Autumn waltzed in with a blaze of glory, the trees dressed with leaves of bronze and russet fire that danced in the wind amid the tall evergreens of pines. Cecily had seen more magnificent displays of foliage back East, it was true, but she loved their little cabin surrounded by these woods.
With the passage of weeks, her miserable outlook eased and she began to hope, though the days themselves grew gloomy. Garrett had conversed with her after supper the last few nights, his manner congenial and easygoing, and she cherished every minute of time shared. His eyes often remained on the fire, which he zealously tended as they spoke of many things—life, poetry, the children, the town, the people in it, but never about themselves. Every so often she would catch him staring, her heart giving a jolt to see on occasion what looked like longing in his gray-green eyes. But then he would look away, his behavior as relaxed as before. She never questioned, but it did make her wonder if she imagined his deeper interest.
Her interest had become almost tangible. She found that her gaze often strayed to and lingered on various aspects of his person, when he remained unaware of her fascinated attentiveness. His hands were lean, his arms toned, his fingers long and often stained with the ink from his trade, and she wished to feel their brush against her cheek and along her neck as he had so seldom done before. His build was trim and nicely muscled, fit, and upon looking at the strong line of his shoulders, she recalled the safety in his embrace, and the warmth of new feelings stirred. The recollection of his mouth against hers kept her awake many nights, and for a long time now, whenever he entered the room, her stomach would flutter, her heart quickening at his nearness.
Paul had slowly warmed to Cecily, no longer fussing to be held, though his preference for Gwen remained intact. It no longer bothered Cecily much, her chief emotion relief that the children got along well. The women she spoke with after Sunday meetings were kind, opening their circle wider to receive her, and Cecily almost felt like one of them now. The sole thorn in her side continued to be the Widow Brown, and this afternoon, the thorn burrowed deep. Her syrup-filled words had flowed like poison, spreading into areas highly vulnerable, all of them having to do with Garrett and the woman’s conjectured notions that not all was right within their marriage.
“How could she have possibly known?” Cecily muttered to herself as she whisked the broom along the planks in a stir of dust, dispelling tracks of mud, long dried.
“Surely Garrett wouldn’t have told her?” she fretted as she immersed the plates and swiped them one by one in a pan of dishwater.
“Am I so transparent that the vindictive woman can see through me like window glass?” she asked the ham hock she cleaved, the choice meat part of her reason for making the trip into town in the first place.
Behind her she heard the sound of someone choking and spun around in curious alarm.
“Paul?”
The boy sat on the floor near Garrett’s room, gasping for air, his chubby hand at his throat.
“Paul!”
She threw the cleaver to the table and raced toward him. Dropping to her knees, she reached for the boy’s shoulders and shook him. Paul’s face went darker. Horrified with shock, she quickly pulled him up to stand as she also stood. She struck his back, a little harder than if she were burping a babe. The boy continued gasping for breath.
“What do I do?” she whispered in panic. “Dear God, what do I do!”
Gwen walked into the cabin. “What’s wrong with Paul?”
“He can’t breathe!”
“Hang him upside down.”
“What?” Cecily snapped in confusion.
“Like the midwife did when Mattie’s baby sister couldn’t breathe! Hold him by the legs upside down.”
The idea sounded ludicrous, but Cecily was in no position to argue.
She grabbed the boy beneath the arms and laid him on his stomach, picking him up by the ankles. Paul wriggled frantically, still gasping, heavier than before, and Cecily struggled with all her might to raise him from the ground and keep a good hold on him.
Sweet Lord Jesus—help us; it’s not working!
Gwen suddenly struck the boy on the back, harder than Cecily had done, not once but repeatedly. Suddenly Paul coughed and Cecily felt something hit her skirts.
The boy’s strident wails were music to her ears, proof of his clear breathing.
“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed as Gwen helped her set the boy upright on his feet. “I’m so sorry.”
