“Certainly. But I’m only an apprentice. Mrs. Williams, the shop owner, would have to make the decision to sell your work here. She’ll be back tomorrow. Can I keep this and show it to her?”
James stepped forward. “Is it really all that special? That kind of lace, I mean?”
“Absolutely!” Delia stood and held the handkerchief a few inches from his nose. She traced a slim finger along one of the scallops. “See this pattern? It was made by embroidering scores of stitches, one on top of the other, to build up the design. There’s no backing to guide it, like bobbin lace, just a needle and thread. Lace like this requires true talent.”
Ann’s mind raced with figures. It would cost one or two dollars a week for a boardinghouse. Twenty-five dollars to repay James for her steerage ticket, followed by the agency fee—the price of which she couldn’t even guess. Still, she’d brought with her several dozen handkerchiefs. If they fetched half a dollar each, she might have some hope of supporting herself.
“Do you have any idea how a handkerchief like this might be priced?” Ann could barely contain the tremor of excitement in her voice.
Delia walked to the window and held the handkerchief in front of the glass. Sunlight streamed through the embroidery and painted a patterned shadow on the floor. “It’s hard to say. We won’t have many buyers in New Haven for something so fine, but we are getting more customers from Columbus. And it’s English-made, which is very popular.”
Ann laughed. In England her work was maid-made.
Delia looked up when she laughed and smiled back. “Five dollars.”
It was good Ann remained seated. Otherwise she might have fainted. Had she heard right?
James coughed and backed into another dress form. “Did you say five dollars?” he croaked.
“Like I said, I’ll have to check with Mrs. Williams, but I think that’s how she’d price it.”
Ann’s head was spinning. “When will you know?” she breathed.
“You’ll be at church this Sunday?”
Ann looked to James. He nodded.
“Wonderful. I can tell you then if Mrs. Williams is interested. If she is, I’m sure she’ll wish to meet with you.”
Ann moved through the pleasantries as if in a trance. It was only when James lightly touched her elbow that she realized they were leaving. She returned Delia’s hug goodbye, and allowed James to guide her to the door. Once on the sidewalk outside, with the shop door safely shut behind them, James let out a long, low whistle. His green eyes met hers and he squeezed her elbow. “Five dollars!” he said, as if it were a fantastic secret between them.
His excitement added to her own. She drew a deep breath to retain her decorum. “Mrs. Williams might not think it’s worth so much.”
James laughed. “Even a few dollars is a lot of money for some old handkerchief.”
Ann stiffened at the comment. “Needle lace takes years to learn and countless hours to create a few inches.”
“I believe you. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
James’s loose hair flopped over his right eye and he hadn’t yet raked it back into place. The sight positively unnerved her. It was hard to concentrate as he gazed at her through the sand-colored strands. Why hadn’t he swept it back?
A realization flickered. “You intended for me to meet Delia, didn’t you? She was the new friend you mentioned?”
“Delia or Mrs. Williams. I thought you’d find something in common with them and could make a friend during your short time here.”
“And you like it? The needle lace, I mean?”
He raked the hair from his forehead and met her gaze straight on. “Beautiful but impractical.”
A shiver coursed through Ann’s shoulders. He wasn’t just talking about the handkerchief.
James extended his arm toward the wagon, and helped her alight onto the seat. “Where’d you learn it?”
“Hmm?” His strong hands had touched her lightly as he held her palm and arm, but the phantom sensation of his touch remained. Her other hand throbbed lightly from its burn, only serving as further reminder of the last time they touched.
“The lace. Who taught you how to make it?” James hauled himself onto the wagon seat and flicked the reins.
“We were instructed in basic embroidery at the orphanage. When I entered service, I took handkerchiefs out of my mistress’s dresser and studied the needlework. Later, I would copy it.”
“Why were you in an orphanage?”
James didn’t know he’d asked Ann two questions. She’d lived in an orphanage twice in her life, but for very different reasons each time. Explaining the reason for her first stay was easy. Even thinking of telling him about the second made her stomach hurt. “Why are American children sent to orphanages?”
James squinted at Ann through dark lashes and nodded slowly. “Of course. I apologize for the callous question. You lost your parents. I’m sorry.”
His voice grew soft as he apologized. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. To let him know she appreciated his words. The hand closest to her rested palm up on his knee, the reins slack upon his fingers.
He caught Ann staring at them and gripped the reins.
Ann averted her eyes. “Delia seems like a nice girl.” She’d seemed like more than a nice girl. A few minutes with her and Ann felt she’d found someone she could confide in.
“All of the Ludlows—and the Renners, for that matter—are good people. You’ll get to meet many of them at church.”
“You aren’t going to make me stay home? Hide me away until you hear from Mrs. Turner?” she teased.
James blushed. “I told you we’d tell everyone the truth. Or at least most of it. We met through an agency and you’re staying with me and Uncle Mac to see if we suit. There’s really no other way to explain why you’re living in my house. Besides, half the people in town seem to know already.”
