Читать книгу Courting Miss Callie - Dorothy Clark - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“I’ve finished the bread dough for tomorrow’s baking, Aunt Sophia. I’m going over and visit with Willa and Matthew for a little while.” Callie smiled and swirled her burnoose around her shoulders.

“That’s a lovely idea, dear.” Sophia rested her hand on her account book and lifted her head. “You’re working too hard.”

“I’m enjoying every minute of it. I never get to cook or bake at home.” She caught her breath, then gave a little laugh to cover her verbal slip. “You know how it is in the social whirl. There are always visits to make and parties to attend. Why, I don’t even own an apron!” She gave another little laugh, lifted her hand in farewell and headed toward the front entrance.

“Remember me to Willa and Matthew, dear.”

“I shall.” She let herself out onto the large porch and hurried through the pool of light created by the lamps on either side of the door to the steps.

A gust of wind flipped the sides of her burnoose backward and fluttered the curls at her crown. She pulled the attached hood forward and yanked the edges of the short cape back in place against the chill of the damp air. Cold, wet drops splatted against the back of her hands as she lifted her hems and picked her way across the muddy ruts of Main Street. She angled a look from beneath her hood toward the night sky. “Please, almighty God, not another storm. The floodwater is almost to the barn.”

The wind whipped her words away. Raindrops pelted her face. She ducked her head and ran up the walk to the parsonage, trotted up the steps to the shelter of the front porch and rapped on the door. Yellow light glowed in the window beside her, disappeared as someone crossed in front of the lamp inside. The door opened. She smiled at the silhouette against the light.

“Callie! What a lovely surprise. Matthew has gone to pay a sick call, and I was wishing for some company. Come in,” Willa said, then stepped back, a welcoming smile curving her lips and brightening her blue-green eyes.

“Thank you, Mrs. Calvert.” She laughed, scrubbed the soles of her shoes on the braided rug in front of the door and stepped into the warmth of the small entrance hall. “It still seems so strange to think of you as a married woman, Willa. And a mother.” She hung her burnoose on a peg by the door and pushed the curls back off her forehead.

“I know. It’s hard for me to believe at times it happened so quickly. But when Matthew grinned at me...” Willa laughed and led her to the chairs by the fireplace in the sitting room. “Well, let’s just say my resolve to never marry—”

“—disappeared like the mist over the river when the sun comes up.” She finished Willa’s sentence as they’d done for each other since they were old enough to talk, and both of them dissolved into giggles.

“Exactly.” Willa gave her a quick hug. “It’s so good to have you back in Pinewood, Callie.”

“It’s good to be back. It’s...comforting.” She stretched her chilled hands out to the warmth of the fire. “I thank God every day that Rose went to live with her daughter the day after I arrived. It made everything work out perfectly. Aunt Sophia has never questioned my stepping in to temporarily fill her need for a cook at the hotel.”

“You mean you haven’t yet told Sophia the reason for your unexpected visit? You’ve been back for over a week.”

Guilt tweaked her conscience. She gave a reluctant nod. “That’s why I came over tonight. I need your advice, Willa. Aunt Sophia mentioned today that she will have to start seeking a cook to replace Rose, and that will take away my excuse for prolonging my stay and—”

“—Sophia will start wondering why you don’t go home.”

“Exactly.” She turned and sank into the chair opposite Willa. “If I stay overlong she will become suspicious.” A wry smile curved her lips. “And you know Aunt Sophia when she is after information.”

“I do indeed.” Willa’s eyes crinkled. “Remember when we came home with our skirt hems all wet and she suspected we’d gone floating downriver on Daniel’s homemade raft?”

“And we denied it.”

The coconspirators in childhood crimes burst into laughter.

“It’s funny now—” Willa wiped tears from her eyes and shook her head “—but, when Sophia plunked us down on that porch settle and—”

“—we sat there with our skirts dripping water and shaking our heads no, too scared to even talk.”