Still crying, Paul allowed her to pet him and kiss his brow but turned into Gwen’s arms for comfort.
“How did you know to do that?” Cecily asked her sister.
Gwen smiled a bit sheepishly. “Last year, Mattie and I peeked through the door and watched when Mrs. Mathison stopped screaming and it got quiet. That’s what the midwife did, and the baby started squalling.”
Shaken that they could have lost Paul, that Garrett could have lost his son, Cecily sank to the bench, her entire body trembling. Her attention dropped to the floor and the small round object Paul had coughed out. Bending over, she plucked it up. A button from Garrett’s shirt. The same one she’d sewn on last week—she could tell by the slight chip at the edge.
In her earlier agitation, she had done a shoddy job of sweeping away debris, an even shoddier job of mending the shirt.
Paul had almost died because of her carelessness.
Garrett arrived home weary. It had been a miserable day, tempers on edge, and he just wanted a nice supper and a moment of quiet. It really wasn’t much to ask.
Opening the door, he saw Gwen and Paul on the floor, playing with the blocks he had carved last Christmas. Paul smiled up at Garrett, holding out a block. Tracks of dried tears were apparent on the boy’s face, his nose pink and runny.
“Where’s your sister?” he asked Gwen.
The girl looked up, her eyes solemn. “She was upset and went for a walk. Paul choked on a button.”
Garrett took in the information, concern for his son secondary when he could see the boy recovered and calm, while his wife remained missing in the darkening twilight.
He reached down to ruffle the boy’s fair curls then retraced his steps to the door. “I’ll find her. You stay here with Paul.”
There weren’t many places Cecily would wander. Not finding her at the outhouse, Garrett felt relief to spot her at the stream. Hearing the crunch of his footsteps, she turned. He could see that she’d been crying.
“Why did you marry me?”
Not the first time he’d heard the question, but this time he sensed more lay beneath her words than simple curiosity.
“You needed a home. I needed a mother for Paul.”
“Ha! Some mother I turned out to be. I almost killed your son!”
Garrett covered the rest of the distance between them. “It was an accident, Cecily. Gwen told me what happened.”
“I should have paid better attention,” she insisted. In the remaining twilight the tears on her cheeks faintly glistened.
He took firm hold of her arms above the elbows, gently forcing her to look at him. “The boy is always getting into things, you know that. He’s fine—”
“And you should have married the Widow Brown!”
Stunned that she would even think such a preposterous thing, let alone speak it, he could only stare. “Why on God’s green earth would you say that?” he asked at last.
“She’s perfect.” Her eyes avoided his, looking to the stream. “She’s a good mother, always smartly dressed, clearly she dotes on you and Paul, and I’ll wager she can sew buttons that stay on clothes!”
Perfection wasn’t a word he would associate with Alice Brown.
“If I had wanted the Widow Brown, I would have proposed long ago. Women like that don’t interest me. She’s too polished and difficult to please and rarely satisfied with what the Good Lord’s given her.”
Her eyes flitted back to his. “But I’ve failed at so much since coming here!”
“I don’t see it like that. You’re learning a new way of life. Things like that take time.”
“I can never be like Linda.”
Her words came small, a whisper he almost didn’t hear, and they tugged at his heart.
Lifting one hand to her chin, he gently tipped her face upward to meet his eyes.
“I don’t want you to be.” Her eyes flared a little with shock, and he went on. “I loved Linda, but she’s my past. You’re my wife now, and you have many worthy qualities. You’re kind and loyal and considerate—do you recall the first night I brought you here when you were frightened to death of me but drew near to insist I take the blanket? And how many more times have you put others before yourself? With Paul? With your sister, always taking such good care of her? She told me of the arrangement made with the captain to bring her along and how you shared your meals. That sweet, selfless generosity, that family loyalty I see in you every day, is part of what drew me to you from the start.”
