Courting Miss Callie Page 14

  He nodded his appreciation, strode to the open doors, grabbed his jacket off a peg and stepped outside and turned to follow the path to the river. It was harder to see it now with the grasses growing.

  He headed for the band of trees by the river, their new leaves bright green in the fading light from the sun slipping behind the foothills in the west. The ground of the open field was firm beneath his long strides, the boggy areas all dried up. He stepped onto the trail, welcomed the darkness from the enclosing trees, the silence broken only by the flow of river water.

  How could he have been so wrong? He jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from driving his fists into the nearest tree. It was that popinjay he wanted to punch until that arrogant, sneering look disappeared.

  But what good would that do? She would still be betrothed to the man. He kicked a stone off the path, sent it sailing out into the river and watched the ripples spread. To think that Callie had used him to try and gain more money for her father and herself! He snorted out a bitter laugh. It was usually his money women were chasing after. Of course, Callie didn’t know about his wealth. Good thing, because she’d had him completely fooled. He’d been on the brink of asking her to marry him—was only waiting to be sure the affection she had shown toward him was real.

  Real. Ha! Miss Callie Conner was quite an actress. Better than any he’d seen on stage. And Sophia Sheffield—she had certainly played her part well. He’d felt there was some reason she was letting him pay court to her niece when she believed he was lying to them. Now he knew what that reason was—money. It was always money. Why hadn’t he believed his instincts during that conversation she had with him, as he did in business?

  He gave another snort and ripped a piece of loose bark from a tree beside the path. No need to puzzle that out. He was aware that no one in Pinewood knew of his wealth, and he’d relaxed his guard. And he’d been so besotted by Callie’s beauty and her sweetness—

  He clenched his hand. The bark crumbled beneath the power of his grip. He uncurled his fingers and dropped the shreds to the ground, staring down at it. That’s all that was left of his life here in Pinewood—shreds. It was time to go home. To go back to the city, and the people he knew were using him for their gain.

  A bitter grin tugged at his mouth. He would ask to borrow his writing needs from Sophia Sheffield. There was a certain justice in having her supply him with the means to write Tom Mooreland for funds to pay his way home.

  He filled his lungs with air, blew it out, brushed his hands together and pivoted, the shredded bark disappearing into the soft dirt of the path beneath his boot as he started back the way he had come.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ezra hadn’t looked at her once during breakfast. Not once. Not even a quick, stolen glance. He’d eaten his meal, discussed the day with Joe and Sophia and left.

  Callie wiped the flour from her hand and reached for the cup sitting at the end of the worktable. Not that the tea helped the sick feeling in her stomach. But at least the warm brew felt good sliding down her throat. She took a swallow, put the cup down and scooped up a spoonful of the butter and maple sugar mixture she’d made. It helped to be busy.

  How foolish she had been to attach any meaning other than a lonely and polite young man’s impulsive gesture to that sprig of pussy willow Ezra picked for her. And of course he would ask her to accompany him to the Seneca dance. He was a stranger in Pinewood. He knew no one to ask but her. But the way he had looked at her...

  No. It meant nothing. And even if he had had a budding regard for her, Jacob Strand’s lies had destroyed it. That was obvious. She swallowed hard and blinked back a rush of tears. How she detested that man! She would never agree to marry him. Never! She shoved the butter and maple sugar mixture into the center of the cored apple resting on a square of dough and dropped the spoon back into the bowl.

  “Have I done something wrong, Callie?”

  She jerked her attention from her thoughts and looked across the work table at Agnes, saw the worry in the young woman’s eyes and shook her head. “Why no, Agnes. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re frowning. I thought maybe I’d made a mistake or something.” Agnes set her finished dumpling in the baking dish and reached for another cored apple.

  “No, not at all, Agnes. You’re a wonderful cook. I was only...thinking.”

  “About Mrs. Sheffield having a restaurant?”

