Hannah Grace (18 page)

"Now might be a good time to discuss our future wedding, perhaps setting the date, for starters."

"A date? So soon?" Tension such as she'd not expected coursed straight up her spine. "I didn't exactly accept your proposal yet, Ralston. I still need time to think it over." And pray about it, she added to herself. Why couldn't she verbalize that part? Because we rarely discuss spiritual matters, that's why, Hannah answered herself. A tiny thread of misgiving wove through the fibers of her conscience.

Lord, have I failed to put You first in my life? The thought rankled Hannah. Yes, she made a point to read her Bible every morning, but sometimes she wondered if she didn't do it more from habit or duty than from a devoted heart.

Wrinkles of worry etched into Ralston's forehead, joined by a few gathering beads of perspiration. He wiped the dampness with the back of his hand. "Naturally, I wonder why you didn't give me an affirmative answer last night, but now I'm supposing it's because it wouldn't appear proper for a lady to accept on the spot." He flashed her a forced smile and winked. "I wouldn't presume to understand the workings of a woman's mind, but I suppose it does make sense you'd need some time," He cupped her cheek in broad daylight as swarms of folks passed by. "How much time do you think you'll need to ponder the matter?"

Hannah's throat dried up like day-old toast. "Why must we be in a rush? And, well, you haven't even spoken to Papa about it,"

That put an even deeper wrinkle in his brow. "Yes, well, I fully intend to do that. It's just-we've courted for several months," Four, to be exact. "And I assumed the news would please him. Oh, darling, I'm sorry if I've done it all backwards. I'll be sure to make amends with him. Last night just seemed so right to me, that's all,"

Darling? He'd never used the endearment before, and hearing it now set off a burning sensation in her stomach.

"Have I missed the cues you've been sending?"

"Cues?"

"Well, I thought we had something wonderful going between us-our evening walks on the pier, our weekly dinners at Culver House, our shared plans for my medical practice." Our shared plans? `All the hopes and dreams I've so freely exposed to you."

And what of her hopes and dreams? Had he ever once asked her what they were? Did he even know or care how much she loved Kane's Whatnot and the citizens who shopped there?

And then, there was this matter of her heart. Ralston had proposed marriage, yet where was the mention of love? If she did indeed love him, and he her, shouldn't a river of passion and joy be surging through her veins about now?

Oh, Lord, am I missing something important here? Have You caused our paths to cross for a reason? Is it that I love him but simply can't identify the emotion? He is dear to me, yes, but shouldn't I expect an explosion of feeling?

"He will fulll the desire of them that fear him: he also will hear their cry, and will save them....The LORD will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.,,

The passages Hannah had memorized during that morning's Bible study-Psalm 145:19 and Psalm 84:11-brought a measure of comfort but did little to assuage her confused mind.

While she tried to form a proper response, Ralston scooted closer and lowered his face, as if he meant to kiss her on the spot. It would be their first. Should she allow it? In a sudden move, she prevented it by turning her gaze skyward. "What kind of bird is that?"

Ralston withdrew his face and looked up. "Where?" He had a keen interest in bird-watching and even subscribed to Forest and Stream, a periodical about outdoor life, which included ponderous information pertaining to various bird species. Hannah knew no better way to distract him now than to quiz him about his feathered friends.

"It's gone now. Some kind of pigeon or something, or maybe an eagle," she muttered while giving herself a chewing out for her deceit.

He laughed, a rarity for him. "That's like comparing a hog to a stallion, my dear. In other words, no similarity whatsoever." He continued to search the skies.

"Oh." To distract him further, she asked on a whim, "Shall we walk a bit, say, as far as the pier?" The matter of his proposal needed discussing, yes, but not now, not with her mind a big muddle.

In one fluid move, he draped the reins over the brake handle and jumped down. She watched as he proceeded around the conveyance in front of Gus. The horse snorted and swished his tail. Stopping at her side, he lifted a hand to assist her. Without ado, she accepted it and stepped to the hard earth, holding her skirts with her free hand.

They set off in silence along the wide wooden path beside the Grand River channel, worn by countless footprints and lined on both sides by tall dune grass. Half a mile ahead, the Sandy Shores lighthouse stood tall and dauntless as a faithful soldier, the catwalk leading out to it situated high above the rough waters of Lake Michigan. Many citizens, also enjoying the balmy September afternoon, strolled past, some conversing, others simply watching the sights-waterfowl, small boats, big vessels, and the occasional diver who dared leap off the riverbanks to the rocky bottom. Here and there, fishermen threw out their lines in hopes of reeling in some supper. About thirty feet ahead of them, a woman lost her hat to the wind, complaining loudly to her husband when it landed in the water and began its journey upstream, pheasant feathers protruding out of the top. A few mallards swam over to investigate the newcomer, then glided away when the thing floated too close for comfort.

Ralston reached out and took her hand, something else he rarely did in public but now did without hesitation. "You don't mind if I hold your hand, do you? After all, news travels fast in this town. I daresay, a good deal of folks have heard about my proposal and wouldn't be the least bit shocked to see us walking along hand in hand."

Hannah supposed he was right. What could a little handholding hurt-even though the humidity, not to mention her nerves, had turned her palms sweaty?

