Seasons of Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #4) Read Free

What were the odds, Herbert wondered fleetingly, of coming half a world from all things familiar only to run straight into the arms of someone you knew? And knew very well, if appearances meant anything. The odds were against it, for sure. Unless, that is, one were a praying person. Herbert Bloom was a praying person himself and could see the possibilities, could even see the im possibilities that could be surmounted if one indeed prayed.
    “Ah . . . Binkiebrae,” Herbert repeated for lack of anything better to say and still much in the dark about the whole thing. “Both from, er, Binkiebrae . . .”
    It was as if all three of them were mesmerized by something, perhaps the rare combination of sounds that made up the name Binkiebrae, and silence fell again. The man Robbie Dunbar cleared his throat.
    “This land . . . this homestead,” he began, speaking primarily to the girl, explaining to the girl, “is mine. This is what I came over to find; this is what me da had in mind for me. I filed on it all legal in Prince Albert, at the Lands Office. Allan, me brother,” he said, turning to Mr. Bloom momentarily, “filed on the quarter section next to this. Maybe y’ know him. Together,” hesaid, with an exultant note to his voice, “we hae half a section. And wi’ any kind o’ luck,” his glance wavered, “we’ll be able to get the other quarters of the section.”
    “Oh, Robbie,” the girl rejoiced, “tha’s wonderful. An’ is this your hoosie?” She nodded toward the small cabin at the edge of the field, not far from where they were standing.
    “Thass it, Tierney,” he said, with some pride, some humility. “An’ sma’ though it is, it’s not any smaller than some o’ the crofts in Binkiebrae. Aye, an’ Allan has his hoose, too. We’ve made a good start, Tierney.”
    “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Dunbar,” Herbert was bold enough to interject into what could well be a continuing conversation, “why don’t you come over to our house for supper tonight? I know Lydia will be preparing something special for this first night when Miss Caulder is with us, and you’re welcome. Then you and Miss Caulder can continue your talk and get acquainted again. I’m sure there is much you have to say to each other.”
    “Aye, Robbie! Please coom. I’ve sae much to tell ye . . . all aboot how I came to make the trip—”
    “Aye! And I have sae many things to ask,” Robbie said in reply.
    “She’ll tell you all about it this evening,” Mr. Bloom said hastily, remembering that his wife was probably wondering where he was and why he was delayed, and supposing the conversation was about to take off again into lengthy explanations and reminiscences.
    “Oh, aye,” Tierney said happily. “That’s verra nice o’ ye, Mr. Bloom. Do coom, Robbie.”
    “Let’s set it for about seven o’clock,” Herbert Bloom said, pulling out his pocket watch, shaking it, checking the sky, and speaking judiciously. “That’ll give us time to do the chores first. I suppose you’d be free after that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Dunbar?”
    Robbie Dunbar, brought back to earth and something so routine as farm chores, seemed to collect himself with a start. Strangely—or so it seemed to the watching Herbert Bloom—the glow had faded from the dark eyes, the eagerness slippedfrom the square, good-looking face, and (it couldn’t possibly be true, could it?), the suntan was actually replaced by a definite paling of the complexion. The picture Robbie Dunbar presented, Herbert Bloom concluded, was very like that of a gunnysack that had been punctured and out of which the grain was dribbling away.
    “Ah,” Robbie stammered. “Ah . . . I dinna think I can come tonight after all.”
    Disappointment changed the girl’s bright face to shadow.
    “Aye,” Robbie Dunbar continued, sounding more certain of his decision, “I’m quite sure of it, now that I think aboot it.”
    “Robbie . . .” the girl objected, half