Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

unused and left untouched because Mother’s withdrawal from the community, as far as I knew. I’d ask Aunt more about it, if she’d see me—let me in—but I may have burned that bridge to the ground. Now this cottage waits for me. A gift for a past promise, opened in a new one.

I wondered who could have torn out the rotting floors, and recalled Mr. Bleu thinking it still worth the saving. Did he do this work? For me? I need to ask him. And get his advice about able men who can restore it.

My list grew this evening as I assessed every item I owned that might be put to some practical use in some way. The cottage needed a cook stove. A few cabinets for supplies, not to mention cast iron cookware. I’d given all of Mother’s practical things to the mission barrel at church. Had I known my future, I wouldn’t have been so generous!

Even a table and chairs must be added if I am to keep house comfortably. Before any of these, the place needs to be made habitable. That meant hiring men, and a large pricey order from the store catalogue. I don’t have the money to do this, but I do own a farm. What if, what if...

I spent a full hour in the presence of the great Mr. MacDonald. I feel as though I’ve grown wings and used them too! He is ready and willing to pay a good sum for twenty acres that align with his property. And as far as I can tell, this land is hardly touched by Uncle or Ernest. I daresay they’ll scarcely miss it. The cows aren’t allowed on that part of the land anyway—as it is unfenced and a little too far from the house. Mr. MacDonald seemed to be very excited about this possibility.

We shook hands, the two of us will pay a visit to the lawyer and bank come Monday.

MAY 31, 1880

I now have an account at the bank with sufficient funds to restore the cottage and live on for quite a while.

Mrs. MacDonald was not amused by my venture in the least. At first. Her voice raised and Mr. MacDonald’s muffled tones seeped through the study door I’d vacated. How dare he allow such an innocent young girl to be out on her own? Did he not realize that Chess desired to court me? How inappropriate his visits would be if I had not another soul living with me.  A young single woman should never live alone. Must never live alone.

Her tone worried me. But I was determined. I couldn’t be the daughter she wanted when my own mother still permeates my waking thoughts. I couldn’t be courted by Chess and have any hope of restoring my relationship with my cousins.  And Helen...

Chess drew me aside when we’d returned from town. “You can’t do this. What is my father thinking?”

“You don’t think he should help me? Too late, I’m afraid.”

“No.” He bent his face close to mine, I drew back. “I should be the one helping you.”

“What have you to give?” A saucy comment, I wish I’d never said.

His face reddened. He drew back, but still had hold of my hand. “I’m not sure why I should care about you, but I do. Can’t help it. You showed up and what can I say?” His lips quirked. “It’s Helen. You are being careful because of her, aren’t you?” His silly grin returned with hope.

“I have to be.”

“Supposing she wasn’t in the picture?”

I shook my head. This was happening too quickly. “Please. Can you give me time? I’d like to get to know you. And I do need to preserve my friendship with Helen.” He let go of my hand. “Please be careful with her heart. Don’t embarrass her. I beg you.”

The strain on his face lifted some. “I’d never do that. But I can’t say I’ve done anything to encourage the girl either.”

“Doesn’t take much, sometimes.”

“Doesn’t seem to take a lot for you.”

I looked past him, to his mother standing elegantly by a Greek pillar. Did they think I might be desperate for marriage? Present a tempting conquest because of the land I own?  What other answer can there be?

“At least you’ll have twenty more acres and not have to put up with me.” I was exasperated, wanted to run away. “I’m sorry to disappoint you both. That was never my intention.”

Mrs. MacDonald pulled me into a private parlor and sat me in a well-cushioned seat. “I think we need to chat.”

I began first, anxious to get everything off my chest. “I wish I were drawn to your son, Mrs. MacDonald. He’s a good man. And you have been so good to me. Better than I deserve. I don’t understand why you want me around.”

“I know how it feels to be alone. In every way.”

Tears threatened. She really did care. Why did I have a hard time believing this to be true?

“Do you know, when Chess saw you the first time—back when in snowed in March, just before the fruit trees blossomed—he said to me, ‘I’ve never met anyone like her. Dignified, yet capable. She’s meant for more than farm life.’”

I had no words. She continued. “I was curious, and sent you the invitation to tea. You came, and I saw a reflection of myself. Young, grieving her folks. If you are not interested in my son, neither of us will push you, though I would find it delightful if he did come to grow on you. I wouldn’t be a mother if I didn’t.” She paused, lip quivering. “But let us help you anyway. You don’t have to live alone. I’m not sure why you don’t plan to return to your Aunt and Uncle’s, but if anything is the matter, we are here for you.”

Her words were a balm. How much to tell her? “I want nothing more than to make my home with them. Uncle has an idea in