“Scared? I was terrified! Sophia was relentless—until we confessed and promised to never do it again.”

“I know. I’ve never been able to withstand Aunt Sophia’s questioning. Not to this day.” Her laughter faded. She looked down and smoothed a fold from her long skirt. “And that makes things...difficult.”

“Not if you tell her the truth, Callie.”

Her stomach tensed. She shook her head. “It’s not that easy, Willa. I want so much to stay here and live with Aunt Sophia, but I can’t tell her I ran from home to escape Mother’s and Father’s plans to marry me off to a wealthy man. Mother is her sister. And their relationship is already strained since we moved from Pinewood.”

Willa’s smooth brow furrowed. “I thought Sophia knew that your parents’ reason for moving to Buffalo was so you could make an...advantageous marriage.”

“Yes.” She nodded and let out a long sigh. “That’s why their relationship suffered. Aunt Sophia knew how I felt about Mother’s and Father’s plan. How can I tell her that they will not listen to my pleas, but continue to parade me on the social circuit like some bauble for purchase! She would be so upset with Mother. Oh, why couldn’t God have made me average or even plain?”

“Are you questioning God’s wisdom, Callie?”

“No. I know His wisdom is perfect. It’s my submission that is faulty.” She surged to her feet, strode across the room and stared at the rain making tiny rivers down the small window panes. “It would be so much easier if I were plain. Father never would have moved us from Pinewood, Mother and Aunt Sophia would not be estranged and I could have a normal life.”

She drew in a breath and spun back around. “Those rich men in Buffalo don’t care about me, about who I am, Willa. They only want me because I will look pretty on their arm at their social gatherings. I’m no more to them than...than their expensive watch fobs, or their perfectly matched horses that pull their fancy carriages. I’m only another way for one of them to gain ascendancy over the others. They don’t love me—they want to own me. And they’re bidding against one another for my hand—to Mother and Father’s glee.”

The tension in her stomach turned into painful spasms. She pressed her hand against her abdomen and raised her chin. “Those men are greedy, arrogant, shallow and pompous. And they are duplicitous liars, the lot of them. You know it’s true, Willa. You met a few of them when your heart was broken, and you came to visit. Well, I’ll not have any of them! I want a husband who loves me, not one who wants to own my beauty.”

The starch left her spine. She moved back to the chair, sat and took a slow, deep breath to ease the discomfort in her stomach. “I cannot bear the thought of being wed to one of those men, Willa. But how do I stand against Mother’s and Father’s wishes? All of their aspirations for increased wealth and prestige rest on me. I have no wish to disobey or disappoint them, but I despise the shallowness of the life I will lead if I marry any of the men who are bidding for my hand—especially Mr. Strand. And I’m afraid he is the one who will win Father’s blessing. What am I to do?”

Willa rose and came to her. She yielded to the warm comfort of her friend’s arms about her, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes.

“I think you must tell Sophia the truth, Callie. Tell her that there are men vying for your hand, and that you came to stay with her to gain time to decide what you will do. And then trust the Lord. He will provide your answer.”

* * *

Ezra folded the end of the ticking to hold in the clean hay, flopped the stuffed mattress down on the taut roping of the narrow cot and spread one of the blankets over it. He unfolded the other two to use for covers and looked around his sleeping quarters.

The small room boasted wood plank walls with one small, dirty window instead of the painted plaster and large, draped mullioned windows in his bedroom at home. And the furnishings! A cot with a straw tick and wool blankets instead of a four-poster bed with a feather mattress and linens. A dusty old grain chest instead of a polished, mahogany highboy. Harness and halters and bridles hanging from pegs on the wall instead of paintings and a bookshelf. And a bare puncheon floor instead of waxed wood and an Oriental carpet. And no fireplace. No source of heat at all.

