Accidental Family. Lisa Bingham
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floor, Charles piled everything into the crate and then took the steps two at a time back to the main floor.
When he stepped into the great room, he stopped, then stared.
Willow had returned to sit by the fire, where he was sure she’d meant to watch over the children in the basket. In the flickering light, he could see that her head lay against the back of the chair. Her chest lifted and fell in sleep.
She was so beautiful.
Unconventional.
But beautiful.
The firelight limned her auburn hair with molten gold. With everything she’d been through, the plaits were coming unpinned. Her skin was as pale as fine marble, but the spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose made her approachable. She still wore the yellow dress she’d donned for their wedding, not that awful black gown.
After holding her in his arms, Charles knew her figure was slim and lithe. And strong. He’d never met a woman who could suffer the gamut of emotions that she’d experienced in a single day and still manage to move forward.
Charles carefully approached, trying his best to remain quiet. He’d never been a graceful man. His upbringing hadn’t included the niceties. Left as he’d been on the steps of the Grottlemeyer Foundling Home at about the same age as the twins, what education he’d received had been an exercise in survival.
Setting the crate down, he used one of the tartans to make a soft nest in the basket, then used the second one to cover the twins. Then, not sure what else he should do, he settled into one of the kitchen chairs.
To watch.
Dear Lord above, is this really how You answer a man’s prayers? So suddenly? So overwhelmingly?
Since the women had come into the valley, Charles had begun spending a few nights a week at the Dovecote, attending to their spiritual needs. Each time he stepped inside the dormitory, he’d been immediately enveloped in their warmth and camaraderie. They plied him with baked goods and enveloped him in chatter and laughter. He’d found their strength and spirituality contagious, which had made him even more aware of the masculine, rough and gruff existence of the mining camp.
Anyone who applied to work at the Batchwell Bottoms Mine did so knowing that it was an all-male environment. Before being hired, a man had to promise to adhere to a strict set of rules. He promised to forgo drinking, gambling, cussing and the company of women.
Many of the men who worked at the mine had been here for years. They’d grown accustomed to hard work and spartan living conditions. But there was no denying that things were beginning to change. The men were congregating in the cook shack and lingering at the Devotionals. They soaked up the softer atmosphere the women inspired whenever they were present.
Then, when they returned to the Dovecote, the camp felt...empty again. The miners congregated in the Hall to play darts or checkers, but their efforts to enjoy themselves seemed forced. Even worse, because Charles had permission to spend time with the women, he’d grown aware of a certain...separation between him and the other men. As if they felt slightly resentful of the way he was able to enjoy something that they’d been forbidden.
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