Hopeful Hearts

by Diann Hunt

  The thought of candy so engrossed her, she neglected to see the person in front of her until it was too late. She plowed into the man like a runaway horse cart slamming into a tree. He stopped cold.

  A gasp caught in her chest. She looked up and peered into dark brown eyes with golden flecks that seemed to fan from the center like sunlight bursting upon a brand-new day. The pleasure she saw in them warmed her down to her toes. “I–I’m so sorry. I don’t know what must have gotten into me.” She pulled out her handkerchief to cover her embarrassment then stopped the dainty cloth at her throat as she attempted, but failed, to swallow.

  A twinkle lit the man’s dark eyes, making her almost light-headed. It was all she could do to hold herself up in her boots. Whatever had gotten into her, she didn’t know, but one thing was for sure: she had to get over it.

  “Ma’am, the fault was mine.” In a polite gesture, he pulled off his hat, and a thatch of heavy blond hair spilled across his forehead. Her cheeks grew warm, and she knew her face must match her red hair. She had to get out of there before her heart jumped clean out of her chest. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, pushing past him before he had a chance to say anything else. She started to leave the store when Mr. Manford called to her.

  “Abigail?”

  She turned and swallowed hard. “Yes?”

  “You gonna pay for that coffee?”

  She looked down at the package of coffee clutched to her chest. Her jaw dropped in astonishment. “Oh my!” she said, looking at Mr. Manford. Then without thought, she glanced toward the young man with the dark eyes. A full smile spread across his angular face. Could she possibly suffer any more humiliation? “I’m so sorry, Mr. Manford,” she said in a whisper. He tried to hide his smile, but she saw it just the same. With shaky fingers, she pulled out her coin purse, plunked money on the counter, and scurried out the door.

  Titus Matthews’s gaze met that of the storekeeper. Titus shook his head and smiled then glanced back as the woman stepped out the door. Never before had he seen hair a blended color of autumn leaves. He picked up a sack of flour, but a vision of the woman’s crimson face peered from the sack, her bright blue eyes coaxing him to find out her identity.

  Maybe he could get her last name from the storekeeper. He’d have to be careful, though. Folks were suspicious of strangers. He shrugged. He might have to do his ma’s shopping at Manford’s Mercantile from now on in hopes of finding the woman again.

  Once she arrived at the Thread Bearer, Abigail had settled down from her near bout with apoplexy at the mercantile. She climbed from the rig and tethered her horses. Lifting her heavy skirts, she stepped across muddy spots on the pathway and entered the shop. The bell jangled on the door behind her as she closed it.

  “Be right with you,” Sophia’s voice called from the back room.

  Abigail smiled and waited, knowing Sophia would be excited to see her. They hadn’t visited in quite some time. Sophia had been too sick for church the last couple of weeks. Abigail needed to see how her friend was getting along.

  Sophia stepped through the curtain that separated the rooms. “Abigail!”

  The two women rushed through the room and embraced. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Sophia said, quite out of breath. She pulled back and looked at her friend and gasped. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

  Abigail let out a chuckle and shook her head. “I could never get anything past you.”

  “Let me make some tea. Come to the back, won’t you?”

  “Am I keeping you from any deadlines?”

  “No,” Sophia called over her shoulder. “In fact, this is a very good day for a visit. I have only a few items to mend and one dress to start with no set date by which to deliver it.”

  Abigail pushed aside the curtain and sat at the scrubbed pine table while Sophia busied herself in the kitchen, putting water on the stove. Once the cups and saucers were placed on the table, Sophia sat down to wait for the heated water. “So, tell me what’s going on.” Her worried eyes met Abigail’s.

  Abigail sighed, not knowing exactly where to begin. “Well,” she said, looking at her hands and fidgeting with her fingers, “Jonathan has moved back east.”

  “What?” Sophia’s mouth gaped, her gaze fixed on Abigail. “Is someone in his family ill?”

  Abigail shook her head. “It seems,” she measured her words evenly, “he has a new position.”

