Courting Miss Callie Read online

  “I assume that sentiment is according to Miss Conner’s father, Mr. Strand. However, my niece now lives with me, and her wishes will determine the matter. Her father has no authority here.”

  Her father has no authority here. The sick feeling eased. She was in Pinewood, and no longer alone in her struggle.

  Jacob Strand smiled, tilted his head in a small, mocking bow to Sophia. “As you say, madam.” He shifted his gaze to her.

  Sunlight from the window glinted in his dark eyes, but could not warm the cold anger in their depths. “Will you join me in the sitting room, Miss Conner? There is a small nook there that will afford us privacy while we discuss our future.”

  His contemptuous treatment of her aunt set her to trembling in every part of her body. She glanced at his offered arm, lifted her chin and looked him full in the eyes. “There is no need for privacy, Mr. Strand, as there is nothing for us to discuss. We have no future.” She turned around, flashed a look of love and gratitude to Sophia and strode from the office.

  “You have my niece’s answer to your suit, Mr. Strand. Will you be leaving us now?”

  Sophia’s voice stopped her headlong rush from Jacob Strand’s presence. She held her breath and waited for his reply to her aunt’s question.

  “I shall be staying on, madam. Perhaps I can change Miss Conner’s mind...or yours.”

  Change Aunt Sophia’s mind? How could he do that? She clutched at her stomach, breathing hard to stop her pounding heart. She had heard that silky tone in Jacob Strand’s voice before. And he did not speak empty words.

  * * *

  Ezra closed the door behind them and frowned as Callie moved over to the porch railing, wrapped her arms about herself and stared in the direction of the barn. The sun was still bathing the valley with dusky light and the air had not yet chilled. Was she ill? “Would you like me to get your cape, Callie?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, her face taut, her eyes unfocused.

  “Your cape. I’d be happy to get it for you. You seem chilly.”

  “Oh. No. Thank you, Ezra. I’m not cold.” She turned her head back around. “I love this time of evening when everything is settling down for the night. If you listen, you can even hear the river water brushing against the banks. It’s so...peaceful.”

  She didn’t act at peace. She acted restive and overstrung. He walked up beside her, turned and rested his hip on the railing so he was facing her and slipped the boot toe of his dangling foot around the base of a spindle. “What’s wrong, Callie?”

  Her head jerked up. Her gaze met his, then slipped away. The mass of black curls captured with a green ribbon at her crown fluttered at the shake of her head.

  “There’s no use denying it. You didn’t eat a bite of your supper, only pushed the food around on your plate. And you say you’re not cold, but you’re hugging yourself as if you’re afraid you’ll shiver apart if you let go.” He took a breath, wishing she’d look at him.

  “I’m not denying it. I simply don’t want to talk about it.”

  Her voice was quiet, strained.

  “I’d like to help—if I can.”

  He got his wish—she looked up at him. The vulnerability on her face and the sheen of tears in her eyes tested his self-control. He gripped the railing so hard his knuckles hurt.

  “Thank you, Ezra, that’s very kind of you, but there’s nothing you can do.” The helplessness in her soft voice wrenched at his heart. Her lips lifted in a tremulous smile. “Now, why did you ask me to come outside with you? What did want to speak about?”

  He dragged his gaze from her mouth, fought down the temptation to pull her into his arms and hold her close and safe in his embrace until whatever was troubling her fell away. He rose from the railing and stood looking down at her. “I wondered if you would grant me the honor of escorting you to church tomorrow?”

  She bowed her head, was silent so long he thought she wasn’t going to answer, and then her black curls rose up and down in a nod of silent acceptance. “That would be lovely, Ezra.” She turned and hurried across the porch, stopping with her back toward him and her hand resting on the door latch. “You may call for me here—at the kitchen door.” Her voice broke.

  “Callie—” He started toward her.

  She yanked open the door and rushed inside.

