and a touch of regret. This man, whom she’d already come to respect, carried a heavy load, and she had volunteered to help in the small way she could. But she must not let sympathy lure her from her new, independent life. She brushed away these thoughts of Mason Chandler.

“Girls,” she announced briskly, “let’s go inside to see how much dust we need to clean away.” She strode through the open door and then paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer interior. The little girls, one on each side of her, peered in also.

Dust covered every surface of a sparsely furnished one-room cabin—a short counter attached to the wall with a dishpan on it, two benches, one on each side of a table, two handmade straight-back chairs by the central fireplace, and a bed in the corner. Emma surveyed the home that would have been hers if events had followed the course she’d expected.

She much preferred her cozy teacher’s quarters where she could do as she pleased. She took off her bonnet and hung it on a peg by the door. The girls shed theirs and she hung them up, too, since the hooks were too high for them to reach.

“It’s dusty,” Birdie commented.

“It is indeed.” Emma glimpsed a broom standing in the corner and several cloths hanging over the side of the dishpan. “I will sweep and the two of you can begin dusting.” She glanced down. “Do you know how to dust?”

“Yes, miss,” Birdie replied. “We dusted every week in Illinois.”

“Good.” She handed them each a cloth and claimed the broom.

“We sing while we dust,” Birdie informed her.

“What do you sing?” Emma asked, intrigued.

Birdie replied in song, “Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me ’roun’; Turn me ’roun’.”

Emma couldn’t like the ain’ts, but the song sounded cheerful, and she liked the sentiment. Nobody was going to turn her ’round, either. She had her new course as Pepin schoolteacher set, and she would follow it.

Soon she found herself sweeping up acorn tops and other evidence of squirrels. A thump against the side of the house startled her. Then she heard footsteps overhead. She looked up as if she could see through the ceiling.

The sound of scratching came down through the fireplace.

“What’s that, Miss Emma?” Birdie asked, also looking up.

“I think Mr. Chandler may be cleaning out debris from the top of the chimney.” She approached the fireplace and craned her neck to look up inside it.

Then she heard it—the sound of boots sliding down wooden shingles and a yell and finally a thump outside. Her heart lurched. “Oh, no!”

Birdie cried out in fear and ran to her with Charlotte close behind.

Emma hurried to the door and outside into the daylight, the girls at her heels.

Mason lay on the ground, flat on his back, not moving.

Emma gasped. How badly was he hurt? She rushed toward him and met Colton, who had run from the barn. Emma dropped to her knees, yet stopped herself from touching him. “Mr. Chandler?” she repeated his name several times.

She looked across at Colton, who stood on the man’s other side, looking as worried as she felt. She leaned forward over Mason’s mouth and turned her cheek to feel his warm breath. She felt it. Relief ruffled through her. “He’s breathing.”

Then she became aware of the fact that the two little girls were crying. “Don’t cry, Birdie. Tell Charlotte her brother’s breathing. He’ll be fine.” I hope.

All Mason Chandler and Birdie had revealed today had captured her interest, her sympathy. But that was all she could give him. Nothing more. She was independent at last, teaching school, which she’d always wanted to do. She was grateful Mason had released her from their agreement to marry. She would help him now but keep her distance.


Chapter Two (#ubdc00e85-5f05-5cbd-a5c9-2ca880e6a0a0)

Mason blinked. He couldn’t think. But he could see Emma’s face just inches above his. “You’re so good,” he whispered. “And you could have been mine.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Chandler? Can you hear me?”

Silly question. Of course he could hear her, see her. He realized then that he was lying on the prickly grass, looking up at the blue sky. Crowded around him were his girls and Asa’s boy. Why was Emma on her knees beside him? “What happened?” He moved to sit up.

With her small hand on his chest, Emma pressed him back. “Take it easy. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of minutes. You fell from the roof.”

He closed his eyes and the memory returned, his sliding off the roof. That breathless jolt of panic. “I stepped on a loose shingle and lost my balance.”

“That could happen to anyone,” Emma murmured. She slipped her hand under his head. “You don’t have a bump. Does your head hurt?”

“A bit.” He appreciated Emma’s trying to soothe his dented pride, but he noticed then that Charlotte was crying and that Birdie, with tears running down her cheeks, was comforting her. He stirred himself. “I’ll be all right, girls. Don’t worry, Charlotte.” He tried to work his fingers to sign but he couldn’t. “I’ll be all right,” he repeated. He watched Birdie sign this to his sister, but she continued to cry. He could see the fear on her face. I must get up and show I’m all right, he thought to himself. He tried to sit up again.

Emma pressed him back once more. “First let’s make sure you’ve not hurt anything seriously.”

He glanced up at her, very aware of her being so close to him. He hoped she hadn’t heard him say, “You’re so good,” or, worse, “You could have been mine.” He cringed inwardly, hoping he hadn’t said that aloud. The words were true but too personal and embarrassing in the extreme.

“Start by moving each part of you and see if you feel any sharp pain,” she counseled.

He didn’t want to obey. He just wanted to stand up, thank her for her help and hurry her along home. Her presence was bringing forth feelings he didn’t want to explore. But yes, he might have hurt himself, so her instruction made sense. He didn’t want to make matters any worse than they were. He obliged her, moving his neck and working down his body, moving each arm individually and rotating each joint—shoulders, elbows, wrists, knees.

All was well till he tested his ankles one at a time. “Uhhh.” The pain-filled syllable was forced out when he rotated his right ankle.

Emma glanced down. “I think you can safely sit up. But perhaps you should first push down your stocking so we can see your ankle.”

Once again he obliged.

“Oh, it’s swelling,” she said as they both stared at the flushed ankle. “But you were able to rotate it, so that should mean it’s just a sprain. It will heal in about a week without any further problem. When we were children, my brother suffered a sprain after falling from a tree. I know what to do.”

Mason could not believe he was in this situation. And he’d fallen while she was nearby. Humiliation. “I have so much to do. I can’t be laid up.”

“Well, we can’t do anything about that until we take care of your ankle.” She rose and rested a gentle hand on Birdie’s shoulder. “Explain everything to Charlotte and let her know this isn’t serious.” Then she turned to Colton. “Please run into the house and bring out a chair. Birdie, please go get the water bucket inside the door.”

He tried to make sense of her instructions but the wind had been knocked out of him and he felt depleted somehow. I guess falling off a roof does take it out of a man. He grimaced ruefully.

Soon after instructing Colton to stand behind the chair to steady it, Emma helped Mason sit up. “Now the chair is right behind you. When you’re ready to stand, I want you to put your hands on my shoulders so I can steady you as you push up onto your good foot. I’m sure you have the strength to stand, but favoring your ankle will put you off balance. So hold on to me.” Stooping, she positioned herself in front of him.

He parted his lips to refuse her help.

“Seeing you fall again will only upset Charlotte more,” she whispered in his ear.

