Josephine (13 page)

“A bit fast for me.”

Jo gave her a look.

“I know, I know. Who am I to be calling the kettle black after the mess I caused, but she’s really fast, Jo. Bert thought she might be coming to stay here for a while because her parents can’t control her. They’re hoping Bert’s mama might be able to put reins on her. I guess Libby was seeing a man her parents didn’t approve of. Bert mentioned something about the man being old but quite well off, but Bert and I never discussed the full story.”

Jo was impressed. “My.”

“I know.”

“Well, the Dragon Lady said Libby would be here through July.”

“Lord, she’ll have driven poor Bert around the bend by then.”

“Maybe she’s changed.”

“Maybe Dred Reed’s going to return the things he stole.”

Jo chuckled. “Fine, I understand. At least now I’ll know to avoid Libby as much as possible.” Jo suddenly remembered something else. “Add this to the pot. Mrs. Waterman wants to introduce Libby to Adam.”

“What on earth for?”

“Because he’s handsome and may have money, and according to Libby, Adam is just the type of husband she’s on the hunt for.”

“I don’t see Adam being fooled by her, no matter how pretty she is.”

“Neither do I, but stranger things have happened.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you feel about another girl tossing her hat in the ring for Adam?”

“Why should I care?” Jo shrugged her shoulders but wouldn’t look Trudy in the eye.

“Because you do, Josephine Best.”

“I do not.”

Trudy looked skeptical. “Fine.”

“I don’t.”

Trudy remained silent.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I’m the Sphinx.”

Jo smiled. “All right, Miss Sphinx, it’s about time for me to be getting home.”

“I’ll walk with you to the road.”

While walking, the two friends spent a few moments talking about Mrs. Oswald’s social tomorrow. Jo asked, “Is your mama going to let you go?”

“I really don’t have the nerve to ask her.”

Jo climbed up into the saddle. “Ask her, Trudy. Everyone in town will be there. I’d so like for you to be there, as well.”

“Me, too. Maybe I can catch her in a good mood. If she says yes, I’ll look for you when I arrive.”

“Okay.” Jo picked up the reins. “Bye, Tru. I hope you can come.”

“Bye, Jo. Keep your fingers crossed, and I’ll see Bert somehow.”

They both waved goodbye, then Jo kicked the mare into a gallop toward home.

On the ride back to her house, Jo went over the conversation she and Trudy had shared about Adam and decided her friend’s assessment wasn’t worthy of even contemplating. If Libby Spenser wanted to throw herself at Adam’s feet, it was none of Jo’s concern. Yes, Jo was honest enough to admit she still had a tiny crush on Adam, but that didn’t mean she intended to spend the rest of her life waiting to see if her feelings were returned. She and Adam had already settled the matter, so Trudy’s idea that Jo might be bothered by Libby’s quest didn’t hold water. Or at least that’s what Jo told herself.

Jo made herself conjure up George in hopes of keeping thoughts of Adam at bay, and it worked, but not in the way she’d imagined. Thinking about George only served to bring up all the doubts she’d been having about him lately. Yes, George was a decent young man. Yes, he was good company and a true gentleman. The woman he married wouldn’t have to worry about him wandering off to pick flowers; George Brooks didn’t appear to have a deceitful bone in his body, but in her heart of hearts, Jo knew George would never be more than a friend. Even if she had been looking to measure him for beau material, he would be found lacking. Growing up around her parents had shown Jo just how passionate and loving a marriage could be. There was no question that William and Cecilia Best loved each other deeply, and if Jo ever married she wanted that depth of commitment, too. There seemed to be no fire in George, however; no passion. Even though he was the very first male company she’d ever had over to the house, and the first man to bring her flowers, she didn’t see herself arguing with George over substantive issues like politics the way her parents sometimes did. In his world such discussions probably weren’t encouraged; women had a distinct place that a man defined. Jo had no desire to live in such a rigid world where she couldn’t have her own place of business. Nor did she want any children she might have growing up with a parent unwilling to let them be who they wished to be.
So when are you going to tell him?
the tiny voice in her head asked.
As soon as I figure out how to do it without hurting him,
she answered herself, all the while knowing it might be easier said than done.

thirteen

When
Jo rode up to the house, she was surprised to see the Waterman buggy parked out front. Jo thought Mrs. Waterman had gone home after her hair appointment, so why had she returned? It wasn’t as if Corinne Waterman and Jo’s mother were friends; the two never visited back and forth. Jo assumed the answer would be revealed once she went inside.

