Courting Miss Adelaide (11 page)

Checking her reflection in the mirror, Emma’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, it’s pretty!”

Amazing how the proper hat affected a female’s outlook, no matter her age. “It’s perfect for you.” Adelaide tied the pink ribbons under Emma’s chin. “You must have it.”

“I don’t have any money.”

Adelaide cupped Emma’s chin in her hand. “It’s a present.”

Emma’s mouth drooped. “It’s not my birthday.”

“The best presents are given for no reason.”

“I can keep it, even when I go back to the Drummonds?”

The reminder tinged the day with a touch of gray but Adelaide shook off the feeling. Emma wasn’t going back for days, maybe weeks. God had a plan. “Yes, and I’ll make a bonnet for Mrs. Drummond, too. Would you like to help?”

“Yes!”

Adelaide smiled and then checked the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. That will have to wait until another day.”

Emma folded her thin arms. “I don’t want to wait.”

“You can help me fix dinner. Do you like fried chicken?”

The little girl nodded, her petulance gone. “Yum!”

The tension in Adelaide’s shoulders eased, relieved Emma’s stomach tempered her apparent strong will. She picked up the satchel and with Emma scampering up the stairs beside her, explained the shop hours.

“I can sell lots of hats,” Emma predicted with confidence.

“Perhaps, but you’ll have homework to do.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like homework.”

Adelaide’s stomach clenched. Would this be a daily battle? She’d always loved her lessons. “Is the work hard for you?”

Emma’s gaze sought the floor. “Mama got sick and William and I didn’t go to school. The girls in my grade can read better than me, but I don’t care. Who needs to read anyway?”

Adelaide tilted Emma’s chin. “If I couldn’t read, I couldn’t run the shop. You’ll catch up. I’ll help.”

Taking her hand, Adelaide led Emma to what had been her mother’s room. A resplendent rainbow-hued quilt covered the double bed. White ruffled curtains crisp with starch adorned the window. How had her mother been gloomy, awakening in such a cheerful room?

From the satchel, Emma retrieved a rag doll, mended and clean with a stitched jolly smile and button eyes. After tucking her doll against the pillows, Emma danced around the room, inspecting each nook and cranny. Seeing Emma chasing out the shadows of her mother’s illness brought happy tears to Adelaide’s eyes.

Adelaide tucked the little girl’s things in an empty dresser drawer and then gave a tour of the rest of the rooms, including her own.

“Your room is smaller than mine,” Emma said with the candor of a child. “But it’s pretty.”

“Thank you. My grandmother made the quilts. She knew how to use a needle. Guess I take after her.” Adelaide sat on the bed, patting a spot beside her. Emma joined her, sitting up close. “This quilt pattern is called Ocean Wave. See how the blocks look like the sea?” Emma traced a finger around a triangle-shaped snippet of navy fabric.

Adelaide had started sewing doll clothes when she’d been about Emma’s age. She’d teach Emma some basic stitches. Together they’d make a dress for her doll. Adelaide had so many plans.

Taking Emma by the hand, they walked into the parlor. Emma stepped between two chairs to look at the pictures arranged on the marble-topped pedestal table.

Emma pointed to a daguerreotype. “Is this your mother?”

“Yes, and those are my grandparents.”

Emma looked around her. “Where’s your papa’s picture?”

“I…I don’t have one.”

“Did he run away, like my papa?”

“Yes, I guess you could say that.”

Emma considered this for a moment, her face sober, as if trying to figure out something Adelaide had never understood.

Emma saw the upright piano and brightened.

“If you’d like, I could teach you some simple songs.”

“You know how to do a lot, Miss Adelaide.”

After years of criticism, the remark slid into the marrow of Adelaide’s bones and she gave the little girl’s hand a squeeze. “Why, thank you.”

In the kitchen, Adelaide heated leftover fried chicken and potato cakes while Emma set the table. At dinner, Emma ate heartily, leaving some crumbs under her chair. They established a pattern for their future evenings, however many there might be. While Emma completed her homework at the kitchen table, Adelaide cleaned up the dishes, helping with schoolwork only if asked.

Emma asked for a pencil and paper, then hunched over it, working feverishly. Soon, she folded the paper and smiled up at Adelaide. “I made you something.”

Adelaide’s eyes stung. “You made something—for me?”

