9

“Look, a letter from Anders.” Lilac flapped the envelope in her hand at Lark and Jonah as she hurried into the soddy a few days later, back from mailing a set of drawings in town.

“Oh good.” Lark turned away from stirring supper on the stove and reached for the letter. “Want to read it now?”

“Might as well.” Lilac glanced at Jonah, her middle tensing. Their younger brother sat down by the table, arms folded across his chest, his shirt showing sweat stains and stray bits of hay from mowing all day. Would Anders say anything about Ringwald?

Lark cocked a brow at the two of them, then slit the envelope with Pa’s letter opener, kept nearby on a kitchen shelf. She unfolded the letter—only a single page, written on one side—and read.

Dear family,

We are well, and business is booming. Despite my weariness each night, I am so thankful the Lord has enabled us to come back from such a disaster, seemingly stronger than before. We are hopeful we may be able to pay off our loan by the end of next year, which would be such a weight off my mind.

I chiefly wanted to write to let you know some news about Slate Ringwald. Last week, I heard he has set off for the east, presumably to die there, so I hope that relieves your minds on that score.

I hope Jonah is earning his keep and not eating you out of house and home. Josephine sends her love, as do the girls. Tell Lilac that Marcella and Greta asked for their ‘Tante Lila’ many times a day after she left.

More soon. Love to all.

Your brother,
Anders

Lark blew out a breath and handed the letter to Lilac. “Well. There’s something to thank the Lord for.”

“Sure is.” Lilac rubbed her thumb over the penned lines, tears pricking her eyes. “I’ve been trying to trust Him with this, but sometimes I lie awake at night imagining Ringwald coming out here on the train or—”

“You know what Ma would say about those thoughts.”

“That they’re fear talking, I know. And we know where fear comes from.” Still, she felt she could breathe more freely. “You want to see it, Jonah?”

Their brother took the letter, silently scanned it, then nodded. “That’s good.” He stood and handed the letter back to Lark. “Did you still want to look at the mower after supper?”

Lilac and Lark shrugged at each other. Who knew what went on in their brother’s mind.

“Yes, we need to make sure it’s still in good shape after these first days of mowing.” Lark pulled out a loaf of bread to slice. “Be nice to have our fields done before we head to the celebration tomorrow night if we can, since the other farmers in our mowing rotation will be expecting us to start next week.” It sure helped having Jonah here—they never would have made such fast progress with haying already otherwise.

“I’m so looking forward to the party.” Her feet now light as a spring lamb’s, Lilac set plates on the table. “About time we had another town gathering, even if it’s mostly to send off Ethan and Sylvia. Jonah, all the girls will be glad for another young man to dance with.”

He shrugged and glanced out at the falling dusk. “If you say so.”

Lilac bit her lip. Was he still thinking about Ringwald? Surely they could finally put all that behind them.

Off to a dance. The thought sent a happy tingle through Lark’s middle as she hupped the horses the following Saturday.

Lilac sat beside her on the wagon seat, Jonah in the back—he’d let them have the seat so as not to muss their party dresses. Del had elected to stay home, not yet ready for a night out with a newborn, even to honor Rev. Pritchard and Sylvia at tonight’s festivities. RJ stayed with her and Lily, of course.

And they’d meet Forsythia and Adam there. Would she see Isaac? The thought snuck in, but Lark batted it away.

The setting sun cast gold-edged shadows across the prairie by the time they arrived at the train station, which had become a town gathering place for celebrations thanks to the ample building size and large outdoor platform for dancing. Musicians already stood tuning their instruments at one end of the platform, where Lark and Lilac would soon join them. Lark set the wagon brake, Jonah helped them climb down, and they carried their platters of food into the train station, where long tables already bore hams and chickens, salads and preserves, pickles and baked goods. Jesse, setting up a barrel of lemonade, waved at them with a grin.

“This is so fun.” Lilac clasped her hands and beamed at the families gathering, the laughter and chatter. “I’m so glad everyone finally put aside their petty differences.”

“They may just be saving them for the congregational meeting tomorrow.” But Lark smiled and straightened one of the lilac-hued ribbons adorning her sister’s dark curls. “You look so pretty.”

Lilac gave a little twirl, her lavender lawn skirt swirling about her. “So do you.”

Lark lifted a hand to her lace collar, fastened tonight with Ma’s pearl brooch. She rarely wore it, but tonight seemed a fitting occasion, and it set off her blue church dress nicely. She’d even worn her hoop under the full skirt, something she rarely did these days. She still found the bell shape awkward to walk in, but tonight . . . she’d wanted to look her best.

As if reading her thoughts, she caught a glance from Isaac McTavish across the platform and had to swallow, her eyes darting away. Why did her heart insist on pattering lately at the sight of that man? Be sensible, Lark.

The twang of a concertina lassoed her focus. “We better get our instruments.” They’d promised to play tonight, as usual, though she’d make sure Lilac got a chance to dance and hoped to get in at least a reel or two herself. With whom was a question she refused to contemplate.

Lark fingered the familiar strings of her guitar in the musicians’ corner while Lilac tuned her violin. George Hoffman drew his washtub near, with Anthony Armstead on concertina.

