Love's Story (25 page)

Meredith saw Thatcher. She had secretly been watching for him all morning. Thatcher's sleeves were rolled up, and his lower arms bulged with muscles acquired from his weeks at the logging camp. He hoisted several pieces of lumber up over his shoulder. She watched him shoulder his load with seeming ease, every muscle a fluid motion. He dropped the load onto another stack of lumber and turned. Their eyes met, and Thatcher gave her a large smile.

He knew that whole time that I was watching him,
Meredith thought with shame. She gave him a small nod, then fussed at the table.
What an irritating man.
She rearranged and tidied things, trying to work with a semblance of normalcy.

She knew that every hardworking man eventually helped himself from the water and food at her table. Still, when Thatcher appeared it felt awkward, and her hand shook uncontrollably. She placed it behind her back. The Swedish woman dipped out his drink. She and Thatcher were acquainted from the camp.

“Saw you working over here,” Thatcher said to Meredith, his eyes suspiciously merry.

“I saw you working over there,” Meredith returned. “Trying not to miss a thing. It's all going to make a great story, what the loggers are doing for the town.” He dipped out his second glass of water himself. “It's not just the loggers, everyone pitches in, even pretty reporters.”

“Help yourself to some sandwiches and cookies,” The Swedish woman interrupted, then discreetly found something with which to occupy herself.

He studied her a moment. “Meredith, I'm dining at my friends, the Bloomfields. May I call on you afterwards?”

“I don't know. I…”

“Please, Meredith.” His eyes were dark, soulful, imploring her to yield. Finally, she nodded.

With a newfound boldness, he said, “I shall be able to get twice as much done, now, with such a reward awaiting me at the end of the day.”

When he had left, she said to herself,
And I shall get nothing done if I keep watching you.

“I think he has his eyes on you,” Meredith's Swedish friend said. Meredith spun around. She gave a weak wave. “Him?”

“Ya, him.”

Meredith just shrugged, relieved when a group of loggers approached their table. This time, she leaned forward to be the one to help.

T
he sterling silver brush made long, even strokes through Meredith's clean brown hair. She wanted to look her best for Thatcher. Regardless, if they were meant to be together or not, she wanted to make this evening special, one they could always remember. She would allow him to make his move, if he intended to make one.

There was such little time left until she returned to New York. She knew she loved him. It was true that she did not want to make the necessary sacrifices of becoming a logger's wife, but maybe it was not his intention to be a logger the rest of his life. She only hoped that he had some wonderful plan to sweep her off her feet.

Her fingers nimbly went to work arranging her hair in a long style, swept up from the face, but hanging loose in the back. She slipped into her gown and shoes and went to the window that overlooked Amelia's backyard. There was a light on in Jonah's studio.

Jonah had taken several photographs of Pride Day that would complement her story. It would be a good one, she knew. Even if she never stepped foot inside a camp that needed to hear about conservation or saw with her own eyes the devastation that she had read about, her stories would make a difference. It would be hard to leave this place. The people had grown dear to her.

Especially Thatcher. She had tried her hardest to keep him from slipping into her heart, but looking back, she believed he had done so that very first time she had laid eyes on him on the train from Chicago. She drew away from the window and started toward her bedroom door.

What lay in store for her hopeful heart tonight? Would Thatcher make the declarations she wanted to hear?

Meanwhile, Thatcher had just finished helping Beatrice with the dishes. His spirits were high. His friends had entertained him hospitably with simple fare, since everyone felt fatigued from the day's hard work.

Thatcher's mind was on Meredith. There was such little time to profess his love and win hers before she went back to the elegance of New York City.

He unrolled his shirtsleeves. “Beatrice, this has been a most enjoyable time. The meal was delicious.”

“You've already thanked me a dozen times, Thatcher,” she said.

“Don't spoil her. I have to live with her,” Herbert said.

“I have a confession to make,” Thatcher said.

“So that's it. Well, have a seat and tell all,” Beatrice said.

Thatcher seated himself and looked sheepishly from his hostess to his host, although he knew they would understand when he told them of his plans to call on Meredith.

“I…” He stopped. Someone had knocked at the door.

“Excuse me,” Herbert said.

Beatrice shrugged, and she and Thatcher both eyed the hall, waiting to find out who the caller was.

“William Boon! What a surprise. Do come in.”

Thatcher jerked. William was back? In moments, the two men entered the room. It was Thatcher's old friend from Chicago. They greeted each other all around.

“What timing! To find you here as well, Thatcher. For I haven't much time. In fact, I thought I might not see you at all. I'm moving on tomorrow.”

“What's the rush?” Thatcher asked.

