Nelle caught Mathew’s gaze focused on her. Something in his eyes gave her the courage that she didn’t think she would have. She knew he was thinking about her parents and what she’d told him about her father teaching her how to play the piano, and Mathew’s eyes seemed to be saying, Play for your father.
So she drew in a breath and said, “I have a piece I’ve memorized that I can play. It was one of my father’s favorites.” She rose before she could change her mind. As she walked toward the pianoforte, she thought that if her father were still hovering near earth, perhaps he would be able to hear her play. She would play for him.
She sat down at the pianoforte. The ivory keys felt smooth and clean. She started playing the first few notes of the most recent song she’d mastered under her father’s guidance. Several measures into it, she forgot her immediate audience and played as if her father were standing a few paces away, counting out the tempo. Then she became wholly caught up in the music.
Toward the end of the piece, the memory of her father became tangible, and she felt tears burning at the backs of her eyes. As the last few notes faded away, she stayed on the bench, staring down at the keys.
“Bravo!” Mrs. Janson said, clapping loudly. The others in the room clapped as well, although not quite as enthusiastically. “Play us another.”
Nelle took a few breaths with her eyes closed. Then she placed her fingers on the keys again. This time, she played a slower piece, not only because it was one that her father loved but also because it matched Nelle’s mood better. She allowed herself a bit of wallowing in her grief while she played, feeling glad that at least her audience couldn’t see her face as the tears formed on her eyelashes.
This piece was much longer than the first, almost double in length. By the time she had finished, she’d taken plenty of deep breaths to compose herself.
“Just lovely,” Mrs. Janson said as Nelle concluded.
Nelle rose from the piano seat and gave a little bow and a smile, hoping it looked genuine to the guests. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mathew watching her. Nelle wanted to thank him for giving his silent encouragement, but she worried that if she looked at him, she’d blush, or worse, start crying again.
Crossing the room, she settled back into her seat. Everyone began talking again, but Mrs. Janson was smiling broadly at her. It took Nelle aback that this woman was being so unexpectedly friendly.
“You are a talented pianist,” Mrs. Janson said. “That will be an added benefit if you decide to become a schoolmistress.”
Nelle had no idea why Mrs. Janson was so keen on discussing Nelle’s future, but she just smiled and said, “Thank you.”
Mrs. Janson placed a hand on her chest. “If I could hear beautiful music like that every day, I believe I’d be less out of sorts.”
“She can come over and play for you anytime,” Aunt Corinne said. “I can’t abide her practicing here. It would give me such a headache, you see.”
Nelle stared at her aunt in shock. She hadn’t once practiced in her aunt’s home since her arrival. And even if she would have, her practicing was better than most people’s polished performances.
“What a grand idea,” Alice said from across the room. “Nelle needs something to do. And if it will help our dearest neighbor, then it’s the perfect solution for all of us.”
Nelle wanted to turn them down, to say no with finality. But Mrs. Janson’s bright eyes seemed so full of hope, and Nelle did know that music could be soothing, just like it had been for her.
“I’d be happy to play for you,” she finally said. “When is a good time to come over?”
“Mid-morning,” Mrs. Janson said without hesitation. “Mathew is gone then, and the day seems to stretch out endlessly until he returns for supper. With you playing for me, it will give me a much-needed boost.” Mrs. Janson looked at all the guests, then her gaze landed on her son. “Won’t that be wonderful, Mathew? Nelle is coming over each morning to play for me.”
Nelle noticed that everyone in the room was smiling at Mrs. Janson’s pronouncement, everyone, that was, except for Mathew, who kept his face perfectly still.
Mrs. Janson turned back to Nelle and lowered her voice. “And don’t worry about Sundays, dear. Mathew stays home and takes me to church in town.”
Nelle nodded, feeling strangely numb. This was not an occurrence she could have ever dreamt of. Why was Mrs. Janson so eager to have her in her home? With the deaths of Nelle’s parents, the woman clearly viewed Nelle as her inferior, and this was going far beyond a good deed required of a friendly neighbor.
