Meredith opened the front door to see none other than Gabe Kleeman. For a moment, her heart left her at the sight of the man before her. “Mr. Kleeman, what brings you here on this fine day? Do come in.”
Gabe Kleeman had a nervous way about him and avoided her gaze. He appeared as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, he nodded at Meredith and followed her into the widow’s home.
“Gabe, is that you?” Widow Jones called.
“Yes, Widow Jones, it is.”
Meredith observed that the handsome man had found his voice. He walked toward the widow, a crate in his arms. Arms with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing fibrous, sinewy muscles in his forearms.
Not that Meredith noticed.
Because Gabe Kleeman certainly didn’t notice her at all. Not one bit.
“Ma wanted me to deliver a jar of jam and some spuds. I thought I’d also mend that fence while I’m here.”
“You are such a dear, Gabe. That would be delightful. Before you mend the fence, why don’t you join Meredith and me for some of your ma’s jam on her mama’s delicious bread?”
“Reckon that sounds fine, Widow Jones.” Gabe sauntered toward the table, where he set the crate. “Nice day outside. Perhaps I could assist you outside on the porch for some sunshine.”
Feeling a bit left out of the conversation, Meredith set about slicing three pieces of bread. Then, standing near Mr. Kleeman, she waited for the right moment to inquire if she might unload the jar of jam from the crate he still hovered over.
“That would be resplendent, Gabe. Perhaps we could carry this chair to the porch.” Widow Jones patted the arms of the rocking chair.
“No need for that, ma’am. I brought a chair for you in the back of my wagon.”
Widow Jones’s eyes grew wide. “You brought a chair for me to borrow? An outside chair?”
“Better than that. I made you a chair you can keep. That way, you can watch over your grandsons while they do their chores or play outside.”
“My, but isn’t he a fine young man, Meredith?” Widow Jones beamed. “A handsome one at that.”
Meredith didn’t have to have Mama’s handheld mirror to know her face was covered with a bright red blush.
The tips of Gabe Kleeman’s ears grew red, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The poor man must be just as embarrassed.
Meredith cleared her throat in the most ladylike way possible. “Mr. Kleeman, might I have the jar of jam? I’ll prepare each of us a slice of bread.” There. She had changed the subject. Now she would will her face, likely the color of the strawberry preserves in Gabe Kleeman’s crate, to return to a normal pallor.
Mr. Kleeman nodded and reached into the crate for a jar of jam. He turned and, without meeting her eye, handed it to her.
Only something happened and the jar didn’t make its graceful transition from Mr. Kleeman’s hand to Meredith’s. Instead, it began a quick descent to the floor.
With agile and nimble fingers, Gabe Kleeman caught and rescued the jam before it splattered all over Widow Jones’s floor.
Meredith released the breath she was holding as Mr. Kleeman returned to his normal height. “Here, uh, Miss Waller,” he muttered, handing her the jar.
When his fingers lightly brushed hers, Meredith almost dropped the jar of preserves all over again. “Thank you.”
Gabe Kleeman’s eyes darted from Meredith’s face to some unknown spot on the wall behind her. Did he blame her for the awkward transition of the jam jar? Meredith hastily found an empty space on the table and continued her preparations. She inhaled the delectable scent of the strawberry preserves and attempted her best to forget that Mr. Kleeman stood nearby.
“Meredith, don’t you and Gabe know each other from your school days?” Widow Jones asked.
Meredith almost jumped plumb out of her skin at the widow’s voice. “Begging your pardon, Widow Jones?”
“Are not you and Gabe acquaintances from school?”
Meredith attempted to reconcile the puny and feeble boy she remembered from school with the strong and healthy man not far from her side. “Yes, ma’am, we are.”
“And don’t you two know each other from church, Gabe?” Widow Jones questioned.
“Yes, Widow, we do.”
