Christopher set his spoon in the empty dish, wishing he hadn’t been thinking such dark thoughts so he could have enjoyed the delicious treat. He noticed that Mother had held back two extra desserts for later, but he nursed no hope of enjoying either. Grandpa was sure to sneak them both before the next day. Sighing, Christopher rocked back in his chair so only the back two legs balanced on the floor.
“Christopher!” Mother’s voice cut through the air. “Where are your manners? You’re liable to put a hole in the floor rocking back like that.”
He set the front two legs back on the wide plank floor, making sure to be gentle with the motion lest he dent the wood. “Yes, ma’am.”
Still, his mother’s worries about her floor were the least of his. He couldn’t imagine how the little bit of rocking he might do could ruin pine floors that had seen his parents through twenty-nine years of marriage. The thought made him realize how lucky they were.
If only he had spoken up to Katherine sooner! Then he could have looked at the whole scenario with amusement. Katherine had always wanted to dance ballet, ride horses at an expert level, and play the harp, harmonica, and banjo. Everyone knew it. But for Miranda to tell Otis such fantasies! And for what? Some man who didn’t care about Katherine. At least, not as much as he did. And always had.
Christopher knew that Katherine never would have written such embellishments on her own; she was much too sweet for that. But now that her so-called friend had written Otis that she had mastered so many accomplishments, Katherine was in a bind. He could understand why Katherine didn’t want to embarrass Miranda even though she deserved it. Yet the fact that Katherine didn’t want to get her friend in trouble only made him love her all the more.
He wanted to send up a silent prayer that she would make a fool of herself. Such action would serve her right for agreeing to make that poor sailor think she could do so many things. After all, she was a consummate cook and an expert in the domestic arts. Those talents were far more important to the enjoyment of everyday life than being an expert horsewoman or playing the harmonica and banjo. But she couldn’t see that, he supposed.
Temptation to pray for her downfall prodded him.
Lord. . .
Lord, please make Katherine see that she doesn’t need to change a thing about herself. Help her to see her true value, that she doesn’t need to put on a show to protect a friend. I know her good-heartedness is what got her into this mess, Lord. I ask Thee to protect her in these coming weeks. In the name of Thy Son, amen.
He knew the prayer he uttered in silence was far more loving than his original thoughts. Even better, the peace he felt in his heart told him that he meant every word. Whatever happened during her correspondent’s visit would be in God’s hands. He would have to make himself content in that knowledge.
Three
The next day, Katherine heard the sound of horses’ hooves thudding and carriage wheels turning against the dirt road leading to their house. The impending arrival of a guest left her with a sense of anticipation and fear. The visitor had to be Otis. She peered through white cotton curtains adorning her bedroom window and watched the hired carriage, drawn by two black and brown horses, come to a stop. It shook as its occupant moved to the side and then disembarked.
Otis emerged. Katherine remembered the small portrait she possessed of him and had always hoped it was not an image that flattered its subject too greatly. As his picture promised, he had coal black hair and dark eyes, but his complexion looked much paler than she anticipated. And he appeared to be shorter than she had envisioned. Instead of the hulking war hero she expected, he seemed slight, though he bore a paunch. In a moment of guilt, she set back the curtain. Though spying wasn’t her habit, realizing he wasn’t quite as she anticipated ahead of time would keep her from making a face of disappointment or doing something else that might cause embarrassment to him—or to herself.
The thought stirred her to peek once more.
To her surprise, a collie emerged behind him on a leash.
“He brought a dog? I don’t remember him mentioning a dog.” The animal, though cumbersome in size, looked cute with a coat of long black, white, and tan fur, a pink tongue moving back and forth with his panting. He barked as if to announce his arrival.
Standing beside the carriage, Otis inspected the house, but Katherine couldn’t tell from his expression whether or not the two-story white clapboard structure with its black roof and matching shutters met his expectations. She watched him look over the landscape, knowing his gaze would rest upon the lush green lawn that she had run across time and again as a girl. He would also view large, mature trees. She allowed herself a smile when she remembered how often as a child she had climbed those trees, much to her mother’s worry.