Her warm breath against his ear stirred him. And her words persuaded him to do as she suggested. “I’m ready.” He reached up and gripped her slender shoulders. He pushed up, staggered. She steadied him as he landed in the chair. A touch of vertigo and sharp pain in his ankle vied with his reaction to being so near Emma Jones. She smelled of roses. He closed his eyes momentarily, marshaling all his self-control against the pain and against the temptation to reach for her. He leaned against the back of the chair. “Thank you.”

She stifled a chuckle.

His eyes flew open in surprise.

“Sorry.” She looked abashed and amused at the same time. “I caught myself just before I said, ‘My pleasure.’ It’s silly how certain words trigger other words, isn’t it?”

He didn’t feel anything like smiling, but she drew one from him anyway. “I know what you mean.” He gazed at this woman who was surprising him in so many ways. She had a sense of humor. He liked that. Then he shifted in his chair slightly, and that tiny movement caused pain to shoot through his ankle and up his calf. He held in a gasp.

Charlotte moved to his side and pressed against him. He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead. He haltingly signed that he would be fine and she shouldn’t worry. Or he hoped that was what he said. His grasp of sign language still did not rival Birdie’s.

Emma stepped away, primed the pump, filled the bucket and made him rest his foot in cold water up over his ankle. He noted that she tried not to look directly at him and wondered if it was just this situation. After all, she had volunteered only to dust, not to take care of him. Or was it just her not wanting to be here with him?

“I know most people put sprains in hot water,” Emma said, standing in front of him, “but my mother always told me that cold water does best to reduce swelling. I hope Judith still has some goose grease. That works amazingly on sprains.”

He nodded. The cold water was painful on his throbbing ankle. Goose grease. Good grief.

Emma stood near him, scanning the area and obviously thinking. “Children, we need to do the chores. Mr. Chandler isn’t able—”

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a few minutes—”

“Mr. Chandler,” she interrupted, “of course it’s understandable that you don’t want us to do what needs to be done, but you are going to have limited mobility for several days.”

He wanted to argue but the throbbing in his ankle underlined her words. He nodded, head down.

She turned to the boy. “Colton, Mr. Chandler is going to need a crutch. I want you to go in the woods and find a young tree about this thick.” She curved her hands together, leaving about a three-inch-diameter opening. “Take a hatchet and cut it off and bring it here.” She turned to Mason. “While you’re soaking your ankle, you can fashion it into a crude crutch.”

Mason nodded, pulling out his pocket knife. Disagreeing would be pointless and graceless. And he still felt shaken. I should have been more careful. Why couldn’t anything go right this year? His one hope was that the words he’d said upon regaining consciousness had been inaudible. So far Emma had given him no indication that she’d heard his much too personal words.

* * *

“You’re so good. And you could have been mine.” Mason’s words played in her mind much later that unexpectedly stressful day. Now she walked beside him up the forest track on their way to Judith’s for supper. He was balancing himself on the crutch he and Colton had contrived out of a young tree, now stripped of its bark with cushioning rags wrapped around the crook under his arm.

“Are you sure—” she began again.

“I can walk the short way to Asa’s,” Mason said, grimacing as he stumped along on the uneven dirt track.

She sighed inwardly. Men. Sometimes when the bounds that hemmed her in as a “lady” felt onerous, she reminded herself that men also were hemmed in. Men didn’t show weakness—period. And then he’d been forced to sit and watch her get his place ready for the night, including the cattle. So she understood how lowering this situation was for him, especially in front of her.

“You’re so good. You could have been mine.” She couldn’t get his words out of her mind. She never appreciated the way people always first commented about her appearance. But this man had mentioned her character and so had proven that he was looking into her as a person, not just at her face. This once again inched her toward caring about him. She resisted it, must resist it. Love was too treacherous a path to go down again—ever. Just thinking of allowing herself to be vulnerable again caused her to feel slightly nauseated. I can never do that again. I don’t have it in me to love like that again. No.

“As long as you are patient and don’t try to hurry the healing, you should be fine in a week or so.” She did not look at him as she murmured this.

“No doubt you’re right.” He exhaled, releasing his obvious dissatisfaction audibly. “There’s just so much to do.”

“There always is.” And then they were walking around a bend and met Asa, who was already on the road, striding toward them.

“What’s happened? I was just setting out to see why Colton hadn’t returned,” Asa said.

With relief Emma let Mason explain the situation. Now, as they continued toward Asa, she could hurry on to her sister and turn Mason over to Asa. She listened to the men talking, and when Asa reached them, she headed briskly down the road. “I want to go help Judith!” she called over her shoulder. After supper, she would walk home to her own room, her own place behind the school, and relax. And not give this day or this man another thought.

* * *

On the Brants’ table the wiped-clean plates showed how they had all devoured Asa’s wife’s good supper. Within Mason the good feeling of being well fed vied with his painfully throbbing ankle. Asa and his wife with their two children sat across from him, his two girls and Emma. Mason noted that the girl Lily did not speak but kept looking at his girls and then away. He hoped she was just shy, like Emma had said earlier.

“Mason, you will just have to stay here,” Asa said, “till you get back to normal.”

Variations of this had been mentioned all throughout the evening meal. Mason felt exhausted by the day’s events and he couldn’t take much more. He’d replied politely but finally reached the end of his tether. He stated the truth. “I just want to go home. I’ve been away from home for months and I want to be in my own bed under my own roof.” Without turning his head, he watched Emma out of the corner of his eye as he had throughout the meal. She was gazing at him, her chin downward. What was she thinking? Was it of him?

“But you’ll need help,” Judith said.

“I can help,” Colton spoke up.

Asa, Judith, Emma and Mason all turned to look at the boy.

“I can help.” Colton stood up. “I can fetch and carry. Mr. Brant, you helped me and Lily when we needed help. So I can help Mr. Chandler.”

Asa gripped the boy’s shoulder and smiled at him with approval.

“That makes good sense,” Emma agreed. “Mr. Chandler walked here. He has a crutch. He just needs a little help. I completely understand why he wants to be in his own place, don’t we all?”

“Thank you,” Mason said with emphasis. “Asa, please let Colton go with me and the girls. Thanks to Miss Jones and the children, everything is ready for us to settle down for the night. And that’s all I want.” He was grateful to Emma for backing him up and to the boy for offering. But he was afraid to look at her and betray more than this. Why did she have to be both lovely and kind? She could do much better than him for a husband.

Asa and Judith exchanged glances. “Very well,” Asa agreed. “Colton, gather your things and your bedroll from up in the loft. Thank you for offering to help our neighbor.”

Colton didn’t reply but obeyed.

Pressing his hands on the table, Mason pushed himself up. Then he manipulated his crutch and secured it under his right arm. He thought he had just enough energy to get home.

Emma stood also and walked to the door. “I’ll bid you all good night. And Judith, thank you for the lovely supper.”

Mason watched the woman he had hoped to marry walk away into the gathering twilight. He bound up his mind against thinking of her. She had been helpful. She has been kind. But she had made it clear with her every glance and every word that she wanted to be only his neighbor and nothing more.

