Autumn's Angel

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “I suggest you send it by Wells, Fargo,” he added. “They’re generally more reliable than the postal service.”

  With a nod of acknowledgement in Clay’s direction, Luvena left the theater and hurried along Main Street toward the express company’s office. Feeling close to tears—and hating herself for it—she kept her gaze fastened on the boardwalk a few steps in front of her.

  Mr. Birch isn’t anything to me. He isn’t. I shall find another man to marry.

  Luvena was so deep in thought she almost walked into another woman outside the Wells, Fargo office. The woman gasped, and it was that sound that brought Luvena to a sudden halt.

  The heat of embarrassment rose in her cheeks. “I beg your pardon. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “It’s all right.” The woman—striking looking, with fiery-red hair and cat-green eyes—laughed softly. “Neither of us was harmed.” She looked as if she would turn and continue on her way, but then she stilled again. “You must be Miss Abbott.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m Shannon Dubois. My husband and I were traveling with our children when you arrived in Grand Coeur. I would so have liked to have been here to welcome you, but here we are now. So, welcome!”

  “That’s very kind, Mrs. Dubois.”

  “Please, won’t you call me Shannon?”

  “If you wish.”

  Shannon reached out and squeezed Luvena’s upper arm, the gesture warm and genuine. “I have a feeling we shall become great friends.”

  Luvena felt a catch in her chest, as if she’d lost something dear to her. If she could stay in Grand Coeur, they might have been friends. But now—

  “Matthew and I would like you to come to dinner after church tomorrow. And your nieces and nephew, of course. Do I have that right? Two girls and a boy? Or is it the other way around?”

  There was something about Shannon Dubois’s smile that refused to let Luvena feel sorry for herself. She returned it. “You have it right.”

  “Good. I thought so. Just the opposite of us. We have two boys and a girl in our home. But I mustn’t detain you from your errand any longer. You will meet the children tomorrow.” She started away, then tossed back over her shoulder, “Oh, tell Clay he is invited to dinner too.”

  •••

  Well after Luvena left the office, the soft scent of her cologne lingered. Clay found it an oddly disturbing fragrance. Earthy. Sensual. Unforgettable. At last it drove him out the back door of the theater where he stopped and filled his lungs with fresh autumn air.

  “Ethan, keep your eye on the ball.”

  Clay turned in the direction of Merry Browne’s voice. On the vacant land south of the house, Merry prepared to throw a ball toward her brother who held a bat high and behind his head. Some distance in back of Ethan, Elsie waited to chase the ball if he missed it.

  Baseball. A sport that had grown in popularity from coast to coast. During the war, he’d participated in many friendly games with other Union soldiers. Those games had helped keep boredom at bay and his mind off of blood and death and the acrid smell of smoke that could linger in a man’s nostrils long after battles were over.

  He walked toward the Browne children.

  Merry threw the ball. Ethan swung at it and missed. Elsie chased after it.

  “You need to widen your stance,” Clay called to the boy.

  Ethan straightened and looked Clay’s way, suspicion in his eyes. “You ever played baseball?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I have.”

  “When?”

  Clay took Ethan by the upper arms and angled the boy’s shoulder toward Merry. “Back when you were still in diapers.” He couldn’t see Ethan’s frown, but he knew it was there all the same. “I’ve even seen the Chicago White Stockings play.”

  Ethan looked up and behind, skepticism giving over to excitement. “You have?”

  “Yep.” Clay turned the boy’s head forward. “Your feet need to be a few inches wider than your shoulders. There. That’s good. Keep a bit more weight on your right foot. Bend your knees a little. A little more. Now hold the bat about here. That’s right. Keep your head steady.” He backed away from Ethan and stepped off to the side. “Okay, Merry. Throw him a good one. Ethan, be ready for it. Don’t try to hit it too hard. That’ll come later.”

  The boy missed Merry’s first pitch, but he connected with the ball the next time, surprising his older sister as well as himself.

