Beulah’s mouth twitched. “Possibly, Miss Verity.”
Pleased to have provoked even a glimmer of a smile, Verity laughed and gave her a quick hug, startling both of them.
Verity met her father in the second floor hallway. He was looking uncomfortable in his best clothes—a suit at least ten years old—and he’d been to the barber. Verity was delighted and relieved. She’d been half afraid he would wear his work clothes.
“You’re very handsome today, Father,” she said, fluffing his outdated cravat so that it looked less squashed and defeated.
“I know it’s old,” Ransloe said defensively. “I think I bought it for your grandmother’s funeral.”
“You look nice in it.”
“I’ll get myself fitted for a new one,” he promised, raising his eyes to hers. “For your wedding.”
Ten
THE MCCLURE house was everything Verity had imagined: large and rambling, with multiple additions and a huge lawn backing onto the woods. The verandah, which ran around three sides of the house, had been decorated for the occasion with daisy garlands, and when the Boones arrived, a child excitedly rang a giant cowbell hanging from the verandah roof.
The female McClures swarmed like bees around Verity. Towing a reluctant Ransloe Boone behind, they swept her into the back garden, where the party was already under way. Fanny McClure, Nate’s mother, nearly babbled her greeting, kissing her future daughter-in-law on both cheeks. Verity thought Mrs. McClure looked exactly like her daughters, red cheeked and bright-eyed with an unquenchable spirit. Annie, Carrie, and Hattie all hugged Verity and exclaimed over her dress until she was pink with embarrassment. Then the sea of exuberant faces parted to clear a path for her intended.
Nate, too, had been to the barber for a cut and a severe combing, although his hair was already bouncing back to its tousled state. His fashionably cut navy-blue frock coat complimented those dark locks and his blue eyes. He swept one glance over Verity’s carefully arranged golden curls and the gown that matched her eyes—and there, at last, was the smile she’d imagined, which turned his stern features into something entirely more attractive. The watching crowd, believing this to be their first sight of each other, sighed with relief when Verity’s lips curled upward in an answering smile.
“Verity, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. McClure, looking back and forth between them with eyes alight. “It’s my pleasure to introduce my son, Nathaniel.”
Ransloe Boone looked confused. “What are you talking about, Fanny? They’ve already met.”
“Days ago,” Nate confirmed. Without any explanation, he offered his arm to Verity and led her away.
It seemed the entire town had turned out for Verity Boone’s welcome-home party. In her first round of introductions she had no hope of learning which of the half dozen children belonged to which sister. Their spouses were more easily distinguished: Hattie’s husband leaned on a cane, and Annie’s husband had been deafened in one ear. Carrie’s husband was the only one left healthy and hale after the war.
Once she had caught up with the engaged couple, Nate’s mother introduced Verity to every prominent landowner in the county. No sooner was that ordeal finished than the minister’s wife, Mrs. White, appeared with the church society trailing behind. The one person she wanted to talk to was the one she barely saw. Every time she and Nate had a moment together, one or the other of them was swept away by an insistent guest. Eventually, Verity found herself facing the women she’d seen in the general store and their sour-faced daughters.
Verity was not willing to make false statements such as “pleased to meet you” even for the sake of social nicety, so she simply repeated their names when introduced: “Mrs. Eggars, Mrs. Applebee.” Nevertheless, her eyes flashed an unspoken message: I heard what you said in the store.
“Welcome home, Miss Boone,” said Mrs. Eggars, not bound by the same honesty. Her cold smile conveyed a message too: You were meant to.
Mrs. Applebee waited until Mrs. White had stepped away to rake Verity over with resentful eyes. “I must admit, we were all surprised by this hasty engagement,” she said. “Not long ago, it seemed Nathaniel was on the point of stating intentions to my Janey.”
Janey Applebee simpered, and Mrs. Eggars quickly added, “Or Amelie.”
Amelie flashed a set of horsey teeth. “The way Nathaniel used to stare at me in church, you would’ve thought we were already engaged.”
