“Let me unpack and wash my face, then we’ll go exploring.” The shoes she wore weren’t suitable for trekking around the fields.
Elizabet frowned.
Martha swooped the girl into her arms. “Phebe is right. Let her catch her breath before you drag her off. Come into the kitchen, I’ve made your favorite strawberry pie. You can have a piece while we wait.”
The boys clamored around Martha demanding their fair share, as well.
She stood, unexpectedly alone with the young girl, as the rest of the troop went inside.
“Uh, Maggie, isn’t it?” Phebe asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, please call me Phebe. Will you show me where I’m to stay?”
“Of course.” Maggie turned to retrieve her bag.
“No, no. I can carry that. Just show me the way.”
Maggie led her to a small room at the end of the upstairs hall. It was bright, sparsely furnished, but clean and inviting.
“Just come down when you’re ready.”
She wanted to ask Maggie more questions, but the girl hurried out the door, closing it softly.
After she brushed her hair and tied it up again, she changed shoes, and washed her face. A large window blocked only by sheer lace curtains offered a lovely view of the grounds. In fact, she could see a pond just beyond a line of trees.
She stood gazing at the serene scene. For the first time in days, a sense of peace settled over her. This place is just what I need to calm me. I see why the family comes here so often.
A movement in the distance caught her eyes. A flash of red. While she watched, it moved around the edge of the water. She squinted, hoping to bring it into focus.
A man.
Something about the way he stood, the broad shoulders, the dark hair was familiar. He held something in his hand. A pole?
His red shirt stood out in stark contrast to the natural scene around him.
Fascinated, she watched as he stood at the edge of the lake, drawn to him like a magnet. I want to meet him, find out who he is and why he seems so familiar.
She tore herself away from the window and hurried down the stairs to find the children.
“Ms. Phebe, you took forever,” Elizabet said.
“I know, dear. The dust took longer to shake off then I realized. Where are your parents and the boys?”
“The boys are out with the pony and Aunt Martha. Mother and Father went to their rooms to rest. That leaves me and you.”
“And Maggie? Where is she?”
“She’s gone to the cabin. We’ll meet her there.”
“Wonderful. Then let’s get on with this adventure of yours.”
Elizabet pulled her down the path to the pond. She could hardly keep up with the small child. They laughed all the way until they came to a small wooden cabin just behind a stand of trees. Well hidden, she wasn’t surprised she didn’t see it from her bedroom window.
Voices drifted on the air, a girl and a man. As they rounded the corner of the cabin, she hesitated. Elizabet, however, kept tugging her along. She stumbled forward at her young charges’ insistence, until they came to an abrupt stop. The broad back of a man stood right in front of her wearing a red flannel shirt, the same color she saw from the upstairs window. He concentrated on baiting Maggie’s fishing hook and didn’t turn around.
It wasn’t his confident bearing or ink black hair that arrested her breathing.
It was his voice. The familiar deep timbre rolled smoothly off his tongue.
Edmund.
“UNCLE ZIG, I’VE BROUGHT SOMEONE to meet you,” Elizabet announced.
Phebe held her breath, anxious for him to turn around, but terrified he would.
“Hold on Elizabet. You don’t want me to prick Maggie’s finger with this hook do you?” He remained bent to the task. “Almost got it…there!” With grand aplomb, he whirled to face her, arms flung wide. “I beg your pardon. Duty calls.”
Breathless, with nothing to hold on to, both knees buckled as if her bones suddenly turned to water. She pitched forward. Blackness gobbled up the daylight as she fell, but the ticklish flannel shirt against her cheek and a stabbing pain in her left ankle rescued her from a dead faint. She wasn’t unconscious, but rested in the arms of a man who looked exactly like Edmund McAdams.
“I certainly didn’t mean to frighten you.” He didn’t move to release her, but bent toward her face, his smile twisted into an amused grin. “Let me introduce myself. They call me Zig.”
