Hearts Awakening (21 page)

With a quick glance around the room, she found a canvas bag lying in the corner where the boys had tossed it. Grabbing it by the drawstring, she peeked inside to make sure the boys had not put something other than blocks into the bag.

Intrigued by a bit of ribbon clinging to several of the blocks inside, she took the bag over to the dining table and carefully let the contents slide free.

The seven identical natural wood blocks that emerged were thinner than any of the others she had seen the boys use, and she knew immediately that these blocks were not part of the set the boys’ grandfather had made for them. They were a set unto themselves, a set once held together by the bits of tattered ribbon that still remained to make a toy she remembered from her childhood, although the blocks on hers had been painted different colors.

“This is a Jacob’s Ladder, or it used to be,” she whispered. She did not know if it had belonged to Daniel or Ethan, but it was quite clear that the toy, as well as the biblical story of how Jacob had had a vision of angels ascending and descending a ladder that reached all the way to heaven, had been abandoned.

Convinced the toy’s message was one that would help the boys, especially Ethan, she carefully lined up the blocks in a single row and straightened the ribbons that had held them together as best she could. Sadly, they were too old and tattered to repair, and there had been no one here to replace them.

“But I’m here now,” she whispered and grabbed hold of an idea that warmed her heart. She hurried back to the kitchen shelf where she had put the ribbons Ethan had pulled from his mother’s petticoats and prayed they would be long enough to remake the toy.

She laid the ribbons out on the table next to the blocks and studied them. Individually, the four pieces were each shorter than the row of blocks. But if she measured carefully and sewed well, she just might have enough ribbon to turn the blocks back into a Jacob’s Ladder again and start to mend a little boy’s broken heart, too.

An hour later, Ellie had to give up.

She was only halfway finished sewing the ribbons to the blocks, which meant she was still a good bit away from helping Ethan, but her hands just hurt too much to continue.

When she heard the back door bang open and heavy footsteps in the kitchen, she caught her breath. Jackson charged into the great room carrying Ethan, who was asleep. “I didn’t expect to see you so early.”

He glanced at the table where she had the blocks spread out and shook his head. “I didn’t expect to find you playing with blocks,” he replied and hurried past her.

Frowning, she slid the sewing basket in front of the blocks to hide them.

“More important, I didn’t expect Ethan to get stung by a couple of yellow jackets, which is why I brought him home. He fell asleep on the way, so I’m going to put him on the settee in the parlor so you can hear him if he wakes up.”

She leaped to her feet and followed them. “How did it happen?”

“I don’t know. I was up on the ladder, so I didn’t see it happen, but Daniel said they were putting apples into one of the drop baskets when Ethan got stung on his arm,” he said as he entered the parlor.

“Did Daniel get stung, too?”

When he laid Ethan on the settee, she handed him the lap quilt lying across the back. The sleeve on one of Ethan’s arms had been rolled up, and there was a wide swath of mud across one of his forearms.

“No, Daniel’s fine. This little man will be fine, too,” he said as he covered his son. “He’s just all worn out from crying, mostly.”

“Poor babe. Did you get the stinger out?”

“Both of them. Once I had a good mud pack on the welts, Ethan felt better, but he wouldn’t have been stung in the first place if he hadn’t been out in the orchard with me,” he stated.

“Ethan loves going with you and Daniel in the afternoons,” she said, hoping to ease the guilt that shadowed his features as they stood together watching Ethan sleep.

“That may be, but I obviously can’t watch him properly when I’m working. He’d be safer here with you.”

“But he’s happier with you,” she countered. “Maybe we can compromise.”

He raised a brow in question.

“After dinner each day, Ethan and I can go back to the orchard with you and Daniel so the boys can both be with you for a while. I’ll take something along, some sewing perhaps, so the boys won’t think I’m watching them every minute.”

“ ‘Sewing,’ ” he repeated as his lips formed a smile. “No blocks?”

“Definitely no blocks and probably not any mending, either. Not for a few days, anyway,” she said reluctantly and held up her hands. “You were right. I do think I need a stitch or two, and I’ve got a splinter that needs to work its way out, as well.”

He placed his hands under hers, studied them, and frowned. “Follow me,” he said.

She hurried after him. “I didn’t mean for you to . . . W-what are you doing?” she asked when he walked straight to the table where she had been working.

He pointed to the bench closest to his chair at the head of the table. “Sit.”

She braced to a halt.

“Please.”

Ellie walked over and sat down.

“We’ll take care of that splinter for you first,” he said and took a needle out of the pincushion where she had left it. He smiled. “Rest your hand on the table.”

Having someone remove a splinter for her with a needle was not that odd. Her father had removed splinters from her hands more than once when she was little, so she laid her hand, palm up, on the table in front of her without hesitation. “I tried getting it out myself, but it was too stubborn.”

When he grinned, she let out a sigh. “Poor choice of words,” she muttered, recalling his description of her last night.

“No, I’d say your choice of words was perfect.” Jackson had the splinter out almost before she realized it—but not before she noticed it felt rather nice to have his finger brush against her hand. “Now let’s see that cut on your finger,” he suggested as he sorted through the sewing basket.