Verity couldn’t see anything worth looking at, let alone staring at. “It must have been a passing fancy.”
“It’s a wonder you even wanted to come back and live in Catawissa,” Mrs. Eggars said, “considering . . .”
“Considering what?” Verity snapped, but Fanny McClure reappeared at that point, bringing an end to the conversation. The Applebees and the Eggarses withdrew with shallow curtsies, and Nate’s mother carted her off to meet someone else.
Verity felt her smile waver, stretched beyond its tolerance. Now she eyed every friendly face with skepticism, wondering how many of them were false. Were they all seeing her as the daughter of a woman disgraced and buried in shame? As an outsider who stole Nathaniel McClure from their own daughters?
She wanted to talk to Nate, wanted a moment to herself, wanted to eat. Although platters of fried chicken and tea sandwiches, along with her own jam tarts, lay under a pavilion tent, Verity hadn’t managed to come within a dozen steps of the table.
She saw her father on the edge of the lawn, looking as if he might disappear into the woods and head for home on foot. She started edging her way toward him, but one of Mrs. McClure’s friends pinned her down with a long, dull monologue about charity drives. Then Nate appeared. He clapped Ransloe Boone on the shoulder, exchanged a few words, and led him back to the party. From the way they were looking at the McClure orchards and the manner in which her father perked up and responded, Verity supposed they were talking about their common interest—which was farming, not Verity.
That was a very unworthy thought, and she was ashamed of herself immediately. She was hungry and thirsty, and she wished she were talking to Nate instead of to this tiresome woman, but that was no reason to be petulant. “You can be downright tart on an empty stomach!” Polly had always chided her.
Tart! She wished she had one.
With a determined smile, Verity ended her conversation and turned to follow her father and Nate. If they both loved the farmland of this valley, then she would make an effort to appreciate its virtues. She would ask Nate to give her a tour of his family orchards now. If her father wished to come along, that would be very nice. And if Verity and Nate slipped away from the party and went alone, that might be even better.
Nate looked up as she approached, and once again, she saw that smile she’d been hoping for.
“Miss Boone!” someone called from behind her.
She turned around and found herself presented with a cup of punch by the doctor’s apprentice, Hadley Jones. In his other hand he held a plate with a tea sandwich and a cupcake.
“Oh, goodness, how I need this!” she exclaimed, taking the cup and sipping the punch.
“I thought you might.” Verity was struck by the young man’s laughing eyes, as clear and blue as the sky. “The guest of honor—and you haven’t had a bite to eat or a drop to drink.” Gazing at him over the brim of the cup, she wondered how closely he must have been watching to know that.
He looked exceedingly smart in a well-cut frock coat and matched trousers, livened by a copper-colored pinstripe vest and a brilliant blue tie. His ginger curls glinted like gold in the late-afternoon sun. Verity looked pointedly at the plate in his hand. “Is that for me as well?”
“Doctor’s orders,” he said cheerfully, holding it out. When Verity snatched up the cupcake and took a bite, he grinned. “A young lady who eats the cake before the sandwich! I approve!”
Verity tried not to laugh with her mouth full. Here, at least, was someone whose friendliness seemed honest. “I might not have time for both,”
she said in her own defense. “And how would I feel if I’d eaten the sandwich and never got to the cake at all?”
“A very sensible decision. Please don’t let me interrupt your enjoyment of it.” He turned his head and whistled while she laughingly ate the rest of the cake and—with a quick glance to see if anyone was looking—licked off her fingers. The doctor’s apprentice made a point of peeking to see if she was finished, then turned toward her. “Am I right in believing that the delightful jam tarts were your work, Miss Boone?”
“They were mine.” She sipped from the punch cup again and took the sandwich from the plate he still held within her reach. “I don’t know if they were delightful or not.”
“Every single one of them is gone,” he told her. “Would I be endearing myself to you if I told you I ate three of them—or just embarrassing myself?”
