Rumors and Promises (3 page)

“Wan get dow! Wan get dow!” Caira wiggled and strained toward the ground.

Ian stepped out of the buggy and took her from the young woman’s arms. “There you go.” He reached to assist Miss Biddle as well.

“I’m fine.” Holding up the edges of her dress with one hand and grasping the side of the vehicle with the other, she all but recoiled from his extended hand. Her obvious distrust took Ian aback.

“Say thank you to Reverend McCormick.” She patted her on the head as though nothing had happened.

“Tank oo ’Cowmick! Bye-bye.” Caira waved, then hid in her sister’s skirt.

“Feeling a bit shy, I see.” He squatted to the child’s level. “Good-bye, Caira. Be good for your big sister.” He glanced up. The young woman averted her gaze.

When Ian took Sophie’s carpetbag and sack from the buggy, she pulled the luggage from his hands. “I can handle them. Thank you for your kindness.” Sophie’s appreciation seemed genuine,
despite her guarded manner. She took the hand of the little one with her free one. “Come along, Caira.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Biddle.” He tipped his hat. “Let me know if you need any help at all.” Ian watched them walk toward the front door before he could pull himself away.

Miss Biddle was obviously an educated girl, winsome regardless of her circumstances, which seemed to have been reduced to not much more than a beggar … a conundrum if there ever was one.

The door creaked open before Sophie could even knock. “You must be the Biddle girls!” A plump matron with a fringe of gray curls and warm chocolate eyes took her bags. “I’m sure you’ll need to freshen up a bit and then I’ll show you the lay of the land. I’m just so pleased to find help this time of year.”

“I was so grateful to find your ad, Mrs.—”

“Call me Esther, please! We are family here.” She took Sophie by the arm. “Come along to the kitchen and then I’ll show you to your room.”

Caira stomped the snow from her shoes like she had been taught.

“Good girl.” Sophie stamped her own feet on the worn mat.

Esther led them to the cozy kitchen. “Go ahead. Take your wraps off and hang them on those hooks over there.” She pointed to the wall, next to the outside door on the back of the house. “You can leave your shoes here,” she said, gesturing toward a braided rug.

After unbuttoning their shoes and slipping them off, Sophie placed them on the mat by the coal stove. Taking a look around, she surveyed the tidy room, painted a peeling, faded yellow. Pots and pans were stacked on open shelves. The smooth butcher-block counter was wiped clean. Peeking out from under a faded towel,
a white and blue stoneware bowl sat on a corner table, holding bread dough, the yeasty scent wafting on the air. Judging from the pine floorboards, which had been worn smooth through the years, the house had truly been a well-used home.

Sophie enjoyed the warmth pouring from the cast iron stove. Esther had busied herself with replenishing fuel as she shoveled some of the black chunks from the bucket into the flickering fire.

If this was going to be Sophie’s “home” and place of employment, she thought she might as well start acting useful. “May I help you stoke the fire?”

“No, no. You just warm your hands up here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Esther grinned before she turned to waddle through the kitchen doorway.

“Thank you.” Sophie held them toward the stove. Funny thing, did she imagine the hand Reverend McCormick had taken when helping her into the buggy needed no warming like its companion? Indeed, the image of his gaze, green-blue as a lake in summer, banished winter’s chill. It somehow had breached the wall she had carefully built to protect herself and Caira.

Tall and lean, his strong frame was intimidating at first sight. Then he bent to care for the little one, and Sophie’s heart had begun to melt. If she had a weakness, it was her daughter.

Sophie hung up their wraps, busying herself so that she could forget the handsome man. Maybe the minister had slipped so easily past her defenses because of her longing for acceptance. But what if he could see the ugliness that had caused her pain, though a sin not of her choosing? Would he so readily have invited her to the church without condemnation?

Perhaps he was just a good pastor looking for another member for his congregation. And when he locked gazes with her in the general store, he was looking for the condition of her soul, not the heart that nearly stilled within her chest. Besides, he was probably
ten years her senior. He couldn’t possibly view her as more than a child. Not that she really wanted him to. Did she? Of course not!

Caira’s clothing, wet and cold from the snow, pressed against her as her daughter clung to Sophie’s skirt and whimpered, drawing Sophie from her puzzling thoughts. She had to think of the baby first and foremost. Caira was the reason Sophie plodded forward through the icy winds of life.

“Don’t fuss, Caira. We’ll have you dry in no time.” She peeled the damp dress from the child and then hung the garment on the line over the stove. The child’s name, mistakenly given, again evoked sorrow in Sophie.

She wrapped a blanket around Caira, in her simple wool slip, pulled her onto her lap, and placed a kiss on her head.

The child clapped. “B! B!” she said.

“You want to play patty-cake, sweetheart? Alright.” She recited the rhyme, much to Caira’s pleasure, until her daughter began yawning.

Esther burst back into the kitchen. “Time for a nap, isn’t it?” Not waiting for an answer, the older woman bustled toward the staircase. “Let’s get you and the little one settled in your room.” Sophie carried her daughter up the creaking stairs while following Esther Fairgrave.

“I’ll be calling you for dinner in a bit, dearie,” Esther said, all matter-of-fact.

“Thank you.” Sophie entered the chamber with Caira in her arms, sat on the bed, and rocked her until she heard the even breathing of sleep. She eased the little girl down onto the threadbare sheets after peeling back the faded quilt, then covered her.

The toddler’s eyes flickered open. For a moment, Sophie saw the deep gray of them, the one thing Caira had gotten from her scoundrel of a father.

