by Dorothy Love
She slumped in the chair. “I’m happy to know my troubles inspired you. But honestly, I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Yes, you do.” He pinned her with his gaze and waited.
She sighed. “I suppose you’ll tell me I must confess and ask both God and Ethan to forgive me. Believe me, I rehearsed that confession a thousand times last night when I couldn’t sleep. But then I kept imagining Ethan’s reaction.”
“It isn’t easy to admit to a wrong. But the truth, however unpleasant, is hardly ever as bad as we imagine. If Ethan Heyward is half the man he ought to be, he’ll accept your apology, forgive you, and you’ll go on as before.”
His voice softened. “We’ve been apart for a long time, Sophie, but I still can read you like a book. And the chapter I’m reading right now tells me you might be developing feelings for this man that are far deeper than you’ve admitted—and that have nothing to do with the success of the Gazette.”
Heat crept into her cheeks. Was she really so transparent? But it was a relief to unburden herself to someone who knew her so well. “It makes no sense, really. I’ve seen him only a few times, but I do like him very much.”
“Then you owe him a friendship based upon truth.”
“I know that, but I lack the courage.”
He steepled his fingers and studied her. “Maybe what you really need is the courage to believe that you are a perfect creation, just as you are. That our Creator knew what he was doing when he made you.”
The train whistle pierced the quiet. Robbie took out his pocket watch. “I should go. My mother-in-law arrived here last night for a week’s visit, and Ethelinda reminded me that we promised to take a picnic to the river this afternoon.”
Sophie laughed. “Robbie Whiting, somehow I cannot picture you on an outing with a mother-in-law.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem real to me either. But it will be all too real if I’m late. Mrs. Wilkins is a good woman, but she can be sharp-tongued when she feels her daughter is getting less of my attention than she deserves. I ought not to keep them waiting.”
She rose. “Thank you for listening to my troubles. They must seem small compared to what so many others face.”
“The Lord makes no distinction among us, Sophie. He sees and feels all our suffering and is willing to offer solace if we ask.” He took both her hands. “If you value Mr. Heyward’s friendship, you know what you must do. Do it now, before it’s too late.”
THIRTEEN
For two months, the mayor and the town council have refused Miss Sabrina Gilman an opportunity to present her idea for opening an infirmary in Hickory Ridge, despite support from Dr. Ennis Spencer and many of our leading citizens.
Last week the mayor again refused Miss Gilman’s request, citing an overcrowded agenda. However, he and the council members had plenty of time to discuss the purchase of a new brass spittoon for the post office and plenty of time to debate whether Sheriff McCracken or Mr. Griff Rutledge ought to lead this year’s Race Day parade. If the men of this town think so little of the welfare of—
“Sophie?” Caleb Stanhope stuck his head into the office and Sophie’s fingers stilled. “Sorry to disturb you when you’re writing, but our shipment of newsprint arrived on this morning’s train and the stationmaster wants it out of the way. You want me to finish printing the fliers for Blue Smoke or go get our paper?”
Sophie took off her reading glasses and set them aside. “I suppose you’d better get the paper. I’ll finish the Blue Smoke order.”
He came into the office and peered over her shoulder. “I hate to interrupt your work, especially when you’re on your high horse about Miss Gilman’s infirmary.”
She massaged the tight muscles at the back of her neck. These days work was her only solace. Since her conversation with Robbie, she had slept fitfully, turning his words over in her mind. She never doubted God would forgive her, but Ethan might be a different matter entirely. Perhaps Robbie was right and she needed to summon the courage to be the woman God had created, regardless of anyone’s opinion. But so far that was easier said than done.
She pushed back her chair and stood. “I can finish this later. The Blue Smoke order can’t wait.”
Caleb nodded and brushed his unruly hair from his eyes. “Mr. Pruitt says he heard the resort’s been full up this whole week, and we’re still almost a month from Founders Day. He says if we keep getting a steady stream of visitors, Hickory Ridge will grow rich as Croesus. Whoever that is.”
