Page 31 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

T wo days later, a knock at the door interrupted Cora's attempt to coax Brian into eating, rather than picking at, lunch. He'd been surly all morning, snapping at her suggestions and glowering at his empty pages as if they'd personally offended him.

"I'll see who it is," she said, not bothering to hide her relief at the interruption.

Anna Swensen stood on the porch, her thin face pink from the walk, a brown paper package in her hands. "Good afternoon, Cora. My Inga picked this up at the depot yesterday. She's been checking after school like you asked."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Cora accepted the package eagerly. "Won't you come in?"

Anna glanced over her shoulder. "Just for a moment. I left the younger ones with Inga, but she'll need help with dinner soon."

They stepped inside, where Brian nodded at Mrs. Swensen, and then pointedly ignored them, hunching over the blank paper on the table and making the atmosphere uncomfortable.

"Would you like some tea?" Cora offered, her tone determinedly cheerful. "It'll only take a moment to heat."

"That's kind, but no." Anna's gaze swept the tidy cabin with approval. "You've done wonders here."

"Most of the credit goes to Mr. Bellaire and the ladies of Sweetwater Springs for their suggestions and whirlwind cleaning," Cora said with a laugh.

"I've just maintained it. Why don’t we go out on the porch and sit for a bit?

The lake view is so beautiful." She grabbed her coat off the rack, shrugged into the garment, and led Anna outside.

They sat and chatted for a few minutes about domestic matters—how to keep the stove drawing properly, how Anna’s youngest was teething and making them all miserable with his crying, how to prepare for the mountain winters.

It was such a relief to have female conversation that Cora found herself reluctant to let her guest leave.

"I really must go," Anna said, standing. "But it's been lovely talking with you. Next spring, if you return to Three Bend Lake, you must come visit. The children would love to meet you.”

“And I them. I’ve heard they’re adorable.”

Anna blushed and lowered her eyes. “From where the road forks, I’m about a twenty-minute walk higher. Although,” she said wryly, “longer if you’re accompanied by children."

On a wave of laughter, they walked through the house, and Cora waved her goodbye. With a sigh, she turned to take off her coat and saw Brian staring at her.

As if to pretend he hadn’t been watching, he gazed intensely at the paper, and then scribbled something across the top.

Cora went to her room, sat on her bed, and eagerly opened Ivy’s package. Inside, cushioned in tissue paper, lay a pink felt capital J, about four inches high. The letter was stitched with care and stuffed to give it dimension.

She unfolded the letter. As always, the sight of Ivy's familiar handwriting pinched at her heart.

Dearest Cora,

Your letter about Jewel touched my heart. What a blessed child to have such devoted caretakers! I've been thinking about your request for teaching suggestions, and I remembered something that worked well with one of my young pupils when he struggled with traditional methods.

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 can create stronger connections than simply looking at marks on a page.

Please give Jewel's father my compliments on raising such a beloved child. In my experience tutoring, I've seen too many children whose differences make them targets of cruelty or neglect. How wonderful that Jewel has a papa who cherishes her exactly as she is.

I miss you dreadfully and live for your letters. The house feels even drearier without your visits. Yesterday, Papa complained about the coal bill again, and I couldn't help but think of your adventures in the Wild West with longing...

Cora pressed the letter to her chest, her mind racing. Ivy longing for adventure. Jewel needing a teacher. Torin needing help.

The solution seemed so obvious she wanted to laugh with delight.

Jumping to her feet, she hurried out of the bedroom. "Brian! I've had the most wonderful idea?—"

" Not now, Cora." He didn't look up from the page, still with only a single line written across the top. "I'm working."

"You're staring at the paper," she pointed out.

"I’m imagining a scene." His voice was cold, distant. "A process that you're interrupting."

"But this is important?—"

"Nothing is more important than my looming deadline." He finally looked at her, his brown eyes hard. "Which I'll miss if you keep chattering at me."

Cora recoiled as if slapped. After days of pleasant conversation and growing friendship, his harsh dismissal stung more than she cared to admit. "Fine," she said stiffly. "I'll take my 'chattering' elsewhere."

She took down her coat from the rack, donning it with jerky motions, and marched to her room.

She shoved Ivy's letter and the felt J into her coat pocket.

The photograph of her friend sat on her nightstand, and she grabbed that too, sliding the frame into the opposite pocket.

If Brian wanted to wallow in his foul mood alone, she'd leave him to it.

The front door slammed behind her with satisfying force.

The walk to Torin's house helped cool her temper, though hurt still simmered beneath the surface. How could Brian switch so quickly from friend to hostile stranger? Yesterday they'd had an in-depth discussion of his books. Today she was an unwanted interruption.

Three more days, she reminded herself. Then you'll be back in town, working with Dr. Cameron, and Brian Bly can stew in his own grumpiness.

The thought should have been comforting. Instead, her chest tightened from the impending loss.

Cora knocked softly on Torin's door, mindful that Jewel might be napping. The house was far larger than Brian's original cabin but had the same rustic charm, with green shutters framing the windows and a wide porch overlooking the lake. The building sat farther back than Hank’s or Brian’s, on the opposite side of the road.

When building, he’d probably wanted the scenic view, but not the close proximity of his vulnerable daughter to the water.

Torin opened the door, surprise flickering across his handsome face. "Cora? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I…." She hesitated, suddenly aware she'd arrived unannounced and uninvited to the home of a man she made uncomfortable. "I have something for Jewel. About her reading lessons. But if this is a bad time?—"

"No, please, come in." He stepped back, gesturing her inside. "Jewel's napping, but she'll wake soon."

