Summer Holiday

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “I am on an errand for my aunt.” She twisted the drawstring bag hanging from her wrist, looking at him fleetingly. “My aunt wishes to know, on behalf of the Ladies’ Aid Society, how the Evans and Post families are faring.”

  “Of course. Won’t you be seated?” Grant motioned to a chair near the desk.

  “Thank you.” Her discomfort was palpable, yet somehow reassuring. There was no anger in her posture or tone, but neither was there the stark indifference he’d felt in the earliest days of her sojourn in Wilkington.

  Something had changed between them. He didn’t have a word for it—not yet—but his heart began to hope. Perhaps there was now a foundation upon which he might build a new connection.

  His first inclination was to return to his usual seat behind the desk, but he thought better of it. He sat, instead, in the chair beside hers. She didn’t object.

  “The Evans family is in a new house, one without a leaking roof.” The Ladies’ Aid Society had been instrumental in that arrangement, so that likely was not what Miss Chadwick had sent her niece to discover. “Mr. Post has been reassigned to an area of the mill that allows him to keep hours that are the same as his daughters’. That has eliminated the difficulty of his little ones being alone so much of the day.” He had reported that to Mrs. Garold. “I confess, I’m not certain what to tell you that the Society doesn’t already know. I don’t wish to waste your time.”

  She smiled, hesitantly but sincerely. “Outside of this one errand, my time is my own today. Even if I accomplish nothing, I find myself quite pleased at this newfound freedom to choose how I spend my day. I never had that luxury in Rafton.”

  “Ladies are seldom afforded that luxury anywhere, though the factory towns are less strict about such things.”

  “My parents would be horrified.” Yet amusement lit Carina’s face. “They are not in favor of me having any degree of independence.”

  “Have things been difficult at home? In Rafton, I mean?”

  She nodded. “Increasingly so.”

  “Perhaps—” He was taking a great risk. “Perhaps your aunt would allow you to remain after the summer is out.”

  “I believe she would.” Carina nodded in thought. “I hope she would. I have so enjoyed being here, not merely because I can choose how I spend my days, but also because I like living with her, learning about her life, and becoming a friend of sorts.”

  Hope expanded quickly and painfully in his chest. “You would consider staying here? In Wilkington, I mean.”

  “Returning to Rafton would mean living with my parents’ unending disapproval or choosing a life with Mr. Baskon—neither of which would be the least pleasant.”

  She did see Baskon for the cad he was. That was a relief.

  “Wilkington is beautiful in the autumn,” he said. “It would be a shame if you were not here to see it.”

  Carina did not look at him. “Miss Beaumont might disagree with you.”

  “Oh, no. I am certain she feels the same way about autumn.”

  That earned him a well-loved smile. “You are teasing me.” Her dark eyes turned up to him.

  “Oh, no, Miss Herrick. I never jest while at the mill.”

  The stiffness of her posture had given way to greater ease. Her tone softened as well. “You told me in one of your letters that being a man of business required you to be ceaselessly somber. I struggled to even picture it.”

  “That was a miserable time.” He propped his elbow on the arm of his chair, leaning the side of his head against his upturned fist. “My time was not my own. I hadn’t the freedom to be the person I truly was. I sometimes felt like I didn’t even have myself for company.”

  She offered him a look of commiseration. “We’ve neither of us had an easy few years, have we?”

  “No, we haven’t.” Grant hoped she could hear his sincerity. “I remember in Rafton, when either of us would be upset or struggling with something, the other would listen and offer support and empathy. How I’ve missed that. There is such hope in simply knowing one is not suffering entirely alone.”

  “I have missed that as well.” There was yet some hesitancy in her eyes, but less of it. Less wariness. Less uncertainty.

  Still, instinct told him to tread lightly. “I wish I had something more for you to report to the Ladies’ Aid Society. My role in the two families’ recovery has been minimal.”

  Grant kept his gaze and posture more casual than he felt, afraid if he pressed the matter at all, she’d pull away again.

  “Perhaps my aunt sent me as a spy.” Carina smiled at her own suggestion. “She invests in businesses, you know.”

  “I do know that.” He shifted in his chair, closing the gap between them conspiratorially. “Perhaps I should recruit you as a spy for your aunt. You could tell her how impressed you are with the way everything is run here, that the bookkeeper—the man who showed you in—is very efficient.”

  Amusement tugged at her features. “I did not see any of his books.”

  “He showed you in efficiently. You needn’t elaborate.”

  “What else am I to tell my aunt?” Laughter touched her words.

  He’d begun this bit of distraction as a means of having a light conversation but took it up in greater earnest. It was not her aunt’s approval he found himself wishing for, but hers.

  “You could tell her that we are turning a profit, though not an enormous one. Further, that I recognize most workers do not enjoy their employment in a factory, but I have done what I can to ensure their safety and well-being. I have installed the most recent developments in air circulation to make the heat and fibrousness of the air bearable. I invest in the upkeep of the machines and engines so they are as safe as possible. I have limited the hours children are permitted to work. I provide a meal for the workers during the day; it isn’t elaborate, but it is filling and, in far too many instances, very much needed.”

