At last.
Lottie winked and held open the shop door. Sarah forced herself to walk at a sedate pace, even though she wanted to run and see for herself that Daniel was really outside and that Lottie wasn’t fooling. Fling herself into those arms she’d been dreaming of for two long months.
He was leaning against a telegraph pole, one ankle crossed over the other, a new hat cocked at a tilt upon his head. A small crate sat by his feet, but Sarah didn’t waste time pondering what was inside, when all she could do was gaze at him and let joy fill her heart.
“About time, Miss Whittier,” he said, with a smile. He was smiling. “I was starting to wonder if Miss Samuelson had forgotten to deliver my message.”
“Lottie can always be relied upon.” Sarah crossed to where he stood. As ever, he smelled of lime shaving lotion, and his eyes were as impossibly green as she remembered. For the first time she could recall, they were free of the bitterness that had once haunted him. He had changed.
She had changed, as well.
“I must say, Mr. Cady, you continue to have the most interesting tendency to show up when you’re least expected.” She wanted to embrace him, right then and there. She would probably bring the passing traffic to a shuddering halt if she did.
“Does that mean you’re happy to see me, or unhappy?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the skim of his fingertips against her temple sending a thrill through her.
“Very happy,” she replied simply.
He nodded down at the crate. “And what about this fellow?”
Just then, a protesting mewl sounded and Sarah noticed a flash of orange in the gaps between the slats. “Rufus!” Sarah cried, lifting the hinged lid. The cat jumped free of the box and into her arms. “I’d given up on you.”
“We have both returned, Sarah,” Daniel said quietly.
“Thank you.” She lifted on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheekbone. A dark-gowned matron exiting a neighboring bank clucked disapprovingly over the display. “Where did you find the silly cat?”
“I decided to show my sisters the house yesterday, after we arrived, and he was sleeping on the porch as if he’d never left.”
Sarah twined her fingers through Rufus’s fur. “You brought your sisters?”
“Since San Francisco is where they’re going to be living from now on, I pretty well needed to.”
He’d come back and he’d come to stay. “That’s why you didn’t sell the house.”
“Lily and Marguerite need a roof for them and their substantial doll collection, and I had to find somewhere to hang a watercolor painted by a very talented local artist.” He inhaled deeply and dashed his hat from his head in order to curl the brim beneath his fingers. Another hat ruined. “Say you’ll live there with us, Sarah. You love that house and you’ll get along with my sisters. I know you will.”
Was he asking what she thought he was asking? “I do love that house,” she said cautiously.
His fingers paused while his eyes searched her face. “If you still care about that French fellow, let me know right now before I say something stupid.”
“Edouard?”
“Do you still care for him?” he asked.
Sarah drew a hand along Rufus’s back and off the end of his tail. She’d never seen Daniel so flustered. “No, Daniel, I don’t care about Edouard at all.”
He gave a small nod, his shoulders relaxing. “Then tell me you’ll marry me. I love you. Marry me.”
Her breath caught. “Oh, Daniel.”
He lifted one eyebrow. Just as his father might. “Was that a yes, Miss Whittier?”
Shifting Rufus out of the way and without a concern about the traffic, she kissed Daniel full on the lips. Behind the shop windows, a cheer went up and Cora broke out singing an Irish tune.
“Yes, Mr. Cady,” Sarah said, laughing, and kissed him again.
“Oui, I have the money.” He woefully contemplated the contents of his wallet. Over the past four years, abundant charm supplemented by nine hundred dollars’ worth of gold had not gone quite as far as he had hoped.
Extracting two bills, he handed them over to the waiter standing at the exit. This restaurant hired excessively pugnacious ones, he thought, and there was really no need for the fellow to glower as he was.
“It was a most agreeable luncheon. Merci,” he offered, together with a smile that did nothing toward improving the waiter’s mood. The dollars had vanished into the depths of a vest pocket within seconds of their entering the man’s grasp. Edouard desperately wished them back. The meal and the company had not turned out to be worth the expenditure of his very, very precious funds.
His company leaned against his arm as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the strong floral of her perfume washing over him, causing his nose to run. “Monsieur Marchand, thank you ever so much.”
