Beyond All Measure (37 page)

“We’ve been over all that. This is Mr. Caldwell’s house. Now that Miss Lillian has died, I’m not needed here.”

“We still goin’ to have readin’ lessons and our stories?”

“Of course we are.” Ada finished pinning the pleats on the crown of the hat she was making. “Now that I’ll be living in town, perhaps I’ll see you more often.”

“I guess it’s all right then. When are you movin’ out?”

“Not for another week. The hotel is full until then.” Ada set down her pincushion and smoothed Sophie’s hair. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Sophie’s smile, swift and incandescent as lightning in a jar, went straight to Ada’s heart. “I’m finished with this pattern. Can . . .
may
I go play?”

“For a little while. We’ll have to get you back to Mrs. Lowell’s soon.”

Ada watched Sophie scamper through the garden. Despite the delight she took in the little girl, she felt a loss like death. Wyatt was very much alive, but no longer a part of her life.

At last week’s quilting circle, Mariah had confirmed what the banker had told her. The sale of the mill and the land in Two Creeks was complete. Wyatt was moving on, heading to Texas to pursue his dreams without her. And though she’d urged him to do it, the news had filled her with such despair that she’d barely slept since.

She poured a cup of tea and watched Sophie climb the magnolia tree. How long would her money last before she’d need another position? Could she ever be content, living in other people’s houses, looking after strangers? Despite Mr. Gilman’s refusal to lend her any money, the idea of having her own business hadn’t lost its appeal. But establishing her independence was proving much harder than she’d imagined.

The struggle had left her with a new appreciation of the challenges her father must have endured. Faced with a mountain of bills and shrinking profits, he’d been driven to ever more risky schemes. And he’d done it at least in part to spare her. The knowledge didn’t take away the pain of her loss, but she was grateful to Edward for finally telling the truth.

“Miss Ada!” Sophie dropped from the tree and rushed inside. “Comp’ny’s coming!”

Ada stepped onto the porch just as Sage Whiting drove into the yard.

“It’s Robbie’s daddy!” Sophie yelled.

“Yes, I can see that. Hello, Sage.”

“Ada.” He crossed the yard and stood on the porch as if uncertain of his next move.

“Come in,” she said. “I’ve just made tea.”

“I can’t stay. I have to get back to the mill.” He handed her a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “Wyatt asked me to deliver this.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Her fingers fumbled with the string, but the knot held it fast.

“I can open it!” Sophie grabbed for the package. “Let me!”

“No, Sophie. I—”

But the little girl slipped the knot off the package and folded back the brown paper. “It’s a book! Named
Va-ni-ty Fair
.” She traced the title with her fingers. ‘A novel without a hero’—what does that mean?”

Ada burst into tears.

“What happened?” Bewildered, Sophie looked up at Sage.

He bent to the child. “Maybe you could play outside for a little while, let me talk to Miss Ada.”

“But she’s bawling her eyes out!”

“She’ll be fine. I promise.” He took an apple from his pocket and gestured toward his horse. “I was saving this for later, but maybe you could feed it to ol’ Lightning. He’s hungry after coming all the way out here.”

“All right.” Sophie grinned and ran out to the rig. Sage and Ada went inside.

Ada motioned him to a chair in the parlor and perched on the settee. “I didn’t intend to make such a scene. This book reminded me of happier times.” She opened it, caressing the pages, and a fat white envelope fell out. She handed it to Sage. “Wyatt must have forgotten this. Will you return it?”

“It’s for you, Ada.” He shook his head. “You’ve put that man through the wringer, and still he moons around like a lovesick puppy.”

Ada broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the contents. A single sheet of writing paper lay atop a thick stack of papers.

Ada,

Please accept this as a token of love and kind remembrance from your affectionate friend.

Always, Wyatt

“It’s some kind of legal document.” She scanned it, not quite believing her eyes. “It’s the deed to this house.” She looked up. “I don’t understand.”

“He let his house go with the sale of the mill, but he wanted you to have a place to call home.”

Her tears started again. “I don’t deserve it! I thought I was doing the right thing, but lately I’ve wondered whether I made the wrong choice.”

Sage ran his hand through his sand-colored hair. “May I tell you something? From the day you got here, Mariah and I prayed that you and Wyatt would find each other, that you’d be open to God’s dreams for you.”

