Rumors and Promises (7 page)

“Going somewhere?” James interrupted Sophie’s thoughts.

“Oh! Good afternoon, Mr. Cooper. I’m getting ready to deliver a package to the parsonage.”

“I’m going in that general direction. I’d be happy to walk with you as far as the corner of Bradford, near the parsonage.”

“Why not?” At least she would be sure of where she was going with James to ask for specific directions.

After Sophie donned her shawl and helped Caira with her feed sack coat, they headed out the door. James lifted Caira into his arms.

“No, no. I’m quite capable of carrying her myself,” Sophie insisted.

“At least let me be a gentleman and carry your package.”

“Very well, then.”

The two exchanged bundles, but not before Caira had made a grab at James’ mustache. “What dat?”

“My mustache.” The young man ran a thumb and forefinger over his thin, poorly grown whiskers as though he were quite proud of them.

“Sorry about that. Caira hasn’t had an opportunity to be around men much without … a father around.” Sophie shook her head. No doubt the sparse growth was James’ attempt at appearing older and more businesslike. So much like her brother, Paul.

“No offense taken.” He chuckled.

They continued their walk in silence for several minutes.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking of how much you remind me of … someone … I once knew.” Sophie pressed her cheek against Caira’s pink knitted bonnet. How sad that her daughter wouldn’t have memories of a brother to have snowball fights with or race up and down the stairs. Half of her mother’s headaches must have been caused by Sophie’s confounding behavior, when all Mama wanted to do was make a young lady out of her.

“Hope it’s a good person I remind you of. I can’t tell by the sad look on your face, though.” James didn’t dawdle before he cut to the chase. Perhaps he would make an excellent journalist if he were given half a chance.

“Nothing to worry about.”

The cloying, sweet, and woodsy aroma of pipe smoke wafted toward them. A man standing in front of Neuberger’s puffed on a pipe stem. Caira wrinkled her nose, sniffing the air. He wore a dark overcoat and hat to match. Smoke clouded his face. Could it be
him? Caira’s father?
The wind cut through Sophie’s shawl. She shivered, closing her eyes, and held Caira as closely as possible.

Sophie opened her eyes. The cloud of smoke dissipated to reveal a man with a white beard. Exhaling with relief, Sophie realized she had stopped in her tracks, unable to move for a minute.

“Are you quite all right?” James stopped alongside her.

Caira pushed away. Sophie put her down, ignoring James for the moment as she started her journey again. The toddler took quick little steps to keep up with Sophie’s stride as their feet crunched into the fresh icy snow. Flustered, she changed her mind. She grabbed her daughter into her arms, wanting to carry her and hold her close again though the little one pressed her arms against Sophie and fussed. “You don’t have boots. Your feet will be soaked when we get there.”

“Miss Biddle?” James frowned and kept up with her. He offered his elbow, but she sidestepped him.

“I’ll be fine. I thought …” Sophie stopped. What could she tell him? Besides, if she never voiced her fears of Caira’s father looking for them, perhaps they would go away. “Never mind.” She picked up her pace and thought about how to change the subject. “Do you enjoy working at the newspaper?”

“A good investigative reporter would believe he’s being diverted.”

“Reporter? I thought you were just a copywriter!”

James puffed out his chest and stiffened his shoulders, no doubt attempting to repair his damaged pride. “I am a copywriter with aspirations. One has to start somewhere. Why, one of these days, I’ll find a story that will make the front page of our town’s Daily Herald. Don’t you have dreams, Miss Biddle?”

“I’m afraid dreams are a luxury when you have a little sister to raise.” Her voice cracked and she avoided looking directly into his face. “I have too many worries.”

“What a pity. You’re too young to stop dreaming.” James halted, turning to face her.

Sophie hadn’t been prepared for the pain caused by the reopening of her wound. Like a scab had been picked off to reveal an unhealed sore, memories long pushed down flooded into her mind. What had she wanted to do before Charles’ actions had irrevocably changed her life? “I suppose I have one dream.” She slanted a glance sideways at her walking companion. The fantasy came out of the necessity she felt for independence, for a living she could pass on to her daughter. “I’d like to have a dress shop.”

“So you do have a few ambitions?” James raised an eyebrow at her.

“I suppose.” But they were a far cry from her original dreams of husband, home, hearth, family, and continuing with her music.

James stopped walking. “You’re quite fascinating, Miss Biddle. I almost missed your street.”

“Perhaps you could point me in the right direction, then. I’ve never been to the parsonage.”

“Certainly. Take Bradford Street left, here, and walk past the second corner. The house is on the left, as well. White picket fence. You can’t miss the parsonage. It’s just a couple down from the corner. Good day.” James handed her the brown paper package and tipped his derby.

“Thank you. Same to you.” Sophie turned onto Bradford, making her way down the quiet street. Was he kidding her? Several homes boasted white picket fences.

Funny how comfortably she conversed with James. Like Paul, he had much growing up to do. Talking about the weather or silly wishes was one thing, confiding in him was another thing altogether. Besides, if James aspired to become an investigative
reporter, she needed to tread with care. He probably couldn’t be completely trusted not to pry where he didn’t belong. But while James’ company was rather easygoing, Reverend McCormick’s presence unnerved her altogether.

The wind picked up, howling through the tree branches above long enough to remind her that the world was a cold and lonely place without friends. Sophie shifted Caira’s weight, attempting to balance the child and the package. Caira nodded off, laying her head on Sophie’s shoulder and adding what felt like an extra five pounds to the burden. Her arms ached.

Sophie believed God existed, but would He help her when she kept up this deception? She carried her obligations alone. Continuing an acquaintance with Reverend McCormick, when she didn’t know if he could be trusted, was stepping out in her dwindling faith.