She opened her mouth to reply, and, at that very moment, spotted Jesse and Gabriel Devlin some distance off Thankfully, Ralston's eyes seemed intent on watching the skies. Still bird-gazing. The handsome pair stood on the riverbank, throwing stones into the channel, Gabe showing Jesse how to make them skip along the surface. The two looked more like father and son than sheriff and stray boy. Gabe bent down to Jesse's level and placed a hand on his shoulder, pointing with the other across the horizon, either describing an incoming boat or explaining the proper technique of stone skipping. She watched in hushed fascination.

Her heart took a tumble that was completely uncalled for, and suddenly, a worrisome question surfaced.

Why am I looking at the sher when I should have eyes only for Ralston?

abe spotted Hannah before Jesse did and quickly pointed him in the other direction, back toward the pier. His mood did not dictate a desire to confront the hand-holding lovebirds. For reasons he didn't feel like analyzing, he couldn't quite stomach the idea of her marrying Ralston Van Huff. "That's about enough stone skipping for one day, wouldn't you say? How about helping me count the boats coming into the channel?"

Jesse gazed up with interest and nodded his head.

"Let's go where we can get a better view, though. Come on." He hoped that when they reached the end of the wooden sidewalk, Hannah and her beau would turn around like all the other couples tended to do, not wanting to deal with shoes full of sugary sand.

"I count seven right there," Gabe said, pointing out at the rough waters of Lake Michigan while walking at a near jog.

Jesse poked him in the side, huffing to keep up, shook his head with fierce determination, and held up ten fingers.

"Ten? Are you sure?" Gabe looked again and spotted a couple of sailboats and a barge off in the distant horizon. "Ah, I didn't see them. Your vision's better than mine, sharper than an owl's at midnight."

Shoulders drawn back, Jesse nodded, looking proud as a rooster as they marched along.

"Hey, let's head for that sand dune over there. We'd get a great view from the top." He pointed across the railroad tracks and the dirt road beside it, the same one they'd traversed between Holland and Sandy Shores some weeks ago. Dunes that looked to be miniature mountains soared upward. Homes small and large nestled in the hillsides next to hardy trees that had managed to sprout from sandy soil. Between a big two-story gable-roofed structure and a tiny beach cottage was a narrow hiking path. Gabe wondered how in the world a horse pulling a wagon ever navigated up a steep hill like that in icy conditions. But perchance they don't have to, he reasoned. Several families from Chicago and elsewhere didn't even inhabit these parts in the winter months.

"Hello there, Sheriff," called a cavernous voice. Gabeturned at the sound and discovered Earl and Lillian Schusterman gaining on them, Lillian holding her hat with one hand and her wayward skirts with the other, Earl dragging her along by the arm. The wind generally picked up at the water's edge, and today was no exception. With the slightest bit of dread, he pulled Jesse to a stop. He'd met the middle-aged couple at the post office a few days ago when he'd gone in to find out the procedure for having his mail delivered to his new place of residence, and he quickly learned how much they loved to talk.

When they overheard him inform the clerk of his new address, Lillian approached him, beaming with delight. "Why, you're buying the Bronson house," she exclaimed. "We live just up the street. We'll be neighbors. Won't that be nice, Earl?" She slapped her husband's arm. "Think of it, the sheriff residing close by. It'll be the safest spot in town."

They stood and talked for several minutes about the neighborhood-which folks owned the howling dogs, who attended Sunday services and who didn't, the huge potatoes Vivienne Wildersmith's garden produced, and what covered dish Mrs. So-and-So had brought to the block picnic last July that had everyone oohing and ahhing. Gabe listened with as much interest as he could muster, knowing he had to get back to his office. He nodded at the appropriate times, chuckled at Earl's attempted jokes, and thanked Lillian profusely when she insisted on preparing his first week's worth of suppers just as soon as he moved in.

He inched his way to the door, even as they kept up their friendly banter. In the end, though, it was Mrs. Mortimer who saved the day when she walked in with a package under her arm, all in a huff about the drunkard swaying in the street and shouting obscenities in front of Howard's Blacksmith Shop. He'd promptly excused himself to tend to the matter but found no such person. After questioning several citizens, none of whom had seen or heard him, he figured the offender had either ambled down some alley and passed out or had found his way into another saloon. Whatever the explanation, it got Gabe out of the post office.

Now, here he was, facing the same predicament again.

`Ain't this a fine day, Sheriff? Won't be seem' many more of these once October gets here," Earl said.

Lillian Schusterman's smile revealed a wide gap between her front teeth. She tucked a few thick, gray strands of hair behind her ear and pressed her wide-brimmed hat further down on her head until it shadowed a good share of her liverspotted face. "I declare, if it weren't for that cooling breeze coming off the lake, I could bake my bread in the sun today."

Earl gazed skyward and furrowed his brow in a partial frown. "Farmer's Almanac's predictin' a cold winter, so we best enjoy that sun while we can."

"Now, Earl, don't go talkin' like that. Besides, you can't put much stock in that book. Last year, they predicted a bad planting season for the Middle West, and it was the best we've seen in years."

Over Earl's gray, balding head, Gabe spotted Hannah and her intended about fifty yards off, halting their steps to gaze up at a flock of geese flying in V formation. No longer holding Ralston's hand, she had tucked her arm through his instead.

"You're right about that," Gabe chimed, forcing his attention off Hannah and onto the gabby couple. What difference should it make to him anyway what the woman with the rusty curls chose to do with her life? He had met her only weeks ago, and now that she was apparently betrothed to the fine doctor, he'd do well to stop staring at her.