by Reina Torres
“But I was so rude-”
Mrs. Hampton waved off the thought. “Believe me, dear, the only one who actually noticed at first besides the three of us was young Mister Ford who took umbrage with the other men, blaming them for hurting your feelings somehow.”
Mr. Hampton reclaimed his seat and smiled at Imogene. “I have never seen them eat so quickly and leave just as fast. So, no worries about anything, young lady. You’ve provided us with the most entertaining dinner we’ve had here in quite some time.”
Imogene didn’t take any offense to his words. It was hard to find anything wrong with a thing that the Hampton’s did. They were such a sweet couple and if one day she decided to find someone to marry, she would want a relationship like they had.
“I was hoping, now that it’s just the five of us left-”
Imogene frowned and leaned forward to look down the table. Two of the men were quietly walking up the stairs to their rooms, but there was one more gentleman at the end of the table. Mr. Bidley, a gentleman far into his seventies, was fast asleep with his chin resting on his chest, his breath waving the edge of this napkin with every exhale.
Sitting back, she smiled at the small assembled group. “Yes?”
Mr. Hampton shared a smile with his wife and continued with his wife’s question. “You actually spoke to Silas?”
“Yes, I did.” She smiled and picked up her knife and fork and began to cut her roast into bite-sized pieces. “I wonder why everyone thinks it’s such an odd concept.”
Mr. Laughlin held his coffee cup in his hands, warming them. “I’ve been here in Bower just about as long as the Hamptons have,” he explained, “and sooner or later folks tend to warm up to the others. Now,” he held out a hand as if he knew that Imogene was about to jump to the defense of the printer, “I am not saying anything contrary about Silas. He is a fine gentleman. He doesn’t speak ill of others. He doesn’t grumble or complain. He just doesn’t speak.”
“Now, Mr. Laughlin,” her tone was soft and cajoling, but it was Mrs. Hampton that stopped them both.
“It’s true, Imogene. We all like Silas. He’s a fine man and a good neighbor, he just doesn’t take much time or interest in conversing with other people. That’s not a criticism, just an observation.”
Her cheeks flushing with an unnamed emotion, she ducked her head to place a bit of roast between her teeth and began to chew. The conversation around her continued on and she interjected when she could, but her thoughts were fairly focused on one main thought. Mr. Silas Hix. He was quite reserved when she had first entered the print shop, but during her short visit they had managed a conversation.
And that, added a little more heat to the color on her cheeks.
She’d tried to ignore the admiration that she’d felt for Mr. Hix while she had been in his presence, but she couldn’t help the pang of pride she felt in the area about her heart that he had spoken to her while he generally avoided conversations with others.
What did that mean, she wondered? Had he enjoyed the conversation with her as much as she had enjoyed spending time with him?
It gave her a new thrill and a new worry.
Now that she had spent time with him, how could she now reveal that she had been one of the people interested in working for him?
Would he see the telegraphs as a lie of some sort?
The guilt she felt inside spoke volumes. If she saw it as a deception, how could he not feel the same way?
A soft touch at her shoulder turned her head. Mrs. Hampton stood beside her looking down with a gentle smile. “Would you like an apple dumpling for dessert?”
Her belly ached, for she really did love apple dumplings as much as any other sweet, delicious treat. “I don’t think I have room.” She looked down at her plate, the few pieces of food that were left from the tiny servings she’d managed during the odd inquisition during the meal and found that she really wasn’t all that hungry. “If you wouldn’t mind. I’ll finish this and then help you with the dishes.”
She saw Mrs. Hampton’s smiling shake of her head. “You’ll do no such thing. Finish your meal. If you’d like more, all you have to do is ask, but you need to get some rest, my dear. Tomorrow will be full of many opportunities. You’ll want to rest tonight and make the most of the morning.”
It gave Imogene hope. She had three dear friends already in Bower. The Hamptons and Mr. Laughlin made her smile and gave her comfort. It was a good start and she had a plan to write a letter home before she closed her eyes. She really did miss her sisters and Madam. She wanted to let them know that things were… progressing. That would do for now.
Chapter 5
For Silas Hix, every morning started the same as every other morning.
Normally.
Well, usually.
But not that very day.
The morning had begun with a smile, something he didn’t normally find until much later in the day. He was a man who took pride in his work. When it went well, he felt the normally taut muscles of his face begin to relax and when it was sufficiently so, he would smile and feel as if the expression had been earned.
And yet that morning, he’d awaken to a smile. Why?
He wouldn’t give it a name.
Couldn’t give her a name.
The thought had staggered him and left him abed longer than usual.
Even when he’d managed to get up on his feet and wash and dress in the stark chill of his bedroom, he found his thoughts drifting to the day before.
Miss Imogene Wigg.
Goodness.
Even her name was lovely.
Imogene, likely of a Celtic origin. If he remembered correctly, the meaning of her name was maiden. Even the Bard had used a version of it as the heroine in Cymbeline, Imogen.
And yet the added letter made him smile, made him want to see the name in type. Imogene.
Even the frigid water in the pitcher of his wash stand could do little to quench the warmth he felt when he thought of her name.