Her face had achieved a rosy hue of embarrassment, much like his must have looked that evening in the mercantile to hear his traits glorified. But he meant every word, and suddenly he knew she needed to hear him say it, needed his affirmation. He only wished he had spoken sooner.
“I can still be quite the hoyden,” she argued softly. “That’s what my aunt called me when I was Gwen’s age.”
He chuckled. “I like your fire and spirit. It keeps things interesting.”
“Really?” She looked at him with suspicion.
“A perfect match to all that fire-red golden hair.”
She quirked her lips, more a smile than a pout.
“You’re beautiful, Cecily. Your eyes alone could stir a man to forget his name and sink forever into their depths.”
At his solemn words, those lovely sea-green eyes grew wider.
He ached to kiss her, to feel her mouth, soft and warm, beneath his, to learn every enticing bit of her mystery—ached also to tell her that he loved her. But he’d made a promise—to her, to himself, to God—and he had no wish to upset her again, now that she had calmed. He had no desire to see her eyes flinch or fall shut with dread and uncertainty.
He never wanted to see that look again.
Instead, he cradled her face between his hands and pressed his lips to her brow, keeping them there a moment and settling for a weaker expression of his feelings.
“All of that is the crux of why I married you. The truth is I’ve come to care for you a great deal.”
As Cecily cleared away the supper dishes, she watched Garrett, who sat with his back to the table. Paul sat on his lap as Garrett told both children a story of his own hair-raising adventures when he’d been new to the Pacific Northwest. Gwen sat at his feet, adoration for her new big brother apparent in her eyes. Ever since the night Garrett swept into their lives, Gwen had not shown one ounce of fear to be near him, accepting him more readily than Cecily ever did.
He thought her beautiful. He told her he cared for her….
And he had no leaning toward Alice Brown, responding with something akin to horror that she would suggest it, proving the idea never even crossed his mind.
“You really saw a bear up that close?” Gwen’s eyes were wide.
“Sure did. Carlson swatted it on the nose with a branch, and it took off running.”
“Do you think I’ll see one someday?”
At her excited tone, Garrett grew serious. “It’s likely, but you don’t want to try, Gwennie. If ever you should run across one’s path, never approach it.”
“Will it eat me?”
Garrett smiled. “We trust God that it won’t, and your sister and I both know how to use a shotgun, but it’s wise to be cautious.”
“Can I learn to use a shotgun, too?”
“Maybe someday.”
Once Garrett’s story drew to a close, Cecily made her decision. “Time for bed, children. Another day will be here before you know it.”
With only a mild murmur of complaint, Gwen scrambled up from the floor and gave Garrett a hug and kiss on the cheek. Paul did likewise. Gwen took the boy’s hand and approached Cecily. She crouched down to hug both children then looked at Gwen.
“Let Paul sleep in the bed,” she said for her sister’s ears alone. “The cradle’s gotten much too small for him. And don’t forget your prayers.”
Gwen nodded, and both children slipped behind the curtain.
Cecily resumed putting everything away and watched Garrett finish his mug of cider.
“Would you like to talk tonight?” he asked.
Her heart pounded so loud she could hear it. “No, not tonight.”
She sensed his disappointment, but he smiled. “All right, then. I’m off to bed. Like you said, a new day will be here before you know it.”
Not too soon, she hoped.
“Garrett?” she quietly called to him once he opened the door of his bedroom.
He turned to look at her, a question in his eyes.
Her palms had gone damp and she found it a struggle to breathe. She moistened her lips and slowly approached. There was much she wished to say, but more than anything, there was something she wanted—needed to do.
Coming to stand before him, she lifted herself on her toes and pressed her hands to his face and her lips to his.
He remained as still as a post, but she felt his shock in the jump of muscles in his chest. At her shy attempt to part his lips and deepen the kiss, he softly groaned. His strong arms came swiftly around her, his mouth teaching her what she was so eager to learn. He tasted of cider and warmth and home, and she kept her eyes closed to savor the moment.
