She sighed, comfortable with him again. “Tell me about your trip. You were gone longer than I expected.”
“Longer than I expected, too. My bed was narrow and uncomfortable and I’m pretty sure I shared it with numerous types of vermin. I visited the bathhouse as soon as I arrived back in Tarnation.”
“That sounds like an unpleasant trip. Was the court session as difficult?”
“The trial was cut-and-dried. Everyone knew the men were guilty, but the court needed proof. Not only did the men steal some of the soldiers’ guns and personal effects, but they had kept some of the gold with them.”
“I suppose you’ve written your article by now.”
“Ready to set in type but, frankly, I’m exhausted. I plan to take an hour or so this afternoon to read this.” He held up a copy of Frank Leslie’s Magazine. “It includes an article by one of my favorite writers.”
Good thing she’d finished eating or she would have choked. “Oh, who is that?”
Grant tapped the cover. “L. S. Trueharte. The man writes in a way that lets the readers experience the events he describes. Have you read anything by him?”
Lorraine smiled as sweetly as she could. She longed to tell Grant who had written those stories but she doubted if he’d believe her. Later, perhaps she could do so since they were working together. Now wasn’t the right time.
“Oh, I’ve read everything Trueharte’s written.”
Chapter Nine
In the newspaper office two weeks later, Grant set type while Lorraine sat at her desk. Having her here each day was still new but he enjoyed having her nearby. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
Why was the air stifling? He wished there was a window he could raise to create a breeze but the large plate glass window in front didn’t open. The morning’s light had dimmed and that annoyed him.
Lorraine had been entering figures into a ledger but raised her head. “Grant? Look out the window.”
“What?” When he looked out, dark sky greeted him. “Oh, this isn’t good.”
A bolt of lightning struck nearby and reverberating thunder shook the building’s window. Rain beat against the roof.
Opening the door, he stepped into the opening. “Hard to see through the rain, but we need to prepare for the worst.”
Her face paled and her green eyes widened. “Wh-What would that be?”
In another flash of lightning, he spotted the tail of a funnel headed their way. He shut the door and faced her. He didn’t want to frighten her, but they had to move quickly.
“Tornado’s coming.” He scanned the interior and made a decision. “Crawl into the kneehole of my desk. That’s the safest place for you.”
She stood but didn’t move toward his office. “What about you?”
Stubborn woman! “Lorraine, please don’t fight me on this. My desk is much stronger and larger than yours. I don’t know what a tornado would do to this building.”
He gestured to the walls. “Bricks could fall inward should the walls crumble.” He pointed upward. “Beams from the roof might come down.”
She extended her trembling hand. “Come with me, please.”
He guessed from her shaking fingers she needed comfort from him. “If we can both fit, but hurry.”
She slid in with her knees tucked up to her chin. “If you face me, then there’ll be enough room for your broad shoulders.”
He wriggled into the space as the storm intensified. He didn’t want to show her how frightened he was. This newspaper represented his savings and years of sweat building his customers. Could he start all over again? Yes, but the thought of doing so exhausted him.
Lorraine hugged her knees, as if trying to close out the storm’s sounds. “How can you be calm? A tornado could destroy Tarnation and harm or kill its citizens—our friends.”
Guilt slapped him. He’d been thinking of himself and forgot each person in town had as much at stake. Many homes were hastily constructed and hardly strong enough to withstand fierce winds, much less a tornado. He prayed the funnel would miss the town.
Grant inched his shoulders further to get them inside the kneehole.
He needed to distract her to quell her shaking. “Tell me more about yourself. What kind of books do you enjoy?”
She jumped at the sound of another lightning strike. “I know what you’re doing, but I’ll go along with that plan. I especially enjoy Charles Dickens, Charlotte Brontë, Victor Hugo, Louisa Mae Alcott, Mark Twain, and Alexandre Dumas. Being cramped in here reminds me of Jules Verne and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea.”
