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What was he doing? The hunger she’d once seen in his eyes had returned with a powerful craving. He looked at her with such unmitigated desire, her heart nearly beat itself out of her chest.
Suddenly he pushed to his feet, a startled look fleeting across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck then walked to his chair and sunk down without another look.
Eliza forced her gaze to the fire and swallowed to wet her dry mouth.
Thank goodness he’d moved when he did. She’d nearly lost her head and reached out to touch his face. His caring nature and alluring smile nearly toppled her already collapsing barricade of resistance.
She snuck a peek at him as he continued giving his attention to the bright orange flames. The angular muscles in his face flexed as if he were struggling to fight something hidden. Her heart twirled behind her ribs. What if he felt the same as she? Could she possibly bring life to him, the way he did to her?
The sporadic popping of the flames broke the thick silence, helping gather her scattered thoughts. Come now, Eliza. Be sensible. She had to keep her distance. Getting close would only make it more difficult when it came time for her to leave.
Thomas wriggled in his chair and sat straighter, keeping his eyes forward. “Would you . . . like to talk about it?”
Eliza’s brows rose then lowered again. His tone said he cared, while his posture said he wanted distance. Well, if he wasn’t going back to bed perhaps it would be best to talk about it, since he’d asked. They were to be “husband and wife” for a few weeks after all, why not share with him the painful recollection that pricked her memory day and night. It could only help, couldn’t it? She crossed her feet and pulled the soft shawl tighter.
“Peter was a joy.” She gave a small silent laugh and spoke to her lap, afraid to look up. “He was pure male and let us know it. He wasn’t about to let two sisters dress him up and force him to play house.”
Stopping, Eliza clenched the fabric in her fingers. “One day in late February—I was eleven at the time, Peter was nine and Kitty seven—we were making snow angels and throwing snowballs, having a grand time. Peter insisted that we play near the large pond at the back of our property behind the meadow.” She dared a glance at Thomas. As if sensing her gaze, he turned to look at her, orange shadows swaying across his face.
A smile crossed his features that seemed to reach out to lift her drooping spirit, but she looked away before the tender gaze could trap her heart. She shouldn’t need him like this.
After a deep breath to blow away the yearning, she continued. “Father had instructed us specifically not to play near the frozen pond, for obvious reasons, but Peter wouldn’t stop begging. Finally, I agreed—so long as he promised to stay away from the ice.” Pausing, she licked her lips. “Once at the pond, he pleaded to me, ‘Let me get on the ice, just near the edge, I know it will hold me!’ I refused to let him, until finally I’d had enough and I said, ‘Fine, Peter, but if you fall in, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.’”
She picked at a knot in the fringe of her shawl. “I watched him as he walked gingerly across the ice. The farther he went, the bigger his triumphant grin became.” The blood drained from her face. “In one terrifying moment he fell in, screaming. I froze with fear. I didn’t know what to do. We were so far from the house that no one could hear us if I called out. I thought a thousand things all at once. I should have told Mother and Father where we were going. I should have obeyed Father’s rules and I should not have given in to Peter’s prodding to go to the pond. I should have never let him get on the ice. I stared in horror at his flailing arms, the ice breaking around him. He continued calling for me to help him, but I was paralyzed. I knew if I went on the ice I’d fall in as well, which would do him no good and it would take too long to run to the house and get help . . .”
A warm hand covered hers. At that moment, she looked up and her breath caught. The lines framing Thomas’s masculine brow grew deep and a tiny smile nudged up on one side of his mouth.
Her heart lurched.
He squeezed her fingers as if he sensed she needed strength and wanted to massage a bit of courage into her spirit. “Go on.”
Moving his hand back to his own knee, he nodded while Eliza tried not to think how cold her hand was without his. Thomas’s desire to help, if that was his desire, worked to give her heart courage and her voice found its footing again on a small stool of bravery.
“God must have warned Father, because he appeared out of nowhere. Running with all his might he yelled at Peter to stay calm and that he would get him out. He grabbed a long dead branch and went to the side of the pond where the water was shallow and Peter could more easily reach the branch. Father stomped through the ice until the water reached his knees and he called out to Peter to grab onto the branch. Peter had just enough strength and Father pulled him onto the ice, then lifted him in his arms and carried him to the house.”
She raised her eyes toward Thomas. The intensity in his stare drew the rest of the words from her heart like a spring. “I could see Peter shaking from cold, and I know Father must have been freezing as well, but he didn’t show it.
“Once inside, Mother and Father got him out of his wet clothes and did their best to stop him from freezing. Mother warmed some blankets and heated water for him to drink. Father never reprimanded us for disobeying. I always supposed he knew how sorry we were. Peter’s body warmed quickly enough, and we almost thought he would recover without any trouble. Then he developed a terrible cough. He died two weeks later.”
Eliza flung a hand to her mouth when her voice caught. She couldn’t cry in front of Thomas. Taking a long breath, Eliza moved to put her hand in her lap, but he caught her fingers in his, this time wrapping both of his strong hands around hers as if cupping her heart.
His grip tightened around her slender fingers. “I’m so sorry.”
No longer able to fight the emotions that crashed within, she swiveled in her chair to face him. “By not being more careful, by not knowing what to do, I felt I had cost Peter his life. I promised myself, from that moment on, that I would do my best to care for Kitty—no matter what happened.”
“And you have done just that, Eliza.” Inching closer, Thomas’s deep voice cradled her insecurities and gave her strength to say all that yearned to be said.
“I promised Father I would not fail him. He asked me to search out the truth. But I’m afraid that I won’t know what the truth is when I find it. Or when I do, I’m afraid I won’t have the courage to embrace it. Then, what if I end up hurting Kitty through what I choose to follow? What if . . .”
Thomas brushed a stand of hair behind her ear, silencing the endless stream of words at his touch. “Eliza, you can make important decisions and care for Kitty just the way she needs. I’ve seen you do it. Don’t worry about bringing harm to Kitty through choices that you make. You won’t. I know you always do your best for her—
and everyone else. Leave the rest to God.”
He scooted forward on his seat until their knees touched and Eliza’s breathing increased with every inhale. What was he doing? His smooth tone dropped low, drawing her closer. “Eliza, you’re the most courageous woman I know. I have no doubt you will find the truth. And that you’ll embrace it when you do.”
Eliza’s heart thrashed so wildly it stole the blood from her head. She needed to move away, but somehow she moved closer.
And so did he.