His gaze wandered to her window. She scooted to the side so he couldn’t see her. As soon as he occupied himself with paying the driver, she resumed her observation unencumbered.
He picked up his trunk without huffing, so apparently he was stronger than he appeared. She decided that was good, since he looked as though the slightest breeze could pick him up off his feet and blow him all the way back to Charleston. Katherine couldn’t help but notice that compared to Christopher, robust and muscular from years of working his family’s farm, Otis looked downright weak.
Christopher! She let out a puff of air so strong that it threatened to move the curtain. She was mad at him. She had to remember that.
Otis approached the porch. Katherine rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen so he wouldn’t realize she had been watching him. He would tap the front door knocker, and she would emerge from the room as though she hadn’t thought a thing of his impending arrival. Better yet, he might think she was cooking something delicious. As a first impression, such an idea wouldn’t hurt.
Katherine had just crossed the threshold when the knocker sounded.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Mother stopped sorting through a jar of buttons long enough to look at the clock. “Is it two o’clock already? That must be your friend. My, but time flies.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Katherine’s sister, Betsy, grinned. “Katherine’s got a beau! Katherine’s got a beau!”
“Not true!” Katherine objected.
“Enough of that, Betsy,” Mother scolded. “I’d better not catch you saying any such thing again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Betsy glanced at the floor.
Katherine wondered if Mother would respond to the second knocking on the door. Mother was quick to put her question to rest. “Well, don’t just stand there. Answer the door!”
“Do I look well enough?” Katherine touched the side of her smooth brown chignon. She had selected her Sunday dress to wear for Otis since he would be seeing her in person for the first time. The frock, a bright yellow reminiscent of spring daffodils, complimented her dark hair and olive-toned complexion. Since she and her mother had just sewn the dress from a new pattern the past spring, she felt confident she appeared as fashionable as any of the ladies Otis might know in Charleston.
“Yes, you look very attractive in that dress, and you know it,” Mother assured her. “And I see the pink is still in your cheeks from where you pinched them just now.”
Katherine blushed, no doubt producing red in her cheeks not unlike the roses in Mother’s flower garden.
Mother chuckled. “Such affectations were popular in my day as well. You must really be out to impress your correspondent. Now run along and answer that door. You have accomplished the trick of not appearing too eager, but now you are in danger of making him think we are not at home, or worse, that you are lazy.”
“Oh, we can’t have that!” Nevertheless, Katherine walked with a dignified gait. In her own letters to Otis, she had portrayed herself as a lady. She was determined that the reality of their visit would match her letters, if not Miranda’s exaggerated descriptions. She smiled as she opened the front door.
Otis tipped his hat. “Good day. You must be K
atherine?” His sparkling dark eyes told her he wasn’t disappointed by her appearance. He formed the words with a rich Southern accent that she discovered to be appealing. She found she wanted him to say her name again and again.
“Yes. And you are Otis.” Her voice sounded colorless when compared with his drawl, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Indeed.”
“It’s lovely to meet you after all these years.” She stepped aside for him to enter.
The dog barked. “Yes, yes,” Otis said. “You are Miss Katherine’s gift, if she will accept you.”
Katherine gasped. “For me?”
Otis nodded. “Yes. For you. You wrote to me how much you love animals, and I thought a large farm such as yours would have plenty of room for this little mutt to roam.”
“I wouldn’t call him little.” Katherine got down on her knees and rubbed the dog affectionately. He yapped and licked her cheek. “Or a mutt.”
“He likes you.”
“And I like him.” She smiled and hugged the collie around the neck.
Otis chuckled. “I would agree, now that you mention it. He’s but a pup, yet judging from his parents, collies both, he shall grow to a right fine size. I haven’t named him yet.”
