Sister's Choice (10 page)

“Ah . . .” he mused.

She saw he was intelligent enough to put some of her intent together. “I suppose you are aware that Colby’s mother and Tamara’s mother are conspiring to match them with each other.”

“I guessed that at the party—and Mabel also enlightened me.” He shrugged and fidgeted a bit with his spectacles. “They make a fine couple.”

“So that is it? You came all the way from Boston to give up so easily?”

“Truly, Maggie, do you think I have half a chance against Colby Stoddard?”

“You are not an unsightly man.” She studied him a moment and knew she could say that sincerely. While his looks weren’t stunning, they were pleasant, enhanced by the strength of his character. Just in the short time they had been talking she could tell he was decent and upright.

“Maggie,” Mama called from inside the house, “dinner is almost ready. Make sure you invite Evan.” Her voice was unusually sweet.

Maggie looked over at Evan, who replied, “I don’t want to impose . . .”

“There’s always plenty,” Maggie assured him.

“I’d like that, then,” he said, his voice loud enough so Mama would hear.

“Very good, Evan. We are happy to have you.” Mama’s voice was uncharacteristically syrupy. She was probably just trying to be sure Florence Parker would hear later that she was an excellent hostess to her son.

“Mama,” Maggie called, “can I help with anything?” It wouldn’t hurt for Mrs. Parker to also know Mama had raised a proper daughter.

“Oh no. Grandma is here to help. You just entertain your guest.”

Hearing Mama’s voice made Maggie a bit self-conscious about her previous conversation with Evan. Mama wasn’t prone to eavesdropping, but still, she’d feel better not seated so close to the kitchen window.

“Evan,” she said, “I promised Bob I’d play ‘fetch’ with him. You want to join me?”

“Sounds like fun.”

Maggie remembered how he appeared to be having fun chasing the chickens. She got the feeling he wasn’t accustomed to having that kind of amusement.

Walking out to where Bob was now sprawled out in a patch of sunlight by the barn, Maggie asked, “You didn’t much like Boston, did you?”

“At first it was exciting,” he replied. “But that wore off quickly. While I had my studies to keep me occupied, I was fine, but after graduation I thought more and more about home and the farm. I’ll admit I was never much of a farmer. My parents had me away at prep schools in Portland, then college, so I never could learn much of farming. And, of course, my father is a lumberman not a farmer, but I thought of the life here in general. Perhaps I romanticized it.”

Maggie picked up a stick and called to the dog. “Fetch, Bob!” Bob was up in an instant, tail wagging as he raced after the stick. Maggie commented, “I think you surely did romanticize it. Farming is hard work. And constant work. Dad and Mama never seem to stop working.”

“At least they are in the wholesome outdoors. In the city the air is close and fetid. Regular working folk are holed up in dim, dirty factories all day.” He wrinkled his nose with his distaste. “And it is hardly much better being shut up in an office all day.”

“I don’t remember your being such a nature lover,” Maggie said.

Bob came up with the stick, and Maggie reached to take it, but he clamped his teeth down on it and pranced before Evan. When he grasped the stick, Bob released it. Evan gave it a toss.

“Bob likes you.” Maggie grinned.

“I’m not a bad sort,” Evan replied with a touch of wryness in his tone.

“I know that.” Maggie was completely sincere.

“And about being a nature lover,” Evan added, “that is a more recent manifestation. When I was living here, that is, when I was home from school, I spent most of my time studying and reading rather than being outdoors. That was because I had few friends. It was a bit of a vicious circle—the boys made fun of me because of my studying, and I studied to protect myself from their ridicule. For that reason, I was happy to leave for school in the East. I thought it would be different there.”

“Mama always says you can’t run away from your problems.”

Bob returned with his stick, and this time he made it clear he wanted Maggie to toss it. She complied.

“It was very brave of you to come back here after Tamara.”

“Foolish, I would say.”

“All is certainly not lost yet,” Maggie insisted.

“Tamara broke my heart once. I was a fool to come and give her the chance to do it all over again.” Evan fidgeted with his spectacles, a habit she noted he seemed to do whenever he was nervous or distressed.

