by Janet Dean
He saw disappointment in Addie’s eyes, knew how much she counted on discrediting the Drummonds, counted on having Emma permanently.
She returned to her work, but her shoulders drooped.
“A ride in the country will do you good. When can you leave?”
“Emma went home with a friend after school, and she’s staying for supper. I can leave at closing time.”
He stepped near and caught the scent of her. Crisp and clean, with the faintest hint of honeysuckle. His gaze drifted to those rosy lips. He bent his head…Then realized kissing wasn’t appropriate in a place of business. He straightened. “Five-thirty, then.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” she said a little breathlessly.
He strode to the door, then paused and turned back. “Uh, when, ah, did I say?”
She smiled. “Five-thirty.”
“Oh, yeah. I knew that.”
Charles said goodbye and then dashed across the street, back to the world he could control. One where he didn’t make a fool of himself because of the way a woman breathed. One where he didn’t lose track of what he’d said all because of a woman’s smile. Or didn’t lose the objectivity he’d prided himself on.
At five-twenty-five, Charles had hitched Ranger to the buggy and pulled up to her shop, a smile of anticipation curved at his mouth. Evidently she’d been watching for him because she immediately stepped onto the walk.
He jumped to the ground, his gaze resting on her face. “Hello again.”
“Hello,” she answered back.
He stood a moment, merely looking at her. She’d donned a wide-brimmed straw hat with blue ribbons that tied under her chin. Whenever she went out, she wore a different hat. Her stock-in-trade, like the tablet he carried.
Inside that pretty head lived a keen, determined mind, which both fascinated and annoyed him. “You’re beautiful.”
A blush tinged her cheeks and put a glow on her face even the wide-brimmed hat couldn’t hide. “Thank you.”
He offered his hand to her, giving it a squeeze. When she returned the pressure, the contact filled him with contentment. Is this how other men felt with the women who cared about them?
He handed her into the buggy, then walked to the other side. She pulled aside her skirts, making room. He climbed in, took the reins and then glanced her way. When he caught her gaze, she lowered her lashes, looking feminine and oh, so alluring.
Seeing her smile, touching her hand, these simple things brought him joy and optimism. He wanted to protect her, to see her have Emma. But no matter how much he longed to be with her, he couldn’t marry her.
Not with the blackness inside him.
Flicking the reins over Ranger’s back, he forced his gaze to the road, away from Adelaide Crum. He couldn’t have her, except for moments like this.
The reminder tamped down his emotions and he resolved to keep the day impersonal. He would focus on The Ledger and the state of the county roads. And distance Addie, with her controversial column and her distracting blue eyes, from his mind.
Adelaide laid a gloved hand on his arm and his good intentions faltered. “Thanks for this chance to ask about Ed.”
“I want what’s best for Emma, too.”
They drove out of town, passing a field with shoots of corn cracking the dry soil, then another with winter wheat dancing in the breeze. In an evergreen alongside the road, a cardinal whistled a greeting. Open land pushed to the horizon. Except for the beat of hooves on the road, quiet reigned and a sense of peace settled over him.
Adelaide leaned against the seat and sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I went for a ride. I’d forgotten how lovely it is to see nothing but fields.”
Empathy rippled through him. Addie had been cooped up much of her adult life, while he’d been free to come and go, riding Ranger into the country whenever he found time.
She removed her hat and held it on her lap. Wisps of hair escaped the knot at her neck and drifted about her face. She pointed to a black horse galloping in the nearby pasture. “Oh, look at him run.”
Charles leaned past Adelaide to peek at the sleek stallion. “He’s probably tired of those fences and wants to flex his muscles.” He found his face very close to hers. Captured by those blue eyes, he couldn’t look away.
“It’s too bad he’s fenced in.” She sighed.
He slowed the buggy and with a gentle touch, turned her face toward his. “Do you feel that way sometimes? Boxed in, not by rails but by people’s expectations?”
