The Woodsman's Rose Page 6

  “Which, then?” Evelyn demanded.

  Annie raised an eyebrow but wouldn’t answer.

  SATURDAY NIGHT BROUGHT the last dance of the season to the Town Hall. Daniel wore gabardine pants, a shirt of white lawn his grandmother had made for him shortly before she died, and black leather shoes he’d borrowed from Adam. He met Annie at her father’s cottage. Freed from its braid for this occasion, her flaxen hair hung long and loose, and her dress of blue moiré made her eyes seem more green than ever. Overwhelmed by her beauty, he deemed himself the luckiest of men.

  She was light as a fairy in his arms as they waltzed across the floor. He shared her dances with his family and hers, then relented and let Tommy take her around the floor, while he joined Adam and Jesse on the chairs ringing the room. Jesse teased him, asking him how long he was going to make Annie wait to get married. He laughed with her, rejoicing that the girl who could scarcely look at him when they first met was now so self-assured.

  When John Patrick claimed Jesse’s hand for a waltz, Daniel glanced around and saw Alec Twelve Trees standing alone near the refreshment table. He seemed to be in a trance. Following his gaze, Daniel found his sister Irene at the end of it. She was dancing with Michael Flaherty, smiling vivaciously up at him, and Michael looked as if he held the world in his hands and didn’t know what to do with it. Daniel couldn’t blame the boy. Or Alec.

  When she’d graduated to beauty, he didn’t know, but the fact that Irene had was inescapable. Her thick black hair was gathered into a topknot, tendrils of it framing her face, curling on her neck. She was tall and slender, graceful as a swan, her skin white and luminous as a magnolia flower. Her dress of ice blue sateen made her dark eyes shine with an ethereal light.

  The band paused and Alec approached her, but as the music started, she was whisked away in Michael’s arms once again. Daniel watched Alec’s expression grow dark and bitter. The silversmith and Irene had long been friends, and Irene had often said he was the best friend she had. And now it seemed that friendship was less than he wanted.

  When Daniel looked back again, Alec was gone, and Irene was dancing with Adam, pouting up at him, anger flashing from her deep blue eyes. He was glad his brother had intervened. Irene was, after all, just seventeen, and the old cats were ripe for some new gossip about the family. Adam had foiled their last attempt by marrying Jesse. And clearly intended to foil them again.

  As the evening was ending, Daniel took Annie’s hand for the last dance and a smile began to form beneath his mustache.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Look at Patricia.”

  “Where?” Annie found the girl even as she spoke. Patricia’s nut-brown hair was worn in ringlets, and her cheeks were bright red. She was whispering into her mother’s ear; both faces wet with tears that were obviously joyful.

  “Oh, Daniel,” Annie whispered, “do you think...?”

  “It’s just a matter of which one.”

  “Who do you think it will be?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I think we’re about to find out.”

  Seamus Flaherty had stopped the band and was hopping around on the dais.

  “If ye please, if ye please!” the little man cried out, “I’ll have an announcement t’ make. Me daughter Patricia has consented t’ be the wife...”

  Here it became apparent Seamus lacked some pertinent knowledge. He squinted at his wife, who mouthed a name, but he was more than a bit tipsy and didn’t understand. The hall began to buzz with merriment.

  “Me daughter... me daughter has consented t’ be ...” The crowd was roaring with laughter as Seamus gave it one last shot.

  “Me daughter has consented t’ be... Mrs. Donovan!” he finished in triumph. “Mrs. Donovan!”

  “Hurrah!” Brian shouted. “Now tell us which one!”

  “It’s you!” cried Adam. “You’re on the hook!”

  “Oh, no, not me! Aw, I’m sorry, Miss Patricia. I didn’t mean no offense. But it’s one o’ these here boys you want, ain’t it?” Brian grabbed a twin with each hand and held them by their collars. “You jus’ tell me which one, an’ I’ll take ’im t’ the preacher right now!”

