Courting Miss Callie

by Dorothy Clark

  “You look pale, Callie. Is the cut bad?”

  She opened her eyes and looked into Agnes’s concerned gaze.

  “Why don’t you go tend to it, then rest for a bit? I’ll finish breakfast.”

  She started to protest, thought better of it and nodded—it would give her time to think. “Thank you, Agnes. I won’t be long.”

  She started for her bedroom, but halted as Ezra stepped in front of her.

  “You’ve hurt yourself?” The concern in his eyes and voice made her stomach flutter. Foolish woman. It was just his way.

  Sophia hurried around the table. “Callie, dear, I didn’t know you’d hurt yourself. What happened? Let me see.”

  She tucked her bleeding finger into her palm and shook her head. “It’s nothing—a scratch only. Excuse me, please.”

  She pulled her long skirt close and swept around Ezra into her room, closed the door and leaned back against it, her finger forgotten. A bank? In a village as small as Pinewood? What sort of scheme was Ezra planning?

  * * *

  The old sign screeched in protest as it was pried from the place it had occupied for almost twenty years.

  “Gracious, I feel as if I’m betraying an old friend.”

  Callie smiled at her aunt, then turned back to watch the new sign being lifted into place and nailed to the fascia board of the porch roof. “The touch of red at the edge of the black border is very attractive and eye-catching, Aunt Sophia.”

  “It does look nice.”

  “It’s right pretty, Sophia.”

  “When does the restaurant open?”

  Callie’s heart swelled with pride as Sophia turned and smiled at the friends and neighbors gathering at the edge of the road. “The restaurant will be open for breakfast tomorrow morning. We will serve all day and close after supper.”

  “Only imagine—our very own restaurant in Pinewood.”

  “I can hardly get my mind around it.”

  “Well, I won’t have any trouble getting my mouth around a good piece of pie or cake.”

  Callie joined in the laughter as the rotund barber who had left his shop to come and watch the sign being hung patted the white apron over his belly. “We’ll be happy to accommodate you, Mr. Fabrizio.”

  “Such a change—a restaurant. And I heard we’re going to have a bank, too. Whoever would have thought it?”

  “We can all thank Mr. Ryder for both. He is bringing new prosperity to Pinewood.” Sophia made a gracious little wave toward the side of the crowd.

  She glanced that way, and saw Ezra standing watching the carpenter. His gaze slipped over the crowd, met hers. Her pulse skipped. She turned back to face the hotel.

  “That’s it, folks. The sign’s up there good and proper.” Daniel Dibble waved his hammer through the air at the burst of applause, then backed down the ladder.

  She glanced at Sophia chatting with the well-wishers around her, smiled and walked across the gravel carriageway. She would have to write Sadie about this moment. She lifted her skirt hems to climb the three steps to the walkway, winced at the touch of the fabric against her sore fingertip.

  Boots struck the planks behind her. Please let it be Mr. Fabrizio. It wasn’t. She recognized the sound of Ezra’s footsteps, felt his presence. She braced herself, fixed a polite smile on her face. He stepped into view beside her, and stayed there.

  “That’s quite a celebration going on back there. Your aunt is regarded with much love and respect by the people of Pinewood. And I can certainly understand why.”

  Her breath caught at his smile. She glanced toward the mercantile, quickened her steps. “With all that’s happened, I don’t believe I have ever thanked you for bringing the restaurant into being. I’m certain it will ease Aunt Sophia’s concerns over finances. Not that you haven’t already done that.” She gave him a sidelong glance, then looked straight ahead.

  “All I did was suggest the idea for the restaurant, Callie. Sophia’s planning and hard work brought the idea to fruition. And it’s your cooking talent that will make it successful.”

  “Nonetheless, the idea was yours, and it has helped Aunt Sophia. I’m grateful.” She couldn’t feel that way about his paying off the loan. It made her uneasy. If she could only figure out what he hoped to gain by it. She paused, gave him a polite nod of farewell and stepped into the recessed entrance to Cargrave’s Mercantile.