Sophie smiled. “In which case there is no reason on earth why the town council should not support Gillie’s infirmary.”
“They won’t have any choice once people read your new editorial,” Caleb said. “Shame ’em into it if you have to. The mayor is just being pigheaded, is all. He likes to remind people who is in charge of things around here.” He headed for the door. “I’ll find a freight wagon and get our paper over here.”
Sophie went into the back room and sat down at the jobber press. She checked the troublesome cotter pin and shoved it into place, then worked the treadle. A finished sheet slid into the tray. She picked it up and glanced at the list of activities available to guests at Blue Smoke.
9:00 AM: Coffee and tea available in the library. Please ring the bell for service.
10:00 AM: Tour of the gardens. Marvel at more than one hundred species of blooming plants, but please don’t pick the flowers. Leave them for all to enjoy.
10:30 AM: Riding lessons and demonstrations. Join Mr. Griffin Rutledge at our stables for the finest in equestrian instruction. Meet Majestic, the first Thoroughbred to win the annual Hickory Ridge race.
12:00 noon: Luncheon in the main dining room or on the terrace, weather permitting. Our chef, Mr. Chung, and his able assistants are happy to answer any questions regarding today’s offerings. We accommodate special requests whenever possible. We use only the finest ingredients from local sources. For this reason some items may not always be available.
3:00 PM: Hiking expedition. Please join our own Mr. O’Brien as he leads a hike to the summit of Hickory Ridge. Experience the singular beauty of the mountains from this perch high above the valley. Hikers are encouraged to wear sturdy shoes and carry a walking stick. Photographic equipment and sketchbooks are encouraged. You’ll want to capture this spectacular view.
4:00 PM: Afternoon tea in the library. Blue Smoke is proud to offer occasional lecturers from the worlds of art and literature. This Tuesday we are pleased to host Miss Garaphelia Swint, author of Homes and Gardens of the Old South. Please join us for refreshments and conversation.
7:00 PM: Dinner in the dining room. Menu changes daily. This week our special dessert features locally grown strawberries with buttery shortbread and whipped cream.
9:00 PM: Concert on the terrace. Enjoy beautiful music to soothe the soul and inspire the spirit, courtesy of the Hamlin Trio. Gentlemen are invited to the smoking lounge for cigars and a selection of the finest spirits.
Sophie counted the finished copies and quickly completed the order. Returning to her desk, she rolled a clean sheet of paper into her typewriting machine, typed up the bill, and checked it for errors, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Together with the revenue from her advertising customers, the money from the Blue Smoke account just might be enough to get the jobber press repaired—if she could find anyone with the skills to tackle such an ancient machine.
Caleb returned with the freight driver and they unloaded the paper. Sophie paid the driver and set Caleb to work loading the press for tomorrow’s run, hoping that by morning she’d be able to finish the piece in support of the infirmary. Gillie was counting on her.
The front bell chimed and Sophie looked up to find Ethan standing in the doorway, holding an enormous bouquet of roses. “I brought you a peace offering.”
As delighted as she was to see him, trepidation pressed on her heart. How could she ever admit her lie? Especially now when he was standing so close and smelling wonderfully of cedar and roses. �
��They’re beautiful. But, really, you didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did. I had no right to behave as I did Saturday night.” He laid the fragrant bouquet in her arms, and she noticed someone had taken pains to remove all the thorns. “Everything about the ball was so beautiful that I’m afraid I forgot myself. It won’t happen again.” His fingers brushed her wrist. “Until we both want it to.”
Tell him. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. She buried her nose in the sweet-scented blooms. “I—thank you, Ethan.” She spun away. “I’ll find a vase for these.”
He followed her into the back room, where Caleb had just finished loading the press. Ignoring Ethan, Caleb grabbed his cap. “All done, Miss Caldwell. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He left, the door slapping shut behind him. Ethan leaned against the door frame and crossed his ankles. “I didn’t know you’d hired Stanhope.”