Nelle found that she was counting the moments until the tea party would end and she could escape to her room for some solitude. She needed to sort out all of her thoughts and feelings, and she needed to put some distance between herself and Mathew. The thought of spending time in his home every single day was beginning to make her feel anxious. As soon as she was able, she would shut herself in her room, write a long letter to Dottie, then fix herself a cup of tea from the leaves Pearl had given her. Only then would Nelle be able to put this day behind her.
It seemed as if everyone was more than happy to determine her fate for her, guiding her along the way each and every step. They were all in a holding pattern—until Nelle inherited her money—then she would be sent off to find a life for herself. No one in this room wanted her. No one wants me at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Everything has gone wrong today, Mathew thought. In fact, many things had been going wrong since Alice’s return. Or was it since Nelle’s arrival? He could hear the piano music floating out of the house as he walked up the front steps. He almost stopped and turned back, but he needed the ledger from his credenza.
Nelle had been playing for his mother for two weeks now. Although Mathew had been out of the house every time she’d come over, he felt her presence there upon his return in the evenings. It seemed as if Nelle had cast a spell on his mother—who hadn’t complained of any illness to him recently and was in much better spirits.
Was it just the music? Or was it that his mother had someone to talk to each day? Probably a little of both, Mathew decided. As for himself, he’d purposely avoided Nelle. Since the tea at her aunt’s home two long weeks ago, Mathew had felt deprived of something—not quite like being without oxygen, but something as essential. He’d believed that time would dim his feelings about Nelle, but they were as strong as ever.
Needing to come home today, when she was still at his house, wasn’t helping matters. Although, he did allow himself to revel in a small moment of triumph as he remembered her reluctance to play the piano at the party. That she’d broken through her reserve and played so beautifully seemed to be a healing moment for her.
Mathew opened the front door and strode inside, fully intending to pass the parlor without even a glance inside. But then he noticed the door to the parlor was open wide enough that Mathew could stand outside and see into the interior—without being observed himself.
His stride slowed, and he angled toward the parlor, stopping near the partly open door. His mother’s back was to him as she half reclined on the sofa, her fingers tapping to the energetic beat of the music. Mathew could imagine Mother’s smile and her lively eyes following Nelle’s dancing fingers across the keyboard—for dancing they were.
Mathew watched, transfixed by the dexterity of Nelle’s hands, as she sat with her profile to him. Her ease as she played this collection of notes was as if she’d been the composer who’d crafted the melody. Mathew leaned against the doorway. He understood his mother’s enthusiasm now, for even he was feeling less anxious now, even about the things that had gone wrong today. Letting the music soar above and all around him, Mathew couldn’t help but feel like the factory was going well, his experimental crops were thriving, and his corn would grace the tables of American families this fall.
The melody rose to a crescendo then faded into a subtle sweetness like the scent of roses. Perhaps he was becoming a romantic after
all, yet the woman who was inspiring it all was the wrong one. What would Alice think if he told her he wanted to bring Nelle flowers…then pull her into his arms and dance with her?
Mathew hadn’t realized that he’d closed his eyes and was still leaning against the doorway, listening, until his mother exclaimed, “Mathew! You’re here!” Mathew’s eyes flew open, but it was too late to retreat without being seen by Nelle…Or without having to see her blue eyes. She’d been in the sun more—that he noticed immediately—and had a few more freckles on her nose now. She must be riding a lot, or perhaps walking more.
He told himself that he wouldn’t really know, except he did. The Monday after the tea party, he’d received a thank-you note from Nelle for his help with the solicitor, Mr. Everett. Mathew had been pleased that he could help Nelle in that way—especially since it took no contact between the two of them. He’d been able to help her from a distance, and that’s how it should be.
“What on earth are you doing back so early?” his mother asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts again.
