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LENA SAT CLOSE TO THE fire, reading from Tom Sawyer to a captive audience. Only she appeared to note Evan’s arrival. She stopped her reading, greeting him. “Mr. Hartmann, you look as though you’ve had a long day. Your dinner is under a dishtowel on the table.”
Evan nodded to her as he took off his hat, hair springing out haphazardly. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Lena resumed her reading.
“'Please Becky—I'll whisper it, ever so easy.'
Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to her ear. And added, 'Now you whisper it to me—just the same.'
She resisted, for a while, and then said, 'You turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will.'
He turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath stirred his curls and whispered, 'I—love—you!'“
“Oh, Bart, would you have talked to me that way had you known me as a little girl?”
“Well, it’s for sure the right thing to say to any gal you’d be courtin’.”
Jessie turned a skeptical eye on Bart. “But that boy’s a bold-faced liar, muddle-headed too. That Becky should see right through him if she had a brain in her head. Fiddlesticks! I wouldn't trust the scamp to mean it.”
Lena exchanged an amused expression with Ely, before noticing Evan at the back of the room, a vaguely grey dusty ghost. “Mr. Hartmann, why don’t you join us? Come warm yourself.”
Evan shifted uneasily, alternating between pushing at his unkempt hair and fiddling with a tear in his right sleeve. “I’m a mite too dirty for the company. Maybe another time. Thank you.”
Lena watched him disappear down the hall, a frown pinching her brow.
Lena marked her place and turned to Ely. “Won’t you play for us now, Ely? My voice is worn out to a whisper.”
Jessie clapped her hands, and jumping to her feet, grabbed Ely by the arm. “Oh, yes! Please, play for us.”
A twinkle of pleasure gleamed in Ely’s eye. “I have a tune in mind that you might enjoy.” With that he picked up his case and pulled out his violin. Plucking at the strings for just a moment, he threw a quick glance at Lena before bringing the instrument to his chin. She nodded reassuringly.
For a full twenty minutes, the room was silent except for the rich melody vibrating from the strings of Ely’s violin. At times playful, while at others serene and plaintive, the music transported his audience beyond the confines of the warm room to the mountains and streams beyond the walls. When he had finished, the violin still tucked beneath his chin, no one moved. It was as if they each had held their breath until at last Jessie leaped from her chair and threw her arms around Ely, encompassing him, violin and all. With the silence broken, Bart began to applaud, joined no less enthusiastically by Carrick and Donal.
Lena stretched out her hand to touch Ely’s sleeve. “Thank you, Ely. That was lovely.”
With one arm tucked behind his neck, Evan lay on his bed listening to the concert through his half-open door. When Ely finished, Evan’s face grew serene, a faint smile softening the hard lines of his face. If a soul could sing, surely, it would sing such music. There were times when he was riding in the wild lands, where the high ranges shed their icy waters into the clear blue lakes, that he felt such swellings of gladness in his chest. At times the beauty of those sacred places bruised him with their loveliness. It was the aching yearning of a mortal body trying to comprehend something too vast to be bound by the shackles of human understanding.
As the soothing strains faded, Evan felt in their absence all the confusion of recent events grow darker by contrast. He’d been his brother’s north star for most of their lives and just when it seemed Jimmy had, at last, corrected his course, he’d lost his life. That loss had altered not only his life but that of Vicki and her child. Where was the sense in it?
Together, they’d finally made a sensible, not a pie-in-the-sky dream, but a practical plan for their future. With a claim that showed promise, a wide-open country waiting to be tamed, and their combined experience with raising livestock, they stood a good chance of making their mark. But without Jimmy’s optimism and exuberant spirit, clouds obscured the path ahead. The question swirled about him like a veiling mist. What did he, Evan, want from life?
Naomi’s remarks cut deep and true. If he’d pry his fingers loose from his brother’s dreams, might he dare to imagine his own? The ranch seemed something he’d wanted as much as his brother, wasn’t it? He closed his eyes remembering the music again, letting it carry him beyond the room in which he lay. Perhaps he would dream something new.
