by Delia Parr
Her own words echoed back at her in the tunnel, but when she heard the sound of distant footsteps, she held silent and prayed none of the staff had heard her. She traveled a few more feet before she could see the figures of two women approaching, heard the faint echo of their conversation, and smiled. Irene probably would not have heard Annabelle at all, not with Peggy complaining to her again about something or other.
She hurried her steps but stopped dead when she was close enough to see that the woman walking next to Irene was not Peggy at all. With her heart rejoicing, she held her place until Irene was close enough for Annabelle to give her a hug. “You did it. You found Lotte! Thank you,” she whispered.
Grinning, Irene hugged her back. “I’m taking this hug because I don’t get too many, but you’re mistaken. You need to talk to Lotte and let her tell her tale. That’s why I was bringing her to you after she arrived with the rest of the deliveries Tim brought us.” Confused, Annabelle glanced at the young woman who was watching them with wide, wide eyes. “I’m so sorry you lost your position in the city,” she offered.
Lotte blushed. “It wasn’t all your fault, Mrs. Gray . . . Miss Annabelle. I promised Mr. Harrison that I’d tell you that.”
“Mr. Harrison?” Annabelle repeated, looking from Lotte to Irene and back again. “You saw Mr. Harrison?”
“Yes, ma’am. I guess he found out where I lived from Mrs. Cooper, and he came to my home and asked me if I wanted a chance to prove myself in a position out here, which I do. I surely do.”
“She’s got a week to do that,” Irene added, sternly enough to let Lotte know that she had to work hard to earn the position and to let Annabelle know that Irene would do her best to help the young woman succeed. “Tim also brought you a message from your husband,” Irene added. “He’ll be home tonight, but very late, so you shouldn’t wait up for him.”
Completely ashamed of herself for grumbling that Harrison was a selfish man with no redeeming qualities, Annabelle wondered if Irene might be right. Perhaps those qualities were really there, hidden beneath an armor only she had the power to penetrate if she could find it in her heart to accept and embrace his well-hidden permission to love him.
This was quite a ridiculous notion, given the fact that he had already started proceedings to end their marriage.
She could, however, choose to rely on Harrison to keep her informed about his plans instead of anyone else, including Philip, who had no idea that Harrison had changed his plans for the evening and would be coming home to spend it with her.
Nevertheless, she hurried back to tell Philip they only had a short time to spend in the city because she intended to be here before Harrison returned.
For the first time since she had arrived in the city of Philadelphia, Annabelle thought she might be getting a glimmer of the path God had set out before her. The need for volunteers was great at both the institutions she had visited, although she was most drawn to the plight of the women living at the Refuge. But the greatest need seemed to be for firewood, which was incredibly scarce due to the record freeze that had enveloped the city.
Philip had also taken her shopping. After ordering a diary for Harrison identical to the one she had gotten for herself, except with a darker leather cover, Philip had also escorted her to the candy store, where she wanted to purchase a few sweets as Christmas gifts for the staff—gifts Philip confirmed would be appropriate.
She had not been surprised to learn that Harrison had an account there or that the young woman who had assisted her with her purchases had very recently been hired. Annabelle assumed it had been her promised position that had been filled.
Working every day would never have allowed her to volunteer as much time as she would be able to as Harrison’s wife, and Annabelle was grateful for the opportunities before her. But accepting a settlement from him, which would give her even more freedom, still did not sit well with her.
Exhausted but exhilarated after a very long but rewarding afternoon, her stomach was growling when she entered the house, and she chuckled. She was definitely going to have second helpings of supper tonight.
She peeked into the parlor to make certain Harrison had not returned yet before she hung up her cape and hurried upstairs to hide the gifts she had purchased. Noting the uncommonly warm temperature in the house, she determined to change into a different gown and freshen up her hair before letting Irene know she had returned. She took two steps into the sleeping room, rocked back on her heels, and tightened her hold on the packages she was carrying. Supper had been put out on a small table that had been set up in front of the fire, and her husband was sitting in one of the two chairs at the table nibbling on a biscuit. “Harrison! Wh-what are you doing?”
“Nothing, other than waiting for you.” He got to his feet and waved his hand over the table. “This wasn’t my doing. Irene thought it would be a good idea for the two of us to share a quiet supper up here, rather than in the dining room.”
“You’re the master of the house. Why didn’t you tell her no?” Annabelle placed her packages on top of the lady’s writing desk before she crossed the room.
He chuckled as he helped her into her seat. “I’ve tried, but I haven’t had much success in that regard. Have you fared any better?”
“No, although when I needed to convince her that she should learn how to read, I did find a way to get around her,” she admitted. “In fact, I believe you did the very same thing recently, or so I was told before I left today.”
He sat down across from her and cocked a brow. “I did?”
“Lotte told me you sought her out and promised her a position here at Graymoor Gardens if she could prove herself to Irene. I thought you weren’t going to interfere,” she offered.
He shrugged. “I have a weak moment now and again.”
“It wasn’t a weak moment at all. It was a very kind thing to do. Thank you. It means a great deal to me that you helped her.”
