To Love and Cherish (15 page)

The short hike to the O'Sullivan cabin further muddied the lower quarter of Melinda's skirt. Her knuckles would turn raw trying to scrub the muck from this dress. As for her shoes, who could say how long it would take for them to dry. And once the leather dried, it would likely become brittle and pinch her feet. Her legs ached from the constant pull of the thick mud as it tried to take her shoes captive with each forward step.
Not much farther. Not much farther.
She chanted the words to herself until she finally spotted Emma scrubbing the front porch. A smile tugged at her lips.

“Emma!” Had the mud permitted, she would have raced to the porch and embraced the woman in a tight hug. Instead, she continued to trudge on at a snail's pace.

Cupping one hand to shade her eyes, Emma stepped to the porch rail and bent forward. “Am I seeing things or is that you, Melinda?” Emma edged to one side and strained against the railing. “It is you! I can hardly believe my eyes. Where did you come from, lass?” She walked down the stairs and met Melinda at the bottom step.

Melinda extended her arms and accepted the older woman's embrace. “I'm alone. I came over on a launch from Savannah. My trunks and suitcases are on the dock.” She leaned back a few inches and met the woman's clear, blue-eyed gaze. “I'm planning to stay.”

“Stay? Here? Now?” She stepped back and nearly toppled on the stairs as her ankle struck against the wooden edge. Concern replaced the sparkle in her eyes. “Ya must be jokin' with me. Have ya not looked around on yer way here?”

“I did, but it's concern over Evan that brought me back, Emma. When I heard about the damage, I couldn't remain in Cleveland. Can you tell me how he is?”

“We're all fine—especially Evan. 'Course, he's younger than us. We've been workin' hard to get things back in shape. Harland finally was able to hire a few men that 'ave come over to help get things back in order before the season. 'Course we'll be needin' more.”

Learning Evan wasn't the man who had died had eased Melinda's concerns while in Biscayne, but it hadn't totally erased them. Hearing Emma's assurance lifted a weight from her shoulders that she'd carried ever since hearing of the hurricane. She felt pounds lighter, if such a thing were possible. Unable to contain her joy, she pecked Emma on the cheek. “I would have been here sooner, but—”

The older woman held up her hand. “Come in and sit down. I'll make us some tea, and you can tell me your story while I put my feet up.” She pointed to her swollen ankles. “This weather does me no good at all. My ankles could pass for watermelons.”

Melinda didn't want Emma to think her rude, but it was Evan she wanted to see. “Do you know where I can find Evan?”

She shook her head. “Best to wait here. Harland has him supervising projects all over the island. No tellin' where he's at. And even if I knew, he'd probably be off someplace else before ya got there.” Emma shot her a grin. “Won't hurt ya to wait a little longer. Sure, and it'll make seeing him all the sweeter when you finally set eyes on him.”

Though Emma had questioned Melinda's decision to return, the woman had certainly made use of her during the three hours since her arrival. While Emma washed windows, she set Melinda to work ironing the curtains she'd washed the day before. “Ya might as well keep going once ya iron the curtains. There's plenty of ironing in my laundry basket, and that's a fact.” She shook her head. “Up till now, it's Garrison's been keepin' me busy. He's more worried about the animals than this cottage.”

Melinda hadn't minded ironing the curtains. And she'd rather enjoyed pressing Garrison's shirts and Emma's skirts and shirtwaists. Together with Emma's never-ending questions, the chore had helped pass the time. She lifted Emma's plaid skirt from the wooden ironing board and examined her work.

“No need to be so careful with the ironin', lass. With all this mud, I'm havin' to wash clothes most every day. That skirt will be wet and wrinkled ten minutes after I settle it on me hips.”

Melinda giggled. “Well, at least you and I will know that it looked good for a short time. It was a smart idea to lay a tarp like a rug.” Melinda pointed to the floor. “I'm sure that saves a lot of cleaning.”

Emma nodded. “I can't be takin' the time to shed my shoes every time I need to go in and out. It's funny, but I never realized just how many trips I make until after the hurricane.”

“I suppose it would never have occurred to me, either.” A horse whinnied in the distance and Melinda hurried to the front door. “Do you think that's Evan?”

Emma dipped her cloth into the bucket of water and shrugged. “Could be Evan or Harland or Garrison—or maybe all three. A little early for 'em to be returning for supper, but ya never know these days.” She clucked her tongue. “I've not even set the potatoes to boil, so they may be waitin' a while if it's supper they're wanting.” She wrung out the wet cloth and waved it in Melinda's direction. “Get on out there and see before you bust a button.”

Melinda didn't wait for any further encouragement. Her shoes thudded across the tarped wooden floor like a muffled drum beating out a marching quickstep. She pushed open the door and immediately covered her mouth with one hand. She best not screech and alarm Emma! She wasn't certain if Evan spotted her before she saw him, but by the time she made it to the porch railing, he was off the horse and up the steps.

