Collision of The Heart (9 page)

“I should think she doesn’t need much encouragement along those lines. She’s wonderful with the Herring children and the little boy.”

“She has a fine mind she’s letting go to waste.”

“So where did Miss Finney attend college?” Mia gave him a sweet smile.

Ayden’s jaw worked as though he ground his teeth.

“Or maybe,” Mia pressed, “she doesn’t have a fine mind to waste, and all she needs is a pretty face and a father in high places.”

“The city,” Ayden said between his teeth, “hasn’t done your manners any good.”

“You can’t be shy and succeed as a lady in my line of work.”

“Nor have a heart.”

Mia stared at the portfolio lying on her lap, watching it become dusted with snow. “Nor a heart.”

Ayden drew up the horses before the Goswell house. “Why did you not tell me about the pencils?”

“You mean about being a thief?” Mia’s lips worked before she could say in a calm voice, “I was afraid you would end things with me if you knew. But then you ended things with me anyway, so I may as well have told you.” Her face averted from him so he couldn’t see her pain, she climbed from the sleigh. “I can see myself into the house.”

“Mia, I never—”

Without a backward glance, she stalked up the walk to the front door. It opened before she reached it. Light and warmth and the aroma of baking apples and cinnamon blended with the sharp scent of snow.

“Go on in, child.” Mrs. Goswell made a shooing motion at Mia, then turned to the street. “You won’t be here for dinner, Ayden?”

Mia stepped into the warmth of the entryway before she heard Ayden’s response. Whatever it was, it seemed not to please his mother, for she closed the door with more force than necessary.

“You’re all over snow, Mia. Go into the parlor and dry yourself at the fire before you catch a chill.”

Mia glanced through the partially open parlor door, where Mrs. Herring and Mr. Goswell played a game of Mansion of Happiness at one small table, Mr. Divine bent over some drawings at another, and Rosalie sat on the floor amid a sea of children and blocks. Laughter and the squeals of excited children shimmered in the air. Everyone’s faces shone with happiness or restfulness.

Mia turned toward the steps. “I think I’ll go upstairs. I’m quite worn to a thread.”

“You look tired, but you can’t go hide.” Mrs. Goswell took her elbow and steered her down the hallway toward the kitchen. “I was going to ask Rosalie to help me, but she’s doing so well with the children, I’ll recruit you for the job.”

“I’m not much use with only one hand.”

“You can stir soup and cake batter.”

So she could. Mrs. Goswell set Mia at the table with a cup of hot coffee and a bowl of yellow batter before her. “Make sure that’s perfectly smooth.”

It already looked perfectly smooth to Mia, but she began to stir as instructed, as she, Rosalie, and Mrs. Goswell had done so often in the past.

“So what happened today?” Mrs. Goswell bustled back to the bubbling pots on the stove.

“We had rather a lot of excitement. First we went to the church—”

“I wasn’t talking about what you did.” Mrs. Goswell waved a wooden spoon in the air as though erasing Mia’s words from a chalkboard. “I’m talking about between you and my son.”

“Nothing has changed from a year and a half ago.” Mia stirred more vigorously. “His future is here in Hillsdale, and mine is back in Boston. End of story.”

Mrs. Goswell slammed a lid onto a pot. “I’d rather my son go work for the railroad like his brother than marry to secure his future at the college.”

“So Rosalie—” Mia released the spoon and raised her hand to her burning eyes. “She was telling the truth about why he’s courting Miss Finney?”

“Not entirely. I think he holds a great deal of affection for the lady. Is that mixed?”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall I—?”

“No, I’ll take care of it. You come stir this soup.”

While Mrs. Goswell poured the cake batter into pans, Mia stood before the glorious warmth of the stove and stirred a pot of savory chicken soup. They worked in silence. Down the hall, the doorbell rang, and Rosalie’s happy cry floated back to the kitchen.

“That’ll be Fletcher.” Mrs. Goswell smiled. “Don’t tell her, but he’s going to ask her to marry him on Valentine’s Day. He’s already asked her father’s permission.”

“It should be a good match for her. Though Ayden doesn’t seem to think so.”

“That boy.” Mrs. Goswell knocked her spoon on the side of the metal bowl. “He seems to think every female should attend college, when some feel called to another life.”

“Like playing hostess to the future head of the Classics Department.” Mia’s words emerged with more asperity than she intended.

Mrs. Goswell sniffed. “Hypocritical of him, isn’t it? But Miss Finney is the opposite of you, which I think is the attraction. He won’t have to worry about her getting notions of striking out on her own.”

Mia set aside her spoon and faced Ayden’s mother. “I never intended to go off on my own. I intended for him to follow me. He had an excellent teaching opportunity in Boston, and he chose to stay here for a teaching position that isn’t even certain to be there at the end of the school year.”

