After the services, he was bombarded by ladies coming up and introducing themselves, their curiosity scarcely veiled. As soon as he commented that he was traveling alone, he began receiving dinner invitations, and he hardly knew what to do—it was rather like being swarmed by honeybees. A firm but gentle hand tucked through his arm, and he turned to see the bright blue eyes of Mrs. Wendell Thurgood.
She had come to his rescue.
“I’m sorry, ladies, but Mr. Hoffman has agreed to have Sunday dinner with us,” she said.
“Indeed I have,” he said, taking her cue. The women surrounding him looked disappointed, but they nodded, and almost as quickly as it had formed, the crowd dissipated.
Ariadne Thurgood smiled. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but you looked as though you could use some help.” Just as he had at the tea shop, he found her British accent charming.
“I was in definite need. Thank you.”
She nodded toward the disappearing crowd. “They mean well, but they have two objectives—first, to discover if you and Mrs. Olson have reached any sort of agreement. News like that would certainly take the town by storm. If you’re not attached to Mrs. Olson, their next objective would be to tie you down to one of their daughters—or perhaps themselves. They aren’t very subtle about it, are they?”
Not at all. “Do they do this to every stranger who comes through town?”
“Only the ones who look like they have more than two cents to rub together, or who look respectable, or who are interesting . . . well, yes. I suppose they do.” She laughed. “Come back to the house and eat with us—unless you’d rather eat with Mrs. Olson. I’d understand completely.”
Christopher was torn. He would enjoy another meal with Mrs. Olson, but Mrs. Thurgood’s offer was so kind—and it would give him the chance to discuss his plan with Wendell. “I’d love to accept, Mrs. Thurgood.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. I have a nice roasted chicken going, and I was hoping for someone to share it with.”
Christopher looked around until he spotted Marigold and Patty waiting for him on the front lawn. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he approached them. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. I was a bit waylaid.”
“We noticed,” Patty said. “And we weren’t surprised—you’re the most exciting thing that’s happened in town all week.”
“I am? It must have been a fairly dull week then.” He motioned over his shoulder. “Mrs. Thurgood has invited me over. Is that all right? I don’t know if you’ve already gone to particular trouble over the meal . . .”
Patty lifted a hand. “We knew you’d be invited out—like I said, you’re the excitement in Creede this week, and chances were, you’d get a dozen or so offers.”
“Thank you, Patty. You’re a gem.” He turned to Marigold. “I won’t be gone long—and when I come back, I’d enjoy an evening stroll, if that suits.”
“I’d like that,” she replied softly.
It was tempting to change his mind and go home with her rather than Mrs. Thurgood, but he smiled, turned, and found his hostess. She motioned him toward a carriage that stood on the edge of the church property.
“Wendell stayed home with our sick baby boy,” she explained as she gathered up the lines. “I believe he’ll be quite pleased to see that I brought home a souvenir from church.”
“I’m sorry to hear the child’s not well, but I’m impressed that Wendell stayed behind to care for him. Back where I grew up, many would see that as the wife’s responsibility.”
“Oh, it’s not so different here,” she replied. “But Wendell’s a different sort of man. From the moment he laid eyes on his son, he wanted to be an important part of his life, and he does quite a bit of the childcare. I just hope the novelty of it doesn’t wear off anytime soon—I’m becoming quite spoiled.”
When they reached the Thurgood home, she excused herself to go check on the baby, and a few minutes later, Wendell entered the room, his hand outstretched.
“Mr. Hoffman, it’s good to see you. I’m glad Ariadne brought you home.”
“I am too. I’m always ready for a good meal.” Christopher lowered his voice. “I’d also like to discuss an element of the case while I’m here.”
Wendell smiled. “No need for secrecy—I’ve already told Ariadne the story. I must have been rather distracted after I met with you because she immediately asked me what was wrong.”
“I don’t mind if she knows as long as she will be discreet.”
“She won’t say a word. She understands what we’re trying to do, and the need to go about it carefully.” He crossed the room to a small side table and poured some water from a pitcher into a glass. “May I offer you a drink, such as it is? It’s not whiskey—neither of us partake.”
“I prefer water above all else.” Christopher took the glass, pleased to see that it was cool.
The men sat down in armchairs facing each other. “So, what would you like to discuss with me?” Wendell asked.
“Thomas Wells invested a large amount of money here in Creede when he asked you to purchase that land. Even if he has several other enterprises going at once, he’ll want that money back—it’s too significant to forget about. Right now, he’s probably wondering how to go about liquidating that property so he can get his money back. Since he was run out of town, his reputation here has been anything but positive, and he might feel trapped.”
“Go on,” Wendell said, leaning forward with interest.
“I suggest that we take out a newspaper ad addressed to him and tell him that there’s a buyer interested in his property. The ad will ask him to contact you and give permission for the sale. Depending on how the ad is worded, we could give the impression that he stands to make a profit, and that should drive him out of hiding.” Christopher paused. “Ranse has his concerns, mainly that Wells might not see the ad. But your Mr. Carroll here in Creede can contact some of the larger newspapers in the area and have them run the same ad, and that would increase our chances of locating the man.”