  “It’s Frank!” Patricia went unerringly to her fiance. “You let him go! We’re going to have a big church wedding. And everyone’s invited!”

  Geordie was released and Frank was the victim of Brian’s bear hug. Then the big man planted a hearty kiss upon Patricia’s cheek, as the Donovans swarmed round. After offering congratulations, Adam and Daniel conferred with Geordie.

  Daniel borrowed the band’s fiddle, Geordie pulled his harmonica out, and Adam’s sweet tenor rang through the hall. The crowd moved aside to give Frank room to dance with his betrothed as his brother sang:

  Believe me if all those endearing young charms,

  Which I gaze on so fondly today,

  Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms

  Like fairy gifts fading away,

  Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art,

  Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

  And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart

  Would entwine itself verdantly still.

  What Frank whispered in her ear, no one knew, but by the end of the dance, Patricia was crying again. Her mother wrapped her arms around her and cried, too, but when his two younger daughters also started to bawl, Seamus had enough. He leaped again onto the stage. Hardly a singer of great repute, he began in a reedy baritone. Daniel took up the tune with the fiddle, Geordie’s harmonica rang out once more, and Seamus sang out for all the company to hear that “None can love like an Irishman!”

  The verses got more bawdy as the song went along. They belittled the prowess of the French, the Spanish, the Russian. The Swede, the Turk, the Italian. And, of course, the English.

  The London folk themselves beguile,

  And think they please in capital style;

  Yet let them ask as they cross the street,

  Any young virgin they happen to meet,

  And I know she’ll say from behind her fan,

  That there’s none can love like an Irishman!

  Before the revelers departed, Molly spoke to Moira Flaherty about the wedding plans, and offered the use of her house or yard for the celebration.

  “Oh, Molly, could we? Seamus planted our whole front garden with corn this year—he said he’d need the extra money for her trousseau. We were going to ask if we could use this building, but it seems so impersonal. It would be perfect to have it at the ranch.

  “And you won't have to do a lick of work, I promise. I’ll do everything myself, from polishing to cooking. I’d be so grateful to you!”

  Molly shook her head. “Many hands make short work. We’ll all pitch in. What else are families for?”

  “Families... I’ve had none but Seamus since we left the old country. The children don’t remember—no doubt they think it silly to pine.”

  Molly smiled to herself. If her children thought her silly, she’d never know it. Their father had taught them the importance of family—even Conor had learned the lesson and corresponded regularly from the ship he captained on the high seas, posting a letter every time he returned to his country from abroad.

  As for Frank, I could not have asked for a better man. Nor could Patricia. For he is like his father in all that is important. And if he jumps around a bit too much and rarely sits in one place for long, at least he is now settled in his heart.

  Moira Flaherty was thinking of her daughter. Her flighty, willful, spoiled daughter whose hands fluttered constantly with nervousness and whose unending chatter could drive her to distraction. At one time, she’d hoped to have the calm Geordie as her son-in-law, but she’d come to realize his nature was too serene for Patricia.

  “I wonder what they’ll need?” Molly mused.

  “T’won't be furniture. Never sit still long enough to use it!”

  Molly laughed. They looked at one a
nother, thinking of an empty house, and Moira began to giggle. “I wonder if they’ll need a bed?”

  Molly was scandalized, but laughed just the same.

  Chapter 13

  The wedding date was set for early October. It was unusual for a farmer’s daughter to be married during harvest season, but Frank planned to take his bride to the Grand Canyon for their honeymoon, and he wanted to be home before cold weather set in.

  “Geordie’s got everything under control,” he assured his father. “I’ve made arrangements for the feed we’re shipping out. Adam’s ready to take the extra corn and store it, and the root cellar’s been cleaned out. There’s enough farmhands hired, and Geordie knows just what to do.”