* * *

Emma arrived home and soon, in her nightwear, sat in her rocker, sipping a cup of chamomile tea and honey. She still felt stirred up and hoped the tea would soothe her so she could sleep. The day played through her mind. Her shock at meeting Mason Chandler on Main Street, seeing his two little girls—the silent and troubled Charlotte, the bright and sweet Birdie—and hearing the unguarded words he’d said when he woke.

She took another sip of the warm, sweet tea. If only she were young and unmarked by war, she might have reacted differently. But for four bloody years, she had prayed and hoped and kept up her spirits. Trusting that Jonathan, good-natured and honorable, would return whole and they would spend their lives together. Instead he’d been buried in Virginia. She stopped her thoughts there.

She did not think of Jonathan often anymore. Mason Chandler returning and the words he’d said to her had brought it all back, all the pain, all the waiting. She would keep her distance from him. But then she remembered Mrs. Ashford’s remark about judgment and little Lily’s unusual reticence. Both of Mason’s girls would cause notice in town. They were orphans, Birdie’s mother had no doubt been a slave and Charlotte was deaf. Charlotte and Birdie—how could she help them?

* * *

Monday afternoon, as the students were finishing the last lesson of the day, Emma tried not to show the roiling pot of emotion in the pit of her stomach. Mason and his girls hadn’t attended church yesterday and she could understand that. He’d just sprained his ankle and he didn’t have his wagon yet. But she’d hoped that Colton would walk the girls to school today so she could help them get acquainted.

The rumors about Mason’s “peculiar” girls had already begun in town. Emma wanted to set the right tone and ease the girls into acceptance. She gazed over the heads of her students and let it rest on Colton’s dark head bent over his slate. She didn’t want the other children to hear, but she needed to talk to Colton.

“Children, finish the questions and then put away everything. Our day together is ending.”

The children obeyed with some murmuring. As usual, the children lined up in the center aisle and waited for her to position herself at the door. As usual, she spoke to each child, encouraging them and reminding them of what they should be practicing at home that evening. It always included studying their spelling list. The town was insistent that their spellers shine in the spring spelling bee. Her students prepared all year.

When Colton stopped in front, she asked him if he would stay to help with something. He nodded and then moved out of line. “Lily,” he called, “I got to help Miss Jones. Wait on the swing.”

Soon the school was empty except for her and Colton. “What do you want me to do?” Colton looked up at her.

She didn’t try to hide her true concerns. “Why didn’t Birdie and Charlotte come to school today?”

Colton frowned. “The little black girl wanted to come real bad. But Mr. Chandler said no, not yet.”

Emma was afraid of that.

“What do you want me to do here?” Colton asked, glancing out the open window, obviously wanting to leave.

“You’re still helping Mr. Chandler?”

“Yes, they’ll come to our place for supper. Mrs. Brant insisted. And then I’ll walk home with them and stay there for the night.”

“How is Mr. Chandler’s ankle?” She refused to let his dazed, whispered words repeat once more in her mind. Or she tried to.

“He doesn’t say anything about it. But I see he still needs a crutch.” Colton shifted on his feet, reminding her that he wanted to be off and out of school.

“Thank you, Colton.”

The boy paused and turned back at the doorway. “When Lily and me started school here, some kids acted strange around us. I think it’s ’cause...’cause our parents died. People don’t like it when you’re different.”

The boy’s wisdom surprised and impressed her. “I’m afraid that is correct.”

“I like Birdie. She’s real sweet and always helps.”

“That’s very true. Thank you, Colton.”

The boy left and she walked around the schoolroom, making certain everything was in place. She could understand why Mason wanted to protect his two little girls, but keeping them at home hidden did them no good. They were going to spend their lives here—and they both deserved as good a life as anyone else here in Pepin. If it weren’t for the girls and their need for special care, she could ignore this man. But she could see the girls might need her.

Mason Chandler, you are wrong if you keep them home. She knew how stubborn men could be. But it might just be that he needed time. She would give him time, but just so much.

* * *

A few days later, in the evening at the Brants’, the fragrance of the rabbit stew set before Mason literally caused him to salivate. He bowed his head politely while Asa offered the prayer over the meal. Hearing another man pray heightened the feeling of stone encasing his own heart. Maybe God hadn’t deserted him but it sure felt like it. Then he scolded himself. Years ago he’d lost his mother, and months ago his father, but he’d gained a sister and Birdie. He resisted a thought about also losing Emma.

“I caught the rabbits,” Colton spoke up. “I used my snares.”

For the hundredth time or more Mason found himself glancing at the door. He tried not to but he always looked for Emma to join them. He turned his mind from this. “Well done, Colton,” Mason replied, recalling his boyhood days. Then another worry intruded. How could he bring up the unpleasant conversation about Asa’s destroyed corn and hay crops? He’d tried twice now but Asa had changed the subject both times.

Birdie and Charlotte sat on the bench beside him. He could tell Birdie wanted to talk to Lily, but the little girl rarely looked at them. Pain twisted in his chest over this. Birdie had wanted to go to school with Colton each day but he had kept the girls home. Why did people judge others on things like skin color and deafness?

“I’m glad you agreed to eat supper with us till your ankle is healed,” Asa’s wife, sitting on the opposite side of the table, said. “How is it doing? Did the goose grease help?”

At her words, Mason’s ankle throbbed as if taunting him with his weakness. “Yes, it helped. My ankle’s still swollen some, but it’s improving.”

“It will be all better soon.” Judith forked up a bite of stew.

“I thank you for your hospitality and for Colton’s help,” he said, grateful, knowing that his girls needed more food than he would be able to rustle up while standing on a crutch by the fire. He decided this was the opening he’d been waiting for. “And Asa, you’ve not let me discuss your planting my crops—”

“I didn’t plant your full crops—”

“You did more than I would ever have expected. And I’m going to share my corn and hay with you. I think—”

Asa tried to interrupt.

Mason forged onward. “I think that if we are careful, we’ll have almost enough to make it through the winter and put away some seed for next spring. It will be tight, but we can make it.”

“I didn’t put it in for that reason.” Asa still sounded put out.

“I know, but it’s a blessing—for both of us—that you did.”

“Asa,” Judith said, resting a hand on her husband’s sleeve, “Mason is speaking the truth. What you have done for a friend has come back to bless all of us.”

The woman’s mention of blessing hit Mason squarely in the heart, the heart that had suffered and been stretched this year. “And when November comes,” he spoke up, banishing these thoughts, “you’ll have to permit me to bring you some fresh meat, Mrs. Brant.” He savored the rich gravy, rolling it on his tongue.

“I’m also looking forward to fall hunting,” Asa commented. “But now’s a good time to start geese, grouse and duck.”

Asa and Mason discussed hunting for a while. Birdie was busy signing to Charlotte. Mason often wondered what went on in his little sister’s head. He must work harder at learning to talk to her with his hands. “Thank you again, Mrs. Brant,” he murmured.

