Courting Miss Adelaide (8 page)

Before taking sick, once or twice a year her mother had cleaned the attic. Now that Adelaide thought about it, she always gave an excuse why she didn’t need help. The last time Adelaide had been up there, she’d stored equipment used to care for an invalid. She’d seen a few pieces of furniture, a couple trunks. Could the trunks hold the answer?

About to turn the corner onto Ninth, she heard a shout.

“Adelaide, wait!” With one hand clamped on her bright green hat and holding her billowing skirts with the other, Mary rushed toward her. Adelaide slowed her steps.

“You’re—a fast—walker,” Mary said, her words uttered in hitches as she came alongside.

“Only when I’m angry.”

Mary sighed. “I’m sorry about Charles’s reaction to the will. He’ll get used to sharing the paper.”

“I doubt that.”

“He calls the paper his dream, but really it’s his refuge.”

Two men strolled past, discussing the rising price of seed. Once out of earshot, Adelaide leaned closer to Mary. “Do you understand why Adam Graves left me half the paper?”

“I have no idea. I never knew Sam’s father, only met him once—at Sam’s funeral. He came up to the casket, spoke to me and the boys, and then tried to have a word with Charles. That didn’t go well, and Adam left immediately, didn’t even attend Sam’s graveside service. He never contacted me after that, not even to check on his grandsons.”

Mary fell in beside Adelaide and they began walking again, but at a slower pace. When they reached the Masonic Lodge with its impressive gables, Mary cleared her throat. “If you never met Adam, then the connection had to have been between your mother and Adam.”

“My mother never mentioned him, but a friend said they were childhood sweethearts. I don’t understand any of it, but I’m going to search the attic to see what I can find.”

Mary laid a hand on Adelaide’s arm. “Do you want company?”

At the gesture, Adelaide blinked back sudden tears. “That’s a kind offer, but…why would you want to?”

“I wouldn’t want to poke around in the past alone. Plus, I knew Sam, and I know Charles. Perhaps I can give you insight.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Adelaide admitted, then led the way to her shop.

Inside, they found Laura helping a shopper try on a hat. “Back already?”

Adelaide took Laura aside. “Thanks for tending the store. Would you mind staying while Mary and I have a visit?”

Laura greeted Mary, and then smiled. “I’d love to stay. I’ve missed the shop.”

Adelaide ushered Mary up to her quarters, then lit the lantern and opened the door to the attic. Adelaide climbed the stairs with Mary close behind. In the dim light, Adelaide didn’t see the cobweb until it plastered against her face, a sticky reminder of the attic’s neglect.

At the top of the stairs, the scent of lavender permeated everything her mother had touched, now mingled with the musty smell of age. Regret she and her mother hadn’t been close laid heavy on her chest. Maybe here she’d find the clue to her mother’s aloofness.

Mary looked around the stand-up attic. “This is huge,” she said, then sneezed.

“I’m sorry, it needs cleaning.”

Mary laughed. “With two boys, I’m used to a little dust.”

Along one wall stood makeshift shelves filled with long forgotten fruit jars, crocks, a glass butter churn with a wooden paddle, a jar of buttons. Across the way sat a dressmaker dummy and an elaborate wicker carriage.

Under the window, Adelaide spied the large camelback trunk.

Dropping to her knees, Adelaide blew a layer of dust off the lid, and then raised it carefully. She removed an old rust-stained quilt then pushed aside a stack of linens. Underneath she found a celluloid-covered box. She tugged it out, and then lifted the tiny brass catch to reveal a stack of handkerchiefs. “Granny must have tatted these.”

Mary fingered the lace. “They’re lovely.”

A visit from her grandmother had been an oasis in the desert of her life. She put the box aside to take downstairs.

Still, no hint here to what went before. Adelaide led Mary past a dresser. Tucked behind a hall tree, she found the small trunk. She rolled it out, its metal wheels squeaking, and then opened the latch. Inside she found another quilt, a half-finished pillow slip, a Bible—Granny’s.

Had she been foolish to think she’d find anything that would reveal her mother’s past in this dirty, stuffy place?

About to give up, her hand brushed against paper, paper that crackled with age. “Oh, it’s my parents’ marriage license.”

The license promised “until death do us part,” yet her parents’ marriage had ended nearly as quickly as it began. Her gaze swept over the wedding date. She gasped. January 17, 1866, not the October date she’d been told.

