Whitaker downed half the mug of cider in two large swallows, then wiped off his mouth. “We reached the city in just five days.”
“And the creatures?” Samuel asked.
He scratched at his jawline. “We didn’t run into any trouble in the woods, though we did see quite a bit of bear scat. Your father thought it might be grizzly, but we never saw anything more than a few prints.”
“Did Mama ever wake during the journey?” Merry jumped in, showing no patience for talk of bears. We all had leaned in, but she was completely on the edge of the steps, looking as though she might launch herself across the porch if Whitaker didn’t pick up his pace.
“She woke up the day after we arrived at the hospital. She doesn’t remember much of that night. The burns are…not good, obviously, but the doctor cleaned them out and is letting the new skin grow. It will take some time but they’re hopeful—”
I hated to further interrupt, but I couldn’t wait any longer. “But how is she? Is the baby all right?”
He smiled at me. “The baby is just fine. Three different midwives looked in on her, and they all declared it an absolute miracle. But…”
“But?” I repeated, instantly alarmed.
“They warned that further travel could put both her and the little one at risk. That’s why only I returned. Your father wanted to stay with her. And with the snows coming…the pass will be sealed off with the first big storm of the season….They won’t be returning until spring.”
He fell silent, letting his words sink in.
Snows didn’t usually clear until April.
That meant…
“We’re on our own,” Samuel murmured, saying what we’d all feared.
My eyes shifted, glancing over the fields. The fire was long gone, but its destruction was still an open wound upon our farm. We’d raked through the ashes and debris, praying that, come spring, there would be flowers.
The bees would be fine. Once the air cooled, we wouldn’t open the boxes again until the snow melted away. Honeybees survived the winters by huddling together at the center of the hive and shivering. Their buzzing warmed the space, keeping the center—where the queen stayed—comfortable and safe. They worked all winter this way, so that the queen could survive and lay eggs, further populating the hive. It was a marvel to me, the way these little insects could see the bigger picture and strive for the greater good, forsaking their own needs to protect the hive.
“We’ll be all right.” I sounded far more confident than I felt, but my family needed that, Sadie and Merry especially. “We’ll need to be more cognizant of our chores around the house and help fill in the gaps.”
“And get ready for the baby,” Sadie added.
I nodded, pleased she’d fixated on the good, the hopeful. “We’ll have everything ready for them when they all come home.”
“If,” Samuel said darkly.
“When,” I repeated with a heavy firmness.
I blew out a long breath. We needed to stop stewing and picking at each other. We needed to get off the porch and stir into action.
I stood up, brushing off my skirts. “We might as well have an early supper tonight. Whitaker, you’ll join us?”
“Think I’ll have time for a quick dip in the creek?” Whitaker removed his hat, making a face as he caught his own scent. “I might have a clean shirt left in my pack—I know I’m not at my finest. Certainly not fit to sit in the presence of such pretty ladies,” he said with a wink toward Merry and Sadie.
They both reddened and scurried off toward the kitchen.
“Think I’ll check on Luna,” Sam said, wandering off before anyone could say otherwise.
“Let me get you some soap and a towel,” I volunteered, ushering him inside.
When I returned to the sitting room, Whitaker was nowhere to be found. A whoop of delight drew me to the window, and I caught a quick glimpse of him ducking under the water. Little eddies swirled about his bare shoulders.
“I…I’m just going to run this out to Whitaker,” I called to my sisters before slipping out the door.
My breath surrounded me in wispy puffs as I headed down to the rushing creek. He’d found a deeper channel and was almost completely submerged. Even so, what little I saw of his muscular back had my cheeks burning with embarrassed delight. “Aren’t you freezing?”
Whitaker turned with a smile. I tried to focus on it instead of the dark patch of hair covering his chest. “It’s invigorating! Fancy joining me?” My mouth fell open, and he laughed in wicked glee. “Oh, Ellerie Downing, I do enjoy seeing you blush. Have you missed me?”
“I brought soap,” I said, holding it and the towel up as if to explain my presence.
“You can leave them on the bank, unless you’d rather bring them in….I know which I’d prefer.” He raised one eyebrow with open suggestion. Scrunching my nose, I tossed him the bar of soap. He caught it deftly, his eyes remaining steadily on me. “Pity.”
I placed the towel on top of his rucksack, left out on a large rock. “I have, you know.”
“What’s that?” he asked, lathering up the bar of soap. Without his shirt, his green tattoos stood in stark relief, and I found myself inching closer to the edge of the bank to see.
“Missed you.” I tucked back strands of hair with a self-consciousness I despised.
His eyes brightened. “Is that so?”
“I’m grateful you accompanied Papa out of the mountains—you’ve no idea how grateful—but…” I brushed off my skirts, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact with him. A girl could drown in the depth of those eyes. “I’m awfully glad you’ve returned.”
“You should look in the pack,” he said, scrubbing the soap into his hair and scratching at his scalp.
“Right now?”
He dunked under the water to rinse off, and came up spraying droplets into the air like a wet dog shaking dry. “Go ahead. The two packages on top.”
Lifting the flap, I spied the parcels, each wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. I unwrapped one and saw a bundle of dark gray tweed.
“For you,” he said gallantly. “Your mother mentioned you were in need of a new dress. She asked me to bring fabric back. The shopgirl said something sturdy and practical would be best.”
I ran my finger over the soft wool. It would keep me wonderfully warm this winter and was more stylish than anything I owned. Tears sprang to my eyes at Mama’s thoughtfulness, her remembering my plight even as she convalesced.