“But he didn’t.” He waited for her to look at him and repeated the statement, reminding himself as much as her. “He didn’t.”
A tiny smile curved her lips, and Gideon felt as if the sun were coming out from behind a cloud.
“You’re right. He didn’t.” The small curve widened into a satisfied grin. “Between me plowing him with a pitchfork and you beating the stuffing out of him, his pride is probably more tattered than my dress.”
“You plowed him with a pitchfork?”
“I sure did. My daddy didn’t raise no hothouse flower, you know.”
Gideon had a feeling he would have liked her daddy.
“I managed to get Sheba out,” she explained, “and she distracted José long enough for me to grab the pitchfork. I slammed the handle into his knees and ran for the door. I almost made it, too, before he dragged me back.”
Adelaide’s burst of vim and vigor dissipated. She sagged against the barn wall and looked away. Gideon wanted to hold her again but didn’t know if she would welcome his touch. Would it be better to give her some space, or would she think he was disgusted by her if he made no further move to comfort her as he had before she told him what happened? Indecision warred within him. Biting the inside of his cheek, he scooted closer to her. Watching her carefully for any sign that he was causing her distress, he slowly reached out and covered her hand with his. She grasped his fingers, and his doubt disappeared.
When Adelaide finally spoke, her voice quivered. “I screamed whenever I could find the breath and prayed for someone to come. I prayed for you.” She tilted her face up to his. “And you came.”
It was crazy, but at that moment, with Adelaide looking up at him with eyes brimming with admiration, he wanted to vow that he would always be there for her. Yet he could make no such promise. She was an employee, not family. Even if she stayed with Bella until the child was grown, she would still leave one day.
Gideon tore his gaze away from Adelaide and pressed his back more firmly into the stable wall. The notion of her leaving didn’t sit well. Not at all.
“When I heard you call my name,” she continued, drawing his attention back to her face, “I tried to make a sound—anything to lead you to us—but he was too strong for me.” Her hazel eyes pooled with tears again. “He muzzled me so tightly with his hand, I couldn’t breathe. I must’ve passed out. When I revived, I found you pummeling him. No hero has ever shone more brightly.”
She raised the hand that held hers to her lips, and placed a tender kiss onto each of his bruising knuckles. Suddenly he was the one who couldn’t breathe.
“Thank you, Gideon. Thank you for saving me.”
Uncomfortable with her praise, Gideon didn’t answer beyond a silent squeeze of her fingers. His mind still swirled with the sensation of her lips pressed to his skin. Was it just an act of gratitude, or did a deeper affection linger behind it?
“I think I’m ready to go back to the house now.”
Saved from trying to answer his own question, Gideon snuffed out the lantern and helped her up. Adelaide clung to the horse blanket but appeared steady on her feet as he led her to the entrance. When they reached the yard, moonlight illuminated the snags and tears in the fabric of her skirt. She stopped for a minute to examine the damage and then, with surprising resiliency, shrugged her shoulders and started walking again.
“At least he ruined a dress I no longer care for. I think this gown must have a secret longing for the rag bin. First, it leads me into that fiasco with Henry and now this. Maybe I’ll just burn it so I won’t accidentally catch a glimpse of it braided into a rug somewhere. It’s brought me enough bad memories.”
Gideon halted abruptly in the middle of the yard, a new emotion assaulting him. “Who is Henry?”
Chapter 13
Now she’d done it. When would she ever learn to guard her tongue? Adelaide briefly considered ignoring Gideon’s question and continuing up to the house, but her conscience wouldn’t let her. He had just acted the hero on her behalf, slaying her dragon and consoling her with a level of tenderness she hadn’t experienced since her father died. She should be willing to sacrifice anything for this man—even her pride.
She stumbled to a stop, but couldn’t face him. Not yet. What if he thought her a shameless hussy for chasing after a married man, even if she didn’t know he was married at the time she was doing the chasing? Would he then accuse her of enticing the shearer? Her heart would shatter to see scorn replace the compassion in his eyes.
Courage, Adelaide. Courage. Gideon had treated her with nothing but respect and kindness since she arrived. He wasn’t going to shift roles from charming prince to slimy ogre in this story of hers. Not in a single page, anyway.
“Is he your brother?” Gideon’s voice had a forced lightness to it that worried her. He was obviously trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. She hated to disappoint him, but she could no longer delay telling him the truth.
Adelaide turned around and made a valiant attempt to look him in the eye. She made it to about his chin.
“No. I have no brothers. Sisters either—although I don’t guess that relates to your question, does it?” She sighed. “It’s a rather embarrassing tale, but I suppose you should know.”
She paused, giving him a chance to stop her, to tell her that she didn’t have to explain, but he didn’t. He just gazed at her with an intensity that warmed her and unsettled her at the same time.
“My father died when I was sixteen, and ever since then, I’ve longed to replace the family I lost. That’s what led me to teaching. I discovered a passion for children, and working with them seemed to fill part of the emptiness inside. But I yearned for more.”
Adelaide couldn’t read Gideon’s expression as he took her elbow and steered her toward the front porch. That worried her. He usually smiled so easily, but not now. If she could just make him understand her motivation for getting tangled up with Henry, maybe it would soften the effect of her foolishness.