Ada wiped her eyes. She’d never before considered that God might have his own ideas about where she should end up—and with whom.

“God makes plans for each of us,” Sage went on. “Better plans than we can ever make on our own. But you have to trust him. And other people. And yourself. Otherwise, you end up without the joy you’re meant to have.” He smiled gently. “Have a little faith, Ada. Take a chance on happiness.”

The world shifted. Ada sat frozen, hardly daring to breathe as the possibilities washed over her.

All her life, she’d viewed each thing that happened as a separate event, unconnected to anything else. Now she saw that everything that had gone before, even those events that brought more questions than answers, had been leading her to this moment. When she most doubted, God had been there all along—preparing her, guiding her. But she’d let fear and mistrust rob her of the very thing she most wanted.

Could she take that step of faith? Claim her chance at happiness?

“You’re saying I should go to Texas with Wyatt.”

He nodded. “If you love him.”

“Of
course
I love him—beyond all measure! But now it’s too late. He hasn’t spoken to me since the day I refused his proposal.” She jumped up and began to pace. “Perhaps I should write him a note. No! I should go in person. Even if he no longer wants me, I should at least thank him for his generous gift. But what if—”

“Ada.” Sage put out a hand to stop her pacing. “Enough. It’s time to stop thinking and start doing. His train leaves in an hour.”

“He’s leaving today? Without saying good-bye?”

Sage nodded. “Here’s a man who stared death in the face and never flinched. But I don’t think he could have stood to look at you, knowing it was for the last time.”

Fresh tears spilled down her face. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over. “There’s still time, if we hurry.”

She ran her fingers over the heavy envelope, her thoughts racing. Suppose Wyatt wanted nothing more to do with her. Suppose his hurt went too deep. What if she’d lost him to hesitation, and true happiness had slipped away while she weighed out her choices?

“Ada?”

Sage was right. The time for deliberation was long past. Ada grabbed her spring hat, a new straw toque trimmed with brightpink streamers. Sage called to Sophie, and they crowded into his rig.

“Where are we going?” Sophie, smelling of apples and sunshine, squeezed in next to Ada. “How come you’re still crying?”

“I’ll explain later.” Ada kissed the top of Sophie’s head.

“Get up, Lightning!” Sage rattled the reins, and the rig flew along the dusty road, past the road to Two Creeks and the lumberyard, and the church. They clattered into Hickory Ridge just as the train whistle screamed.

Sage drew up at the station. Passengers crowded the platform, seeing to their baggage and buying last-minute food and magazines from the peddlers. The engine huffed and hissed. Another whistle blew, and people hurried to board.

Ada tumbled from the rig, her heart near to bursting. Would Wyatt forgive her for her lack of faith in him, in God?
Give me another chance
, she prayed.
Give me a chance to get it right
. Her gaze darted along the platform, to the train cars and back. Perhaps she was too late, and he was already seated in the passenger car, a book open on his lap.

Then she saw him striding down the platform, a single bag in his hand, his duster draped over one arm. His new Stetson was pulled low over his eyes.

Her heart lurched. Watching him heading for the train, she felt as if her entire life had been compressed, as if everything had come down to this one moment.

“Wyatt!” She ran to meet him. “Wyatt! Please wait!”

A sudden gust of wind dislodged her hat and sent it tumbling down the platform. The long pink ribbons lifted, dancing wildly in the warm wind.

The movement caught his eye. He saw her then, and he stopped dead still, an incredulous smile spreading over his face. She waited, not daring to breathe, until Wyatt dropped everything and ran toward her, arms outstretched. The wind caught his hat too and sent it rolling along the platform until it came to rest beside hers.

He lifted her into his arms and spun her around. She laughed out loud, her face tipped to the bright summer sky. Wyatt set her on her feet and kissed her thoroughly, oblivious to the handful of passengers still milling about the platform. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back for all she was worth, pouring into it all of her love and gratitude and hope.

He smiled down at her. “You’re really here!”

“Yes.”

“No more doubts?”

“None.” She hooked her arm through his and smiled up at him through a blur of happy tears. “Buy me a ticket?”

“Just like that?”

“Mariah will send my things.” She grinned, imagining her friend’s shock at such impulsiveness. But she didn’t want to wait another second to start her future with Wyatt.