She batted her eyelashes in what she must have imagined was coquetry. They had been together for only a few weeks, after her husband had hired Edouard to paint her portrait, but already he was bored of her giggles and flirtations. Once it had become clear which direction the money would flow—and not in his favor, aside from the measly sum he would eventually be paid for an uninspired oil rendering—he had stopped pretending he didn’t notice how unattractive she was.
There had been pretty ones, in the years since he’d hopped a steamer in San Francisco. A desperately appreciative widow in Vancouver, a delightful mademoiselle in Quebec. He had even enjoyed the company of an apple-cheeked schoolteacher in Montana whom he’d thought, albeit briefly, of honoring with the last name of Marchand. The last time he’d entertained that notion hadn’t lasted long either and had nearly led to disaster. Sweet Sarah. He did wonder what had become of her.
The woman at his side noticed his distraction and tugged, hard, on his arm. “Monsieur Marchand,” she said, coquetry dropped, her voice edged like a straight razor. He pitied her husband. “Are you taking me to the art gallery or are we going to stand here like two bumps on a log?”
He lifted a corner of his mouth, a meltingly charming smile that had never failed on a single female he had ever encountered. “Mon chouchou, I intend to sweep you off your pretty feet and show this town that I am escorting its loveliest lady.”
She dimpled and batted her eyelashes again. “Monsieur, how can I ever thank you?”
He had an idea and it involved an almost empty bank account, but he knew that wasn’t what she was thinking. Inside, he quailed.
“Your smiles are thanks enough,” he said, pulling her forward, hoping she hadn’t observed the despair and misery that had to have flashed across his face.
The weeks flew past, the summer departing with them, until September arrived. The month of their wedding, thought Sarah, and in this very garden, among the last blossoms of the roses, white alyssum, and violet-blue lobelia, by the marble cherub statue that Josiah had so adored.
Lily and Marguerite sat painting in the midday sunshine, their heads close together as they whispered secrets to each other, the coils of their dark hair resting against their identical cheeks. Lily, the most attentive of the twins, looked up when she heard Sarah descending the rear steps from the kitchen.
“Sarah, come and see. Marguerite has painted the strangest rose ever!”
“Lily,” her sister complained, “don’t be so mean!” But then she giggled, knowing her sister was only joshing. The girls laughed often. When they weren’t whispering. “It really is awful, Sarah. Tell me I can stop trying and can go inside to help Mrs. McGinnis make shortbread.”
Sarah inspected her painting. Although the girls were almost physically indistinguishable—and Sarah had spent the weeks since they had been in San Francisco making plenty of mistakes when it came to addressing them—they did not have identical personalities or abilities. Lily was quick-witted and more sociable, Marguerite more apt to weigh her thoughts and not as talented as Lily seemed to be at everything. They were loved equally, however, by one dot
ing brother and his future wife.
“Marguerite, it is not awful, but you are thinking too hard about the underlying pencil work and not letting the lines flow.” Sarah bent down to demonstrate, her hand sure as she sketched petals and sepals and stem.
“I will never be that good,” said Marguerite, while Lily watched with rapt attention.
“I wasn’t always, either.” She handed back the pencil and straightened. “I had a very good instructor.”
She could mention Edouard without any of the regret or sorrow she’d once felt. With Daniel, she’d come to know real love and had asked God to forgive her foolish heart. She was at peace.
“I think you’ve both done enough painting today,” she announced. “Clean the brushes, scrub your hands, and go help Mrs. McGinnis with that shortbread. Your brother should be here soon and he’ll be looking forward to lunch.”
They hastened to tidy up and then raced each other to the back door, almost colliding with Daniel as he stepped through.
“Whoa, you wild animals!” he exclaimed, evading both them and Rufus, who had chosen the same moment to dart out of the house and into the garden to chase a sparrow.
“Sorry!” the girls said in unison, ducking by him.
“With my sisters living here, you know we’ll never have a moment’s quiet,” he said, coming up behind Sarah as she folded the girls’ painting aprons. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he tucked her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Good morning, Miss Whittier. Glad you’re home. I was afraid you might be at the shop.”
