“You seem to have forgotten about me well enough.” Ayden stepped from the sleigh to guide the horses around in the tight ruts buried beneath drifted snow.
Mia watched him, flicking glances toward the train for the man with the gun, then back to Ayden. He was too tall, too broad a target for her to feel secure about him walking in front of the team.
He was also too tall, too broad to look like a professor of classics, history, Latin, and Greek. He was too handsome by far to resemble what people thought of scholars. He resembled a man who hauled freight or rescued maidens in distress.
He had rescued her from a life of poverty and potential crime. He had recognized her as more than that ragged Roper girl simply because she had been reading Greek when he encountered her.
“I have forgotten most of the Greek I knew.” The remark was inane. She wasn’t even certain he heard it as he strode back to the sleigh and slid in beside her.
“You probably haven’t had much cause to use Greek.” He gathered the reins and clucked to the horses.
They headed off along the tracks. Ayden and Mia stared at the train. They saw no one.
“Do you remember your Italian?” Ayden asked.
Mia relaxed with the change in topic and the passing of the wreck behind them. “I refreshed my knowledge when I wrote an article about a lady’s fencing club a few months ago.”
“I would like to see one of those here.” Ayden urged the team to greater speed. “If you stayed around here, you could start one.”
“Fencing with ladies was boring after—” She slapped her fingers across her mouth, but the damage was done.
Ayden flashed her a grin. “After fencing with me?”
She said nothing.
“Are you sure you don’t want a match?”
“Dr. Finney wouldn’t like it.”
But she would. Suddenly, she wanted to do nothing more than to clash blades with Ayden.
“Dr. Finney does not rule my life.” Ayden’s hands jerked, and the horses sped up.
They swung onto Broad Street at a faster clip than necessary. The sleigh rocked onto one runner, and someone shouted at him to have a care.
He didn’t. He kept up the pace until they reached the sheriff’s office. In front of the door, he leaped out and hitched the horses, then rounded the sleigh to assist Mia to the pavement.
“I warned you how they’ll view your word in here, so mind your tongue. I don’t want you arrested for assaulting an officer with that blade you sheathe behind your teeth.”
Mia laughed. She couldn’t help herself. The gurgle of amusement rose from her chest and burbled from her lips. And with it, the rocky shell she’d built to protect her heart cracked just enough for her to see how much she had loved this man, how much she could still love him.
She tried to stuff a wad of angry memories into the breach to keep the tender feelings safely inside. “I’ll be good, Professor Goswell.”
“All right.” He offered her his arm and led her into the office.
Heat and the odors of wet wool, old coffee, and bodies not as clean as they should be filled the room. Half a dozen people steamed around the stove, and a vaguely familiar-looking young man with curly red hair and tired blue eyes stood behind a tall desk.
Ayden’s arm stiffened beneath Mia’s hand. “At least he’s here and not at my house,” he grumbled.
The deputy glanced their way. “What do you want, Goswell? If it’s about your sister—”
“It’s official business,” Ayden said.
“I see that.” The deputy looked at Mia, and a jolt of recognition shot through her. “Did you catch her stealing again?”
The chatter around the stove ceased.
Mia flinched and yanked her hand from Ayden’s arm. She gripped her portfolio with both hands as though it were a lifeline keeping her from sliding off a tilting deck. Or, in this case, racing out the door. “I never stole a thing worth more than a penny or two, Deputy Lambert.”
“I think I’m missing something here.” Ayden stared from one of them to the other. “You know Fletcher Lambert?”
“Fletcher? He’s Rosalie’s Fletcher?” Mia felt light-headed. “I didn’t know his Christian name, but we had the misfortune of meeting about ten years ago.”
Lambert grinned. “She was my first arrest. Caught her stealing pencils from the stationer’s shop.”
“You arrested her over a pencil?” Ayden gritted his teeth. “That does it, you know, Lambert. A man that unkind doesn’t deserve my sister.”