Of her delicate face.
Affixing his suspenders to the waistband of his pants, he pulled them over his shoulders and bent down to push his feet into his shoes.
The Brogans had been stiff and straight when he’d picked them out in St. Joseph and had pinched his feet in odd places while he wore them down. Now, they slipped on easily, even over the double layers of socks that he wore. Still, his fingers fumbled a bit with the laces, for they were still cold.
Downstairs, it took precious time for the coffee to brew, long enough that he always kept a second pot on the stove with plain water, enough to pour a cup when it was warm enough to pour into his belly.
And even that hadn’t happened before the bell above the door sounded. A bell that he hadn’t added until the night before.
He’d hoped to hear it and see Imogene, Miss Wigg he corrected himself, sometime during this new day. The noise would alert him to her presence, but when he turned, the visage he saw in the doorway only made him groan inwardly.
“Good to see you too, Silas.”
He wanted to tell the irritating man that his name was Mister Hix, but he let it go. The faster he said what he had to say, the faster he could go.
“Well, last night I spent the most amazing evening meal with the Hamptons.”
Silas raised a brow.
“I’m sure you know that Mrs. Hampton sets the best table in Bower.”
Again, silence in reply.
“And as Miss Wigg is staying there, we had a delightful conversation during the meal.”
The heart that had been quietly pulsing in his chest tightened and slowed. Miss Wigg.
Appleton Winslet had supper with Miss Wigg.
“Imagine my surprise,” he chortled, his mouth barely above the fur collar of his coat, “when she told the table that you were all but running off at the mouth. What did you do, Silas? Did you finally loosen up the bolt at your throat and speak? I wonder what topic of conversation that you subjected the poor woman to
? Anyway,” he waved a gloved hand as if he was clearing the air about his face, “I’ve decided to reward your hospitable behavior with a job.”
Silas was still trying to wrap his mind around the words that Appleton had been bandying about. What had Imogene… Miss Wigg said at supper? He couldn’t believe that she had said something rude or callous about him.
He knew Appleton’s haughty character and hoped that it was merely his own colorful way of speaking that was trying to put such an odd tone on her words.
“Here.” Pulling a paper from the inside of his coat, Appleton held it out and wiggled it about when Silas didn’t immediately step forward and claim it. “I need you to print this.”
Forcing his feet to move, Silas advanced and reached out for the paper only to have Appleton jerk it away from his fingers.
Setting his jaw together, Silas lifted his gaze to the other man’s face and waited.
“As long as we understand,” Appleton’s eyes were shining bright with humor, “that you won’t subject Miss Wigg to more of your dithering should she somehow lose her way and stop by your,” he looked around him as if he worried something might fall onto his fancy coat, “little establishment.”
Silas narrowed his eyes at the other man. “You don’t want me to talk to her?”
Appleton looked affronted by the suggestion. “I said nothing of the kind. I merely made the suggestion that you don’t force her to remain here if you feel the need to blather on about one topic or another. You surely can’t believe that she would stay here of her own free will. She’s merely displaying fine manners and a gentle heart.
“Men of our ilk shouldn’t abuse that.”
“Men of our ilk?” Silas parroted. “Did you just insinuate that we’re the same?”
Appleton’s smile was a little twisted at the corners. “You’ll get there some day. It takes work.” Holding out the paper again, he cleared his throat. “I’ll expect to pick this up at the end of my business day.” He looked at the clock. “Five on the dot, eh, Silas?”
Silas held out his hand and nodded. “How many?”
Looking up into the rafters, he gave Silas the impression that he hadn’t put any real thought into this job. “Fifty. I may decide to send some to my fellow attorneys in larger towns. You never know, Silas. This could be the beginning of a profitable relationship for you.”
Profitable? Naming his price, the same price he’d charged Appleton before, he saw the sneer of distaste on the attorney’s face.
“I thought you would give me some consideration,” he shrugged, “as I am bringing you my business.”
Silas smiled, his best hospitable expression affixed in place. “That’s the odd thing about business. There’s a price for doing it.”
Appleton’s expression only tightened. “How strange. You finally learn to talk and everything I hear is grating on my ears.”
“Well,” Silas took hold of the paper and looked down at the words on it, “if you’d like those pages by five, then I should start immediately.”
He kept his gaze trained on the paper, pretending to read the words intently until he heard Appleton’s retreating steps and the clang of the bell above the door.
With a sigh, he realized that his coffee had likely over brewed by then. He walked the paper over to the open desk beside the type cases and set it down, adding a weight down on top of it to keep it in place.
Sighing, he looked up at the clock. He already had his hands full with work. Jobs that were in place well before Appleton had arrived in his shop, but business was just that. It needed to be done, well and on time if he wanted to make a go of his shop.
And while he appreciated the work that had just been handed to him, he realized that Appleton had another alternative reason for bringing him the job.
Mentioning having supper at the Hamptons the night before. Mentioning Imogene specifically. How did Appleton know that he would take a liking to Imogene?