“I love you,” she whispered once he pulled away so they could again breathe. “I do.”
Her mind whirled with the passion of their kiss, her body warm against the heat of his, and she was thankful for his arms to support her, for surely she would have melted to the ground without them.
“My sweet Cecily…” His voice came low, a slight waver to the words, and she felt the tender touch of his lips against each closed eyelid. “I have loved you almost since the moment I met you, maybe even then.”
She opened her eyes. “Truly?”
“As God is my witness. Another reason I wanted you for my wife.”
She returned his smile, pressing her mouth again to his, finding it impossible to curtail the need now that she’d surrendered, a need that only seemed to grow.
“I want to be your wife, Garrett,” she whispered nervously. “Your true wife.”
His hands slipped around her back and legs, and he swept her up into his arms. She rested her palm against the warm column of his neck.
“You always have been, Cecily. You just needed to come to that understanding.”
“That you love me?”
“Always and forever. I thought of you as precious cargo when I held you in my arms that first night the boat brought you here. My opinion hasn’t wavered, only that you are now mine.”
“Take me to bed, husband.”
Sweet words melted into more heart-stirring kisses as he carried her into their bedroom and shut the door.
Two Years Later
“I see it!” Gwen cried with excitement.
“Where? Where?” Four-year-old Paul craned his neck to look out over the expanse of silver water.
Gwen picked the skinny boy up, her arms crossed against his middle with his back to her chest. “See that dark shadow in the distance?”
The boy squealed. “I do! I do!”
Garrett chuckled at the children’s exuberance, and Cecily turned her head toward him with a shared smile.
Holding Baby Annette, her adorable daughter of ten months named after her mother, Cecily stood with her family near the dock, Garrett’s arm protectively around her. Hordes of people had gathered on this fine, clear day, and the air felt alive with celebration. Quite the opposite of Cecily’s nocturnal entrance into town, but even if such things were possible, she wouldn’t go back and change her circumstances for the world.
Had matters gone differently she might never have found Garrett, and that would have been to suffer a most miserable fate indeed.
Paul still preferred his aunt Gwen, but he’d grown to accept Cecily, and her heart turned over with thankfulness the day he called her Mama. No longer the baby of the family, it took him awhile to accept his little sister, but each night he bent over the cradle to give her a good-night kiss atop the wisps of red curls on her head.
Gwen had yet to see her bear, but Cecily felt secure in the knowledge that if ever the day should arrive, and in these rugged wild hills they well might, both she and Garrett could protect their family—which would be growing by one come winter. Something she had yet to tell her husband, and she smiled with her secret.
Life in their small neck of the woods had been rich with harmony and abundant with blessing that made even the worst of storms that blew their way bearable. The Widow Brown still singled her out to find fault and offer suspect advice, but her jibes no longer troubled Cecily, because she’d found security in her husband’s love. She truly wished the “Mistress Glenare” well and that she might find her own happiness someday.
The SS Continental drew closer. The moment had arrived.
Cecily handed Annette to her husband, who regarded his wife with an approving eye.
“You are still the most beautiful of all the belles,” he whispered.
They shared a brief kiss before Cecily moved to join the others of the welcoming committee. Mrs. Dewhurst smiled at her, and they exchanged pleasantries. Having taken a more active role in the community, Cecily had been voted by the women of her church to partake in the honors, herself having been in just such a position once, what felt like another lifetime ago.
She brushed her hands against the skirt of her best dress, smoothing wrinkles from where she earlier bounced Annette on her knee, then stepped toward the cluster of travel-weary women who’d just stepped off the ship of Asa Mercer’s second expedition. Each of Mercer’s Belles, the moniker they’d been given, regarded the rugged territory with mixed looks of anticipation and fear. Cecily chose the most nervous looking of ladies to greet first.
“Welcome to Seattle,” she said brightly with a reassuring smile, extending her hand to clasp the newcomer’s. “We are so pleased to have you join us and make this your new home….”