Happy birthday!” Ian shoved his door shut and helped Meredith remove her cape. “Thank you.”
For a fleeting second, Ian allowed himself to brush a spiraled tendril of her hair from her nape. It felt baby soft, a realization that made him smile, seeing as it was her birthday.
“I’m the older one. Sis, scoot over. I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”
Meredith poked her twin in the ribs. “Being five minutes older doesn’t give you leave to be bossy.”
“I’m not bossy.” He eased past her and tacked on, “Just surly.”
“You hardly even say a word to Ian except for wanting coffee.”
The last thing Ian wanted was for her to be put in the center of a tug-of-war between him and her brother. He shook her cape and hung it on a peg by the door. “I understand. Tucker knows what he likes.”
Tucker paused with the coffeepot in midair. “I know what I love.”
“So go on and have a cup.” Ian gently nudged Merry toward the table. “And have a seat. Breakfast is ready.”
“You cooked breakfast?”
“Oh no.” Tucker consoled himself with a swig of coffee.
“I’d be insulted if your reactions weren’t warranted. In the past, some of the things I made were—”
“Burnt offerings.” Tucker’s voice rated as funereal.
“There are a few things that”—Ian grabbed a pair of pot holders—“I did learn to make. These are one of my favorites, so I hope you like them, too.” He opened the oven and took out a heaping plate of buckwheat pancakes.
“Flapjacks!” Tucker scrambled to the table.
“How did you manage flapjacks?” Merry gave him a disbelieving look. “It takes eggs to make them.”
“Yep. Two of ’em.” Ian grinned. “I brought them back from Goose Chase packed in cornmeal. It’s a trick my ma used while on the Oregon Trail. Once I got home, I oiled them.”
“Enough talk.” Tucker patted the table. “Let’s eat.”
Ian set down the platter and sat opposite Merry. He’d rather sit beside her, but her brother made a habit of doing so—a point Ian noted with a twinge of irritation. Lord, this is all in Your hands. Help me to have the right attitude.
“Whose turn is it to pray?” Merry wondered aloud.
“Actually, it’s your brother’s, but I’d like to ask a special birthday blessing for the both of you.” Ian bowed his head and folded his hands. “Our dear, praised heavenly Father, we come before You to start another day. ’Tis a special one—and I’d ask You to look down on Your daughter Merry and Your son Tucker. You’ve brought them through the past year, and I ask You to hold them in the hollow of Your hand this next year. Grant them health, happiness, and a closer walk with You. Thank You for the food before us, and know how glad we are to be Your children. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Thank you for that lovely prayer, Ian. Among the blessings God bestowed upon Tucker and me this year, you are at the top of the list.”
“That’s high praise, indeed. I’m honored.” In years past, Ian gladly would have eaten every last buckwheat pancake himself. This morning he found contentment in eating only two and urging Meredith and Tucker to have more.
Once breakfast ended, he went to his bunk and moved the pillow. “I have a little gift for each of you. Tucker, here.”
“No, have Sis go first.”
Merry laughed as he swiped the last bite from her plate. “Tucker is older. He should go first.”
“Ma taught me not to argue with ladies.” Ian handed Tucker his gift.
“A cribbage board? I haven’t played cribbage in years.” Tucker’s joy dimmed. “But we don’t have cards.”
“Ah, but we do!” Ian pulled a deck from his shirt pocket with a flourish.
Tucker concentrated on the wooden board and ran his thumbnail over the rows of tiny holes. “Thanks.”
“What a wonderful gift!” Merry bumped Tucker’s shoulder playfully. “Now you won’t have to try to learn to juggle. That”—her eyes twinkled with glee—“is actually Ian’s gift to me: that I won’t have to dodge the rocks you try to juggle.”
“Nay, lass. You’ve a gift, too.” Ian could hardly wait to see her reaction. He scooted the pillow completely out of the way, picked up her present, and walked back to the table. “Here you are.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, and she stared at his hand. From behind her fingers, her voice sounded breathless. “Hair ribbons.”
“Your hair is your crowning glory, Merry.” He set the gift on the table before her. As he did, the ribbons shifted, revealing a pair of hair combs and a card of hairpins beneath the lengths of pink, blue, and white.
“Hairpins! Socks doesn’t sell ribbons or hairpins.” Her warm hazel eyes sparkled with delight.
“Why would he?” Ian chuckled. “The man’s bald as a shaved egg. I wrote home and told my family all about the two of you. I asked for the ribbons. My sister, Fiona, never can keep track of her hairpins. Half the time, she’s searching for them at midday. I can’t say for certain whether ’twas she or Ma who sent them along.”
“Please give them my thanks.” She turned to Tucker. “You knew about this, didn’t you? That’s why you arranged for me to wash my hair! The way you work together—it is such a joy to see what great partners and friends you’ve become.”
“Tucker, we could spend the whole day jawing around in here, or we could actually go out to work and put some muscle behind that partnership.”
“Go out to work? Why don’t you work inside today?”
Tucker shook his head. “I can’t stand being cooped up. There’ll be plenty of days when we can’t go out. I’m glad to have breathing room.” He stood.
Once they’d left Merry and were out of earshot, Tucker stopped. “What you did—it was nice. But that doesn’t change things. You can’t buy Meredith’s affections.”
“I’d be a fool to believe otherwise.”
“Why did you let her think I knew what you’d gotten her?”
“I neither agreed nor disagreed. We both want Merry to be happy. Aye, we do. On that we agree. And I credit you with loving her so much that you’d have decided to make our gifts complement one another for her benefit.”
Tucker shook his head. “I don’t know what it is up here that addles a man’s mind. There’s Abrams and Clemment, and now you. You’re all crazy.”
“Abrams is a rascal. Clemment—well, I thought perhaps we ought to discuss him. He’s not right in his mind. I worry that he’ll not take proper care of himself and be a winter casualty.”
“Merry keeps track of things. You can write a note to his family. If she doesn’t have an address, she can wheedle it out of him.”
“I’ll get word to his family. ’Tis the least we can do for a neighbor.”
Tucker started rocking the wood-framed steel mesh rocker cradle as Ian dumped small chunks and gravel into it. He added water, and they winnowed through the stones that were worthless.
“Ian? Does Meredith have your family’s address?”
Ian didn’t pretend to misunderstand what Tucker meant. “Listen here, Smith. If you think I’ll bolt off to my old hometown, you’re the one who’s showing a bent mind. Like this here, I’ve sifted through stones and pebbles and gravel. I finally struck gold in the form of the comely hazel eyes of your sister. Aye, and that’s enough to make me feel as rich as Midas.”
Ian dumped the top two levels of unremarkable chips of stone. He stuck his forefinger into the very bottom of the rocker box and brought it back up with a mere breath of gold dust on the tip. “A thimble full of this is an ounce. A refiner’s fire burns off the dross and leaves it pure. You and I—we’re standing in the furnace, but the Lord has different works to do within our hearts and souls. You can call me crazy, but ’tis commitment—commitment to His will and to the woman I love.”
“A man who plays with fire gets burned.”
“To me, Merry is worth whatever fire I must walk through.”
Tucker stopped rocking the box. At the very bottom, only a few flakes glinted. “No matter how much you work at it, you don’t always get enough of what you want in the end.”
Somewhere, sometime ago, a woman hurt him. Compassion replaced Ian’s frustration. “Tucker, whenever a man courts a woman, there’s always a danger that things won’t work out. I’ve not pursued anyone ’til now, but that’s changed for me. To me, Merry is more than worth the risk.”