Читать книгу Courting Miss Adelaide - Janet Dean - Страница 11

Tuesday morning Adelaide sewed pink ribbons on to a child’s bonnet, each tiny stitch made with infinite care. On the table beside her, her Bible lay closed. Unread.

As she worked, she pictured Emma Grounds, the little German girl, wearing this hat as they picked daylilies out back. She imagined bending down to gather the girl to her, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the scent of warmed skin, the scent of a child.

Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting tears, then knotted the final thread, snipped off the ends and laid the finished hat on her lap. In reality, a customer would buy this bonnet for her daughter or granddaughter and it would be gone, out of Adelaide’s grasp as surely as Emma.

She removed her spectacles and laid the hat on the counter. The bell jingled over the door. The sight of Laura Larson brought a smile to Adelaide’s face. Laura’s youthful spirit might be encased in a plump, matronly body, but her laughter lit up a room like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. Without her help, Adelaide couldn’t have managed the shop during her mother’s illness. “Hello!”

Laura strolled toward her, her gaze sweeping the shop. Slicked back into a bun, some of her salt-and-pepper curls escaped to frame her round unwrinkled face. “My, my, haven’t you been busy.”

Leaning on the counter, Adelaide viewed her surroundings through Laura’s eyes. Hats lined every shelf and perched on every stand. Already full when she’d become work-possessed, display cabinets burst at the seams. “I guess I’m overstocked.”

Laura giggled, sounding more like a young girl than a grandmother in her fifties. “I’d say so. Do you have some hat-making elves tucked away in the back?”

Adelaide smiled. “No, I made them all.”

“Why so many?”

What could Adelaide say? She’d been drowning her sorrow in hats? That for the past two weeks she’d been sewing, rather than praying about her problems? “Would you like some tea?”

“Tea sounds wonderful, if you have the time.”

Adelaide headed to the kettle on the tiny potbellied stove in the back. “One thing I have plenty of is time.”

“What you have plenty of, dear, is hats,” Laura said, following her.

Pouring steaming water into a prepared teapot, Adelaide chuckled. For a moment, the sound stopped her hand. How long had it been since she’d laughed?

Adelaide gathered two cups with saucers and added a teaspoon of sugar in each, the way she and Laura liked their tea. She carried the tray into the showroom.

Laura joined her at the table, a cozy spot where her customers leafed through copies of Godey’s Lady’s Book while enjoying a restorative cup of tea.

“Why not mark them down and run an ad in the paper?” Laura said. “You’ll need the space when it’s time to display wools and velvets.”

Running an ad meant seeing Mr. Graves. She would like to strategically poke a hatpin into every member of the committee, even The Ledger’s editor. Of course, she’d do no such a thing.

Filling Laura’s cup, Adelaide sighed. “I’ll run an ad.”

Laura took a sip, and then rested her cup in the saucer. “You missed Wednesday night’s prayer meeting. Again.” Laura touched her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Adelaide lifted her head, meeting Laura’s gentle and accepting, ready-to-listen eyes. Her gaze skittered away and settled on the bonnet lying on the counter, then over to her unread Bible.

She considered telling Laura about her struggles, but it might sound as if she blamed God. And she didn’t. It was her fault she resisted His will for her life. Or was it the committee who refused His will? Her mind had been so full of hurt and discouragement she no longer heard with certainty the quiet, inner voice that had guided and sustained her.

Laura gave her hand a squeeze, but said nothing, simply waited. Tenacious as a bulldog tugging at a trouser leg, Laura wouldn’t let go until she got the story.

“A couple weeks ago, I asked to care for one of the orphans coming to town on the train, and the committee turned me down.”

“Oh, no.”

“Afterward—” She bit her lower lip until she could continue. “To keep busy, I made hats.”

Laura turned over Adelaide’s hand. “Which explains your rough palms and bloodshot eyes.”

“It’s been…a difficult time.”

“Yes, I see—”

“Do you? Do you see this was my last chance—” Adelaide blinked hard and pulled away her hand.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Laura said, her heartfelt tone bringing a lump to Adelaide’s throat.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry for burdening you with this.”

“Don’t be silly! I’m your friend.” Laura slapped the table. “That committee is made up of nitwits.”

“Some nitwits. Only the superintendent of schools, the president of the bank, the editor of our newspaper—”

“Mr. Graves?” Laura scooted to the edge of her seat.

“None other.”

“Now there is a handsome man,” Laura said, with a grin. “Looks like his father.”

Adelaide gasped. “You knew Mr. Graves’s father?”