“He was only doing his duty.” Mia cast her gaze at the mud-streaked floor tiles. “I was wrong to take anything. I took pencils and paper from wherever I could.” Her cheeks burned. “I have paid their owners all back since.”
“But you never told me.”
Mia pressed her cold, damp gloves to her hot cheeks. “I didn’t want you to think ill of me.”
“I wouldn’t have—” Ayden glanced at the people near the stove, then back to Lambert. “Never mind that now. We need to talk to the sheriff.”
“He’s not here. I’m the only one on station duty.”
“Then may we write out a report for you to give to the sheriff?” Ayden spoke with exaggerated patience.
“Of course.” Lambert removed paper, ink, and pens from behind his desk. “Do you want to tell it to me, or do you want to write it out yourself? I need to know as many specific details as possible—time, place, incident, who was involved.” He paused. “What are you reporting besides that lost child?”
“A shooting.” Ayden smiled.
Lambert paled. “You should have said. Is anyone hurt?”
“No one is hurt,” Ayden said, “but someone is impersonating a railroad worker, or perhaps four men are.”
Mia and Ayden wrote out separate reports. When they finished, Deputy Lambert laid them out before him, reading first one, then the other, then the first again.
“Did the two of you plan ahead what you’d say?” He frowned at them.
They had studiously avoided talking about the incident.
“Your stories are nearly word for word the same,” Lambert continued. “Very peculiar. And so is the incident. We’ll send someone out there as soon as we can. Meanwhile, stay away from the train.”
“It’s snowing too hard to go back now.” Ayden crossed the room and opened the door, allowing a blast of snow-laden wind to sweep into the station. “Mia—Miss Roper?”
Mia preceded him out the door. Ayden drew it shut behind them, but not before Lambert called, “Better get that one home before the other one yanks on the bit.”
“And that one needs to keep his mouth shut if he wants to continue courting my sister.” Ayden jerked the reins from the hitching post.
Mia’s lips twitched. “He likes baiting you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, and I swallow the hook too easily.” He waited for Mia to clamber into the sleigh, then rounded the vehicle to his side. “I wish she would look elsewhere for a beau.”
“Why don’t you like him? He seems conscientious about his work. And isn’t he likely to be sheriff one day?”
“Probably the next election.” Ayden guided the sleigh into the nearly deserted street. “And his father left him a fine house, so they will be more than comfortably off. But he encourages her to want nothing more than to be a wife and mother.”
“I should think she doesn’t need much encouragement along those lines. She’s wonderful with the Herring children and the little boy.”
“She has a fine mind she’s letting go to waste.”
“So where did Miss Finney attend college?” Mia gave him a sweet smile.
Ayden’s jaw worked as though he ground his teeth.
“Or maybe,” Mia pressed, “she doesn’t have a fine mind to waste, and all she needs is a pretty face and a father in high places.”
“The city,” Ayden said between his teeth, “hasn’t done your manners any good.”
“You can’t be shy and succeed
as a lady in my line of work.”
“Nor have a heart.”
Mia stared at the portfolio lying on her lap, watching it become dusted with snow. “Nor a heart.”
Ayden drew up the horses before the Goswell house. “Why did you not tell me about the pencils?”
“You mean about being a thief?” Mia’s lips worked before she could say in a calm voice, “I was afraid you would end things with me if you knew. But then you ended things with me anyway, so I may as well have told you.” Her face averted from him so he couldn’t see her pain, she climbed from the sleigh. “I can see myself into the house.”
“Mia, I never—”
Without a backward glance, she stalked up the walk to the front door. It opened before she reached it. Light and warmth and the aroma of baking apples and cinnamon blended with the sharp scent of snow.
“Go on in, child.” Mrs. Goswell made a shooing motion at Mia, then turned to the street. “You won’t be here for dinner, Ayden?”
Mia stepped into the warmth of the entryway before she heard Ayden’s response. Whatever it was, it seemed not to please his mother, for she closed the door with more force than necessary.
“You’re all over snow, Mia. Go into the parlor and dry yourself at the fire before you catch a chill.”