  He stepped in behind her, leaned forward and pushed open the door. Bells jangled, mimicking the jangling of her nerves.

  A trembling took her at the feel of his arm against hers, the closeness of his face. The space was so small she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. If she moved the smallest bit... She clenched her hands and froze in place, afraid to even breathe.

  “I’ll see you at supper, Callie.” He turned and walked away.

  She closed her eyes, took a moment to compose herself, then gathered her skirts and stepped inside, thankful he hadn’t come into the store. His presence was too...disconcerting, and it seemed there was no place she could go to be away from him.

  She closed the door, and pushed all thought of Ezra away. The man was becoming an obsession. She stepped to the post office and smiled at the postmaster sitting on his stool. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hubble.”

  “Afternoon, Callie.” He glanced at her over his thick shoulder. “You’ve got a letter from your parents. I hope everything is all right.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. There’s nothing from Sadie?”

  “Nope, not today.”

  She sighed and stepped to Sophia’s box, removed the letter nesting there and turned back toward the door.

  “Callie, dear!”

  She looked down the narrow aisle in front of the dry goods shelves, smiled and hurried forward. “Mrs. Townsend, how good to see you again.” She leaned down and kissed the woman’s plump cheek. “I’m sorry I haven’t come out to visit yet, but—”

  “Hush, dear. Don’t you apologize. I heard what happened.” Sadie’s grandmother stretched out her pudgy hand and patted her arm. “I’m simply thankful that nice young man of yours came after you and brought you back home.”

  Heat crawled into her cheeks. She glanced toward the group of men talking at the counter and lowered her voice. “Mr. Ryder is not my young man, Mrs. Townsend.”

  “Well, of course he is, dear, or he never would have chased after you. Papa thinks quite highly of him.”

  Papa? She’d never heard Mrs. Townsend refer to her husband as Papa.

  “Papa says Mr. Ryder is going to build a bank, and that it will be a wonderful thing for Pinewood.”

  Her face stiffened. “I’m sure—”

  The woman’s smile vanished, her eyes clouded. “I wish Mr. Ryder would bring Sadie back home.”

  She looked at the elderly woman’s eyes, caught her breath. “Mr. Ryder doesn’t know Sadie.”

  “Truly?” The clouded eyes cleared, a smile curved Rachel Townsend’s plump lips. “Then you shall have to introduce them when Sadie comes home next week. Now, tell me, Willa, which of these silks do you like better—the green or the blue? I want to make Sadie a new dress for her birthday and I’ve only a few days.”

  Willa. And Sadie’s birthday was in December. Sadness gripped her throat, squeezed her heart. She looked down at the woman who had been a grandmother to them all and cleared away the tightness so she could speak. “Sadie always looked lovely in green.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Thank you for your help, dear. I’ll buy the green.” Rachel Townsend smiled and hurried over to the counter.

  Tears choked her. She watched as Manning Townsend stepped out of the group of men and took his wife’s plump arm. “Are you finished with your shopping, Rachel?”

  “Yes, quite finished, Mr. Townsend. Put the green silk on Papa’s acco
unt, Mr. Cargrave. And this bottle of rose water, also.” Sadie’s grandmother took the bottle into her pudgy hand, smiled up at her husband and walked with him toward the door.

  Manning Townsend looked back over his shoulder at Alan Cargrave and nodded. The proprietor wrote a figure in his account ledger.

  I’m concerned about Mrs. Townsend, Callie. She seems easily confused. Willa’s words flowed into her mind. She blinked back the welling tears, stared down at the green silk fabric still lying on the shelf and forced air into her constricted lungs. She had to tell Sadie.

  She clasped her letter tight and hurried out the door, too heartsore to appreciate the merry tinkling of the bells. She gathered her full skirts and slipped into the narrow passageway between the mercantile and Brody’s meat market, followed it to the back steps, then hurried along the path behind the stores. It was the way she’d taken when she was a child and wanted to be alone.