“Hmm, more like the close quarters of his Five Weeks in a Balloon, don’t you agree?”
He took hold of her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “No point being afraid, Lorraine. We’ve done everything we can to protect ourselves and worry won’t change a thing. Right now, I think we’ll be safe.”
She rested her head on her knees again. “I can’t help wondering about others in town, especially the elderly.”
He wished he could cuddle and comfort her but the space didn’t allow that. He skimmed his hands along her arms. Even through her clothing, he sensed the warmth of her skin.
“Did people where you’re from have cellars for storms?”
“Some, but they can be flooded.”
“Most people here have one or a dugout for shelter in a storm like this. Most even have a bed there in case the storm happens at night. Judge Hunter’s wife is terrified of storms and they go to their cellar practically every time a dark cloud is visible. The Jacksons are the same.”
She raised her head and her green eyes were wide. “Do people let neighbors join them in their cellar?”
“No one ever locks a cellar door. But, like I said, most people have their own place. Lydia has a basement, or so I’ve heard. When we have hail, getting outside to go to a dugout is uncomfortable. Mrs. Eppes said she puts a dishpan over her head.”
“Do you have a place to go?”
“At my house, for all the good it’s doing me now. Guess I need one behind the shop.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think you should dig a cellar so near the privy.”
In spite of the seriousness of their situation, he smiled. “You have a valid point but I’d choose the spot carefully. Come to think of it, some of us should get together and dig a large cellar at each end of the business area.”
The weather changed to suffocating and sultry and stole air from the room. He couldn’t inhale deeply enough to be comfortable and Lorraine gasped for breath. Saying a prayer, he held her shoulders and urged her to rest her head on her knees. What if the tornado hit this building? No structure could withstand a direct strike.
She raised her head and licked her dry lips. “Grant, I should explain something.”
He couldn’t let another second pass before he told her his feelings. His mouth was near her ear. “Lorraine, i-if anything happens to me, I want you to know I’ve developed strong feelings for you. Is there any chance you might share my regard?”
A sheen of moisture lurked in her beautiful emerald eyes. “Yes, I’ve developed affection for you.” She grabbed his arms. “Oh, Grant, please reassure me we aren’t going to die.”
Both front and back doors popped open at the same time a horrifying noise roared overhead. Grant cradled her as much as he could in the crowded space. Rain and continued to pelt the building and wind howled but thunder grew more distant.
After a few minutes, he decided they were no longer in danger. He stretched his cramped body, amazed he’d been able to squeeze in with her.
He bent to take her hand. “The tornado passed over. I wonder if anyone in town has sustained serious damage.”
She let him help her to her feet. “The rain’s almost stopped.”
He glanced out the back to see the outhouse on its side and shut the door. He’d deal with the latrine later.
“Let’s go to the front and check.” Doors popping open meant the tornad
o had been close. Damage somewhere in town was a certainty.
When they stood on what passed for a porch, debris littered the street. Clinton Lyons’ barber shop sign lay broken in the mud. The cover over the boardwalk in front of the mercantile sagged on one corner where a post had been ripped away. Up and down the street townsfolk clustered to talk about the storm and assess damage.
Lorraine laid a hand on his arm. “You’re certain Lydia’s home has a basement?”
“Yes, and she keeps it tidy and stocked with food. I’m surprised you didn’t have occasion to go down there for supplies.”
“Are you going to inspect your home?”
“Reckon I’d better. Would you care to accompany me?” He’d wanted to show her his house, but he’d planned a more pleasant reason.
“That would mean closing the office.”
“Sweetheart, no one will be coming to place an advertisement today. A walk to my house will give us a chance to view damage in town. I’ll take notes for an article.”
“Certainly that will be your lead article for the next edition.”
He stepped inside long enough to collect his notebook and pencils. She flipped the sign to Closed. After locking the door, he offered her his arm.