The entryway was surprisingly tidy for a bachelor raising a child alone, with touches that spoke of attempts at homemaking—a braided rug, Jewel's drawings tacked to one wall, a stately mirrored coatrack, holding various coats, hats, and scarves, placed neatly rather than tossed. The scent of baking surprised her. I suppose Torin had to learn to cook and bake for Jewel’s sake.

Torin led her into a parlor, the fine furnishings—a leather settee, several round-backed chairs with embroidered cushions, shelves overflowing with books, and a grandfather clock—unexpected in a house built of logs.

"Would you like tea?" Torin offered, seeming uncertain about the social protocols of an unexpected female visitor. “I’ve made oatmeal cookies.”

"Perhaps later." Cora pulled out the felt J and gave the letter to him. "First, look at this."

Torin glanced down at the J, and a smile dawned across his face. “What a clever idea. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. My friend, Ivy, 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 the J, squeezing the curve as if testing its softness.

"This is brilliant," he said softly. "Jewel loves to hold things, carry them around. She might actually remember this."

"Ivy tutors young children and has experience with different learning methods." Cora handed him the letter. "See how kindly she writes about Jewel?"

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."

"Actually," Cora said, seizing her opening, "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 wouldn’t be able to leave home without a position. She's wonderful with children, patient and creative. What if she came to Sweetwater Springs, to here, as a governess for Jewel?"

"No." The refusal was 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. "Look at her. See the kindness in her face? She's my dearest friend, and I promise you, she would be nothing but good to Jewel."

Torin barely glanced at the image. "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 do you.”

He flinched at the pointed observation.

When he didn’t respond, she continued, trying to obliquely persuade him. “Why does anyone choose isolation? Perhaps because what they're leaving behind is worse than solitude."

He didn’t meet her eyes.

"Besides," she continued more gently, "your life doesn't have to be isolated. Not anymore. You have friends here—Brian, Hank, Elsie, Constance, Dr. Angus, the Swensens up the mountain. Sweetwater Springs is only an hour's ride away. Your isolation is a choice."

Torin sank into the sofa, still holding the felt letter in one hand and Ivy’s photograph in the other.

"Logically, I know you're right. Jewel needs more than I can give her.

But my heart..." He looked up, his blue eyes filled with old pain.

"I'm afraid, Cora. Jewel’s so vulnerable.

What if people are cruel? What if they hurt her? "

She sat, placing a hand gently on his arm. "You've done such a wonderful job protecting Jewel. No one could love her more. But Jewel's growing up. She needs to experience more of the world—in a safe, controlled way."

"With your friend as her guide?"

"Ivy would be perfect. She's gentle but not weak, educated but not condescending. And—" Cora smiled "—she desperately needs a fresh start somewhere far from New York."

"What happened to her?"

"Nothing dramatic. Just a father who treats his daughters like unpaid servants and refuses to let them have lives of their own. She's withering there, Torin. Here, she could bloom. And she could help Jewel bloom too."

He was quiet for a long moment, absently rubbing his thumb over the soft felt. From down the hall came the sound of Jewel stirring from her nap, humming tunelessly to herself.

“I just want to protect her.”

“So does every loving father of daughters. But the truth is…life is full of tribulations and sorrow. Every girl, every woman, has to learn to cope with suffering. That must be part of Jewel’s journey, too.”

He shook his head. “Children who are Mongoloid die young.”

“I know.” Cora couldn’t bear the thought. The pain this man must carry on a daily basis….

“Jewel’s already lived years beyond what’s expected. She won’t mature to the age of a normal woman. In the course of her short life, I can keep Jewel from ever being hurt by others.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “But is that truly living?”

Silence lingered. He studied Ivy’s photograph.

"I need to think about it," he said in a weary tone, finally looking directly at her. "It's not just my life that would change."

"I’ve known Ivy since we were younger than Jewel. I promise from my whole heart that she’s a kind woman. She’ll fall in love with Jewel, just like we all have. Please, Torin, promise you’ll really consider having her teach Jewel."

"I will." He stood as Jewel's humming grew louder. "She's awake. Would you like to give her the J yourself?"

"I would love to."

Jewel emerged from her room, her hair adorably mussed from sleep, dragging a worn rag doll. Her face lit up when she saw Cora. "Cor-a! See Sas-ee now?"

"Soon, sweetheart. But first, I have something special for you."

Cora knelt and held out the pink felt J.

Jewel set her doll on the sofa and reached for the letter with both hands, her eyes wide with wonder.

"J," Cora said clearly. "A pink J for Jewel."

"Jay," Jewel repeated, hugging the letter to her chest. "Jewel's Jay!"

Tears clouded her vision. How I love this child. "That's right. Your very own letter."

Jewel clumsily danced in a circle, clutching her treasure. Then she stopped and looked at her father with sudden worry. "Papa have letter?"

"P for Papa," Torin said, his voice thick. "Maybe Miss Cora's friend Ivy can make me one too."

"If you decide you'd like that," Cora said carefully, standing.

Their eyes met over Jewel's head. In his gaze, she saw fear warring with hope, protection with possibility. I’ve planted seeds. Now I have to wait and see if they will sprout.

"Thank you," Torin said quietly. "For everything."

"Sas-ee now?" Jewel entreated, still clutching her J.

"Yes, sweetheart. Let's go see Sassy Girl and show her your new letter."

As they walked back toward Brian's cabin, Jewel between them chattering about her "Jay," Cora felt a mixture of hope and trepidation.

She'd potentially changed several lives with her suggestion—Jewel's, Torin's, and, hopefully, Ivy’s. No matter what else came of her time at Three Bend Lake, she’d always have the satisfaction of making a difference here.