She merely smiled at him. Again, Mason was very aware of the change just a few months of marriage had wrought in his friend. Almost three years ago, when Mason had first arrived in Pepin and found Asa as his neighbor, he’d liked Asa right away. But since they’d last met, Asa had changed, and for the better. Asa now smiled and talked easily, appeared to be more at peace. Mason couldn’t stop himself from once again wishing he’d been here in March to meet his mail-order bride. Well, life was what it was.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Mason was in his barn, unhitching the team he’d just reclaimed and fetched from Levi’s place outside town to the northeast. He’d left his girls with Asa’s wife and rode one of Asa’s horses to Levi’s. His ankle still pained him. He limped but he’d left off the crutch today.

He turned, startled when he heard his name being called. “Miss Jones.” Nearly a week had passed since he’d seen her. He drank in the sight of her like a thirsty man finding water in the desert. He stiffened himself. Don’t embarrass yourself. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m glad to see you are walking without your crutch,” she said, not replying to his question.

Birdie with Charlotte hurried away from the head of one of the horses toward her. “Miss Emma!” Birdie greeted her.

“Hello.” Emma bent to talk to them. “Girls, I would like to have a few words in private with Mr. Chandler. Could you go play? I’ll talk to you before I leave.”

Birdie looked thoughtful but drew Charlotte outside, signing to her.

Mason didn’t have to think about why this lady had come. Colton had repeatedly told him that Miss Jones wanted the girls in school. He gritted his teeth. Evidently Emma was a woman to be reckoned with. His irritation over this vied with his unwelcome pleasure at seeing her here, so fine and determined. “I can guess why you’ve come. But I wasn’t ready to send them to school yet.” He focused on working free the horses’ harness buckles.

“Your girls are ready. Do you think you are helping them, keeping them out?”

“I’m keeping them from being hurt. Children can be cruel,” he said, just short of snapping at her.

“And adults can be. Do you think keeping them out protects them from hurt? Don’t you realize that keeping them home is hurting them, too?”

“I can teach them their letters and numbers.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She moved closer and paused, resting a hand on the rump of the nearest chestnut horse. “Isolating them is telling them that you don’t think they can handle school. That they are lesser than the other children.”

Her words cut through him like a serrated knife, a dull one that rasped painfully. He stepped back, releasing the last buckle, and led one horse toward a stall. Her accusation bounced around in his head.

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed her standing backlit by the sunshine. She brought to mind a picture he’d seen as a child in a book. It had been the image of an avenging angel protecting the innocent. Miss Emma Jones did not take matters having to do with children lightly.

“Are you ashamed of Birdie and Charlotte?” she snapped.

“No,” he snapped back. “They are wonderful little girls.”

“Then bring them to school Monday.” She turned as if to leave. “Have some trust in me, trust in the children of this town.”

She left him without a word to say.

He moved to the open barn door but remained out of sight. He wanted to hear what she said to the girls.

“Birdie! Charlotte!” she called in a friendly voice.

The girls ran to her, Birdie beaming and Charlotte cautious, holding Birdie’s hand. “Can you play with us?”

“Just a bit. How about ‘Ring around the Rosy’?” Emma joined hands with the girls and they moved in a circle, singing and, at the right moment, all falling or, rather, stooping down.

“I must go now. I’m sure I’ll see you Sunday at church.” And without a glance toward the barn, she called out, “See you Monday at school. Nine o’clock! Don’t be late!”

He watched her go, unable to look away until she disappeared around the thickly forested bend.

The girls ran to him. “Did the lady teacher say we could come to school?” Birdie asked.

He looked down into Birdie’s eager face. So many thoughts and emotions swirled in his mind and heart. “Do you want to go to school?”

“Yes!” Birdie signed to Charlotte. “She says yes too. We can see Lily and Colton. And meet other children.”

He wondered if Birdie was capable of grasping the concept of prejudice.

“Some children will like us and some won’t,” Birdie said, answering his unspoken question. “But we want to go to school.”

He drew in a deep breath. So be it. He turned to go unharness the other horse. He hoped Miss Emma Jones knew what she was doing. He wanted everything good for his children. But he knew how cruel people could be. This moved him to snap at God, You’d better keep them safe.

He then remembered more of Emma’s words and realized that he would have to face the whole town the day after next at church. His hurt ankle had given him an excuse to bypass last week’s service. But that excuse had lapsed. Miss Emma Jones was right. He must publicly face the community with his girls, starting Sunday.

He was feeling the same dread and anticipation, a heavy weight in his middle, that he’d faced many times in the war. The mornings just before a battle, everyone—except for those who thought they needed to lighten the somber mood—had been silent, barely speaking, girding themselves for the imminent crucible of cannon, gunfire, black smoke and perhaps death.

He tried to shake off the feeling. No one would be firing at him on Sunday. But he worried for Birdie and Charlotte and any negative reactions to them. He didn’t want them to be hurt. His only hope was from the friends who’d stood by him. One was Noah Whitmore, the preacher, who’d written the orphan home’s director that he was fit to adopt his girls. Would people remember where they were—in God’s house? At least no one knew the dark secret he must—above all else—keep hidden.


Chapter Three (#ubdc00e85-5f05-5cbd-a5c9-2ca880e6a0a0)

Mason thought he’d prepared himself for meeting Emma on Sunday morning, but he hadn’t expected them to enter the combined schoolroom-church at almost the same moment from opposite ends of the room, he from the school entrance and she from the teacher’s quarters. He halted in midstep.

And so did she. She wore a flattering rose-pink dress with ivory lace at the neck. Her beauty took his breath. But instantly he shook himself inwardly and moved forward. In the past days her kindness to Birdie and Charlotte had drawn his gratitude, making him more vulnerable to her. He steeled himself against regret. I have to get over missing my chance with her.

He’d been gone for half the year, but he hoped no one had taken his pew. He forced himself to nod to a few people he knew even though they were gawking. Then he focused on getting the girls settled beside him. Thanks to Asa’s wife, the girls’ dresses were clean and pressed as well as his own white Sunday shirt.

He tried not to track Emma from the corner of his eye, but he glimpsed her full skirts swish past them as she joined her sister and family in the pew to his right, forward a row. Bitter thoughts of his father and how once again he had ruined something for Mason rushed into his mind. He bowed his head, willing the thoughts away. What was done was done and could not be changed. He still had his land, his crops and now, his girls.

Hoping that no one would hurt them with unthinking or unkind remarks, he gathered them close to him and kissed their foreheads. “Now, you girls be good,” he murmured.

“We always be good in church,” Birdie murmured and signed to Charlotte, who looked up at him and smiled timidly.

His poor little sister. She so rarely looked happy. Had what Mrs. Hawkins, the lady who ran the orphans’ home in Illinois, said been true? Was hysterical deafness even real? Was there a chance Charlotte might hear again someday? He shook his head. He didn’t have that kind of faith.

Tall and middle-aged, Mrs. Lavina Caruthers moved to the front as Noah Whitmore raised his arms. “Let us pray.” After Noah’s prayer, Lavina led them in singing the opening hymn.

Then Gordy Osbourne, a young deacon, rose and began reading the scripture passage, Numbers 12.

“‘And Miriam and Aaron spake against Moses because of the Ethiopian woman whom he had married: for he had married an Ethiopian woman. And they said, Hath the Lord indeed spoken only by Moses? hath he not spoken also by us? And the Lord heard it.’”

