by Jane Peart
Almost as if he had discerned the subtle evasion in her answer, looking amused, he pursued the subject. "However, I assume you find it a great deal different from the East?"
"Oh, well, yes. Very," Holly countered and again attempted to pass him. But all six feet and at least three inches of him were blocking her way.
"Especially this weather, I presume," Adam said as if determined to continue the conversation he had initiated. "It will take some time to get used to; I can tell you that from my own experience." Ad paused, then seeing he had aroused her curiosity, he went on, "I must admit I had a few qualms when I arrived here a few months ago from San Francisco."
He let the name "San Francisco" sink in for a minute, watching what her reaction might be. Ad knew that Eastern periodicals gave their readers rhapsodic descriptions of San Francisco, calling it the "Paris of the West Coast." Such padded verbiage attributed more ambiance than it really had—or deserved, for that matter. But it tended to lend a certain aura to anyone lucky enough to be able to say he knew the city.
Holly looked at Adam Corcoran with a new interest. Obviously he was a gentleman, well-dressed. The gray broadcloth coat, spotless linen, and silk cravat spoke of good taste and certainly not the kind she had seen worn by other Riverbend men. He was certainly well-groomed, clean-shaven except for his mustache; his olive skin was smooth and clear; his eyes held both intelligence and humor. His speech was that of an educated man with a southern courtliness of manner that made her feel a bit homesick and prone to be friendly.
While Holly was making this calculated survey of him, Adam's practiced eye was reaffirming his first impression of her. Miss Hollis Lambeth, he decided, was the most attractive young woman he had seen in a very long time, especially in Riverbend. The cool air had brought the bloom of roses to her skin, several strands of hair loosened by the moisture clung in fetching tendrils to the side of her cheek, and there was surely a suspicion of dimples around her very tempting mouth.
Holly was as curious about Adam Corcoran as he was about her. What might have brought such a man to this remote Oregon border town? Why had he buried himself here? Was he running away from something, someone? Did he have a past he was trying to forget? Even that possibility did not frighten her; rather, it intrigued her. It made her think that maybe she had more in common with Adam Corcoran than anyone else in Riverbend.
All this went through Holly's mind in a second. Now she listened with a new spark of interest as Adam said, "However, in case you may be a bit concerned by the exterior of the town— "Ad made a sweeping gesture to encompass the "down and out" look of Main Street "—I hasten to assure you, it is not completely without some of the cultural amenities one hopes to find in a new place. There are traveling theatrical troupes who come up from San Francisco regularly, with a good repertoire of plays, ones that have received good reviews in the East. Often the players are well-known in Europe and are making American tours. Some are even stars of Shakespearean drama and comedy."
Ad saw he had hit the mark. Holly's eyes suddenly sparkled. He played his advantage quickly. "I would consider it a real pleasure if, on one of these occasions, you would do me the honor of accompanying me to such a production should one happen while you are here."
Holly loved going to plays, and the possibility of such a diversion gave her the needed "light at the end of the tunnel" she had not thought to find in Riverbend. She gave Ad a delighted smile. "Why, thank you, Mr. Corcoran, I surely would."
Gratified by his success in achieving her acceptance, Adam was about to suggest he walk on with her wherever she was going, when Ned Thornton came out onto the porch of the General Store, waved, and called, "Holly! Your box came on the morning stage!"
Holly returned the wave and called back, "Oh, good! I'll be right over, Ned, thank you." To Ad she explained, "I've been expecting a package from my mother, and it's come. So, if you'll excuse me—"
"What a coincidence! I was going over to check on the very same thing myself."
"A package from your mother?" Holly's eyebrows arched in surprise.
Ad chuckled, "No, not a package from my mother, but a friend in San Francisco sends me a bundle of the daily newspapers each week. Of course, the news is a week late, but it's a feast I look forward to, I can tell you. So may I escort you?" he offered.
With only a split-second's hesitation, Holly took his arm, and they crossed the street together, Ad skillfully manipulating them around the potholes and mud puddles.