After putting the horse in the barn, Jo entered the house through the back door and heard voices coming from the front room. She passed through the deserted kitchen and came out into the parlor where sat her mother, Belle, Adam, Mrs. Waterman and Libby. The cow eyes Libby had fixed on Adam solved the mystery as to why the Waterman buggy was parked outside; Libby was on the hunt. “Good evening, everyone.”

Jo’s mother said, “Well, welcome home, dear. How was your visit?”

“Fine.” Jo was glad her mother hadn’t mentioned whom she’d visited. Jo had no desire to hear Mrs. Waterman attack Trudy.

Mrs. Best added, “Corinne says you’ve met her niece, Libby?”

“Yes, this afternoon.”

Jo nodded a greeting to Belle, then said, “Evening, Adam.”

“Jo.” He inclined his head politely, but his eyes upon her were so potent with intent, she had to focus her vision elsewhere in order to keep herself on an even keel.

Libby said to Jo, “We were just discussing tomorrow’s ice-cream social. Are you planning to attend?”

“Yes, I am.” Jo knew that Adam’s eyes were upon her, so she forced herself not to look his way.

“Alone?”

Jo wondered why Libby wanted to know. “Uh, no. I’m going with a friend. His name is George Brooks. Belle’s also going with us.”

Libby turned to Adam and pouted prettily, “I wish I had someone to escort me.”

Adam knew a fishhook when he saw one—or heard one. He saw no reason not to take the bait, though. He’d been cooped up in the house seemingly for weeks, and he welcomed any opportunity to get out of doors. Agreeing to escort the Waterman niece would also give him a legitimate reason to keep a discreet eye on Jo and her precious George.

The bold Libby asked again, “Will you escort me, Adam?”

“I’d be honored to,” he offered. “That is, if your aunt would approve.”

Libby smiled like a pleased cat.

Mrs. Best asked skeptically, “What about your ankle, Adam?”

“Mrs. Meldrum declared me well enough to graduate to a walking stick.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mrs. Waterman announced. “Adam, thank you for offering. Libby doesn’t know many young people here. I’m sure you’ll see that she gets off on the right foot.”

“As I said, it would be my pleasure,” Adam replied, turning on the Morgan charm.

“I’m betting we’ll have a wonderful time,” Libby purred.

“I’m sure we will, too.”

Jo could see Adam working his magic. She found the display so irritating, she longed to tell him all about Libby and then shake him until he came back to his senses. But since he was intent upon trying all the flowers in the field, Jo decided, she didn’t care what happened to him. A small voice inside her head countered,
Yes, you do, and you’re jealous to boot!
The voice surprised her. Was she jealous? Jo denied it vehemently, then announced, “Well, it’s been a long day for me. I’m going to head up to my room. Nice seeing you again, Libby.” Her eyes glanced toward Adam. His face was emotionless, but his presence touched her as if he’d spoken her name.

“It’s been nice for me, as well,” Libby cooed. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

Jo nodded. “Good evening, Mrs. Waterman.”

“Good night, Jo. I’ll have Bert bring Libby by in the morning.”

Jo longed to tell her that she might have to make different arrangements if Bert went through with his plans, but Jo kept that to herself.

As Jo moved to leave, Belle stood hastily, and said, “Jo, let me go up with you. Wasn’t there a hem you wanted help mending?”

There was no hem, of course, but Jo caught on immediately. “I pulled out the dress this morning. Come and take a look at it.”

So the two sisters-in-law escaped, leaving Adam and Mrs. Best to deal with the Dragon Lady and her kin alone.

Once Jo and Belle were safely behind Jo’s closed bedroom door, Jo asked, “How long have they been here?”

“Only an hour or so, but it’s been an hour or so too long. The Dragon Lady said she just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought she’d stop by.”

“Hogwash.” Jo snorted, then told Belle about Libby’s desire for a wealthy husband, and what Jo had learned about Libby from Trudy.

Belle listened before saying, “Now that’s mighty interesting. An older man, huh?”