Mason never had heard this passage that he could recall. The reading and the story continued, ending with God chastising Miriam and Aaron, the sister and brother of Moses. God had turned Miriam’s skin leprous for seven days in punishment of her speaking against Moses because of his choice of a dark-skinned bride. Evidently the word about Mason’s girls had spread to the preacher. Noah’s boldness in choosing this passage hit Mason as if a rod had been rammed up his spine. Noah’s courage in confronting prejudice humbled him.

“Here endeth the scripture for today,” Gordy finished and sat down, his face flushed.

Lavina rose again and began the second hymn. The congregation rose to sing, but many cast glances over their shoulders at him, and others stood stiffly facing forward.

Mason hoped that Noah’s boldness would not alienate his congregation and cause division here.

At the end of the hymn, Lavina remained standing. “Our preacher has said that I may make an announcement of a sewing and knitting day this coming Saturday morning here. My son Isaiah, who is engaged in mission work north of here with the Chippewa tribe, will be visiting us before winter, and we’d like to have a large donation of quilts, mittens, socks and scarves to send back with him. There is great need among the tribe.” Lavina smiled. “Thank you.”

Noah approached the lectern and bowed his head in silent prayer. Then he went on to preach about the passage Gordy had read, but without calling attention to the situation of the little black girl sitting beside Mason. Noah preached about God calling Moses a humble man and how prejudice had caused his siblings to react with pride and spite and God’s judgment on the proud and unkind. Mason approved. Noah had laid down the precept of God’s opinion of prejudice and spite. Mason didn’t pray often, but he did now, asking God for kindness to be shown here to his little ones.

Everyone rose and sang the closing hymn, “Jesus, Lover of My Soul.” Then Gordy prayed and asked God to bless their week and the coming harvest.

Mason raised his head, feeling refreshed, yet still cautious. Now would come the questions and perhaps the rejection by many of those who had once welcomed him. Against his will his gaze sought Emma to his right. He remembered her kindness to his girls. Again she affected him. He stiffened his resolve to resist the pull to her and led the girls to the aisle.

Indeed, some people brushed past him, but not all. Levi, the blacksmith, and his wife, Posey, stopped. She shook Mason’s hand and then glanced downward. “And how are you, pretty little things?”

“We’re fine, ma’am,” Birdie chirped. “Thank you for askin’.”

At that moment, Emma walked by him.

“Good morning, Mr. Chandler,” she said in passing. “Good morning, Birdie and Charlotte.”

Mason returned the greeting, gripping his tight mask in place. He wished he didn’t react to her, wasn’t so aware of her.

Then she moved on, greeting others.

Mason turned to Levi’s wife again. His heart thumped dully. If Emma had been his wife, he wouldn’t feel so alone, so inept caring for his children. What might have been...

* * *

Ignoring the pull that wanted her to stay and talk to Mason, Emma moved out into the sunshine. As usual, people milled around in clusters in the school yard after Sunday worship, the social event of each week.

Conscious of her role as teacher, Emma moved from group to group, speaking to the parents of each of her students. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mason step out of the schoolhouse. She forced herself not to turn to watch him. But she noted that many others watched, almost gawking at him and his girls. Would someone say or do something rude, hurtful? Her lungs tightened as if she herself were bracing for a blow.

As she moved through the people, she sensed an unusual mood. People nodded to her but they said few words and looked somehow stiff. She experienced an unusual tension herself. She could not stop herself from straining to hear the few words Mr. Chandler spoke to others and his girls.

Still no one spoke of the source of the general tension—Birdie and Charlotte—until Emma approached the Stanley family. Mrs. Stanley, who unfortunately had been born with a wart on the side of her large nose, said loud enough to be overheard, “Seems like you had a near miss.” The woman shook her head, and Emma couldn’t stop herself from watching the wart wobble. “If you’d married Chandler this spring, you’d be stuck with his baggage.”

Emma pressed her lips together to keep from replying sharply. She was aware that Mason was keeping to the edge of the gathering with his children near him. Had he overheard this? Bad enough. Worse yet, the woman had said this with her school-age daughter, Dorcas, standing right beside her. Dorcas would be a classmate of the Chandler girls—if Emma had succeeded in persuading Mason to let them come to school.

Emma chose her words with care. “I admire Mr. Chandler for offering his half sister a home.” Her unruly ears strained again to hear his voice.

“Well, he’ll be saddled with her for the rest of his life. A deaf girl. No one will ever take her off his hands.”

Emma rarely had a violent reaction to anything. But she clenched her free hand down at her side. It itched to slap the woman’s face. “My sister and I came here together so that we wouldn’t be separated. Having family nearby is a comfort.”

The woman scowled at her.

The woman’s father-in-law spoke up, “Speaking of family, when will your father be coming back from Illinois?”

“We hope very soon,” Emma replied, grateful for his intervention. Her father, who unexpectedly had followed her and Judith to Pepin within a few months of their arrival, had traveled down to Illinois to visit their brother.

“Good. I miss our checker games.” The man grinned.

Still tracking Mr. Chandler’s progress skirting the gathering, Emma smiled with grim politeness, then excused herself. Her sister Judith welcomed her.

“A strong sermon,” Emma whispered into her sister’s ear.

Judith nodded, brushing her cheek against her sister’s. “Good of Noah,” she whispered in return.

Then, as the two sisters chatted about the upcoming sewing day and watched the children playing silent tag around the adults, Emma tried not to continue to track Mason Chandler. When she’d ventured here nearer him, he’d moved away as if fencing with her.

His two girls had not joined in the sedate Sunday game of tag in the churchyard. Charlotte sat on the swing and Birdie was gently pushing her. Birdie’s devotion to Charlotte inspired the most tender regard for her. Emma had no idea what prompted little Birdie to befriend Charlotte, but God would reward her selfless love.

Again, Emma tried to keep her gaze from wandering to Mason and again failed. She found ignoring a man who’d assumed responsibility for these two little girls difficult, nearly impossible. His broad shoulders evidently could carry burdens with dignity. She hoped that Noah’s support and that of Mason’s other friends would smooth the way toward acceptance. She reined in her sympathy so drawn to him. She could not give him false hope.

She could not do more than pray that this situation would resolve itself in a good way. She had come here to marry Mason Chandler, but marrying him would have been a mistake. And God had prevented that. With what remained of her heart, she still loved Jonathan, though he was just a memory.

* * *

In the morning, doubts and worry over sending the girls to school lingered. But Mason pressed the girls’ dresses and two fresh white pinafores to go over them. He brushed and braided their hair as best he knew how, though somehow the braids ended up slightly crooked. And the bows. He shook his head at the sad bows he’d tied.

However, Birdie was beaming with anticipation. Charlotte kept glancing back and forth between the two of them. Then she did something she rarely did. She patted his arm and signed to him. He caught part of it but turned to Birdie. “What did she say?”

“She says don’t worry. Miss Emma likes children.”

Moisture flickered in one of his eyes. Emma’s good heart drew him almost irresistibly. “She does. Shall we go?”

