6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

“ T he tapestry in the hall comes from the Fairweather ancestral home all the way in Scotland,” Lucy said, pouring tea to serve John Richards. “It’s rather ugly, if you ask me.”

Willa smiled politely, waiting for John to speak, but he had yet to do so—at all. In the full hour that had passed since his arrival, she had received only a nod in greeting.

Through this entire ordeal, her saving grace had been Lucy. Her sister played the part of hostess beautifully, and Willa wished Paul Anderson was here to see it. The stupid man had hardly paid Lucy any attention at The Gathering, too busy watching the local girls with Cal.

“We have another one in the dining room,” Willa said, attempting to participate in the conversation. “Lucy, do you remember the time Cal almost caught it on fire when we were younger?”

“Oh, yes!” Lucy took a seat next to Mr. Richards, keeping a proper distance. They didn’t often have male callers at Haven House, but both she and Lucy had been trained to a fault on how to behave. “And he would have caught the entire dining room on fire if not for Grace coming to save the day.”

When Grace was mentioned in public, she and Lucy’s lightness dimmed— it always did.

“Grace is your sister?” John asked, sipping at his tea. “I’ve heard of her.”

Of course, he had. The entire county had heard of Grace. A beauty with wit and brains, the eldest Fairweather daughter had once been the most sought-after prize for miles.

“Is she happy?” John asked, lowering his voice. The door to the parlor had been left wide open, and the man was smart enough to know that there were eyes and ears everywhere in this house. “You don’t have to tell me if you do not wish, but whatever her reasons were for running off with him, I hope it was worth it and that she’s happy.”

Willa did too, but God was the only one who would know for sure.

“Yes,” Willa replied, thinking it best to leave it at that. “Tell me, Mr. Richards, how are your children?”

She wanted to completely understand what she might be getting herself into. She had never entertained the idea of children because she couldn’t. From as far back as she could remember, every individual who ever treated her had warned against having them.

But she might like them—a built-in family at the ready. It wouldn’t be easy, not with the children having lost their mother a year ago, but perhaps she might find herself falling into the role with ease.

“My little Clara has lost her first tooth.” With a soft smile, John tried to make eye contact with her but failed and spoke to Lucy as if she had been the one to ask the question. “It was quite the scene. My oldest son, Christopher, tried to help. It ended well, but children are children.”

The fondness in his voice told Willa this might not be so bad after all. John Richards held genuine affection for his family, a foreign concept to Fairweathers to be sure, but it spoke more for him than any other recommendation.

“Am I correct in thinking that your youngest is not yet two years old?” Willa asked. “That must be quite a feat to raise all those children on your own and manage the farm.”

“The older children help.” He set his teacup on the end table, a nervous tremor in his hands. John Richards married his wife when they were both terribly young, and this courting business was likely just as nerve-wracking for him as it was for Willa. “I have a staff as well. We might be a small farmhouse, but it’s large enough to maintain one.”

This meant she would have a household to run. Nothing similar to Haven House, but it sounded like enough to occupy her time.

“Then we have the farm hands,” John continued. “There are seven in total, rotating between the livestock and crops.”

Livestock?

She was going to have to manage children and a household and livestock?

Lucy appeared absolutely enthralled. “You mentioned at The Gathering how you have a large pasture. What kind of animals do you keep there?”

A knock at the parlor entrance interrupted her sister, and Willa’s heart jumped into her throat when she saw Noah standing in the doorway. With a fresh shave, his hair swept back from his face and dressed in a form-fitting coat and vest that hugged his muscled frame perfectly, the man looked ready to devastate every female within miles.

“Are you ready for me, Ms. Fairweather?”

“Dr. Anderson!” Lucy and John rose to stand. “Won’t you join us? We were just having tea with Mr. Richards.”

Willa remained seated, too stunned by his appearance to move. She had been expecting him later and thought there would at least be time to have tea with John Richards before Noah arrived to turn her into a befuddled fool.

“I would love to.” Entering, Noah set his bag on a side table before shaking John’s hand. “I can do it myself, Lucy,” he said when Lucy attempted to pour him tea. “I’ve spent many long nights in Philadelphia having to make do with just myself.”

Willa narrowed her eyes. He was up to something.

“Is that where you studied?” Lucy asked, nervously watching the parlor door and Noah as he poured. Should their mother unexpectedly enter, Margaret would not be pleased to see a guest serving themselves. “In Philadelphia?”

“It is, and I enjoyed my time there.” Noah took over the wingback next to Willa. He was so very tall, and the piece of furniture looked positively miniature under him. “Tell me, Mr. Richards. When I came in, I heard the mention of livestock. What type of animals do you have?”