“Because of his father, you know.”

“So he says. But Mr. Goswell was up and back at the hardware store before I departed. His father’s fall was an excuse to stay, not a good r-r-reason.” To her horror, Mia burst into tears.

“Oh, my dear girl.” Mrs. Goswell enfolded Mia in her arms and held her like she was a child. “I’ve prayed for two years for him to come to that realization. He hated the years he was away in the East for his advanced studies. He was afraid he wouldn’t succeed out there with all those people he thought were worldlier than he was, who had fathers who were politicians and who were descended from the Mayflower settlers and all. He enjoys mucking out stalls and shoveling snow, and his pa owns a hardware store.”

“And I didn’t want to stay in a town where the deputy sheriff still remembers me trying to steal pencils from the stationer’s. I guess I’m right.” Mia drew away from Mrs. Goswell’s motherly arms and fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “We didn’t love one another enough to be honest about our fears or overcome them for the other person.”

“I’d say you put your ambition before your love. I’m afraid Ayden—”

The kitchen door swung open. “I beg your pardon.” Mr. Divine took a step back. “I left something in my coat pocket, but I can return later.”

“No need. I should tidy myself before dinner.” Mia scuttled past Mr. Divine.

As the kitchen door swung shut behind her, Mrs. Goswell said, “Ah, Mr. Divine, you just might be what we need to shake some sense into those two.”

Mia wanted to eavesdrop, but she didn’t want anyone else to emerge from the parlor and see her face blotched with tears. She could guess, however, what Mrs. Goswell was up to. For both their sakes, Mia decided she should warn Ayden his mother wasn’t above matchmaking.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait too long. A mere hour after supper, Mia stood in the kitchen, icing a cake for Sunday dinner, something she found she could do with one hand, when Ayden blew through the back door on a gust of icy wind, snow crystals glowing in his dark hair and his cheeks ruddy from the cold.

He halted in mid-stride at the sight of her. “I didn’t know you were that domestic.”

“I’m a rather good cook, Professor Goswell. Your mother taught me. And speaking of your mother”—Mia set down her knife—“I believe your mother is hatching some scheme to get us back together.”

Ayden hung his coat on one of the pegs by the back door before he responded. “She’ll catch cold at any attempts there. Dr. Finney asked me tonight when I plan to make Charmaine an offer.”

“And what was your answer?” Mia picked up the knife to resume icing, discovered her hand shaking, and returned the blade to the table.

“Valentine’s Day makes the most sense.” His hands in his pockets, Ayden propped one shoulder against the wall as though he spoke to Rosalie, not the woman whose heart he had broken. “But he reminded me there’s a social on the campus that day, and she’ll be preoccupied with the arrangements for that and entertaining some important people at their house afterward. So I thought I’d make it official on Friday.”

Chapter Eight

O
nly once before in his life did Ayden not want to go to church. That had been the Sunday after Mia left alone for Boston. He didn’t want to answer the questions about where she was, see the sympathetic faces, or potentially hear a sermon that would prick his conscience over his reasons for staying instead of keeping his word to Mia to go.

This Sunday morning, he faced the curiosity of friends, neighbors, and colleagues as to whether or not he would continue his courtship of Charmaine Finney or renew his relationship with Mia. The only way to avoid such speculation would be to suggest Mia sit with someone else instead of his family. She could. Any number of people would welcome her in their midst. But his family and his conscience wouldn’t allow him to cast her off so publicly.

Mia’s presence seemed to be why Dr. Finney prodded Ayden toward a commitment when he had heretofore seemed happy with the courtship. With more men coming the following week—or whenever the tracks had been cleared for train travel—to interview for the position Ayden now held on a temporary basis, he had said he would choose an appropriate time and place. Friday, while Mia was in town, seemed like a fine day, if Charmaine would be unavailable on Valentine’s Day. The proposal would surely be accepted and once and for all lay to rest any rumors that he and Mia would renew their engagement. It would stop Ma from trying to bring about that renewal. It would secure his future as a professor at the college, the work he had most wanted since talk of moving Michigan Central College to his hometown began.

Ayden had returned from the Finney household with light steps through the powdery new snowfall. At last, he would have what he wanted most—his own home, established near his family and work he loved. In a few years, he would stand a good chance of becoming the head of the Classics Department. Life could not get much better.

Then he had opened the door and saw Mia calmly icing a cake at his parents’ kitchen table. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed, as though she labored over one of her articles or essays. She glanced up at him, showing a dusting of pounded sugar on her nose, and a mist settled between his heart and the brightness of his future. His hands fisted. The urge to slam one through the plaster wall of the kitchen surged through him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against that wall for support until his breathing slowed and his heart stopped racing. Then he told Mia he intended to make Charmaine an offer by Friday.