“It’s certainly not foolproof, but I think it sounds reasonable,” Wendell replied. “We can’t send him a letter or telegram since we don’t know where he is—the newspaper is the most logical choice.”
“And by giving him the incentive of profit, he’s more likely to respond,” Christopher said.
Wendell nodded slowly. “I think this is a good idea. If he doesn’t answer, we haven’t lost anything, and we’re no worse off than we are at the moment.”
“Exactly. Our risk is very low, but we stand to gain a lot by taking the chance.”
“Let’s do it,” Wendell said. “I’m guessing I should be the one to place the ad?”
“Yes, please. You’re the one conducting business with him.”
“I’ll head in first thing in the morning.” Wendell stood up, walked over to a desk in the corner of the room, and found a piece of paper. “All right—what should the ad say?”
They discussed it for a moment, glancing up when Mrs. Thurgood entered the room with a swaddled infant in her arms. “He seems much better, dear,” she said to her husband. “You did an excellent job with him.”
“I just walked around and rocked him a bit—it wasn’t anything special.” Wendell brushed off her compliment, but Christopher could see that the man was pleased.
Mrs. Thurgood gave a smile before turning to Christopher. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. May I show you to the table?”
“You may, but first, show me your son.”
His request obviously delighted her. She smiled broadly as she carried the child over and held him so Christopher could see him.
“His name is Edward, after my grandfather,” she said. “He’s just a couple of months old, but this is already his second bout of colic, and he’s given us quite a lot of sleepless nights. Dr. Thomas has been working with us and we’re cautiously optimistic, but until we’ve had a few peaceful nights, we’re still on our toes.”
The infant’s eyelashes fl
uttered against his cheeks, but he didn’t stir. “He seems to be resting comfortably now,” Christopher said. “Perhaps it’s a harbinger of good things to come.”
“I certainly hope so. We love him dearly, but I can’t help thinking we’d have the capacity to love him even more if he slept better.”
The Thurgood home was modest, but comfortable, and Wendell commented on that as the men took their places at the table. “I bought this house shortly before the baby came. We were comfortable before, but snug, and we thought the little tyke might want more room to run around.”
“It’s very nice,” Christopher replied.
“I teased Wendell by telling him we should have used some of Thomas Wells’ property, since it’s in his name, but he didn’t think that was very funny.” Mrs. Thurgood placed Edward in a cradle in the corner of the room, then tiptoed away, looking hopeful.
The roasted chicken was delicious, and the herbed potatoes were also very tasty. What Christopher appreciated the most, though, were the pastries that came out at the end of the meal.
“I’m a baker rather than a cook,” Mrs. Thurgood explained. “It’s taken me months to learn how to prepare a good dinner, but I’ve made desserts nearly my whole life.”
“That’s why the tea shop is such a success,” Wendell added. “Anyone can brew a cup of tea, but the treats that go along with it are a different story.”
She smiled at him, and Christopher could tell the two were very much in love. It was refreshing to witness.
“I don’t mean to spoil our dessert by discussing business, but I confess, this Thomas Wells situation hasn’t left my mind,” Wendell said after wiping his mouth. “What will you do if placing this ad doesn’t work?”
“That’s the same question that keeps coming to my mind, and it’s one I don’t know how to answer,” Christopher replied. He leaned back in his chair. “Wells is a fairly young man, but he has a rather lengthy list of charges against him. He fell in with a bad lot as a youth, and it seems that he’s always been involved in some kind of scam or another. Perhaps he finds that more appealing than an honest day’s work—I don’t know. He’s good at what he does, and he’s good at being elusive.
“I’ve been working this case for a while now, and I feel like I’m always one step behind. I’ll be quite honest with you—I’m becoming fatigued, and I’ve wondered on several occasions now if I shouldn’t hand the situation over to someone else, someone younger who has a fresh set of eyes.”
He took a sip of water, then set the glass back on the table. “To continue being honest, if this ad doesn’t work, I don’t have any other ideas. I fear Thomas Wells will best me at this game, and it’s a horrible admission to make.”
“Then the ad will have to work,” Mrs. Thurgood said. “If this is your last idea, it’s the one that matters most. I wonder . . . Would you mind if I made a suggestion?”
“No, not at all,” Christopher said. “I’d welcome your input.”
“I overheard the two of you discussing the ad when I came to fetch you for dinner, and I thought your ideas sounded nice. I wondered, though, if you were being too polite.”
Christopher was intrigued by that. “How so?”
“You’re inviting him to give you permission to sell the land. What if you asked him to reply by a certain date or you’ll move ahead with the sale? I know that according to the terms of your contract, you can’t just do that, but if he believes you’re breaking the contract, he’ll become angry, and that would give him more incentive to contact you.”
She spoke as though she was worried he’d reject her idea outright, but Christopher smiled. “You make an excellent point, Mrs. Thurgood. This whole time, we’ve tried to honor that contract and keep your husband on the right side of the law, but that seems like such a small concern when we look at the bigger picture. I think you’re right—we should push Thomas Wells into a corner and catch him when he comes out swinging.”