  She stared at Agnes’s excited expression. Jacob Strand’s coming had driven the restaurant idea right out of her thoughts. How selfish of her. She forced a smile. “It will mean more work for us, but I think it’s a lovely idea.”

  Ezra’s idea. The thought had her swallowing back tears again. “I’m sure once they become accustomed to the notion, the ladies of Pinewood will be coming here to meet for tea with their friends.” She ducked her head, pulled the dough up around the apple she’d filled, moistened the corners with a bit of milk, pinched them together and put the dumpling in the dish.

  “Callie.” Cora’s head poked around the dining room door. “The gentleman from room ten wants to talk with you. He’s in the reading room again.”

  How many times must she refuse him before Jacob Strand would give up? An image of that smile flashed into her head. She took a breath to steady her voice. What could he do? Her parents would have a home here with Sophia. His power over her was gone. “Thank you, Cora. Please tell Mr. Strand I’ve no time to speak with him.”

  Cora’s head bobbed and disappeared.

  “If you want, I’ll finish the dumplings so you can go and talk to the gentleman, Callie. I don’t mind the work.”

  There was kindness and envy in Agnes’s voice.

  She shook her head. “I don’t wish to speak with Mr. Strand, Agnes. I’d rather be here cooking with you.”

  Curiosity flared in Agnes’s brown eyes. She ignored it and reached for another apple.

  * * *

  What a day. The hotel was full. Mr. Totten had brought back four new guests on his late afternoon trolley run to Olville. And two more had come in on horseback. Sophia was right. The warm weather brought out the travelers. Her aunt was still busy overseeing the settling in of all the new guests. Callie slipped out the door, wrapped her arms about herself and drifted down the porch steps to stroll about the field, too restless to stay within the confines of four walls.

  She glanced toward the barn, hoping. He was not outside watering horses. There would be no “chance” meeting. She veered her thoughts from that dangerous path, her emotions too strained to withstand more of her foolish, broken dreams. It was safer to think about the hotel.

  Thank goodness for Agnes. It had taken both of them to prepare enough additional food to feed the late influx of guests. She made a mental note to tell Sophia they would have to increase the amount of milk, butter and cheese she bought from Mr. Hoffman. And the size of their orders from Brody’s Meat Market must be increased as well. Pride swelled. Her aunt’s hotel brought increased profits to all of Pinewood’s businesses.

  A soft breeze swept across the meadow, ruffled her hair. A dog barked. Happy, perhaps? Out for an evening romp with Joshua before the boy’s bedtime? She tucked the curl tickling her ear back under the ribbon that was supposed to confine them to the top of her head, and glanced in the direction of the parsonage. How blessed Willa was. Envy rose.

  It’s not that I don’t want Willa to be happy, God—I do. It’s only that I want to know Your hand of blessing upon my life as well.

  She choked off the words pushing upward from her heart and turned to look at the pink and gold rimming the clouds above the hills beyond the river. She was afraid to ask for a husband and children—the husband she wanted—when she was refusing Jacob Strand’s offer of marriage. Not that God didn’t already know.

  She kept her back toward the barn, refused to think or speak the nam
e in her heart lest something terrible happen. Have Your way, dear God. She’d offered the prayer, and Jacob Strand had arrived. She was frightened to offer another.

  Tiny white and blue flowers clustered at her feet, trailed off through the meadow grasses, the purple beauty of violets scattered here and there among them. At the edge, the white heads of adder’s-tongue bowed and bobbed in the breeze. She bent to pick a violet. Her hands shook.

  She straightened and looked at the sinking sun. The idea of disobeying God after yielding to His will was terrifying—but the thought of being wed to Jacob Strand was unbearable. Please forgive me for not honoring my word. You know the repugnance I feel for Mr. Strand and his lifestyle. He is a man who professes belief in You, yet lives his life according to his own lights. Surely, surely, You cannot wish me wed to such a man. Oh, Lord, You are all-powerful. Please, please save me from Jacob Strand.

