“That’s far enough, dear. We have plenty of room. The box will seat six.”
She stopped and glanced back. Her gaze skipped over her aunt, who had seated herself, and landed full on Ezra. He was looking her way, no doubt waiting for her to sit so he could take his seat.
Gracious, but the man was handsome! Their gazes met. Warmth surged into her face. She dipped her head forward, sank onto the velvet cushion padding the pew and wished she’d worn a bonnet that would hide her reddened cheeks instead of the wide, flower-trimmed ribbon band hat she preferred. And just why was she blushing anyway? Because she found the man’s appearance pleasing? She had admired other men’s good looks with no such reaction. But it wasn’t only that Ezra’s features were handsome. He—
There was a clearing of throats, a sound of movement. She lifted her head, rose quickly to her feet as David Dibble stepped to the front of the center aisle. The organ struck a chord for the opening hymn. And she hadn’t even heard the opening prayer. She took a breath to compose herself as David Dibble’s strong voice led the singing.
“Oh, Lord, our God and Savior true...”
Sophia’s soprano rang out pure and clear beside her. She stared straight ahead and added her own soft alto to the singing.
“Our Deliverer in ages past...”
Ezra’s tenor, quiet but rich, floated her way from the other end of the box. She stole a quick, sidelong peek at him. He looked so different from when he’d arrived, pale and with his face taut with pain. She’d thought his looks arresting then, but now he’d taken on color from his outside work making his bright blue eyes look even bluer—like pieces of the sky. And with the glow of health adding vigor and strength to his features... Her singing faltered, then faded.
She skimmed her gaze upward, over his dark, straight brows and tanned forehead to his brown, wavy hair. It had grown and wanted to curl, in spite of whatever he’d used to slick it back this morning. She glanced at the nape of his neck where crisp, dark hair brushed against the collar of his light gray shirt and her fingers tingled with the remembered thickness, the springy touch of his hair when she’d tended his wound. It had been—
She started, looked down at the hand tugging at her arm and turned a questioning gaze on her aunt. Her seated aunt. The soft, rustling sounds of people making themselves comfortable caught her attention. A quick glance around showed she was the only one not sitting—except for Ezra. His manners had kept him standing.
She dropped like a stone onto the pew and busied herself smoothing her long skirt, acutely aware of the quizzical look in Sophia’s eyes and of Ezra seating himself at the other end of the box. She slipped the drawstring of her reticule off her wrist, fussed with her soft, kid gloves to keep from meeting Sophia’s gaze.
“I take my text this morning from Proverbs, chapter six, verse sixteen. ‘These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him.’”
Thank goodness the preaching had started. She looked up and focused her attention on Matthew, determined to corral her wandering thoughts and listen to every word of the message he was about to deliver.
“I am going to speak on these abominations over the coming seven weeks.” Matthew’s gaze scanned the congregation, touched hers. His lips curved in a small smile before his gaze moved on. “The first abomination is the basis for my address this morning. You’ll find it at the beginning of verse seventeen—‘a proud look.’ Why would God hate that?”
She stiffened, clenched the reticule in her lap to keep from blurting a response to the rhetorical question.
“The ‘proud look’ I’m speaking about is one of inordinate self-esteem, of a conceit of superiority. It is the opposite of humility.”
What a perfect description of Jacob Strand and the other men her father had given permission to court her. To have them treat her less like a person and more like a fancy piece of jewelry to buy and wear on their arm was enraging. But she had escaped here to Pinewood. And thanks to Sophia, she would not have to return home and accept one of those suitors against her will.
Gratitude filled her heart. She turned her head and smiled at her aunt, her senses achingly aware of Ezra sitting straight and tall on Sophia’s other side. He was not like Jacob Strand and the others. He had a strong, confident air about him, but nothing of arrogance. Only a sort of sureness and niceness that made one want to trust him.
Her stomach clenched. She looked down at her lap, feeling sick. If only he weren’t hiding something. But he was. The Lord hated that, too. And so did she.
* * *
The narrow dirt path looked little used. It tended north, all but hidden by the flood-flattened grasses of the field behind the hotel, then disappeared into the band of trees that followed the Allegheny’s watery course.
Ezra glanced up at the sun hovering above the western rim of the surrounding forested foothills. There was time to explore a short distance before dusk settled in. The ground, still spongy in spots, gave beneath his boots as he crossed the open area, firmed as he neared the trees and stepped onto a sun-dappled trail littered with twigs and bits of bark and old leaves pulled from the undergrowth by the retreating flood. The river whispered along the bank on his left, chuckled around a low hanging branch that dangled in the water, the sibilant flow at odds with his roiling thoughts.
The reverend was married. He’d learned that much today. So why had the man been with Callie on those two occasions? Were they old friends? Or something more? No. That wasn’t possible. He was adept at judging character, and Callie Conner was a true lady, not a “something more” woman. So where did that leave him?
He scowled, tore a piece of loose bark off the trunk of a tree and pitched it into the water. It broke the surface and disappeared, then bobbed up and floated away. That was the way he felt, like he was floating. And he didn’t like it. He was accustomed to being in control.