“It’s fine with me, darlin’, but our friends would never forgive us if we deprived them of a wedding . . . and the chance to say ‘I told you so.’ ”

She heaved a mock sigh. “I suppose you’re right. There’s no hope for it, then. I reckon we’ll have to hold a wedding.”

He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist. “You’re ready to be a rancher’s wife?”

“Just try to stop me.”

He grinned. “No thank you. I’ve seen what happens when you make up your mind to do something.”

He kissed her again, and the whistle blew. The train huffed and clattered slowly down the track, picking up speed as it steamed out of Hickory Ridge.

EPILOGUE

S
PECIAL TO THE
Hickory Ridge Gazette
, S
EPTEMBER
1873
Life on a Texas Ranch
by Sophie Robillard

At first it was too hot here in Texas. I didn’t like it, but Mr. Wyatt said I’d get used to it, and mostly I have. We have a ranch named the Rocking C, after Mr. Caldwell. Our house has a wide porch, a kitchen with real running water, and a bathroom with a tub for taking baths. The trees are skinny and full of thorns. There is a windmill that creaks in the night and rattlesnakes that hide under the rocks. Behind the house is a creek. Mr. Wyatt and his daddy, Mr. Jake, take me fishing there from time to time, but so far the only thing we’ve caught is a cold.

It’s a long way to my school, but I ride my own horse, which I have named Hickory. I guess you know why. I like the teacher, and here is the best part: she likes me back! Miss Ada says when I am older I will have to go away to finish my education, but I try not to think about that. Once you get a real home, you don’t want to leave it for anything.

Mr. Wyatt spends a lot of time out riding with his cows and comes in at night smelling like dirt and cow pies, but Miss Ada just laughs and fixes him a bath, and after that we sit down to supper. We mostly have steak, but I try not to think about where that meat comes from. The first time I ate one of our cows I cried, which is why Miss Ada won’t let me give them names. Not that I could think up two thousand names, which is how many longhorns there are, but she says if you give something a name you start to care about it. I know that’s true, because she’s the one who gave me my name, which is Robillard, and she cares about me greatly.

The first thing Mr. Wyatt did after we moved in was to build Miss Ada a studio for her hatmaking. It’s a separate building next to the main house. It has a bunch of windows and shelves for all her ribbons and hat blocks and such and a special cabinet for drying felt hats. Ever since we moved from Hickory Ridge, we’ve been getting hat orders from just about everywhere—Alabama and Missouri and Colorado, places like that. We take them in to Fort Worth and ship them out and then pick up new orders from the post office.

Next spring it’ll be mostly just me going into town, because by then the new baby will be here and Miss Ada, who is really Mrs. Caldwell, will be too busy. Mrs. Sage Whiting is coming down here then to see us, and maybe Robbie will come too. Miss Ada misses her friends. You could tell from the way they all cried at Miss Ada’s wedding that day in Hickory Ridge what good friends they are. I think she and Mr. Wyatt miss Hickory Ridge. They talk about going back for a visit when the baby gets older. Maybe I will come too.

I have a good friend here. Her daddy works for Mr. Wyatt. Her name is Beth, and she lives in town. Sometimes I spend the afternoon at her house playing with her dolls and making music on the piano. Her mother gives us tea and cakes. It’s a fine time, but I am always glad to see Mr. Wyatt’s rig turning into the lane to take me home.

Until next time,
Sophie

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m grateful to so many who helped bring this book into being.

A heartfelt thank-you to Leanna Ellis, my dearest friend of twenty years, who kept insisting that I write this book. I’m glad you didn’t give up.

Thanks as well to Natasha Kern, my brilliant agent, for invaluable insights into the story and into the business end of publishing.

I’m grateful to the fabulous fiction team at Thomas Nelson. Allen Arnold, what an amazing gentleman you are. Ami McConnell, thank you for seeing the potential in this series. Natalie Hanneman, your editorial insights made this a much stronger book. Thank you. Eric Mullett, thank you for encouraging me to dream big and for your unbridled enthusiasm for all things Hickory Ridge. And Katie Bond, publicist extraordinaire, plus the entire Thomas Nelson sales team—all of you make publishing at Nelson a joy. Thank you. Anne Christian Buchanan, for your meticulous research and wise insights. Kudzu didn’t get to Tennessee till 1900? Who knew?