“Then why is it that you are both so formal? ‘Mr. Kleeman’ this, ‘Miss Waller’ that. Ellis Creek is a small town. Now, I understand calling older folks by their surnames and with all the politeness your mamas taught you, but you two are young folks and have known each other nearly all of your lives. Why not just forgo the Waller and Kleeman notions and make good use of your given names?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Meredith and Gabe chorused.
Meredith mused that calling Mr. Kleeman “Gabe” would be so much easier if he knew she existed. Liking him from afar was a challenge.
Would he ever notice her?
She might just have to give up on that quest if shutting his foot in the door and clumsily dropping jam hadn’t worked.
Gabe started his work on the fence, all the while knowing that the beautiful woman of his affections stood nearby on the porch as Widow Jones sat in her new chair. If only he had made a good impression on her. Instead, his fumble fingers had almost dropped the jar of preserves. What must Meredith think of him?
He could hear her sunny laughter as Meredith and the widow conversed. With a squint of his eyes from the sun, Gabe caught a glimpse of her slender form. Meredith was taller than most women, but he wagered—no he knew—that the top of Meredith’s head reached his chin. If she tilted her pretty little head back just right, he could plant a kiss atop those lips without even having to bend much.
Whoa, Gabe Kleeman! Back up the horse! What kind of thoughts were those? That he could kiss her without even bending much? Gabe shook his head. He had no business thinking such thoughts, especially about a woman who didn’t and wouldn’t likely ever know of his affections.
But then, he couldn’t just tell her of his fondness for her. Not when his tongue either didn’t work or was tied up in knots at the very sight of her. It happened each time Gabe was in her presence. His knees shook beneath his trousers, he had a strong desire to run in the opposite direction, and words that formed in his throat never made it to his mouth.
He wished beyond wishes the good Lord hadn’t made him so shy. Gabe could have done with just a minute bit of the boldness God gave other men.
Standing so close to her in the widow’s house had almost been his undoing. When the jar of jam nearly fell and then his fingers brushed hers—was this what it felt like to be in love?
Fiddlesticks! What was a man doing thinking of such things anyway? He would be laughed all the way to a water-filled trough where he’d be dunked for sure in a quest to empty his head of such foolish notions.
Gabe glimpsed a moment into his far-off future. He would be ninety years old and still eyeing Meredith from a distance. His voice would crackle with age—not that many words would leave his lips when in Meredith’s presence. Meredith would have white hair like the Widow Jones and wrinkles aplenty, yet he’d still find her easy on the eyes. And while Gabe would have likely lost all his teeth and his eyesight would be starting to deteriorate, things would still be the same in one way: his admiration for Meredith would remain.
In the middle of mending the fence, a thought occurred to Gabe. Should he retrieve a chair for Meredith from the house? Surely she would enjoy sitting with Widow Jones on the porch. And if Meredith continued to stay on the porch in a comfortable chair, Gabe could admire her all the more. From a safe distance, of course.
Gabe rolled his eyes. When had he become a lovelorn fool? He had never been able to speak to Meredith at school on the rare days when he’d attended. He’d missed so many days from illness, having to partake in studies in his bed or, when feeling better, at the kitchen table. When he attended school, Gabe took to staring at Meredith when she was facing the opposite direction. She never
knew, not once, that he had admired her from the back of the schoolroom. She also never knew that he was the one who’d brought her a fresh apple from the neighbor’s apple tree and placed it at her desk at school. She’d thought for sure it was that obnoxious Dean Floshour.
Years later, Gabe’s feelings for Meredith endured. He sighed and sauntered toward the house. Even if he couldn’t find the words to speak to her, he could be a gentleman. His ma had raised him right.
“Gabe, dear. This chair is right comfortable. Thank you for making it for me. Isn’t Gabe a fine carpenter, Meredith?”
“Indeed, he is, Widow Jones.” Of course, Meredith would be polite and agree with the widow, even if Gabe had built a shabby and ill-constructed chair.
“I was wondering if—” Gabe took a deep breath, and instead of addressing his question to Meredith, he took the safer route and addressed Widow Jones. “I was wondering, Widow, if I might retrieve a chair for Miss Wal—Meredith from the house so she might sit with you, rather than stand.”