Sophie rummaged in the cupboard for her blue enameled pitcher and filled it with water from the bucket beside the door. She set the bouquet into it. “It was my fault he lost his job. I had to do something.”
“I heard that you and Miss Gilman are trying to get an infirmary established.”
“Yes, but we need permission from the town council to convert the orphanage into the infirmary and funds to get it started, but the mayor keeps putting her off.” She gestured toward the outer office. “I’m working on an editorial about it for this week’s edition.”
“Then heaven help the mayor.” He paused. “The building is in bad shape. It’ll take some doing to get it repaired, and that’s not even considering the cost of supplies and running the place.”
“Gillie’s thought of all that. But first we have to convince the council to turn the building over to us. After that, we’ll—” She stopped, suddenly aware of his intent gaze. “What’s the matter? Do I have ink on my nose?”
He shook his head. “Your nose is perfect. I was just thinking that you always seem to do the right thing.”
Tell him. “Ethan, the other night, when we—”
He held up one hand. “Can we not talk about that? I’m still mortified at my behavior, and I would consider it a great favor if you would forget about it. Let’s pretend it never happened and that we are meeting today for the very first time.”
Forgive me, Lord. But if it is his wish to erase from memory the events of that entire night . . .
“The Founders Day celebration is coming up in a few weeks,” Ethan said. “I’ll have to be up at Blue Smoke for part of the day making sure our guests are taken care of, but I’m hoping you’ll join me for dinner and fireworks.” He smiled. “I promise to behave like a perfect gentleman.”
She fussed with the bouquet, turning the pitcher this way and that. “The last time I attended the Founders Day to-do, I was ten years old. I remember telling my guardian a story that day. I think that was the day she decided to help me.”
“I wish I had known you then.”
“No, you don’t. I was skinny and ragged and living in a dream world. I could barely read and write. I had no future until Ada came along.” She removed a couple of leaves from the rose stems. “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it, how quickly our lives can change.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Yes, it is. So how about it? Will you come with me?”
The hotel clerk looked up from his magazine as Ethan approached the desk. “Help you, Mr. Heyward?”
“I’m looking for a man who might have checked in a few days ago, name of Julian Worth. Tall fellow. Olive skin, blue eyes.”
“He checked in all right, but then he checked right back out.”
“Any idea where he might have gone?”
“He didn’t say. You want to leave a message in case he turns up again?”
“No message. Thanks.”
Leaving the hotel, Ethan headed toward the railway station and the supply train that was due to leave for Blue Smoke in a matter of minutes. Now that construction was finished and the passenger car delayed indefinitely, the train was used mostly for transporting fresh meat, produce, and housekeeping necessities up the mountain to the resort.
After stopping at the mercantile to buy a bag of peppermints, he found a bench at the station near the waiting-room door. He removed the lid from the box containing the print order Sophie had just finished and scanned the top sheet. He had to hand it to her. She made sure every job was letter-perfect.
He liked being able to depend on her. Aside from that, he enjoyed the sound of her infectious laughter, the hint of mischief in her eyes. True, today she had seemed more serious than usual. Preoccupied. But maybe that was because she cared so deeply about Miss Gilman’s infirmary.
He’d hoped the roses would bring more of a smile to her face, but at least she had agreed to accompany him to the Founders Day celebration on July 4—well, July 3 this year since the actual holiday fell on a Sunday. Founders Day was a big occasion for the town, and Ethan had attended the festivities every year since coming to Hickory Ridge, though he didn’t much care for the noise and the crowds. Invariably too many men—including his workers—imbibed more spirits than was wise.
This year, however, he looked forward to the communal picnic, the music and fireworks, the children running about and splashing in the river. Their antics put him in mind of the languid summer days of his boyhood, fishing and running wild through endless fields of cotton with Julian. Julian, who had been his closest friend and confidant until that horrific day when the world as he knew it ended and Julian disappeared, leaving behind dark clouds of hatred and suspicion.