He was right. Mr. Davis hadn’t so much as blinked when James directed him to charge her purchases to his account. She now saw how ridiculous her inquiries regarding positions of service in New Haven had been. To all of New Haven, she would always be the intended Mrs. James McCann. It would be too awkward for any of them to hire her on. If she wanted a new position, she’d have to leave. Not only would she be starting yet another new life, but it must be far away from here.
Ann played with the hem of her sleeve and her breath caught in her throat. She must handle this next topic delicately. “We haven’t yet discussed the terms of my staying with you.”
He shot her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
Ann swallowed hard. “I—I don’t have much money at the moment, to pay for room and board. However, if my handkerchiefs fetch as dear a price as Delia believes, I can repay you for everything. My passage. The agency’s fee.”
James waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry about board. If you clean the rest of the house as well as the kitchen and keep it that way, I’ll consider it payment enough. The kitchen hasn’t looked like that since Mother died.”
“Oh.” Had she detected a compliment? What a pleasant surprise.
“Of course, I’d hoped you’d cook as well as my mother, but I guess that was too much to wish for.”
Ann bristled. She bit her tongue to keep her retort at bay. This man was never going to relinquish his prejudice against her.
“As for your passage and the agency,” he continued, “I wouldn’t worry yourself too much about that.”
Ann cocked her head and puzzled over his comment. “Why not?” she asked finally.
“I’m confident the agency will refund their fee. They’d have to after the kind of mistake they made. And once you’re properly matched with your intended, he can repay me for your ticket.” He laughed. “I’m sure he’ll be scandalized to di
scover I could only afford steerage. Maybe we’ll tell him I sprang for a second-class ticket? Get a few more dollars out of him?”
He turned to Ann and his smile dropped. “I’m only joking, of course. I’d never be dishonest.”
Ann barely managed a weak smile in return. If only he knew the cost of repayment rested squarely on her shoulders. Even if she procured money, she’d first have to think of supporting herself. “But you’ll be alright until then?” she asked hopefully.
James cleared his throat and gave a nervous chuckle. “Yes, though the sooner we hear from Mrs. Turner and get you sent off, the better. Fact is, I used most of last year’s profits to pay the agency fee and your passage. Until this year’s crops are in, I’m stretched a little thin. I counted on a lot more help around the house and the farm this summer and fall. It’ll cost to hire a hand during harvest.”
Her insides clenched. If only a wealthy suitor really did await her, checkbook in hand.
“Did you post the letter to Mrs. Turner?” she asked, sure that he had.
James chewed his lip. “I did.”
So it was done. The countdown had begun.
* * *
Back at the farm, James let Ann off by the door before pulling the wagon into the barn and tending to the horse. He took the few minutes of solitude to mentally review their trip to town. When he’d invited Ann to stay with him, he never imagined he could be so weak. He’d prayed over and over that morning for strength to focus on the task at hand. Such a simple task. Patiently await the arrival of his intended bride—a helpmate for the farm and the future mother of his children—all while sharing a home with the most breathtaking beauty New Haven had ever seen.
He stifled a chortle. Simple? This was the hardest task of his life. Every time he turned around, a compliment escaped his lips. Why did he keep doing that? The only antidote he could think of was to follow his praise with criticism. To remind himself he couldn’t be caught up in the deceit of beauty again. Yet each time he criticized her, Ann’s doe eyes reflected the wound. Then his chest would tighten to see he’d caused her pain, and he’d be caught up in her gaze all over again.
No, he couldn’t do this to himself! His time with Emily would be for nothing if he repeated the same mistakes. From the moment they met, he’d been utterly blind to Emily’s flaws. He’d ignored every warning God gave him and plunged ahead, hoping she’d grow a heart for farm life and family devotion.
The summer sun still hung high in the sky when he left the barn. His cheeks burned and his mouth felt dry as dust. He headed to the well pump for a drink of water and found Ann already there. She let the tin cup hanging by a chain drop with a clatter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“My, it’s a mite warmer here than I expected,” she called to James.
“Too warm for you, I’d imagine.”
Ann’s smile fell. “I said it felt warmer. I didn’t say I was swooning,” she huffed. Her rosy cheeks flushed pinker.
I’ve done it wrong again! He couldn’t teeter-totter between admiration and admonishment. There had to be something in the middle. He’d been praying for strength since she arrived. He now saw he needed something more. Lord, I need strength, but please also grant me the gift of hospitality.
Ann plucked a plain handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and soaked it under the icy water. She drew the cloth across the back of her creamy neck and sighed. His heart stirred. He prayed harder.
“I need to inspect your burn.” The last thing he needed was to be in close contact with her again, but the task was unavoidable.
Ann held out her hand for inspection, and he unwound the bandages and turned her hand over in his. The scent of lavender tickled his nose and he held his breath. Her hand looked like any other hand. Only smaller and more delicate, and attached to a slim arm that led to an arching graceful neck...
Stop it!
The salve had done its job and the burns were healing nicely. “I’ll give you the salve to reapply,” he gruffed before pushing past her and drawing in a grateful breath of non-lavender-scented air.
