More Precious Than Gold

by Merry Farmer

  “That makes sense,” she mumbled, because it seemed like the best response.

  Silence fell between them as they walked. She’d known Andrew as long as she could remember. He was Wren’s older brother. He was like a brother to her too, wasn’t he? He always had been. She’d played with him when they were still children, spent holidays with the family. He’d been one of the first people on the scene—along with Wren and Rev. McBride—when her father’s illness had finally taken him to Heaven. And yet, she could feel him watching her as they walked on in silence.

  When they reached an intersection leading to a cozy cove of whitewashed houses, Andrew turned to walk on toward her old house.

  Louisa stopped and winced before quietly telling him, “We had to move last winter, remember? I don’t live here anymore.”

  “Oh,” Andrew said. He glanced from the cluster of pretty houses to Louisa with an expression that she couldn’t read. “I remember now.” He turned and wheeled his bicycle back to her side. “Lead me on.”

  “No, you don’t have to come any farther with me.” She rushed to dissuade him.

  He blinked. “But I want to walk you home.”

  His offer was so kind that she found it hard to resist. She’d kept this secret from everyone, even Wren and Gayle, but a spark of hope in her chest whispered to her that she could confide in Andrew, he wouldn’t judge her.

  “All right,” she said, barely more than a whisper.

  The fluttering in Louisa’s heart sank to snakes in her stomach as they continued down the road, past the fine houses with perfect patchwork gardens, and on to where the houses were smaller. Green lawns gave way to boxy yards filled with sand and rocks. Andrew now walked right next to her without his bicycle between them, but it didn’t make Louisa feel an ounce better. If she wasn’t careful she would bump into him as the street grew narrower.

  And yet he was such a strong, steady presence. He was her friend. She clasped her hands behind her back to stop herself from being tempted to take his hand in comfort as they rounded the bend to the sad house she now lived in. He was about to find out what she’d been working so hard to keep hidden.

  “Well, this is it,” she spoke barely above a whisper. She stopped in front of the crooked steps leading up to the front door of a gray clapboard house, identical to its row of neighbors. It hardly had any front yard and there were only a few feet between it and the neighbor’s house. A narrow lane squeezed between the two houses to a backyard that was only fractionally bigger than the front. She normally took her bicycle in through the back door and kept it in her bedroom, fearing that someone would steal it if she left it outside at night.

  “Thank you for walking me home,” she said, eyes lowered.

  Andrew’s clenched jaw and veiled expression as he stared at her house confirmed Louisa’s worst fears and gripped her with cold anxiety. She wished he would go now and forget what he was looking at, but he stood perfectly still. His fists clenched the handlebar of his bicycle.

  As miserable as she’d ever been, Louisa opened her mouth to say something, anything. She was stopped when the front door flew open and her mother rushed out.

  “There you are, Louisa,” Mrs. White said in her harried British accent. “I was just about to send someone up to the McBrides to fetch you. Hello Andrew.” She greeted Andrew with perfect British manners, in spite of being obviously flustered.

  “Louisa, dear,” her mother went on, “I hate to impose on you on a Saturday, but I’ve just received a message asking me to go into the shop at once. Mrs. Hellickson has a bridal party who need their gowns by the end of the weekend and she’s short-handed. I have to leave.”

  She plunked her hat on her head as she rushed down the steps and into the street.

  “You’ll have to finish the smocking and hems on the two dresses on the back table by yourself. They need to be delivered this evening, as they’re needed tomorrow.”

  She passed them in a blur.

  “And, oh dear, you may have to prepare supper for Henry this evening. I’m sure he’ll be famished when he gets home from working. I’m so sorry. Take care.”

  Louisa’s heart plummeted to her feet as her mother hurried down the narrow street away from them. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Andrew, even though she was desperate to see his reaction. Her cheeks flamed red with shame. She scurried up the stairs to the door.

  “Thanks again,” she muttered, forcing herself to look at him.

  To her surprise, Andrew walked his bicycle to lean it against the house and hopped up the steps after her.

  “I want to help.”

  She blinked, embarrassment warring with a spreading warmth in her heart at his kindness.

  “I didn’t know you could sew,” she fell back on humor to save face.

  “I can mend nets.” He followed her up the stairs and into the dim front room.

  “Something tells me that won’t really help.”

  Louisa glanced around as she took her hat off and hung it on a hook by the door. The inside of the house was cramped and the windows weren’t big enough to let in much light, even though the curtains were open wide. But at least it was clean and relatively well-organized. The front door opened into a narrow parlor, which held a threadbare old sofa, a chair, and a bookshelf stuffed with books and journals. A low, rough fireplace nestled in the far wall, a copy of the Word propped on the short mantle above it with stubs of candles and a few wildflowers that Louisa had picked early that morning next to it.

  “You really shouldn’t be here with mother out. It isn’t proper,” she warned Andrew, unable to bring herself to ask him to leave outright.

  “I think we’re safe from scandal.” He smiled. “I’m only here to help, remember?”