“Oh, we shall think of a name together!”
Mother chose that moment to join them in the parlor. She stood a few feet behind Katherine. “Good afternoon.”
Betsy bounded in behind her, beaming from ear to ear. “A dog!” She rushed to the collie and rubbed his neck. “She’s so cute!”
“She’s a he,” Otis said. “And you must be Betsy.”
Remembering her manners, Katherine made the proper introductions.
“Welcome. I am so glad you will be staying with us awhile,” Mother said. “Along with your pet.”
“Oh, he’s not my pet.” Otis said. “He is my gift to Katherine.”
“I know you won’t mind, Mother,” Katherine interjected.
“Not at all. We have plenty of room for a dog to roam.” Mother smiled.
Betsy patted the dog’s fur. He panted and almost seemed to smile at the little girl. “This is the best gift ever!” She beamed at Otis.
“I’m glad you like him.” A pleased expression covered Otis’s features.
Mother didn’t let the dog distract her from her duties as hostess. “I know your trip was long and arduous, Otis. Might I provide you with refreshment?”
“I made a cherry pie yesterday,” Katherine added. “I used my own preserves.”
“My, but that sounds tempting. I do insist on having a slice, if you would be so kind,” Otis said. “But if you ladies don’t mind, I’d be much obliged if you would allow me to place my trunk in my quarters so it’s not in everyone’s way here in the parlor.”
“Never you mind about that. Mr. Jones will show you to your room when he comes in from the fields.” Mother swept her hand toward the door on the side of the parlor that led to a staircase. “But just so you know, yours is down the hall, first room on the right.”
Katherine hurried to open the door for Otis. “That was Ralph’s old room. He’s off at college.”
“He didn’t return home for the summer?”
“No, he’s taking classes. He wants to graduate a semester early if he can,” Katherine said. “He’s engaged to be married. Remember how I told you?”
“Oh, yes. I do remember you mentioning that. Well, I promise to take good care of his room in his absence.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mother said. “Come, Katherine, help me dish up the pie.”
“Can I take the dog for a walk?” Betsy asked.
“That’s may I take the dog for a walk,” Mother corrected.
Betsy nodded. “May I take the dog for a walk?”
“That’s better. As long as you promise to be careful,” Mother admonished.
“I will! What’s his name?”
“We haven’t decided yet,” Katherine said. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Betsy thought for a moment. “Well, he is big and fluffy. Maybe Furry?”
“Furry.” Katherine scrunched her nose. “I don’t know. Doesn’t have much of a ring to it.”
Betsy thought again. “Mother said something about him having plenty of room to roam. Maybe Roamer?”
“Roamer. Hmm,” Katherine said.
“I think Rover would be better,” Mother suggested. “What do you think, Otis?”
“Rover is a fine name for a dog of this nature.”
Katherine agreed. “Rover it is, then.”
Betsy smiled and headed out the door with Rover.
“I see you’ve made someone happy,” Katherine noted to Otis as she showed him to the parlor.
“I’m glad. But what about you?”
“Oh, yes. Who wouldn’t like such an amenable animal?”
Katherine followed her mother into the kitchen. “So how do you like him?” Though she felt confident Otis wasn’t within earshot, nevertheless she whispered.
“I think he seems mighty nice. No wonder you corresponded with him so long.”
Katherine reached for the metal door of the top shelf of the stove. She often took advantage of this closed compartment just above eye level. It kept food warm and soft, but it wasn’t so hot that it cooked food further. Retrieving the pie, she breathed in its fruity, yeasty aroma. “I hope he’s not too disappointed in me.”
“Whatever would give you such a notion?”
Katherine set her pie on the pine table so her mother could slice it. “I don’t know.”
“Well, get that idea out of your head. Any man who’d be disappointed in you would be a fool anyhow.”
Katherine grinned as they took the pie in to the parlor to serve their guest. They found him sitting on the horsehair sofa. He looked comfortable, as though he belonged there.