His clothes and boots were covered with mud—some dry and some wet, but when he rushed toward her, she didn't hesitate to accept his embrace. “I can't believe my eyes! What are you doing here?” He nestled his face in her hair. Lifting his head, he gazed into her eyes. “Did you receive my letter?”

Melinda studied the creases that lined his face. “No. I didn't receive your letter. You look tired, Evan.” She traced her fingers along the side of his face. “It's wonderful to see you. I've been so worried.”

He leaned forward and covered her lips with a kiss that left her breathless. Melinda struggled to regain her composure and rested her hands against his chest. Beneath her fingers, his heartbeat pounded as rapidly as her own. He captured her fingers in one of his hands and held them tight against his chest. “I can't believe you're truly here. I keep expecting to wake up and discover this is a dream.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I promise you that if this is a dream, I don't ever want to wake up.”

She lifted her fingers to his lips, and he kissed them. “This isn't a dream, Evan. I was afraid you'd be unhappy that I'd come.”

“How could I possibly be unhappy to see the woman I love?” Their eyes locked in a silent caress that confirmed their love for each other. “I'm only sorry that my letter didn't arrive and that you've been worried about me.” He continued to hold her close. “Still, I must admit that it makes me feel good to know that you were so concerned that you traveled all this distance in such difficult circumstances.” He glanced over his shoulder as if he expected someone else to appear. “How long will you be staying?”

Her breath caught. Perhaps the best way to handle his question was with one of her own. “How long would you like me to stay?”

He continued to hold her hand, but he took a small backward step. “I don't think that's my decision to make. What did Mr. and Mrs. Mifflin say? I doubt they'd be willing to let you stay down here until the season begins, would they?” He didn't give her a chance to answer before he continued. “I'm surprised they even agreed to let you come down here at all, especially unaccompanied.” Once again, he glanced around.

She now understood his confusion. He realized she wouldn't have traveled from Cleveland to Bridal Veil by herself. He was expecting to see her traveling companion somewhere nearby. She had so much to tell him, she didn't know where to start, but Lawrence was probably the best place to begin. After that, she'd ease into telling him that she was no longer employed and planned to remain on Bridal Veil—if he'd have her.

While they sat on the railing, her words spilled out like water from a toppled jug. She told him of the journey by train and freighter, about Lawrence and his willingness to come with her, the horse he'd brought along, and the fact that he'd soon be arriving from Biscayne. “Just as soon as he can arrange for a barge to bring the horse over. He insisted on waiting in Biscayne. I think he worries more about the horse than he does about himself—if that's possible.”

Emma poked her head out the front door. “Harland and Garrison with you, Evan?”

His eyes grew wide and he shook his head. “No. I came back for some equipment out of the barn.” He pushed away from the porch rail. “Garrison and Harland are gonna be wondering what's happened to me.” He leaned forward and pecked Melinda on the cheek. “I'll be back in a couple hours, and we'll talk more. I'll have to see about someplace for you to stay during your visit.”

Visit?
Before she could correct the misunderstanding, Evan was down the front steps and loping toward the barn. The suction of the mud caused his feet to rise to the top of his boots with each step. When she had mentioned Lawrence's horse, Evan had appeared confused, but there would be plenty of time to explain later tonight. Once he understood she was here to stay, everything would become clear. And once it became clear, she prayed he would be pleased with her decision. She stared toward the barn. But what if he wasn't pleased? What if he thought she should have remained in Cleveland? What if he thought she'd been foolish to risk everything? Suddenly her heart pounded a new beat—one that propelled fear through her body with the speed of lightning.

With his thoughts as jumbled as the tools he'd gathered from the barn, Evan headed to the clubhouse. Work had progressed at a steady rate, and they would soon be ready to hire staff to clean the interior and make certain the rooms would meet guests' expectations once the season began.

Until a week ago, Mr. Nordegren had remained on vacation because of his inability to make adequate travel arrangements. At least that's what he'd told Harland. Since then Mr. Nordegren had assumed many of the duties, especially those regarding the clubhouse—if only in regard to making decisions. For the physical labor, he looked to Harland and Evan to see that the workers completed the assigned tasks.

Evan had done his best to sort out the reactions he'd been having ever since he'd seen Melinda standing on the porch. He'd run the full gamut of emotions—everything from disbelief, delight, alarm, and worry, to joy, fear, apprehension, astonishment, and elation. At the moment he was totally perplexed. He'd always considered Melinda a woman who gave a great deal of thought and consideration to her decisions—more predictable than impulsive. Yet she'd surprised him at her departure earlier in the year, and her sudden return today surprised him even more. Now he didn't know what to think of this woman he loved. Was she contemplative or compulsive? He was no longer sure. And the fact that her brother had brought a horse with him made no sense at all.