She shook her head. “You’ll need to take notes. If Mr. Lyons’ sign blew away and the mercantile’s walkway cover is damaged, there’s bound to be a lot more.”
The preacher strode toward them. “Steeple blew off the church but no other damage there except a few shingles. Parsonage is fine. Angeline and I split up to check on our congregation. I’m on my way to Mrs. Eppes.”
Lorraine nodded. “I hope she’s all right. Where’s Angeline going?”
“She and Matthew are going to Mrs. Arrenton’s.” He stopped and a horrified expression crossed his face. “Forgive me—I should have gone there instead of Angeline. Molly Arrenton has a bad heart.” He pivoted and jogged down the street.
Grant waffled. “Perhaps we should check on Mrs. Eppes.”
“Josephine is close to her and I’m sure she’ll check. I worry about Zane’s guards. Their houses aren’t sheltered by any other structures.”
“There’s a dugout under the warehouse. Not a real cellar, but the land sloped and they rocked in the low end to form protection.” As he spoke he wrote his observations in his notebook.
“Then let’s go toward your home.”
He strolled slowly, writing down any damage he spotted. Nothing major so far. He offered God a prayer of gratitude the town had been spared.
As if echoing his thoughts, Lorraine said, “Thank the Good Lord, there isn’t more destruction. Still, it reminds me of when I was a girl in the war.”
“Your area was hit hard. Did you lose your home?”
“No, but many of our friends did. Our town was missed by Sheridan and Virginia’s major battles. We heard cannons and had things stolen by deserters, but escaped most of the destruction.”
“Did you continue in school?”
She shook her head, remembering how much she’d missed her friends. “Mother taught me at home during the war. I had to stay inside the house in case there were stray men lurking. I’ll admit I was often frightened.”
“With good cause.” He stopped in front of the Hill’s home, where their fence remained intact. The houses on either side had fences with portions knocked flat.
“I’m glad Zillah and Ken don’t appear to have damage. I don’t know who lives on either side of them.”
Seeing the destroyed fences spurred him forward. “I’m in the next block. Have you been to Zane’s?”
“No. Rachel hosts our teas in the freight office when he’s out of town. He insisted he doesn’t mind.”
“Frankly, he’d let her do anything to keep her linked to him. He fell hard when he met her.”
“That’s nice because she fell hard, too. Oh, I shouldn’t tell you that since you know him so well. Takes away from the mystique.”
Mrs. Querado walked around Zane’s yard. “Hello, Señor Pettigrew. I think Señor Evans, he has nothing broken except a few tree branches.”
“Great to know. Would you mind coming with us so I can show Miss Stuart my home? I want to check for damage at my place but don’t want to sully her reputation.” As he spoke, he scanned his house’s roof and yard.
“Of course.” She exited through the gate then extended her hand to Lorraine. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Stuart. I’m Juanita Querado but please to call me Juanita.” She joined them as they headed for his home.
“Thank you for coming with us, Juanita. You must call me Lorraine. Rachel has mentioned how much Mr. Evans appreciates your help.”
A smile graced Juanita’s face. “Ah, I’m glad Señor Evans, he has the cellar in the back yard and I went there. The noise, it was so loud I thought the tornado would flatten our town.”
Grant gestured toward his front door. “After we check my house, I’ll continue walking over the town. There’s breakage on the main street.” He told Juanita what they’d seen so far.
Chapter Ten
Lorraine was excited to tour Grant’s home, especially now that he admitted he had affection for her. What did that mean, though? Was his attraction only physical or was fondness growing into something deeper?
She knew her fascination increased whenever they were together. She had to face that he’d drawn her in as if he were a magnet. Each day, she fell deeper and deeper under his spell. If she lost her appeal to him, she’d be devastated.
Although stubborn, he was also a good man who planned ahead. He was ruggedly handsome and a gentleman. True, he was clumsy at times and a little inept socially but she thought that endearing.