Arms flailing as if caught in a net, she extracted herself from his grasp, stood, and straightened her clothes. No amount of will power could make her look at his face. She couldn’t breathe, much less speak. She bent to rub her ankle.
Elizabet saved the day. “Her heel caught in the grass. I couldn’t catch her in time. This is our new governess, Ms. Phebe.”
Head still angled toward the ground, she saw his hand as he extended it for a proper greeting. “Pleased to meet you Ms. Phebe. Are you all right?”
The breath re-entered her body at a feeble attempt to answer him. “I’m fine. Pardon me for my clumsiness. My ankle twisted when I tripped.” She turned to Elizabet. “We should go back to the house and put a cold compress on this.”
The low tone of his voice vibrated through the air around them. “There’s cold water in the rain barrel. I’ve got a hand towel in the kitchen. No need to hike across the field. Come. This way.” He grasped her arm with a firm, no nonsense grip and led her toward a small cottage.
She tried to pull back. “No, really, I need to go back to my room and lie down. I can’t impose on you.”
“Don’t mind me if I say you look pale. The last thing you need right now is overexertion.”
His hand was strong on her elbow, testament to the fact he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
The two girls hurried ahead of them.
He eased her down on a small bench outside the front door. “Be right back.”
Elizabet smiled. “Uncle Zig will fix you right up.”
“I think we should go on home, I can walk…”
“Here we are. I dipped the dish towel in the rain barrel’s cold water. This should make it feel better right away.” He handed the cloth to Elizabet. “You may do the honors. Just wrap it around the ankle.”
The towel was cold against her skin. She kept her attention on Elizabet to avoid looking at his face.
Elizabet stood and beamed at everyone. “There. All finished.”
He bent to inspect her work. “Perfect. How does that feel?”
If it wasn’t for the solid bench under her, she might have collapsed from his overwhelming likeness to Edmund and the voice that rolled like deep thunder.
She lifted her gaze until she met his eyes, the same amber-flecked green eyes as Edmund and Elizabet. How can this be?
“I’m terribly sorry. My clumsiness has inconvenienced you. Please, go on back to the lake and finish your fishing lesson with Maggie. I’ll be fine here.”
He raised an eye-brow. “Are you sure, then? Elizabet can stay with you until it’s her turn. I hate to leave you alone. You’re still pale. Wouldn’t want you to faint on us.”
She didn’t answer him, her mind swept away with the resemblance to the ghost in the sky-parlor. The strong Romanesque nose, the square jaw. He was the spitting image of Edmund McAdams.
He continued, “Ms. Phebe? I say, maybe I shouldn’t leave you, after all. You don’t seem to have your wits about you, yet.”
“What? Oh no, I’m fine, really. Yes, Elizabet will stay with me.”
He gave a quick salute. “All right. Coming Maggie?”
The two sprinted off to where they left the poles and bucket of bait.
She watched them; noticed his patience, his expertise with a fishing pole, the ease he displayed with the outdoors.
“Elizabet, who is Uncle Zig? Does he live at the big house or here in the cabin?”
“He’s my uncle. Aunt Martha’s son.”
/>
The revelation startled her. “Aunt Martha’s son?”
“Yes, he lives out here—in the cabin. Likes to be alone except when we come to visit. Loves to fish and teach us things.”
“I didn’t think Aunt Martha was married.”
“She isn’t.”
Phebe bit her tongue. So many questions popped into her head, but the child was only five years old. Too young to prod for answers.
“My ankle is much better, thanks to you. Let’s go back to the house, now. I really need to lie down.”
Maggie’s high-pitched shriek interrupted any thoughts of leaving.
“I did it. I caught one,” she shouted. The fish bounced up and down on the line as she jumped around.
Phebe’s gaze left the excited Maggie and settled on Uncle Zig. His eyes lit up with joy, his smile was broad and infectious. He’s truly happy about this little fish.
Elizabet turned to her. “May I go down and see the fish? It’s my turn now. We just can’t leave until I catch one.”
