Читать книгу A Mistaken Match - Whitney Bailey - Страница 14

Chapter Five

Ann waited on the sidewalk while James placed her purchases in the wagon. She’d almost burst out laughing when he suggested the parcels were too heavy for her to carry. She was used to carrying basket upon basket of firewood up three flights of stairs for most of the year. The package of soap, polish and scrub brushes weighed nothing in comparison.

“Where to now?” she asked when he rejoined her on the sidewalk.

“Remember that friend I promised you? She should be in there.” James pointed to the blue awning directly next to Mr. Davis’s store. New Haven Dressmakers.

The shop appeared empty, but a bell clanging above the door brought a young woman bustling in from the back. Dark abundant hair piled high atop her head added even greater height to her tall and slender frame.

“Good afternoon, Delia. I wanted you to meet Ann Cromwell.”

The woman’s eyes widened and a broad grin broke across her face. In an instant she had Ann clasped in a hug. Ann stiffened and managed a feeble squeeze in return.

“So you’re Ann! But didn’t you mean to say Ann McCann?” The girl winked at James. Flames licked Ann’s cheeks and she turned to find James’s face suffused with pink. He took a half step back and bumped into a dress form, which teetered precariously before he righted it. James ran a hand through his thick hair and Ann’s stomach tumbled. Did all men look so handsome when they were embarrassed?

She must change the subject, for both their sakes. “Were you the one who made that beautiful quilt?” she guessed. She recalled James saying this shop employed its maker.

The woman beamed. “Did you really think it beautiful? Frederick saw me working on it weeks ago and asked to buy it.”

“And you are Frederick’s cousin?”

The young woman placed a palm to her forehead. “Where are my manners, Mrs. McCann? I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Ardelia. Ardelia Ludlow.”

Ann shook her hand, and knew they couldn’t let this woman’s assumptions go uncorrected any longer. “It’s still Miss Cromwell.” She glanced again at James. His face flushed scarlet.

“Forgive my mistake.” Her smile didn’t dim and she laughed. “I’d say I’m still Miss Ludlow, but no one calls me that. My friends call me Delia, and you should, too.”

Ann felt a twinge of the familiar and fumbled back to the jumble of memories from the day before. “I met a woman from New Haven on the train yesterday. She told me she had a daughter near my age. You both have the same last name.”

Delia clapped her hands together and brought them under her chin. “You met Mother? What a coincidence!”

“This woman said she’d been visiting her sister.”

Delia nodded her head vigorously. “That was her, alright. She visited my aunt in Pataskala. Just had her tenth child—can you believe it?”

“Your mother was so kind to help her.”

Delia pointed to a cluster of chairs in the corner and a love seat. “Please, let’s all of us sit and have a chat.”

James rocked back and forth on his heels. The color in his cheeks diffused.

“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” he offered.

“Nonsense!” Delia exclaimed. “Miss Cromwell, implore him to stay.”

Ann bit her cheeks to keep from smirking. As if she could convince James to do anything.

“If I’m to call you Delia, you must call me Ann.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Delia’s smile grew broader.

“Ahem.” James cleared his throat. “Ann, did you bring that...uh...thing I asked you to?”

Ann bit back another smirk. So like a man to refer to a lady’s handkerchief as a “thing.” “Yes, I did,” she replied, and fished the piece from her pocket. “It isn’t quite finished.”

No sooner had the lace left the folds of Ann’s skirt than Delia snatched it from her hand.

“This needle lace is exquisite! Did you make this yourself?”

Ann nodded. Pride stirred in her middle.

“Handmade lace and embroidery are rare skills around here.”

“It isn’t as difficult as it appears. I am far more impressed with your quilt work.”

Delia’s dismissed Ann’s compliment with a wave of her hand. “Everyone quilts. My baby sister is already better than me. But lace like this!” She chewed her lower lip. “I wish I could buy this piece for the shop today.”

“Buy it?” Ann’s voice rose half an octave. She paused and continued in a more ladylike tone. “You believe you could sell my lace?”

“Certainly. But I’m only an apprentice. Mrs. Williams, the shop owner, would have to make the decision to sell your work here. She’ll be back tomorrow. Can I keep this and show it to her?”

James stepped forward. “Is it really all that special? That kind of lace, I mean?”