“Yes!” Birdie answered, and Charlotte sent him one of her rare smiles. Whatever happened at school—evidently his little sister wanted to go.

He set his hat on his head and shooed the girls ahead of him, and then he latched the door. He felt the same way he had reporting for duty in the army years ago. This must be faced. He breathed in the fresh air and listened to the crows cawing to each other from tree to tree.

Behind them the sun was slowly ascending from the east and a nip of fall touched the morning air. The three of them walked down the track toward town. He was glad his homestead was within walking distance of school.

When harvest came, he’d be busy in the fields. Just a few more weeks and the corn might be dry enough to pick. The worrying thought of his friend Asa’s crop being destroyed unfurled in his mind. Would his fields, and what was left of Asa’s, feed the two families with four children for the winter? He hoped so.

Almost to Asa’s clearing, Mason glimpsed the children Asa had taken in. He still hadn’t heard the story of how that had come about.

The children were coming toward them. Not away toward school.

“Morning!” Colton called out. “We were coming to walk your girls to school!” Lily still seemed hesitant, but she did look at his girls and sort of smiled.

Mason wondered at the children coming for his girls. Had Emma instigated this? He wouldn’t put it past her. But he didn’t want to question the children. And Birdie, along with Charlotte, was already running to meet the brother and sister.

Colton drifted over to walk beside Mason. “Mr. and Mrs. Brant said it was time we walked your girls to school,” Colton said in an undertone, supplying the answer to Mason’s unspoken question.

Mason paused and wondered if he should just let the children go on alone.

Then Charlotte broke away from Birdie and claimed his hand, pulling him to come along.

He obeyed.

Birdie and Lily talked on and off as if searching for common ground. Birdie kept her hands busy, including Charlotte in the conversation.

“How did you learn to talk with your fingers?” Lily asked Birdie, appearing fascinated.

“A lady come to the orphanage and taught me and Charlotte. It’s easy. See? This is hello.” Birdie demonstrated the simple motion.

Lily tried to mimic it.

“That’s pretty good for your first try,” Birdie approved.

Charlotte signed back at Lily, who tried to imitate it again.

In a low voice, Colton told Mason, “Don’t worry. I won’t let anybody pick on your girls.”

The words warmed Mason toward this solemn boy who had helped him when he was laid up. “Thank you.”

Colton merely nodded, looking determined.

In a way, this promise was reassuring and in another way, worrying. This young lad expected Mason’s girls to be targets of trouble. But the five of them were heading to school this morning, come what may. Miss Emma and the girls were determined about school.

* * *

Wondering if Mason Chandler would bring Birdie and Charlotte today, Emma pulled the school bell rope, sounding the signal, and then stepped to the doorway to greet her pupils as usual. And as usual, the children began to run toward her.

Then she glimpsed Mason. Her heart somersaulted. He stood tall and imposing with his jaw set. His hat sat forward, hiding much of his face from her. Whatever his feelings, he’d brought Birdie and Charlotte. Emma began praying silently for the girls and their acceptance here today.

The youngest to the oldest, the children had formed a line in front of the school door. The boys wore flannel shirts, suspenders and dark pants, and the girls wore white pinafores over dresses that ended a few inches above their ankles. “Good morning, students!”

“Good morning, Miss Jones!” the children replied nearly in unison.

Mason with his two girls stood at the rear. The fact that he was trying to hide his concern caused Emma to like him one little bit more. So many parents communicated fear and engendered it in their children, sometimes needlessly. She’d observed that happen this spring when a traveling doctor had come to town and held a clinic. His mission was to vaccinate as many children on the frontier as possible to prevent smallpox. The children whose parents feared the procedure had made the experience more difficult for their children.

Now some of the students were glancing over their shoulders at the trio at the end of the line. Emma ignored this, following her usual routine of greeting each child by name. Finally Mason, his hat in hand, stood before her.

“Mr. Chandler, so glad to see your girls ready to start school.” She motioned toward the classroom behind her. “Good morning, Birdie, Charlotte. Since this is your first year in school, please go and sit on the front bench beside Lily.”

“Yes, miss!” Birdie crowed and nearly skipped inside, holding Charlotte’s hand and drawing her along.

Mason stared into Emma’s eyes. She noted he was gripping his hat, nearly bending the brim.

“I’ll bid you good day.” Emma stepped back.

“I forgot to pack them lunches,” he said. “I didn’t think.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll see to their lunch today.”

The man mangled his hat a bit longer. Then he straightened it and put it back on his head. “Thank you, Miss Jones.” He strode away, his long legs stretching over the wild grass.

Though an unreasonable part of her wanted to detain him, Emma turned and prepared herself to face this new challenge. Her students were good children. Some had been orphaned just like Mason’s girls. Some had come from the South like the sheriff’s son, Jacque Merriday, and some from the East. Eight years after the devastating Civil War, the tensions in the South continued. It seemed like the war would never stop hurting them, all of them.

She walked briskly down the center aisle to stand at the front of the schoolroom. Today Birdie and Charlotte would become welcome members of her school or she would know the reason why.

At the front of the room, she turned and faced the class. “Children, please rise for the morning prayer.” Emma read a psalm of David and prayed for a good day of study at school. Then the children sat back down on their benches. Many were eyeing the new girls.

Emma took a deep breath, praying silently for wisdom. “As all of you can see, we have added two new students today, Birdie and Charlotte, who have been adopted by Mr. Chandler. I hope you will make them feel welcome.”

Johann Lang held up his hand. “Miss Jones, I spoke German when I first came here and had to learn English. How can we make the girl who can’t hear welcome if we don’t know how to talk to her?”

Birdie bounced up and, following Johann’s example, raised her hand. “I know how, Miss Jones.”

Emma had thought she would be the one leading this discussion, but perhaps it would be better if the ideas came from the children. “Yes, Birdie, what do you have to suggest?”

“On the way here, Lily—” Birdie gestured toward the little girl sitting farther down the same row “—learned how to say hello with her hands. I can teach the other children, too.”

“Thank you, Birdie. You may be seated.” Emma looked over her students. “I think that might be a very good idea.” How to phrase it? She smiled inwardly. A challenge? “How many of you think you are capable of learning to speak with your hands?”

Jacque, the sheriff’s son, raised his hand, as did many others, though some students looked hesitant.

“Jacque, you’d like to learn it?”

“Yes, miss, I think it would be fun and I like to know how to do things. Can she, the black girl, show us how to do that sign?”

“Birdie, will you come up and teach us how to say hello to Charlotte? I will sit in your place because I will be the student, too.”

This announcement caused a hubbub of murmurs from her students. But Emma passed Birdie, who was nearly skipping to where Emma had been standing.

Birdie beamed one of her contagious smiles. “I was already livin’ at the orphans’ home when Charlotte come to live there, too. She was very sad and scared because she couldn’t talk to anybody. I mean—wouldn’t you be if you had to go somewhere you didn’t know anybody and you couldn’t tell them nothin’ and couldn’t understand what they were sayin’ to you?”