As the last embers glowed within the stone fireplace, Lena remained where she’d been all evening, her feet propped before the grate. Everyone had long since retired, but Lena’s mind still spun through the events of the day. Recalling the conversation of the two women at the café, their aghast response to her continued residence, their disturbing comments about the future of the town, all conspired to keep sleep from visiting her any time soon.
She knew the danger of such a double-minded state. She had committed to stay through the winter, and so she must put her mind to that end and not waver. Tomorrow, with Bart’s help, she would make an extensive list of chores that needed doing to prepare for the cold months ahead. She would consult her ledgers once again and balance her accounts against her savings. She would make this work. She must.
Footsteps in the hall startled her. She looked over her shoulder. Evan, face now scrubbed but hair still disheveled, stopped upon seeing her. From his stunned expression, she felt certain he was not expecting anyone. She saw him button up the top button on his undershirt, a charming modesty. It made her feel that same strange empathy for the man that had caused her to drop her guard once before. How did he appear so vulnerable one moment, and then in the next breath, snap at her with words of stinging recrimination?
“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t know anyone was up at this hour.”
Now it was Lena’s turn to feel self-conscious. “I . . .I was having trouble sleeping.”
They simply stared at each other, both unsure what the etiquette called for in this awkward moment. Evan gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. “Thought I’d see what might be in the kitchen to help me stop my stomach from grumbling.”
“Oh! There are some biscuits left over from breakfast.” She tucked her feet back in her shoes and rose to her feet.
He lifted a hand. “Don’t bother, ma’am. I can fend for myself.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Hartmann. I rather think my stomach might be saying a few things to me as well. A warm glass of milk might be just the thing.” She avoided his gaze, slipping past him into the kitchen.
Evan seated himself at the table, watching Lena gather a jar of honey and dish of butter from the larder. After setting them in front of him, she stepped back, hands on her hips. “I really don’t think that’s sufficient. Would you like a few eggs to go with those biscuits? I’m sure I’d enjoy some.” Without waiting for a reply, she pulled four eggs from the basket, and stirred the stove back to life. Before cracking the shells, she put two back, mindful of Bart's admonition to use them judiciously.
“That’s a lot of trouble, Miss Sommer. I could have made do with most anything. I feel bad having you go to all this fuss.”
“Nonsense! I’m fully awake and it’ll help keep my mind off my . . .” She’d started to say troubles, but thought better of it. “day,” she finished.
She poured a glass of milk for herself and another for Evan, setting them both on the table before turning back to mind the eggs. “How about you, Mr. Hartmann? What’s keeping you from sleeping?” Was that too bold? With her back to him, she winced, wishing she could be more prudent. Jessie's impulsive nature seemed to be rubbing off on her.
“Guess, the day keeps playing back in my head, too,” Evan offered quietly.
It seemed to her that working in the mines day-after-day would bring little to trouble his sleep. Shouldn’t he simply be exhausted from the manual labor? But she kept her questions to herself, laying the plate of eggs before him.
“Looks good.” Evan dug in, slavering honey on three biscuits.
For a time, he ate in silence. Lena stole a glance at him before asking, “When did you come to Sawtooth, Mr. Hartmann? Were you one of the first to arrive?”
Evan threw back the last of his milk. Lena hadn't supposed that one could swig milk. “Suppose I was, Miss Sommer.” He tipped his head to one side, then shook it. “Seems a long time, doesn’t it?”
“Depends on how the time was spent, I would suppose. It can seem a very short time when you’re doing what you enjoy.” She thought of the years she’d had with her darling charge and how brief those years seemed now in retrospect.
“There’s some truth in that.” He suddenly rose to his feet, stood there for a moment as though more needed saying, then picked up his plate and took it to the sink. “Thank you for the food, Miss Sommer.”
He hesitated at the door, but if there were words he'd wished to say he kept them to himself.
Lena watched him go, feeling she knew even less about him than before. There was this cloud of mystery about the man, whether made of trouble or sorrow, she hadn't the faintest hint of a clue. But she sensed that there was some burden, that stayed close to his heart, like an old friend.