Her eyes widened. “I do,” she said softly. “That’s why I want a voice at the paper. Do you understand?”
“Why must you work for change? You have nothing to prove.”
“I may have nothing to prove, but there are lots of things to improve—not just for me, but for all women. With your family situation, you should understand some things need to be changed—like terrorized women, who have nowhere to go.”
Charles flicked the reins. Ranger picked up speed. “Neither law, politics nor community expectations kept my mother in that house,” he said, his voice gruff. “Her lack of courage did.”
“It wasn’t only a lack of courage.” She laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “She probably had no options.”
Her gaze returned to the horse still running around the enclosure. “As a child, did you ever think about running away?”
He nodded. Somewhere along the line this had become about him, not her. “Sure.” He exhaled. “But I’ve learned memories travel with you.”
They were both pinned by their pasts. The thought shook him, but he laid it aside to examine later. “Why not learn to ride? On a horse, you can feel that freedom. Feel in control, in tune with the world.” He pushed back a wisp of hair that had blown across her cheek. “If you’d like, I can teach you.”
She swatted at his hand. “I’ll do no such thing.”
He shot her a grin. “Too scared?”
“I am not.”
“Good. That’s what I thought.” Then he clicked to Ranger and snapped the reins. He wished he were riding Ranger, with Addie tucked close, his arms encircling her and the wind blowing in their faces. “Once you get used to the size and power of a horse, you might find you enjoy riding as much as I do.” He knew how to give her a taste of that freedom. “Here, take the reins.” She shook her head, hanging on to the side of the buggy. “I won’t let anything happen. Come on, you can do it.”
She released her grip and scooted closer, reaching for the leather ribbons.
Charles gave her an encouraging smile. “Good, now flick them.” Ranger broke into a trot and Addie gave a little gasp. “Isn’t this fun? Feel the freedom, Addie?”
“Oh, yes!” She glanced at him briefly and her eyes shone with delight. As the landscape sped by she laughed.
Memories wafted away on the breeze and for a moment, they both were carefree, released from their pasts.
But up ahead, Charles saw their turn and put out a hand for the reins. “I’ll take over now.”
“Am I doing it wrong?”
“No, we’re here.” At his gentle tug, Ranger slowed and turned down the lane. “This is the Tulley farm.”
And the return to reality.
Adelaide took in the limbs of huge elms reaching across the lane like a canopy. An occasional burst of sunshine broke through the shade, throwing mottled, swaying patterns upon Charles’s face. He had offered to teach her to ride. Even with the exhilaration of the speeding buggy, Adelaide couldn’t imagine climbing on a horse, but she’d do it. Not because it meant spending hours with Charles, but because she wanted to come and go as she pleased. For that, she’d risk her neck.
In the Tulley barnyard, Charles brought the horse to a standstill. A black-and-white Border collie barked hello, then ambled over to greet them.
Charles hopped from the buggy, scratched the dog behind the ears and then crossed to her side. Before Adelaide could climb down, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lowered her to the ground
.
She wanted to linger in his strong arms, but she had a mission. Giving wide berth to his horse, she started for the house, hoping Mr. Tulley had something tangible against Ed.
An hour later Adelaide’s spirits flagged. Mr. Tulley had said only positive things, praising Ed for working his fields while Mr. Tulley’s hand healed after losing two fingers to a saw. He’d given example after example of Drummond’s willingness to help a neighbor—raising a barn after a tornado, pitching in to harvest crops for an elderly widow.
Charles handed Adelaide into the carriage. “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you expected, but after Tulley’s assurances, you should feel better about William’s safety.”
“I’ve seen Ed Drummond in action. He’s not the saint Mr. Tulley made him out to be.”
“I’m not saying he’s a saint, but there’s no evidence he’s a child beater, either,” Charles said, climbing in beside her.
As a newsman, Charles would never trust her instincts on this. She had to find evidence.