She tried to unwrap the bandage, but the dried blood held it fast. “I’ll be right back,” she said and went to the kitchen. After pumping water on her finger for a moment or two, she was able to lift off the bandage and clean her finger, but the effort had started her finger bleeding again. She wrapped a clean cloth around it and returned to the great room to find him holding up two spools of thread.

“Gray or brown?”

“Whatever made you pick brown?” she asked nervously as she took her seat again. “I thought you found the color drab and ugly.”

“No, I said your brown gown was drab and ugly. Your eyes, on the other hand, are brown, and they’re neither drab nor ugly,” he said as he leaned very close to stare into her eyes. “They’re quite lovely, actually. I never noticed they even have flecks of gold in them, too.”

His words made her cheeks burn. The open admiration in his gaze, as if he unexpectedly realized she might not be quite as plain as she knew she was, made her heart race so fast she felt light-headed.

He pulled back and cocked his head to study her face for a moment, then quickly looked away to stare at the two spools of thread.

“U-use the gray,” she stammered, aware that this was the very first time anyone, other than her own parents, had found anything attractive about her at all. That Jackson might find her appealing, even momentarily, made her heart skip a beat.

He cleared his throat. “Gray it is.” He even managed to guide the thread through the eye of the needle, despite the fact that his hand trembled ever so slightly.

Surprised by how comfortable he was handling notions normally reserved for a woman’s skilled hands, she tensed up. Allowing him to stitch up her finger was an entirely different matter than having him remove a splinter, and when he asked her to put her other hand on the table, she tucked it on her lap. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

He tightened his jaw and stared at her, holding the needle and thread ready.

She swallowed hard and switched tactics. “Are you sure I need a stitch at all? Maybe we should wait a day or two more to see if the finger heals without one.”

He let out a sigh. “It’ll heal eventually, but in the meantime, you won’t have much use of that hand. Maybe you should have rested it up today instead of using it to slice up all those apples to make fritters.”

She shrugged. “I thought it was important to keep up tradition.”

“Which one? Making fritters or keeping your hands injured?” He smiled.

Ellie pulled her hand away. “I changed my mind. I think I’d rather let my finger heal on its own.”

He shrugged. “Fine, but it seems to me you have enough trouble using that cookstove with two hands, so how you’ll manage with one . . .”

She put her hand back on the table. “Have your way, then.”

“Try to hold still,” he cautioned, then placed his free hand under hers to cushion it. “This is going to sting.”

She did not know if the tingles that raced up her arm were from sheer nervousness or the fact that his hand felt so good beneath her own again, but she clenched her jaw and looked away to avoid watching him push the needle through her flesh.

“Tell me about those blocks you were playing with,” he said, apparently hoping to divert her thoughts away from what he was going to do to her finger.

Ellie was quite certain he had no idea how much his touch was affecting her ability to think clearly at all. “I wasn’t playing with them. I was trying to string them back together with the ribbons I laundered for Ethan,” she offered.

She scarcely had a chance to move the sewing basket with her free hand to show him when she felt the first prick of the needle. Swallowing hard, she pressed her lips together and blinked back a few tears before she continued.

“You said you didn’t want your son carrying the ribbons around, but I didn’t think you’d object to having him play with a toy made with ribbons. Especially a Jacob’s Ladder. Ouch! That hurts a lot,” she blurted, but Jackson held her fast and would not let her pull her hand away.

Ellie glared at him. “Are you quite certain you’ve done this before?”

“I’ve stitched myself up more times than I care to remember, but I’ve never actually tried stitching up anyone else before right now.”

She gasped. “You stitched your own cuts?”

“Orphan kids put out for bid by the town for a family to take them in don’t usually warrant much attention, other than to make sure they earn their keep,” he murmured and shuttered his gaze.

Too late.

She had already gotten a glimpse of the hurt he had endured as a child, still shining as deep in his spirit as the hurts he had suffered as an adult.

Twenty

For the fourth Sunday in a row, a thunderstorm with torrential rains and howling winds kept Jackson from crossing the river and venturing into town with his family to attend services.

By midafternoon, however, when he opened the front parlor door and stepped out onto the porch, he met bright sunshine, clear skies, and crisp air, heavy with the pungent smell of moist earth. Grinning, Jackson turned around to go back into the house and order everyone outside when his oldest son marched out of the house and looked up at him.

Daniel’s cheeks were flushed and damp with fresh tears. “Make Miss Ellie go home, Pappy. Please. Can’t you send her back? Today?”

His son’s words were spoken so plaintively, Jackson had to fight to keep from scooping him up into his arms to comfort him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing that Ellie now stood silently just inside the door, watching them.

Daniel sniffled. “Miss Ellie doesn’t like me and Ethan like Mama did.”

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Jackson bent down and wiped his son’s nose, as well as his cheeks. “What makes you say that?” he asked gently, remaining in a crouch to be at eye level with the boy.

“She won’t let me and Ethan play.”

Jackson waited for Daniel to explain.

“She won’t. Mama always let us play in the attic, but Miss Ellie said we can’t and made us come down, and then she said we can’t have any pie for dessert tonight for punishment and . . . and can’t you just send her back? Me and Ethan want you to send her back.”