Grant’s hand at her elbow startled her from her reverie. He guided her up the three steps to a wide front veranda. She visualized it with a wicker settee and a swing and maybe a fern or two.
They entered a small foyer tiled in black and white marble squares. The walls were covered in dark green wallpaper with silver stripes.
He hung his hat on the golden oak hall tree. “The parlor is through here. As you can tell, they left a good bit of furniture. Hard to move a family of six very far with wagons loaded down.”
Covering the walls, cream wallpaper had an embossed fleur-de-lys pattern. Cream and red striped draperies were tied back by sashes in the same colors. Lace bordered sheers hung behind the heavier window coverings.
Most of the oak hardwood floor was bare but a circular rug of blue with cream roses took up the room’s center. Dark cherry filigrees and legs trimmed the dark red plush settee and matching chair. The fireplace was surrounded by marble. On each side of the fireplace was a large upholstered armchair.
Lorraine stood to one side. “Your parlor is inviting. The rug is beautiful.”
Juanita touched a table and left a trail with her finger. “Señor, if you wish someone to clean for you, Jessie Dalton, she is looking for work.”
A guilty expression crossed Grant’s face. “Um, well, I guess I haven’t been faithful to cleaning house. Maybe I’ll talk with her and see if she’ll work for me.”
Juanita dusted her hands together. “I will send her to you. Yours is a beautiful home, is it not? This place, it must be cared for properly.”
Lorraine took his arm and led him to the next room. She hoped he wasn’t overly embarrassed by Juanita’s comments, but dust coated everything. Furniture this nice deserved to be dusted and polished to protect the wood’s finish.
In the dining room she said, “What lovely furnishings.”
“Thank you. As you can imagine, I haven’t needed a table to seat twelve. The Olivers couldn’t take it with them. When they furnished this house, they chose large, heavy pieces and regretted doing so when they decided to move.” He extended his arm. “Let’s go through to the kitchen.”
Juanita smiled. “Ah, here is where you live, this is true?”
“Guilty as charged. This and the master bedroom are really the only rooms I inhabit. Still, owni
ng my own home gives me pleasure and hope for the future.”
Lorraine ran her finger along a cupboard door. “You have far more storage space than most homes. Did they leave you dishes as well?”
“No, but I purchased a few from Michael at the mercantile. I seldom use them. Mostly I buy something from the café and bring it home.”
A frown wrinkled his brow. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, feel free to look through as you wish while I hurry up to the attic and check for roof leaks.”
Lorraine peeked around the kitchen door. “Oh, there’s a service room here. Good place to leave muddy shoes on days like today.”
Juanita shrugged. “Shall we go upstairs?”
Lorraine grinned. “Oh, yes, I’m eager to see the entire house.”
The staircase turned at a landing then proceeded to the second floor. The two of them peered into each room.
The first was almost bare.
Juanita stood in the center and pivoted. “Nothing to tell us who lived in this one. Perhaps here, it was for guests.”
Lorraine gestured at the next room with pink wallpaper. “And this was no doubt a girl’s room.”
She walked across the room. “A window seat. I’ve always wanted one. I’ll bet the girls loved sitting there to read. I’m sorry they had to give up this lovely home.”
Juanita’s mouth puckered. “Don’t be, Señorita Lorraine. They were not a nice family. The boys, they were bullies always in much mischief. The girls, they were spoiled and sulky. They hated being the only children in Tarnation. I think those four, they will never be happy.”
“In that case, I’m glad Mr. Pettigrew has the house. He needs a nice place to come home to, even if it needs tidying.” Lorraine smiled at the other woman. “And it does.”
What appeared the boys’ room was next with blue wallpaper with anchors on it. Above them, Grant’s footsteps echoed. “The attic must be floored in for storage.”
Juanita looked upward where the sounds had originated. “Or to be converted into extra bedrooms. The Olivers, they had two boys and two girls close together in their ages. If there had been years between them or more children, they might have made bedrooms in the attic. Then, they could put the boys there.”
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