  Sophia covered Abigail’s hand with her own. “Oh, Abby, I’m so sorry.”

  Despite Abigail’s great efforts, a tear trickled down her cheek and plopped onto the table. She quickly brushed it off with her hand.

  “Oh my dear, dear friend.” Sophia stood, came around to the back of her chair, and gave her a hug.

  Abigail rather wished Sophia hadn’t been so compassionate. It made her want to crumple into a mass of tears.

  The water on the stove boiled. Sophia stepped over and lifted the pan holding the hot liquid, pouring it into a teapot to steep their tea. “I can’t believe you haven’t told me this before now, Abigail.”

  “Well, you’ve been away from church, and to tell you the truth, I had no idea of his intentions until a week ago. I felt sure he would change his mind. I couldn’t imagine he was serious. But I was wrong. He came by this morning, wished me well, and walked out of my life.”

  Sophia seemed to sense Abigail’s need to stay composed. They waited a little while in silence. Sophia finally got up and walked over to the teapot. Pouring the steaming tea into their cups, Sophia placed Abigail’s in front of her.

  “Thank you.”

  Once seated, Sophia took a sip of her own drink.

  Abigail gingerly swallowed the hot brew, willing it to calm her queasiness.

  Placing her cup back in the saucer, Sophia looked Abigail square in the face. “Well, that’s that,” she said matter-of-factly. “God has something better in store for you.”

  Abigail raised her hand to stop the conversation. “No no no!”

  Sophia looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “He might have something better in store for me, but I can tell you it doesn’t include a man. Those days are over for me.”

  Sophia gasped. “Abigail, you can’t mean that. You’re too young. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

  “I assure you, Sophia, I do mean that.”

  Sophia seemed to stop herself from saying any more. “Well, I won’t attempt to haggle with your Irish temper, but I will pray for you,” she said with an ornery grin.

  Abigail returned a weak smile.

  Sophia leaned over and touched Abigail’s arm. “Just promise me this. You’ll be open to whatever the Lord has for you?”

  Abigail nodded. “As long as my heart is not at risk.” Even as she said the words, the image of the young man at the mercantile popped into her mind.

  She wondered why.

  Chapter 2

  Titus Matthews ran his hand through his hair, waited a moment, then pulled the watch from his pocket. Four o’clock. He had been walking the streets of Chicago since eight thirty in the morning and still no sign of a job. He looked around for a bench to rest his aching feet. Not seeing any, he moved on.

  There had been plenty of ads listed in the Chicago Tribune, but it seemed someone always beat him to it. He thought they always needed railroad men, but with the great number of new workers coming into town, the competition grew fierce. His boot shoved a pebble out of the way. Why had his pa agreed to that investment? Why had he placed so much of the family earnings in one pot?

  Titus’s brown boots thumped hard against the dirt path, anger kicking up dust behind him. “Thomas O’Connor, you will pay for what you did to my pa and to our family,” he groused, making his way across the road.

  He decided to make one more stop at the mercantile. Though he had checked it out earlier, this time he decided he’d go back and pick up some things he remembered his ma needed. He doubted he’d run into the woman again, but then anything
was possible. Not that it mattered. What woman wanted a man without a job? He couldn’t provide for his ma and sister, let alone court a lady friend.

  He entered Manford’s Mercantile. He’d heard his ma say she had a craving for an apple pie. Ma loved to bake. Yet since Pa died, she had had few supplies with which to work. No more familiar smells of boiled chicken and beef or home-baked pies. His teeth clenched, jaw tightened. Resentment churned in his stomach.

  Today he aimed to change that.

  She needed three apples and some sugar. Though funds were low, Titus decided he would get those for her. She had endured enough in the last six months, losing her husband and caring for a ten-year-old daughter who couldn’t walk and hadn’t said a word since Pa died in March. Though Titus’s ma helped with some sewing, she brought in little income. The responsibility weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Matthews,” a strong voice called behind him.