Laura nodded, her eyes shining like a brand-new penny. “He grew up in Noblesville. Back then, I had a huge crush on Adam Graves. But he only had eyes for your mother.”

“My mother?”

“Yes, dear, it might astonish you to hear this, but as a young woman, Constance Gunder reigned as belle of the county.”

Her mother had been an attractive woman, but the pained expression she’d worn as long as Adelaide could remember suggested Constance had never known a happy day in her life.

“For a long while, Adam and your mother were inseparable,” Laura continued. “Everyone assumed they’d marry.”

Adelaide hadn’t been told any of this. Why had her mother gone from belle to bitter? “What happened?”

“Constance fell in love with your father. Not a staying kind of man, but he swept your mother off her feet.” Laura sighed. “Adam moved away right after that. Landed in Cincinnati, I believe. Your folks got married. As far as I know, Adam never came back, not even to visit his parents before they died.”

“That seems callous.”

“A broken heart can change a man—and a woman. I’ve always wondered if that’s what damaged your mother.”

Adelaide shook her head. “My mother never opened her heart enough to get it broken.” She ran her finger around the cup’s rim. “Did you know my father?”

“Not really. A fun-loving, charming traveling salesman with dimples—that pretty much describes Calvin Crum.”

“Do you know why he left?”

Laura shook her head. “Constance never confided in me.” Laura pursed her lips, as if cutting off something she wanted to say, then brightened. “Well, all that’s water under the bridge.” She waggled her brows. “I understand Adam Graves’s son is available.”

“For what?”

“For your ad, what else? And you better get over there, before all these hats start gathering dust.” Laura returned to her tea, her face the picture of innocence, knowing full well she’d used the exact words that would convince Adelaide to place the ad and put her into the presence of Mr. Graves.

Whether Adelaide wanted to deal with the editor or not, she needed cash to buy supplies. She couldn’t afford to dip into her meager savings.

Besides, she had another pressing reason to see him. “I do owe Mr. Graves and the entire committee an apology.”

“Why?”

“I lost my temper at the distribution of the orphans.” Adelaide glanced at her hands.

“I’d have wanted to give them a piece of my mind, too.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t have. I’ve asked God’s forgiveness.” She swallowed. “But I’ve put off the next step.”

Laura nodded. “You’ll be doing the right thing. You can place the ad as an act of repentance and good business.” Laura smiled, then rose to give Adelaide a quick hug. “I’ll be back to quilt on Monday. I’m only blocks away if you need me,” Laura said, then left.

Adelaide restored order to the shop and then climbed the stairs, her stomach lurching at the prospect of facing Mr. Graves and the entire committee. If she had more say in what happened, maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess. In her world, an unmarried woman couldn’t discern anger in a man, couldn’t challenge the decisions of men. Couldn’t be deemed fit to rear a motherless child, though countless widows raised their own children.

If only I had a way to get through to these men, to let my voice be heard.

Then maybe—

“Oh, why am I even bothering to dream about what can’t be undone?” she said to the empty room.

Adelaide whipped off the apron, smoothed her navy skirt and then donned hat and gloves. Mr. Graves would not see how dejected she’d been since the committee’s decision.

In fact, she wouldn’t let Mr. Graves see her heart at all.

Downstairs, she flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED, left the shop and stood at the edge of the boardwalk, waiting while horses of every description clopped past. The sight of the huge animals always left Adelaide weak in the knees. Would she ever get over her fear of horses?

Seeing an opening, she hustled across the street, holding the hem of her skirt out of the dust. Arriving safely on the other side without being crushed by the temperamental beasts, she heaved a sigh of relief. In front of The Ledger, she took a moment to slow her breathing. Grasping the handle of the door, she turned the knob when the door burst open.

A young man slammed into her. The red-faced youth steadied her with his hand. “Excuse me, miss! Are you all right?”

Adelaide fluffed her leg-of-mutton sleeves. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I’m rushing to get to the courthouse. A horse thief is being arraigned today, and I’m sitting in on the trial.” Holding a pad and pencil aloft, he puffed out his chest like a bantam rooster. “I’m a reporter.”

“Not apt to be one for long if you knock down a loyal reader, James,” warned a deep masculine voice, a familiar voice that sent a wave of heat to Adelaide’s cheeks.

The young man’s complexion also deepened to the color of beets. The editor smiled, softening the harshness of his words, and gave Adelaide a wink. The second time he’d winked at her. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Miss Crum.”

Adelaide’s gaze darted to the editor. Heavenly days, no one took care of her. Even hearing the words unsettled and somehow thrilled her, too.