Mr. Caldwell stepped forward and beamed at the gathering. “Welcome, all. What a joy it is to celebrate together tonight—even if mingled with sadness at bidding our beloved minister good-bye. Yet we rejoice also in the new future the Lord has for him and his lovely new bride. Reverend and Mrs. Pritchard, won’t you come forward?”

Rev. Pritchard stepped to the center of the platform, Sylvia on his arm, a rare pink in her cheeks. They’d already moved to their new home in Lincoln and were just back tonight for the festivities. By the settled happiness on the young pastor’s face, married life agreed with him nicely. Lark glanced at Lilac and smiled to herself. At least now that he was with the right bride.

“We’re here to celebrate tonight, to make merry, dance hard, and eat well. But first, we want to ask the Lord’s blessing over you, Reverend.” Mr. Caldwell extended his hand to his wife, and Beatrice joined him. Together, they laid their hands on the shoulders of the young couple.

“Father God, as Reverend and Mrs. Pritchard have so served and blessed our community, we now ask that you bless them. Bless them with grace as they learn a new place, with strength and wisdom as they begin a new ministry and life together. Bless them with joy in their marriage, with love and patience when they encounter trials. Most of all, bless them with the continual awareness of thy presence with them at all times—as you also are with us. In the name of Jesus Christ we pray, amen.”

“Amens” resounded from all sides. Lark noticed the reverend had to lower his glasses to swipe at his eyes.

“And now”—Mr. Caldwell cleared his throat, clapping the preacher on the back—“before we all end up in tears, remember these two just had a wedding. Let’s celebrate!”

Cheers and applause. Lark lifted her brows at the musicians and nodded. Lilac struck the pitch on her fiddle, and they all launched into “Soldier’s Joy” as couples formed into squares on the dance floor, Rev. Pritchard and Sylvia leading off the closest set.

Laughter and music swirled around them, paced by the sashay of skirts and stamp of feet as the sky faded from sunset gold and rose to deep blue and violet.

Lark’s fingers flew, hardly needing to pay attention to chords she knew so well. She smiled to see Mr. and Mrs. Jorgensen dancing, the mercantile proprietress wearing a uncommon beam on her careworn face. And was that Jonah promenading with Tilda Hoffman? Quite a light in the young woman’s dark eyes as she looked up at their younger brother. Hmm. Lark glanced at Lilac to see if she’d noticed, but Lilac had her eyes closed as she fiddled with all her heart.

At last everyone took a break to eat. Lark set down her guitar and wiggled her fingers to get the feeling back, then followed the line snaking into the train station and out with laden plates. She could do with a glass of lemonade—the early August evening was warm, even if she hadn’t been dancing.

She lost track of her sisters in the crowd and emerged from the building alone, plate in hand. She searched for Jesse’s lemonade barrel and headed toward it.

“May I?” Appearing at her side, Isaac McTavish held out a tin cup.

“Oh, I can get it.” Lark bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to sound rude, but where had he suddenly come from? “I mean, thank you. That would be very kind.”

One corner of his mouth tipped, but Isaac said nothing as he filled her cup and handed it over.

“Thank you,” she said again, the metal of the cup cool against her palm. She glanced about, her stomach flipping. “Did you eat already?”

“Left my plate over yonder.” He nodded to some lumber stacked by the edge of the train platform. “Just thought you could use a hand.”

So he had deliberately come over to offer his assistance. Lark’s neck warmed beneath her high collar.

Isaac tipped his head. “Care to join me?”

Unable to think of a reason not to, Lark nodded.

“Afraid this ain’t quite proper seatin’ for a lady.” Isaac attempted to brush sawdust from the boards with his old army cap. “Shall we find us another spot?”

“I’m not exactly a fine lady.” The tangle in her middle easing, Lark grinned and sat herself down on the lumber, lifting her hoop with one hand from behind to let her skirt flounce properly over the boards. “Even if I might look it tonight.” She arched a brow at him.

“You surely do.” Isaac chuckled and perched beside her. “Well, here we are, then.”

“Are you enjoying the evening?” Lark bit into a bite of crisply fried chicken and closed her eyes at the flavor. Must be Beatrice Caldwell’s.

“Mighty nice.” Isaac surveyed the gathering. “Always good to be among these folks.”

“Any word yet from your family who were coming out? Your uncle, wasn’t it?”

His brow furrowed. “My uncle passed on toward the end of winter, sudden-like. Pneumonia, they said. Guess all the worry with those outlaws had took a toll on him more than we knew.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lark lowered her fork. How had she not known that?

“Well, he’d lived a good life, as they say. And his son, my cousin Ambrose, he’s still fixin’ to come, ’long with his wife and children.” Isaac cast her a quick grin. “So looks like I’ll have kin of my own around here soon after all. Been a mighty long time.”

“You know we see you as practically family ourselves.” Lark bit the inside of her cheek—would that seem forward? “I mean, you know you’re always welcome at the Nielsens’.”

“I do.” He held her gaze.

