Chapters (241)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Whatever Tomorrow Brings
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- The Taylor and Donovan Families1871
- one
- two
- three
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- five
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- eight
- nine
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- thirty
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- thirty-two
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- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
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- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
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- fifty-three
- fifty-four
- fifty-five
- fifty-six
- fifty-seven
- fifty-eight
- fifty-nine
- sixty
- sixty-one
- epilogue
- Dedication
- The Taylor and Donovan Families—1871
- Prologue
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
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- eighteen
- nineteen
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- thirty
- thirty-one
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- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- epilogue
- Sean Donovan
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Visalia and Santa Rosa Families—1876
- one
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- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Dedication
- Willits and Santa Rosa Families—1881
- Dear Marcail
- prologue
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- fifty-two
- fifty-three
- fifty-four
- fifty-five
- fifty-six
- fifty-seven
- fifty-eight
- fifty-nine
- sixty
- epilogue
- Books by Lori Wick
- About the Author
He took her hand, and they walked back to the house in silence. They retired as usual to their separate beds, but even then Alex knew no frustration. That she was coming around was very evident in her response to his touch. Knowing this, and believing she was well worth the wait, Alex could bide his time.
fifty-eight
A week later Marcail walked into town just before lunch, a picnic basket swinging from her arm. She still felt compelled to wear dark dresses and her hair up, so the walk was a warm one. Because she was no longer the schoolteacher, Alex had told her he preferred to see her dressed in lighter-colored clothing and with her hair down. In sensitivity to her feelings, however, he left it to her judgment as to when she would start dressing in greater comfort for her visits to town.
Alexs office was on Willits main street, directly across from the bank and between a tiny dress shop and a lawyers office. Her face was flushed by the time she arrived, but she knew the surprise she would be giving him would be reward enough for her effort.
Alex did not disappoint her. His eyes lit with delight, and since he had no patients, he took her into his arms and held her for long minutes. They were in the back room, and Alex would have been content to hold her for the next hour, but the outer door opened. He dropped a quick kiss on her upturned mouth and exited the room.
Marcail heard low voices, and then silence. A moment later Alex was calling to her. A man whom Marcail had never seen before stood beside Alex. He was obviously a businessman with his dark suit and shiny shoes. He held a top hat in one hand.
Mr. Duckworth, this is my wife. This is Sydneys father, Richard Duckworth. Alex had turned to Marcail. Hed like to speak with you, Alex added.
Its a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Duckworth. Marcails smile was pleasant, but her mind was abuzz with reasons why he might wish to see her.
The pleasure is all mine, Richard told her, and meant it. Sydney had told him that his teacher was beautiful, but Richard, remembering his own hero worship of many of his teachers, had taken his sons words with a pinch of salt. He saw now that he should have heeded them; Marcail Montgomery was a beauty. She also seemed as sweet as she was lovely.
Well, no matter, Richard told himself. She could have the face of a horse, and Id still think she was beautiful for the changes shes made in my Sydney.
Why did you wish to see me?
The sound of Marcails voice made Richard realize hed been staring at her like a man whod taken leave of his senses. He cleared his throat and began.