“I’ll expect a full report on the proceedings, James.”

The young man nodded, then took off at a run across the street, his long legs dodging buggies and wagons on his way to the courthouse.

Adelaide turned back to the editor. “I don’t believe his feet touched the ground.”

Brown eyes sparkling with good humor, Mr. Graves chuckled. Without a coat, attired in a pin-striped vest and white shirt, he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbow giving her a clear view of muscled forearms. His broad shoulders filled the doorway.

The kind of shoulders one could lean on, tell every trouble to, a luxury Adelaide had never had.

Laura had said Charles looked like his father. Adelaide resembled her mother. Odd, history repeating itself that way.

He gestured for her to enter ahead of him. “Come in.”

The instant Adelaide stepped inside, the odor of ink filled her nostrils. With the presses running, the noise level forced her to raise her voice several notches, disconcerting her. But not nearly as much as the man beside her, who looked more male than any man she’d ever met.

“Your reporter seems like a conscientious young man.”

“Yes, but a bit out of control.”

Exactly how Adelaide felt at the moment.

He led her to a desk the likes of which she’d never seen. Newspapers, books and a jumble of paper littered the surface and spilled over onto the floor. Her gaze surveyed three coffee cups, two tumblers, one filled with water, the other with pencils, an ink well, scissors, a glue bottle, a crumpled rag stained with ink, rubber bands, an apple and, gracious, the remainder of a half-eaten sandwich.

“Oh, my.”

Mr. Graves stiffened. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing really.” Adelaide clasped her hands together to keep them from organizing the desk and then giving it the dusting—well, more like the good scrubbing—it needed. That Mr. Graves could work amidst such a mess amazed and baffled her.

He motioned to a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

She glanced at the chair he’d indicated, only to find it piled with newspapers. With a boyish grin, Mr. Graves removed them, obviously unconcerned with disarray. She started to sit when she spotted the crumbs.

He followed her gaze. “Let me take care of that.” He took out a handkerchief and swiped it over the seat, sending crumbs tumbling to the floor.

She cringed. Heavenly days, fodder for bugs, or worse, rodents. But then he bent near and she caught the smell of leather and soap mingled with ink and filled her lungs, reveling in the scent of him. Suddenly woozy, she dropped into the now tidy seat before she did something foolish, like telling him how good he smelled.

The fumes must have made me light-headed.

The editor cleared a space, then perched on the corner of his desk. His dark gray pants and vest hugged a flat midriff with nary a sign of a potbelly. Her gaze lingered on his hands. Ink-stained, the tips of his long fingers fascinated her. Large, capable, strong—a man’s hands, not at all like her own.

With great effort, she pulled her gaze away to look into his eyes and caught him studying her, a puzzled look on his face. Heat climbed her neck. What was the matter with her? She was behaving like a schoolgirl, as if she’d never seen a man.

“Miss Crum? You’re here because…?”

Her hand fluttered upward, easing her collar from the heat of her neck. “I want to place an advertisement in your paper.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I’d welcome your business, but I believe you already advertise with us.”

He’d paid attention, knew she ran a monthly ad, but then that was his job. “Yes, but I need a special advertisement to promote the sale of my latest creations.” She worried her lower lip. “I’m overstocked.”

“I see. Perhaps a larger, eye-catching ad would bring in those ladies who didn’t get a new bonnet for Easter?”

Adelaide smiled. “Exactly.”

“Let’s check our type selection for a suitable hat.”

Adelaide took in a deep breath. “Before we do, there’s another reason I’ve come, a more important reason.”

“More important than business?” He gave her a teasing grin.

“Much.” She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I, ah, owe you an apology.”

He raised a brow. “For what?”

“For my outburst the day of the distribution. I don’t know what got into me.” She sighed. “I behaved badly and I’m sorry.”

“You surprise me, Miss Crum.”

Adelaide glanced at her hands, then met his gaze. “When I’ve done wrong, the Bible teaches me to apologize.”

His eyes searched her face. “Apparently you do more than carry that book on Sunday mornings.”

What a strange comment. One he wouldn’t have made if he knew how she’d struggled of late with reading the Bible. “The Bible also says you’re to forgive me.”

“Yes, if need be, seventy times seven.” A smile took over his solemn face. “Forgiving you is an easy task, Miss Crum.”

Like rainfall after a drought, his words seeped into her thirsty heart. “Thank you.” She shot him a grin. “Though, I trust my behavior won’t require quite that much clemency.”

He leaned toward her. “That’s too bad.”