Emma felt the interest of the students. And the aroused sympathy.

“To teach Charlotte ’merican Sign Language, Mrs. Hawkins, who runs the orphans’ home, hired a lady who come all the way from Chicago.”

A few students ohhhhed when they heard “Chicago.”

“I told Mrs. Hawkins I wanta learn to talk with my hands, too. I wanta to be Charlotte’s friend ’cause we all need a friend.”

Again Emma felt the empathy for Birdie and Charlotte swell all around her. Every child here had come from somewhere else and had gone through the painful process of making a friend. “Excellent, Birdie. Now teach us how to greet Charlotte. We want her to know she is among friends here. Isn’t that right, students?”

Different but heartfelt words and sounds of approval flowed around Emma.

“This is how you say hello in sign.” Birdie demonstrated the hand motion in total and then part by part. Emma along with her students mimicked the sign.

“Y’all did good!” Birdie crowed. “Now, Charlotte, your turn.” Birdie signed to the little girl sitting beside Emma.

Hesitantly Charlotte rose and faced the classroom. Shyly she signed, “Hello.”

And everyone, including Emma, signed it in return. The children were beaming at this new knowledge.

Emma rose. “Thank you, Birdie. I think tomorrow you will teach us to sign ‘How are you?’ I think that would be the next thing we would say to Charlotte, don’t you, class?”

Affirmative replies sounded around the room and soon Emma moved the children to their first lesson. Matters had gone much better than she’d expected. Her schoolroom hummed with productive energy. Birdie was not only a sweetheart, but she understood people and how to charm them. Or perhaps Birdie was just being Birdie.

Emma realized something else, too. All through the daily routine of lessons she tried to figure out how to help Charlotte even more. She kept coming up with one answer—no matter how many times she tried to find a different solution. She didn’t want the obvious answer to be true because it involved her being with Mason.

And she did not want to give him or anyone else in town the idea that she might be interested in him as a suitor. She could only hope that with time, people’s expectations for their becoming a couple would dim. The one thing she was thankful for was that Mason never tried to sway her to look upon him with favor. And then she wondered why that was so.

* * *

Emma waited till the end of the school week, and then she walked through town toward her sister’s place. She had a standing invitation to supper there and she looked forward to family time with Judith, Asa and the children. But first she passed her sister’s clearing and proceeded to Mason’s. “Hello, the house!” she called when his neat cabin came into view.

Birdie with Charlotte’s hand in hers ran around the house toward Emma. “Teacher! Teacher come to see us!” Birdie called out, her face bursting with joy.

Emma would have had to be solid granite not to respond. She caught the girls as they cannonaded into her. “Girls, girls. You just saw me at school.”

“But you came to our house again,” Birdie said.

For the first time, Charlotte took Emma’s hand in both of hers.

For this one moment, Charlotte’s lost expression vanished. Emma’s heart sang.

“Miss Jones.”

At Mason’s subdued greeting, Emma looked beyond the girls. Mason had come around the side of his cabin. He had rolled up his sleeves and his sinewy, tanned arms drew her unwilling attention. “To what do we owe this kind visit?”

Switching focus, she contemplated his tone—something about it definitely sounded restrained. No doubt he must also feel the awkwardness over the demise of their plans to marry in March. And here once more there were only the girls as chaperones.

He moved a bit forward. “How may we help you, miss?” he prompted.

She tried not to study the way he stood so easy within himself yet with sadness lurking in his direct gaze. “Has Birdie told you that she is teaching the other schoolchildren a new sign every day?”

“Yes, she told me. It’s not easy to learn.”

“No, it isn’t.” She gripped her intention tightly and announced, “That’s why I’ve come. I think as the teacher, I should know more sign language than just what Birdie teaches the class daily. I was hoping that Birdie could give me private lessons.” Preferably after school—without you nearby to distract me, she thought to herself.

Before Mason could reply, Birdie squealed, “Then you can come to our house to the lessons I give our pa every night!”

Emma’s heart sank. Exactly what she didn’t want.

“Birdie,” Mason said with obvious patience, “maybe Miss Jones can’t come every evening. She’s a busy lady. Why don’t you girls run back and finish your chores while Miss Jones and I talk about this?”

The girls looked up at her and then ran, hand in hand, toward the rear of the cabin. A red cardinal flew overhead. Birdie pointed it out to Charlotte.

Emma walked forward and met Mason, trying to shed her response to the kind way he treated his girls. This seemed to be her Achilles’ heel when it came to this man. She could resist his good looks but his character drew her.

“I’m sorry that Birdie put you in an awkward position, miss. She doesn’t understand gossip and such. Tongues will wag if people find out you and I are seeing each other regularly—even doing something this innocent.”

As he said the words, she felt herself stiffen inside. “I am not one to pay attention to gossips.”

“You are in the minority, then.” He sent her a rueful smile.

The smile hit her directly around the heart, chipping at the ice there. She resisted this. Learning sign language was the right thing to do. And she was not a weak-willed woman, vulnerable to any handsome man. “Mr. Chandler, when does Birdie usually give you your signing instruction?”

He eyed her. “Usually after supper, but if you’re game, why not begin now?”

He had thrown down his gauntlet and she picked it up. She would not be swayed by fear of gossip. “I have time now. I’m expected at my sister’s for supper.”

Mason studied her for a moment and then called over his shoulder, “Birdie! Come inside! Miss Jones wants her first lesson now!”

Emma followed him inside, wondering at how she had ended up doing the exact opposite of what she’d planned. She didn’t think Mason Chandler was manipulative. He’d merely stated the truth about how people might misinterpret this, and that had goaded her. Well, let the gossips enjoy themselves. She had nothing to explain.

However, the ice around her heart had cracked the tiniest bit and that frightened her. I can be with him but not let down my guard. Love is a risk I cannot test again. And then her mind chided, Mason Chandler has not given you the slightest hint that he wants you to reconsider his original proposal, has he? But the words he’d whispered after his fall might hint otherwise. Or not?


Chapter Four (#ubdc00e85-5f05-5cbd-a5c9-2ca880e6a0a0)

Another Saturday morning had come, marking half of September had already passed. Emma dressed in one of her plainer frocks, a faded blue cambric. She wanted to blend in with the ladies coming for their day of sewing and knitting while the men did what was necessary to prepare the school for the coming hard winter. She looked forward to today’s community gathering and could not understand why she felt as if she were carrying some heavy weight. Today would be a congenial day of chatting and doing something charitable and useful. Her mind tried to suggest why the weight hovered over her. She refused to listen.

Bustling about, she opened the schoolroom door. The warming wind wafted in the scent of pine. Then she set a coffee kettle sputtering and perking over the fire in her quarters, releasing its enticing fragrance. Yesterday before the children went home, she had directed them in moving the school benches into a large circle. Then they set up the long tables that would hold the food brought for the cold lunch all the workers would share. With a lift of satisfaction, she walked over the room, making sure everything was spit-shined and in place. Not a speck of dust.