“Lark, they’re getting ready to start up the music again.” Lilac stopped in front of them. “Do you want to dance now?”

She did, but Lark kept herself from glancing at Isaac, who sat silently. “I can wait. You go ahead and dance a couple of rounds. I’ll come play.” She snatched another bite of corn bread and nodded her thanks to Isaac, who took her plate. “Thank you.”

“Thank you kindly for joinin’ me.” He dipped his head in that courtly way of his.

Lark shook her head to clear the swirls from it as she headed back to the musicians. What was up with that man? Seeming to seek out her company, but did he give any hint of asking her to dance, even at a good opportunity like that? No.

She played several more dances, then stopped for a dipper of water. Lilac hurried up, rosy-cheeked and breathless. “All right, your turn.”

“I don’t know . . .” If no one were to ask her, perhaps she’d rather just play.

Lilac nodded to behind Lark. “You’ve got a partner waiting.”

Lark’s heart leaped. She spun to see Adam smiling and holding out his hand. “Care to dance, sister Lark?”

Working hard to keep her plunging disappointment from her face, she smiled and laid her hand in her brother-in-law’s. “Thank you. I suppose I would.”

“Did Forsythia put you up to this?” she asked as Adam led her into place in a forming set.

“Now, why would you think that?” The doctor winked.

“Because I know my sister.” Lark chuckled, but her chest felt hollow. At twenty-six, was she now merely the old spinster sister, her younger sisters having to nudge their husbands to provide her with dance partners? She pressed her lips against the thought.

Her feet weighted clumsily on the first few steps, but soon the music took over, her spirits lifting with the flying of her feet as she sashayed and circled, swinging from one to another as the sets moved in and out.

Forward and back with Adam, circling around the Hoffmans, then on to dance with the next couple.

And she found herself face-to-face with Isaac McTavish.

“Well, hello again. Enjoying yourself?” He smiled beneath his beard and reached for her hands, circling her around once.

“Hello.” Lark barely had time to smile before he sent her back to Adam again.

Another couple of brief clasps of Isaac’s hand in the right-hand chain, and then off they spun to dance with another set. Yet Lark kept glancing for him around the floor, keenly aware of his tattered army coat and sandy hair in and out among the dancers.

She and Adam had nearly circled back to dancing again with Isaac and his partner, Lizzy Wells, when the music came to an end in a burst of applause and laughter.

Lark joined in the clapping, pushing down a silly pang. What did it matter? If Isaac wanted to dance with her, he would. That was all there was to it.

“Thank you kindly for the dance.” Adam bowed.

“And thank you.” Lark curtseyed back, hoping her smile held the gratitude she did feel. How blessed she was with such loving family—she had more than enough to be grateful for.

She sighed as she glanced about her, couples forming for the next dance. More than enough.

“Care for another turn on the floor?”

Lark’s breath caught in her throat for a second, then she turned and smiled into those perplexing gray eyes. “Why? Do you, Mr. McTavish?”

“’T’weren’t quite satisfactory, bein’ merely ships passin’ out there.” Isaac held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Lark laid her hand in his, her fingers slipping into place right and easy, despite the flutter in her middle. “Thank you.”

He drew her into a circle of four as the musicians struck up the plaintive strains of the next dance.

Isaac cocked his head. “‘Irish Lamentation,’ I do believe. An old one, but ’twas a favorite of my ma’s.”

“It’s a lovely one. I haven’t heard it in a while.” Lilac showed no trouble following the tune, her fiddle clear and true carrying the melody.

Lark’s feet fell into the lilting rhythm of the dance, balancing in and out, circling round the other dancers in their set. Weaving through a chain of rights and lefts. And finally, back to Isaac for a gentle waltz round to join the next set. His hand steady at the small of her back, strong hand guiding her around. So near she could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest. Gray eyes holding her own.

She barely saw the faces of any other dancers, the rest of the floor a blur around her. There was only Isaac, till the musicians sounded the final strain, and everyone dipped in curtseys and bows.

Lark drew a long breath, steadying herself as she joined in the applause. “Thank you.” She smiled at Isaac, hoping her voice sounded natural. She’d danced with him before, at the Valentine’s dance the previous winter. But this . . . this had been different.

“And thank you.” He still looked at her, face a serious blend of—what? She couldn’t read him. She, Larkspur Nielsen, who noticed every detail and could read most everyone. Was that what alternately drew and frustrated her about this man? That she never quite knew what he was about?

He reached for her hand once more as if to shake it, then suddenly bent and kissed her knuckles. And just as quickly, slipped away into the crowd.

Lark expelled a short breath and shook her head. And there he went, off again. No wonder she could never make him out.

“Mighty fine couple you two made out on the dance floor.” A feminine hand slipped into Lark’s and squeezed it.

She twisted her head to stare at Climie’s knowing eyes and gentle smile.

Her friend cocked her head. “Didn’t you see the way he looked at you?”

Unable to form a response, Lark slipped away from her friend and hurried back to join the musicians. At least there she knew what was happening and what she was supposed to do.

Even if, all the rest of the night, her heart kept beating time with the lingering rhythm of their dance in her head.