  She chewed her lip. It wasn’t as though her mother didn’t know he was there. She gave in with a sigh, and gestured to Andrew to follow her down the tiny hallway, her bedroom on one side and her mother’s on the other, and into the back room.

  “Henry has been sleeping on the sofa in the front room while he’s home,” she explained. “I told him I would give up my room for him, but he insists.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  The back of the house was only slightly larger than the front. It served as a kitchen, a dining room, and a workroom. The dresses her mother had told her about were folded carefully on the table along with a thick sewing basket. Louisa’s heart sank when she saw the dishes from their breakfast still soaking in the old fashioned sink, a pot with crusted oatmeal still sitting on the antique stove. The back door was open and through the screen she could see line after line of laundry drying in the sun. She had hung it first thing that morning, and no one had had the time to take it down.

  She turned to Andrew, horror etched on her face. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have invited you in if I had known we’d left the place in such a state.”

  He must think she was no better than a common fishwife at this point. The worst part was that he would be right. Her gaze drifted out to the laundry. Her knickers and spare corset were whipping in the June breeze. She couldn’t have burned any redder if she had spent all day lying out in the sun.

  “No, it’s all right.” His voice was too calm, too forgiving.

  “Let me just take care of some of this.”

  She dashed for the back door, grabbing the laundry basket before throwing open the screen door and scurrying down the stairs.

  In spite of her desire to hurry, Louisa found herself taking down the laundry with care and folding each item with precision. No matter what the circumstances, it wasn’t in her to do any job sloppily. Thankfully, Andrew had not followed her out to the back yard to watch her scurry to hide the evidence of their poverty, although her heart pounded in her throat as she thought of what he must be doing while waiting for her inside. She could only imagine him standing in the center of the back room, gaping at the levels to which her family had sunk, feeling the difference between them.

  As s
he finished folding the last clean blouse from the line and laying it discreetly on top of the rest of the laundry, she pushed her glasses up her nose. She hoisted the basket onto her hip and took a deep breath to steel herself before heading back into the house.

  She stopped cold in the doorway, screen door slapping shut behind her. Andrew stood at the sink, wearing an apron, up to his elbows in soapy water. He glanced up when she entered, the dark concern clouding his face giving way to a cheery smile.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” He nodded to the sink. “I found a way I could help.”

  Louisa could only stand still and gape at him as he pulled the pot that had been caked with old oatmeal from the water to check if it was coming clean.

  “I don’t mind at all,” she answered in a wispy voice that wasn’t her own.

  She swallowed and shot across the room to the hallway and into her mother’s bedroom. The gentle swish and clatter of dishes in the sink followed her down the hall as she took her mother’s clothes from the basket and stashed them in the room’s small bureau.

  As she hurried across the hall to her own room she stole a glance at Andrew’s back as he worked at the sink. His shirt was still dirty from the demolition at the lighthouse. He was just grubby enough to look as though he could belong in this depressed neighborhood. Just like her.

  She put her own clothes away as quickly as she could before taking the laundry basket back to the kitchen. Andrew had managed to clean the pot and was finishing off the last of the breakfast dishes. She stared at him, at the solid lines and tanned skin of his arms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. His were the arms of a man who would help the less fortunate with all his might. A warmth that wasn’t entirely welcome began to spread through her chest and stomach. When he glanced up and smiled at her, it only coiled tighter, mingling with a sick sense of dread. This couldn’t be happening to her. It wasn’t right.

  “Those dresses your mother asked you to finish are very pretty.” He glanced over to the table, reminding her that there was more work to be done.

  “Oh.” She sucked in a breath, chiding herself for wasting time staring into the eyes of danger when reality stalked her. “Yes, they’re for two little girls in Boston, twins. I think they’re dresses for their first communion.”

  She slid into her chair at the table and reached for the top dress to see how much work needed to be done. It wasn’t much. Only the hems and the detail work. Louisa had noticed lately that her mother had been leaving more and more of the intricate work to her. She have be tempted to be flattered by that show of confidence if she didn’t feel so guilty for resenting that she had to do it in the first place.

  “Do you spend a lot of time finishing work for your mother?” Andrew asked gently, as if he could read her thoughts.

  Louisa paused to thread a needle with smocking thread before answering.

  “I … well, technically I work for Mrs. Hellickson too,” she confessed in a small voice. “She is a kind employer and she knows I have a lot of responsibility for taking care of mother and Henry, when he’s here. So she has agreed to let me work from home. For now.”

  Andrew didn’t answer. She glanced up in time to see him nodding as he rinsed the last plate and reached into the sink to unplug the drain. The water gurgled as it emptied. He rested his weight on the edge of the sink and watched it for a moment before pushing away and turning to her. The second his eyes met hers she dropped her gaze to her work.

  After another short pause he asked, “What else can I do?”

  “Nothing, Andrew, really,” she replied almost before he could finish.

  He didn’t like her answer. It was written in the concerned lines of his face.

  “There has to be something. I might not be able to sew, but didn’t your mother ask you to make supper?”

  “Yes, and I can make supper later.”