He brushed the bark dust from his hands, ducked beneath a limb and walked on. He’d never been so strongly attracted to a woman the way he was to Callie. And he’d never been in such an uncomfortable position. He always dealt from a place of truth, but he couldn’t tell her the truth yet. Not until he found out if she shared his feelings—and if those shared feelings developed into something deeper. If Callie cared for him, it had to be for himself alone, not for his money. And there was only one way to know. He had to woo her as Ezra Ryder: itinerant laborer. He had to risk her rejection, risk his pride.
He stopped and scowled. Was that what had been stopping him from paying court to Callie? Had he been fooling himself by thinking it was the other man? In all the business deals he’d made over the years, he’d risked only money and possessions. With Callie he would risk his pride. His heart. Was he willing?
He kicked a stone out of his way, rounded a bend in the trail and found his answer.
She was standing perfectly still, looking toward the trees. The lowering sun’s rays defined the valleys and crests of the riotous pile of black curls at her crown, warmed the alabaster flesh at the nape of her neck, gilded the red wool of her modest gown. There was a softness, a vulnerability in her posture he’d never seen. And he knew. A sureness settled in his heart that could not be denied. He loved her. And he would risk himself and all he possessed to win her.
“What holds you so rapt, Callie Conner?”
“Oh!” She whirled his direction. There was a flash of white among the trees, the snap of twigs. She whirled back. “She’s gone. You’ve frightened her off.”
“Her?”
“A doe. She was about to cross the trail to the water. The deer come here at dusk to drink before they bed down.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, moved forward a short distance and stopped, facing the trees. “Their track is here.” She gave a graceful little wave.
He took it as an invitation and walked up to stand beside her. It was a struggle to tear his ga
ze from her face. She was looking at the ground, lost in her discourse about the deer, and none of the reserved air she usually wore masked the gentleness, the warm beauty of her spirit. It shone in her eyes, softened the line of her mouth. His mouth went dry. He jerked his gaze from her face to the rutted track.
“The deer have used this path for years.” She gave a joyful little laugh that drew his gaze back to her. “Sadie and Willa and I came here often to watch them. Sometimes Ellen would come along.” She glanced up into his eyes, and the breath froze in his lungs. “Daniel showed us the track and taught us to sit quiet and still until the deer came. That’s why Ellen didn’t come very often. She’s not a patient person.”
A tiny, vertical line formed between her arched brows. Her beautiful violet-blue eyes clouded. Anger, at whatever caused her distress, shot through him. He clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “I take it Sadie, Willa, Ellen and Daniel are childhood friends?”
“Oh, yes. We were very close. And then Father moved us to Buffalo.” She turned away, and wandered up the trail.
It was plain she hadn’t liked moving from Pinewood. He fell into step beside her, eager to keep her talking, to learn all he could about her. “It’s hard to leave your home and your friends, especially when you’re young and have no say in the matter.”
“Yes. But even had we stayed, things would have changed. Sadie moved to Rochester.” Sadness, and something he couldn’t define, tinged her voice. “And Ellen is in Buffalo...”
“And Willa and Daniel?” Especially Daniel.
Her smile returned. “They are here in Pinewood. Daniel works for Mr. Townsend—” she gave him another sidelong glance “—that’s Sadie’s grandfather. Daniel is a teamster at one of his logging camps. And Willa—” She gave a rippling laugh, full of delight. “Willa is Reverend Calvert’s wife. It’s lovely, her living in the parsonage where I can simply dash over across the street for a visit—though I’ve learned to go prepared for weather. I was caught there by that thunderstorm the other night and the reverend had to escort me home under their umbrella. He’s very kind and thoughtful.”
He could have burst into song. He’d been sure there was an innocent explanation for Callie’s being with the reverend, but to have it confirmed... He stepped to the side of the path, broke off a budding sprig of pussy willow and offered it to her with a bow. “I wish this were a rose.” He straightened, and smiled.
“A kind thought, sir. But I prefer the pussy willow.”
She looked down and reached for the sprig. Their hands touched. She went as still as she’d been when he’d come upon her standing in the path. Her fingers trembled against his. His pulse leapt. He stepped closer.
“Callie...” Her name was a hoarse whisper, a question.
She shook her head, and stepped back. “Thank you for the willow twig.” The words were mere breath. She turned and started back toward the hotel.
He fought his thudding heart into submission and fell into step beside her. She edged away a bit, putting more space between them, which was probably for the best. He clasped his hands behind him and shortened his strides to match her shorter steps, and heard her take a breath.
“You told Aunt Sophia it had fallen on you to support your family when you moved from the farm to the city. I envy you. I’ve always wanted a brother or sister.” She slanted a glance his direction, then quickly lowered it again. “Your family must be eager for your return.”
He looked down at the budding sprig she was slowly twirling between her index fingers and thumbs. He clasped his hands tighter and shook his head. “No one awaits me. Mother passed from this life three years ago, and my sister is married and lives in Philadelphia.” He glanced up at the darkening sky as they left the band of trees and walked out into the open field. “As for my brother, he is in Europe seeking his fortune.” A costly enterprise that he was paying for. “Mind the mud.”