“Lottie’s managing the studio today.” Sarah set down the aprons and leaned against his chest, reveling in the feel of him. Soon, she would have Daniel every morning and every evening, no longer needing to separate at day’s end when he returned to the hotel and she shooed two energetic young girls to their bedrooms before collapsing on her own bed, happily worn out by work and the making of wedding plans. Eight more days. That was all. “And I believe it is afternoon, Mr. Cady.”
He spun her within the circle of his arms until she faced him. “Sinclair likes to talk almost as much as he likes to eat breakfast, but his real estate agent friend has settled the Placerville property sale. That land is going to bring enough money to let me establish my import business, so the meeting was worthwhile.” He smiled and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Although why I let him ramble on when I could be here with you, doing this . . .” The kiss moved down her face to her lips, and she lost all sense of place or time.
Eventually, she pulled away but not out of his arms, her face warm, her heart filled with love. “Mrs. McGinnis will be waiting lunch for us.”
“She can wait a few more minutes.” He lifted one of her hands and brushed his lips across the back of her fingers, his gaze never leaving her eyes. “Who would’ve thought when I came to San Francisco looking for Josiah’s money that I would find you instead? I thank God every day, Sarah.”
“As do I, Daniel.” Thank You, Lord. Thank You. Smiling, Sarah slipped her fingers free and tidied his collar, knocked askew by their embrace. “Did you ever hear from the Grays?”
“I did. I got a telegram this morning, in fact. They send their best wishes, but, no surprise with the baby just having been born, they won’t be traveling west to visit for some time.” He sighed. “I do wish—”
“We agreed to not let your grandparents spoil our happiness,” Sarah interrupted, knowing what he was about to say. They had invited the Hunts to their wedding and upon receiving no reply, had both decided to wish them well and try to forget all their cruelties. “So let’s not mention them.”
“At least your aunt and uncle are coming to our wedding,” he said.
It was going to be an uncomfortable reunion, the only possible cloud over the most wonderful day of her life. But they had agreed to attend, surprising Sarah, and she would do her best to heal old wounds. “Tell me again you won’t be mad at them for how they once treated me, Daniel.”
“I’m too happy to be mad at anyone. Even your aunt and uncle. Even my grandparents.” He twined her arm around his and held it against his waist. “I am hungry, Miss Whittier, and would like some of your housekeeper’s excellent lunch. Shall you accompany me?”
“My pleasure, Mr. Cady.” She smiled her fullest smile. “My dearest one.”
He matched her smile with a wicked grin of his own. “Keep talking like that and we might have to skip lunch altogether.”
She laughed. “Come on, you incorrigible man.”
So together they strolled across the garden toward the house. The house where they would share love. Create a family. Build a future.
“You know,” Daniel said, “I wouldn’t have minded if more nuggets had turned up. I would’ve bought you the fanciest diamond ring in town.”
“You are the only treasure I need, Daniel,” Sarah responded. The greatest of Josiah’s treasures—his son and my beloved. The treasure of my heart. “The only treasure I will ever want.”
He hugged her in tight as they climbed the back steps and chuckled. “Yes, indeed, Miss Whittier, I like the way you talk.”
Acknowledgments
Grateful thanks go:
To, as ever, my agent, Natasha Kern – for your tireless support and thoughtful critiques. My work is always better because of you.
To Candace Calvert – you have read everything I’ve ever written . . . and propped me up more times than I can count. Bless you!
To Donna, Pat, Beth – looking forward to many more afternoons spent talking shop. You guys are the best.
To the folks at Worthy – for your patience and prayers during a difficult year.
To my family – who else would put up with me!
And lastly to my readers – I do this for you. You have all my appreciation.
Nancy Herriman retired from a career as an engineer to chase around two small children and take up the pen. She hasn't looked back. To her delight, her writing has received enthusiastic praise from readers, best-selling authors, and industry insiders alike. When she is not writing, or gabbing over lattes about writing, she is either watching history shows on TV or performing with various choral groups. She lives in Ohio with her husband and sons, and wishes there were more hours in the day. Learn more online at www.nancyherriman.com.
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