A bell over the door jangled as they entered the store. Ned, in his shirtsleeves and wearing a blue cotton storekeeper's apron, greeted them both. "Holly, I was going to bring your box with me when I came home for supper."
"Well, I'm here now, so I can carry it myself."
Ned shook his head, "'Fraid not, Holly. It's real heavy. Don't know what your mother must have put in it! Bricks?"
Holly laughed while Ad quickly offered, "I'll be happy to carry Miss Lambeth's box for her and see her home."
Ned looked from one to the other; a smile played around the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Holly as if to say, "Another male admirer, ready to do your bidding, eh, Holly, just like in Willow Springs?" But there was no maliciousness in Ned's eyes, just an indulgent twinkle. "Why don't I just open up the box for you, Holly? It's over there in the corner, and you can take your time looking through it, decide what you want now, and I can bring the rest later."
"Good idea," Holly agreed, and she and Ad followed him to the back of the store.
Ned cut the cords binding the sturdy box; then, taking the pronged end of a hammer, he pried out the nails and with a wrenching sound pulled up the lid. Pushing aside some layers of excelsior, they all peered inside.
"Books!" they said in unison.
"That should keep you busy all winter, Holly," Ad remarked dryly.
"Oh, I hoped it was books," Holly sighed happily. "Mama promised to send me some."
Just then the bell over the door jangled, and a woman came into the store. "I better go wait on my customer," Ned told them in a low voice and left Holly and Ad bending over the box of books.
"So you like to read, Miss Lambeth? Better watch out, you'll ruin your 'Southern belle' image. Unless you're not afraid of being considered a 'blue stocking'!"
"I despise labels!" she retorted icily. "Educated women—even in the South—enjoy good literature. I grew up on Lamb's Tales of Shakespeare."
"You consider these books literature, do you?" Ad asked, picking a book up at random and reading the title out loud, "Wherever the True Heart Leads by Marcella Valencourt?" He looked at her with an amused expression.
Holly had the grace to blush and half-indignantly snatched it out of his hands. One special thing she shared with her mother was a love of romantic novels. She was glad some were mixed in with other favorites, Dickens' novels and George Eliot's, too. They had both wept over The Mill on the Floss. She was ready to defend her mother's choices when Ad apologized. "I didn't mean to offend. Miss Lambeth. Variety, as they say, is the spice of life, in reading material as in everything else."
"Books?" a woman's voice behind them asked. "I didn't know you carried books, Mr. Thornton."
Holly turned around to see a woman. She was dressed in a beautifully cut buff poplin walking suit, trimmed with brown cording, standing with Ned at the counter but peering in their direction.
"I didn't order them, Mrs. Dodd; they belong to Hetty's cousin. They just arrived for her by stage," Ned explained. "Come over, I'd like you to meet her. Holly, I'd like you to meet Viola Dodd, Riverbend's finest seamstress. Hollis Lambeth." Viola Dodd, Seamstress! The resident of the charming little yellow house she had wondered about and now at last had the chance to meet.
The woman was very small, slight with a delicate almost fragile appearance. Under a tastefully trimmed bonnet, her face was a pale oval. Her features were refined; her mouth was rather compressed; her nose was delicate and aristocratic. Holly always particularly noticed noses probably because her
own was short and tended to tilt at the tip.
"I'm pleased to meet you," Holly said. Knowing that Mrs. Dodd was a seamstress, Holly realized that she must have made the stylish outfit herself. Holly was duly impressed.
"And I you," Mrs. Dodd murmured politely at the introduction, then her eyes wandered back to the pile of books.
Recognizing the longing in Viola Dodd's eyes, impulsively Holly offered, "Would you like to borrow one?"
A look of surprise broke through the woman's composed expression. Flushed with pleasure, she exclaimed, "Oh, may I? How very generous of you. I do enjoy relaxing with a good book after sewing all day!"
"Of course," Holly said. "Do choose any one you like," and she stepped back to make room for Mrs. Dodd at the edge of the box.
With one gloved hand she reached into the neatly packed contents of the box, slowly examining the books one by one. Her deliberateness in making her selection made Holly aware that Viola Dodd would be careful about any choice. She also had the instant longing to know her better.