  Shadows of darkness lengthened across the sky. The pink and gold of sunset dimmed. She turned to return to the hotel. Jacob Strand was striding toward her. He stopped in the middle of the path where it curved around the buttery and smiled.

  She read the message clearly. He was waiting for her to come to him. And she had no choice. This time. She lifted her chin and moved forward on the path.

  * * *

  Ezra wiped off the nib of the pen, put the stopper in the inkwell, set the borrowed writing tools on the blotter and rose. He glanced across the empty kitchen at the stove, braced himself against the memory of Callie in his arms when he’d caught her close to keep her from being burned, and shoved his chair under the table.

  Mister Thomas Mooreland

  American Founders Bank

  Broadway

  New York City

  He stared down at the direction written in his bold, slanted hand. The muscle in his jaw pulsed. He picked up the folded and sealed letter, opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. Darkness was claiming the sky. It suited his mood.

  He trod down the stairs and stepped onto the path that led toward the barn.

  “Why did you not come when I sent for you? What takes up your precious time, my dear Miss Conner? Picking flowers?”

  “I like violets. And I told you, I am—”

  Callie. And that popinjay? Ezra jerked to a halt. Their voices were coming from the path that led to the field. They must be returning from a walk. To the deer path where he’d first revealed his heart by giving her the sprig of pussy willow? An unfounded sense of betrayal hit him, but he was in no mood to be reasonable. The muscle along his jaw jumped. His hands fisted.

  He glowered and looked around, feeling trapped. He couldn’t go back to the porch—and if he kept going toward the barn he would have to pass them. He glanced at the crushed letter in his fisted hand. It did not bode well for a meeting with Callie’s betrothed. Neither did his thudding pulse.

  He hurried forward, stepping off the path into the deeper shadowed area behind the buttery and wished he were anywhere but there.

  “I summoned you because I wanted you to go for a ride with me. My new rig is—”

  “I’m certain it’s the finest available, Mr. Strand. Your pride would permit nothing less. However, I am not interested in your fine possessions, or your wealth, or you. And should you summon me again, you will receive the same answer. I have no time for you.”

  They were coming closer. Their voices were louder and he could hear their footsteps during the pauses in their conversation. He felt like an eavesdropping sneak. How he wished he had the right to confront the man. He backed farther into the darkness, felt the stones of the buttery wall press against his shoulder. If they would take a few steps more he would be able to slip around the corner and escape into the darkness where he wouldn’t have to listen to Callie manipulating the besotted fool for more betrothal money. She was good at it—pretending no interest in the man. He could almost feel sorry for him—almost.

  “That would not be wise, my dear. I am—”

  “Do not call me ‘your dear’!”

  That did not sound like playacting. He straightened and peered through the darkness toward the path, waiting for them to come into view.

  “Enough!”

  The footsteps stopped. He tensed, strained for any sound.

  “I am out of patience, Miss Conner. The next time I request your company, you will come immediately. Is that clear?”

  “Unhand me.”

  The underlying fear in Callie’s voice set him moving. He ran around the buttery, stepped onto the barn path and whistled a tuneless melody as he strode toward the hotel. He stopped a few steps from them, dropped his gaze to Callie’s hand rubbing her other wrist. “Good evening.”

  The man fastened his gaze on him, his dark eyes glittering with anger. “Go back to your horses, and don’t interfere with your betters. We are having a private conversation.”

  “Your conversation is over. Callie was about to go inside.” He ignored her gasp, took her elbow and urged her toward the steps.

  “Ezra, wait.” She dug in her heels, looked up at him. “I don’t want—”

  “Stay where you are, my dear!” The man stepped close, his gold-headed cane lifted in his hand. “And you—” the cane swept his direction “—take your hand off my fiancée!”