  “Do not all factory owners do as much?” It was precisely the sort of question he had so fully misunderstood five years earlier. She was not dismissing his information or brushing it off with only vague interest. Her voice rang with curiosity. If only he’d been able to hear her ask these things in person.

  “No, they do not,” he answered. “My uncle is not entirely convinced that my approach is a good one. It does cut in to the factory’s profits.”

  “Why pursue it, then?”

  He adjusted his position, facing her more fully. “From a strictly business viewpoint, there is economic benefit to workers who are healthy and not resentful of the work they do. They work more efficiently, and we retain workers, which saves us the cost and inconvenience of finding and training replacements.”

  Carina did not appear fully satisfied with the answer.

  “From a more personal viewpoint, however,” he continued, “I think of families like the Evanses and Posts, and, though I have never lived in the degree of want and struggle that they do, I cannot escape the fact that they are every bit as human as I am. Were I in their shoes, I would want the man I worked for to make my working conditions bearable. I cannot do everything that they might wish me to, but I can do something.”

  “I have heard a rumor that you are not an ogre,” she said. “I find the rumor a little suspect, though, considering you are the one who started it.”

  “My being the source of the story does not make it untrue.”

  “Indeed.” Her gaze dropped to her hands folded in her lap. “I find myself suspecting the story is true.”

  If ever he’d received a welcomer compliment, he could not recall it. “You, then, will be making a favorable report of me?”

  “I suspect I will.” She looked at him once more, her gaze uncertain, but hopeful.

  “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that,” he said.

  Color stained her cheeks. She stood.

  He rose as well. “Until we meet again, Miss Herrick.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  For his part, Grant mo
re than looked forward to seeing her again. He meant to plan for it and be ready. She would, at the very least, be staying through the summer. He, then, had mere weeks to show her that all was not lost between them, that Wilkington could offer her more than just the beauty of nature and the pleasure of her aunt’s company.

  He had mere weeks to attempt to find a place once more in her heart.

  * * *

  Grant arrived at Chadwick House the next evening with a small handful of wildflowers and a growing nervousness. He had no idea how he would be received. He did not know at what time the ladies of the house took their evening meal, but, with his responsibilities at the mill, he could not possibly have come sooner. He only hoped his timing proved appropriate.

  The butler eyed Grant’s flowers, then offered a knowing smile. The staff had been surprisingly personable on his last visit as well. It seemed to simply be their way.

  “Miss Chadwick is just in here,” the butler said, motioning to the drawing room.

  Grant stepped inside. He offered a bow to Miss Chadwick.

  He’d not said a single word when Miss Chadwick spoke. “She’s in the east garden.”

  “I am so transparent, am I?”

  “Yes. Quite.” Miss Chadwick eyed his flowers. “I believe she will appreciate your offering.”

  “I do hope so.”

  “She told me you confessed to the stupidity that led to your separation, that you misunderstood her letters and had not the fortitude to approach her in person.” The observation was not a flattering one, yet her tone spoke of approval. “I like that you admitted your mistakes, that you didn’t try to reassign the blame or wriggle out of it. She deserves to know that she didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “For too many years, I let myself think she had. That was easier than admitting to myself that I’d ruined everything.”

  Miss Chadwick’s expression turned almost maternal. “Misunderstandings occur often enough, and fate does not always allow us to see them in time. You, however, have a chance.”

  He squared his shoulders. “One I do not mean to waste.”

  “Very good.” She pointed a slightly crooked finger in his direction. “She’s less jumpy when you’re about than she was when she first arrived, and she no longer wears that look of worry whenever you’re mentioned. Now’s the time to build on that thin foundation. Show her you’ve grown. Show her you’re to be trusted.”

  “I will try.”

  “And, whatever you do, show her you care, that your feelings are tender. A lady needs to know that, or she will never feel safe embracing those same feelings in herself.”

  “We are both taking a risk pursuing this possibility,” he acknowledged. “But it’s one I ought to have taken five years ago.”

  She smiled, her face tucking into pleasant and happy wrinkles. “And one you ought not put off. The east garden. Off with you.”

  He sketched a quick bow and hurried away. If he had even the smallest chance of regaining Carina’s favor, he would not waste a single moment.

  Chapter Ten

  Carina had developed a particular fondness for the small pond on the east end of the Chadwick House grounds. The trickle of water and chatter of distant songbirds, coupled with the pleasant shade of tall oak trees rendered the spot nearly perfect. It was her place of solace and peace. She stood there as the evening wore on, her mind returning to her visit with Grant the previous morning.

  She had been fairly quaking with nervousness when her aunt had sent her to receive the report. How was she to endure the undertaking, she asked herself, if Grant proved unkind or angry at her sharp words at the Garolds’ garden party? What if he returned to his earlier indifference?

  But he had, instead, been attentive and kind and charming. She saw in him the Grant she remembered from those idyllic months five years earlier, the Grant she could so easily love again, the Grant who broke her heart.

  Did she dare trust him?

  As if fate meant to require an answer of her, she spied him walking up the path toward her. The moment painfully paralleled his last afternoon in Rafton when she stood in their spot, watching him approach, heart soaring with possibilities. This time, she watched him with uncertainty and a fragile thread of hope.