“When the town of Cisco contracted me to teach for two years on the condition that I not marry during that time, I set aside my own dreams of family and focused on nurturing the dreams of my students.”
They reached the steps, and Gideon led her to one of the wicker chairs where she had begun her day with Isabella. Morning seemed days ago. He leaned against the banister across from her, patiently enduring her long-winded answer to his simple question.
“But you still longed for a husband and children of your own,” he said.
“Yes. My two years were nearly complete when I met Henry.”
Gideon sat up a little straighter at the mention of the man’s name.
“He was a traveling book salesman who rode the T&P Railroad line peddling his goods. He stayed in the same boardinghouse where I roomed when he was in town, and we spent many a pleasant evening in the parlor discussing literature and the latest novels. I was probably his best customer. I ordered something every time he came to town. Maybe that’s why he decided to pay court to me—to increase his commission.” Adelaide’s brow creased at the depressing thought.
“What happened?” There was a bit of an edge to his voice now. Adelaide’s mouth went dry.
“I only saw him about once every three or four weeks, but it was enough. He made sweet promises and spouted romantic nonsense that made me giggle. He could be a bit condescending, and the quality of his spiritual life was questionable, but I was willing to look past that. No man is perfect, after all.”
Adelaide gazed at Gideon’s shadowy form. Well, maybe for her one man could have been. No use pining over the impossible, though.
“A couple of months ago,” she continued, “Henry received a promotion and told me that he wouldn’t be riding the rails any longer. He acted so devastated about not seeing me again that I made a rash plan. I resigned my teaching position and followed him to Fort Worth. Providence intervened, and I ran into him at the hotel restaurant my first night in town. I also had the honor of
meeting his wife and child. Not quite the reunion I had envisioned.”
“He was married?” The question sounded like it had been forced out through clenched teeth. Not a good sign.
“A fact he failed to mention during the course of our acquaintance.”
Gideon mumbled something quite ferocious under his breath, but Adelaide couldn’t make it out. Perhaps that was for the best. Bracing herself for his response, she prayed he wouldn’t send her away on the spot. She rather liked her cloud resting over Westcott Cottage. She wasn’t ready for God to move her on just yet.
“Are you still in love with him?”
The terse question caught her off guard. Not sure how to answer, she blurted the first thing that came to mind.
“I don’t think I ever really was.” The rest of the words poured out before she could stop them. “The shameful truth is, I was so desperate to make my dream of family a reality that I chased the first thing in pants that showed some interest in me.”
Adelaide stared at her lap. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how pathetic she truly was. He would certainly send her packing after this. Tears spilled over her eyes. At least she could spare him the discomfort of having to discharge her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Westcott. I should have told you from the first. I’ll pack my things and ride out in the morning. Your daughter deserves better than me.”
She jumped to her feet and tried to flee into the house, but Gideon lunged away from the railing to block her path.
“Adelaide, wait.” Gideon reached out but let his hand fall back to his side without touching her. “As far as Bella is concerned, there is no one better than you.”
“But you know different now, don’t you?” She moved to sidestep him, but he wouldn’t let her pass.
“No. I don’t know. In fact, I agree with her.”
Adelaide looked into his face, searching for clues as to his meaning. “What?”
“Bella has improved more under your care in the short time you’ve been here than I dared hope. We need you.”
“But my past …”
Something rumbled in Gideon’s throat.
“There’s nothing wrong with your past! That Henry fellow was an unscrupulous lout that toyed with your affections to serve his own ends. He’s the one with the shameful past, not you.”
She heard his words, yet she couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. He couldn’t really be excusing her actions, could he? He had seemed so upset earlier.
“I never should have gone to Fort Worth,” Adelaide ventured, testing the waters of his reaction. “It was a stupid thing to do.”
Gideon did take hold of her arm then, his gentle grip comforting through the felt blanket still draped over her. “Not stupid. Impulsive, perhaps. But I can’t really hold that against you when that same impulse eventually led you here, can I?”
“But I could sense your anger when I told you about Henry. I thought—”
“I know what you thought, but you were wrong.” Gideon released her and shoved his fingers through his hair, expelling a loud breath in the process. “Yes, I was angry, but not at you. At Henry for abusing your trust and at myself for making you rehash painful memories after you had already been through so much tonight.” He cupped both of his hands around her upper arms and bent his face close to hers. “I let my own selfishness get in the way of what was best for you. Forgive me, Adelaide.”
He was apologizing to her? If he hadn’t been holding her arms, she probably would have fallen over.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
“Let’s get you into the house.” Gideon moved to her side and slipped his arm around her waist.
Too tired to ponder the ramifications of their conversation and too relieved over not being sent away to care, Adelaide hobbled numbly along, hoping that everything would make more sense in the morning.
Full daylight poured through her window when Adelaide finally awoke the next day. She squinted against the light and stretched, flinching at the soreness in her muscles. Memories assailed her as consciousness returned. She ignored the ugly ones, unwilling to succumb to the fear and despair she knew they would evoke. Instead, she settled back onto her pillow, closed her eyes, and savored the good ones. Gideon holding her. Gideon defending her. Gideon’s patience and understanding. Gideon. Gideon. Gideon.