  “That’s it!” Clay shouted. “You did it!”

  Looking as proud as if he’d hit the ball over the roof of the theater, Ethan held the bat toward Clay. “You do it, Mr. Birch.”

  “Maybe later. Right now I’m hungry. I thought I’d fix something for lunch.” He turned on his heel and started toward the house. To his surprise, the three Browne children left their game and followed him inside.

  Merry said, “Aunt Vena was going to make lunch after she finished writing to the Hitching Post catalogue.”

  Clay stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “The Hitching Post? Why was she writing to them?”

  “Same reason as before.” Merry shrugged. “To find herself a husband.”

  “To find herself a husband.”

  The words reverberated through Clay.

  “To find herself a husband.”

  So what had he thought she would do? He’d offered her and the children this house to live in temporarily. He was paying her a modest salary, one he could ill afford to pay. And he’d promised her a bonus if the opera house turned a good enough profit after its opening—which would take a miracle. Short-term fixes, all of them.

  “To find herself a husband.”

  When he’d burst into the office a short while ago, proclaiming the good news about Ada May Innsbruck, he’d wanted nothing more than to pick Luvena up and spin her around in celebration. Well, maybe he’d wanted one thing more than to spin her around. He’d wanted to kiss her. Truth was, whenever he was with Luvena, he wanted to kiss her. Sometimes when he wasn’t with her, he still thought about kissing her.

  “To find herself a husband.”

  It wouldn’t be hard for Luvena to find a man willing to marry her. She was beautiful and intelligent. Despite her being only twenty-three, she was a capable and caring mother to her wards. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. A man would be a fool not to—

  “My goodness.” Luvena’s voice rescued him from his thoughts. “I didn’t expect to find all of you in the kitchen.”

  Clay turned toward the parlor. Luvena stood framed in the doorway, looking even lovelier than she had in the thea­ter office. How was that possible? She wore the same dress and her hair was unchanged. Perhaps it was the way the light fell through the parlor window. Or perhaps—

  “We’re helpin’ Mr. Birch make lunch,” Elsie said.

  A quick glance told him the kids had, indeed, started while he’d stood there lost in thought.

  “Sandwiches,” Ethan added, slapping a slice of cold roast beef onto bread.

  Luvena took a step into the kitchen. “I hope they weren’t in your way, Mr. Birch.”

  “No. Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “I guess you got your letter posted in time.”

  “Yes.”

  For some reason he didn’t understand, he wished she would tell him what she’d written to the catalogue. He didn’t want secrets between them.

  “And I met Shannon Dubois,” she continued. “She invited all of us to dinner after church service tomorrow.”

  “Guess what, Aunt Vena?”

  “What, Ethan?” She looked toward her nephew.

  “Mr. Birch taught me how to swing my bat better. And I hit the ball Merry threw!”

  Luvena’s eyes widened as they shifted back to Clay.

  He shrugged. “I learned a little about the game during the war. Just sh
ared it with the kid.”

  There was a warmth permeating the kitchen. Not one caused by the sun overhead or the stove against the opposite wall. No, it was a warmth created by the people in the room. All of them. The Browne children too. It came from their hearts and their laughter and their smiles. It made the small house feel like . . . like a home. It made all of them feel like a family. Clay hadn’t felt that way in many, many years. Maybe never.

  A gentle smile played around the corners of Luvena’s mouth. “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Birch.”

  She couldn’t be any more surprised than he was himself.

  Chapter Ten

  Luvena had enjoyed the previous Sunday service at the Presbyterian church. Reverend Adair was an excellent preacher with a fine, clear voice. But today melancholy wrapped itself around her heart as she sat in the same pew as Clay Birch, her nieces and nephew between them—Ethan next to Clay, Elsie next to Luvena, Merry in the middle.

  Like a family.

