Chapter Nine

Josie sat in the patch of sunlight coming in through the Sinclairs’ front window, setting tiny stitches along the hem of a dark green dress. Nearly four weeks had passed since her wedding, each day like a separate little gift and each night a dream. Half the time she felt as if she danced between joy and despair, the way water dances on a hot griddle, sure of only one thing.

She’d never imagined loving anybody the way she loved her new husband.

And the ties between them—the ties that had formed went deep. They strengthened every morning when he smiled at her and each night when he took her in his arms.

She glanced up from her painstaking work—she would give Mrs. Sinclair only her best—to gauge the afternoon. A bright, windy day with what Dougie called white horses riding on the deep blue ocean, it held a crisp chill that hinted of autumn.

Josie could only try to imagine autumn in this far, northern place, and winter—winter spent wrapped in Dougie’s love.

Would she be here still? Seemed she couldn’t quite believe it even yet.

Voices coming from outside distracted her from her thoughts. The house seemed busy today, with a steady stream of customers. Plus the children had just come in from school, the two boys racing around in their usual fashion and Dorothea wanting to talk.

Josie smiled involuntarily at the thought of Dora, with her bright conversation and confiding ways. Dora said she wanted to write stories; in fact she insisted someday she would write the story of Josie and Douglas, so everyone could know about their great love.

Douglas. He would still be at work in the forge, strong and skillful, but she’d see him soon. Did he think of her?

Her longing was interrupted when Mrs. Sinclair and her latest customer, Mrs. Mayer, entered the big front room from the porch where they’d been standing, Mrs. Sinclair with her arms full of garments.

Josie had seen Mrs. Mayer in town from time to time. In her fifties, she had a narrow, pinched face and often looked as if she could smell something unsavory.

“You’re sure you can get that mending done quick, Lisbeth?”

Lisbeth Sinclair nodded reassuringly. “Oh yes, Bertha, especially now that I have an extra pair of hands.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Mayer glanced at Josie where she sat before leaning closer to Lisbeth. Just as if Josie weren’t right there in the room she said, “Well, but I don’t want her touching my clothing.”

Dismay poured through Josie and settled in the pit of her stomach. Her bright needle faltered. She’d already encountered that sort of attitude in town during the last weeks, mostly in the way folks stared when she and Dougie walked together. At the grocer’s, the proprietor had at first been reluctant to serve her, till Dougie set him straight.

But the last thing she wanted was to damage business for Lisbeth Sinclair, who’d been so good to her.

She felt rather than saw Lisbeth stiffen. In a voice like ice, Lisbeth said, “I assure you, Bertha; Mrs. Grier’s sewing is as good as or better than my own.”

“It’s not that.” Mrs. Mayer leaned still nearer. Did she really imagine Josie couldn’t hear? “I have to wear these things.”

Lisbeth withdrew slightly. “Then perhaps you had better take your custom elsewhere.”

Three things happened then, all at once: Mrs. Sinclair thrust the bundle of garments toward Mrs. Mayer, the boys burst into the room with Chieftain in tow, and Dorothea descended the stairs like an avenging angel.

Two flags of color flew in Dorothea’s cheeks, and her first words made it clear she’d overheard. “Mrs. Mayer, that’s just pure meanness on your part, it is! Why wouldn’t you want Jo touching your things? She’s an expert seamstress, so my ma says.”

“Dorothea,” Lisbeth cautioned.

Mrs. Mayer drew herself up, the familiar look of distaste coming over her face again. “What business is it of yours, Dorothea Sinclair?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, shall I? Douglas Grier is like a brother to me, and that makes his wife, Jo, my sister. And I’m proud to say she’s also fast becoming my friend. If you’re so nasty and narrow-minded you can’t see—”

“Dorothea!” Lisbeth snapped in a voice Josie had never before heard her employ.

Dorothea buttoned her lip, but Josie could see it went hard with her.

Josie stumbled to her feet, the green dress dangling from her hands, and stood trembling.

Mrs. Mayer sniffed through her long nose. “Dorothea Sinclair, you are a rude child. I think your parents should be ashamed of you speaking in such a way to your elders.”

“Proud, you mean,” Lisbeth retorted. “I am very proud of my daughter.” She finished depositing the bundle of clothing in Mrs. Mayer’s arms. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Mayer, I will have to refuse your custom.”

“High and mighty, are you?” Mrs. Mayer frowned and flicked a look at Josie where she stood. “With that in your parlor.”

Lisbeth made a sweeping gesture to the open door. Alasdair, Archie, and Chieftain, who stood frozen in front of it, quickly moved aside. “Mrs. Mayer, you are most welcome to leave.”