Something in her life of being shuffled from indifferent family member to indifferent family member, then her career in a heartless city, had taught Mia to hide her feelings behind a smooth mask of indifference. She could even smile without changing that lack of interest, as she did at that moment.

“I wish you happy with your hostess. She is so ornamental and well connected I expect an education isn’t important for her.”

Coup de grâce delivered, she glided from the kitchen, leaving behind a half-iced cake and the fragrance of lemons.

Ayden had slammed out of the house to shovel the inch or so of new snow. Not until he returned to the warmth of the kitchen and found Ma finishing the cake icing did he realize he’d gone out without his coat.

“What did you say to her?” Ma demanded.

“I’m proposing to Charmaine on Friday.” Before Ma could respond, he took the steps to his makeshift room two at a time, but he didn’t find peace or rest there.

Yet one more reason not to want to go to church—he was going his own way and not taking counsel from his parents. The Bible lying on the scarred classroom table and the simple act of worship with fellow believers would surely squeeze his conscience to a screeching point.

But of course he went. He rose early to take care of the horses and scrape some ice from the walkways, then ate breakfast in the kitchen. Then he walked to church with the entire crowd from his house, happily darting ahead to corral the two Herring children out of the street.

“I’m sorry they’re being so naughty.” Mrs. Herring blushed. “They haven’t been able to run around for days.”

“We’ll organize a sledding party.” Ayden grabbed Roy Herring’s arm before he could toss a snowball at his sister. “I expect a lot of the children are in need of a romp.”

From the shrieks and squeals in front of the church, he spoke the truth. A game of snowball tag seemed to be in progress, to the hazard of those coming to the service. One snowball came flying at Ayden’s head. He ducked, and Mia cried out behind him.

He turned to see her wiping the frozen crystals from her face. “I am so sorry.” He reached out to pluck a chunk of snow from the fur trim of her hood, caught sight of Charmaine and her father coming up the walk, and dropped his hand. “Take my muffler.” He gave her the length of red wool around his neck, then strode past her to greet the Finneys.

“Would you like an arm, Miss Roper?” Gerrett Divine asked Mia. “I’ll protect you.”

Ayden tensed. He should have protected her from missiles for no other reason than she was a guest in his house. But Charmaine was there, expecting him to escort her into church.

They walked behind Mia and Gerrett. The two of them chatted about something in New York City, while Ayden had no idea what Charmaine was saying to him. Surely, it was interesting. He’d never been bored in her company. She might not have had a formal education past her Philadelphia finishing school, a place she spoke of often, but she was well read and intelligent and would have done well in academics.

Just like his sister.

Rosalie strode arm in arm with Fletcher Lambert. He bent his head toward hers, and their soft laughter drifted through the icy air.

“Stop scowling.” With a quiet laugh of her own, oddly accompanied by a wistfulness to her gaze, Charmaine elbowed his side. “They’re in love. Do you think you should stand in their way with your grousing about it?”

“I wouldn’t anyway.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. She’s already turned him down once because she knows you disapprove.”

Ayden stopped on the church steps to stare at her. “How do you know?”

“She told me.”

“So my little sister confides in you.” A little fist squeezed Ayden’s heart. “She used to talk to me.”

“She has me now that you’ve chosen to be unreasonable.”

Rosalie looked so happy these days, perhaps he was being unreasonable.

“I’ll think about changing my mind.”

“You should.” Charmaine glanced at her father. “Change your mind about interfering with others’ hearts.”

Focused on what Charmaine meant by that last remark, whether it was merely about Rosalie and Fletcher or someone else, Ayden didn’t realize he ended up in the pew between Charmaine and Mia until changing places would have been awkward and too obvious.

Mia, however, didn’t seem to notice him. She kept her attention either on the pastor or Gerrett Divine, sharing a hymnal and a Bible with him, keeping her shoulder turned in just enough to cut out Ayden.

He angled his shoulder away from her as well. That was how things should remain between them throughout the service. Afterward, she would go to his parents’ house, and he would go to the Finney house.

Then Charmaine insisted Mia join them for dinner. “You must tell me all about Boston. I’ve been to every city on the coast except for Boston and so wish to go.”

Don’t accept,
he urged her in silence.

But she agreed after only a moment’s demur. “I’ll be happy to tell you about Boston, and we can compare our impressions of New York and Philadelphia, too.” Mia cocked her head, and her slanted eyes grew positively feline, an expression Ayden knew meant he should brace himself for the direct hit coming. “In return, I think you would be a fine foil to my article about women who choose to go to college alongside men, since you chose not to get an education and all.”

“It wasn’t really my choice.” Charmaine bowed her head and peeked out through her extraordinary lashes. “My mother died, and Father needed a hostess.”