“Absolutely!” Delia stood and held the handkerchief a few inches from his nose. She traced a slim finger along one of the scallops. “See this pattern? It was made by embroidering scores of stitches, one on top of the other, to build up the design. There’s no backing to guide it, like bobbin lace, just a needle and thread. Lace like this requires true talent.”

Ann’s mind raced with figures. It would cost one or two dollars a week for a boardinghouse. Twenty-five dollars to repay James for her steerage ticket, followed by the agency fee—the price of which she couldn’t even guess. Still, she’d brought with her several dozen handkerchiefs. If they fetched half a dollar each, she might have some hope of supporting herself.

“Do you have any idea how a handkerchief like this might be priced?” Ann could barely contain the tremor of excitement in her voice.

Delia walked to the window and held the handkerchief in front of the glass. Sunlight streamed through the embroidery and painted a patterned shadow on the floor. “It’s hard to say. We won’t have many buyers in New Haven for something so fine, but we are getting more customers from Columbus. And it’s English-made, which is very popular.”

Ann laughed. In England her work was maid-made.

Delia looked up when she laughed and smiled back. “Five dollars.”

It was good Ann remained seated. Otherwise she might have fainted. Had she heard right?

James coughed and backed into another dress form. “Did you say five dollars?” he croaked.

“Like I said, I’ll have to check with Mrs. Williams, but I think that’s how she’d price it.”

Ann’s head was spinning. “When will you know?” she breathed.

“You’ll be at church this Sunday?”

Ann looked to James. He nodded.

“Wonderful. I can tell you then if Mrs. Williams is interested. If she is, I’m sure she’ll wish to meet with you.”

Ann moved through the pleasantries as if in a trance. It was only when James lightly touched her elbow that she realized they were leaving. She returned Delia’s hug goodbye, and allowed James to guide her to the door. Once on the sidewalk outside, with the shop door safely shut behind them, James let out a long, low whistle. His green eyes met hers and he squeezed her elbow. “Five dollars!” he said, as if it were a fantastic secret between them.

His excitement added to her own. She drew a deep breath to retain her decorum. “Mrs. Williams might not think it’s worth so much.”

James laughed. “Even a few dollars is a lot of money for some old handkerchief.”

Ann stiffened at the comment. “Needle lace takes years to learn and countless hours to create a few inches.”

“I believe you. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

James’s loose hair flopped over his right eye and he hadn’t yet raked it back into place. The sight positively unnerved her. It was hard to concentrate as he gazed at her through the sand-colored strands. Why hadn’t he swept it back?

A realization flickered. “You intended for me to meet Delia, didn’t you? She was the new friend you mentioned?”

“Delia or Mrs. Williams. I thought you’d find something in common with them and could make a friend during your short time here.”

“And you like it? The needle lace, I mean?”

He raked the hair from his forehead and met her gaze straight on. “Beautiful but impractical.”

A shiver coursed through Ann’s shoulders. He wasn’t just talking about the handkerchief.

James extended his arm toward the wagon, and helped her alight onto the seat. “Where’d you learn it?”

“Hmm?” His strong hands had touched her lightly as he held her palm and arm, but the phantom sensation of his touch remained. Her other hand throbbed lightly from its burn, only serving as further reminder of the last time they touched.

“The lace. Who taught you how to make it?” James hauled himself onto the wagon seat and flicked the reins.

“We were instructed in basic embroidery at the orphanage. When I entered service, I took handkerchiefs out of my mistress’s dresser and studied the needlework. Later, I would copy it.”

“Why were you in an orphanage?”

James didn’t know he’d asked Ann two questions. She’d lived in an orphanage twice in her life, but for very different reasons each time. Explaining the reason for her first stay was easy. Even thinking of telling him about the second made her stomach hurt. “Why are American children sent to orphanages?”

James squinted at Ann through dark lashes and nodded slowly. “Of course. I apologize for the callous question. You lost your parents. I’m sorry.”

His voice grew soft as he apologized. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. To let him know she appreciated his words. The hand closest to her rested palm up on his knee, the reins slack upon his fingers.

He caught Ann staring at them and gripped the reins.

Ann averted her eyes. “Delia seems like a nice girl.” She’d seemed like more than a nice girl. A few minutes with her and Ann felt she’d found someone she could confide in.

“All of the Ludlows—and the Renners, for that matter—are good people. You’ll get to meet many of them at church.”