“Is something wrong?”

Adelaide’s fingers flew to her mouth. “They married six months before my birth. I didn’t know.”

A spark of insight ignited in Adelaide’s heart. Her mother’s warnings about men now made sense.

Oh, Mama, did my conception end your hopes and dreams?

The afternoon sun glinted in through the window, sparking off an old mirror in the corner. Adelaide rose and walked to the window facing the street, thinking about her mother’s loss of independence and the load of responsibility she’d carried alone.

A woman and small child, their eyes downcast, came into view. Adelaide’s pulse tripped. Emma, the orphan girl, held Frances Drummond’s hand. Dressed in black from head to foot, a veil covered Frances’s face. They stopped in front of
The Ledger,
then disappeared inside. Perhaps Frances had a delivery problem with the paper. Yet, something about the two troubled her.

Adelaide turned back to Mary. “Your boys will be home from school soon. Maybe we should continue the search later.”

Mary looked at the watch pinned to her bodice. “Oh, I should be going, but we haven’t found what you wanted.”

“I’ll look another time.” She smiled at Mary. “But thanks, I’m grateful for your company.”

Closing the lid of the trunk, and gathering the box of hankies and the lantern, they returned below.

Later, Adelaide waved goodbye to Mary and Laura, then stood at the window, waiting for Frances and Emma to leave
The Ledger.

Charles threw down his pen and shoved aside the copy he’d tried to edit for the past hour. Even with his insides twisted into a pretzel over losing control of the paper, he couldn’t put Miss Crum out of his mind. He’d not soon forget her anger-filled eyes tinged with hurt.

The door opened and he lifted his gaze from the paperwork, half expecting, even half hoping to find Miss Crum standing there. It wasn’t. A twinge of disappointment settled in his gut.

His visitor wore a black gauze veil attached to her hat, hiding her face, making it difficult to identify her—until Charles spotted a little girl he
did
recognize peeking around the woman’s skirts—one of the orphans. Charles rose and went around his desk.

Carrying a satchel, the woman approached with cautious steps. “Mr. Graves, I’m bringing Emma to you.”

He leaned closer. “Mrs. Drummond?”

“Yes.” Her hand fluttered to the veil. “I’m feeling poorly…since Mama died. Not up to caring for Emma right now.”

“I see.” But he didn’t see at all. “What about William?”

“Ed needs William on the farm. But Emma…” She hesitated. “Emma needs someone to see she eats right and keeps up with her schoolwork, needs someone to braid her hair.” With a gentle touch, she ran work-worn fingers over Emma’s silken plaits. “I hope you might know a good place for her until I’m on my feet.”

Charles saw Mrs. Drummond’s obvious reluctance to let Emma go and her responsibility for Emma shifted to his shoulders.

“I’d be glad to help.” This poor woman carried a heavy load. “I’m sorry about your mother’s…death.”

“I can’t believe she’d…” Her shaky voice trailed off.

Neither spoke the horrifying truth lingering beneath the conversation—suicide. He could imagine Mrs. Drummond’s regrets; guilt for not having seen it coming, for not having done more to prevent such a loss. “Can I do anything else?”

“No.” She bent close to Emma, emitting a soft moan, and then kissed the little girl’s forehead.

Charles took a step closer. “You seem to be in pain.”

“I wrenched my back, but I’ll be fine.” Mrs. Drummond handed Emma the satchel. “Remember what I told you.” The little girl bobbed a promise, her face melancholy. Mrs. Drummond’s fingers skimmed over Emma’s cheeks. “I’ll be going, then.” With a hurried step, she walked out the door, leaving Emma behind.

Emma stared after her until the door closed, then turned to him with sad eyes. Where was his assistant? “Teddy!”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Run to the bank and then on to the superintendent’s office and ask Mr. Sparks and Mr. Paul to come as soon as they can.”

“Sure.” Unspoken questions packed Teddy’s gaze, but he headed out the door.

Charles cleared his throat. “Emma, I’m Mr. Graves.”

She looked back at him, her blue eyes swimming with tears, twisting his innards into a knot. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.”

He had no idea how to keep his promise.

