Courting Miss Adelaide (19 page)

And everything to do with Charles.

She recalled his strong hands and arms pulling back on the reins to stop the horse, to guide the animal’s movements left or right. The memory kicked up her pulse, until she relived his cold demeanor on the ride back into town. She bit her lip. She mustn’t think about Charles.

The youth walked toward her, leading a pure white horse.

Fiddlesticks, I might as well advertise my plan in the paper.
“Don’t you have a less conspicuous one?”

He tugged his cap back off his forehead, revealing a shock of carrot-red hair and scratched his brow. “Conspic, cons…I ain’t sure what you’re saying, ma’am.”

She gave her brightest smile. “I thought a black or brown horse would look nicer with the buggy, more like a matched set.”

He shrugged and muttered “women” under his breath, but returned the white horse to its stall. Watching him amble along, as if he had all the time in the world, Adelaide tapped her toe. For one so young, he didn’t have a speedy bone in his body.

He crossed to another stall and patted the nose of a dark brown horse, a
big
dark brown horse. “Does Shadow suit?”

The name couldn’t be more appropriate. “Much nicer.”

Not that she needed to be secretive when she visited the Drummonds—this time. Still, she’d prefer avoiding attention.

While she waited, she roamed the livery. Spotting a rag in the hay, she picked it up and draped it over a rail. If Charles had seen her do that, he’d poke fun at her. Not that she’d mind. She enjoyed his teasing nature, which reminded her of their afternoon in the livery. She plucked a strand of hay from the cloth, thinking of Charles’s almost kiss. She might be brave enough to drive a buggy, but falling in love—

She shook herself mentally. She didn’t want a man so blinded by his past he couldn’t see the present, much less the future.

She strolled down the aisle. Over the half door, Ranger stretched out his neck like he recognized her. “You want me to rub your nose, don’t you, fellow?” She inched forward, grateful for the barrier separating them, and ran her fingers lightly along his broad muzzle. Ranger was a beautiful animal, almost as beautiful as his owner.

If only she could do this investigating with Charles, but he saw things in black and white—the shades of logic—whereas she saw things in hues, colored with emotion and intuition. They were as different as night and day.

She strolled outside and watched the young man hitch Shadow to the buggy, marveling at the horse’s patience despite the lad’s absurd slowness. If he worked for her, she’d light a fire under him.

“All set, ma’am.”

Approaching the animal, Adelaide looked at the beast’s wide back and hoped she could show him who was boss. “Thank you.” She motioned toward the horse. “Can he be ridden?”

He scratched his head. “Yes, ma’am, but generally, when the horse is pullin’, folks sit behind in the buggy.”

Adelaide pressed her lips together, holding back a giggle. A giggle that would surely sound like Fannie’s. “I meant without the buggy.”

He looked relieved. “Yes, ma’am, he sure can!”

The young man gave her a hand. She gathered the reins, hoping she held them correctly. “Is there a brake?”

He blinked. “Not on a buggy, ma’am. Just tie up the horse if you stop somewhere.”

“Of course, how silly of me.”

He stood looking at her. Realizing he waited for her leave, she said a quick prayer and flicked the reins. The horse took off at a lively clip, throwing Adelaide against the seat. Wiggling upright, she pulled slightly on the reins, and, wonder of wonders, Shadow slowed.

Inconspicuous horse or not, she stayed on the back streets. In the country, she flicked the reins again and Shadow picked up speed. Every bit of her smiled, inside and out, at the thought of doing something this bold, this free, taking control of her worries about Emma and William.

Adelaide knew the Drummonds lived on the next farm beyond the Tulley place, a couple miles down the road. She spent her ride thinking about what she’d say to Frances, and time passed in a blur. A red barn came into view with Drummond, 1882, painted in bold white letters. She tugged on the left rein and drove down the lane to the house.

“Whoa!” she said, and Shadow obeyed. Gathering up her skirts, she climbed down and wrapped the leather around the hitching post, then thanked God for giving her safety. If only her investigation went as well.

She marched to the door and rapped. Through the screen, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure. “Frances? It’s Adelaide Crum. I’m taking care of Emma.”

Frances appeared at the door, looking thinner than Adelaide remembered, gaunt even. Pinned in place, a bib-style, rose-sprigged apron covered Frances’s housedress. Her cotton stockings and rundown shoes befitted a hard-working farmer’s wife. A mane of dark hair pulled into a tidy knot framed Frances’s face, tanned from working in the garden. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. May I come in?”