“And you aren’t actually selling the property, so Wendell’s not breaking the contract. He’s just threatening to, but that’s a lie, and the worst trouble he’d be in would be having to repent. I’m sure Reverend Theodore would agree that lying isn’t always a terrible thing, dear,” Mrs. Thurgood said, turning to her husband.
“Maybe I should take it to Reverend Bing instead. He’s by far the more understanding of the two,” Wendell replied.
Christopher chuckled. “I believe we have our plan. Let’s take your wife’s advice and make a liar out of you, Mr. Thurgood.”
“Yes, let’s. Thank you, my dear.” Wendell smiled at his wife.
“I’m glad I could help. Oh, there’s Edward—at least he let us eat our dinner.” Mrs. Thurgood left the table to care for the baby, and Christopher finished his last bite of scone. This approach felt much better to him—much more proactive. And if it didn’t work, maybe that was the sign he needed to know it was time to hand the case off to someone else. Maybe he was getting too old for this.
Chapter Seven
Mary tried to stay focused on her needlework, but her eyes kept straying to the clock on the mantel. It seemed that Christopher had been gone for a long time. She was glad that he had received the dinner invitation from the Thurgoods—it was nice that he was making friends in the community. At the same time, though, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad and perhaps left out.
She had no claim on Christopher—none whatsoever. He could go anywhere he liked and do whatever he pleased, but she missed him, and that realization made it even more clear to her that she had developed feelings for him.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Patty came into the parlor and sat, lifting her feet onto the nearby ottoman. “He’ll be back soon. I’m sure he’s just being polite and doesn’t want to end the meal too quickly.”
“I’m fine. I’m actually getting quite a lot of work done on this rose.” She turned her embroidery around so Patty could see it, but Patty merely glanced at it and shrugged.
“For someone who’s fine, you’re certainly not acting fine. You look more wistful than a mother cat without her kittens.”
“Well, that’s a sorry state of affairs! Next you’ll be telling me that I’ve grown whiskers!”
“No whiskers, but I’ll keep my eyes out.” Patty regarded her. “You’ve been fighting it since he first arrived, but I think it’s time you simply admitted it. Christopher Hoffman has caught your fancy.”
Mary set her embroidery hoop to the side and gave her friend her full attention. “You’re right, except it’s more than that. I feel some sort of connection to him, a kind of string or ribbon that pulls me toward him. When he came downstairs this morning, I knew he was on his way even before I saw or heard him—it was like I sensed him drawing nearer. Have I lost my mind?”
“You might have lost your mind, but not because of that,” Patty replied. “I believe two souls can connect just like you’re saying. Now it’s simply a matter of seeing what happens next.”
“Simply? I don’t think there’s anything simple about it. We’re from two different worlds, he and I.”
“Two different countries, not worlds,” Patty pointed out. “Last I checked, Canada was on the same planet as the United States. The same continent, too.”
“You do enjoy poking fun at me, don’t you?” Mary shook her head with a smile. “You do realize that I’m speaking metaphorically.”
“Yes, and I also think that you’re speaking negatively. There are reasons why people cross paths with each other. Life isn’t an accident, Mrs. Mary Olson—that man didn’t just happen to ride the same train with Heston and Mercy and didn’t just happen to be told he should stay here. Now, I’m not saying that every boarder who shows up is led here by an unseen hand, but he was.”
“And how do you know that?” Mary was both taken aback and curious at Patty’s vehemence.
“Because I feel it right here.” Patty placed her fist against her heart.
Mary blinked against t
he sudden tears that had arisen. She felt it too, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it because she didn’t want to be disappointed. If he left, that would mean she’d been wrong, and if she was wrong, that meant she couldn’t trust her heart.
Just then, the door opened, and Christopher stepped inside. “Hello,” he said, entering the parlor. “Did you get some peace and quiet while I was gone?”
“Lots of quiet, but I wouldn’t say there was peace,” Patty said. She hoisted herself to her feet. “I’ll go put some tea on.”
“Thank you, Patty,” Mary told her, then picked up her embroidery again. She was determined to look and sound casual. “Did you enjoy your meal with the Thurgoods? I hope Ariadne fed you some of her wonderful desserts.”
“Yes, she did, and I enjoyed it very much.” Christopher sat down and crossed his ankle over the opposite knee. “Their little son looks to be quite a charmer too.”
“I haven’t seen him for a few weeks. I’m sure he’s grown since then.”
“Mrs. Thurgood asked me to be sure to invite you to the tea shop on Tuesday. She says you’d be a welcome regular addition.”
“That’s very kind of her, but I might be too busy this Tuesday.” Mary flipped her hoop over and pulled the thread snug. It was time to change to a different color of thread.
“This Tuesday might be a problem, but I’m sure the Tuesday after would suit just as well,” Christopher replied. “What are you making?”
Mary held it up so he could see. “It’s going to be a cushion cover. The truth is, I don’t actually need a cushion cover, but I do need something to do with my hands.”
He laughed. “And so you probably have a dozen cushions tucked away somewhere with no use for them?”
“Something like that.” She’d missed the sound of his laugh in the house. It was quite ridiculous how accustomed she’d grown to it.
Honoring Her Heart Page 6