Nose in the air, Mrs. Mayer did. The silence became so complete Josie could hear the woman’s feet crunching on the gravel path as she stalked away, and the waves slapping down on the shore.

“Ma?” Archie queried then.

“It’s all right, lads. Go play till suppertime. Just make sure you keep Chieftain with you if you go down on the rocks.”

“Ma,” Dorothea echoed her brother as soon as the two boys had gone. “I don’t see any call for you to scold me—”

“It wasn’t what you said, Dorothea, but the way you said it. No need for you to point out all the flaws in her nasty personality quite so directly. Well!” Lisbeth drew a breath. “That will be all over town before the sun sets.”

“I’m sorry,” Josie began.

Lisbeth fixed her with a level stare. “For what? Not your fault, honey, that the woman’s a shrew. She’s one of the ones spread gossip about Rab and me before we were married, while I was staying where you’re living now—even though Rab bunked elsewhere. However”—she switched her gaze to her daughter—“that doesn’t mean we can go around insulting folks.”

Dorothea tilted up her chin. “Even her?”

“Even her,” Lisbeth said firmly.

“But,” Josie again attempted, “if me being here is going to cost you customers…”

“Just let folks get a gander at the quality of your sewing,” Lisbeth assured her, “and we’ll see how business increases. And that embroidery you can do—I was thinking of making that a specialty, and charging a pretty penny, too. If you’re willing, that is.”

Josie nodded and gave a wobbly smile. “I purely enjoy doing embroidery,” she confessed.

“Well, then,” Lisbeth declared, “I don’t suppose we need Mrs. Mayer’s business.”

Josie sank back into her seat, and Lisbeth eyed her kindly.

“Dorothea, go put the kettle on.”

With a final glare down the pathway, Dorothea went.

****

“I missed you,” Dougie said.

Josie could tell. He’d come straight from the forge when he heard her arrive home, dressed as she best liked to see him, in the leather apron that showed off his shoulders and muscular back, still all warm and glistening from his place beside the fire. She moved into his arms, and some of the hurt from the afternoon fell away.

Some.

He drew her closer. Josie loved the way Dougie touched her, like he thought she might shatter in his hands. She remembered how she’d seen Massa Collingwood touch women, her ma and later Eunice, with rough demand.

But she didn’t want to think about Buford Collingwood, especially now.

She smiled up at her husband. “I’ll get supper started right away.”

“I’m not hungry. Leastwise—well, darling, you know what I want.”

Josie looked into his dark eyes and promptly melted. She knew, and it made her pulse race.

“Here, now, you’re not going to need that heavy apron.” She stretched up on her tiptoes and untied it from around his neck. “You sure are a beautiful man, Douglas Grier. It’s like you were made perfect, just for me.”

She ran her palms over his now naked chest and felt him catch fire.

“Never knew why I was in the world,” he confessed, “but that might just be it.”

He kissed her so her toes curled and she had to hold onto him in order to stay upright. Then he whispered into her neck, “I’ve been thinking about you. All day.”

If that was so, then nothing else mattered—so long as they were together and the rest of the world stayed beyond the door.

“Well, then,” she whispered back, “I reckon you’d better do something about it.”

He did, removing her clothing one piece at a time and chasing each garment with a kiss. By the time he carried her to their bed she barely remembered Mrs. Mayer’s name.

Later, dazed and still tingling, she lay and thought about what he’d said. She, too, had often wondered why she was in the world. Her presence had never seemed to mean much to anyone save her family.

Maybe it was all for this—so the two of them, both drifting lost, could find a harbor and a home in one another.

“Dougie, you awake?”

She’d meant to tell him about Mrs. Mayer and the way the Sinclair women had stood up for her. Now though, the quiet dark had fallen outside, and she felt far too much peace to dredge all that up again. Besides, something else needed to be said.

“Umm?” he replied, more than half asleep and with his wavy dark hair messed up on the pillow. Sweet lord, he looked so handsome, and his heart beat so true. What had she ever done to deserve this little piece of heaven? And about to get better, at least she hoped he’d think so.

“I missed my monthly.”

“Eh?”

“We’ve been married almost four weeks. And it should have come last Tuesday.”

He lifted his bent arm from his forehead and stared at her. “What should?”

“My monthly, Dougie. My woman’s time. Don’t you know what I’m talking about?”

She could tell the instant he did. His stare intensified, and sheer joy shone at her from his eyes.

“You mean—?”

She nodded.

Reverently, he laid his big, warm hand on her belly. “Already?”

“Well, I guess, Dougie Grier, when two people are this perfect for each other, it doesn’t take long.”