He took a hot biscuit and slathered it with butter. “It’s Irene’s decision now.”
Dreadfully hungry, Annabelle, too, reached for a biscuit and quickly took a few bites. “Irene mentioned that your father had drawn up some sort of agreement that allows her to work here for the rest of her life, so you can’t dismiss her. Not for any reason. Is that really true?”
His gaze darkened with a sadness he quickly shuttered from her view, and she saw his hand tremble ever so slightly as he ladled out some thick potato soup into their bowls. “As a matter of fact, he did. It was part of his will, although I doubt he had any idea that the will would be executed as soon as it was. He and my mother were killed in a freak accident when I was only five. My older brother, Peter, was fifteen at the time.”
“How awful,” she murmured. Although he confirmed the identical dates she had seen recorded in the family Bible next to his parents’ names, he also reminded her that she should be very grateful she had been blessed to have her parents as long as she did. “Did you have family to take you and your brother in?” she asked, curious to know more, since Harrison had never even mentioned he had an older brother.
He let out a long breath and added more butter to his biscuit before he polished it off. “My mother’s sister, Ana, who was Philip’s mother, wanted us to come live with them in Boston. But my father’s will dictated that we had to remain in the family mansion, and he appointed his lawyer, Nicholas Etting, as our guardian. He raised us.”
“Is he still alive?” Annabelle asked.
Harrison stirred his soup to cool it. “No, he died a number of years back, along with my brother, Peter, and . . .” He locked his gaze on something behind her. “I should tell you about Peter,” he said.
Annabelle remembered Irene making a remark referring to his brother as deceased, but she felt hesitant having Harrison discuss so many obviously troubling topics tonight. “Supper is getting cold. Perhaps you can tell me about Peter another time,” she suggested.
He blinked hard, as if her words had brought
him back from another place, and set down his spoon. “No, we need to talk about my brother and his family now. People who will be attending the ball tomorrow night will expect you to be familiar with my family background.”
“Yes, I suppose they will,” she said, realizing that the family he wanted to tell her about and had saved for last had been his own. She sat back while she waited for him to continue.
He nudged the bowl of soup away from him. “Peter was . . . he was born to be a Graymoor. He was very smart and very quick, and he loved everything about being the scion of one of the most prominent families in the city, one of the few that can trace its roots back to the days of William Penn. He wasn’t the first-born son, though. We had an older brother, William, who died before his fourth birthday. Peter, as the second born, was raised to take my father’s place. He continued family traditions, married, and had two sons he was raising in the city. That left me free to live out here at Graymoor Gardens and to do whatever pleased me. Which I did . . . until Peter succumbed to yellow fever eight years ago, along with his wife and my two nephews.”
When he paused, obviously struggling against memories that were still very painful, her heart ached for him and trembled with painful memories of her own.
“As the sole surviving heir, I had no choice but to step out of the shadows and into the bright light of family responsibilities, which I accept on a very limited basis, as you well know,” he offered in a raspy voice.
When he paused again, she saw his gaze harden, but beneath the protective shell he wore, in the place that gave life to the twinkle in his eyes when he was being totally charming and disarming, she could see the pain of the many losses he had suffered—losses far beyond what she had experienced in the past few years.
“I’m so sorry.” She realized she had been so engrossed in the incredibly sad story of his life that she had completely lost her appetite, and Harrison . . . he was so overwhelmed by the pain he had endured by losing his entire family that he had lost all of his hunger for God’s love.
He shrugged. “Loss is part of life and the only way to avoid it is to make absolutely certain you don’t love anything that will cause you grief when you lose it. Fortunately, the only thing I’m sure I won’t lose is the fortune I inherited, because I couldn’t possibly spend all of it, no matter how long I might live. I just make absolutely certain there’s nothing else as important to me as spending it on as many pleasures as I can—including any number of young women who misconstrue my intentions as a prelude to serious courtship. Or I did, until we got married.”
She now understood why he was so opposed to any type of marriage at all. “Is there a specific young woman who will be at the ball who might be upset that you returned to the city as a married man?”
He nodded. “One of the reasons I left last fall was to avoid Vienna Biddle,” he admitted. “I’m certain she’s rather upset with me, but I told her more than once I was not interested in getting married. I doubt she’ll approach you at all, but I’m confident she’ll add her disappointment to the rest of the gossip that surrounds my name. But you needn’t worry. Most of the people you meet will be too polite to say anything about me to you directly, but you may overhear more than a few whispers that you’re married to a complete scoundrel.”
Although she was not surprised to learn about Vienna, she was troubled most by his jaded view of life and his apparent determination never to marry anyone in a misguided attempt to avoid the heartache that life often brings to everyone, regardless of whether they are married or single. Or even divorced. She suspected that he had been the subject of gossip for so long he had actually allowed his poor reputation to define him and overshadow his better qualities—qualities she had only begun to recognize herself. She moistened her lips. “Would you . . . that is, do you agree with what they say about you?” she asked, if only to confirm her own thoughts.
He smiled. “I’m afraid I do. I live by one motto: Live a long life, and you’ll end up outliving everyone you love. Live a short life instead and simply love living. Does that disappoint you?”