“I was just asking that same question.” Lucy nodded earnestly as she returned to her seat. “Cows?”

“I do have a cow or two,” John replied. “Chickens, of course. Pigs, goats, and the like.”

“Goats?” Noah said, taking a sip of his tea. “Hmm.”

Willa’s head swiveled in his direction. She was becoming accustomed to those little noises he made before unleashing some sort of shocking statement or observation.

Noah spared her a glance. “Have you ever been around goats, Willa? Their fur can set off asthma attacks. We studied a woman who dissolved into fits whenever around them.”

“I have not,” she replied tersely, hating him for ruining this small moment of normalcy. It wasn’t every day she had tea in the parlor with a gentleman caller who had no interest in listening to the way she breathed. “But I am sure I will be fine.”

Noah returned his attention to John Richards. “Are you aware of Willa’s breathing issues?”

If he had doused her in kerosene and set her aflame, Willa would have been less surprised. And less furious. He had no right. Everyone knew of her disorder, but no one had the gall to speak about it openly with a person who was essentially a stranger. “Now is not the time to discuss such things,” she snapped. “We were having a lovely conversation before your arrival.”

The devil was amused, the corners of his lips curving upward as he sampled the tea again. “I think Mr. Richards will agree with me in that any information regarding your well-being remains a lovely topic of conversation. ”

Willa now understood why Haven’s female cats attacked their male counterparts so often. “Well, I do not wish to discuss it.”

“What would you rather us discuss?” Noah shot back. “How much you loved dancing at The Gathering, yet I was the only one who asked?”

“No, I would not.” Willa reminded herself not to snarl. “I would like to hear about…”

Everyone waited expectantly, and as her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, her brain decided it was a good time to send the first thing it thought of out of her mouth and into the world.

“Pigs.” Dash it all, she could never handle being under pressure, but there was no going back. “Are they truly clean animals?”

Lucy’s eyes went as round as the saucer on which her teacup rested while Noah choked on his laughter.

“They are,” John confirmed, seeming to relax. “Pigs only roll in the mud to keep cool.”

“Do they overheat easily?” Willa asked, making this positively horrifying conversation worse. “And do they truly eat anything?”

“They overheat no more than a normal animal, and yes, they do eat anything.” John nodded enthusiastically, obviously a connoisseur of pigs. “Even people.”

Lucy popped open her fan, flapping it rapidly. Discussions regarding farm animals and their eating habits were not a topic covered during the social lessons provided by their mother and Bonnie.

“Are you overheating, Lucy?” Noah asked, hiding his smile. “Shall we roll you around in the mud like one of Mr. Richards’ pigs?”

“No, I am most certainly not.” Lucy stood abruptly to march over to the tea cart. “It is a lovely day.”

Willa sighed. It really was going to be a nice day. The first of its kind in months. The temperature outside remained warm, but the afternoon breeze held a crisper tone, signaling that her beloved dry season would arrive soon.

“I want to use the lack of dampness in the air to our advantage,” Noah agreed, rising to join Lucy at the cart. “What say you and I take Willa and Mr. Richards for a walk outside?” He nudged her shoulder good-naturedly, clearly trying to make amends for intruding. “I’m sure Mr. Richards enjoys the outdoors, and Willa looks as if she needs some fresh air.”

Lucy giggled, utterly charmed by him. “I think that sounds splendid.”

“Explain to me why I am being paraded through the woods on your arm when this entire afternoon was arranged for Mr. Richards and myself to become better acquainted.”

Not answering, Noah maneuvered them around a gnarled root protruding from the ground. The forest path between the Anderson estate and Haven House was full of them thanks to an overabundance of cypress trees in the area.

Several feet ahead, Lucy and John walked together, their heads close as they talked.

“Poor Lucy has probably learned more about pigs than she ever wanted to know,” Willa whispered. “I might not be able to breathe correctly, but she has a weak stomach.”

Noah tried to hide his grin but was doing a horrible job of it. “I’ve always found this trail to be lovely.”

Willa rolled her eyes. Since the four of them stepped out onto Haven’s porch, and Noah insisted she walk with him so he could study her breathing patterns, it had been one casual remark about nature after another.

“It’s a wonder there’s not more wildlife around, but I suppose the mills keep them away.”

“Oh, will you stop,” she hissed, only making his grin grow. “You don’t give a flip about trees or animals.”

“Not true, Ms. Fairweather.” Noah schooled his features, suddenly taking a serious tone. “I’m quite fond of goats.”

“You’re a beast unto yourself, Dr. Anderson.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Lucy glanced back at them. “Is it much farther, Noah?”

Noah aimed a smile at her sister, and Willa did the same, not wanting anyone to know she was plotting the murder of a certain physician. “Just around the bend,” he called out to her. “Two more curves on the trail, and we should be there.”