She paused by her neatly organized desk that had been pushed back out of the way. There had been some talk of raising funds to purchase real school desks for the children, but that would be in the future. Emma then dragged out the chairs from her quarters for a few of the grandmothers who would have difficulty sitting on backless benches for hours. But all this busyness didn’t help her keep her mind off Mason Chandler. Of course he would come today. And what of it?

Foolish question. The man was a constant speck in her eye. The three sign language lessons this week had been times of testing. I should not feel this way. Going to his home and learning signs should not affect me. Truer words had never been spoken, but Mason had the power to stir her feelings and cause her to think thoughts she shouldn’t think about the breadth of his shoulders or his deep voice. She would just have to be stronger today. She could not care for a man again. Could not. Not would not.

She shoved away memories and marched around, pushing open the windows and letting more warm September breeze in. She caught a hint of cedar this time. Wagons began creaking into the school yard and families arriving on foot. Emma welcomed their cheery voices and distraction. Soon women crowded the schoolroom, all setting down sewing baskets and knitting bags. Outside the children began playing in the school yard, their happy squeals and shouts causing Emma to smile.

She would not be alone with Mason today. She could keep him at a distance. Though at this resolve a silent sigh eased through her. He hadn’t arrived yet, but she was already straining to hear Mason’s voice. Irritating but true.

Many mothers of her students paused to look at papers that had merited gold stars and which had been pinned to the back wall of the room. Then Sunny Whitmore, the preacher’s wife, entered with her friends, Nan and Ophelia. Everyone noticed but did not comment about the fact that Sunny had loosened her corset stays to their maximum and wore a loose jacket that sought to conceal her condition. The Whitmores were expecting their third child sometime this fall.

Then Charlotte and Birdie burst into the room, the soles of their shoes slapping on the wood floor. “We just wanted to say good morning, Miss Emma!” Birdie announced in her endearing way. Charlotte gifted Emma with one of her rare smiles. Then both girls signed, “Good morning. So glad to see you,” to her and she signed a similar greeting in return.

Everyone near her had paused to watch the exchange of sign language. Emma glanced over Birdie’s head and there was Mason standing squarely in the doorway, motioning for the girls to come out.

“Now, you girls go and play,” Emma said, nodding once toward Mason.

He returned her nod without a hint of a smile.

“Yes, Miss Emma,” Birdie said, and the two hurried out to join the children playing.

Emma turned away and caught many, many speculative glances shifting between her and the girls. She raised her chin and smiled as serenely as she could.

“We heard you were going to Mr. Chandler’s for special lessons,” Mrs. Stanley—the woman with the wobbly wart—said with thick innuendo.

Emma merely glanced at the woman she really tried to like—but couldn’t.

“Someone needs to teach those two little ones how to knit and such. Mr. Chandler can’t do that,” Mrs. Ashford said in a considering tone, and then she sent Emma a pointed glance.

Emma ignored it and was grateful when her sister, who had been unusually silent, said, “I’ve started teaching Lily. I’ll invite Mason’s girls over to join us.”

Emma smiled and moved next to her sister in the circle of women.

Lavina, the song leader each Sunday, said, “Ladies, let us start our workday with prayer.” Lavina prayed for the Lord to bless them as they toiled on the practical gifts and to ensure the items would be a blessing to those who received them.

After the “amen,” the ladies found places on the benches and began taking out yarn and needles or cloth and needle and thread. Several ladies had most of a quilt top done and sat close together, discussing the finer points of their quilt design.

Feeling the uprush of joy at being here with her sister, Emma sat beside Judith and began crocheting a scarf of red yarn. Judith was knitting a pair of matching mittens. Both of them were using pairs of their late mother’s wooden needles. Judith glanced at her and smiled. But something in Judith’s eyes looked worried. Was it just that she and Asa were facing a lean winter? Or something else? Emma regretted she and her sister had not had a moment alone to talk for days. It almost felt as if Judith were distancing herself from Emma. Surely not.

And above the ladies’ quiet chatter, still Emma could not stop herself from straining to hear Mason’s voice outside with the men. Near the open windows the men were talking about wood supply and about checking the chinking of the log building and the shake roof against the coming winter winds.

“How is Isaiah doing in the Northwoods?” Sunny asked Lavina as she knit a child’s navy-blue stocking.

“My son is courting a Chippewa woman there,” Lavina said, head down.

Silence greeted this.

“She is a strong believer and is well thought of,” Lavina continued, glancing up in a way that repelled dispute. “My husband and I may travel there to meet her as soon as the harvest is in and before snow flies.”

Emma drew in a breath. Many women were frowning, but evidently because of Noah’s recent sermon, none spoke of the prejudice against a mixed marriage.

“I’m sure she will be a help to Isaiah in his mission,” Emma said.

“Yes, but that’s not why he’s marrying her. He fell in love,” Lavina said with a sweet smile.

The way the woman said the words physically hurt Emma’s heart. Two young people in love. She bent over her knitting, hiding the tight “stitch” within her.

Then Mason’s voice floated through the window. The men were going to hoist someone up on the roof. Her fingers tightened in her yarn. Not Mason. Not Mason.

“No, not you, Mason,” Noah said with evident humor. “You’ve fallen off one roof this fall. That’s your limit.”

The men all laughed.

“I must agree,” Mason said without evident embarrassment.

“Can I go up on the roof?” The voice sounded young. Emma recognized it as belonging to Jacque Merriday, the sheriff’s son. “I know how to check the wooden shingles. My dad taught me.”

Rachel, his stepmother, looked up and shook her head. “That boy knows no fear, and he frightens me at times.”

“That’s the way boys are,” Mrs. Ashford said sagely, her knitting needles clicking.

The workday proceeded, and sitting beside her sister, more and more Judith’s near silence worried Emma. What was wrong?

At noon the men trooped inside. After the children had been helped through the line of generous sandwiches and cookies, the women waved the men to go first to fill their plates, saying that stacking wood gave a person more appetite than handwork. Emma gauged the distance she would maintain between her and Mason, glad for all the people in between.

However, her sister thwarted her by absently drawing Emma outside with her to sit by Asa, who of course had Mason at his side on a quilt under a blazing red maple. Enjoying the balmy fall day, everyone had settled either on the benches or on quilts outside. A vee of migrating geese honked overhead. What had Judith so preoccupied? Though wondering, Emma did not let her serene smile or her cool demeanor falter.

Mason appeared to be of the same mind as she. He was polite but did not try to catch Emma’s attention, instead giving it to Asa and, of course, his girls. Emma sat quietly, trying to come up with a way to ask Judith surreptitiously what was wrong.

Nearby the sheriff was discussing the newest project nearing completion in town, the new jail, which would be his office and headquarters.

Emma heard a familiar voice calling from up the road, “Hello! I’m here!”

Emma and Judith set down their plates, leaped to their feet and hurried toward the familiar voice. “Father! You’re home!”

Emma and Judith threw their arms around the slight, silver-haired man in welcome. Emma had been fearful that he might not return. She knew it was selfish of her to want to keep her father close, but she couldn’t help it. She stepped back and studied him. He did not look upset. He looked happy. So his visit with their brother and his wife must have gone well. A relief.





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