She caught her breath in surprise. This young man was flirting with her! Didn’t he realize this wasn’t just a welcome-home party—that it was an engagement party as well?
Guiltily she looked around for Nate. Her father was talking to the minister over by the tent, and Verity’s betrothed was nowhere in sight. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked back at Hadley Jones, meaning to excuse herself—but before she could, three small children darted between them.
Jones’s free hand shot out, catching the last one in line by the collar and hauling him back. Piper Thomas wriggled like a trout on the hook. “How’s your head?” the young man asked, bending to examine it. “Have you been picking at the stitches?”
“Mama said she’d switch me if I did,” the boy replied.
Satisfied with what he saw, Jones released Piper, who threw himself headlong across the lawn and landed on one of Nate’s nephews. A wrestling match ensued.
“Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Verity.
“Let them go,” Jones said, taking her by the arm and leading her away. “It’s all in a day’s work. Between the Thomases and the McClure clan, I knew enough to come prepared.” Laying the empty plate aside on a table, he reached into his coat and came out with a handkerchief. Unfolding it, he showed Verity a needle and a length of suture, neatly folded inside.
She broke out into peals of laughter. Whether he was flirting with her or was just a charming young man with an amiable personality, she couldn’t help but like him. “I hope you aren’t called upon for action,” she said. “You deserve an evening off.”
“A doctor is never fully off duty,” he said with mock solemnity. “It won’t be the first time I’ve done surgery on the field, and I know I can count on you to hold the patient down and not faint.” He nodded at the tent. “We can clear one of those tables—sweep the dishes off—and lay our patients out.”
“We’d have the church society swooning left and right,” Verity predicted. Then she sobered a bit. “Did you serve in the war?”
The laughter in his eyes dimmed. “I enlisted at fifteen and served as a doctor’s aide. It was a far cry from apprenticeship under Dr. Robbins, and not so much doctoring as butchering. We lost hundreds of men simply for lack of clean water and soap.”
Verity recoiled, and seeing her reaction, he stepped away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s not a pretty thought for a young lady at her engagement party.” So he did know. Verity stepped back a pace as well, uncomfortable in the knowledge that she had encouraged his attention.
“Good evening, Miss Boone,” Hadley Jones said abruptly, “and best wishes to you. Nathaniel McClure is . . . a very good . . . farmer.”
The sun was setting beyond the mountains when Verity finally caught up with Nate. There was no sign of a smile as he looked down on her, his whole demeanor stiff, his eyes dark in the fading light. “Having a good time?” he asked shortly.
“I was,” she said, gazing up at him with apprehension.
He nodded. “No one of interest left at the party?”
Verity felt her heart flutter with distress. “There are lots of interesting people here.”
“But no one special,” he persisted, “now you’ve finally come over to talk to me.”
“I’ve been looking for you for hours.”
“I’ve been here the whole time.”
She knew exactly what had upset him. “I don’t know anyone here very well, Nate. I’ve tried to be friendly to all your mother’s guests—”
“Some more than others.” He paused, opened his mouth, shut it again, and then went on as if he couldn’t help himself. “You knew Hadley Jones well enough to eat off his plate.”
She gasped at the unfairness of that. “He brought me some refreshment—which was more than you did.”
“Was I supposed to feed you?”
“You hardly have room to talk,” she snapped. “How many former sweethearts do you have at this party?”
He stared at her, astounded. “What are you talking about?”
A bell rang—the cowbell on the verandah of the house. Verity and Nate turned as one to find Fanny McClure pulling on the bell rope. “I hope everyone has had a good time—and a good plateful!” she called out.
“And a good tankard!” shouted one man, raising a mug full of ale.
“Aye!” Mrs. McClure hollered back. “I’m sure you’ve had that, Amos!” While the crowd laughed, she scanned the various groupings in her yard until she spotted the pair she was looking for. Her features softened with tenderness. “But let’s not forget what we’ve come here to celebrate. One of our Catawissa daughters has come back to us.”
