And Then Came Spring by Margaret Brownley Page A

“After what I saw in my office yesterday, I venture to guess you’re the warrior in your family.”
    She smiled too. It seemed like she had been fighting all her life just to survive. “I guess that makes us two of a kind.”
    â€œI don’t think you and my brother would have made a good match,” he said.
    She turned her shoulder, trying not to let on how much his words hurt. Finally she found her voice. “I guess he needed someone with more learning.”
    There was a long pause. “I . . . uh,” he began. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think he’d know what to do with a wife who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.”
    She glanced at his face, but it was too dark to read his expression. “Guess we’ll never know, will we?”
    â€œGuess not.”
    They arrived at Daniel’s house. Not even the moonlight penetrated the dark, and he insisted on going in first.
    â€œBe careful of my sewing—”
    A thud and groan met her words.
    â€œAre . . . are you all right?” she cried.
    For an answer the light came on. He seemed all right and relief rushed through her. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have left it there.”
    He stood her machine upright. “No problem.” He hesitated, and she had the strangest feeling he was reluctant to say good night or perhaps that was only wishful thinking on her part. “Are . . . are you still planning on leaving town?”
    She nodded. “In the morning.”
    â€œI’ll pick you up and take you to the train station.”
    â€œThat’s not necessary.”
    â€œI’d feel better knowing you made the train safely,” he said.
    â€œThank you, that’s very kind.”
    They gazed at each other for a moment and a warm glow rushed through her.
    As if to catch himself from staring, he blinked and quickly headed for the door. “I . . . I better let you get some sleep. Good night.”
    â€œGood night.” She stood at the threshold, not wanting to see him go. “Unlucky,” she called after him.
    He swung around to face her. “I’m sorry?”
    â€œThat’s what you call a woman who loses two fiancés. Unlucky.” And with that she closed the door.

Chapter Eight
    Moving a mountain had to be easier than getting Eddie out of bed and ready for school. Garrett was sure of it.
    â€œShould have called you Mule,” he muttered as he coaxed the boy downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast. Most of the other boarders had already left for the day, so it was just the two of them.
    Garrett scooped flapjacks and sausage onto a plate from the buffet and set it on the table. He pointed to a chair. “Hurry or you’ll be late.”
    Eddie sat and pushed the plate away. “I’m not going. I hate school.”
    Mrs. Hoffmann walked in with a pot of coffee in her hands. “ Huch! In my day, talking back to my vater  . . . my pa . . . would have gotten me a whupping.”
    â€œHe’s not my pa.”
    Mrs. Hoffmann opened her mouth to say something but Garrett stopped her with a shake of his head.
    She snapped her mouth shut, set the coffeepot on the buffet, and walked back into the kitchen, clucking with disapproval.
    Eddie stared at his untouched plate. His lips stuck out like a buggy seat. Garrett filled a cup with coffee and sat opposite him.
    Sipping the hot brew, he watched the boy over the rim of his cup. Invisible walls were always the hardest to penetrate, but somehow he had to find a way. He owed his brother that much, at least.
    â€œEddie, I’m sorry about your pa.” He set his cup down and rubbed his forehead with both hands. “I’m also sorry I yelled at you. I don’t know much about kids. I’ll need your help in figuring out what I’m supposed to do.”
    Neither his apology nor his plea for help made Eddie lower his