Mathew said something about his ledger, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Nelle. The morning sun’s rays touched the edges of her chestnut hair, sending fiery auburn streaks through it. She had worn it down today, and the long tresses cascaded across her shoulders. Her mouth was partway open, as if she were as surprised to see him as he was to be standing in the doorway, listening to her play the piano.
He forced himself to tear his gaze away from Nelle and looked at his mother. He tried to focus on what his mother was saying—something about having lunch together—but he knew this was a bad idea.
“I’ve really only come home for a moment,” he said.
“Oh, but you must stay,” his mother said. She turned to Nelle and whispered in a loud enough voice that he could still hear, “Did you know he’s planning on proposing to Alice at the Greenwoods’ ball on Saturday night?”
Mathew felt as if he’d been doused in icy water. Nelle’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes widened slightly. Surely she would have heard it from Alice since it was Alice who had brought up the idea. “Everyone will be there,” Alice had told him a few days ago. “And so, everyone can toast to our good fortune. Mother thinks it will be a wonderful idea.”
Mathew had been bothered that his proposal was going to be an orchestrated event. He felt the heat of his anger returning now and chided himself for letting a visiting guest in his mother’s house cause him to regret a decision he made months ago. I am going to propose to Alice, he told himself. Then we will marry and live our lives together. I have to stop rethinking my decision.
Nelle finally stood. “I should be getting back home as well,” she said. “I’m sorry to have to miss lunch, but I’ve a trip to take into town.”
“Oh, don’t leave out of concern for me,” Mathew said, raising his hand. “I’ll be gone in a few moments, and then you can enjoy your time with my mother.”
Nelle met his gaze, hers steady as his began to waver.
“Nonsense,” his mother said, rising to her feet and looking at each of them. “Both of you need to eat, and then Mathew can take you into town.”
“No,” Nelle said abruptly. “I enjoy the exercise of walking.”
“It’s much too hot,” his mother said, “and your skin will burn, even with a parasol.”
Mathew didn’t interrupt; he didn’t interfere. In truth, his heart was pounding at the thought of spending time alone with Nelle…But he shouldn’t agree to take her. Yet, if he did protest, his mother might think it odd or even rude.
“Perhaps Nelle can give you tips about Alice and how to best propose,” his mother said.
“Mrs. Janson, I couldn’t possibly—” Nelle started to say.
“You are too modest, my girl,” his mother said. She looked over at Mathew. “Too bad you were already attached to Alice when Nelle came along. She’s a dear girl.”
Mathew nearly stopped breathing. He knew his mother enjoyed Nelle’s company…but this was quite the about-face, especially in light of the comments his mother had made when Nelle first arrived.
“I—” he began.
“I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” his mother said to Nelle, interrupting Mathew. “Old women can’t help but speak their minds.”
Nelle gave a stilted laugh. “We can all share in teasing once in a while,” she said as she crossed to his mother’s side and squeezed her hand. “But I really must get going. I should have left by now, and I do enjoy my walks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before Mathew could figure out what was going on, Nelle had swept past him, leaving the scent of roses in her wake.
“Well, son,” his mother said, settling a glare on him. “Go after her, and offer her a ride. If she refuses, then at least you were a gentleman.”
Mathew opened his mouth to argue, to say she had already refused, but all that came out was, “All right.” He was out the door within moments, his ledger in hand, feeling surprised that he’d even remembered to fetch it.
Nelle hadn’t gotten far. She had, in fact, reached the end of the lane, which turned onto the larger road. She was walking near a group of trees when Mathew pulled his horse to a stop beside her. He hadn’t brought the carriage because it would have been too cumbersome to drive to the corn fields and because he could almost positively say that Nelle would be turning him down now. As it was, his dog Samson had been all too eager to accompany Mathew on his errand.
“My mother sent me to offer you a ride into town,” Mathew said.
She turned her head and looked up at him. She’d pulled on a hat, so the color of her eyes was obscured by the shade of its brim. Yet Mathew already knew their blueness by memory.
“Are we to share your horse then?” she asked.