Sophie shut the door, leaning back against this barrier between her and the world. At the memories, the usual reaction caught up
with her in the quiet of the moment. Her heart still pounded at the very thought of being touched by a man, even a kind one like the reverend. Yet, a part of her had not found it as disgusting as usual. Raw fear clashed with an entirely different sensation until she felt dizzy and faint. She closed her eyes, forcing long, even breaths until the turmoil stopped. In the quietness, Sophie realized that she and the baby had some protection in the weather-beaten old house.

She watched Caira’s chest rise and fall with each drawn breath. She brushed back the curls falling across her child’s forehead. How peaceful she looked. They did not have much, the two of them, but she could not bear the thought of giving her up.

The peacefulness of that dingy room was far from how the little one had come into being. Sophie had sworn never to become vulnerable enough to trust a man again. Granted, Ian McCormick was a minister, but he was still a man.

She trembled with a chill, not from her damp skirt alone. No, indeed, she didn’t need such attention. Undoubtedly, Reverend McCormick was motivated by brotherly pity when it came to someone like herself. Schoolgirl crushes were a thing of her past. She’d matured. Sophie knew the difference between the hollow warmth and embarrassment a girl might feel on seeing a handsome, charming man and the truth of being in love. At least, she hoped that the emptiness and betrayal that had come from allowing infatuation to blossom had taught her a lesson.

To Sophie, the true love of a man and a woman had to be the stuff of novels. She sighed. Although Nana and Grandpa Morton had that kind of love once, too. She saw it every time Grandpa had hobbled into their parlor, supported by his cane. His and Nana’s eyes still sparkled when their gazes met. She smiled at the thought … until she remembered that she had been ruined for the possibility of ever having it herself.

No, Sophie would feel safer within the walls of Fairgrave’s Boardinghouse, going about her business and not letting any man get too close. Finding and opening her carpetbag, she looked for her everyday brown skirt.

“Yoo-hoo! Sophie!” Esther’s voice floated up the stairs. “Would you like to warm up with some tea?”

Caira stirred. Sophie patted her daughter, hoping the child’s nap wouldn’t be interrupted. Quickly changing her clothes, slipping through the door, and closing it, Sophie flinched at the squeak of the hinges.

“You’ll find we’ve got lots of work to do here.” Mrs. Fairgrave puffed as she trudged up the stairs with a pail of water for the large pitcher on the washstand in the hall.

“Let me help you.” Sophie put a finger to her mouth, hoping her employer would take the hint. She steadied the pitcher for the heavyset woman.

“I’ll peel the taters to go with the stew meat. Then I’ll set some water on to boil so you can have a cup of tea and tell me all about yourself while our little gal is sleeping.”

“There’s not much to tell, but the tea sounds lovely, and I would be happy to peel the potatoes for you.” Sophie nodded and then descended the stairway to the first floor.

In the kitchen, at the back of the house, she searched for a paring knife so she could set to working while Mrs. Fairgrave hummed and pumped water into a kettle.

“Looking for a knife? Here you go, dear. I set the potatoes out on the countertop.”

Sophie nodded her thanks and smiled, taking the utensil. Outside the window, in the backyard, the blanket of snow thickened, glimmering in the slanting rays of sunlight.

Snowflakes drifted with sparkling perfection onto the white covering below. They appeared clean and pure, but Sophie felt defiled—and unworthy. Each time she told someone Caira was
her sister, unworthiness flooded her soul anew, but she would do anything to preserve her daughter’s reputation. How could it be that such a precious gift had come from such a vile act?

Yet, they had to keep going. Sophie bit her lower lip and blinked against the clouding of her eyes. Having just arrived, she couldn’t let Mrs. Fairgrave find her like this. There would be lots to do before the day ended, but Sophie didn’t really mind. At least Caira and she would be warm and fed.

Sophie heard her new employer’s lumbering gait as Esther made her way down the stairs and entered the kitchen. “Well, now, perhaps you’d like to know something about us here at the boardinghouse.” Esther grabbed a pot from a lower shelf and placed it on the table. “Mr. Graemer is our eldest resident. You’ll often find him napping in his favorite rocking chair.

“Mr. Edwin Spitzer is a traveling salesman. He stays here a few days a month. As long as I have extra room it will be fine. He prefers my home cooking to that of the hotel in town.” Esther beamed as she told of Mr. Spitzer’s comment. “Not everyone thinks that fancy cooking is better.

“Albert and Chet Johnson are newer around these parts. You won’t see them much. They’re gone dawn ’til after dark trying to start up a printing business. And then we have one other young man …”

As if on cue, a fellow not much older or taller than herself, Sophie judged, entered through the back door.

“Well, well, who is this?” He swept his derby off and bowed, raining clumps of snow on the kitchen floor. “James Cooper at your service.”

“I’ll have none of your flirting with my staff.” Esther had one hand on her hip and brandished a wooden meat-tenderizing mallet in the other. “I’ll have you out on your backside, I will.”

James’ mock pout seemed to irritate Esther all the more. “Furthermore, I’ll have a letter off to your aunt, in no time, telling
her why. There’ll be no such nonsense here. I run a respectable establishment. Now clean up after yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am, of course.” James took off his gray topcoat and hung it on a peg.

“This one,” Esther continued as though she’d not been interrupted and James were invisible, “fancies himself a journalist. He’s a copywriter at our local newspaper, the Stone Creek Daily Herald.”

Sophie turned and nodded toward him. “I’m Sophie Biddle. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, Miss Biddle.” James took a towel from the sideboard and began to wipe up his mess from the floor, looking rather contrite.

Sophie returned to peeling potatoes but stole a glance at him over her shoulder. James smiled. She reciprocated with half a grin. His laughing brown eyes reminded her of Paul, her brother. Something about James gave her that same co-conspiratorial camaraderie she once had with Paul. She missed him more than she’d realized. Then again, she didn’t have time to indulge the emotions that fought within her regarding her family. She pressed on for her daughter’s sake.