Smiling to herself, she opened her eyes. No doubt about it. She was sappier than a sugar maple. Her Rochester was turning out to be even better than Jane Eyre’s. No excessive moodiness, no flirtations with other women, and as far as she could tell, no mad first wife secreted away in the attic.
Hmmm … There was a first wife, though, and her memory might still hold sway over his heart. The thought cast an unwanted shadow on Adelaide’s romantic daydream. The woman had only been dead for, what, five months? Gideon never spoke of his wife, so it was hard to know if he still pined for her.
Adelaide yanked the spare pillow from the mattress beside her and plopped it over her face. She flattened the ticking against her mouth and released the groan that had been building inside her. She needed to take her head out of the clouds and focus on what God had led her here to do—teach Isabella. Heroes in castles lived in storybooks, not real life. And even if by some miracle Gideon one day came to view her as something more than his daughter’s governess, it would be unfair to measure him against a fictional standard that he could never possibly achieve.
Yet something stirred in her heart whenever she thought of him, whenever she found herself in his presence, whenever he smiled at her. It was more than the silly fluttering of a schoolgirl crush. It was deeper than the hope of family that had drawn her to Henry, and she feared it would not simply vanish at her command. She’d have to bury it. At least for now. Maybe after an appropriate mourning period had expired …
Adelaide removed the pillow from her face and stared up at the ceiling. What had Gideon’s first wife been like? Beautiful? Elegant? Courtly? Had she complained about leaving her home in England or eagerly boarded the vessel to join her beloved on the grand adventure he had plotted for them in America? Had she been tall and fair, poised and proper—everything that Adelaide was not?
A tiny cramp pulled Adelaide’s brows together. Strange. Now that she though about it, there were no pictures of her. Anywhere. A portrait of Gideon’s parents hung in the parlor, and the mantel sported a photograph of Gideon with his brothers as young adults. There were miniatures of Isabella, too, but only at the age she was now. None from her toddler years. Had Gideon banished all evidence of his dead wife because he couldn’t bear to see the reminders, or had the two been so estranged that they’d had no pictures made? Arranged marriages often occurred among the English aristocracy. Maybe theirs had not turned out well. But surely he would have kept at least a wedding photograph. And another thing … whenever he did mention the woman, he always designated her as Isabella’s mother, never as his wife… .
Crazy, ridiculous hope clawed past her newly installed barriers. Jane and Edward had overcome their obstacles. It was possible that she and Gideon could do the same. She just prayed her hero wouldn’t have to be blinded and maimed to accomplish the deed.
Adelaide savored her resurrected dreams for a moment longer. She would pack them away again in a few minutes, but for now, in the privacy of her bedchamber, she’d let them spin their delicate webs where they may.
Gideon had been so solicitous last night after their awkward conversation. He had bustled her into the house and turned her over to the care of Mrs. Chalmers. Miguel must have said something to the housekeeper, for she’d lingered in the kitchen, darning socks by lamplight with two full pails of heated water plus a kettle waiting on the stove. Gideon filled the tub in the washroom and ordered Adelaide to soak until the steamy water turned tepid. Mrs. Chalmers had shooed him away after that, but not before he gruffly demanded that Adelaide sleep until noon.
She had given it her best effort, too, but the porcelain clock sitting atop her
chest of drawers indicated only half past ten. As much as she enjoyed her dreams, even they could not keep her abed when there was work to be done. She packed them away as one would a set of fine china, lingering over each piece, until with a final sigh, she closed the lid. Then with a toss of the coverlet, she slid from her dreamy cocoon to face the day.
After washing her face, braiding her hair, and getting dressed, Adelaide contemplated her reflection in the oval mirror above the washstand. The swelling in her face had gone down, thank goodness. Nevertheless, Isabella was bound to notice the bruising around her cheekbones and jaw. Adelaide winced as she pressed a finger against the puffy corner of her bottom lip where a tiny scab had formed overnight. She practiced a reassuring smile in the glass, ignoring the tenderness as the flesh around her mouth stretched. A bit lopsided, but hopefully it would convince Isabella that all was well.
If Mrs. Chalmers had abided by her wishes, Isabella had been told a very watered-down version of the truth this morning. Adelaide had asked the housekeeper to inform the girl that she had had a mishap in the barn last night, but that she was fine. For the first time, Isabella’s lack of speech would be a blessing. She wouldn’t be able to ask questions. Adelaide didn’t want her to worry, though, so she planned to seek her out straightaway.
She nearly tripped over the girl as she exited her room.
Isabella was sitting against the wall by the bedchamber door, clutching her doll to her chest. When Adelaide stepped into the hall, Isabella scrambled to her feet, distress etched into her young face.
“Oh, sweetheart! Have you been waiting here all morning?” Adelaide crouched down in front of her charge and brushed a hand over her blond curls. “I’m sorry I slept so late.”
Blue eyes raked Adelaide’s face. Disregarding the child’s concern would certainly not help her. Best to deal with the situation in a more direct manner.
Head in the Clouds Page 12