As they drove up the lane, possibilities scuttled through Adelaide’s mind. “If we did a story on the orphans, we’d have an excuse to gather information on the Drummonds.”
Charles flicked the reins and they started down the lane. “You’re looking for trouble where none exists. Drop it.”
“Because you don’t want me involved in the paper?”
He scowled. “A newspaper isn’t a tool for your agenda.”
She folded her arms across her chest. Charles couldn’t see trouble if it were marked with a capital T. If she could get out to the Drummond farm, she’d do some investigating of her own. “I’d like to learn to ride or maybe practice driving a buggy.”
“Really? What made you change your mind?”
“You did.”
Charles beamed. “How about starting tomorrow after Emma leaves for school? I’ll have you back before time to open.”
Her stomach clenched, but she agreed. She’d no longer allow her fear of horses to control her life. Tomorrow she’d learn the skills that would enable her to check on William and Frances and uncover the truth. She could no more ignore Ed Drummond’s treatment of William than she could allow Mr. Sparks to scare her from her goal of improving life for women. Since the banker had threatened to take Emma, she’d prayed daily about her desire to work for suffrage and felt in her bones that God had given her this mission, along with the task of protecting the Grounds children. She couldn’t allow intimidation to shape her decisions. If she turned her back on others, she couldn’t face herself in the mirror each morning.
Charles’s piercing eyes scrutinized her. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Hoping to ease his inspection, she put a hand on Charles’s arm. Such a small thing, she supposed, to feel the hard muscle of a man’s forearm beneath the fiber of his shirt. But these small touches enthralled her. She forced her mind away from what she could not have. “How did you get into the newspaper business?”
“It’s a long story but I’ll give you the condensed version. I left home at fifteen and saw a sign in the window of a small weekly newspaper.” He grinned. “No one else applied, so I got a job setting type. I slept in the back on a cot, swept the place, did whatever needed doing. In time, my overworked boss asked me to write a news item. One thing led to another.” He chuckled. “You could say I fell in love with the smell of ink.”
“I’m sure you love more than that.”
“I found the urgency of deadlines and being tapped into the pulse of the community, the entire nation, exciting. Since then, my life has revolved around the newspaper business.” He frowned. “I’m talking too much.”
“I love hearing about your life.” Charles had been quite young to be on his own. “So why did you leave home at fifteen?”
He shrugged. “My mother died. Sam had already left. No reason to stick around.” He said no more, but she knew by the way he bit off the words that saying more would open wounds.
“With all you’ve experienced as a boy, why can’t you understand my concern about William?”
“My past was hardly the little rough wagon ride that upset you. You have no idea what I went through.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Sam and I became experts at lying, could make up a reason for a black eye or cracked rib in two seconds flat.”
Her throat closed at his words and she swallowed convulsively. If only someone had helped him. If only she could help him now. “Didn’t anyone get suspicious?”
“If they did, they never did anything about it. No one helped us, Addie.” He took a deep breath and the sound rattled through him like a speeding train on a mile-high trestle. “No one.” Charles met her gaze. The pain in his eyes wrenched her heart. “It’s not the same as William, not the same at all.”
“My heart aches for you, for the defenseless little boy you were. But isn’t your childhood proof we don’t know what’s happening behind closed doors?”
“Isn’t it possible Ed’s lack of patience is because he’s still grieving for his son?”
Grief didn’t give a person the right to shove a defenseless child. “Maybe it’s less painful for you to put on blinders.”
Dark eyes turned on her. “Maybe you’re the one wearing blinders. Admit it—you want Emma. The only way to have her is to prove the Drummonds unfit.”
His words stung like nettles in her garden. “I’d never make this up, not even to get Emma.”
“You heard Tulley. Ed Drummond is an upstanding citizen.”
“So was your father—the minute he walked out the door.”
Charles didn’t respond.