She nodded, lifted her hems and stepped around the dark, wet spot of ground in front of her. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ezra. It’s difficult to lose a loved one.” Another sidelong glance came his way. “You must miss your brother and sister.”
“No longer. I’ve grown accustomed to their being gone.”
His pulse quickened as they approached the hotel. He would take her elbow and help her up to the porch, bid her good-night at the door.
She stopped at the base of the steps, still holding her hems, and looked up at him. The soft, fading light of dusk made dark shadows of the long, thick lashes that hid her beautiful eyes.
“Good evening, Ezra.”
The finality of her tone made her meaning clear—he was to come no farther. She climbed the steps and crossed the porch, the red wool of her modest gown whispering softly.
He waited until she was safe inside, then blew out a long breath and headed for the barn. He was accustomed to young women welcoming his slightest attention, not turning their backs on him. Courting Callie Conner could prove to be more costly to his pride than he imagined.
* * *
Callie cracked opened her bedroom door and peered out into the empty kitchen. Sophia’s doorway was dark. She’d finally retired.
She tiptoed to her aunt’s rooms and listened. Soft, regular breathing announced Sophia’s sound sleep. She hurried back to her bedroom, grabbed the handle of the lantern and walked quietly to the back door. The hinge creaked. She froze, listened. There was no stirring.
She slipped outside, eased the door closed, then hurried across the porch and down the steps. It had to be somewhere along the path. The golden circle of light swept back and forth across the ground as she swung the lantern, searching.
It was lying at the edge of the dark, wet patch of mud. She must have dropped it when she took hold of her skirts to lift the hems. She bent and picked up the sprig of pussy willow, her breath catching at the memory of Ezra picking it for her.
She glanced toward the glint of gray that was her aunt’s bedroom window, lowered the wick and snuffed her lamp. She would make her way back to the hotel in the dark. Should Sophia awake and look out her window, she didn’t want to have to explain why she had come outside. Indeed, she couldn’t. Who could explain the treachery of one’s heart?
Chapter Nine
She’d caught them in time. They were a little darker and crisper around the edges than she normally cooked them, but not burned. Callie shoved the pan of fried potatoes to the back of the stove to keep warm and glanced down at the pancakes. The little bubbles at their edges were bursting. She flipped the rounds of batter over to cook the other side and checked the bacon sizzling on the other griddle, then pushed a curl back off her forehead with her free hand.
If only he would stop looking at her. She could feel his gaze, and it played havoc with her concentration. She never burned food. But she had come close with those potatoes.
“Is there anything that needs my attention this morning?”
She stared at the stove, holding back a sigh. Please let there be nothing for them to discuss with Aunt Sophia. Please. She eyed the steaming coffeepot beside the pan of potatoes. She would make less tomorrow. Joe always left when the coffee was gone and Ezra went with him.
“The sorrel mare that belongs to the man who came in last night has a loose shoe. I discovered it this morning when I was leading her out to the watering trough. You might want to tell your guest so he can plan on having the shoe fixed before he’s ready to leave.”
Ezra’s deep voice eroded her self-control. She slid her gaze toward the table. He was looking at her over the top of his coffee cup. She yanked her traitorous gaze back to the stove, raised her hand to brush another dangling curl off her forehead and stopped midway. If she kept fidgeting, he’d know his presence unsettled her. She had to stay calm.
Calm? She wanted to stomp her foot and demand that he get out of her kitchen
. Or run to her bedroom and hide. Oh, why did he have to chance upon her on the deer trail yesterday? She’d been doing fine until then. Now she kept remembering the look in his eyes when he’d picked that sprig of pussy willow and handed it to her, the way he’d said her name as if she were something precious. Her. Not her appearance. He’d never once mentioned her beauty. Her throat tightened.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Please, Lord, You know he’s a deceiver. Please keep me strong. Don’t let me care for him. And please, help me make it through breakfast without betraying my—
A sharp odor stung her nostrils—the odor of char.
“The bacon’s burning, Callie.”
She snapped her eyes open at Joe’s warning, glanced down at the sizzling, blackened slices, shoved the griddle to the cooler area at the side of the stove and scooped the burned bacon onto a plate. She coughed and waved her hand through the smoke from the hissing, popping grease.
“Never seen you burn food before, Callie.”
“It’s my first time, Joe, but I’m sure I’ll get better at it.” Her attempt at humor fell flat to her ears, but the elderly groom chuckled and went back to eating. She picked up the turner and slipped the scorching pancakes off the griddle onto the plate with the burned bacon, refused to look Ezra’s way though her nerves tingled with awareness of his gaze fastened on her.
Sophia appeared at her side, grasped her hand and gently removed the turner. “Did you burn yourself, Callie? Do you want me to take over?”
She shook her head, rubbed her palms on the apron covering her long skirt. “Thank you, Aunt Sophia, but I’m fine. My fingers sting a little, but it serves me right for—” mooning over a sprig of pussy willow. She caught her breath, groping for something she could say. “—for building castles in the air.”
Courting Miss Callie Page 8