Emma unfolded the paper and smoothed it flat. “A picture!”

Adelaide stepped behind her to get a better view. Four figures drawn with a childish hand stood outside a house. A tree grew alongside. A smiling sun hung in the sky. “Who are they?”

“That’s William,” she said pointing to the figure dressed in pants. “That’s me.” She indicated the shortest figure in a skirt. “This is you, and this is Mrs. Drummond.”

All the faces sported big smiles. Adelaide couldn’t have been more pleased with an original Rembrandt. “That’s a lovely picture. Thank you.” She patted Emma’s hand and the little girl beamed. “Where’s Mr. Drummond?”

Emma’s smile turned to a frown. “I don’t like him.”

“Why?”

“He yells and stuff.”

Adelaide knelt in front of Emma. “What do you mean?”

“I wish he’d run away like my papa and your papa,” she muttered, smoothing the drawing again and again with her hand.

Though Adelaide tried to find out more, Emma only shrugged, putting up an invisible wall to Adelaide’s quest for answers.

“Can I play the piano?” Emma asked.

Adelaide led the little girl to the parlor. They sat side by side on the bench as Adelaide guided Emma’s fingers to play “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

The clock struck half past nine. “Oh, my! Time for bed.”

Emma pounded the keys. “Mama let me stay up really late.”

“That’s probably because you weren’t going to school.”

“I don’t want to go to school.” Emma’s gaze sparked defiance. “You can’t make me.”

Adelaide sucked in a gulp of air, unsure how to handle Emma’s challenge. But then the Bible’s admonition for children to obey their parents stiffened her backbone. “I like having you here,” Adelaide said, “but while you’re in my house, you’ll do as I ask.” Then she gave Emma a bright smile. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Though Emma’s chin hung to her chest, she followed Adelaide to the bedroom. Later, the conflict forgotten, Emma nestled under the covers, embracing her doll as Adelaide read from her childhood Bible storybook, then listened to her prayers.

“Good night, Miss Adelaide,” Emma said, yawning.

Looking at Emma’s sweet face, a coil of warmth slid through Adelaide and she kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight,” she said, slipping out of the room.

Adelaide had never been part of a real family and now it was within her grasp. She would give Emma attention, hugs and kisses, things she’d never had growing up, for as long as God granted her this gift.

Her mind flitted to Charles. If only—

She didn’t dare finish the thought. She’d always been careful what she hoped for, the only way to avoid heartache.

She would savor this moment, not looking forward or back, because she was the happiest she’d ever been in her life, right now, in the present. God had given her this precious girl, and she’d be forever grateful. Forever changed. In a matter of hours, Emma had become firmly entrenched in her heart.

In the middle of the night, something jolted Adelaide awake. She heard Emma crying. She leapt out of bed and raced down the hall to find the little girl thrashing about in bed. Adelaide sank to the mattress beside her and laid a gentle hand on Emma’s forehead. No fever. Probably a bad dream.

Adelaide stroked her palm across Emma’s temples, offering comfort, until the little girl’s breathing slowed and her body relaxed. She remained several minutes longer to ensure Emma would not awaken, and then tiptoed back to her bed.

But sleep eluded her. Could Emma be missing her real mother or William? Or were there other nightmares an orphaned seven-year-old might have, agonizing dreams Adelaide couldn’t even begin to imagine? A nagging sense of doubt planted itself in her midsection. What if she couldn’t give Emma comfort and security?

Scrunching her pillow, Adelaide recalled years of craving the simplest touch and a kind word. She’d give Emma what she’d missed growing up. After all, she had hugs in abundance and limitless love to share. She prayed that would be enough.

The next morning motherhood required every ounce of Adelaide’s patience. Emma dawdled at breakfast and dressed with the slowness of a tortoise. Thankfully, they reached Second Ward School, a few blocks away, right as the bell rang. Adelaide explained the situation to the teacher and then hurried home, vowing tomorrow would go more smoothly.

Adelaide made Emma’s bed, then walked to the kitchen and poured steaming water from the teakettle into a dishpan. As she scrubbed the dishes, she remembered where she’d seen this kind of disarray. She’d been eight, when her mother, sick with influenza, sent Adelaide to stay with Winifred Cook’s family. Disorder reigned in the Cook household, but Winnie’s parents tucked the children into bed with a prayer and a kiss. What a revelation to discover not all children lived in a neat but silent house.