Adelaide’s mouth went dry. What did he mean? She lurched from the chair. “I’d like to look at your hat selection.”

He smiled, and then with a hand on her elbow, led her to an enormous array of type fitted into shallow drawers. The presses pulsated through the wooden floor into the soles of her shoes and up into her limbs. That had to be why she felt shaky on her feet. Not because of Mr. Graves’s touch.

The presses came to an abrupt halt.

The editor stopped his search and faced her. “Perhaps I’m out of line, but I feel compelled to say I disagreed with the committee’s decision.” He took a step closer until she could see the length of his lashes, became aware of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “I saw the logic in the astute arguments you made regarding your suitability.”

Compliments on her cooking she’d had, but no man had ever praised her intellect. Still…“Then, why didn’t you speak up?”

“I thought about the burdens my sister-in-law carries rearing her boys alone. Too late I realized that even with her hardships, Mary is an excellent mother.” He stepped closer yet, until she could feel heat from his body, could see gold flecks in his dark eyes. “I’m sure you’d be a good mother.”

Sudden tears filled her eyes and she looked away.

He touched her arm. “I think I know how much the committee’s decision has hurt you.”

Adelaide noticed his assistant watching the exchange with interest. Teddy Marshall would be telling his wife about this visit at noon and the whole town would know by nightfall. She smoothed her skirt, then her brow. “Whether it hurt me isn’t the point. It wasn’t fair.”

His gaze locked with hers. “Life is often unfair, Miss Crum,” he said, and then returned to his search of the boxes.

From his tone, Adelaide suspected he wasn’t simply talking about her situation. Did he have a message in there? Some lesson to learn? If so, she wasn’t ready for it. Not with her heart burning with want for something she couldn’t have.

He held out two blocks for her to examine. “Here you are.”

Adelaide pulled her spectacles from her bag to peruse the blocks, glad for the distraction from all the confusing feelings rushing through her. With Mr. Graves standing near, she found it difficult to concentrate. Taking an eternity to make a simple decision wasn’t like her. She forced her focus on business, not on the man at her side.

At last, she selected the larger block engraved with a most fetching hat, complete with feathers. “I’d like to use this.”

Remembering her mother’s words, she removed her wire-rimmed eyeglasses and stuffed them into her purse.

“Your eyes are pretty either way,” he said softly.

Is he teasing me? “I’ve been told spectacles give me the appearance of an old maid schoolmarm.”

“They give you an air of intelligence.” He met her gaze. “I find intelligent women attractive.”

She fingered the ribbed edge of her collar, her mind whirling around the compliment.

A door slammed. Fannie Whitehall crossed the room, her curly red hair poking out from under a big-brimmed straw hat.

Fannie said hello, and then brushed past Adelaide with as much interest as she’d give a fencepost. She held out two jars topped with a thin layer of paraffin and thrust them into Mr. Graves’s hands. “I brought some of my preserves like I promised.”

Charles looked at the jars like he’d never seen jam before. “Thank you, Miss Whitehall.”

“That jam’s mighty fine on biscuits.”

He gave a lopsided grin. “I’m sure it is, but I’m not much of a cook.”

“I’d make you a batch, but you’d have to bake them.” Fannie let out a giggle. “I always burn the bottoms.”

“Biscuits are my specialty.” The words tumbled out of Adelaide’s mouth. Had she actually said that? Out loud? Apparently she had, judging by the startled expression on both Mr. Graves and Fannie’s faces. “Ah, as a thank-you for the time you spent on my ad.”

“That’s kind of you, Miss Crum,” Mr. Graves said.

Her gaze collided with his and held for several moments, then darted away, then returned. He gazed at her with an intensity that suggested something important was happening, something significant. No man had ever looked at Adelaide like that before. Her hands trembled and she clasped them together, trying to gain control over her traitorous body, especially with Fannie’s sharp-eyed scrutiny.

“I…I’d best be…going,” Adelaide stammered. “I need to get back to the shop.”

“Let me walk you out.” The editor gently guided her by her elbow to the door and then opened it. “I’ll write up the ad and have it ready first thing tomorrow morning.”

The huskiness in his voice set her insides humming and brought an odd tightness to her throat. “I’ll stop by the paper to look at it before I open the shop.”

They said goodbye. Once outside, the sun shone brighter and the sky appeared shades bluer than when she’d walked over to The Ledger. Finding a break in the traffic, she scurried across the street and entered her shop, then glanced back.