"I believe this one will do nicely," Mrs. Dodd said as she picked up Silas Marner. "I hope this wasn't one you were planning to read yourself, Miss Lambeth?"
"No, not at all, not at the moment," Holly assured her.
"I will take very good care of it and return it promptly. I suppose here at the store with Mr. Thornton?"
Holly hesitated, wishing she could invite Viola Dodd to bring it to the house, stay for a visit, but of course, she knew that was out of the question. As if reading her thoughts, Viola spoke softly, rather shyly, "Unless," a slight hesitation, "—unless you might care to come to my house some afternoon for tea? Perhaps then we could discuss our shared interest in books?"
Holly nodded eagerly, and Mrs. Dodd continued, "Very well, then, thank you again." Mrs. Dodd slipped the small volume into a large reticule. "I shall send you a note when I finish the book, and we can set a time and day."
"Oh, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you very much."
Suddenly Holly felt lighthearted. At last something to look forward to, the promise of an invitation, the prospect of a friendship!
Chapter 6
Holly's mother had thoughtfully packed some children's books along with the novels. There was a large book of fairy tales that Holly could read to Aurelia and a book illustrated with pictures of all kinds of carriages any little boy would love. Holly knew Teddy would be thrilled. Ned gave them a smaller box, and Ad helped her put those in along with a number of the novels, including one she thought Hetty might like to read.
"I guess that's enough for now since Ned will bring the rest home later," Holly said.
"I hope you don't intend to read during your entire time here, Miss Lambeth," Ad commented.
Holly responded with pretended shock. "Certainly not, Mr. Corcoran. Besides books, I intend to read the editorials in the Riverbend Monitor as well. I understand they are educational as well as entertaining!"
"Well put and well taken." Adam smiled. Bending to pick up the box, he gave a mock groan. "Are you sure you don't want to take one or two more?"
Amused at his clowning, Holly laughed and shook her head.
On their way out, they stopped to speak to Ned who was busily stocking shelves. "We're going now, Ned," Holly said; then seeing glass jars of peppermint sticks, molasses chunks, and licorice twists, she asked, "Would it be all right if I took the children some candy?"
For a minute Ned seemed about to say no; then giving Holly a conspiratorial wink and leaning toward her, he said in a stage whisper, "Why not? As long as we keep it a secret," and filled two small paper bags with a mixture of the candies.
"I'll bring the rest of the books home with me this evening," Ned promised as she left.
Outside the store they turned in the direction of the Thorntons' house. Holly was feeling a great deal better than earlier when she had rushed out in anger. Being with Adam Corcoran had restored some of her natural good humor. The frank admiration in his eyes and his light, teasing manner had been beneficial as well.
She was even feeling optimistic about Hetty. Maybe Hetty would be so pleased with the books, especially those for the children, she would get over whatever was making her so unreasonable. Holly's mind was filled with possible ways she could soften up her cousin and reach some kind of amicable relationship. After all, they weren't children anymore but two grown-up women who should be able to get along. Otherwise—well, otherwise, Holly still didn't know what to do.
Suddenly Ad put out a warning hand on her arm to hold her back. "Let's cross the street," he suggested.
"Why?" asked Holly, puzzled.
"Because—" Ad never got to finish the sentence because the sound of loud voices shouting, punctuated with swear words, made hearing anything momentarily impossible. A moment later the double doors of the Doggone Best saloon swung open, and a figure lunged out.
"Uh-oh, too late. I wanted to avoid this—," Ad said and drew Holly quickly off the sidewalk onto the street. "That's poor Cliff Larkin," he told her, adding, "I only hope nobody on the Town Council sees him."
"Who is he?" asked Holly. As Ad steered her to the other side of the street, she looked back over her shoulder at the man staggering down the opposite sidewalk, weaving from post to post, hanging on each trying to get his balance.
"Believe it or not, he's the town schoolteacher. School's due to start in another week, and he's probably having a last fling before having to face all those bright little faces early every morning."