Across the wide expanse of the McClure yard, guests turned to look at Verity. She stiffened under the regard of so many people.
Nate drew an uneasy breath. “Verity, I’m sorry,” he whispered. She looked up at him, thinking this was an awkward moment to apologize for his fit of jealousy. But Nate’s eyes were on his mother, not on her.
Mrs. McClure went on. “Of course, most of you know we’re welcoming her not just back to our town but into our family too. My husband, Michael—” She paused and placed a hand against her heart. “My Michael—God rest his soul—saved the ring his father gave his mother for twenty-five years, wanting his son to have it next.” She smiled and shook her head. “But then, you know, we had all these girls—”
“Oh, Mother!” cried Carrie, causing a wave of laughter.
“But Michael knew we’d have our boy someday, and there would come a time when that boy would give that ring to a girl of his choosing.”
Verity turned and stared up at Nate. “I told her I didn’t want to do it this way,” he whispered.
Fanny McClure clasped her hands together tearfully. “Finally,” she said, “that day has come.”
Every single person on the lawn turned to watch.
Even in the gathering darkness of evening, Verity could see how uncertain and embarrassed Nate was. He frowned and looked around as if hoping someone might offer him a reprieve or a means of escape. Then, giving a sigh of resignation, he reached into the pocket of his coat and removed a gold band set with diamonds.
With all eyes upon her and her mind on the promise she had made, Verity held out her hand. But Nate was holding the ring between his thumb and index finger, as if he expected her to take it from him. When he realized she wanted him to slip it on her finger, he fumbled and shifted his grip, just as Verity, seeing that he wasn’t intending to put it on her hand himself, reached out for it. Their hands collided, knocking the ring out of his grasp. Verity imagined it lost in the grass.
Then Nate’s left hand darted out and caught it neatly in midair. He offered it to her on his palm, and she accepted it with a trembling hand and put it on her own finger.
Verity looked up and met his dark, troubled eyes.
This was not a very auspicious beginning.
Eleven
VERITY WOKE up around dawn and cried. She lay in bed and examined the ring through her tears, running her fingers over the worn gold band and the three diamonds set in it.
He hadn’t wanted to give it to her.
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br /> It was one thing for Verity to worry that promising marriage to Nathaniel McClure had been a mistake. But it was crushing to imagine he might think the same thing about her.
Over and over, she revisited her behavior at the party. Had she been flirtatious with the doctor’s apprentice? It was true she found him easy to talk to—much easier than her intended. He had an affable manner that put her at ease, while Nate was just so stiff!
What was she to do, in any case? Break off the engagement? Tell her father that she’d rather not wed the young man he wanted to take on as his partner?
And do what instead? Return to Worcester, a burden on her foster parents until somebody more pleasing took an interest in her?
When the morning light could no longer be denied, she rose from her bed and dressed. For a long time, she sat at her dressing table, turning the McClure ring round and round on her finger. It was too big for her, and after a while she took a ribbon and her sewing scissors and cut a bit of fabric to wrap around the band so it would fit more snugly.
Sometimes things had to be adjusted before they fitted properly.
With a sigh, she opened the trunk.
When she looked at her mother’s possessions, she felt conflicting emotions: sadness and longing, curiosity and protectiveness—and a fair amount of anger and resentment. Because of some sort of scandal, her mother had been buried outside the church grounds. Fearing grave robbers, her father and uncle had erected those cages—which, ironically, had attracted more grave robbers, hunting for treasure.
She examined the assortment of boxes again. They told her little—only that her mother had liked to collect boxes. As for the dozen or so sachets in the trunk, each one wrapped in a scrap of cloth and tied with a ribbon, Verity sniffed at them curiously, but they’d long since lost their fragrance.
One by one, she unfolded her mother’s dresses. Some were still in very good condition and could be altered to fit her and trimmed in the latest style. Others were not suitable, too worn or outdated to be worth making over, but they would provide fabric for quilting. Verity thought it might be very nice to have a quilt made of her mother’s old clothing.
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