Shaking his head, he ground his back teeth together. Of course Appleton would know. Imogene was lovely, but more importantly, she was intelligent.
Focus, he chided himself. He was here to work, not to hem and haw over a woman, no matter how lovely.
Crossing to the stove at the center of the room, he reached for the handle on the coffee pot and hissed, nearly dropping the whole pot to the ground.
Cloth. He’d forgotten to use a cloth, further proof that he wasn’t focused on what was before him.
The bell above the door rang and he braced himself. With his luck it would be Appleton making a return visit to withdraw the job.
“Mr. Hix?”
The burns on his fingers failed to hurt any longer and the aching thirst in his belly seemed to disappear.
“Miss Wigg?” Stepping away from the stove he looked toward the front of the room and saw her peeking in through the half-open door. “Is something wrong?”
She turned to look over her shoulder and then back into the room at him. “Was that Mr. Winslet that was just in here?”
He felt a slight twist in his belly. “Yes, Miss Wigg. If you’d like to catch up to him, he’s likely headed back to his office.”
Stepping all the way inside the shop she closed the door securely behind her. “No, sorry. I just wanted to make sure that was him leaving.” Cringing she gave him a half-smile. “Please don’t think the worst of me for avoiding him, but he made last night’s dinner very… uncomfortable for me. So, while I’m ashamed to say it, I wanted to avoid another run-in if possible.”
Smiling at her, he gestured to his office. “I’d say you’re safe in here until five this evening.” Gesturing to the far desk he sighed. “He just dropped off a job for me to print and that is when he says he will be back to pick it up.”
“Oh?” She brightened a little and took a few steps closer to the desk and craned her neck to look at the paper. “It looks like the text is fairly long.”
He followed her eyes and nodded. “It looks like I’ll be busy for most of the day trying to set the type.” Looking down at his hands he sighed. “Irony is being born with a love for the printed word and growing up to have hands too big to set the type. I’ve considered using tweezers to grasp the type, I ordered them from St. Joseph and then promptly squeezed a bit too hard and flung a lower case ‘y’ across the room.”
He heard her soft gasp of shock and when he turned to look at her, he saw her shoulders shaking with laughter. The gesture only drew his gaze to the halo of light that the rising sun created around her head.
It was safe to say she took his breath away.
“Did you find the letter?”
He watched her lips and knew she was speaking but the rush of his blood was pulsing through his ears and he found himself unable to hear her voice. Blinking at her, as if it would help, he asked her to repeat her words.
Stepping closer she paused just a foot or two away from him and he was sure she rose up on the front of her boots.
“Did you find it? The letter ‘y’?”
Oh. That’s what she said.
Shaking his head, he sighed. “I’m fairly sure that it fell between some floorboards. There might be a mouse or other creature that has taken it home to decorate for his missus.”
She laughed and clapped her hands together, making a soft dull sound since she still had her gloves on. “That’s a sweet, romantic thought, Mr. Hix.”
The words, now that he could hear them clearly, were as shocking to his system as the cold slap of air when he ventured outside during the winter months. “It is?”
“Of course,” she smiled at him as she removed her gloves, tucking them into her coat pocket, “most would talk of killing the creatures, but you gave them a life of their own. A wife, maybe even a family. What a delightful idea.”
“If you think so,” his smile was hesitant. “I wouldn’t think myself a romantic given the monotonous nature of my work.”
He moved toward the stove.
She followed behind him and he found
himself glad of it.
“I would think what you do with your hands and what you do with your mind can be separate things.”
He lifted a second cup from a hook along the side of the stove top and gestured toward the coffee pot. When she smiled and nodded quickly, he smiled and poured a cup for each of them. “I can see what you’re saying,” he agreed, “there are times when I’m operating the press and my mind wanders.”
Imogene took the cup he offered her and she smiled as she blew over the top of the cup, keeping her eyes on the floor.
When he set the pot back on the stove, he also blew over the top of his cup and waited for her to look at him.
And waited.
Smiling at the top of her head, he took a sip. “Something funny?”
He saw the tremor of her shoulders, but only heard her soft laughter when she looked up at him.
“Have you ever seen women at a sewing bee?”
Pursing his lips together for a moment, he shook his head. “Not that I can recall.”
Giving him a knowing grin, she took a sip and sighed at the taste. “If you had, you’d know. A whole group of women sewing and talking all at the same time. Sometimes we’d have several different conversations at the same time. Madam would just shake her head at us and when the noise became too much,” Imogene leaned closer and whispered to him as if trying to keep the information just between the two of them, “she’d stuff cotton into her ears.”
Silas laughed and startled at the sound. He hadn’t laughed so loud in… well, he hadn’t ever laughed so loud. Spending time with Imogene was becoming a lesson in new experiences for him.
The clock on the wall chimed and he looked up at it with more than a hint of despair.
Before he could look at her, he heard her voice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be keeping you from your work.”
He heard a hesitation in her voice and wondered what it was.
“Is there something you need of me, Miss Wigg? Please let me know, I would be happy to help you.”
Silas watched as she looked over to the desk and he wasn’t sure, but he sensed a hesitation in her movements.
