Hidden Affections (35 page)

“As simple as that,” Annabelle murmured and drew a deep breath. “How is Harrison doing? Really?”

“It’s hard to tell, because I’ve only seen him once since you left. I think he blames me for helping you leave, even though he can’t prove a thing, but I’m keeping my promise. I haven’t uttered your name once. How are you faring? Anything interesting in the newspaper yet?”

Although Annabelle was dismayed to hear that Harrison was not faring well, she was so excited about what she had read in the newspaper this morning that she had to remeasure the flour she was doling into a bowl twice. She had the news about Eric leaving the city on the tip of her tongue before she realized Irene did not know anything about Eric at all. “I did find something today,” she replied and quickly shared the details about the position. “I’ll need references, of course, and I was hoping you would give me one. I know you’re not up to writing words and sentences yet, but if you tell me what you want to say, I could write it down for you and have you sign it.”

Irene’s gaze grew troubled. “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s only been a week. Harrison could still change his mind.”

Annabelle blinked back tears. “Leaving is what’s best for both of us. It’s what he wants.”

Sighing, Irene nodded. “Why don’t you just write what you want and let me sign it. How soon did you say you had to reply to the notice?”

“By the eighteenth of February.”

“Then we’ve only got nine or ten days. Write up that reference. I’ll try to get back in a day or two to sign it.” She put a third peeled potato into the bowl and grabbed her coat. “I’m sorry I have to leave so soon, but I have another errand I have to run. I’ll see myself out,” she said.

She planted a kiss on Annabelle’s cheek before she walked out of the kitchen and well before Annabelle even had the chance to ask her what kind of errand she could possibly have at this early hour.

When Philip had not been waiting for her in the city earlier today, as they had originally planned, Irene returned to Graymoor Gardens and the news that Reverend Bingham had invited everyone to come to church on Saturday to see him married to one of Edward Cranshaw’s daughters, Eliza.

Once she had supper started later in the afternoon, she put Lotte in charge of the kitchen and donned her coat. “I need a bit of fresh air. If anyone asks, tell them I needed to be alone for a while,” she explained.

She walked along the pathway into the woods with a confidence that was rewarded when she found Philip sitting on the bench waiting for her.

He stood up the moment she approached. “I’m glad we had set up a second plan to meet here just in the case the first fell through. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t be there this morning to talk to you like I hoped I would.”

“You’re here now. That’s all that counts,” she said, and he sat down beside her once she had taken her seat. “We’ve got a bigger problem than I thought and little time to fix it,” she offered. “Are you certain you’re up to helping me set things right between Harrison and Annabelle?”

He let out a long sigh. “I’ve had time to think about what Annabelle said, and I can see now that she’s right. We have no future together, but I still care about her enough to want to help her and my cousin to resolve their differences.”

“That may take some doing,” she said. “Harrison locked himself into her room yesterday and won’t come out, and Annabelle found a notice for a position in the newspaper today. I had to agree to give her a reference, and I think Prudence will give her one, too.”

He nodded. “Yes, I saw the notice. If I recall correctly, she has about ten days to reply to the notice. With references, she probably stands a good chance of securing the position.”

“Which means we have little time to get Harrison to come to his senses.”

“That won’t be easy, since we both promised Annabelle we wouldn’t say anything to Harrison to make him change his mind.”

“That’s true,” Irene admitted. “I only have one promise I really can’t break, but I wouldn’t mind breaking the others. But I know I didn’t promise her I wouldn’t
do
anything. Did you?”

He furrowed his brow. “No, but—”

“Good,” she pronounced with a slap to her thigh. “Harrison needs a nudge or two. I’ve got a couple of my own in mind, but I think you can do me one better, assuming it won’t be a problem if Harrison gets really, really angry with you.”

He chuckled. “I’m accustomed to it. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

And she did. In great detail.

By the time she returned to the cottage, supper was ready to be served, but she decided to let Lotte leave Harrison’s supper tray outside of his door and wait until morning to implement the plan she had worked out with Philip.

If all went well, Harrison and Annabelle would be back here together within a few days. Hopefully, they’d be so happy that they both would forgive her for manipulating their reunion. If not, she would simply have to find another way to bring those two young people to their senses.

The pounding at his door woke Harrison up the next morning, but it was Irene’s loud voice that startled him out of bed where the scent of summer roses that Annabelle favored still clung to her pillow and had soothed him to sleep only a few hours ago.

“Unlock this door, Harrison. That room you’ve been hiding in needs to be cleaned. I’m coming in to clean it, whether you like it or not. Don’t make me stand here all day pounding on this door,” she demanded and emphasized her words with a few solid hits at the door that sounded like she was using a mallet instead of her fist.