  Would she have preferred that Clay sit elsewhere? No. She wouldn’t. In truth, she wished she was beside him. It would feel so right, even if it made her sad. Soon enough she and the children would leave Grand Coeur, and it wasn’t likely she’d see him again. She would miss him. She would miss him more than she should. The letters they’d exchanged hadn’t been many. Her time in Grand Coeur hadn’t been long. But she would miss him. Terribly so.

  Reverend Adair began the closing prayer. Luvena closed her eyes, but rather than attending to the minister’s words, she pictured the five of them as they’d been in the kitchen yesterday. They’d all been happy in that moment. Even Clay. She was sure of it.

  Why isn’t that enough for him, Lord? What could I do to change what’s happening?

  Clay liked her. Perhaps his feelings for her weren’t as strong as her feelings were for him, but he did like her. But that wasn’t enough to change his mind.

  Don’t go.

  The words stirred inside her heart. Her own thoughts? Or God’s voice?

  Don’t leave.

  The reverend said, “Amen,” and the congregation repeated the word. Clay rose and stepped into the aisle, waiting for the children and Luvena to exit the pew.

  What choice do I have but to leave? I must marry. I’ve no other option.

  Outside, the air was golden on this late September day. While they waited for the Dubois family to come out of the church, Clay introduced Luvena to a few people she hadn’t met the previous Sunday. He should have been introducing everyone to her as his wife instead of as Miss Abbott.

  The thought stung, and her melancholy increased with each forced smile, each nod of the head, each shake of the hand.

  Ask him. Talk to him.

  Ask him what? Talk to him about what?

  Shannon Dubois—holding a toddler of about one year, the little girl wearing a frilly dress and bonnet—stepped into the sunshine. Matthew followed right behind his wife, bent at the waist as he held the hand of a small boy, perhaps three years of age. Shannon said something to her father, then came down the steps to the street. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “You didn’t,” Luvena replied, glad for the interruption from her thoughts.

  “Come along then. We’ll make the rest of the introductions once we reach the house. That’s it on the hillside there.” Shannon pointed toward their destination.

  They set off walking, the two women leading the way.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to come.” Shannon shifted the little girl in her arms, now bracing her on a hip.

  “What’s her name?” Luvena asked.

  “Adelyn, after my mother. We call her Addie.”

  “She’s adorable.” Luvena touched the little girl’s soft cheek with her fingertips.

  Shannon laughed softly. “You won’t hear any argument from me.” She cast a quick glance behind her. “You have a fine family too. Your sister’s children. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “My husband’s sister was widowed in the war, and after she died, her son came to live with us. He was like our own son from the very start. I promise you, raising your nieces and nephew will be worth whatever sacrifices you have to make.”

  “It’s no sacrifice.”

  “I know better, Luvena. You must have given up a great deal to care for them after their parents died.” Shannon’s expression was both kind and solemn. “There is always sacrifice involved when one loves another. Child or adult. Always. But as I said, it’s worth it.”

  Luvena missed having someone to confide in, someone she could trust with her deepest secrets and most private thoughts. Her sister had filled that role in her life for as far back as she could remember. But Loretta was gone; Luvena felt so alone without her. If she could have stayed in Grand Coeur, she and Shannon would have become fast friends. She was sure of it.

  As if reading Luvena’s thoughts, Shannon asked in a near whisper, “Why aren’t you staying?”

  Because Clay doesn’t want to marry me, and I must find a man who does. She swallowed the ache that rose in her throat.

  Shannon’s discernment continued. “You could change his mind, Luvena.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Have you tried? Have you told him how you feel?”

  How I feel? I’m not sure how I feel.

  Perhaps Shannon would have said more, but they arrived at the Dubois home right then.

  Luvena didn’t know if she was glad or sorry for it.

  •••

  Dinner was a slightly chaotic event with so many children seated around the table, especially the two Dubois youngsters, but Clay couldn’t help thinking this was how families were supposed to be. Not the chaos, in particular. He’d seen plenty of that as a boy growing up with four younger half brothers. But the laughter, the smiles, the genuine affection evident on everyone’s face.