They were walking the half-mile eastern path toward the building Noah was planning to use as a clinic. He claimed he wanted Willa to know where to find him if she ever needed him.

“Are you at all winded?” he asked softly. “We can slow down and allow them to go ahead.”

“I’m doing well and thankful to be out of the house.”

And she truly was enjoying the late afternoon sun. Gathering her embroidered cashmere shawl around her shoulders, she thought that perhaps they could visit the satsuma grove behind Haven once they finished at Noah's cottage.

Thinking of the grove, Willa remembered she wanted to ask Bonnie if anyone had warned the Port Michaelson girls about the manchineel trees growing along the water near the mill. They wouldn’t want them to be taking a walk through the trails and accidentally mistake a manchineel for an apple.

“How often are you able to get fresh air?” Noah asked.

A group of birds flitted about overhead in the canopy, and she smiled wistfully at the sign of life. The cover of trees here was not as thick as the one over the trails leading to their mill and family graveyard.

“The air around Haven House is hardly ever fresh, thanks to the mills,” she replied. “I do better without the damp air, so I would say I can roam freely outdoors for about two months out of the year.”

“You deserve the sun every single day of your life, Willa.” He looked as if he wanted to say more but shook his head. “I want you to be able to get out more.”

He felt sorry for her, which was a shame because she had stopped feeling sorry for herself long ago. A single human could only live with so much regret before it began to eat away at their soul. “I am thankful for days like today. Others who suffer with my condition have it far worse, or so I hear.”

“Some do, but they tend to change the environmental aspects that cause them to fall into attacks.”

“What do you mean?”

Slowing their pace, Noah kept his gaze trained on the back of Lucy and John’s heads. “If a goat is causing you to be unable to breathe, what would you do with the goat?”

“Get rid of it.”

“Exactly. You have too many goats in your world.”

“Goats?”

“Yes, goats.”

Willa wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Dr. Anderson.”

“Get rid of the goats,” he grated, with an annoyed growl in his tone. “And will you please start calling me Noah?”

“I’m going to start calling you Dr. Goat since you seem mildly obsessed with them,” Willa grumbled. “Then again, at least you’re not enthralled with pigs, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

A pair of squirrels, lost in the throes of courtship, scampered out of the woods. Round and round in a circle they went until the male of the pair nearly caught his female prey.

Too busy watching the fluffy-tailed rodents, Willa tripped on an exposed root. As the ground rushed up to greet her face, she gasped when it never connected.

Having swiftly caught her before impact, Noah set her to rights by wrapping her in his arms. Standing together, neither moved, the two of them blinking at one another while the squirrels disappeared to continue their dance up a nearby oak.

“I-I’m very sorry.” Pressed against his chest, Willa’s mind could only comprehend the hard muscle holding her upright. He was so very large, unyieldingly male, and like nothing else she had ever touched in her life. “Truly, sorry.”

Somewhat aware that Lucy and Mr. Richards had taken the trail’s curve already and were no longer within sight, Willa remained in her spot, wanting to linger in his arms.

And Noah made no move to release her.

“The goats,” he exhaled as Willa stared at him, completely fascinated. Not by the goats, but by the small flecks of green mixing with the blue of his irises. This close, they were dazzling in the sunlight, the tiny imperfections making him more human yet all the more alluring. “You have to remove the goats, Willa.”

Noah Anderson had to be the most beautiful man in creation. A specimen for all others of his sex to live up to. But, good heavens , the man was surprisingly horrid at getting his point across.

Not that she could comprehend much in her current situation.

“I don’t have any goats.”

His eyes dropped to her lips, and she didn’t mind so much this time around. The slow progression of his gaze charged the very air as if a lightning strike were imminent—a bolt of electricity to match the emotions coursing through her.

“The goats are an analogy.” His throat worked as he swallowed, chest rising and falling with every word. “You must get rid of what is setting off your attacks.”

“Well, it’s safe to say that it’s not goats as I’ve never been around one,” she joked, trying to break the magic of the moment and stall yet another heartbreak waiting to happen. “They don’t appear to be creatures I would get along with at all.”

“Are you sure?” Noah broke out into a grin. An honest to God one that struck her directly in the stomach. “They’re very stubborn.”

“I am not stubborn.”

“Yes, you are, but rest assured, you are much more beautiful than a goat. ”

She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Do you always compare the women you find beautiful to farm animals, Dr. Anderson?”

As her smile grew, his faded, dissolving into a thin line. His gaze once fixed on her mouth, roamed over her face, seeking every imperfection—the freckles, the pale skin, that obnoxious beauty mark along her jaw. He took it all in with equal parts awe and wonderment as if he had discovered some rare creature in the forests of Haven House.