Harland's shout pulled him from his thoughts. “Over here! We already finished on the other side.” He waved his hat. “Thought maybe we was gonna have to send a search party out to find you.” Harland finger-combed his thinning white hair and plopped his hat on the back of his head with a grin.

Evan pulled back on the reins, dismounted the mare, and dropped the tools onto the ground. “No search party needed. I knew where I was going and how to get back just fine.” He looked down at the older man. “You're not gonna believe who's back at the O'Sullivan cabin.” He tied the reins to a thick fallen branch while he waited for Harland's response.

The older man reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. “I got no idea, but I'm hoping it's Old Sam and he brought us his catch of the day.” He patted his stomach. “My belly is already growling, but we got work to get done.” He pointed to the shrubs and new plantings that Mr. Nordegren had purchased and shipped to the island. “I need you to get these fellows organized and have them follow this layout Mr. Nordegren drew for the plantings.” He extended the drawing toward Evan and chuckled, his eyes alight with laughter. “Oh, I bet you're still wanting to tell me who's over at the cabin, aren't ya?”

A broad smile returned to Evan's lips as he bobbed his head. “I sure am. It's Melinda! She was standing on the O'Sullivans' porch when I got there. I could hardly believe my eyes. I still can't believe it.” He stopped and stared at Harland for a moment. “Maybe she'll be gone when I get back—maybe this is just a dream and I'm going to wake up.”

“I don't know about a dream, but it's gonna be a nightmare if you don't get these men moving. If we don't get these plants in the ground before supper, Mr. Nordegren is going to be mighty unhappy.” Harland patted him on the shoulder. “I'm surprised to hear your gal is back here. Maybe you better think about where she's going to stay. You might check with Mr. Nordegren and see what he thinks is best. How long's she staying?”

Evan hiked a shoulder. “I'm not sure. We didn't get to talk long enough for me to find out.”

“That a fact?” Harland winked. “As long as you were gone, I'd think you'd have every last detail. Then again, I'll bet you were too moon-eyed to ask any questions.”

“I was not moon-eyed, but she did look good to me.” Evan chuckled as he walked off with the drawing, but he didn't fail to notice Harland rubbing his lower back.

There was no denying all this heavy work was getting to the older man. Each night he suffered with aches and pains, although he tried to hide his increasing discomfort. The day Mr. Nordegren returned, Harland had told him of his desire to quit, but the assistant supervisor was unwilling to accept his resignation. He insisted they wait until Mr. Zimmerman, the general manager, returned. Mr. Nordegren had gone on to explain that even after Mr. Zimmerman gave his blessing, it would take the agreement of the primary investors to approve Evan for Harland's position—and that could possibly take until the middle or the end of the season. The assistant supervisor's decision hadn't set well with Harland.

Evan swiped perspiration from his face, his thoughts jumping from Melinda to the work at hand. Perhaps he should speak to Mr. Nordegren and see if she could stay in the maids' quarters on the lower level of the clubhouse. He wasn't certain that would be a good solution, but she couldn't stay in any of the private homes. The O'Sullivans didn't have enough space for her, and she couldn't stay in the hunting lodge. It seemed the only choice would be the clubhouse—or perhaps she'd gained permission from the Mifflins to stay at Summerset Cottage.

“Not there!” He strode toward one of the workers and pointed to the drawing. “That palm goes on the other side.” He silently chastised himself for letting his thoughts wander. If he was going to please Mr. Nordegren, there could be no mistakes. And convincing the assistant supervisor of his abilities was the first step toward securing the position Harland would soon vacate. And that job would be the only way he could support a wife and family.

His position as Harland's assistant paid enough for him to save a little each month. In addition, his living quarters and food had been provided. But the pay hadn't been a consideration when Evan accepted the job. He'd wanted the experience and the chance for advancement the position might afford him. Thus far, his decision had proved a good one, as he'd learned a great deal. Now he must see if the investors agreed. Would they offer him Harland's job and compensate him accordingly? Or would they seek someone else—someone older with more experience? If so, it would be the end of Evan's dream to remain on Bridal Veil. It would mean he must find work and make his home elsewhere. Without the hope of advancement, he simply could not remain.

A short time later, Mr. Nordegren appeared on the front porch of the clubhouse, and Evan smiled. Always impeccably dressed, Mr. Nordegren's overall appearance was difficult to process, for the man's expensive clothing didn't match the rest of his look. Due to a short neck, Mr. Nordegren's full and unkempt beard rested on his cravat like a grizzled fringe that was at odds with the otherwise perfect picture of a hotel manager. Each season Evan was convinced the man would return without the hairy thicket on his chin, but each year he was wrong.