For weeks after returning home, Adelaide’s skin ached to be touched. She’d tried to keep the warm feeling by stroking her arms and hugging herself, but it hadn’t been the same. Cleanliness was next to godliness, or so her mother said, but neatness wasn’t important to children.

Maybe Adelaide needed a little disorder in her very tidy life, too. Hadn’t Charles hinted at that yesterday?

The clock struck ten. Adelaide jumped.
Fiddlesticks, I’m late.
She finished wiping the dishes and then raced downstairs. As the clock struck a quarter after the hour, she grabbed the broom, flipped over the sign in the window and opened the door.

She’d no more than stepped onto the boardwalk when Charles appeared at her elbow in shirtsleeves and vest. “Is everything all right, Addie?”

At the sight of him, delicious warmth spread through her and the morning’s tension vanished. “Why would you think it wasn’t?”

“Why?” He lowered his face to hers, brown eyes dark under knitted brows. “In the three months I’ve been at the paper, I could set my watch by when you came outside toting that broom. Exactly five minutes before ten, every morning.” He stuck his pocket watch in front of her. “It’s now twenty minutes after ten, Addie.
Twenty minutes.
That tells me something’s wrong.”

Gracious, Charles knows exactly when I make my appearance on the walk every morning. He’s been fretting about me.

As far as she knew, no man had ever worried about her. Speechless, her hand splayed across her bosom.

Charles dropped the watch into his pocket. “Is it Emma?”

“Is what Emma?”

“Adelaide Crum, you can be the most exasperating woman. Is something wrong with Emma?”

“She’s fine and in school. We were running late.” She gripped the handle of the broom, smiling up at him. “I had no idea you’re such a worrier, Charles.”

He harrumphed. “I’m not, but this
was
your first day with Emma. Naturally I’d wonder how you two were managing. Then you’re late, ridiculously late—”

“Twenty minutes is not ridiculously late. Why, I’ve seen you darting into the newspaper at half past eight.”

A sheepish look came over his face. “Here, let me do that,” he said, taking the broom from her hands. “You probably have things to do to open the shop.”

“Well, thank you.” Adelaide walked inside, but didn’t dust the counter, didn’t wash the windowpane. Instead, she stood transfixed, watching Charles’s muscles as he pushed that broom like a madman.

A desirable, intelligent man cared enough about her to worry, to take a burden from her shoulders.

Like a husband would.

The thought took her breath away, zinging a feeling of hope through her, hope for a husband, and hope for children. She shoved it down. She had no claim to Charles, no need of a man. She took care of herself. And if God willed, she could take care of a child, too.

But oh, for a moment, she wanted to believe in the fantasy.

Charles appeared in her doorway and held out the broom. As she took it, their fingertips brushed. He yanked his hand away as if he’d been burned. “I’d, ah, better get back to the paper.”

“Thank you for…” But she couldn’t go on. She dared not voice the thoughts filling her heart.
Thank you for noticing, for caring, for making me feel like a woman.

He turned to leave, then swung back to face her. Adelaide wanted to lean against his broad chest, to feel those strong arms around her, but she looked away, lest he read the longing in her eyes.

“Well, good day, then,” he said.

He crossed the street, moving out of her reach, leaving her standing there, heart pumping wildly.

What had gotten into her? She couldn’t trust these fierce feelings. Even her parents must have had attraction…for a while. Her mother constantly drilled fear of abandonment into her, honing her skill at keeping her emotions locked inside.

Until she met Charles.

She hurried to the window and caught a glimpse of his retreating back. Optimism rose up within her. Could Charles be part of God’s plan for her?

Chapter Eight

O
n Saturday night, precisely at six, Charles stood in Adelaide’s shop, basking in her smile, a smile that told him the ownership of the paper hadn’t built an insurmountable barrier between them. Emma smiled at him, too, looking confident and happy. Not at all the weepy little girl Mrs. Drummond had brought to him.

He knelt in front of her. “My, don’t you look pretty.”

“See my new hat?” The little girl twirled, sending the pink ribbons under her chin flying.

“Very attractive.” He rose and turned to Addie. Her dazzling indigo eyes sparkled.