  * * *

  “Please don’t worry, Callie. Trust the Lord and—”

  “And what, Willa? Everything will be all right?” She whirled away from the chairs, paced the parsonage sitting room to the entrance doorway, took a deep breath and walked back again. She had to make them understand.

  “I did trust the Lord, Willa. I prayed and asked Him to have His way—and look what has happened! Jacob Strand has arrived to claim my hand in marriage!” Her throat closed. Tears burned her eyes. She looked at Willa and Matthew, standing so calm and relaxed beside the fireplace, and wanted to stomp her foot. Did they not realize her position? “He came to tell me Father has given his blessing to our betrothal.”

  “And Sophia told him you were living with her now, and that your father has no authority here.”

  “Yes!” She jerked her gaze back to Willa. “But you don’t know Jacob Strand. And you didn’t see his mocking smile. He means to have me, and he is a very powerful man.”

  “No one is more powerful than God.”

  The answer was spoken in unison. She stared at them, then turned away.

  Matthew stepped toward her. “Callie, I am not being glib and giving you a ‘pastor’s answer’ to your problem. I am speaking the truth.” Sincerity shone from his eyes, rang in his soft words.

  Her stomach clenched, knotted. She pressed her hand against her abdomen, and fought down a surge of bile. “Then you are telling me it is God’s will that I marry Jacob Strand?”

  “I am telling you that if you put your trust in God, He will work things out for the best.”

  “I did put my trust in Him. And Jacob Strand has come for me.” The words left a vile taste in her mouth. She drew a deep breath, turned and walked toward the door.

  “Callie, wait!”

  She turned to face her friend rushing after her. “No, Willa. There’s nothing more to say. If it is God’s will that I marry Jacob Strand, then He will have His way. As you say, there is no one more powerful than God.” She squared her shoulders, clenched her hands and lifted her chin. “And I will lose. But I will fight Him every step of the way. I will not willingly marry that man.”

  She rushed across the small entrance, opened the door, slipped through and pulled it closed. Moonlight lit the walkway. She followed it to the street, crossed the hard-packed dirt, and made her way around the hotel. The gravel of the carriageway pressed into her feet through the thin soles of her slippers.

  She headed for the path to the porch, refusing to give in to her despair. She’d had such high hopes when she went to the parsonage. And there wasn’t a shred of them left. There was only her puny strength against a powerful man and an all-powerful God.

  She caught her breath, climbed the steps to the porch and went inside, looking around the kitchen. Her home. She would resist every effort to take her from it.

  She crossed to her bedroom, prepared for bed by moonlight and slipped beneath her covers.

  I wondered if you would grant me the honor of escorting you to church tomorrow?

  Ezra. Her defenses collapsed. Tears poured from her eyes. A plea streamed in silent agony from her heart. Have Mercy, Almighty God, have mercy. I love him. Please let me stay.

  She reached out and lifted the sprig of pussy willow from the nightstand, clutched it close against her heart and buried her sobs in her pillow.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Callie smoothed the bodice of her bottle-green dress, slipped on the twilled silk ja
cket and fastened the small buttons that marched from her neck to her waist. Thank goodness Aunt Sophia insisted on a simple breakfast for the guests on Sundays. And for Agnes, who had offered to make the gruel. She simply did not feel equal to cooking this morning. The muscles in her face tightened. It was certain Jacob Strand had slept well and felt no such fatigue.

  She shook out the sections of the divided skirt of the jacket to hang straight over the gown’s long, full skirt, peered into the mirror and straightened the points of the high collar, lifting her gaze. Her face was pale, and there were faint violet smudges beneath her eyes that testified to her sleepless night. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to look her best this morning. For Ezra.

  She swallowed hard and glared at her reflection. “No more crying, Callie Conner. If you stay strong and simply refuse him, Jacob Strand cannot win.” It was pure bravado. She’d seen his eyes. Her hands shook as she adjusted the mass of curls atop her head.