Too tired to argue with her, he picked up the Bible he had read during the night whenever he stumbled in his awkward attempts to pray and walked unsteadily to the door. He fumbled to slide the bolt free, opened the door, and stepped aside.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost all your common sense. You’ll only be in my way, so I’ve set a breakfast tray in the library for you. If I’m not finished by the time you’re done eating, you can hide in there until I am.” She entered the room carrying a scrub brush in one hand and a pail of water in the other.

When she looked up at him, she braced to a halt, sending water sloshing over the brim of the pail. “You look terrible,” she said gently, but her eyes widened when she saw the book he was holding in his hands. “You’re reading the Bible?”

“Just taking it back to the library,” he offered, reluctant to tell her the truth when he had not quite come to terms with it himself. “I was paging through it when I found a page with my family history that I’d never seen before. Did you give Annabelle the dates to enter for Peter and his family?”

She nodded. “She said she thought it might be too upsetting for you to do. I asked her why she didn’t add her name next to yours and the date you were married, but she said that it would be up to you to make that entry. I don’t suppose it matters now that you don’t want her anymore.”

He blew out a long breath, unwilling to let Irene know that he was beginning to think he may have been wrong to do that. “I’ll be in the library. Just knock when you’re done cleaning up in here so I can come back, but leave the bedclothes. They don’t need to be changed.”

Once he sequestered himself in the library, he bypassed the tray of breakfast food Irene had set on top of the desk and put the Bible back onto the shelf where it belonged. His hand lingered on the spine of the book for a moment before he sat down at the desk. He polished off breakfast without really tasting anything.

When he noted his muted image staring back at him from the silver coffeepot in the center of the tray, he frowned. The stubble that covered his cheeks reminded him that he had not bothered to shave for days. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and his hair was a knotted mess. “Irene’s right. I do look terrible,” he said, feeling a bit embarrassed that she had seen him so disheveled. He was grateful she could not see the turmoil that still plagued his spirit and troubled his soul any more than he could, but he felt it as clearly as he would have felt an infection raging through his body.

He glanced across the room and stared at the Bible he had placed on the shelf. Eventually, when his mind was on the verge of completely shutting down, he knew beyond all doubt that the only cure for the disease that had assaulted his spirit for years lay within the pages of that Bible . . . and his own willingness to open his heart wide enough to embrace the healing grace God offered to him.

Unfortunately, he was so tired at that point that he knew he would not be able to make his eyes focus on a single printed word until he got some sleep. He picked up the breakfast tray, set it on the floor outside of his door, and turned to go back into the library when Irene called out to him.

“You can go back into that room again.”

He watched her walking toward him and was dismayed to see that she was carrying a basket filled with the linens she had removed from the bed. “I asked you not to change the bedclothes. They weren’t soiled.”

She waited until she was standing right in front of him before she replied. “No, they weren’t, but it doesn’t do you much good to sleep on these. They smell like summer roses,” she said, motioning with the basket in her arms. “They’ll only remind you of Annabelle. I’m certain that’s the last thing you want to do, although anyone who loved her can still feel her presence everywhere in this house.” She hoisted the basket from one hip to the other. “If that bothers you, you can always leave and move back to the city. The rest of us have to stay here and live with the fact that she’s gone,” she whispered and walked away.

Before the echo of her words had faded, he was back in Annabelle’s room with the two things that kept him from returning to the city: his family Bible and the diary Annabelle had given him that he intended to start keeping very soon.

Early the next day, Harrison had just finished saying morning prayers, a ritual he wanted to make routine, when Irene knocked at his door.

“Get out of bed, get dressed, and eat some breakfast. I’m leaving it on a tray outside of your door. And don’t dawdle. We’re all leaving for church in an hour, and I’m not going to arrive late because you couldn’t get ready in time.”

He furrowed his brow. Unless he had completely lost track of the days, which was entirely possible, today was Saturday, and he had no idea why everyone would be getting ready for services that would not be held until tomorrow. He walked over to the door and opened it, just in time to see Irene reach the main staircase.

“It’s Saturday. Why is everyone going to church?” he asked, not quite certain he could attend services in the church where he would be surrounded by more memories of Annabelle.

She looked down the hall at him and smiled. “Reverend Bingham sent word the day before yesterday that he’s getting married today. Apparently, he’s invited the entire congregation.”

Absolutely certain the last thing he needed was to witness a couple exchanging their marriage vows, he squared his shoulders. “I’m not going to the church, but you can give Reverend Bingham my best regards,” he said firmly.

To his surprise, Irene smiled at him. “I’ll tell him, but I think I’ll let him find out for himself that you don’t have much respect for the institution of marriage. In all truth, I didn’t really expect you’d want to go, so I invited Philip to represent you. I don’t know how long we’ll be, but I’ll leave some dinner in the kitchen for you,” she said sweetly before she walked away.