  His father tapped his pipe against his palm. He’d turned the management of the farm over to the younger twins two years ago and hadn’t regretted his decision. Frank loved to keep the books, totaling the columns of figures spent and earned, estimating the harvest yield right down to the peck. He wasn’t above pitching in when his help was needed with the planting and plowing, but it was Geordie who had the green thumb, who could persuade every kernel of corn to send up a shoot, every bean to blossom, every cabbage to grow tight and plump beneath the summer sun. So John Patrick turned to him and asked, “All right with you?”

  “Sure, Dad,” Geordie agreed. “We got it all figured out. It’ll be fine.”

  “Mmmm.” It was the only permission they’d needed.

  Now the wedding was less than three weeks away. Both families gathered at the Donovan home on Sunday, and the conversation turned to the final stages of planning. Patricia was talking over the honeymoon plans with Jesse.

  “Your trip sounds wonderful,” Jesse said. “I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”

  “But, Jesse, you live in a canyon, don’t you?” School had meant nothing to Patricia, geography a concept never grasped.

  Adam answered her. “I think you’ll find it a bit different from our canyon, Patricia.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s a lot deeper. And the Colorado River runs right through it.”

  “Don’t you have a river?”

  “Just a stream,” said Jesse. “But you go see it, then come back and tell us all about it.”

  “Oh, I will! Maybe I can draw you some pictures.”

  “What a nice idea! If you make some special drawings, Daniel can frame them for you and you can hang them in your house, so you’ll always have a reminder of your trip.”

  That Frank was proud of her talent amazed Patricia, as her father had always called it childish and useless, pressing her to more practical activities. She was thrilled to find Jesse encouraging her, too. But...

  “Didn’t Frank tell you? We’re going to live here. Your parents said we could have the two rooms that were your grandmother’s. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea!”

  “I’m sure Gran would approve,” put in Adam, then smiled at Patricia’s sigh of relief.

  DANIEL FOUND HIMSELF drawn inexorably into the planning for Frank’s wedding. He was amazed at the energy his mother and sisters poured into the smallest of details, and chuckled when his advice on such things as the color of Irene’s dress was accepted. But when Evelyn asked him to help stitch the hem of lace on the crinoline she and Molly were making for Patricia, he simply stared at her.

  “Daniel,” she begged, but he was reaching for his hat and rifle.

  “I’m going for a walk.” He heard her muttering behind his back about useless men and ungrateful brothers.

  Some minutes later he laughed aloud, for his feet had taken the trail that led to town and he was on his way to Annie. Owen had gone to Tuba City on business and the shop was closed, so he knew he’d find her at the dairy farm. But he hadn't, after all, managed to escape the lure of the impending marriage.

  “Oh, Daniel, I’m so glad you’re here.” Annie was flushed with excitement, her ivory skin glowing peach. The few light freckles across the bridge of her nose made a startling contrast to the streak of white flour on her forehead. She wiped her hands ineffectively on her apron, then pulled him through the door and into the kitchen.

  “Look at the cake pans Tommy made for me.” She flitted from the counter to the table, talking all the while, gesturing with her long, slender hands, sending a small flurry of flour out to coat every surface. “And look at this picture—see how this cake is—I want to do it for Patricia. I don’t know how. I need your help.”

  The sweetest words she has ever said. I don’t care what she wants. I’d go to hell for her. And crawl all the way back if she’d just say it again.

  “Daniel, I need you.”

  He put down his hat and rifle and stood in front of her, lifting her face with a gentle hand.

  “Anything in the world, aroon.” He caressed her cheek and tweaked a small curl that had escaped its braid. Her eyes fell as her hands came up to rest against him. He bent to kiss her.

  Annie jumped back at the sound of footsteps at the kitchen door, then turned to find her brother Lowell.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Lowell said with a wink at Daniel.

  “Oh, no,” Annie said swiftly. “Daniel’s helping me with the cake.”

  “You might want to get him an apron.”

  The white imprint of her hand showed plainly on Daniel’s shirt. She turned back to her brother, saw that he was laughing, and stamped her foot.

  “You...” She sputtered and tossed her head so hard her braid flew up and slapped against her cheek. Her hands flew to her face. She turned and fled from the room.

