1
October 1896
Torin Rees took out a tray of oatmeal cookies—one of the few desserts he’d mastered—from the oven and set it on the stovetop, inhaling the sweet scent. For a brief moment, he remembered his first batches—burned, wrong consistency, poor flavor. Turns out watching the family cook and bake wasn’t enough to know what to do. He had to learn the hard way. So much discovered through trial and error, especially with his beloved daughter, Jewel. At least he’d hired a nanny those first weeks after her birth to show him how to feed and diaper her.
He scooped the cookies onto a wire rack to cool.Jewel will be pleased.Although his daughter would probably insist on sharing them with their neighbor Brian Bly. The man was laid up with a gunshot wound to the leg. He’d been part of the posse that went after the gang who robbed the bank and murdered a deputy. Currently, nurse Cora Collier, newly come to Sweetwater Springs, seemed to have taken his grumpy friend in hand.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.Must be Hank.He glanced down at the apron protecting his clothes andshrugged. His other neighbor had seen him in an apron plenty of times and wasn’t above using one himself.
Torin moved out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the entryway. When he opened the door, he was taken aback to see Cora, bundled up against the cold, her cheeks and nose pink.Has something happened to Brian?“Cora? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I….” She hesitated, her gray eyes worried. “I have something for Jewel. About her reading lessons. But if this is a bad time…”
“No, please, come in.” Although puzzled, Torin stepped back, gesturing her inside. “Jewel’s napping, but she’ll wake soon.”
He glanced around, hoping the entryway was tidy, not always the case with his daughter around. But the old Persian rug on the floor lay smooth. Jewel’s drawings tacked to one wall lined up straight. A stately mirrored coatrack held various coats, hats, and scarves, hanging neatly rather than tossed.
Torin led Cora into the parlor, grateful he’d dusted yesterday. He hadn’t lit the cylindrical porcelain stove in the corner, and he wondered if they should move to the warm kitchen. Then he remembered the mess from baking and decided to stay put.
Still, he ran a critical eye about, seeing the fine furnishings—a leather settee, several round-backed chairs with embroidered cushions, shelves overflowing with books, and a grandfather clock—all normal to find in a nice home, although rather unexpected in a house built of logs.
“Would you like tea?” Torin shifted his weight back and forth, uncertain about the social protocols of entertaining an unexpected female visitor. “I’ve made oatmeal cookies.”
“Perhaps later.” Cora pulled something from her pocket and held it out. “First, look at this.”
Torin glanced down and saw a pinkJmade of felt, the size about four inches. “What a clever idea. Thank you.” He took the letter from her.
“Don’t thank me. My friend, Ivy Jackson, the one I told you I’d ask for advice….” She waited for his nod of remembrance before going on. “All her idea and handiwork.”
He turned over theJ, squeezing the curve to test its softness. “This is brilliant. Jewel loves to hold things and carry them around. She might actually remember this.”
“Ivy tutors young children and has experience with various learning methods.” Cora handed him a letter and pointed to a paragraph. “See how sensitively she writes about Jewel?”
Children like Jewel often learn better through touch and play. I’ve made this felt letter for her to hold and explore. If it helps, I’d be happy to make more—perhaps her whole name, to start? The tactile experience of tracing the letter’s shape while saying its sound creates stronger connections than simply looking at marks on a page.
As Torin read, his expression softened. “Please thank Ivy for me. This is….” He cleared his throat. “It’s more kindness than I expected from a stranger.” The concept baffled him, for years he’d only known the kindness of his two neighbors.
“Actually…” Cora opened her hands in appeal. “I have a better idea than just thanking her.”
His guard went up immediately, wariness replacing warmth. “Oh?”
“Ivy wants to be a teacher. But her father is rather controlling, and she can’t leave home without a position. She’s wonderful with children, patient and creative. What if she traveles Three Bend Lake? Jewel’s turned twelve. She’s old enough for a governess.”
“No.” Instinctive fear made his refusal immediate and absolute. “I won’t have a stranger living in my house, judging Jewel, possibly hurting her with careless words, or?—”
“Ivy would never do that.” Cora pulled out the photograph and extended the frame. “Look at her. See the sweetness of her expression? She’s my dearest friend, and I promise you, she would be nothing but good to Jewel.”
Torin barely glanced at the image.What she looks like doesn’t matter.“Why would she come here? Leave everything she knows for this isolated life?”
Cora met his gaze steadily. “She doesn’t have to live an isolated life. Neither doyou.”
At the pointed observation, he flinched, knowing she was right. But also knowing he’d suffer through any potential loneliness to protect his daughter.
She raised her chin, obviously hoping to persuade him. “Why does anyone choose isolation? Perhaps, because what they’re leaving behind is worse than solitude?”
He didn’t meet her eyes, leaning a little and pretending to study Ivy’s photograph.
“Besides,” she continued more gently, “your life doesn’t have to be solitary. Not anymore. You have friends here—Brian, Hank, Elsie, Constance, Dr. Angus, maybe the Swensens up the mountain. Sweetwater Springs is only an hour’s ride away.”