  She stepped out from behind Mr. Fabrizio’s barber shop onto the hotel’s graveled way and glanced toward Main Street to check for any approaching carriages or riders. Ezra was across the street in the open field by the church.

  She stepped back into the shadow of the store and watched him pacing around. Was that the property he had talked about this morning? No. It couldn’t be. He’d said he’d found that property when he’d gone riding. So what—

  He was going to build his bank there. Right across the street from the hotel. Her stomach flopped. She would see him every day—unless it was all some sort of ruse and he went back to New York City whenever he’d gotten what he was after. What could it be?

  “Let’s go, Belle! Get moving, Sal!” Leather creaked, hooves thumped against the hard-packed dirt of Main Street. Two teams of horses plodded out from in front of the hotel building hauling Totten’s trolley.

  More guests? She sighed, pushed the concern away and hurried to the hotel. She was becoming too brain weary to cope with the problem, and she had a supper to prepare.

  * * *

  Ezra leaned his shoulder against the window frame and stared out into the darkness. He’d had to admit defeat and leave the kitchen without talking to Callie after supper and he didn’t like it. But she and Agnes and Sophia had all been too busy preparing for the restaurant opening tomorrow to welcome his presence. Not that Callie ever did.

  He frowned, shifted his position and jammed his hands into the pockets of the coarse twill pants he’d put on for a quick ride out to their land. He refused to think of it as anything else, though Callie sure wasn’t making his courting easy. The truth was, he wasn’t even sure she was aware that he was courting her. She seemed more annoyed than pleased with his attention. And she was certainly standoffish—especially in the early morning when there was always a few minutes when they were alone together.

  A wry smile touched his lips. Those moments were torture for him. And she was not indifferent to him, either—of that he was certain. The way she had practically run around that worktable when he’d come close to her this morning proved it. And that moment at the mercantile entrance... It was becoming harder and harder to keep from taking her in his arms and telling her that he loved her. But she had to accept him and trust him first. One of these days she’d give in and let him explain his deception, and then—please, God—forgive him. Then his real courting of her could begin.

  Meanwhile, he’d continue to spend time with her. And to explain his plans to Sophia in the kitchen where she couldn’t help but overhear. She had definitely been curious about his plans for the bank this morning, though she’d tried hard not to show it.

  He stiffened, pushed away from the window frame and stared at the splotch of lamplight spilling out into the night from a downstairs window. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.

  Someone was in the kitchen.

  Callie.

  He headed for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The kitchen was empty, silent and dark. Callie sighed, the soft sound blending with the whisper of her silk dressing gown and the soft pat of her slippers against the plank floor. She placed the scissors and the piece of soft cotton cloth on the worktable, lifted the lamp from the shelf by the stove and turned up the wick. The flame flared, then settled to a steady burn.

  She put the lamp back in its place, stared at the golden light glinting against the dark window panes and heaved another sigh. Once again she was up and prowling around in the quiet while others slept.

  The painful pulsating in her finger drew her back to her purpose. She took the small crock of Indian salve from the shelf, looked down at it in her hand. It would take the redness and the throbbing from her finger, but there was nothing she could do about the turmoil in her mind and the ache in her heart.

  The golden light shimmered down the dark blue silk of her gown as she moved out of its bright circle and set the crock on the table. She had to tell Sadie about her grandmother. And she would. She’d tried earlier. She’d gone to Sophia’s desk and took out the writing supplies, sat and stared at them thinking about the hurt her words would bring to Sadie. In the end, she’d put the supplies back, closed the desk and left the room.

  The horrible feeling she hadn’t been able to shake off even during the hustle and bustle of preparation for the restaurant’s opening tomorrow took her by the throat, and squeezed. She had to write the letter. She simply couldn’t do it yet—the sadness was too new, and a few days wouldn’t matter.