“So you would go to college if you could?” Mia pressed.

Ayden grasped her elbow and nudged her toward the end of the pew. “At least refrain from pursuing your career on a Sunday.” He leaned toward her and murmured, “And use your razor tongue on someone who can
reposte in tierce
.”

“Seconde.”

“You’re slipping, Mia. You’re better off reposting in tierce and parrying in seconde.”

“I prefer to parry in—”

“Don’t tell me you fence, too, Miss Roper.” Charmaine sounded so bored she nearly yawned.

Mia gave her a big-eyed look. “You don’t fence?”

Charmaine shuddered. “Those blades of Ayden’s rather terrify me.”

“Have you managed to recruit any other females to learning the art?” Mia asked.

“One or two. Perhaps you should come interview them.”

“I’d like that.” Her face lit, all signs of strain and fatigue vanishing with one flash of her warm smile. “And perhaps I can persuade Miss Finney not to be afraid of the fencing blades. They’re not dangerous when handled properly. Not any more dangerous than a butcher’s knife and less so than an ax.”

“You are so right.” Charmaine looked more interested in his collection of weapons than she had any time he mentioned it.

Leave it to one female to communicate with another.

He started to thank her, but she headed away from him down the aisle. “I must speak to Genevieve. I’m interviewing her and some others tomorrow morning.” She paused. “Then I’d like to find a way to get safely back to the train.”

Ayden stepped into the aisle in front of her. “Not by yourself.”

“Perhaps Deputy Lambert will take me when he’s off duty. If Rosalie comes along—”

“I’ll take you.” Ayden smiled at Charmaine to assure her he wasn’t abandoning her, then returned his attention to Mia. “I have classes in the morning, but after lunch, I will take you back to the train, if the sheriff says it’s safe. Now hurry with Mrs. Baker. We must not keep Dr. Finney waiting on his dinner.”

Ayden might as well not have been there for all the attention anyone paid him over the dinner table or coffee afterward. Dr. Finney asked Mia innumerable questions about what she wrote. Charmaine and Mia talked about publications for ladies, about Boston culture, about an education versus staying at home.

“I believe the Lord calls each of us differently,” Charmaine concluded. “We each have to examine our hearts and pray and see where the Lord leads us to go, whether in a career or marriage or taking care of a relative.”

Ayden poised himself to kick Mia under the table if she started to argue. The preparation was unnecessary. A thoughtful look settled over her features, and she nodded.

“You make a good point.” And from beneath the table, she drew out her portfolio and began to write.

“Euphemia Roper,” Ayden snapped, “have you no manners?”

“Not when I need to remember something.” She spoke around a pencil between her teeth.

Charmaine and her father emitted genuine laughs, not merely polite huffs of amusement to appease a slightly eccentric guest.

Later, while Mia assisted Charmaine in the kitchen, cleaning up as best she could with one hand, Dr. Finney cast Ayden a warm smile. “I confess I was wrong about her. She was a brilliant student, but I thought her a little vulgar for being so independent and traveling the eastern cities on her own. But she is quite charming as well as brilliant. If we had female professors at the college, she would be a fine asset to the staff.”

“She’d think of something she wanted to remember and stop in the middle of a lecture to write it down on paper.” Ayden meant to sound disparaging. Instead, he spoke with all the warmth and affection he wished he didn’t feel for her.

Finney’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps we should have her stay here. Your house must be bursting at the seams.”

“She might like that.”

And so would he.

“I’ll speak to my daughter about it,” Finney said. “Now, since you chose to get shot at by counterfeit railroad guards yesterday instead of coming here, would you like to see that papyrus now?”

Ayden followed the older man into his office, which reeked of pipe smoke, and lost himself in ancient history for an hour. When he emerged, leaving Finney with his scroll, the early twilight was falling, and Charmaine suggested they leave before dark.

“The sky is so clear it’s going to get terribly cold for walking.” Charmaine laid her hand on Ayden’s arm. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so.” He plucked at the fold of his neck cloth to stop himself from giving in to the urge to push her hand off his arm. “I tutor on Monday nights. But perhaps Tuesday? I’d like to arrange a sledding party Tuesday or Wednesday. The children need exercise, and their parents need a respite. Will you help with that?”

“You know I will. Wednesday will be best.”

The sledding party settled, Ayden offered Mia his arm and started for home. Neither of them spoke for the four-block walk between the Finney house and Ayden’s. Mia clutched her portfolio as though it held all her worldly wealth, which perhaps it did, and Ayden no longer knew what to say to her. After her display in church, he expected her to continue honing her knives on Charmaine. Instead, the two of them parted on cordial, even warm, terms. Weren’t they supposed to despise one another?