“Of course. I’ll be fine. Go and catch your fish.”
The child scampered away without a second glance.
She leaned against the house and sighed. My heart rate is slowing down. My wits are returning. Somehow, I’ll figure this out. Meanwhile, I’ll simply enjoy watching the children—and Uncle Zig.
He glanced at her occasionally, executed a half wave as he adjusted Elizabet’s pole.
She waved back and smiled.
Maggie hurried toward her, a bucket sloshing water over the sides. “Look, Ms. Phebe. I caught one. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Why yes, but whatever will you do with it?”
“Oh, we throw them back. Uncle Zig only keeps ‘em if we need fish for dinner. Tonight is pot roast, so this one goes back to swim another day.”
“I hardly see the purpose in this activity, then.”
“It’s the thrill. The skill. Uncle Zig is the best fisherman in these parts.”
She smiled at the excitement on the girl’s face. “I see. Does he take you fishing often?”
“Every time Mr. & Mrs. Powell bring the children. It’s sort of a tradition.”
“I can see all of you enjoy it very much. But, it seems odd to me that the boys don’t come and fish.”
Maggie frowned. “It’s because Elizabet and I always catch the most fish. They don’t like to lose. They have no patience.”
“May I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Of course, Ms. Phebe.”
“Zig is such a peculiar name. Does it stand for Ziglar or something?”
“No, Uncle Zig is his nickname. Everyone calls him that. If you come down by the water, I’ll show you why.”
“No, my ankle is still sore. Why don’t you simply tell me?”
“Well, it has to do with the way he wiggles the bait through the water. After he casts, he wags his pole back and forth, just a little. The bait zigs and zags. The fish are attracted to it. He’s teaching me the technique.” She pointed to the bucket. “I think I’m getting pretty good.”
“I see. So, it’s a nickname. What is his real name?”
Maggie scratched her head. “Why, I don’t really know. Everyone calls him Zig. I’ve never thought about it. Maybe you should ask him.”
The thought of asking him directly, terrified her. Deep down, she knew who he was, but to ask him and hear him say it out loud, well—she’d faint dead away for sure.
Another gleeful shriek signaled the triumphant snare of another fish.
“I caught one, I caught one,” Elizabet squealed.
Phebe clapped her hands and waved.
“Let’s go see, Ms. Phebe. I’ll help you.” Maggie offered a hand.
Hesitant, she tested her ankle. “Well, I suppose I can.”
They made their way to the lake’s edge, Maggie carrying her catch in the bucket.
After a complete round of exclamations and admiring inspections, Phebe paused to watch Zig’s face.
He beamed with pride.
“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s the highlight of the month for me. I love when the children come here.”
He instructed the girls on how to release the fish and made sure both swam away, free and in good health. “I have hot tea and biscuits at the cabin. Anyone game?”
“I’m starving,” Elizabet said.
“Why don’t you two go on ahead and ready the refreshments. I’ll assist our guest.”
The two girls joined hands and raced to the cabin, squealing in anticipation.
He offered his arm. “May I?”
She hesitated, but finally, looped one arm through his, a tingle racing between them.
He looked down at her and smiled, the amber flecks in his eyes dancing with amusement. “I don’t bite, Ms. Phebe.”
She stopped their forward movement. “May I ask a question?”
“Sure. I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”
“What’s your real name? I know it’s not Zig.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, is that all. I thought you were going to ask me some deep, dark question by the tone of your voice. Zig is a nickname.” He extracted his arm, took a deep bow and announced, “I’m Anthony. Anthony Maurice.”
PHEBE’S HEART POUNDED AS HE said his name out loud.
I knew it.
Hearing his name wasn’t the jolt to her system she expected. Uncle Zig was definitely Anthony Maurice McAdams. But, to make it real, she wanted to hear him say it.
He stopped and tilted his head to her in a grand gesture. “Or should I say my full name, Anthony Maurice Evans.”
This time the universe stood still. She couldn’t breathe. “Evans?”