“Sounds right fine, Gabe. Although I must insist you ask her if she would desire a chair.”
Gabe was afraid of that. Perhaps he should retreat back to the field. The fence wouldn’t mend itself. He glanced back at the field. It wasn’t that far, and since Meredith likely thought him a fool, it would hardly strike her as odd if he retreated without directly asking her.
“Go ahead, Gabe. Ask her,” Widow Jones prodded. The kindly old woman sure didn’t help matters much.
“Uh, Meredith?”
“Yes?”
If only he could have continued without her gazing up at him with those sparkly blue eyes. Suddenly, he lost all nerve.
If he’d ever had any to begin with.
Silence filled the air. Gabe looked away. He focused his attention on the mountains, the ground, the corral, and then the barn. Finally, he had a solution to his dilemma. Sauntering past Meredith and Widow Jones, he entered the home, retrieved the chair, and set it next to the widow’s chair.
Meredith threw him an odd glance. “Thank you, Gabe,” she said, taking a seat on the house chair.
Gabe touched the brim of his hat, hurrying back to mending the fence. He shook his head. Whatever would Meredith think of him now?
Meredith took a seat on the house chair and watched as Gabe returned to the field. Had she done something to offend him? He certainly seemed peculiar and hesitant around her. He rarely looked her in the eye, and he spoke less often than that. Maybe his illness had rendered him unable to speak many words.
Then why did he have no problem speaking to others? Meredith shrugged. The man perplexed her.
“That Gabe must not be feeling well. He is usually chattier than that,” Widow Jones said, interrupting Meredith’s thoughts. “It’s so nice having him back in Ellis Creek. What with him helping his aunt and uncle in Missouri for those years, I know his family here missed him something awful. Can you believe how much healthier he looks?”
Meredith turned her face to avoid allowing Widow Jones a chance to see her flushed expression. Gabe looked healthy, all right. Downright handsome with those brawny shoulders.
Widow Jones continued. “I recall how burdensome it was for him always feeling poorly as a young’un. Here about four or five years ago, he started to feel much better. Do you remember that?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t, Widow Jones.” Where had she been, for goodness’ sake, that she could not remember seeing much of Gabe? Meredith recalled him in school, but then as they got older, she hadn’t seen as much of him, even though their parents and their sisters were friends.
“Then he goes to Missouri and breathes in that fresh Midwestern air and the Lord heals him, what appears to be completely. Can’t anyone say the Lord doesn’t perform miracles anymore. Look what our gracious Father did for Gabe.” Widow Jones held out her gnarled fingers. “I’m praying for a miracle with this arthritis.”
The topic of conversation needs to be changed from the discussion of Gabe. “Widow Jones, you know I aim to be of assistance to you with the sewing or baking or whatever else you need, as is my mama.”
“Yes, and I thank you kindly for that. Now back to Gabe.”
So much for changing the subject, thought Meredith.
“Such a fine man. Do you know if he’s entered into a courtship with anyone in Ellis Creek?” Widow Jones scrutinized Meredith, seemingly prying for details.
Meredith swallowed hard and prayed that Widow Jones missed the rosy tint that dotted her face. “I can’t say as I know for sure, ma’am.”
“Perhaps you ought to ponder such a thought yourself. You’d make a right fine couple. And what’s there not to like about that young man out there mending my fence? A godly, kind soul if there ever was one.”
“That he is, Widow Jones.”
Meredith chastised herself for hoping that the eyesight of Widow Jones wasn’t what it had once been. Otherwise, the elderly woman would see the embarrassment Meredith found impossible to disguise.
Chapter 6
Meredith hadn’t received a letter from her secret admirer in over three days. Disappointed, she decided to walk to church ahead of the rest of her family to check the tree for a letter and, of course, get some fresh air. Thankfully, Tillie hadn’t suggested Meredith needed a little sister to join her on that walk.
