Love's Story (24 page)

“He'll be fine. He's dressed appropriately. Anyway, it makes him feel chivalrous to do this for us,” Meredith said.

“You think so?”

“I know Jonah. I'm sure of it.”

With that, Amelia seemed appeased.

At the small church, they scurried inside, allowing Jonah to take care of the horses and carriage. Spirits weren't gloomy in spite of the weather; folks smiled and greeted each other as normal. When Meredith pulled her hooded cape back away from her face, she saw something that gave her a start. Across the entryway stood a dripping but handsome Thatcher Talbot.

Thatcher saw Meredith enter. Her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes almost took his breath away. Now he knew he had been a fool to come. He should have waited until she had gone back to New York. God would have understood. When her hands faltered and her gaze rested upon him, he looked away and engaged the nearest person in a conversation about the weather.

Meredith's cheeks burned at Thatcher's snub. She tried to look away, to enter into the conversation of the nearby circle of women. Her smile was weak, and her hands felt icy. She couldn't tell how much time passed until they all shuffled into the sanctuary, and she tried to ignore Thatcher, but nevertheless, she noticed him sitting a few pews back on the opposite side.

Good. Out of sight. Now if I can only keep the back of my neck from turning red.

The sermon was on forgiveness and was most compelling. Meredith lost herself in the Word of God. The preacher explained no sin was too large to forgive. She would have to think about that. He explained that a person is saved by grace and since one sin is as bad as another, all can be forgiven by God and should be forgiven by man.

All too soon for Meredith, the service ended. Just as she knew they would, her rebellious eyes sought out Thatcher Talbot. It almost looked as though he were purposely waiting for her. Or was he waiting for the rain to slow? Her heart gave a foolish flutter, and before she could do a thing about it, her legs propelled her forward, down the center aisle.

Please someone stop me. Oh, where is Beatrice Bloomfield when I need her?

“Hello, Meredith.”

If he was so bold as to use her first name after what had passed between them, then she would be just as brave.

“Hello, Thatcher.”

He looked toward the window. “Quite the cloudburst.”

Thatcher looked so forlorn, so vulnerable. Meredith heard herself say, “Given the preacher's sermon on forgiveness, I feel the fool standing here talking to you.”

He looked at his boots then up again. “Meredith…”

“I'm sorry for getting so angry,” she said.

“Me, too.”

There was a lengthy silence, and then she said, “Something's been plaguing me since our last meeting.”

He arched his brows, leaned forward, and whispered, “Knowing us and our past experiences, I'm not sure this is a safe place to start another serious discussion.”

Her hand shot out and touched his arm briefly, and he quieted.

“Ask,” he said.

Her hand slipped back down to her side. She leaned close and whispered, “How did you know my name?”

“That bothered you, did it?”

She gave him an earnest nod. “It hurt, but I deserved it.”

“The day your horse appeared in camp without you, Jonah came riding up to the group of men gathered there. The bull asked him if he knew where you were. Jonah said, ‘You mean Storm?' No one else caught it, but I'd always wondered what that middle initial stood for. The instant he said it, I knew.”

“I should have known. He calls me that all the time. It's what I go by back home. But I told him I didn't want people here to know. You might as well stamp volatile across my face in big red letters.”

Thatcher laughed. It grew quiet between them again for a while, and then he turned pensive. “I had to think of my father during the preacher's sermon.”

“Me, too.” She waited and when he didn't say anything more, she added, “When Charles was here,” she gave him a tentative glance, “he told me that my father is sorry for our argument. He actually sent Charles to see how I fared.” She shook her head. “It's almost more than I can hope that things might improve with Father.”

He touched her arm. “Why, that's wonderful news. You must believe.”

“I've been praying about it.”

“Then it must be God at work.”

“What about you? Will you ever return to your father to try and make amends?”

“You don't know my father. But I have thought about it. I know I will someday. I just want the time to be right.”

“You're praying about it then?”

“Yes, I am.”

Amelia interrupted them. “Jonah has our carriage. Are you ready, Meredith?”

“Yes. I'll be right there.”

Meredith turned back to Thatcher. “I'm glad we had this talk.”