  Knuckles tapped softly. She whirled, staring at the door. Agnes was in her room upstairs. She took a deep breath and crossed to the door and pulled it open. Her held breath escaped at the sight of Sophia’s maid. What had she expected? “Yes. What is it, Mary?”

  “A message for you from the fine gentleman in room ten, Callie. ‘Mr. Strand awaits your presence in the reading room.’” The maid gave her a curious look laced with envy and turned away.

  “Mary—” She halted, shook her head as the maid turned back. “Never mind. I’ll go speak with him myself.” She cast a glance at Sophia’s closed door. Her aunt was dressing for church, but she was there. What comfort that was. She was not alone.

  She straightened her shoulders and walked through the empty kitchen, crossed the length of the dining room and stopped in the doorway of the small reading room beside Sophia’s office.

  Jacob Strand turned from looking out at the street, made her a small bow and smiled. “You look beyond beautiful this morning, my dear Miss Conner—as always.”

  She ignored the spasm in her stomach and lifted her chin. “Mary said you wished to speak with me.”

  Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “You are not normally so rude as to ignore my compliments.”

  Her heart pounded. She clenched her hands, made no effort to hide her disdain. “I am no longer forced to comply with my father’s wishes. What is it you wanted?”

  His mouth tightened. The knuckles of the hand holding his kid gloves went white. “I will overlook your discourtesy as a result of your surprise to see me here, my dear. But do not test my good graces too far.” His eyes bored into hers. “I assume there is a church you attend in this village.” His lips curled at the word. “I wanted to tell you I will escort you there this morning.”

  “No, Mr. Strand, you will not. I already have an escort.” Oh, the joy of speaking those words, of knowing Ezra would soon be calling for her. She whirled away from the sight of Jacob Strand’s furious face and hurried back toward the kitchen to wait for Ezra’s knock on the door.

  “Miss Conner!”

  She froze at his imperious call, lifted her chin and turned. Jacob Strand stood in the doorway of the reading room, his features as cold and still as a statue’s.

  “Play your little games if you must, Miss Conner, but I assure you, it will not gain you or your father one cent more. I have paid all I intend to pay for you.”

  Her hands trembled, her insides quivered. She waited until she could speak through the painful tightness in her throat. “Return to Buffalo, Mr. Strand. I have neither regard nor respect for you, and I am not interested in your money.” She held her ground as he stepped close, refusing to look away when he gazed down at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

  “I shall return to Buffalo shortly, my dear Miss Conner. And you will accompany me. Your father has announced our betrothal, and I will not be humiliated in front of my friends.”

  “You have no choice—or friends. Only others like yourself who use each other to feed overweening pride.”

  His eyes flashed. His nostrils flared. “It is you who have no choice, Miss Conner. Unless you wish to see your parents lose their home.” His voice was cold, deadly.

  And now she knew the price her father had set for her hand. Thank you, Aunt Sophia. She took a steadying breath, buried her trembling hands among the folds of her long skirt and lifted her head high. “My parents have a home here, Mr. Strand. I am not for sale.”

  He smiled.

  It was the most frightening thing she’d ever seen.

  * * *

  The hymns were only noise, Matthew’s sermon a droning of words. She heard them, but they had no meaning she could grasp and hold on to. All she could think about was Jacob Strand. She had disliked him before, had disdained his smug satisfaction with the underhanded business practices he spoke about with his friends within her hearing, had hated that he treated her as a bauble to be purchased—but she had never been afraid of him until today.

  Callie glanced at Sophia sitting beside her and listening intently to Matthew, and love and gratitude swelled her heart. If not for Sophia...

  She blinked back tears, clasped her trembling hands in her lap and wished again that she were plain. Jacob Strand would never have looked at her if she were plain. But God had seen fit to make her uncommonly beautiful, and Jacob Strand had decided he must have her. Her stomach knotted. She closed her eyes, fought the need to look at Ezra sitting tall and strong on her right. She dare not, lest she lose all control and start sobbing.