“Father's ill.”

William's face looked worried, deeply lined. Thatcher thought he looked travel worn, not the city gentleman he had seen only weeks earlier.

“You know how long it takes for word to reach you when you're always on the move. I've no time to waste. And then there's the family business. Mother will need my help.”

“Any word of Colleen?” Thatcher asked.

“That's the worst of it.” Thatcher's friend looked broken, as if he might weep at any moment, but he continued in a weary voice. “I was so close. I found out that she is alone and pregnant with our child.”

“Are you sure you should turn back?”

“I don't know if I'm doing the right thing or not. But even if I found her, she might not return with me. Now that I know where she is, I'll hire someone to go after her. I feel I must return to Father first.”

Thatcher wanted to insist,
But she's with child, your child.
But it wouldn't do any good to argue with a decision already made. He would have to support his friend and pray for God to protect Colleen and their unborn child.

Beatrice served leftover cookies from Meredith's food table. “You must be starved,” she said to William.

Thatcher suddenly realized how much time had passed and that he was supposed to be calling upon Meredith. A sinking feeling pulled him. He knew it was too late to call now. The time had slipped away. His friend needed him. He tried to push the consequences of what this would do to his relationship with Meredith out of his mind as he politely took the offered cookies.

At the Cooper residence, Meredith waited patiently at first, chatting with Amelia. As time passed, however, and her friend's gaze became more sympathetic, Meredith paced the room.

Finally, she said, “He isn't coming. I suppose it's just as well.”

“I'm sure he has a good explanation.”

“I suppose he just forgot.”

“No, Mr. Talbot would never forget. Don't think the worst, my dear. Trust that something came up. You'll probably get the whole explanation tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Meredith could not remember a time she had ever gotten stood up by a gentleman, except her father, of course. She hadn't had that many callers because her father had wanted to keep her at home to care for the house. When she went to work at the magazine and found her own place to live, there had been some men interested in her, and they had never left her waiting in the lurch.

“I think I'll go to bed now. It's been an exhausting day.”

The next day, Meredith opened her eyes with dread. Church. Thatcher might be there. She didn't want to listen to his excuses or see his infuriating smirk. If she stayed at home, however, he would think she was pining over him. That wouldn't do. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of the security of her bed and began to dress.

The moment Meredith entered the church house, Thatcher and Beatrice Bloomfield bore down upon her.
So he brings a buffer.
Meredith's face twitched unnaturally as the pair drew closer.

“My dear Meredith,” Beatrice said, extending her hand, “I have come to plead for Thatcher.” Her other hand was set securely in the crook of his arm. “Last night an old friend dropped in just as he was preparing to call upon you. Thatcher was in the very act of making his apologies, of getting ready to leave. Our visitor from Chicago was only going to be in town that night, and he was so beset with personal problems. The time slipped away.”

Meredith felt amused. Thatcher was turning red. “I see,” she said.

Beatrice released her grip on Thatcher's arm and turned to him. “Forgive me, Thatcher, for interfering so,” she said then turned back to Meredith. “I only wanted to help. Please, hear him out. He speaks the truth. There was nothing we could do.”

Meredith watched Beatrice depart.

Thatcher started where Mrs. Bloomfield left off. “His arrival was so abrupt, so unexpected that by the time I could have sent you word, it was too late. I'm so sorry. I had truly looked forward to seeing you all day yesterday. You can't imagine how much it meant to me.”

He looked sincere.

“Where is your friend now?” Meredith gazed about the room for this invisible scapegoat.

“He had to leave early this morning. His father is ill, perhaps dying. He has many troubles. You do believe me, don't you?”

“Of course,” she said. To her irritation, her face twitched again.

He leaned close. “Beatrice felt so bad that she made us a picnic lunch. Please, say you'll share it with me.”

“I don't know. I'll have to think about it. I'm going to find a seat now.”

Meredith could feel Thatcher's pleading eyes burn her back as she walked away.

The sermon seemed long and, as always, convicting. As Meredith turned her eyes upon God and felt His grace and forgiveness anew, she realized that she must forgive Thatcher one more time and allow him the opportunity to speak his mind.

The service was barely over when Thatcher appeared at her side. “Will you come with me?”

“Yes. For if I don't, I know that I'll receive Mrs. Bloomfield's wrath.”

“I'll accept any reason you give me. I want to be with you.”

Meredith felt her walls tumbling down again as she allowed Thatcher to make the final arrangements and whisk her away in the banker's carriage. They stopped by the river.

“This place is wonderful. How did you find it?”

“The Bloomfields told me about it.”

“Seems they're matchmaking.”