Mr. Graves remained in the open doorway where she’d left him. He’d complimented her eyes, even said her spectacles gave her an air of intelligence. No one had ever said anything nicer to her in all her days. Joy zinged through her chest, pushing against her lungs until she could barely breathe.

Then Fannie joined Mr. Graves in the doorway, deflating Adelaide’s mood faster than a burst balloon.

Charles watched Miss Crum cross the street and enter her shop. As the door closed behind her, he detected a little twinge of disappointment. Silly. The lady was a client, nothing more.

Beside him, Fannie cocked her head. “Promise you won’t forget to take the jam home. I put it on your desk.”

“How could I forget?”

She giggled, and then jiggling her fingers at him, she flounced down the walk.

Charles let out a gust of air. He needed to help Teddy get the presses running, but he stayed at the door, thinking not about Fannie, but of Miss Crum.

With his office directly across the street from her shop, he’d noticed since the interviews how little she went out. When he worked late, he’d observe her lamp lit well into the night. After seeing her today, he guessed Miss Crum was a workhorse or an insomniac. Under her pretty blue eyes, dark smudges marred her creamy skin. If he was any judge of people, and in this business he made it a point to be, Miss Crum still suffered from the committee’s rejection.

“Miss Crum’s a looker, though kind of standoffish.”

Charles hadn’t heard Teddy come up behind him. For a burly man he had a light step. Charles purposely turned a cool eye on his assistant, hoping to stop what was coming.

“Yes, sirree, she’s one fine-looking woman. Thinking about courting her?”

Charles scowled. “Where did you get that idea?”

Teddy smiled, putting his whole face into it, annoying Charles. “Oh, I’ve seen you watching her comings and goings. It’s time you quit thinking about asking her and do it.”

“My priority is to get this newspaper in shape.”

“Which you’ve done. Since you’ve taken over, the paper comes out on time and has another section. Why, it looks downright citified.” Teddy swept his arm over the room. “You’ve made this your life. A lonely way of living, that’s sure.”

The truth slammed into Charles. He was lonely. Since he arrived in town, Fannie had come by the paper with one excuse after another. But her giggling and incessant chatter put a knot in his stomach. From what she’d said, she didn’t even read the newspaper.

No, he liked the appearance and manner of Miss Crum. “I’ve considered asking her to dinner,” he said before he thought.

“Miss Whitehall or Miss Crum?”

“Miss Crum.”

Teddy raised his brows. “So, what’s stopping you?”

“A woman who applied for an orphan would have only one thing on her mind—getting married and having babies of her own. I’ve no intention of tying that knot.”

Teddy scratched the back of his neck, peering at him with mild hazel eyes. “You running away from matrimony, boss?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Charles studied the floor, and then raised his gaze. “In my experience, Teddy, if you smile twice at a woman, she starts planning your wedding.” His hand left his pocket and pushed through his hair. “What makes women think they know a man better than he knows himself?”

Teddy hooted. “They do, that’s a fact.” His eyes disappeared in a lopsided grin, a grin fading faster than morning glories at noon. “What’s wrong with marrying? My Grace is a good woman, takes care of me just fine. Gave me four sons,” Teddy said, his tone laced with pride.

Countless Sunday mornings, Charles had seen Miss Crum set off for church, dressed to the hilt from the shiny tips of her shoes to the top of her elaborate hat, clutching the Good Book. Yes, a fine Christian woman. As different from him as any woman he’d ever known. Exactly why this sense of a connection between them wasn’t logical.

If Charles really cared about Miss Crum, he’d stay away.

But he had no intention of sharing that with Teddy. “We’d best get to work or we won’t get this edition out.”

Teddy gave him a long, hard look before heading inside. Once they had the presses running, Charles strode to his desk. Miss Crum’s dismay at the disorder he worked in made him as uncomfortable as having his knuckles rapped by his first-grade teacher. He began organizing the clutter and then stopped.

He wasn’t going to let any woman walk in here and, with one disapproving glance, change the way he ran his office. If he did, next thing he knew, she’d be running his life.

Tousling the paperwork, he restored the desk to its original state and for good measure, dumped the cup of pencils. Slumping into his chair, he eyed the mess with grim satisfaction, promising to steer clear of Miss Crum.

Yet loneliness washed over him, leaving him hollow. Empty. Unlike Fannie, unlike any woman he’d known, Miss Crum captivated him. Though he fought it, he craved substance. Biscuits instead of jam. But that meant letting someone get close. Even a woman like Miss Crum, whose guileless blue eyes tugged at the rusty hinges of his heart, needed to be held at arm’s length.

For her sake, more than his.