  Oh, Almighty God, please, please make Jacob Strand go back to Buffalo and leave me here in Pinewood.

  There was a general stirring. A low murmur as people spoke to one another. Church was over. She opened her eyes, unclenched her hands. It was impossible for her to smile and chat about everyday matters. She leaned toward Sophia. “Please make my excuses to everyone. I don’t feel well, and I’m going home.”

  “I’ll come with—”

  “There’s no need, Mrs. Sheffield. I’ll see her safely home.”

  She looked at Ezra standing beside the open pew door, and tried not to read anything other than polite concern into the look in his eyes. It was only her foolish heart that wanted it to be more...much more.

  She gathered her skirt and stepped out of the pew, walked up the aisle beside him, conscious of his hand holding her arm, and of the looks and smiles of the villagers in attendance. He opened the door for her and they moved out onto the porch into the warm April air. She took a breath and glanced up at him. “Thank you, Ezra. I—”

  “The groom, Miss Conner? This stable hand is your escort? He is the one you are using to try and make me jealous?”

  She jerked her gaze to the bottom of the steps. Jacob Strand smiled and shook his head.

  “It won’t work, my dear. I have settled our betrothal funds upon your father and you’ll not entice me to give you more.” He touched his hat brim, made a slight bow and walked away, a gold-headed cane swinging from his hand.

  She looked up. Ezra was staring after Jacob Strand. “Ezra, I’m so sorry. I—I don’t know what to say.” She strained the words from her taut throat. “It’s not true.”

  Behind them the church doors opened and people filed out onto the porch. He glanced over his shoulder, looked back at her, his eyes shadowed, a closed expression on his face.

  “You’re quite pale. I think I’d best get you home.”

  His grasp on her arm tightened. He led her forward, helped her down the steps, then released her arm and walked beside her down the walkway to Main Street.

  So polite. Ezra was always polite. But never before so silent and distant. She drew breath to explain, but looked up at the sound of hoofbeats. Jacob Strand’s matched black geldings pranced by pulling his fancy rig, the cover folded down to showcase the man in all his expensive fineness. He dipped his head in their direction and smiled.r />
  She glanced at Ezra. His eyes had darkened to a steely gray. The muscle along his jaw pulsed. “Ezra...”

  He looked down at her and that closed expression returned to his face. “Sorry—the way’s clear.”

  He took her elbow, his grasp so light she could barely feel it and stepped out into the street, an invisible but very real wall between them. It was clear any budding interest he may have felt toward her had died. She swallowed back her explanation along with the sobs clawing their way up her throat and lifted her hems off the hard-packed dirt.

  * * *

  Joseph cleared his throat. “You missed a good supper, Ezra. That Agnes is almost as good a cook as Callie.”

  “I wasn’t hungry.” Ezra glanced over his shoulder to where Joe leaned on the stall door then stepped in front of the bay. “Callie didn’t cook tonight?” Was she with that popinjay? He gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the handle of the bucket he carried.

  “Nope. Must be she’s feeling under the weather.”

  Or out riding with her betrothed. The thought was like a hot coal burning in his gut. He held his gaze from the empty stalls where the black geldings were stabled.

  Joe squinted at him. “What’s eating at you, son? You look sour as milk left in the sun to curdle.”

  “Nothing I want to talk about.” He dumped the measure of grain into the manger, patted the bay’s neck and moved toward the door.

  Joe backed up, pulling the door along with him. “I know how that is. Let me know if I can help.”

  He nodded, caught the stall door Joe sent swinging toward him, shoved it the rest of the way closed and secured the latch. “There is something. I’d like to go for a walk. I’ve got some thinking to do.” He set the bucket on top of the grain chest, looked at the old man who had become more friend than boss. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “You’ve earned a night to yourself and more besides, son. I’ll take care of whatever needs doing here.”