Though she moved slowly with a hint of reluctance, Frances opened the door.

“On such a lovely morning I thought I’d drive out for a visit and catch you up on Emma.”

The furrow between Frances’s brows eased. “I’d heard Emma was staying with you. I’m glad.”

“I love having her with me.”

“Is she doing well in school?”

“She’s doing much better with her reading. Now math, that’s another story.” Adelaide smiled and Frances smiled back, sharing the knowledge of Emma’s Achilles’ heel.

“I’m sorry, I, ah, don’t get many visitors. Come in.” She followed Frances into the kitchen. Adelaide noticed a slight limp, but, otherwise, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

“If you’d like a cup of tea, the water’s hot.”

“Tea would be lovely.”

While Frances busied herself with cups and saucers, Adelaide sat on one of the battered Windsor chairs surrounding the gate-leg table and looked around her. The kitchen might be plain, but Frances kept it meticulously clean. “I haven’t had the chance to talk to you since your mother’s funeral. The service was a lovely tribute to her life.”

“Thank you.” Frances approached with the tea, and her defeated expression tore at Adelaide’s heart.

Was this the look of a woman who shared a home with a violent man? Or the appearance of a woman who’d lost two precious loved ones?

Adelaide added sugar and took a sip. “This is good.”

Frances lifted her gaze. “Is Emma happy? Really happy?”

“Very, but she misses William.” If she could get the boy home with her, maybe he’d tell what went on in the Drummond house. Adelaide leaned forward. “I’ve come with a request.”

Stirring cream into her coffee, Frances’s hand stilled.

“I’d like William to spend the weekend with Emma.”

Frances shook her head. “Ed won’t allow it.”

“Why not?”

“William has chores.”

“Surely, it would be all right for one night. I could pick him up after chores Saturday morning and have him back in time to help Sunday afternoon. I’m sure he misses Emma, too.”

Frances shifted in her chair. “Won’t do any good, but I’ll ask,” she said with obvious reluctance.

“Thank you.” Adelaide took another sip of tea, wondering how to encourage Frances to talk. “Mr. Graves said you’d been feeling poorly. How are you?”

“About the same.”

Relief flooded Adelaide’s veins. Maybe Frances didn’t plan to have Emma back, at least anytime soon. “I noticed your limp.”

“My back’s been acting up.”

“I’m sorry. Are you lifting too much?”

“Aching backs don’t mean less work. Washing and ironing needs doing.” She folded callused hands in front of her. “I’m not complaining.”

Aching backs were common, but Adelaide suspected a more ominous reason for Frances’s limp. Not that Frances would confide in her, even if there were. “I’m very sorry about your mother. I know how close you were.” Adelaide laid her hand over her schoolmate’s. “Sarah acted strong, not the type to….”

Frances pulled her hand away. As she lifted her palm to her lips, her fingers trembled. “I still can’t believe it. Ma
was
a strong woman, a survivor. She knew I needed her—” Frances bit her lip. “When Eddie passed, I looked to Ma for strength.”

Adelaide noticed Frances didn’t mention her husband. “My mother’s health failed about the time Eddie died. I’ve regretted not being able to do much for you.”

Frances shrugged “You sent food.”

Adelaide laid a hand on Frances’s arm, noting its boniness through her sleeve. “I can’t imagine that kind of loss.”

A long sigh slipped from Frances’s lips. “I thought with children in the house, maybe….”

“Maybe what?” Adelaide prodded gently.

“Maybe things would be like they were before.”

“But they’re not.”

Frances shook her head. Tears slipped over her lower lashes. “Losing Eddie nearly killed Ed.”

“I can imagine.”

But Frances didn’t appear to hear, merely looked at a distant spot on the wall. “The morning it happened, I’d gone to Ma’s,” she said. “Pa had passed a few weeks before, and we were going through his things.” She took a breath. “I left Eddie at home with his pa,” she said, her voice so hushed Adelaide had to strain to hear. “Eddie’s shirttail caught on fire, least-wise, that’s what we think. Ed had gone to the outhouse, only for a few minutes, and heard Eddie’s screams. He ran to the house, met Eddie coming out, his clothes on fire.”