The buggy closed in around her. She turned away, but found the passing scenery had lost its charm. Her gaze dropped to the spot between Ranger’s ears. “I think I went to the wrong man for help.”
Charles snapped the reins and the buggy lurched forward. He swung his gaze to her, his eyes cold and distant. “Maybe you did.”
Chapter Twelve
At breakfast the next morning, Adelaide couldn’t get her mind off the way she and Charles had parted yesterday, couldn’t forget his cold, distant eyes. Her suspicions about Ed Drummond had reopened a past he wanted to forget. A past filled with fear and violence. Her eyes misted. No one had cared enough to investigate, wounding him almost as much as the abuse he’d endured at his father’s hands.
If she ignored Ed’s threat to William’s safety, she’d be no different than the bystanders in Charles’s world.
Beside her, Emma dawdled at the table with a faraway look in her eyes, not eating, aimlessly stirring her oatmeal.
“Emma, you need to eat or you’ll be late to school.”
A rap at the kitchen door made Emma jump. The child was skittish. Why?
Adelaide found Sally on the landing wearing a bright blue bonnet on her head, and a dishtowel-covered basket on one arm.
“Good morning! I’ve brought fresh-baked muffins.”
Adelaide flipped back the towel and inhaled the enticing aroma. “Mmm, apple cinnamon.” She cocked her head. “You drove all the way into town to bring us muffins?”
“I’d have driven to Minneapolis.” Sally chuckled. “Another minute looking at the downcast faces of my men and I’d have pelted them with these muffins!” Sally plopped the basket on the table, then chucked Emma under the chin.
The recipient of Sally’s treats before, Adelaide knew the symptoms. “Bad day in the woods for your men?”
Nodding, Sally slipped into a seat. “All four went rabbit hunting yesterday and came home empty-handed.”
Adelaide chuckled, and then tipped the basket of muffins. “Look what Mrs. Bender brought, Emma. Want one?”
Emma pushed away her bowl, her face glum. “I’m not hungry.”
“She should be sitting in my kitchen,” Sally said. “She’d fit right in.”
“You usually eat every bite. Are you sick?” Adelaide laid a hand on Emma’s forehead, relieved to find it cool.
The child hung her head, looking
more like a rag doll than her usual perky self. “No.”
Adelaide slid into the chair beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Sally tilted Emma’s head up with her fingertips. “I bet she doesn’t have her homework done. Or maybe she hates recess. Oh, I know, she wants to stay home and clean. That’s it. She wants to scrub the floors, all the windows, even the steps out back.”
The slightest smile tugged at Emma’s lips. “No.”
“Well…maybe she’s upset she didn’t catch a rabbit.” Sally touched Emma’s hand. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
A glimmer sparked in her eyes. “I wouldn’t hurt a bunny.”
“Ah, you city girls don’t know what you’re missing. Rabbit tastes good, like chicken. If my men ever bag any, I’ll bring you some fried crisp.”
Emma wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.”
Adelaide smoothed Emma’s hair. “Something is bothering you, sweetie. Can you tell me about it?”
Sally rose. “Well, I’d better get a move on.” She flashed Adelaide a look of concern, then slipped out the back.
Soon as Sally closed the door, Emma dropped the spoon and looked up, her eyes swimming with tears. “William.”
A chill crept down Adelaide’s spine. She drew Emma’s hand into her own. “What about William?”
Tears spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know.”
Adelaide let go of Emma’s hand and began rubbing her back. “You’re worried about William?”
Emma nodded, her face contorted in misery. “Uh-huh.”
“Tell me, honey, why?” Adelaide continued massaging Emma’s back, and waited, every muscle in her body as tense as the small ones under her fingers.
Emma’s mouth tightened. She picked up her spoon and began shoveling the oatmeal into her mouth, avoiding the question.
Adelaide laid a hand on Emma’s arm to still her frantic eating. “When life gets me down, instead of worrying, I’ve learned to count my blessings. Before I know it, I feel better.”