“Did you propose to her in Boston?”

“I was ready to. I stupidly thought she returned my feelings.”

Bob returned again and was impatiently wagging the stick in front of Evan, but Evan looked at Maggie instead.

“For someone who took top honors in school, I am quite stupid. And yet . . . she seemed to enjoy my company. I should have known all was lost when she told me she thought of me as a big brother. Maggie, don’t ever tell a man that. Spit in his face first.” His bitterness was clearly evident.

“I’m surprised you don’t hate her.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt me.” Pausing, he took the stick and gave it another toss. “It was just God’s will. That’s all. As perhaps it is His will for Tamara and Colby to be together.”

“I believe in doing God’s will, too, Evan,” Maggie said. “But God doesn’t expect us to sit on our haunches doing nothing, does He? Last school term Georgie was doing poorly in arithmetic. He told Mama it must be God’s will that he made a D. Mama said it didn’t mean he was going to stop studying and trying to bring up that grade. She said he wasn’t going to use God’s will as an excuse to quit.”

“It is easier to quit and blame the results on God.”

Bob brought back the stick, but they had tired of the game. Evan gave the dog a pat on the head instead, then turned to Maggie. He took off his spectacles, and she saw a determination in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before.

“All right, Maggie, I’ll do it,” he said.

“Do what?”

“I expect you are leading up to our somehow joining forces in order to further our individual causes with Tamara and Colby.”

Much to her surprise he had perceived exactly what she was thinking.

“Perhaps you are wanting me to feign romantic interest in you in order to get Colby’s attention.”

“Hmm . . .” Maggie mused. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it wouldn’t work—”

“Naturally,” he quickly interjected, uncertainty once more returning to his gaze, “for who would believe I’d have a chance of winning a girl like you—”

“Evan, stop it!” Maggie exclaimed. “Stop belittling yourself like that. That sort of thing would definitely put off a girl.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t even realize it. I—” He gave a shrug to complete his meaning. “I don’t know why I do it. Maybe I am fishing for compliments.”

Sighing, Maggie went on, “I was going to say that it wouldn’t work because it wouldn’t help further your cause if Tamara thought you were interested in me. There are other means, however. For instance, I could befriend Tamara and build you up to her, and you could do the same with Colby.”

With a harsh laugh Evan said, “I doubt I could ever be friends with Colby. He was always my chief tormentor. Though he was younger, he still had the temerity to make fun of me.”

“He’s changed.” Maggie hardly realized how defensive her tone was.

“He must have, for you to be interested in him.”

“He isn’t a bad sort. Sometimes he doesn’t think before speaking is all.” Not wishing to keep to that vein, Maggie changed the subject. “Evan, you could help me by showing me how a real lady behaves.”

“Me?” He laughed. “What do I know of such things?”

“You’ve been around city ladies. You know more than I or most folks around here do. Ellie knows some, but I need every bit of help possible. A man’s perspective wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“And you’ll help me be more like Colby?”

“If that’s what you want.”

He was not quick to respond. She couldn’t understand his hesitancy. Didn’t every man want to be like Colby? Maybe he realized it might be impossible. Almost as impossible as it might be for her to become a housework-loving, expert-stitching, proper lady.

EIGHT

Ellie slipped into her bedroom, lit a lamp on a table by the window seat, and took up her sewing basket. The family was still downstairs. Their guests, Evan and Zack, had left a little while ago.

Zack had left earlier than usual. Ellie had been happy to see him but worried a bit because he looked somewhat peaked. She feared he was burning the candle at both ends. Though he boarded at the Donnellys’ and helped work the farm now that Tom was dead and Tommy in jail, for the most part he only slept there when he wasn’t working. When there wasn’t farm work to do, he filled in at the sawmill. He had Sundays off and the occasional Saturday. Any other spare moments he spent with Ellie, taking most suppers with the Newcombs and sitting on the porch visiting in the evenings.