Tears spilled over her pale lower lashes, becoming visible now that they were wet and spiky. If he didn’t do something, she’d start bawling. The prospect sent him behind his desk. He jerked open the top drawer and rummaged through it until he found what he sought—a bag of peppermints. “When I was a youngster,” he began, “on my way home from school, I’d pass Mrs. Wagner’s house. She’d be rocking on her porch, wearing a gray tattered sweater, no matter how hot the day…”

Emma stopped crying, but looked far from cheerful.

“She’d call me up on the porch, ask if I was studying and behaving. Then, she’d reach into the pocket of her sweater and pull out a peppermint.” Charles took a candy from the bag. Emma’s eyes widened. “She’d say, ‘You’re a smart boy, Charles. Work hard and one day you’ll make something of yourself.’ And, she’d drop the candy into my palm—like this.”

He opened Emma’s small hand and let a peppermint fall into her palm. When the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, a peculiar feeling shot through him. As it had for him all those years ago, the candy once again worked wonders.

His entire adult life, he’d kept a stash of peppermints around to remind him of Mrs. Wagner, the one person who had believed in him, who’d given him a desire to improve his lot. The candy still tasted as sweet as her words. But even while Emma sucked on the treat, worry etched her face. Paul and Sparks better get here fast. He only had so many peppermints.

Twenty minutes later, Thaddeus Paul and John Sparks entered the office.

Sparks’s gaze settled on Emma. “What’s the emergency?”

Charles bent down to Emma’s eye level. “I need to talk to these gentlemen. Will you be all right until I’m back?”

She nodded, though her gaze lingered on the bag of candy. Charles fished out another peppermint and then motioned for the men to accompany him into the back room.

As soon as they followed him in, Charles closed the door. “Grief stricken over her mother’s suicide, Mrs. Drummond is unable to care for Emma Grounds. Her husband is looking after the boy. We need someone to take Emma in temporarily.”

Thaddeus frowned. “Any idea who?”

Sparks shoved his bowler back on his forehead. “We turned away a few couples from the area, but it’ll take a day or so to get her settled.” His brow furrowed. “She needs a place now.”

Charles had an idea, one that nagged at him. As a member of the committee, finding someone to take care of the child had to be his first consideration, even if that someone owned half the paper. Still, no one would be more conscientious than Adelaide Crum. He had an even stronger conviction she’d be a good mother—even if her own mother had ruined his family.

Is it my fault I’m Adam Graves’s son?

The truth zinged through him. No, no more than Adelaide could be held accountable for the hell Charles called home. He took a deep, cleansing breath. “How about asking Miss Crum?”

“Hmm.” Sparks pursed his lips in thought. “Well, her recent apology exemplifies her character. What do you think, Thaddeus?”

Paul frowned. “Can’t we find a
married
woman?”

“None of us has time to deal with this,” Sparks said, his tone exasperated. “Miss Crum is right across the street. The arrangement isn’t permanent, so I have no problem with it.”

Paul shoved his glasses higher on his nose. “That would be the easiest solution.”

“Then it’s settled, if she’s willing,” Sparks said, his gaze sweeping Charles’s face, then Paul’s. They all nodded.

“Who’s going to ask her?” Sparks plopped his hat back in place. “I shouldn’t be away from the bank.”

Already heading for the door, Paul turned back. “I need to get back to the office, too. Can you see to it, Charles?”

He’d done the least legwork for the committee so it was only fair he ask Miss Crum. His wayward pulse leapt at the prospect of seeing her, giving her this news. Nodding his acceptance, he walked the men into the main room and out the door, both obviously relieved to dump the matter in his lap.

Charles grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. Without a doubt, Miss Crum would take care of Emma. But the more he thought about it, the more he suspected that once she had a taste of mothering, she’d be starved for more when the child left.

What had he been thinking when he suggested her?

He’d been thinking how she’d look when she heard the news, the sparkle his words would put into her clear blue eyes. He’d taken part in hurting her, both with the committee and now over the ownership of the paper, and he wanted to make amends.

Grateful for Teddy’s experience with children, Charles said, “Keep an eye on Emma, will you?”

With a grin, Teddy hunkered down beside the little girl. “Sure thing, if she’ll share a peppermint with me.”

Charles strode to the door, knowing he danced dangerously close to a web of entanglements. Every instinct warned him off, told him to stay clear of Miss Crum, while every muscle and tendon in his body moved him out of the office and across the street.