"He teaches school?" Holly's tone matched the look of astonishment on her face. All she could think of was her own schoolteachers—prim Miss Rebecca Burns who had taught her in grammar school; Louisa McGill, the severe headmistress at the Blue Ridge Female Academy she had attended after sixth grade. And Mr. Bradley, the principal at Willow Springs Secondary, had also been a church elder and taught Sunday school. All the teachers she had ever known were a far cry from this poor wretch stumbling down the street.
"Shouldn't someone help him?" she asked anxiously, twisting her head around to watch the man's unsteady progress.
"Someone will," Ad assured her. "Yes, see, there he comes now. The town's good Samaritan. The doctor."
Holly saw Blaine emerge from the door of one of the buildings along the path the drunk was taking. With a few steps he caught Larkin in time to keep him from falling.
"That's Blaine Stevens, better known as Doc," Ad said, unaware that Holly knew him. "He'll take care of him, take him upstairs to his own place above his office, let him sleep it off, then sober him up."
"What a shame!"
"He'll be all right. That is, until the next time. Blaine tells me the man has a brilliant mind—or did before it got soaked with alcohol. Comes from a good family back east, too. Although they've disowned him now," Ad said; then he placed Holly's hand on his arm. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it. Doc knows what to do, and Larkin will be at his blackboard with his pointer, teaching all those eager little scholars when the schoolhouse bell rings come next Monday."
Holly watched the two men entering the door over which was a neatly lettered sign: "Blaine Stevens, Physician and Surgeon." Blaine had not seen either Holly or Ad; he had seemed totally concerned with helping that sadly in-need human being.
"Doc's an enigma." Adam shook his head. "I'll never understand why someone of his caliber has buried himself here. I've seen his diploma. He graduated from one of the best medical colleges in the country and studied in Scotland and Germany. He could probably get a post in any hospital in America or teach in a university. He's a fine doctor and—" Ad halted "—well, it's none of my business, I guess, everyone who comes to Riverbend has his own reasons." He glanced at Holly as if daring her to tell him why she had come.
By this time they had reached the Thorntons'. Ad opened the gate for Holly to pass through. As they walked up onto the porch, the front door flew open and Hetty stood there glaring at them both.
Ad whipped off his hat, held it to his
chest, and bowed slightly. "Good day, Mrs. Thornton. I'm bringing your cousin home safely after piloting her through some hazardous obstacles."
His speech was designed to be amusing, but Hetty didn't smile. Indeed she was looking very unamused. Quickly Holly explained, "My box from Mama arrived by stage and was at the store, Hetty, but it was too heavy for me, so Mr. Corcoran kindly offered to carry it here for me."
"Ned could have brought it home," Hetty replied shortly.
Holly felt embarrassed at Hetty's unfriendliness. What on earth could Mr. Corcoran think? However, Ad seemed not at all disturbed by Hetty's lack of cordiality. He simply smiled and suggested courteously, "Shall I put it inside?"
Hetty was forced to step back and hold the door open for him to place the box inside by the door.
He then tipped his hat to her. "Nice to see you again, Mrs. Thornton; have a pleasant day." Turning to Holly, he bowed over the hand she extended, saying, "Good day, Miss Lambeth, and I hope I may have the pleasure of calling on you soon."
Conscious of Hetty's eyes boring into her like two sharp knives, Holly murmured. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Corcoran."
With ah enigmatic smile Ad went down the porch steps, nonchalantly strolled down the path, went out the gate, and turned back toward town.
Holly stepped inside the house. The door had barely closed behind her when Hetty confronted her, demanding, "What are you trying to do, Holly? Have every available man in Riverbend dancing to your tune? Don't you know how it looks? Flirting and flitting all over town, attracting attention? This isn't Willow Springs, you know. It doesn't take much here in this town to give a woman the tag of 'fast.' Ned and I have a good name here, and I don't appreciate your damaging it by being seen with anyone you can find to fetch and carry for you. Especially someone like Adam Corcoran whose reputation in this community is questionable, to say the least!"
Stunned at the vicious attack, Holly stared back at her. Anger welled up hotly, then seeing Hetty's flushed face, bulging eyes, the heat turned to ice.