He shook his head, sat on the wood edge of the cot and removed his boots. He was too sore from his beating last night and too weary from the work he’d done this evening to be concerned about the lack of luxury. And the cot was a vast improvement over the pile of hay he’d found himself in when he’d come to after his assault by those thieves—no, by Johnny Taylor and his friend. He’d been thinking about it all evening, and he had no doubt it was Johnny. It was the only thing that made sense.

The shock of his cousin’s betrayal struck him again. To rob him was one thing, but to knock him unconscious and leave him half buried in a haystack to die...

He scowled and rubbed the back of his neck. Had Johnny told anyone else of his wealth? Was he in danger? It didn’t seem likely, since Johnny had wanted his money himself. Still, he’d have to figure a way to get in touch with Tom Mooreland and have his business manager send funds to pay for his return trip to New York City. Perhaps Mrs. Sheffield would advance him postage money and add the expense to his room and board. He’d found the post office inside the mercantile when he’d gone to ask the proprietor where to find Johnny.

The incongruity of his position brought a grim smile to his lips. He owned a bank and an insurance company along with various other enterprises, was one of the wealthiest and most highly respected businessmen in New York City, and he hadn’t money enough to post a letter. Ridiculous!

He stretched his muscles, grimaced at the pain in his shoulder and thigh, and took a deep sniff of the air. The smell of the hay and grain and leather and horses reminded him of his parents’ farm in Poughkeepsie. It had taken a lot of hard work to keep the place going, but he’d always found time to spend with the horses. He’d missed them when he’d started working for Mr. Pierson at the brokerage. Perhaps he could talk Mrs. Sheffield into keeping him on until his money arrived. At least he’d have food to eat and a place to sleep. One of his strengths as a businessman was his ability to make fair, but advantageous deals. It was worth a try.

He snuffed the stable lantern, stripped down to his long underwear, tossed his clothes on the chest, slipped beneath the covers and stretched out on his right side. The hay crackled and yielded beneath his weight. He folded his arm beneath his head for a pillow, careful not to wipe the salve from his wound.

Callie Conner. He’d never seen a woman possessed of such beauty. Her skin was flawless, her features delicate and refined. And those incredible violet-colored eyes! But it wasn’t only her face. Her voice was soft and melodious, her movements lithe and graceful. Best of all, there was no coquetry, no coyness, about her. Far from it. The woman seemed completely unaffected by her beauty. He couldn’t say the same for himself. She’d drawn his gaze the way flowers draw bees. He’d had to remind himself not to stare.

He frowned and adjusted his position to ease the ache in his thigh, listened to the drumming of the rain against the wood shingles on the roof. Why was someone as beautiful as Callie Conner content to be a cook in her aunt’s hotel? It certainly wasn’t because she lacked spirit. Those beautiful, violet eyes had thrown sparks when he’d tried to refuse her care of his wound. That baffled him. He’d only been trying to protect her sensibilities. Why should that make her angry?

He broke a stem of hay that was poking him in the ribs and closed his eyes. Why was Callie not out front greeting guests in her aunt’s hotel? One look and men would vie for the chance to court her. Wealthy men. He should know. She had certainly drawn his interest. And not only because of her beauty, but because she was different than the young society women he knew—all of whom were eager to marry his money. Or was she different? Was the beautiful Miss Conner as unaffected as she seemed, or was it simply that she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to marry a wealthy man?

He opened his eyes and stared at the shadowed darkness. He’d made this visit to Pinewood to free himself from those sort of doubts, to spend a few weeks among people who did not know him so he would not have to weigh every word and action to determine if someone liked him, or was merely trying to curry his favor in order to secure a loan from his bank or gain a position of note in one of his companies. Why should he let the robbery and Johnny’s treachery ruin the plan?

He tugged the blanket closer around his neck to stop the cold air sneaking beneath it from chilling his back and closed his eyes. It would be pleasant to get to know the prickly Miss Callie Conner better. Much more pleasant than dodging the sycophants back home. If he could talk Mrs. Sheffield into keeping him on as a stable hand to pay for his room and board, he’d hold off on writing that letter to Tom.