  Daniel’s arm shot out as she passed but missed her by inches. “Annie!”

  “Let her go,” her brother advised. “She’ll get over it soon enough.” He looked his friend up and down, handed him a towel and gestured at his shirt. As Daniel sheepishly wiped the flour off, Lowell imitated his father’s crisp dialect, “Am I to understand your intentions are honorable, young man?”

  “Yes, sir,” Daniel answered, then laughed. “As if you didn’t know.”

  “Just checking.” He was, in reality, three years younger than Daniel, but the two men had been friends since childhood. If they’d ever acknowledged a discrepancy in their ages, the time had long since vanished.

  “What’s the story with the cake?” Daniel inquired.

  The dairyman chuckled. His sister’s rare outbursts of temper had always amused him.

  “Annie found this picture—I don’t know where.” He pushed it along the table. It was a daguerreotype depicting a couple in formal wedding regalia, and in the background was a triple-tiered cake. “She got Tommy to make the cake pans in three different sizes, but she doesn’t know how to put it together.”

  “Looks pretty easy. I’d be willing to bet the columns between the layers are dowels painted white. The layers must have some kind of platforms to support them. Looks like two sheets of wood would do. With holes cut in the cake to put the dowels through. Yeah, it’s pretty simple.”

  “Well, don’t tell her that. Let her think you’re some kind of genius.”

  Later, Daniel was sitting alone in the kitchen. Lowell had supplied him with a pencil and a large piece of brown paper. On the edges of the paper, he’d marked off the diameters of Tommy’s cake pans, and was trying to estimate the height of the dowels by comparing the dimensions in the picture to the pile he’d made of the cake pans. He was frowning over his drawings, dissatisfied with his work, when Annie came in. She was pale and it was obvious she’d been crying. He went to her and drew her into his arms.

  “I’m sorry, aroon. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know. It’s not your fault. I’ve been so excited, I guess, and nervous... worried about the cake. I haven’t been able to sleep, I just lay awake and worry. I guess I’m too tired to think straight.”

  “Come here then. Take a look at this and tell me what you think.”

  He’d sket
ched the framework for the tiered cake on the brown paper. She looked at it, then up at him.

  “Will it work?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No reason why not. I’m just not sure if the columns are the right size.”

  “I was going to make one today,” she told him, with renewed excitement in her voice, “to try out the pans and see how long it would take to bake. Maybe we could try putting it together, too. Then, if the columns are too long, you could chop some off. Do you think we could?”

  His arm was still around her shoulders, she was leaning against him, half-facing him. He bent over her and finished the kiss he’d started some hours earlier.

  “Whatever you want, Annie,” he said.

  “Please let’s try it.”

  "All right, aroon. I’ll go see if Lowell’s got any boards I can use. Otherwise I’ll have to go into town.”

  He was back in moments for his hat and rifle. “Your brother’s pretty worthless. Doesn’t save a thing!”

  She was deep in thought, studying her recipe, and looked up at him in abstraction. Another streak of flour adorned her forehead.

  “Back in a while.”

  Her golden head bent to the recipe again.

  He returned an hour later, having stopped off at the livery to use some of Tommy’s tools. He couldn’t find a board wide enough for the bottom layer, so he pieced together two half-circles for the base. He’d picked up dowels in several diameters, and carried the whole conglomeration in an old saddlebag he’d borrowed from the smith.

  As he strode into the kitchen, Annie was struggling with the largest pan. She’d filled it with batter and was trying to slide it off the table onto a stool. It hung precariously on the edge. Daniel saw that her frustration had again resulted in tears.

  “Hold on.” He dropped the saddlebag on the floor and relieved her shaking hands of their burden. “Open the oven first.” When she had, he picked it up, surprised she’d been able to move it at all.

  “There you go,” he told her, closing the oven with a flourish. Tears still gleamed in her eyes. With an arm around her shoulders, he led her into the parlor and sat next to her on the chintz-covered couch, guiding her head to his shoulder.