“Wilhelmina Fairweather, you are much more than beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re extraordinary.”

Her heart sank. His compliment did nothing more than remind her of the pathetic life she lived every day. “I don’t want to be extraordinary. I want to be like you and Lucy and even boring John Richards.”

At the mention of John Richards, his hold lessened, and she stepped forward, not willing to let it end. Not yet. Dear universe, let her have just a second more of his touch.

“Never underestimate the stability that comes from being ordinary,” she continued. “I want to ride a horse on a hot, windy day. I want to run—truly run—on the sandy shore that is but a mile from my home. I want to understand what it means to take joy in the simple things because those simple things, while ordinary to you and others,” she released a humorless laugh, “are not so simple for me.”

The large hand splayed upon her back moved forward to capture her wrist. It stalled there, his thumb grazing back and forth over the hammering pulse beating against her skin. “Well, now you’ve gone and done it, Ms. Fairweather.”

She really should have extracted herself from his hold by now, but she couldn’t find the want or strength to do so. “And what is that, Dr. Anderson?”

Noah drew a long breath, and looked down at where he held her wrist. “Provided me with a new purpose in life.”

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, and rays of sunshine streamed through the canopy, dancing with the branches and leaves fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Tipping his face to the sky, Noah closed his eyes to bask in the light.

“A new purpose?” The question squeaked out of her, and she attempted to strengthen her voice and make it less breathy. “Such as what, exactly?”

“Wiiillllaaaaa.” Lucy’s singsong voice carried over to them through the forest. “Are you coming?”

The spell over, Noah released his hold and placed her arm in his without answering. Unsure of what to do or say as they continued on the path in silence, Willa’s mind raced with thoughts on what just happened. A new purpose? What could he have possibly meant?

“Wiiiilllllaaaa.”

“We’re coming, Lucy,” she shouted so her sister could hear. “No need to sing. I think we’ve had enough of that lately.”

They were nearing the curve on the path and would run into Lucy and Mr. Richards at any moment. “Are you not fond of singing?” Noah asked. “Are you all Shelly and Dickens with no heart to it?”

She wasn’t sure what had happened back there, but a shift had taken place, something between them changing. “I love singing. It’s only that Lucy and I were awakened by someone singing in the middle of the night.”

“Who on earth would be singing in the middle of the night?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “No, wait. I know. It’s your mother, isn’t it? At her heart, she’s a truly passionate soprano.”

A whoop of laughter loud enough to frighten every animal around burst from Willa. “No, Dr. Anderson.”

“Your father, then?”

It wouldn’t stop—the laughter, the ludicrousness of the idea tickling her brain as she imagined her father belting out a tune.

Smug by his ability to make her happy, Noah smirked at the path ahead. “Careful with all that laughter, Ms. Fairweather. I wouldn’t want you to overextend yourself on my watch.”

“Oh, I am quite sure that is a lie.” Willa regained control of herself, although barely. “I imagine you would love me to overextend myself just so you can poke and prod me with the things you keep stored in that black bag of yours.”

He made a noise low in his throat but didn’t comment. “So, who was doing the singing?”

“It was likely Bonnie. She once sang all the time but hasn’t since...” She paused, unsure of which story had been told to him. “Since my sister Grace lived at Haven House.”

They rounded the turn, carefully stepping over a large fallen branch on the path. Straight ahead, Lucy and Mr. Richards waited next to what could only be described as a cottage. Small and worn, the old place had seen better days.

“I thought there were only three of you?”

Ah, so Noah had not yet been told of the Fairweather family scandal. Willa watched her sister laughing over something Mr. Richards said. They were too far off to make out the conversation, but the pair appeared to be getting along nicely. “Grace is the oldest.”

“Does she live in Hollingsdale?”

“No,” Willa replied and nodded at the house. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“It will take some time to organize,” Noah agreed, suddenly looking almost boyish as he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “It’s a perfectly sound building, though. Once I have a few things in order, I plan to stay late every night to get it ready. I might even need to sleep over instead of trying to make it back to my uncle’s home in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t want to get attacked by some nocturnal animal looking for its next meal.”

On her left, something in the brush moved. A slight imbalance in the autumn air. A shadow that wanted Willa to look.

To see.

To remember.

As if she could forget .

She ignored it, too scared to acknowledge its presence.

And so, it followed, watching and listening. Its curiosity about Noah working as a reminder for Willa not to become too attached.

“Yes, you should be careful in these woods at night, Dr. Anderson.” Willa forced a smile that would fool any man alive. A carefully practiced one every Fairweather woman knew how to do. “There are things more dangerous than animals lurking about.”