The Widow of Larkspur Inn (67 page)

When the two men had left on their evangelistic mission—
just like Paul and Silas going to the heathens,
Julia thought—she smiled down at the child again. “Can you climb the stairs, or shall I carry you?”

The girl pointed again to the vestibule doorway, but instead of asking for a story, she said, “Moll-yee walk uptairs.”

They made their way slowly, because Molly could not ascend one step until both feet were planted on the one below it. Julia held her hand and kept the pace patiently. Halfway up the staircase, she heard a muffled childish chuckle from someone on the next floor. Molly turned her small face to her, finally wearing something resembling a smile. “Dabid laff, huh?”

“He did indeed,” Julia smiled back. Upon reaching the landing, Molly walked slightly ahead of Julia and pulled her hand down the passage.

“Come in,” came Elizabeth Phelps’s voice from behind the third door after Julia’s soft knock. She opened the door, and inside, the vicar’s daughter was sitting on the side of a tester bed, patting the back of a boy much younger than the child still attached to Julia’s hand.

“Why, I thought you were Papa!” Elizabeth said with a welcoming smile. “And don’t you look stunning! I love seeing you in colors now.”

“You’re too kind.” Julia walked over to give the young woman a quick embrace. “Your father and Mr. Clay left for the Sanders’.”

“Ah, yes. Well, how good of you to come.”

The vicar’s daughter took charge of Molly then, leaving Julia with the boy while she led the girl to a water closet in another part of the house. “So, you like to have your back patted, little David?” Julia asked when she noticed the child staring up at her from his pillow. Taking up Miss Phelps’s place on the side of the bed, she gently began patting his back. Patting led to humming, which led to looking around the room. It was a typical young woman’s room, one that Julia might have had at one time. Though the wall covering—stripes of mauve, eggshell, and marigold—was faded somewhat with age, it did not detract from the rose and green-leaf pattern on the dimity bed coverings, curtains, and tester.

Julia turned her attention back to the child in the bed. The visible right side of his face was the very picture of an angel in repose. Fair, wispy lashes rested against his cheek, and his small shoulders rose and fell with his breathing. Her heart went out to the little fatherless cherub.
How good of Elizabeth to tend to them like this
.
She has such a tender heart
…
just like her father.

Miss Phelps returned with Molly, and after tucking her in next to her sleeping brother, she took a heavy velvet bolster from the foot of the bed and placed it alongside the girl to prevent her from rolling to the carpet. She turned to Julia and whispered, “There is a tiny sitting room at the end of the corridor. Would you mind if we visited in there? I don’t want to leave them up here alone.”

Julia said she didn’t mind at all, and just minutes later they sat in front of a wood fire on an ancient sofa of burgundy plush that sagged in all the right places.

“As you may recall, I’m fond of fireplaces,” the young woman said with a hint of her father’s self-effacing humor.

“I certainly remember,” Julia told her. “And I thought you were charming that day.”

“Thank you for saying that. But I’m afraid I’m not a good hostess. Would you care for something to drink? Mrs. Paget made some lemonade just this morning.”

“Why don’t we just visit?”

“That would be nice.” They chatted about everyday things, Molly and David in particular.

With brown eyes shining, Elizabeth said, “You know, they exhaust me sometimes, but I find myself missing them in the evenings.”

“Little ones can capture your heart, can’t they?” Julia smiled.

“Absolutely. Papa warned me, though, that as much as I love them, I should always bear in mind that they have a mother who loves them even more so. He’s afraid I’ll be devastated when the time comes that they no longer need me.”

“I’m sure you’ll always be Aunt Beth to them. But I agree with your father’s advice. And one day you’ll have children of your own to love without reserve.”

Just a hint of color stained the girl’s cheeks. “I suppose you’ve heard about Mr. Treves.”

“I have,” Julia admitted while darting a glance down at Elizabeth’s hands. She was knotting her fingers together the way she had on her first visit to the
Larkspur
. Touching the girl’s shoulder, she said, “What is wrong, Elizabeth?”

“Wrong?” Elizabeth looked at Julia curiously. “Why, nothing, Mrs. Hollis.”

“Are you quite sure?”

The smile that came to her lips seemed genuine enough, but not quite in harmony with the doubt that shadowed her brown eyes for just an instant and was gone. “It’s just a major decision, becoming engaged.”

Julia’s eyes widened. “You’re going to marry—”

Now the girl gave a soft giggle. If it sounded a trifle forced to Julia’s ears, she reckoned it was because the doubt she’d seen in the girl’s face just seconds ago had prejudiced her to be suspicious.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hollis, but you looked so shocked just now. It’s nothing official yet, but Paul—that’s his name, Paul Treves—will likely be promoted to the vicar of Alveley this time next year. If indeed that is the case, he will be asking Papa for my hand. Paul would like to prove to Papa that he can afford to take care of a wife, you see, and he cannot do that on a curate’s salary.”

“And so you’re happy about this?”

“Very happy, Mrs. Hollis,” Elizabeth assured her. “Why, tending the children has strengthened my desire to be a mother. And Paul is an upstanding man who’ll make a fine husband.”

The question had to be asked, for the girl’s sake, though Julia was not comfortable with its bluntness. “Elizabeth …”

“Yes?”