“Trudy said Bert didn’t get the whole story.”

“Well, she certainly seemed set upon Adam.”

“Yes, she did, and I didn’t notice him trying to fend her off. Do you think he’s really taken with her?”

Belle studied Jo for a moment before replying, “There’s no accounting for taste, but I believe Adam’s far too sensible to be hoodwinked by such a fawning twit. Why’d you ask?”

Jo shrugged. “No reason.”

Their eyes met.

Belle asked gently, “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Just curious is all.”

Jo knew Belle didn’t believe her, but Jo also knew Belle wouldn’t pry.

Belle then said, “Well, I’m going to my room. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“All right.”

Belle slipped out.

Downstairs, while Mrs. Best walked her guests to the door, Adam sat in the parlor awaiting her return. Libby was admittedly lovely. He didn’t know if his ankle would hold up under such an outing, but he supposed he would find out.

“So,” Mrs. Best asked after returning, “what do you think of Libby Spenser?”

“She’s a pretty girl. Seems nice, as well. Why?”

“Just wondering. Corinne Waterman has never stopped by to visit before, so I’m assuming it was so the niece could meet you.”

“I’m glad she did. I’m more than happy to show Libby around,” Adam lied.

Cecilia studied him for a long moment before declaring, “Well, I’m going up to bed now. Will you put out the lamps before you turn in?”

“Sure will.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Good night.”

Alone now, Adam was the first to admit he’d agreed only so he could be around Jo. His admission would anger her if she knew, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was maddening really, because he didn’t want to meddle in her life, but he couldn’t seem to put a damper on his feelings for her. She and George seemed quite taken with each other, which Adam found equally as maddening because George wasn’t the man for her. Brooks was too passive, too agreeable. Jo needed someone who would stand up to her and for her, and George didn’t impress Adam as having that much inner strength. Adam had enough confidence in the old Morgan charm to know that if he really wanted Josephine at his side George Brooks wouldn’t stand a chance, but Adam wanted Jo to come to him of her own accord. She was an innocent; Adam doubted she’d ever been kissed. A man of lesser character might take advantage of that innocence to try and influence her in her choice of a sweetheart, but Adam had no intentions of sinking that low. He wanted Jo to give her heart freely, and he admittedly didn’t want that heart given to George Brooks.

So, what to do? He didn’t know, and that was maddening, as well. In the end, he decided his only option was to concentrate on the willowy Libby Spenser for now and figure out what to do about his feelings for Jo later.

Adam stood and stretched. True to his word, he doused all of the lamps before heading upstairs. He agreed with Mrs. Best that the Dragon Lady had probably brought Libby by this evening for the express purpose of meeting him, but Adam didn’t mind because to be forewarned was to be forearmed.

The morning of the ice-cream social dawned sunny and bright. With the war on, celebrations such as the one today were few and far between. The fighting down South had cast a pall over the country, and when people did come together, it was usually for a serious event such as raising money for the Union’s efforts, or for rallies like the one being held next week in Detroit. According to the newspaper, the rally organizers wanted to alert folks to the plight of the thousands of escaped slaves who’d attached themselves to Sherman’s armies and were following him across the South. Aid organizations both black and white were gearing up to send blankets, food and medicine in hopes of relieving the suffering.

Today’s gathering would be strictly fun, however, and Jo planned to take in as much of the good time as a properly raised young woman could stand.

Dressed in her purple gown with the white lace inset, and with her hair done up just so, Jo took one last look in the mirror. Noting her reflection with approval, she left the room and headed downstairs to breakfast.

Everyone else was already seated at the table when Jo sauntered in calling, “Good morning. Isn’t it a glorious day?”

Cecilia smiled. “Yes, it is, dear. You look lovely.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

Jo took a moment to bow her head and say a silent prayer before reaching for the plate of toast.

Adam held up the jam pot. “Jam, Jo?”

“Yes,” she said. As she reached to take the pot from his hand, her fingers accidentally brushed against his and the spark of contact shimmied like lightning up her arm. Her eyes jumped to his. The knowing smile he gave her let her know that he’d felt something, too. Why was this happening? she wondered. The more she was around him, the less she seemed able to ignore him.