  Happy families. Lucky kids. The way Matthew and Shannon loved their children and nephew. The way Luvena loved her sister’s children. Did they know how lucky they were?

  “You’re just like your father!” His mother’s words echoed in his memory. “You can’t be trusted. Get out! Go!”

  Hurtful words, but also true ones. He remembered his brother Jacob as he’d looked on that Tuesday in April of 1861—split lip, missing tooth, blackened eyes, cut cheek, swollen jaw. Not the first time Jacob had come out on the losing end of a fight with Clay, but the last one. Four years later Jacob was dead.

  Clay had allowed Luvena to think he left Illinois after the war because he hadn’t wanted to work for his stepfather. The truth was, he hadn’t been welcome there.

  “You’re just like your father!”

  “Clay?” Reverend Adair broke into his thoughts. “Is something troubling you, son?”

  Clay looked at his friend. “No, sir. My mind was wandering, I guess.” Eager to escape the reverend’s sharp gaze, he looked around the table and added in a louder voice, “Did Matthew tell you we’ve found our performer for the grand opening of the opera house? Thanks to Miss Abbott, I must add. The details were confirmed yesterday.”

  “Matthew didn’t say a word to me.” Shannon gave her husband a scolding glance down the length of the table, but it lost its force when she smiled. “Tell us more.”

  Clay obliged, giving them as many details as he could. Then he looked toward Luvena in a silent invitation for her to conclude the telling.

  “Ada May was a friend of my sister, Loretta. She often attended parties and dances in our home. She and I even sang together once. That must have been terribly difficult for her, for I haven’t her talent.”

  “Do you sing opera, Luvena?” Shannon asked.

  “I did, years ago. Not professionally, of course. Just for my own pleasure.”

  “Perhaps you could sing something for us after dinner. We have a wonderful piano in the fr
ont parlor.”

  A blush colored her cheeks as she lowered her eyes. “I’m afraid I’m long out of practice.”

  Clay wanted to hear her sing. It surprised him how much he wanted it.

  Shannon said, “It doesn’t have to be opera. Sing anything you wish. A hymn perhaps. I could play for you. I used to play the organ at church, before the children were born.”

  Luvena’s gaze lifted to meet Clay’s.

  “Please,” he said softly.

  •••

  In that moment, Luvena discovered a truth she hadn’t known earlier in the morning. She didn’t simply like Clay Birch. She wouldn’t simply miss him. She’d fallen in love with him. She loved him, and there wasn’t much she would deny him if it were in her power to give what he asked. Even when that something would open a wound in her heart. Still looking at him, she answered, “All right.”

  Clay grinned. “Thanks.”

  Love always involved sacrifice. Wasn’t that what Shannon had said earlier? And Luvena loved Clay. More than their short acquaintance should have allowed. More than their circumstances should have allowed. She loved him, and yet—

  Fight for him.

  The breath caught in her chest as clarity washed through her. She’d allowed circumstances to determine the direction of her life. Oh, she’d tried to make good decisions for the sake of her nieces and nephew. She’d prayed for God’s guidance. But had she fought for anything she wanted? No. Not in a long, long time.

  But she was going to fight for this man.

  Chapter Eleven

  As evening approached, Clay stood on the newly rebuilt stage in the theater, looking toward the rows of seats where in a few weeks, God willing, a large audience would sit. Silence surrounded him, but in his head, he heard Luvena singing “Amazing Grace” in her beautiful, clear voice. Like the song of an angel.

  Even now, hours later, the memory of it brought tears to his eyes. He knew the hymn. Had heard it many times, both before and after he’d come to faith. Why had it affected him so much more this time than ever before? Why did it still affect him, hours later, in some deep and secret corner of his heart? It seemed to Clay that God wanted to show him something, tell him something, and yet he wasn’t able to understand what. The knowledge seemed just beyond his reach.