  Titus turned to look into the face of his enemy. Thomas O’Connor.

  “Mr. O’Connor,” he quipped and started to turn away.

  “Wait,” Thomas O’Connor said, placing a hand on Titus’s arm.

  Titus turned around.

  “I don’t know if you have a position just now, Titus, but I’m in desperate need of a chauffeur and wondered if—well, I wanted to know if you might help our family. I will pay you well,” he quickly added.

  Help their family, Titus sneered inside. Why, he’d rather spit at this man as to help his family. He took one step to walk away, when a thought struck him. Maybe he could help their family. More importantly, he could help his own family. This was his chance to get even with the man who took Pa’s life, destroyed Titus’s dreams of becoming a doctor, and took away the Matthewses’ fine family home, leaving them to live in poverty in a hovel. Sure, he would help him—and make some money at the same time.

  “Titus?”

  Titus shook himself from his web of thoughts. “I would be much obliged, sir,” he managed.

  “Great!” Thomas O’Connor said, slapping Titus on the back. “Here’s my address.” He handed Titus a piece of paper. “Come by this evening for dinner, say, around seven o’clock, and we’ll discuss your duties.”

  “I’ll be there,” Titus said, stuffing the address into his pocket. The two men parted, and Titus felt good about getting the sugar and apples. Still, he couldn’t deny a gnawing feeling in his gut, something that told him he’d better beware, that he might be stepping on shaky ground. He pushed the thought aside, allowing the bitterness to prevail. Besides, he had a right to feel the way he did.

  Didn’t he?

  Abigail looked up from the newspaper when her father came in the front door. “Hello, Father.” She glanced at his parcel. “Oh dear, did you bring mother some coffee, too?”

  He looked at his bag then back at Abigail. “Don’t tell me you stopped at the mercantile today?”

  She laughed and nodded.

  He chuckled. “Well, looks like we won’t be running out of coffee for some time.”

  With a long apron draped over her ample middle, Abigail’s mother came into the drawing room, stepping lightly on the plush rug at her feet. “What’s this? Both of you stopped for coffee?” She placed her hands firmly on her hips and looked at them, a smudge of flour on the tip of her nose.

  At the sight of her mother, Abigail smiled. She knew her father had tried time and again to talk Mother into hiring a cook, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Her one joy in life, she always said, was to feed her family well.

  “Yes dear,” Father said, dabbing at the flour on her nose then bending to kiss her.

  Mother laughed and took the sack from him. “Well, I suppose it will keep.”

  “So, what are we having for dinner?” Father followed her into the kitchen. Abigail wanted to hear about the surprise guest, so she trailed behind.

  “We’re having fried chicken, mashed potatoes, sliced carrots, and applesauce. Apple pie for dessert with coffee.” Abigail couldn’t help noticing Mother’s pleasure.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t home to help you cook today, Mother.”

  “Nonsense.” She waved her hand. “I had a delightful day in the kitchen.”

  Abigail smiled, knowing how her mother loved to cook. She turned to her father. “Who’s coming for dinner?” Abigail didn’t miss the shadow that flickered across his face.

  “Titus Matthews.”

  Mother turned to him. “Abram’s boy?”

  Father nodded. “Only he’s not a boy, Lavina. He’s a man. I’d say about Abby’s age.”

  Abigail had no idea what any of it meant. “Who is Abram?”

  Father pulled in a deep breath and pushed it out with effort. “He was a friend whom I tried to help. His business dealings were failing. I talked him into starting an insurance company. I partnered with him, and we insured many of the businesses that thrived before the fire.”

  Understanding hit Abigail. “You mean—”

  Father nodded. “We lost it all. Couldn’t pay the claims. Too many. It didn’t really affect our family. I have our money divested in many different areas. Abram kept buying up more stock. I didn’t want to pry into his affairs. I figured he had gotten back on his feet with his other investments. He wanted full ownership. I sold all my shares over to him a week before the fire. I only started the business to help him in the first place. What I didn’t know until recently was that he had put everything in that business. When he died in March, he left his family with nothing but debt.”

