A Season of the Heart. Dorothy Clark
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He dragged it over beside the other one. It was dangerous to fell a tree this large alone using only one notch. When the trunk got thin enough, the tree could twist and fall in the wrong spot. He frowned and swept his gaze over the area at the tree’s base. The snow was too deep and the branches of the trees too tangled together for him to get behind it to make a second notch. He eyed the branches on the back side of the tree. They were half-buried by the snow. It was possible they would hold the tree from twisting or kicking out and toppling before he could get out of the way.
“I’m going to need Your help with this one, Lord. Please let the trunk hold until I can get free.” He shot a look toward the sky, took a firm grip on his ax and swung it again and again, watching the trunk as the chips flew off into the snow, listening to the sound as each stroke hit. There was a creak. The trunk trembled. The far edge of the thin remaining piece of trunk splintered. The tree lurched and twisted, the buried back branches bursting out of the snow into the air.
He threw his ax through the branches of the neighboring pine and dove after it, hit the snow and rolled toward the massive trunk.
Craaack! The hewed tree slammed against the pine. A shudder traveled down the trunk. He curled tighter, covered his head. Snow and sheared-off branches rained down. “Lord Jesus, be with me!” The falling tree slid down the pine’s trunk and crashed onto the limb over him, its large branches driving deep into the snow, cracking and splintering when they hit the frozen ground.
Silence. Nothing but the whisper of the pine needles on the quivering branches, the soft plop of bits of snow sliding off to hit the ground. The snapping and shattering of wood had stopped.
He pulled his hands away, raised his head and opened his eyes. Pieces of broken branches, pine needles and shreds of bark littered the snow, while larger boughs formed a tangled tent over him. A weight pressed against his back, pushed down on his shoulders. He craned his neck around, eyed the deep crack in the broken limb above him and the trunk of the fallen tree that rested across it, its branches buried in white. “Thank You, Lord, for the deep snow.”
His words were swallowed by the night. A cautious sweep of his arm cleared away the debris between him and the pine’s trunk. He said another quick prayer for the cracked branch to hold, pawed the snow from beneath his chest and slithered out from under the damaged limb. Free!
The end of his ax handle was sticking up out of the snow at the base of the sheltering pine. He grasped it in his trembling hand and pushed through the snarl of broken branches, then looked up at the sky. “Thank You, Lord, for Your protection. I’ll take You for my partner over any other, anytime.”
His hat was dangling from the nub of one of the small offshoot limbs he’d broken when he dove for safety. He shook it free of snow and debris, tugged it on, then hacked his way clear and went back to work, tossing the branches into a pile.
The snow came thicker and faster, closing out the moonlight. Time to quit. He shouldered his ax, tromped through the snow to the pung, removed Big Boy’s feedbag and led him toward the downed pine’s skeleton. There would be another five or six inches by morning, and it was already too deep for safely logging and hauling out timber—as he’d just proved.
He frowned and started throwing the branches in the pung. It was likely the jobber would call off operations until the storm stopped. If so, he would stay in town and help Willa. And there was another blessing to the worsening storm. Ellen would stay at home in front of a nice warm fire, sip hot tea brought to her by the housekeeper and ponder which of her two wealthy beaux she should marry. There would be no chance he would accidentally meet her when he delivered the boughs to the parsonage tomorrow evening or while he worked with Willa on the decorations. “Thank You, Lord, for the storm.”
The horse’s nicker stilled her hands. Ellen shot a curious glance toward the dining room window. Who would be paying a call on Willa in this weather? Or perhaps it was someone needing the reverend. She dropped Willa’s scissors on top of the skirt she was cutting from the old brown wool dress and hurried to the window. A man, head lowered against the blowing snow, halted a team of huge horses, jumped to the ground and headed up the shoveled pathway for the back porch. Daniel.
She didn’t need the pung heaped with pine boughs to identify him. She would know those broad shoulders and that confident stride anywhere. What was he doing here this time of day? Why wasn’t he at the camp hauling logs or something? She stepped to the side, lest he look up and find her watching as he passed the window. He had always been—
“There! Joshua and Sally are on their way to visit Mama. Now I can— What are you looking at, Ellen? There’s nothing outside but snow.”
She started and whirled from the window to face Willa, heat rushing into her cheeks as if she were guilty of a misdeed—which was ridiculous. “I heard horses. Daniel has brought the boughs.” She fluffed the curls at her temples, walked to the table and picked up the scissors.
“Already? That’s wonderful! I didn’t expect them until this evening.” Willa rushed to the window and peered through the frost-rimmed panes. “Oh, look! The branches are heaped. We shall have enough boughs to decorate the gazebo, too. May God bless Grandfather Townsend for—”
“The gazebo?”
The growled word jerked her gaze from Willa to the doorway. Daniel stepped into the room wearing a mock scowl.
“Are you planning to decorate the whole town, Pest? And what about a blessing for me? I cut and hauled those branches—near killed myself, too. It’s going to cost you.”
Willa laughed and left the window. “Not me, Daniel. It’s Grandfather Townsend you work for.”
“Not alone and in the moonlight, I don’t. And not when I’m cutting branches for your husband’s church.”
A chill traveled up Ellen’s spine. Daniel had downed the trees alone? At night? How could he make light of the danger? Or had he made it up to tease Willa? She lifted her gaze to his face. Light from the candelabra glinted on his green eyes and played over his uncovered head, making his hair look more red than brown—the way it was when he was young. Memories surged. She frowned, breathed in the scent emanating from him. He had always smelled of the outdoors—and now a bit like horse. She resisted the urge to sniff and instead lowered her gaze to rest on the knit hat he clutched in his gloved hand. He had big hands. And strong. Even when he was—
“All right, you win. What is it to cost me?”
Willa’s laughter cut into her reverie. She looked up, caught her breath at the warm smile curving Daniel’s lips. He’d once smiled at her that way.
“Two afternoons of skating and sledding with Josh and Sally.” He turned slightly and his gaze fell on her, hardened. “Hey, Musquash. I didn’t see you there at the table. What are you— Scissors?” His gaze dropped to the table, and his brows shot toward the ceiling. “You’re sewing?”
His shocked tone stiffened her spine. She jutted her chin into the air. “You needn’t be so—”
“Ellen is helping me make costumes for the children who will be speaking in church at Christmas, Daniel. Isn’t that kind of her?”
Willa’s voice drowned out hers—which was probably for the best. She took a calming breath, then made the mistake of meeting Daniel’s gaze. His green eyes were dark, his expression dubious. She lifted her chin another notch and glared at him. “There’s no reason for disbelief, Daniel. I am capable of performing an act of kindness on occasion.”
A grin slanted across his lips, showed his teeth white against his red beard. “No doubt you are, Musquash...on occasion. But, sewing?”
“You know full well mother is a seamstress! Even I was bound to learn something of the skill from watching her over the years.” She tossed her head and resumed her cutting, praying there