Mia glanced through the partially open parlor door, where Mrs. Herring and Mr. Goswell played a game of Mansion of Happiness at one small table, Mr. Divine bent over some drawings at another, and Rosalie sat on the floor amid a sea of children and blocks. Laughter and the squeals of excited children shimmered in the air. Everyone’s faces shone with happiness or restfulness.
Mia turned toward the steps. “I think I’ll go upstairs. I’m quite worn to a thread.”
“You look tired, but you can’t go hide.” Mrs. Goswell took her elbow and steered her down the hallway toward the kitchen. “I was going to ask Rosalie to help me, but she’s doing so well with the children, I’ll recruit you for the job.”
“I’m not much use with only one hand.”
“You can stir soup and cake batter.”
So she could. Mrs. Goswell set Mia at the table with a cup of hot coffee and a bowl of yellow batter before her. “Make sure that’s perfectly smooth.”
It already looked perfectly smooth to Mia, but she began to stir as instructed, as she, Rosalie, and Mrs. Goswell had done so often in the past.
“So what happened today?” Mrs. Goswell bustled back to the bubbling pots on the stove.
“We had rather a lot of excitement. First we went to the church—”
“I wasn’t talking about what you did.” Mrs. Goswell waved a wooden spoon in the air as though erasing Mia’s words from a chalkboard. “I’m talking about between you and my son.”
“Nothing has changed from a year and a half ago.” Mia stirred more vigorously. “His future is here in Hillsdale, and mine is back in Boston. End of story.”
Mrs. Goswell slammed a lid onto a pot. “I’d rather my son go work for the railroad like his brother than marry to secure his future at the college.”
“So Rosalie—” Mia released the spoon and raised her hand to her burning eyes. “She was telling the truth about why he’s courting Miss Finney?”
“Not entirely. I think he holds a great deal of affection for the lady. Is that mixed?”
“Yes, ma’am. Shall I—?”
“No, I’ll take care of it. You come stir this soup.”
While Mrs. Goswell poured the cake batter into pans, Mia stood before the glorious warmth of the stove and stirred a pot of savory chicken soup. They worked in silence. Down the hall, the doorbell rang, and Rosalie’s happy cry floated back to the kitchen.
“That’ll be Fletcher.” Mrs. Goswell smiled. “Don’t tell her, but he’s going to ask her to marry him on Valentine’s Day. He’s already asked her father’s permission.”
“It should be a good match for her. Though Ayden doesn’t seem to think so.”
“That boy.” Mrs. Goswell knocked her spoon on the side of the metal bowl. “He seems to think every female should attend college, when some feel called to another life.”
“Like playing hostess to the future head of the Classics Department.” Mia’s words emerged with more asperity than she intended.
Mrs. Goswell sniffed. “Hypocritical of him, isn’t it? But Miss Finney is the opposite of you, which I think is the attraction. He won’t have to worry about her getting notions of striking out on her own.”
Mia set aside her spoon and faced Ayden’s mother. “I never intended to go off on my own. I intended for him to follow me. He had an excellent teaching opportunity in Boston, and he chose to stay here for a teaching position that isn’t even certain to be there at the end of the school year.”
“Because of his father, you know.”
“So he says. But Mr. Goswell was up and back at the hardware store before I departed. His father’s fall was an excuse to stay, not a good r-r-reason.” To her horror, Mia burst into tears.
“Oh, my dear girl.” Mrs. Goswell enfolded Mia in her arms and held her like she was a child. “I’ve prayed for two years for him to come to that realization. He hated the years he was away in the East for his advanced studies. He was afraid he wouldn’t succeed out there with all those people he thought were worldlier than he was, who had fathers who were politicians and who were descended from the Mayflower settlers and all. He enjoys mucking out stalls and shoveling snow, and his pa owns a hardware store.”
“And I didn’t want to stay in a town where the deputy sheriff still remembers me trying to steal pencils from the stationer’s. I guess I’m right.” Mia drew away from Mrs. Goswell’s motherly arms and fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “We didn’t love one another enough to be honest about our fears or overcome them for the other person.”