  The years had changed his stride. He’d once trod the streets of Rafton and the footpaths of the surrounding countryside with a bouncy, jaunty step. He now moved with focus and purpose. Truth be told, she sensed the same change in herself. Maturity and experience had exercised their mutual influence to ground her a bit more, but she was not unhappy or pessimistic. She hoped the same could be said of him.

  “Carina.” He offered a friendly bow as he reached her. “Your aunt told me I could find you here. I hope you do not mind the interruption.”

  She eyed the wildflowers in his hand—yellow and orange blooms. “Tell me the flowers are for me and I might forgive you.”

  Oh, his laugh. That had not changed. Neither had her heart’s warm response to hearing it. “They are, indeed, for you. I hoped you might appreciate them.”

  He held the bouquet out to her, and she accepted it. “I believe wildflowers are my favorite thing about summer.” The flowers held only the lightest fragrance, yet she liked them better for it. The subtlety of their scent only enhanced the intensity of their color.

  “Living in Wilkington has taught me to value berries as part of summer,” he said. “The townspeople hold a festival each year celebrating the berry harvest. It was one of my earliest introductions to the place upon arriving a year ago. I look forward to it again this year.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “I hope—” He swallowed audibly. “I wonder if I might be permitted to accompany you to the various vendors’ booths during the festival. If you would like to, of course.”

  Her pulse pounded in her neck. Heavens, she was nervous. “I would appreciate an experienced guide during the festival.” She meant the remark to be witty, but it emerged nothing short of awkward.

  His countenance fell. “Your aunt has greater experience with the festival than I do.”

  “Yes, but she did not bring me flowers.”

  That brought his eyes back to hers and a hint of a smile back to his face. “No, she didn’t.”

  “Would you mind if we walked for a bit?” She hoped moving would make her fretting less obvious.

  “I would not mind in the least,” he said. “I have always enjoyed outings with you.”

  Her mind flooded with memories. “We did a great deal of walking, didn’t we? The way I talked your ear off about plants and trees and vistas. You no doubt longed for winter simply to stop my ceaseless prattle.”

  “I thought nothing of the sort.” He spoke gently, fondly. “I would have walked through a blizzard for the joy of your company.”

  She felt heat steal over her cheeks. “I take leave to doubt that.”

  “And I take leave to prove the truth of my statement. The next time we have a blizzard, you and I are going for a walk.”

  They slowly meandered along the edge of the pond, a light breeze rustling branches and flower stems. Summer was winding to its conclusion, yet autumn had not yet claimed the landscape. The air was cool without being cold. The sky was soft. The birds were singing lightly in the distance. Everything about the setting evening was perfect for a leisurely walk.

  “Chadwick House boasts a great many gardens,” Grant said. “That must please you to no end.”

  She smiled at that. “You, of all people, know the depths of my love for flora.”

  “I worried about that when I first reached Preston,” he said. “The only accommodation I could afford was a small flat tucked into the most crowded part of the city. Hardly a blade of grass to be seen for miles, let alone trees and shrubs. I couldn’t imagine you being anything but disappointed by that.”

  He must not have given up on her too quickly for him to think of such specific concerns.

  “So much about my situation then was not at all wh
at we dreamed of,” he continued. “You would likely have been miserable.”

  “You mistook my priorities, Grant Ambrose,” she said, but not unkindly. His concern for her was touching. “I had all the trees and meadows and open spaces I could possibly have hoped for in Rafton, but it was not what I wished for most.”

  “And I had every opportunity to grow as a man of business and a future captain of industry, but it was not what I wished for most.”

  They had both suffered needlessly. The misunderstanding that kept them apart could have been avoided so easily. A visit. A letter. A single question.

  Grant stopped walking and took a deep breath. His eyes met and held hers, a plea in their depths, hope and fear.

  “Have I any chance, Carina, of beginning again? I do not presume to be in a position of reclaiming your affections to the degree I once had them—heaven knows I forfeited that right—but not having you in my life has left a void nothing has been able to fill. To have even your friendship would be a blessing beyond anything I’ve let myself hope for these past five years.”

  A void. How well she knew that feeling, yet the idea of fully loving him again worried her. Could she trust him enough to allow the possibility of a friendship between them? There was still a risk there, but a far more calculated one.

  “I—” Her courage almost failed her, but she rallied. “I would like to try being friends.”

  A look of palpable relief slid over his features. She hadn’t realized how much tension filled his frame until it dissipated.

  “Thank you, Carina,” he said. “Thank you for having faith in me—the first vestiges of it, at least.”

  The idea of treading this slippery slope with him ought to have caused her more consternation than it did. Instead, she felt . . . hopeful.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carina found herself anxiously anticipating Wilkington’s festival at the beginning of July to mark the berry harvest. Though industrialization had ended much of the agricultural pursuits thereabout, most homes still grew berries of one kind of another, and the tradition lived on. She accompanied Aunt Chadwick to the celebration, eager to be part of something so important to the people in this town of which she was growing so fond.