Her heart palpitated as quickly as a hummingbird beats its wings. The thought of seeing the minister once more made her feel unsettled. Yet, how could she not look forward to his easy smile, as she recalled his kind way with her daughter?

More than ever, she needed a friend, but nothing more. Besides, Sophie must remember her place in society. She was no longer the privileged daughter of a wealthy family, but she didn’t intend to hold her hand out for charity either. This was another reason to keep Reverend McCormick at arm’s length. With Caira carried on one side and the package on her other, she made her way to the parsonage, following James’ directions. No, she wouldn’t take his charity.

“Soffie, wan’ down!” Caira awoke, pounded on her mother’s shoulder and pushed away.

“What did I say now?” Sophie scolded. “No.” She held Caira all the tighter.

She sighed and looked at her little daughter. The child’s brows knit together in a frown. Hearing Caira call her by her name, rather
than Mama, once again squeezed her heart with grief, knowing she had no other choice.

The sin that had brought Caira into the world had not been her fault, yet it could mark her for life like the sore on a leper. If anyone thought that Sophie was actually her mother, how long would it be before they found out the whole truth? The deception cut into Sophie’s heart. She had been brought up to be honest. She sighed, feeling more alone. Where was the Lord in all this? Why had He allowed Charles to hurt her that way? If the purpose was to bring the child into the world, couldn’t there have been a better way? Her throat dried as she contemplated her loss and embarrassment.

In Greenville, the last town they had lived in, Sophie had confided in someone who turned out to be the town gossip. The woman had played an evil game, gaining her trust before she turned on her. Soon, everyone had spurned them both. Sophie blocked from her mind the names they had hurled at them.

Clouds parted for a few minutes, allowing a patch of blue to peek through like a promise of spring and with it, hope. Maybe, just maybe, Sophie’s plan would work, and they could be part of a community this time.

The house two down from the second corner stood before them. The neat white clapboard sides of the cozy home shone brightly in comparison to the boardinghouse she had left behind. She spied the white picket fence and dormant rose bushes. Oh, what a lovely flower garden she could picture in bloom during the summer!

Sophie stopped at the end of the flagstone path. At that moment, her legs felt rubbery and heavy. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. She swallowed. Even in the cold, her palms began to sweat.

Maybe she could just set the package on the front porch by the door. Then they could leave quietly. Reverend McCormick would
find his waistcoat and that would be the end of it. He could pay her later.

Sophie steeled her weak legs while the brisk wind pushed her farther up the walk. She really needed to brace herself against these silly feelings when she was only visiting the parsonage.

Treading as lightly a step as possible on the ice-covered wooden stoop, Sophie placed the bundle on the porch and turned to go.

Caira let out a scream at the worst moment. “Wan’ it!” She reached for a sparkling icicle, pointing down from the overhang.

“No, Caira. It will freeze your little hands. After I knit you some new mittens, we’ll find you one from the maple tree. It will be sweet like sugar. This one won’t taste good.”

Caira wiggled and reached again, making even more noise.

“Quiet down, you can’t have everything you want.” Sophie’s voice rose above a whisper.

Hinges squeaked open behind her.

“What a fine set of lungs she has!”

Sophie swung around to find a pleasant-looking woman filled with mirth.

“I’m Maggie Galloway.” The woman wiped her hands on her apron and held one out in dignified greeting.

Sophie supposed it was like shaking the hand of royalty; Maggie had done it so delicately.

“I’m Sophie Biddle and this is m-my sister, Caira.” She coughed. “We’re pleased to meet you.”

Maggie captured her gaze with almost the same blue eyes that the reverend had, only a bit lighter and more playful. The woman had the loveliest deep auburn hair pulled back into a knot, with small curls framing her face. The emerald stripes in her cream shirtwaist and matching evergreen skirt flattered her coloring.

“And I’m most pleased to meet you, too. I see you have done some work for my brother.” Maggie had already spotted the package.

“I, well, I—”

“Oh, don’t worry, not much gets by me. Ian thinks he’s getting away with something, but he’s not.”

Speechless, Sophie shrugged.

Maggie scooped up the brown paper bundle. “Won’t you please come in? We’re just about ready to have some dinner.”

Caira squirmed in her arms and poked a thumb into her mouth.

“I really don’t want to impose.” Sophie shook her head.

“Not at all. Please come in and warm up. Your little one looks quite tired. I’ll bet she’s hungry too.”

Would it be ruder to refuse? “Well, all right, if you insist.”

“Of course, she insists!” Reverend McCormick appeared behind his sister. “And well she ought to. We don’t make it a practice to leave anyone out in the cold.”

Those lake-blue eyes twinkled, and Sophie’s legs returned to their rubbery state, against her will.

She entered the modest kitchen, suddenly realizing what a heavy load Caira was. Relief came when she put her down on the dry floor.

With much fussing about, Maggie took Sophie’s shawl and shoes, had her wrapped in a blanket and led her to sit near the parlor fire. “Let’s get the chill out of your bones, and I’ll find some blocks for Caira. Philip will be home soon and he’ll play with your little sister. You look awfully tired.”

Caira, oblivious to Maggie’s plans, clapped her hands while she marched after “’Cowmick.”

Sophie thawed by the fire, amused by Caira’s antics. “Who is Philip?”

Reverend McCormick sat on the floor next to Caira piling wooden blocks to form a shaky structure. He looked up at Sophie for a moment. “Maggie’s son.” The little girl knocked the stack down with one swipe of her hand.

“You knocked my tower down,” the minister said with mock surprise in his voice.

Caira giggled and they repeated the game until he could persuade her to help him build with the blocks.

“Won’t Philip be bored with Caira?” Sophie thought she should try to make polite conversation with the pastor.

“He’ll like having someone smaller around.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat and smoothed her skirt.