“You aren’t going to make me stay home? Hide me away until you hear from Mrs. Turner?” she teased.

James blushed. “I told you we’d tell everyone the truth. Or at least most of it. We met through an agency and you’re staying with me and Uncle Mac to see if we suit. There’s really no other way to explain why you’re living in my house. Besides, half the people in town seem to know already.”

He was right. Mr. Davis hadn’t so much as blinked when James directed him to charge her purchases to his account. She now saw how ridiculous her inquiries regarding positions of service in New Haven had been. To all of New Haven, she would always be the intended Mrs. James McCann. It would be too awkward for any of them to hire her on. If she wanted a new position, she’d have to leave. Not only would she be starting yet another new life, but it must be far away from here.

Ann played with the hem of her sleeve and her breath caught in her throat. She must handle this next topic delicately. “We haven’t yet discussed the terms of my staying with you.”

He shot her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

Ann swallowed hard. “I—I don’t have much money at the moment, to pay for room and board. However, if my handkerchiefs fetch as dear a price as Delia believes, I can repay you for everything. My passage. The agency’s fee.”

James waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry about board. If you clean the rest of the house as well as the kitchen and keep it that way, I’ll consider it payment enough. The kitchen hasn’t looked like that since Mother died.”

“Oh.” Had she detected a compliment? What a pleasant surprise.

“Of course, I’d hoped you’d cook as well as my mother, but I guess that was too much to wish for.”

Ann bristled. She bit her tongue to keep her retort at bay. This man was never going to relinquish his prejudice against her.

“As for your passage and the agency,” he continued, “I wouldn’t worry yourself too much about that.”

Ann cocked her head and puzzled over his comment. “Why not?” she asked finally.

“I’m confident the agency will refund their fee. They’d have to after the kind of mistake they made. And once you’re properly matched with your intended, he can repay me for your ticket.” He laughed. “I’m sure he’ll be scandalized to discover I could only afford steerage. Maybe we’ll tell him I sprang for a second-class ticket? Get a few more dollars out of him?”

He turned to Ann and his smile dropped. “I’m only joking, of course. I’d never be dishonest.”

Ann barely managed a weak smile in return. If only he knew the cost of repayment rested squarely on her shoulders. Even if she procured money, she’d first have to think of supporting herself. “But you’ll be alright until then?” she asked hopefully.

James cleared his throat and gave a nervous chuckle. “Yes, though the sooner we hear from Mrs. Turner and get you sent off, the better. Fact is, I used most of last year’s profits to pay the agency fee and your passage. Until this year’s crops are in, I’m stretched a little thin. I counted on a lot more help around the house and the farm this summer and fall. It’ll cost to hire a hand during harvest.”

Her insides clenched. If only a wealthy suitor really did await her, checkbook in hand.

“Did you post the letter to Mrs. Turner?” she asked, sure that he had.

James chewed his lip. “I did.”

So it was done. The countdown had begun.

* * *

Back at the farm, James let Ann off by the door before pulling the wagon into the barn and tending to the horse. He took the few minutes of solitude to mentally review their trip to town. When he’d invited Ann to stay with him, he never imagined he could be so weak. He’d prayed over and over that morning for strength to focus on the task at hand. Such a simple task. Patiently await the arrival of his intended bride—a helpmate for the farm and the future mother of his children—all while sharing a home with the most breathtaking beauty New Haven had ever seen.

He stifled a chortle. Simple? This was the hardest task of his life. Every time he turned around, a compliment escaped his lips. Why did he keep doing that? The only antidote he could think of was to follow his praise with criticism. To remind himself he couldn’t be caught up in the deceit of beauty again. Yet each time he criticized her, Ann’s doe eyes reflected the wound. Then his chest would tighten to see he’d caused her pain, and he’d be caught up in her gaze all over again.

No, he couldn’t do this to himself! His time with Emily would be for nothing if he repeated the same mistakes. From the moment they met, he’d been utterly blind to Emily’s flaws. He’d ignored every warning God gave him and plunged ahead, hoping she’d grow a heart for farm life and family devotion.

The summer sun still hung high in the sky when he left the barn. His cheeks burned and his mouth felt dry as dust. He headed to the well pump for a drink of water and found Ann already there. She let the tin cup hanging by a chain drop with a clatter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.