When Meredith reached the tree, she eyed the surrounding area, reassuring herself there were no onlookers. For what would one think about Meredith Waller reaching into an old tree to claim personal letters? That latest piece of gossip would ripple through Ellis Creek in less than five minutes.
Sure enough, an envelope with the same writing had been placed in the tree. Taking several steps away from the tree, Meredith promptly opened it:
Dear Miss Waller,
Thank you for writing me and for your questions. I am somewhat from Ellis Creek. Yes, you know me. Yes, I know you. I hope you are having a splendid week. Are you going to the church potluck?
Yours Truly,
Your Secret Admirer
When had the author delivered this most recent letter? Would he be attending the potluck today after church? For that matter, did he attend church?
He mentioned that they knew each other. Meredith’s brow furrowed. He had answered all of her questions, although the answer about his residence bordered on obscurity. Somewhat from Ellis Creek?
Such revelations could only mean one of two things. Either her secret admirer was indeed Mr. Pratt, Leopold Arkwright, or Marvin Griggs, although none of these choices held even the least bit of appeal. Or Meredith’s admirer could be someone she hadn’t yet considered.
Meredith chose the latter scenario.
Reaching into her reticule, she placed another letter in the tree. She had to have hope. Otherwise, this constant writing back and forth was futile.
The church potluck followed the service, and Meredith watched as her parents joined with friends. Tillie, Lula, and Charles bounded toward their classmates, and the group Mama had termed “the young folks” met on the east side of the church. Meredith headed toward the group, many of whom she had known since childhood.
Soon-to-be-married Roxie and Perry joined other young couples, including Idella and Richard and Enid and Hugh. Meredith felt a bit out of place with all the other couples either already married or courting but took comfort when she saw Gabe. Thank You, Lord, that I am not the only one without someone. Her eyes connected with Gabe’s for a brief moment before he looked away. Could that have been a slight twinge of a smile on his lips?
Greetings took place around the circle of friends, and conversation began. Perhaps this won’t be so bad, after all, Meredith thought, engaging herself in talk with her female friends about the newest fabric patterns at the mercantile.
They stood in line for their food then regrouped, sitting on the grass. Meredith thought perhaps her heart might thump right out of her chest when Gabe took a seat next to her on her left.
What if she dribbled lemonade down he
r chin or plopped a piece of pie right in her lap with the object of her affection sitting so close? A surreptitious glimpse at Gabe’s strong profile told her he might be just as nervous as she.
Roxie sat to her immediate right. “What a perfect day for a potluck,” her best friend exclaimed in between bites of her sandwich. “Oh, look. There’s Widow Jones.”
The group waved at the widow and her young grandsons, as they headed toward friends. “Were you able to convince Widow Jones to allow you to assist her with her mending, Meredith?” Enid asked. “Ma says the widow can be a bit stubborn at times.”
“I was. Her arthritis is so painful sometimes. I told her I was happy to retrieve her mending once a week, or more often if need be.” Meredith saw Hugh shoot a mischievous glance toward Gabe.
“I hear that you and Meredith were out helping the widow on the same day last week,” Hugh said, a smirk lining his dark features. Hugh had always had a wit about him. Meredith just wished this time it hadn’t been directed toward her and Gabe and the irony of their visit to Widow Jones on the same day. Thank goodness Hugh hadn’t been there to observe the falling jam jar episode.
“Yes. I mended a fence for her,” said Gabe.
“So you and Meredith were able to assist the widow on the same day. That’s good.” Hugh nudged Enid, and they gave each other a knowing glance.
Meredith knew her cheeks had to be the color of the red flowers on her calico skirt and from her peripheral view, she saw Gabe shift to a different sitting position.
The conversation soon changed to another topic, and Meredith attempted to relax. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew, causing Meredith’s handkerchief to float from her lap.
She leaned forward to retrieve it.
Gabe did the same.
Their heads connected with a clunk, and Meredith winced.
“I’m…sorry, Meredith.” Gabe whispered.
The Secret Admirer Romance Collection Page 55