The supply train whistle sounded. Ethan climbed aboard and found a place to sit among cartons of tomatoes and squash, boxes of flour and salt, and slabs of bacon and beef neatly wrapped in butcher paper. Sun Wong, the chef’s number one assistant, got on and bowed to Ethan. He pointed to the box Ethan balanced on his knees. “You buy present for missy?”
“For . . . oh no. This is a printing order she filled for me.”
The Chinaman nodded, but confusion showed in his eyes. “Ah. Pretty lady.”
“Yes, indeed.”
The train, spewing cinders, labored up the steep grade. Ethan stared out at the passing landscape and thought once more about Julian’s unexpected appearance at Blue Smoke. Shock and rage had prevented him from saying anything other than ordering his unwelcome guest off the premises. But now he found himself haunted by the question he hadn’t thought to ask. Why on earth had Julian sought him out after all this time—when it was far too late for the interloper to undo the harm he’d done?
FOURTEEN
Sophie scrubbed at her fingers with a pumice stone and soap, trying to remove the traces of machine oil from her fingers. The jobber press had broken twice today, the second time requiring a complete dismantling in order to fix it. And of course Caleb was not due to work again until tomorrow. The mutinous press seemed always to break down when she was working alone.
She swished her hands through the soapy water and inspected them. Not perfect, but she was running late for her promised visit to Mariah Whiting’s bookshop. She dried her hands on the towel she kept hanging on a nail beside the basin, tidied her hair, and removed her ink-stained apron. With a final glance around the office, she locked the door and crossed the street.
She passed the bakery and Mr. Pruitt’s mercantile, where half a dozen men crowded the doorway, chewing tobacco and swapping stories. Someone laughed. A skinny black-and-tan hound got to his feet and followed Sophie along the boardwalk, his brown eyes pleading for attention.
She smiled down at him. “You want something to eat, don’t you?”
The dog sniffed her skirts and nuzzled her hand. She stopped to scratch his ears and his tail thumped against her skirts. “I don’t have anything for you, I’m afraid. You might have better luck at the bakery.”
“Hector!” A barefoot boy in tattered overalls rushed toward them. “I told you to wait for me.” He grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck. “
We got to get on home.” He glanced up at Sophie. “Sorry, ma’am. He knows not to bother people.”
“He isn’t a bother at all.” Sophie smiled at the boy and stroked the dog’s head. “He’s hungry, that’s all.”
“Yes’m, I expect he is. We all are, but our mama’s feeling too poorly to cook us anything. She’s been down in the bed for more’n a week, and Pa can’t cook worth spit.”
Just then a burly man emerged from the mercantile carrying a large crate. Spotting the boy and his dog, he emitted a loud whistle and shoved the crate into a waiting wagon.
“That’s Pa. We got to go.”
“Just a minute. Has your mother seen a doctor?”
“No, ma’am, but Pa’s been doctoring her with mustard plasters. He says mustard’ll cure just about anything that ails you.”
He raced toward the wagon, the dog bounding along at his heels. Sophie shook her head. What would it take to convince people to see a doctor instead of relying upon home cures? Stepping around a gaggle of children sprawled on the boardwalk with their marbles, she hurried toward the bookshop and opened the door.
The woman behind the counter looked up when the bell rang and a slow smile spread across her face. “Sophie, I’m so glad you’re here. We never seem to have much time to visit these days, do we?”
“Hello, Mrs. Whiting.” Sophie grinned, overcome with a rush of affection for Robbie’s mother. Though they saw each other briefly around town and in church, they always seemed to be off in opposite directions. Mariah Whiting had grown rounder and her hair was threaded with gray, but her smile was just the same as when she used to come by the orphanage to deliver quilts or Christmas stockings. Mrs. Whiting had always managed to slip Sophie an extra treat—a piece of hard candy, a hair ribbon, a pastry from the bakery. Those small gifts had made Sophie feel, at least for a moment, as if she mattered.
“Aren’t you looking pretty as a picture?” Mariah Whiting came around the counter and embraced Sophie. “Thank you for coming to see me. Our conversations on Sunday mornings have been much too brief.”