Mathew hid a smile. “Don’t try to tell me you would have accepted if I'd brought the carriage.”
“Perhaps.” She looked away from him and scratched Samson’s head as he bounded up to her. Then she started walking again with Samson happy to follow along. So Mathew kept his horse’s pace even with her and Samson. She hadn’t taken the time to pin up her hair beneath her hat, so it fell down her back in soft waves.
“How have you been sleeping?” he asked. “I mean, do you continue to have nightmares?”
She glanced sideways at him. “I’m sleeping better,” she said. “I found a tea in one of the village shops that helps. How about you, are you well?”
“I am,” Mathew said. I miss speaking with you. “I’m sorry about what happened at the tea party the other week.”
She arched a brow and looked at him fully. “Sorry that what happened?”
“I—I didn’t speak with you much,” he said in a soft voice. “Things were different with Alice there.”
“As it should be,” Nelle said immediately. “As it should be now.” She released a sigh and gave Samson another scratch on his head. “Alice is my cousin, and she’ll make you a fine wife. I suggest you settle yourself with the decisions you’ve already made.”
Mathew nodded thoughtfully. She was right, but he didn’t want her to be. “You understand that some of those decisions were made awhile back?”
She nodded but didn’t reply. She continued walking, keeping her gaze forward, keeping Samson between them like a divider. The sunlight coming through the trees dappled her hair, making a kaleidoscope of auburn, gold, and warm browns.
“I didn’t know your hair had so many colors in it,” he said without thinking.
Nelle stopped and turned toward him again, placing her hands on her hips. “Mr. Janson, don’t you dare give me compliments,” she said. “It is not proper, seeing as how you are about to propose to my cousin.” Her face grew pinker with each word. “And don’t you dare follow me into town or try to talk to me.”
“Nelle, I’m—” he began, but she turned back around and hurried away from him, Samson following.
Mathew’s first instinct was to follow Nelle, to stop her from running, an
d to tell her…what? That he was an idiot? That she was right and he shouldn’t be complimenting her? But he watched her hurry away, knowing she was doing the right thing, knowing she was helping him avoid a huge mistake.
So Mathew stayed on his horse and whistled for Samson to come back. Reluctantly, the dog left Nelle’s side and returned to him. Mathew watched until Nelle had gone around the bend in the road and he could no longer see her. Then he turned his horse in the opposite direction, toward his fields.
This change of direction seemed to cheer Samson up. At least the dog was content. As for Mathew, he’d spend the afternoon going over the ledger with Mr. Bradley and placing the next month’s orders. Somehow, he hoped he would be able to forget Nelle and the way her hair had caught the rays of sunlight, the way her eyes had grown even bluer when she'd become angry with him.
Chapter Fourteen
When Nelle finally reached town and stopped in at the apothecary shop, she hadn’t even a chance to speak a word before Pearl ushered her into a cushioned chair and told her to sit. As they spoke, Pearl made Nelle some tea. It was as if the woman could read Nelle’s mind.
Nelle was grateful for this cooling respite, which Pearl’s shop offered from the afternoon sun. Today, Pearl was wearing a pale peach silk blouse with a soft twill skirt made in the same color. Even though Nelle couldn’t pinpoint how the clothing’s cut was different than New York styles of clothing, Pearl made it seem exotic somehow.
“What do you dream about?” Pearl was asking Nelle, sitting across from her. The woman’s gently lined face and dark eyes glowed brightly with interest. Nelle couldn’t have said how old Pearl was. Perhaps in her forties? Her skin was still soft and youthful, yet the fine lines about her mouth and eyes belied the passing years.
“I dream about my parents, mostly,” Nelle said in a quiet voice. She took another sip of the tea Pearl had prepared—this tea was cool and smelled of lavender.
Pearl nodded at Nelle’s answer. “In Shanghai, we pay homage to our ancestors and family members who have passed on. It’s considered a great honor to dream about them.”
Love is Come (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 8