Ann followed closely behind as he entered the kitchen. There he found Uncle Mac sitting quietly at the table. His hands were folded in front of him. His thick, gray hair parted severely to one side. His collared shirt was neatly tucked into his trousers but he’d missed the top button. When he saw James, the older man’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“I’m sorry you two didn’t get to meet earlier,” he began, addressing his uncle. “Miss Ann Cromwell, this is Uncle Mac. Uncle Mac, this is Miss Cromwell.”
Ann stepped from behind James and the effect was immediate. Uncle Mac’s gray eyes grew wide and his lips spread into a grin. He winked at James.
Ann clasped her hands in front of her and addressed Uncle Mac in a slow, melodic cadence. “It’s lovely to meet you, sir. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your fine home.” James was struck by the thought that she’d speak to Queen Victoria with the same respect if she were granted an audience.
“You may call me Ann,” she continued. “And what shall I call you?”
“You can call him Uncle Mac. Everyone does,” James answered.
“And what is Mac short for?” She continued to address the older man.
“It’s short for McCann. His first name is Angus, but not even his family called him that. Isn’t that right, Uncle Mac?” James strode forward and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. Uncle Mac smiled again and nodded.
“I apologize for the eggs this morning.” She spoke a little louder this time, but no less respectfully. “I hope they weren’t too horrid.”
Uncle Mac unfolded his hands and waved one as if to dismiss her comment.
“Was the stew more to your liking?”
Uncle Mac shrugged. “I—I can-can’t talk,” he replied.
Ann cocked an eyebrow in James’s direction.
“Ann, will you join me on the porch a moment? I need to show you where I keep the milk pail,” James said.
Once outside, James pulled both the screen door and outer door shut behind them. “I don’t like to speak about Uncle Mac in front of him, as if he can’t understand what we’re saying.”
“So he can understand me?”
“It’s my fault for not explaining things sooner. I wasn’t expecting him to be in the kitchen when we got home.”
That was only half the truth. Emily had grown exasperated with Uncle Mac’s speech the first time she met him. It was also the first time his heart began to cool toward her. Their introduction had hit a crescendo when she’d thrown up her hands and stomped out of the room. At the time, Uncle Mac had only a stutter. James had learned so much about Emily that day. Perhaps he’d held information back now for similar reasons—to test Ann for her genuine reaction.
“So he can hear us? He can understand us?”
“Every word. He has his own thoughts, but his brain won’t let him express them. He wants to speak, but for some reason he can’t. At least, that’s how Doc Henderson explained it.”
Ann placed a hand on her throat. “How terrible for him.”
“Don’t pity him. He would hate that most of all.”
“What do I do?”
“Speak to him as you would to anyone else. He has ways to communicate, even if he can’t speak.”
“But he spoke just now. He said he couldn’t talk.”
“Through much practice, he’s been able to hold on to a few phrases. A few words. But as time goes on, he loses more and more of them. When he first stopped speaking, he could still write out his thoughts, but not anymore.”
“The poor dear.” The smooth expanse of Ann’s forehead creased in concern. “You said you were surprised to find him in the kitchen.”
“Yes. He rarely leaves his room for more than a visit to
the privy.” James smiled. “If I had to guess, I’d say he came down so he could meet you. It’s times like these I miss speaking with him most. If only I could ask him what he thought when he first saw you. I’d told him a plain girl was coming. Practically promised she could cook meals fit for a king.”
His heart fell the instant he’d said the words. He’d aimed for teasing and had instead insulted her again! James grasped for Ann’s fingers and gave them a squeeze. “He probably thought he’d stumbled into the wrong house when he saw the cleanliness of the kitchen. He’s used to how I keep everything decorated with a nice layer of filth and cobwebs.”
Ann bit her lower lip, but it didn’t disguise the smile playing about her mouth. She squeezed his fingers in return.
Had he saved the moment? “I think he’ll really enjoy having you stay with us,” he added.
She released her lower lip and let the smile light her face. “Is there anything else I can do for him?”
James suppressed a sigh of relief. “Take him his meals and leave him be. He spends his days in his room reading. It’s all he ever wants to do. He’s terrified of the day his mind will rob him of that ability, too. That was one of my errands in town. Getting him books from the library.”
He turned to reenter the house. Ann placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “How long has he been like this?”
“Longer than many of us realized. He hid it well for so long. Five years? Six?”
“You’ve been caring for him all this time?”
James nodded. “I farm and I cook and I take care of the house. Uncle Mac doesn’t need much, but he can’t lend a hand anymore. He helped with the animals and did all the cooking until a year ago. One day he milked the cow six times, poor girl.” He chuckled softly, even as his eyes watered at the memory. He looked down to hide the tears and kicked at the whitewashed porch floor. “It was the day I realized I couldn’t do it by myself anymore.”
He broke his gaze with the floor to check Ann’s reaction. Her perfect face contorted with concern.
“Is that when you first wrote the agency?” she asked.
A Mistaken Match Page 6