  “And I can do something to help now.” He clearly wasn’t going to leave her alone. “Do you want me to peel potatoes? Chop vegetables?” His kind smile slid into a mischievous grin. “Wren puts me to work in the kitchen all the time. I’m very good at chopping and kneading.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure you are.”

  The squeezing in her chest spread to her throat. Andrew was so kind, so handsome. It was a complete inconvenience to notice that now.

  “Don’t you have a meeting to go to this afternoon? About your boat?”

  His blue eyes grew wide for a moment as if he had just remembered. “I do.”

  Disappointment closed over him as he pulled the apron off over his head and returned it to its hook between the sink and the stove.

  “But I want you to know that if I didn’t have to clean up and change into nicer clothes, I would stay here and help you with dinner.”

  “Andrew—”

  “We all need a little help now and then. There’s no shame in asking.”

  That he would even mention the word shame made her already overheated face burn hotter. He stepped toward the hallway and she stood abruptly.

  “Andrew, wait.”

  He paused mid-step and turned back to her.

  “Did you think of something I can help you with?” he grinned.

  It was completely unfair for him to be acting so charming, so sweet, when the last thing she wanted was to develop any sort of soft spot for him.

  “Don’t tell.”

  His cheer melted into a hard frown.

  “Please don’t tell anyone about,” Louisa glanced around the room, held up the dress that was still in her hands, “about any of this.”

  Andrew blinked. “Wren doesn’t know?”

  Louisa shook her head and dropped her eyes to the floor.

  “Does anyone know?”

  Miserably, she glanced up to meet his look of concern and alarm. “Mother doesn’t think it’s right for us to advertise our condition to people. She is a firm believer in keeping the secrets of the home within the home.”

  “But that’s not what secrets of the home is supposed to be,” he argued, taking a large step toward her.

  Between his height and imposing build, the firmness in his voice, and the strength of his emotion, Louisa suddenly had the impression that Andrew was a powerful man, and not the clever boy she had always known. As wonderful as the impression was, it only made her feel more wretched.

  “Go, Andrew. You’re going to be late. It’s too important a meeting for you to be late.”

  For a moment he looked like he would argue his point further. The tension was obvious in the set of his shoulders and back. Finally he sighed and forced himself to turn around.

  “I’ll go,” he told her. “And … and I won’t tell anyone. But only because you asked me not to.”

  He wavered on the spot for another moment before making up his mind to be true to his word. He nodded and tried to smile, unsuccessfully, before marching down the hall and out of sight.

  Louisa heard the front door shut a few moments later and sank back into her chair. Tears stung at her eyes but she swallowed them. She couldn’t afford to cry now, not when the dresses needed finishing. She couldn’t afford to let her heart run wild after Andrew McBride when she knew she wasn’t his equal anymore. He was about to own his own business. She was about to be forced to work in a shop, or worse. Her heart had never known such desolation.

  She closed her eyes and drew in a gloomy breath.

  Lord, she prayed, lips closed tight, why now? Why put all these burdens on me now, at the same time? This is more than I can bear.

  She took another breath, trying to open her heart to feel the Lord’s love as she prayed.

  Help me out of this mess. Show me the way.

  Chapter 4

  Andrew brought his sledgehammer crashing down with a grunt on what was left of the house that had been attached to the lighthouse. The satisfaction he usually felt in using his muscles, in sweating and knowing good work was being done, was buried under the weight of his troubled thoughts.


  Nearly a week had gone by since he’d visited Louisa’s house, but she and her family had been in his thoughts almost constantly. He had puzzled over their situation while at sea, navigating the deep-sea waters, casting and pulling in the nets. How long had they been living in that shabby house in its questionable neighborhood? He wracked his brains to see if he could remember when they’d moved. All that he came up with was a vague recollection of a time last winter when Louisa hadn’t been at Cliff House for nearly two weeks. It had been a frigidly cold winter. He doubted that tiny house and its minimal fireplace and stove had been enough to keep Louisa warm.

  Concern melted into inexplicable anger and frustration as he raised the sledgehammer and pounded away at the wall. Louisa had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember, but he hadn’t picked up on anything being that wrong. She had been more melancholy than usual through the long winter days, but he had assumed it had more to do with her father’s death than anything else. How could he have missed something so important?

  “You can stop breaking down the wall.”

  Rowan’s voice shook him out of his darkening thoughts.

  “What? Oh.”

  He straightened, wiping the sweat and grime from his brow with his sleeve. Rowan fixed him with a calculating look for a moment before taking a breath and continuing.

  “We just need to cart this debris away, and then I think we’ll be done for the day.”

  Andrew nodded, glad that Rowan hadn’t asked what had him in such a bad mood. It would be difficult to explain without breaking his promise to Louisa to keep her secret. At the moment, the confidence she had placed in him meant more than he could say. His sister’s friend had a special place in his thoughts, now more than ever.

  He carried the sledgehammer over to the makeshift table that held their tools when they weren’t in use, picking up the jug of water at the end of the table and taking a swig. He stared at the mostly deconstructed lighthouse and the mounds of rocks and debris around it. Crumbled to pieces. How could someone let their life crumble to pieces without asking for help?