“Yes. You know, I always hated my middle name. I have no idea how Mother came up with it. I don’t think we’re French. Don’t you think it sounds French?” He continued to guide her toward the cabin, gently, but with purpose.
Chaos took root in her brain. “Evans?” She didn’t realize she said it out loud again. Her breath came in spurts and she stumbled against him.
His grip tightened as he steadied her. “I’ve got you, Ms. Phebe. This uneven ground has certainly challenged you today.”
They stopped in front of the cabin.
He eased her down on the bench. “Let’s enjoy the refreshments. Maybe a little sustenance will restore your balance.”
Maggie opened the door. “Tea is ready.”
“Let’s eat out here today, Maggie. Enjoy the crisp air. You can put it on the little table right there.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun to eat out here. We’ll be right out.”
After the girls settled everything on the table, he poured a cup of tea and offered it to her.
She gulped the scalding liquid, but somehow, the burning sensation restored reality. Embarrassed at her unladylike behavior, she glanced at him.
All three of her companions stood still with eyes round as she hurriedly swallowed the tea.
“I’m sorry. I believe I’m overtired from the trip. The tea is wonderful. Maybe a biscuit will bring me to full restoration. They look scrumptious.”
He rushed to pick up the plate and offer her one.
Still no one spoke. All eyes remained on her.
“Please, don’t look at me like I’m a two-headed cow. The country air, my sore ankle, it all has me out of sorts. I’m fine now.”
“Our apologies, Ms. Phebe. It’s just—the tea is so hot. Of course, you’re tired. After tea and biscuits, I’ll be happy to escort you to the big house.” He turned to the girls. “Go on, Maggie, Elizabet, eat your biscuits. Don’t be rude.”
Eager to have the conversation back to normal, she asked, “Who made these? They’re so light and tasty.”
“Aunt Martha,” the girls said in unison. “She’s the best cook, she sent them with us in the lunch basket.”
“Ah, then I will look forward to this eveni
ng’s meal. Pot roast, isn’t it?”
They passed the next half hour in idle chatter while she tried to make sense of his name. Why is his last name Evans? He must be a McAdams.
A fluffy, white cloud drifted in front of the sun, reminding her of the lateness of the hour.
“Really, we must get back. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Powell are wondering where I went. Elizabet isn’t my only charge.” She stood and brushed the crumbs from her dress.
“Ah, the boys are spending time with Mother and the horses. It’s their habit each time they visit. The Powell’s spend most of their time napping. But, you’re right, rest is what you need.”
The girls put away the dishes.
She noticed Zig studied her rather intently while the girls were inside. “Something wrong with my face? Crumbs? A mosquito on my nose, perhaps?”
“Excuse me for staring, Ms. Phebe, I…”
“Please,” she interrupted. “Call me Phebe. After all, I’ve pried into your unusual name. Seems only fair.”
He smiled. “Fair enough, Phebe it is. I’m only studying you because, well, for one, you’re very pretty. However, you look troubled, as if a heavy weight rested on your shoulders. I hope all is well with your employment. I know for a fact the children can be quite a handful.”
His discernment caught her off guard. “Oh no, everything is fine with my employers. The children are wonderful. I was at my last assignment for many years and getting to know a new way of doing things is a bit daunting, but everyone is so nice and eager to help. It already feels like home.”
“We’re ready, Uncle Zig.” Maggie held Elizabet by the hand.
He took Phebe’s elbow. “You two run ahead. I’m going to take it slow with your governess. Try to make sure she doesn’t do more damage to that ankle.”
They watched the children skip ahead, hand in hand.
As they strolled along, Phebe decided to probe. “Elizabet is such a firecracker. Always into mischief, loads of energy.”
He didn’t reply, only nodded and tightened his grip on her elbow.
They walked on.
He was chatty enough before, but now, he’s hardly said a word.
She decided to press further. “I wonder where she got those eyes. They look very much like yours.”
Somewhere Between Page 11