“I’d say you put your ambition before your love. I’m afraid Ayden—”
The kitchen door swung open. “I beg your pardon.” Mr. Divine took a step back. “I left something in my coat pocket, but I can return later.”
“No need. I should tidy myself before dinner.” Mia scuttled past Mr. Divine.
As the kitchen door swung shut behind her, Mrs. Goswell said, “Ah, Mr. Divine, you just might be what we need to shake some sense into those two.”
Mia wanted to eavesdrop, but she didn’t want anyone else to emerge from the parlor and see her face blotched with tears. She could guess, however, what Mrs. Goswell was up to. For both their sakes, Mia decided she should warn Ayden his mother wasn’t above matchmaking.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait too long. A mere hour after supper, Mia stood in the kitchen, icing a cake for Sunday dinner, something she found she could do with one hand, when Ayden blew through the back door on a gust of icy wind, snow crystals glowing in his dark hair and his cheeks ruddy from the cold.
He halted in mid-stride at the sight of her. “I didn’t know you were that domestic.”
“I’m a rather good cook, Professor Goswell. Your mother taught me. And speaking of your mother”—Mia set down her knife—“I believe your mother is hatching some scheme to get us back together.”
Ayden hung his coat on one of the pegs by the back door before he responded. “She’ll catch cold at any attempts there. Dr. Finney asked me tonight when I plan to make Charmaine an offer.”
“And what was your answer?” Mia picked up the knife to resume icing, discovered her hand shaking, and returned the blade to the table.
“Valentine’s Day makes the most sense.” His hands in his pockets, Ayden propped one shoulder against the wall as though he spoke to Rosalie, not the woman whose heart he had broken. “But he reminded me there’s a social on the campus that day, and she’ll be preoccupied with the arrangements for that and entertaining some important people at their house afterward. So I thought I’d make it official on Friday.”
Chapter Eight
Only once before in his life did Ayden not want to go to church. That had been the Sun
day after Mia left alone for Boston. He didn’t want to answer the questions about where she was, see the sympathetic faces, or potentially hear a sermon that would prick his conscience over his reasons for staying instead of keeping his word to Mia to go.
This Sunday morning, he faced the curiosity of friends, neighbors, and colleagues as to whether or not he would continue his courtship of Charmaine Finney or renew his relationship with Mia. The only way to avoid such speculation would be to suggest Mia sit with someone else instead of his family. She could. Any number of people would welcome her in their midst. But his family and his conscience wouldn’t allow him to cast her off so publicly.
Mia’s presence seemed to be why Dr. Finney prodded Ayden toward a commitment when he had heretofore seemed happy with the courtship. With more men coming the following week—or whenever the tracks had been cleared for train travel—to interview for the position Ayden now held on a temporary basis, he had said he would choose an appropriate time and place. Friday, while Mia was in town, seemed like a fine day, if Charmaine would be unavailable on Valentine’s Day. The proposal would surely be accepted and once and for all lay to rest any rumors that he and Mia would renew their engagement. It would stop Ma from trying to bring about that renewal. It would secure his future as a professor at the college, the work he had most wanted since talk of moving Michigan Central College to his hometown began.
Ayden had returned from the Finney household with light steps through the powdery new snowfall. At last, he would have what he wanted most—his own home, established near his family and work he loved. In a few years, he would stand a good chance of becoming the head of the Classics Department. Life could not get much better.
Then he had opened the door and saw Mia calmly icing a cake at his parents’ kitchen table. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed, as though she labored over one of her articles or essays. She glanced up at him, showing a dusting of pounded sugar on her nose, and a mist settled between his heart and the brightness of his future. His hands fisted. The urge to slam one through the plaster wall of the kitchen surged through him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against that wall for support until his breathing slowed and his heart stopped racing. Then he told Mia he intended to make Charmaine an offer by Friday.
Collision of The Heart Page 9