Frances rose from her chair, turning her back to wipe her eyes on the hem of her apron. Tears stung Adelaide’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine losing a child, especially in such a hideous way. Adelaide stood and gathered her childhood friend in her arms, felt her frailty. How much sorrow could Frances take?

“If only I’d been home.” Frances’s voice quavered. “And now Ma—I let her down, too.”

“You didn’t know,” Adelaide said gently, holding her tight. “And if she was determined, you couldn’t have stopped her.”

Frances pulled away, her gaze meeting Adelaide’s. “This is a house of death.”

Adelaide’s pulse skittered. “What are you saying?”

“I can’t keep people safe, don’t you see?” Frances’s voice rose to an eerie pitch.

Adelaide patted Frances’s arm, trying to soothe the wild look in her classmate’s face. “None of this is your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

Through the window, a movement caught Adelaide’s eye. A man emerged from the woods.

Frances followed Adelaide’s gaze, then flinched. “Ed!” Frances swiped at her eyes. “You’d better go.”

Adelaide had no intention of going anywhere.

Charles entered Adelaide’s shop and found an older woman moving a feather duster over the shelves. Alerted by the bell, she headed his way.

“You must be Mrs. Larson.”

“And
you
are Mr. Graves. I knew your father. You look just like him.”

Charles pasted a tight smile on his face. “So I’ve heard.”

She offered her plump, dimpled hand. “I’ve meant to stop at the paper long before this and welcome you to Noblesville. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

He released her hand. “The pleasure is mine. Addie—” Heat climbed his neck. How familiar had she become that he’d call her by a nickname in front of a virtual stranger? “Miss Crum speaks highly of you.”

Mrs. Larson beamed. “Aw, you’ve given Adelaide a nickname.”

He could see her mind working. He’d best change the subject. “I understand you’re helping out at the shop again.”

“Yes, I love doing it. Working here gives my daughter a breather. At times, two women in one house can be one too many.”

Only half listening to Mrs. Larson, he glanced toward the workroom. Was Addie in there sewing? Making tea? Planning her next editorial? Not that he owed her an apology. Still, he’d disappointed her and that bothered him. “Is Adelaide here?”

“No, she isn’t. She had an errand to run.”

“I was to give her a riding lesson this morning.”

“Yes, she told me.” Mrs. Larson smiled and tiny creases danced around her eyes. “Would you join me in a cup of coffee?”

“Sure, but let me get it.” And see if Addie is hiding from me.

Mrs. Larson laid her palm on her bodice. “How nice.”

“Do you use cream or sugar?” he asked, heading to the back.

“Sugar.”

He returned with a tray holding two coffee-filled cups, two spoons and napkins alongside a sugar bowl.

“You haven’t forgotten a thing. I’m astonished.”

“How so?”

“My son-in-law never lifts a finger in the kitchen and my Bernard, God rest his soul, never served a beverage in the thirty-four years of our marriage.”

Charles placed a cup in front of Mrs. Larson. “As a bachelor, I’ve learned to handle the necessities.” He took a seat across from her, then chuckled. “I suspect Addie got cold feet.”

“You could be right. I’ve never known Adelaide to ride.” Mrs. Larson leaned toward him, her eyes bright. “You sat on the orphan placement committee.”

Charles took a swig of coffee. “She told you about that?”

“Adelaide confides in me, Mr. Graves.” She straightened in her chair. “May I confide in you, too?”

Uneasiness settled in his chest. “If you’d like.”

She pinned him with her gaze. “Adelaide is a special, giving young woman. Some might even say she’s a fix-it kind of woman. Someone could easily take advantage of her.”

Not likely. “Addie is a strong, independent woman. She’s not about to be taken advantage of, even if someone wanted to, which, let me assure you, I do not.”

She nodded, the lines of concern on her face softening. “If I’ve spoken out of turn, I apologize.”

“No need to apologize. I can see you’re a good friend.”

She eyed him over her cup brim. “As a good friend, I’m also aware of things Adelaide enjoys, like the Black-eyed Susies growing along the roads into town.”

The hint couldn’t be more obvious. Maybe the daisies would mend the rift between them. Or should he even try? But thinking how pleased she’d be if he showed up with those flowers tempted him. “I appreciate the tip. Anything else I should know?”

Mrs. Larson leaned forward. “Adelaide would scold me for telling you this,” she said, dropping her voice, “but her birthday is in a couple of months, on the twenty-fifth of July.”