The voice of her mother broke the spell. “Pass me the jam when you’re done, dear.”

Jo dropped her gaze and refocused herself on her breakfast.

The festivities were to begin at ten in the morning, and George drove up in a rented buggy at precisely half past nine. Hoping she appeared and sounded cheerful, Jo called out, “Good morning, George.”

“Morning, Josephine. You’re prettier than the day.”

In spite of his faults, George did know how to make her feel special. “Thank you, George. Where’s your stick?”

“Doc says I no longer need it.”

“Why, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. The leg still tires easily but it should get stronger. Is Belle ready?”

“Yes, but we can’t leave just this minute.”

“Why not?”

Jo explained how their original party of three had swelled to five, and that their departure had to be delayed until Libby Spenser arrived.

He said, “I don’t mind waiting. The more the merrier, I always say.”

Jo was grateful for his easygoing nature. He’d make some traditional woman very happy someday. “We’ll have to take our wagon instead. Yours won’t hold everyone.”

“Fine with me. I’ll park it here and take it back when we return.”

“Good. Then shall we take a seat on the porch?”

“Never been one to turn down an invitation from a pretty girl,” he replied with a smile, so he and Jo walked up to the porch to wait.

Adam stepped out and said coolly, “Morning, Brooks.”

“Morgan.”

Adam took a look at Jo in that lovely purple gown and felt his irritation with Brooks rise anew. If Adam could have sent the soldier packing he would have, but he had no right, so he went over to the bench, sat and tried not to glare.

When the clock read half-past ten and Libby still hadn’t shown, a perturbed and now pacing Jo began to grumble beneath her breath. Adam met Jo’s annoyed face with a shrug. Belle took off her hat and went back inside to wait. George continued to sit patiently but kept pulling out his pocket watch to check the time, which let Jo know that he, too, was becoming concerned.

Adam said to the pacing Jo, “Maybe something has happened.”

“What’s going to happen,” Jo drawled back, “is, if she isn’t here by the top of the hour we are leaving.”

No one argued.

As more time passed, Jo wanted to stomp around and tell anyone who’d listen just how she felt about having her fun cut short by Libby’s lack of timeliness. But in the words of her mother, such behavior would be neither Christian nor becoming, so she quit her pacing and took a seat.

Mrs. Best stuck her head out the door. “Are you all still here? I thought you’d gone some time ago.”

Jo replied testily, “No, Mama. We’re still here. We’re waiting on Libby.”

“Ah. Well, I’m going back to my book. If she’s not here soon, I’d advise you to go on ahead.”

“Thanks, we will.” Jo was glad to hear her mother give them sanction to leave Libby behind. “I’ll let you know when we leave.”

Mrs. Best disappeared back into the house. Jo and the others resumed the wait.

Adam had to admit that he wasn’t very happy with Libby’s tardiness, either. He was a stickler for punctuality because he’d been raised not to keep others waiting. He would continue to give Libby the benefit of the doubt and hoped nothing was seriously wrong.

At five minutes before eleven o’clock, the Waterman buggy finally roared up. Bert was at the reins. Beside him on the seat sat Libby. Upon seeing them, Jo offered up a sarcastic sounding “Hallelujah!”

They all went down to meet Bert and Libby. Bert appeared to be as perturbed as Jo herself felt.

He nodded. “Jo. Sorry we’re late.
She
couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Libby, her eyes only for Adam as he helped her down, said, as if wounded, “Bert, you make me sound like an addle-headed female who couldn’t make up her mind, when in reality my indecision grew from—shame.” She dropped her head dramatically.

Jo and Belle shared a look, then rolled their eyes.

Adam, his face filled with concern, asked, “Why shame?”

She said sadly, “I own only two dresses, Adam, and I had to decide which one would embarrass you less.”

Adam wondered if she’d ever been on the stage, but said in as genuine a voice as he could muster, “You need not have worried about that. I’m not so shallow.”

Jo wondered how much longer this saga would continue before everyone could get in the buggy and leave. Jo had to hand it to Libby, though; the performance was a good one, and the faded blue dress with its mended underarms and shiny frayed hem was just the right touch to elicit the sympathy of anyone who might care that Libby was so pinched by poverty. Jo didn’t count herself in that group, however, so she said, “George, are you ready?”