11
Pinecones, spruce, and holly berries.
Violet stood back from the table and eyed the cabin, smiling at the transformation she’d brought to it during the past day of decorating.
“It does look a little Christmassy.” The pinecones and boughs around the door were especially pretty with the light-brown calico ribbon Hyacinth had sewn. The spruce wreath on the wall above the table was stunning too, with the larger pinecones Sterling had collected for her. The table centerpiece complemented everything with shorter spruce limbs and a few sprigs of holly berry arranged in a glass jar.
Sitting on the bench at the table, Hyacinth was hemming a placemat out of the calico material from an old skirt that had grown too frayed to use anymore, and Violet planned to put the placemat underneath the glass jar at the center of the table.
“Maybe I shouldn’t use the holly berries.” Violet leaned against the crutch Sterling had crafted for her out of a stick, keeping the pressure off her sprained ankle.
Sterling had wanted her to sit again today, like she had all day yesterday, and keep her foot elevated. But she’d been too restless and had needed to do something to occupy her time.
Since decorating was one of her passions, she’d decided to liven up the cabin interior as best she could. Sterling had insisted on being the one to collect all the supplies she’drequired, directing her back to the chair every time he came inside and saw she was standing.
In between collecting her decorations, he’d made progress on the sled and was nearly finished. He’d also been keeping an eye on the weather. The sun had been out all day and melted some of the new snow, so he was hoping they could travel back to the ranch safely tomorrow.
With Sterling there helping them and keeping them safe, a part of her didn’t want to leave. They were far away from Father and Claude and all that had gone wrong, and she liked not having to worry about those problems. It was easier avoiding the issues rather than addressing them. Maybe that had been her approach with Sterling and their relationship back in the spring too, and look how that had worked out.
Regardless of when they were leaving the cabin, the decorating project had been an enjoyable way to spend the day, which had been mostly peaceful. Some tension still existed, although it wasn’t as bad since the conversation last night and Sterling’s apology.
Violet had gone to bed shortly after their discussion, sleeping again with Hyacinth while Sterling took the bottom bunk across from them. With him so close by, she’d slept restlessly, thinking about his apology off and on all night. He’d been very sweet to take Hyacinth’s rebuke to heart and to express his shortcomings. He’d even listened to her talk about her difficulty in trusting men as it related to her father, and he’d seemed to understand and had even apologized for being like her father.
Even so, he’d been clear at the end of their conversation that he wasn’t interested in her any longer and that he planned to choose a different wife someday. Although she’d been discouraged by his statement, she wasn’t surprised that he didn’t want her. Because, despite his apology, she still didn’t blame Sterling for anything that had gone wrong. In fact, the more sheconsidered her father and his issues, the more she realized how that had influenced her view of Sterling and other men.
As much as she wanted to believe she could heal and change, she would always have the scars. Ultimately, Sterling would be better off with another woman—one who was stronger and more stable.
The door opened, and Sterling stepped inside, filling the cottage with his presence. With his broad shoulders, heavy coat, and towering frame, he seemed to take up all the space. Maybe it was his brawny physique, or maybe it was the commanding air about him that made him so powerful. Whatever it was, every time he came in, she found herself having to take a step back, as if in doing so she could put some space between them.
He was carrying a tin pail, and it was heaped full of more pinecones.
She started to hobble toward him. “Oh, wonderful! You found enough for a garland.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “How long have you been standing?”
“Only a few minutes.”
He nodded at the chair she’d abandoned. “Sit.”
She wasn’t a defiant person and mostly complied to whatever the situation required, so she hesitated only a moment before using her crutch to limp back to her spot.
Truthfully, she liked that Sterling was concerned about her. His concern was better than the aloof attitude he’d displayed when he’d discovered her on his porch. His doting reminded her of how he’d always showered her with such kindness and respect when they’d been courting. It was one of the many qualities she’d liked about him. He’d treated his mother and sisters the same way, deferring to them, assisting them, and looking out for their well-being.
Violet had never had brothers to watch over her, and Father had rarely shown that kind of consideration. There was only one time in her life she remembered fondly—a short few weeks when they’d lived in Missouri when she’d been twelve. Father had arrived home every evening after work, they’d eaten dinner as a family, and he’d read stories afterward. Some evenings, he’d taken walks with her and Hyacinth, and one time they’d stopped at a park and fed the ducks.
She’d wanted those evenings with Father to last forever. For the first time, she’d felt like they were a real family and that he truly loved her.
But the time with him had ended all too soon, and Father had been busy again. At that time, she hadn’t realized what monopolized his life. Now she knew that he’d been gambling, that his draw to the cards and poker table had been stronger than his draw to his family.
She’d always wondered what had changed during those few weeks of normalcy. Had he tried to quit? Had he wanted to do better but never had the strength to follow through? It was almost as if he was addicted to gambling—if that were even possible.
She sat down and propped her foot on the second chair.
Only then did Sterling shrug out of his coat. He tossed it on one of the hooks, then headed toward the stove. “Is the molasses and sugar boiling?”
“Yes.” Hyacinth expelled an exasperated breath. “I stirred it as you requested.”
Sterling reached the stove and peered into the pot where he’d poured all their molasses as well as quite a bit of their sugar. He hadn’t said what he was doing, only that he wanted to make something for them.