“Forgive me for asking, but have you completely gotten over Mr.

Raleigh?”

“Completely, Mrs. Hollis.”

Julia saw no doubt in the girl’s expression this time, but then Elizabeth wasn’t quite looking her in the eyes. “Well, at least you have another year to be sure. As you said, becoming engaged is a major decision.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth leaned over to touch her hand. “I do appreciate you asking the questions my mother would be asking right now. But please don’t worry. I shall be very happy as Paul’s wife.”

Before Julia could say anything else, the girl brightened and said, “Would you like to see a photograph of my mother?”

“I’d like that very much,” Julia replied, smiling. “She must have been very special to have such a dear family.”

“Very special … and thank you.” Elizabeth got to her feet. “If you don’t mind my leaving you alone for a few minutes, I’ll peek in on the children too.”

“Take all the time you need.” As the door closed behind the girl, Julia found herself praying silently,
She’s still so young, Father. Please help her to understand in the coming year the seriousness of the commitment she’s making.
As an afterthought, she added,
And if this young curate is the right man for her, please remove all thoughts about Mr. Raleigh completely from her mind
.

“I didn’t realize how rutted the lane was when I walked it,” Mr. Clay told Andrew, raising his voice over the rattle of the trap’s wheels and Rusty’s hoofbeats.

“Is it much farther?” Andrew practically shouted back.

“Just around that next curve, I believe. Yes, that’s it.”

Andrew pulled Rusty to a stop as far to the side of Nettle Lane as he could, in front of a wide gate set in a hedgerow. He took his hat from his head and beat the dust from the brim, then replaced it. “Well, it’s now or never.”

“
Never
sounds rather appealing at the moment,” the actor said with a wry smile as he shook the dust from his own hat.

“Oh, come now. What can they do to us?”

Mr. Clay looked over at the house and then back at Andrew. “I suppose we’re about to find out.”

The noise of the trap apparently had drawn some attention, for by the time Andrew and Mr. Clay had stepped down and walked over to the gate, they noticed a man walking from the barn in their direction. He could have been any age, but his tanned, leathery skin gave him the appearance of someone older than either of them. He wore corded pants and a brown coat, a battered cap, and boots that were dusty.

Stopping about twelve feet from the gate, the man put both hands on his hips and said, “What do ye want?”

Andrew raised a hand in greeting. “Mr. Sanders?”

“Mayhap.”

“Now I can see where the boy got his knack for conversation,” Mr. Clay whispered at Andrew’s side.”

“Sh-h!” To the man with hands still on hips, Andrew called, “I’m Vicar Phelps, Mr. Sanders, and this is Mr. Clay. We realize you’re busy but wonder if you might spare us a few minutes?”

Some motion caught Andrew’s eye back in the direction of the barn. A couple of boys who appeared to be younger than Laurel had just started in their direction, but Mr. Sanders turned and waved them back to work. To Andrew and Mr. Clay, he simply said, “I don’t talk ter no preachers. Go away!”

“Would you just consider attending church this Sunday? You would be most welcome.”

“No.”

Andrew took a deep breath and gave one last try. “Your children should be brought up to know the Lord, Mr. Sanders.”

The man did not answer but bent down. At first, Andrew thought it was to tie a boot lace, but then Mr. Clay pulled at his arm.

“He’s picking up a rock!”

“What are you going to do?” Ben asked Philip after school was dismissed, his back propped against one of the walnut trees.

“I’ll just have to tell my mother.” He
hated
the thought of doing so. Was this how a fourteen-year-old man of the house managed his responsibilities?
But you were thirteen when you put the letter aside,
he reminded himself in a futile attempt at comfort.

“Why don’t you just throw it away?” suggested Jeremiah. “I mean, Miss O’Shea doesn’t even live here anymore, and the news is old now.”

“What if it’s important?”

Ben was thoughtful for a second, and then said, “Perhaps you should open it and see. There’s no imprint on the wax, so you could reseal it with a little heat.”

“Yes?” Philip said, but then shook his head. “It just doesn’t seem right, reading someone’s mail.”

“I’d let everyone read
my
mail,” Jeremiah shrugged. “If I ever got any, I mean.”

Recalling the shame he’d felt when his mother found out about his deception in the ghost prank, Philip shook his head again. “I’m just going to have to face this head on.”

But upon arriving at the
Larkspur
and finding that Mother was away, he came up with another idea. What if he took the letter out of the original envelope, readdressed and posted it? Mother had envelopes in her office, along with a small leather-covered book of addresses. Fiona’s would be in there. If she wondered, on the receiving end, why the envelope did not match the letter inside, it wouldn’t be like her to mention it.
And that’s all Mother would do anyway … post it. Why shouldn’t I go ahead and save her the trouble?

Keeping a lookout for his sisters, Philip hurried down the corridor to his mother’s office. He eased himself through the door and felt for a candle, for there were no windows. After addressing another envelope, he opened the original envelope with trembling fingers and withdrew the letter. Curiously, the folded page appeared to be blank. There were no signs of ink having blended through from the other side.
Why would someone send her a blank sheet of paper?
Some perverse notion took hold of him then, and hating himself for doing so, he unfolded it.