This evening he looked especially haggard. Last night he had spent several hours sitting with Elisha Cook’s ailing mother. Ellie knew that many of the folks he had served as a pretend minister still valued his—well, she supposed it had to be called “ministrations.” There was a contingent, growing more each day the denomination failed to send a replacement, that continued to think of him as their minister. Zack insisted he was only visiting as a friend and neighbor, no more. But when he and Ellie talked about it in private, he admitted to enjoying that role. Mrs. Cook had actually told him he should be a real minister now that his faith was real. Ellie had heard others express this idea, as well. Even her father supported the idea.

Ellie tried to remain neutral on the subject except to let him know he must do this for God, not to please her or anyone else. He was aware that she had once dreamed of being a minister’s wife but now only dreamed of being
his
wife. She believed he truly understood this, yet worried that his desire to please her might color his ultimate decision.

Thus, with all the work, courting her, and fretting about his future, Zack was wearing himself out.

Ellie picked up her current project from her basket. It wasn’t the hexagons she often worked on when she was feeling melancholy. The new project was a quilt for Maggie. Ellie had often thought she had plenty of time to make a wedding quilt for her sister, but lately she was feeling time might be shorter than she imagined. Why, it was very possible that she would “tie the knot” before Ellie and Zack. Maggie had set her sights on Colby and seemed serious about it, so things could happen very quickly. It would be sad if Maggie had no finished quilt tops in her hope chest for a quilting bee.

Ellie turned the half-completed quilt block over in her hand. Grandma had let Ellie raid her box of scraps, and so had Mama. She was using muslin in the background and for the main part a different color fabric in each block. The pattern she had selected was a design called Sister’s Choice. It was a nine-patch surrounded by triangles that made it look like a star. She thought it was perfect for Maggie, not only because she was coming close to making a choice for a husband, but also because, knowing Maggie, her choice might surprise them all.

Ellie was happy and excited for Maggie, and when she imagined that she and her sister might marry and enter this new phase of their lives together, it simply thrilled her. Despite the fact that they were so different, they had always been close, and the prospect of sharing the adventure of marriage and having babies together was wonderful to look forward to.

Ellie prayed nothing would upset this dream. It wasn’t Maggie who worried her as much as herself. Ellie’s mind rehashed the reason Zack had left early that evening. It hadn’t been entirely because he was tired. She had mentioned that he didn’t need to spend so much time at her house. She enjoyed his company but not at the cost of his health. He’d taken it all wrong.

“All right, I’ll go if you are bored with me,” he had replied with a hurt tone.

“That’s not what I said, Zack. You just look so tired—”

“Why don’t you let me decide when I am tired?”

“I don’t know why you are getting so touchy.”

“Oh? Perhaps it is because you as much as told me to leave,” he had snapped. “That really does make a fellow feel good.”

She couldn’t help her devastated expression.

Then he’d been sorry and tried to apologize. “I’m sorry, Ellie! Maybe I am tired, too tired to think straight. And maybe it’s true what everyone says—I mean how can a girl like you continue to have patience with a man who has a dark future and few prospects?”

“What?” she’d gasped. “Who is
everyone
? Oh, never mind. I can’t believe you’d think such a thing.”

“Well, it’s true I have nothing to offer you, and you are so much better than me—”

“Stop speaking such hogwash!” she’d cut in sharply, scolding him as Mama might scold her children.

“Maybe it is the first time I am being sensible,” he said, his tone more even. “The one thing I would truly like to do is become a minister, but what kind of life is that for you? You have dreamed about it but not in a practical way, not considering the life of near poverty, the days and weeks you would be alone while I rode a circuit. Think of it, Ellie! What kind of life is that?”

“It’s the perfect life if that’s what God wants for us,” she replied. Maybe her response was idealistic, but how could it not be the truth?

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I don’t know. Maybe it is just fatigue. My mind is just . . .” He let his words trail away, unable to find the words to complete his thought.

Gently, she said, “Go home, Zack. Sleep is probably all you need.”

“And the one thing I can’t seem to find.”

Now she understood, and her heart ached for him. “Zack, know this—I fall asleep every night praying for you.”

“That is what I truly need,” he said. “Thank you. I suppose I will go home.”

She walked him to his horse, and he gave her a hug, but she felt a distracted aspect to the embrace, as if his fears were still grasping him.