  “Oh, how awful,” Abigail said.

  Mother went over and touched his arm. “You can’t blame yourself, Thomas. Abram chose to do those things.”

  Father ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I know. I still can’t get it out of my mind though.”

  “So why are you having Titus over?” Mother asked, poking a fork into the potatoes on the stove.

  He smiled. “I’ve asked him to be our new chauffeur.”

  She dropped the fork on the stove and turned to look at him with wide eyes. “And he agreed?”

  Sadness touched Father’s face once again. “He lost his job last week. Needs work.” He rubbed his chin a moment. “Course I’ll pay him more than the job is worth.”

  “Thomas, it’s fine to do that if you want to help him, but don’t do it because you feel guilty.”

  “I can’t help but think I’d want someone to help you and Abby if I were gone.”

  Mother reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Abigail, you might want to help us out in the conversation. I’m a little on the slow side of things with young folks.”

  Abigail nodded out of respect. The last thing she wanted to do was spend her evening entertaining a gentleman.

  “Is he married, have a family, Thomas?” Mother wanted to know.

  “No. The way I understand it, he lives with his ma and sister. His sister, Jenny, fell from a horse a few years back, leaving her crippled. Titus was going to medical school, studying to be a doctor, until Abram died and the boy had to drop out.”

  Mother looked at Abigail. A cold knot formed in the pit of Abigail’s stomach. She hoped her mother’s cooking plans were for dinner only, not romance.

  “When will he be here?” Mother asked.

  Father had grabbed the paper and was already on the finance page. “Hmm?”

  “Thomas, when will Mr. Matthews be here?” she asked again with a nip of impatience.

  He glanced up. “Oh, sorry, dear. Should be here …” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Any minute now.” He looked up and smiled.

  “Oh you,” she said, flicking the towel at him before she commenced to flutter about the kitchen in a flurry, handing out orders to Abigail. “Abby, get the dishes so we can set the table. Oh dear, where are our good bowls?” Mother asked no one in particular as she fished through the cupboards.

  Her ramblings were cut short when a knock sounded at the front door.

  “That would be ou
r guest,” Father said with a smile. He folded the newspaper back in place and headed to the door.

  “Oh, just a minute,” Abigail said, racing past him to run up the stairs to her room. Once she reached the top of the stairway, she turned to look at her father, who watched her with his hand on the doorknob. “All right, now you can let him in.”

  He laughed and shook his head. Abigail saw him twist the door handle. She darted out of sight and into her room. Not that she cared one way or another what some man thought about her. Still, she didn’t want to look like an old hag.

  Quickly, she slipped from her soiled clothing and put on a fresh combination of a sensible white top and black skirt. As usual, her curls bounced in unruly ringlets. She pulled the abundance of hair into a shapely knot at the back of her neck. A few ringlets slipped from the pins and sprung loosely at the sides of her face. She sighed. “It’s hopeless,” she said to her reflection. Taking a deep breath, she left her room and headed down the stairs.

  She could hear her parents talking to Titus. His voice was deep, confident. Reminded her of someone else. Jonathan. No, she wouldn’t think about that tonight. She would make the chauffeur feel welcome, make polite conversation, and go to bed. She was having a miserable day, and the sooner it was over, the better.

  He most likely would consider her an old maid. A spinster. How embarrassing—although not as embarrassing as her earlier escapade at the mercantile. At the time, she had been mortified, though right now, as the whole scene played out in her mind, she thought it quite funny. She felt a smile light her face just as she walked into the kitchen.

  “Ah, Abigail, dear. I’d like you to meet our new chauffeur, Titus Matthews.”

  The young man turned from Father and looked at her. Abigail nearly swallowed her tongue. The same dark eyes that had earlier made her almost trip on her boots looked back at her.

  At first, surprise etched his features, then something else. What it was, Abigail couldn’t be sure. “Well, hello again,” he said.

  “Um, he–hello.”