She tried to return his smile, but failed. “I’m afraid it does. Perhaps you should consider changing your motto to something else.”
“Such as?”
“My own motto,” Annabelle suggested. “If you live a life centered on the love God has for you, He’ll always give you the strength to embrace love and the courage and grace to face all the disappointments that life can hurl at you.” She looked up at Harrison and there was a moment of poignant silence.
Irene had been wrong. Harrison Graymoor would not become the man of character he could be by giving her or any other woman permission to love him.
Harrison needed to open his heart and his soul to the only One who could: his Creator.
Chapter Fourteen
At dawn the following day, the sun climbed up from the horizon below a band of clouds that wrapped across the sky like a thick gray blanket. A light layer of new snow dusted the landscape, and the world was hushed, as if holding its breath in anticipation of the coming of the holiest season of the year.
Annabelle crossed the cottage basement just after six o’clock in the morning, but she was surprised when she caught a whiff of breakfast foods and heard Irene giving orders to the staff.
“Peggy, you know where the boxes of Christmas ribbons are stored. Take Lotte with you and bring the boxes to the kitchen and unpack them so we can start cleaning them up. They’re bound to be covered with eight years of dust. Alan, I need you to bring in more wood for every room in the main house and don’t be stingy or you’ll be back outside this afternoon for more. Now scoot!”
Fortunately, Annabelle had not started up the steps before Peggy and Lotte rushed down to do Irene’s bidding; otherwise, they would have knocked her right over. After quickly acknowledging her, they proceeded to the tunnel, and she joined Irene in the kitchen, just as Alan slipped out the back door. She glanced at Irene, who was at the kitchen table fumbling with one of the wide red ribbons lying there.
Annabelle frowned. “I suppose this means that we’re not taking a walk today.”
“No time. I’ve got a house to get ready for Christmas, and you’ve got a fancy ball to get ready for,” Irene replied without bothering to look up.
Annabelle walked over to the table next to the cookstove, swiped a link of cooked sausage, and nibbled at it. “What about your lessons?”
“No time. I’ve got a house to decorate for Christmas, and you’ve got a fancy ball to get ready for,” Irene repeated and finally looked up at her. “I shouldn’t ask you why you left your sleeping husband to be up and about so early with me, so I won’t. But since you’re here, you may as well help me. I spent half the night undoing some old bows and pressing out the wrinkles in this ribbon. After eight years, I can’t seem to put the bows back together again.”
Wondering what the housekeeper would say if she discovered that Harrison had spent the night sleeping in the library alcove again, Annabelle polished off the sausage link and wiped her hands on a cloth hanging by the water pump before she stored away her cape. “I’ll make the bows if you get your chalk and slate so you can practice some of your letters,” she suggested and sat down next to Irene.
“I’m not convinced I’ll do any better than yesterday,” Irene grumbled, but she handed over the ribbon she was holding and glanced down at her thick-veined hands. “These hands of mine are still able to do most anything I want. Except when it comes to shaping letters.”
“It gets easier with practice,” Annabelle replied as she turned and twisted the ribbon exactly as her mother had taught her to do.
Irene got up, walked over to the corner cupboard to retrieve the chalk and slate she had found stored away with some of the family’s heirlooms, and carried it back with her before retaking her seat. “I don’t get much time to practice. Not with Peggy and Alan lurking about, and now Lotte.” She awkwardly formed the capital letter A.
Annabelle cringed until
the woman finished. “Good job. Excellent, in fact,” she said. “But try holding the chalk on the side so it won’t squeak when you’re writing. Yes. That’s perfect!” she announced when Irene adjusted her fingers. “Do the lower case a.”
This time Irene managed to form the letter without making more than a gentle sound as the chalk scraped across the slate. “A is for Annabelle.”
“And B is for bow,” Annabelle quipped as she placed a perfectly formed bow onto the table and grinned.
They bantered back and forth as teacher and student for the next twenty minutes, choosing words that began with each letter of the alphabet Irene had learned so far. By the time Irene was ready to learn the first of two new letters planned for the day, Annabelle had also fashioned the last ribbon into a bow. She reached over and cleaned off the slate. “Watch carefully,” she urged and formed both the upper and lower case letters for G. “The letter G has both hard and soft sounds, like the letter C, so G is for Graymoor or ginger,” she said, pointing to the letters she had written.
Irene’s eyes sparkled. “Or G is for God, who blesses us all every day, and . . . and gem, right?”
“That’s right,” Annabelle confirmed, pleased that Irene was such a quick learner. “Or G could be for gumption you possess, as well as gentle, which also describes you occasionally,” she teased.
“Every woman needs to have gumption. You have a good dose of it, too,” Irene countered as she traced over the letters Annabelle had made before attempting to chalk them herself.
“Me? I don’t think so.” If she did, Annabelle would have followed Eric to New York City and demanded that he return all the money her mother had received when she’d sold nearly all of the land she had inherited as a widow. She’d given the money to them as a wedding present—money Eric was supposed to use to establish himself in his law practice in New York City before sending for Annabelle and her mother.