“I wish I could see you home. But all I have is a horse.”

“I'm leaving for New York very soon. It's probably just as well.”

Thatcher watched her walk away, then hurry through the rain and climb into Mrs. Cooper's carriage. He watched it slosh away, disappointed Meredith hadn't invited him over for the afternoon.

T
hatcher ate his lunch at a table in the hotel's dining room and gazed out the window. The street was deserted except for an occasional carriage or intrepid horseback rider. He didn't relish riding back to camp in the rain; the ride from the church to the hotel had been bad enough.

“We have berry pie for dessert.”

Thatcher looked away from the steamy window just long enough to answer the waitress.

“Pie sounds good.”

The pie was just an excuse to put off the inevitable decision. Would he go see Meredith? At the church, she had said it was better if they didn't pursue their relationship.
But,
he wondered,
did she really mean it?

The waitress returned with his pie just as an unexpected patch of sun broke through the sky, and by the time he had eaten the last bite, the rain had ceased entirely. He paid for his meal and strode outside.

The air was rain scented with musty forest and wet soil odors. The eastern sky shone hopefully bright; he could probably make it to camp. To the west, the Cooper house lay beyond his vision, the sky dark and threatening.

He would return to camp.

The whole next week, Meredith wavered between wishing she had invited Thatcher over on Sunday to feeling confident that she had been right to discourage him.

Regardless, she kept busy. She sent Jonah to the logging camp with the conservation suggestions she had promised the bull and hand-delivered the same information to the mill. Her correspondence research was going well, her work at the newspaper, time consuming. The most interesting business at hand was also the talk of the town, Pride Day.

Finally, Saturday, the long-awaited and highly praised Pride Day arrived. The mill prepared and donated wagonloads of special materials for repairs. The mill owner drafted a blueprint of the areas needing repair and posted it on a sign in front of the general store on Main Street.

Main Street, the hub of activity, was one of the major areas that needed work. Jonah set up a tripod for his camera on the far side of the street. The mahogany camera was shined to a high gloss, and its brass hardware twinkled in the sunlight.

Meredith positioned her station of refreshments nearby. She kept the water barrel full and food tables of sandwiches and cookies ready for the working men. Meredith purposely wore a large-pocketed apron to stash writing supplies so she could jot down notes throughout the day.

Men ripped up damaged sidewalk boards with wicked-looking crowbars and threw them into the streets, where others picked them up and tossed them onto a wagon. When the wagon was full, it was taken to the mill. Nails would later be removed so the scraps could be given out as free firewood. The rest would go in the big stoves at the mill.

Meredith marveled and wrote notes about the small amount of waste. Pride Day would make a fitting conclusion to Meredith's articles, using Buckman's Pride and Bucker's Stand to demonstrate good conservation methods to the entire West Coast.

“Doing two jobs at once, I see.”

“Good morning, Beatrice. One keeps my mind busy and the other my hands.”

“There's plenty today for both. I love this day and the way the town pulls together.” The banker's wife wore an old dark skirt and white blouse. She balanced several pans of freshly baked cookies.

“Are you here to help serve?”

“Oh, no. I'm washing windows.”

“You don't say? Well that's a noble thing to do.”

“All I know, I've done it every year since I've lived here, and every year I'm so weary by the end of the day that I vow I'll never do it again. But, here I am.”

Meredith giggled. “Amelia Cooper says that every year she gets a kink in her neck from knocking cobwebs out of the rafters. I feel guilty doing such an easy job.”

“Toting those water buckets isn't easy. Wait till the end of the day. That's when you can tell how hard you've worked.”

Meredith thought about the saddle blisters and other hardships she had endured on this assignment. She doubted if anyone understood how hard she worked. The satisfaction that came with a job well done was pay enough. She bade Beatrice good-bye and turned her attention to the various other activities taking place around her.

“Hello,” a shy voice said.

Meredith looked up. It was the Swedish woman from the lumber camp. “Well, hello.”

“It's all so exciting, isn't it? Can you use some help?”

“Yes, it is exciting, and I would love some help.”

The young blond moved behind the table. Then the two women fell into a companionable time of conversing and working together.