Katherine set the tray on the coffee table. “I brewed some tea this morning. I remember you writing me that you like a nice glass of iced tea in the afternoon. I even added a sprig of mint just as you told me you like.”
“Thank you. How kind of you to remember my little idiosyncrasies.” He took a taste. “Ah! Refreshing.”
He seemed to enjoy the sweet treat, complimenting Katherine on her pie. In person he proved as amiable and charming as he had in his letters. She was certain Father would like him, too.
Then again, would he? Perhaps Father wouldn’t like Otis at all. Once he was discharged from the navy, Otis had gone back to work in an office. From the looks of him, he had never picked up a hoe or milked a cow. Christopher, on the other hand, felt at ease with anything having to do with farming.
“Do you like to hunt?” she blurted in the middle of his discourse on his aunt’s latest trip abroad.
“Hunt?” Otis chuckled and sliced the pie with his fork. “Why would you want to know such a thing? Surely hunting doesn’t interest you.”
“I must say, Katherine, what did possess you to ask such a question?” Mother asked.
“I. . .uh. . .” Katherine didn’t want to admit that she had been thinking about how Christopher loved the outdoors. Hunting was one of his favorite fall and winter activities. “I know how much Father loves to hunt, and I thought maybe the two of you could try it some time.”
“In that case, yes, I do hunt from time to time.” His eyes twinkled. “Mighty fine pie. Mighty fine.” He took another bite.
“Thank you.”
Pie consumption notwithstanding, Katherine waited for him to elaborate about his hunting trips, but no details seemed to be forthcoming. Christopher, on the other hand, would have launched into a story about his last hunting experience. She suspected Otis’s enthusiasm for the sport was lukewarm at best. She wondered how Father, an avid hunter, would greet such news.
Considering the notion seemed foolish. So what if Father and Christopher shared a love of hunting? There was no requirement that any suitor of hers would have to love the sport even though they did eat game throughout the winter as part o
f their survival. Still, she supposed in a large city like Charleston, people didn’t have to eat game—at least not game they shot themselves—to get through a long, cold winter. What winter there was in Charleston. Otis had written to her about the palm trees and how a body could be comfortable year round in a temperate climate. Why, they hardly had any snow at all down there. Certainly no more than a few flakes.
She visualized a picture of her Maryland farm covered in a blanket of white as revitalizing as a fresh cotton sheet on a hot July night. She couldn’t see such an image where palm trees grew.
An unwelcome portrait of the times she and Christopher took sleigh rides in the snow came to mind. She tried to shake these images from her head, but they persisted. There would never be sleigh rides with Otis. Not in the tropics.
Why am I comparing him to Christopher? Otis is charming and gentlemanly in his own right. What is wrong with me? Christopher is a childhood acquaintance. That is all he ever could be.
An alternate voice in her mind argued, A childhood acquaintance, yes, but then, why can’t you get him off your mind?
Mother’s quiet voice interrupted. “I understand Otis is quite a writer.”
Katherine forced herself back into the conversation. “Oh, yes. Not only are his letters quite entertaining, as you already know, but of course his poetry is, too.” Katherine shot her guest a look. “I hope you don’t mind that I have shared some of your verses with Mother and Father.”
“No indeed. I am flattered that you think my scribblings are worthy of such notice.”
“Maybe you’ll decide to write a book one day. One of my other friends—Christopher—wants to write a book.” Now why had she said that?
“Christopher. That name sounds familiar.” Otis paused in a thoughtful manner, but he didn’t seem perturbed. He nodded. “Ah, yes. Weren’t you corresponding with him while he was at the university?”
Had she told him that? “Yes. Yes, I was. He’s just a childhood friend.”
“I think it’s endearing that you’ve kept in touch all these years.”
“That’s not so hard,” Mother pointed out. “He lives just down the road.” She cocked her head eastward toward the Bagleys’ farm.
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