  I wish Mr. Ryder would bring Sadie home.

  The tears she’d been fighting blurred her vision. She picked up the cloth, awkward to hold with her forefinger stuck out straight to protect her pulsating fingertip, and reached for the scissors.

  Footsteps echoed through the empty dining room and approached the kitchen door. Ezra. She jerked her head up, spun toward her bedroom, turned back. It was too late to hide.

  He strode into the kitchen and came to stand beside her, the lamplight playing over his handsome features, touching the curve of his lips when he smiled. Her heart skipped, her pulse stumbled.

  “I saw the light from the window and thought I’d come make sure everything was all right.”

  He was dressed in his laborer’s clothes and smelled faintly of horse and the outdoors. He must have been riding or visiting Joe in the stable. She looked up at him, acutely aware of her own appearance, of the dressing gown and the jumble of curls hanging down her back. Heat burned her cheeks. “Everything is fine.”

  She tried to sound cool, dismissive, but it didn’t come out that way. The man so unnerved her. She tore her gaze from his, snipped at the material. The scissors bit, then slipped—the material too loose in her awkward grip. She tried again.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stepped closer, peered over her shoulder. Her stomach fluttered. She drew breath to answer, but lost it again when he reached out, grasped her hand and drew it toward him.

  “That is more than a scratch, Callie.”

  She nodded, tried to slip her hand from his grasp, gave up when his grip tightened slightly. “I was making a bandage...”

  “I’ll do it.” He took the cloth from her hand, held out his free one.

  She surrendered the scissors, too discomposed by the tenderness in his touch to protest.

  “I used to watch my mom do this when I’d injured myself one way or another.” He positioned the cloth and scissors, glancing at her hand. “I’d better make this narrow—your hands are small.”

  Compared to his broad, strong ones. She listened to the efficient snip of the scissors, watched the narrow strip of cloth fall away and reached for the salve. He beat her to it.

  “This should make your finger feel better. I know it took the pounding ache from my head wound when you tended me.”

  When she’d thought he was an injured logger. The remembrance of his deception helped her composu
re—until he took hold of her hand again. She willed her hand not to tremble as he applied the salve. She failed.

  “Am I hurting you?” He looked up, ensnaring her gaze with his.

  “No.” She looked down at their joined hands. That wouldn’t explain her trembling. “It’s a bit tender is all.”

  “I’ll be gentle.” He wiped the salve left on his finger on the strip of cloth, then laid the cloth against the cut and wound it around her finger. “Hold that please.” He picked up the scissors and split the end of the strip down as far as her finger, twisted the two pieces at the base, looked up at her and nodded.

  She moved her fingers back out of his way. He pulled the two ties in opposite directions around her fingertip and tied them below her fingernail. “A rather clumsy bandage I’m afraid, but it should help.”

  “It’s better than I could have managed myself. Thank you.” She looked at his hand still holding hers and was afraid to try and pull away lest he tighten his grip. Would he draw her close? Enfold her in his strong arms? The trembling spread, weakening her knees. She groped for something to say, something that would not betray the feelings he stirred in her. “Your mother taught you well.”

  He nodded and lifted her hand. “She also taught me that a kiss always makes the hurt better.” He touched his lips lightly to the bandage, and looked up. His smoldering gaze locked on to hers. “I never want to see you hurt, Callie. And you never will be, by me.” He bowed his head, pressed his lips to her palm then turned and walked away.

  She stood frozen in place, her hand pressed against the pounding pulse at the base of her throat and listened to his footsteps fade, knowing that it was too late for her. She loved him. How could her heart be so wrong?

  * * *

  Ezra shoved his fingers through his hair, huffed out a breath and trotted down the front porch steps, strode off up Main Street. That had been the hardest thing he’d ever done! His heart was still pounding. He didn’t dare stay in the hotel lest he storm back into the kitchen, and pull her into his arms.