He was annoyed by her new ability to give him a lecture with words dripping with sweetness, but he was completely irritated that she had taken the liberty of inviting Philip to attend in his place. Too busy to waste time on such distractions, he shut his door and returned to the spiritual battle he thought he was beginning to win.

Several hours later, he got up from his knees and sat down in front of the fire. When he finally set the Bible aside, he felt completely at peace. He had never questioned the existence of God, but now that he had welcomed Him into his life and asked His forgiveness for going so far astray from the Word, Harrison was nearly ready to tackle an equally difficult task: asking Annabelle to forgive him, too.

Although he was not ready yet to ask her if she would be willing to consider becoming a permanent part of his life, he prayed he would soon be blessed with the courage to take that risk and fully believe God would help him keep his faith strong when life’s troubles tested it. The best way he could think of to focus on the blessings he had already received would be to start recording them in his diary.

Before he started writing, however, he stopped long enough to walk out to the kitchen to get his dinner without worrying about seeing anyone else. He finished up a platter of sliced ham and corn relish that Irene had set out for him, but looked at the three desserts lined up on the other end of the table and wrinkled his nose. He did not know whether it was the plum pudding, the plum strudel, or the butter cookies topped with plum jam that was the most unappealing, but he bypassed them all.

Still hankering for something sweet, he gave up and started down the basement steps when he was struck by an idea. He bounded back up the steps and went outside without bothering with a coat. He had to search the woods for a good while before he found the size branch he wanted. Once he did, he went straight to the toolshed to get the proper tools before he hurried back to the cottage.

Once he was back in Annabelle’s room, he locked the door behind him. He had not whittled a stick since he was a boy, but once he sat down and gave it a try, he was surprised at how quickly he remembered the techniques his older brother had taught him. He did not know how serviceable the implement he was making would be, any more than he knew if he would actually finish it. Still, the task was a way to keep focused on doing something with his hands, and he found the work cathartic.

It was late afternoon when he finished. His fingers only bore a couple of small cuts and nicks he barely felt, and he was not displeased with his efforts, in spite of the fact the final product was extremely crude.

He slipped the knitting stick into his pocket to keep a reminder of Annabelle close to him, but he did not bother to clean up the wood shavings on the floor. Instead, he walked straight to the lady’s writing desk and picked up the diary he had brought with him from the library. As he walked over to his chair, he thumbed through the pages, wondering how long it would take to fill this diary, but stopped abruptly. The pages were not empty at all. Nearly all of them were filled with entries, and after he read just a few, he realized the handwriting belonged to Annabelle, who had made a daily record of the blessings she called her treasures.

Ashamed that he had invaded her most private thoughts, even inadvertently, he pressed the leather covers together and held it tight in his fist. Too late, he remembered that his diary was identical to hers, but he did not have to think very hard to know that it was Irene who must have switched the diaries. The only question he really had was how or why Annabelle had left her diary behind at all when it was so very important to her.

He put the diary back onto the writing desk and returned to sit by the fire. He deeply regretted reading several of the entries, but he was overwhelmed that his name appeared on nearly every one of them. If she once thought that he was a blessing to her, would she be able to think that again, in spite of what he had done to her? If he had the courage to ask her to come back to him, would she? Or would she send him away, unable to forgive him now and forever?

He took the knitting stick he had made out of his pocket and turned it over and over in his hands. He was lost in his own thoughts and torn with indecision when loud but familiar voices and pounding footsteps coming down the hall toward his room interrupted him.

“I told you to stay downstairs,” Irene cried.

“I’m going to see my cousin, whether he wants to see me or not. I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of, which is not something he can claim,” Philip argued. “Annabelle shouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life alone because he’s a complete dolt.”

“Are you daft? He’ll strangle you with his own hands if he ever finds out you proposed to Annabelle,” she argued. “You don’t even know how long it will be before she’s free to remarry.”

“That’s what I intend to find out. Right now.”

Harrison charged to the door, had the bolt free before he felt the next heartbeat, and swung the door open so hard it hit the wall and would have bounced back to hit him if he had not caught it with his hand. He glared at his cousin, who was just within arm’s reach, and he had to clench his fists to keep from slugging him right in the nose. “You proposed? You actually proposed? To my wife?” he snarled.

While Irene had the sense to back away, Philip took one step closer and glared back at him. “Why do you care? You obviously don’t want her. At least I can sleep at night knowing I made an effort to find her and make sure she was all right after you decided to set her aside instead of hiding in my room like you have.”

“I’m not hiding,” Harrison gritted. He squared his shoulders. “Where is she?”