  He deflected the head of the cane with his free hand, tightened his grip on Callie’s arm and gave her a little push out of harm’s way. She caught her breath and raced up the steps. He turned.

  “You have the gall to interfere with—”

  His lips formed a tight smile. He couldn’t help it. He was so hoping Callie’s betrothed would swing that cane his way again now that Callie was safe and his hands were free.

  The man’s gaze narrowed on his mouth, lifted to his eyes then dropped to his hands hanging loose at his sides. He stepped back, tugged at his waistcoat and curled his lip. “I will not accommodate your obvious wish for an altercation. A gentleman does not indulge in fisticuffs with a ruffian.”

  “A gentleman does not manhandle a lady.”

  The insult bit deep. The man’s nostrils flared, his lips drew back over his teeth. “You do not know to whom you are speaking!”

  “Neither do you.”

  “You dare to challenge me, you upstart? I’ll have your job! And see to it you never find another!” The man strode out to the gravel way, disappeared around the corner of the hotel.

  He stared after the coward, his hands clenching and unclenching, his pulse slowing.

  “Please don’t be concerned about Mr. Strand’s threat, Ezra. Aunt Sophia will never dismiss you at his say-so. And he has no influence here in Pinewood.” Callie’s soft words trembled on the night air.

  He turned and looked up at her. She was standing at the top of the stairs beside the porch post—a shadow figure with a bowed head, garbed in a gown turned black by the night. He wished he could see her face clearly, read what was written there and know the truth.

  “I’m sorry I stepped in between you and your betrothed that way, but—”

  “He is not my betrothed!” Her head lifted. Even in the darkness he could see her hands fold into small fists at her sides. “Father may have accepted money from Jacob Strand for my hand, but he will have to return it and give up his grand brick house on Perry Street. I will never wed that man. Never!”

  Her voice quivered, broke. He heard her take a breath, saw her head turn toward the corner where Jacob Strand had disappeared. His heart lurched. She’d been telling the truth all along. What a fool he’d been to doubt her. “Callie...”

  She looked down, and he could see tears glistening in her eyes. He started up the steps.

  “I loathe that man, Ezra. And all of the other wealthy, arrogant men that were bidding for my hand, as well.”

  Wealthy? He halted, his heart pounding.

 
“That’s why I ran here to Aunt Sophia. I cannot abide those men or their self-serving, deceitful ways.”

  Deceitful. The word stabbed deep, held him there, halfway up the steps.

  “They are liars, the lot of them. And they always have an underhanded, selfish reason for the deals they make and the stories they tell. They think their wealth and prestige sets them above everyone else—that their money can buy anything, even a wife. Well, I am not for sale!”

  She whirled around, her long skirts swishing against the floor as she ran across the porch and rushed inside.

  Deceitful.

  The slam of the door drove the word deeper. He stood on the steps while the silence and the darkness settled around him, then turned and walked down to the path, picked up the crushed letter he’d tossed to the ground and headed for the barn. He’d finally found a woman who would love a man for himself, not his purse—a woman his heart longed for. And now, the deception he’d indulged in to find her might cost him any chance he’d had to win her heart.

  I cannot abide those men or their self-serving, deceitful ways. They are liars, the lot of them!

  Her words twisted like a knife in his heart. He should have trusted his instincts about Callie’s goodness and told her the truth from the beginning. He swallowed against the sick feeling in his gut and stared down at the letter in his hand. He had to tell her who he really was and ask her forgiveness.

  And God’s.

  Conviction swelled. What a fool he was. He looked up at the black sky strewn with stars. “Forgive me, Lord, for not trusting You to provide the answer to my dilemma instead of trying to work things out with my scheming. I vow I will never again deceive or lie to gain my way, but will put my trust in You. And, please give me the words that will make Callie understand, because I’m not giving up until I’ve earned her forgiveness and her respect. And, Lord, I promise You, I will always love and honor and cherish Callie with my whole heart if You will bless me with her love.”