Hidden Affections (36 page)

“If you really want to find her, you’ll plumb have to do it without my help,” Philip argued. “I just plumb promised her that I wouldn’t tell you. Besides, I’m not going to let you spoil my chances of changing her mind any more than I’m going to give up asking her again and again until she plumb gives up and says yes.”

Harrison looked past his cousin to Irene, who wore a guilt-ridden expression. “I can’t tell you either, I plumb promised I wouldn’t tell you, either, and you’re plumb crazy if you think I’m going to break that promise. I already broke too many others.”

Frustrated to the point of complete exasperation, he threw up his hands. “Stop being so fixated on the word
plum
! Just tell me where she is, and I promise you, she’ll forgive you for breaking your promise, assuming she can forgive me for what I’ve done. But I can’t even talk to her unless you tell me where she is.”

Irene grinned. “You’re a plumb smart man. If you truly want her badly enough, you’ll figure it out,” she replied and tugged on Philip’s arm. “Come downstairs with me. I’ll fix you up with some nice warm plum pudding. I learned how to make it just last week when I was visiting my friend in the city,” she murmured, placing uncommon emphasis on the word
friend
.

Harrison slammed the door but only took a few steps before it hit him. “Widow Plum! She’s staying with Widow Plum!” He grabbed the one thing he needed to take with him before he charged back into the hall.

Both Irene and Philip had disappeared from the second floor, but she was waiting for him when he reached the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He grinned. “I’ve got a sudden hankering for plums.”

She handed him his coat. “It’s about time you figured it out. Graham is out front with the coach. Don’t you dare come back without her.”

“I don’t intend to,” he replied, filled with faith enough to believe he could convince her to stay.

Grateful that the boarders would not be returning for supper for another two hours, Annabelle left Widow Plum, who was dusting the furniture in the parlor, to change the bed linens in two of the sleeping rooms on the second floor. She climbed up the steep wooden staircase with a heavy heart and weary footsteps.

Unfortunately, the fog of despair that was clouding her faith today made it almost impossible for her to think about anything other than the pain of any future without Harrison. After setting the fresh bed linens on top of a trunk at the foot of the bed, she folded up the faded quilt, set it onto the trunk as well, stripped the soiled bedclothes, and laid them in a pile on the floor.
I wish I could change my life this easily
, she thought as she tucked in fresh sheets around the edge of the mattress.

Satisfied with her work, she picked up the soiled sheets, unaware that she was dragging one on the floor until she tripped and fell to her knees. Although her one knee landed on top of the bundled sheets, her other knee cracked hard enough on the bare floorboards to bring tears to her eyes. The impact opened the floodgates she had been guarding all day, and once she started to cry, she simply could not stop and she had to bury her face in the sheets she was carrying to silence the sobs that made her body tremble and her spirit flood with grief.

When the spring that provided her tears finally drained, she wiped her face and got back to her feet. Exhausted, she also felt oddly refreshed, but she knew her tears would be replenished long before she would be able to hold them back again. She limped for a few steps to test out her knee and sighed with relief. The last thing she needed was to injure herself now when she had to convince someone to hire her.

She had just stripped the soiled bedclothes from the bed in the room across the hall when she heard Widow Plum call out her name. “Annabelle, dear. You have a caller.”

“I’ll be right there,” she said, excited that Irene had returned so soon for a visit. She was also pleased that she had already written out the reference for Irene to sign and quickly finished restoring the bed to order.

Though her vision was nearly blocked, Annabelle was determined to carry both sets of soiled bedclothes downstairs. She held on to the banister with one hand as she shifted the bundle of sheets so she would not trip down the steps.

Descending carefully, she peeked above the mound of linens and her heart practically stopped. Harrison was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She tightened her hold on the banister when he took the first step without taking his eyes off of her.

“You forgot something, so I thought I should bring it to you,” he said quietly.

She swallowed hard. With the sheets blocking all but his face, she could not see what he was carrying in his hand. She trembled to think he had found her diary, but the possibility that he had read it made her knees weak. “You can give the diary to Widow Plum to hold for me,” she whispered, hoping he would leave before she lost her dignity and begged him to stay.

He took another step. “Widow Plum is in the kitchen, and your diary is safe back at Graymoor Gardens. This is something else entirely.”

She could not imagine she had left anything else behind, but before she could tell him that, he was one step higher on the staircase and close enough now that she could see that his eyes were gazing at her with the same deep affection she had hidden from him for so long.

Her heart began to race when he took the next three steps, stopping when his face was level with hers. After he gently removed the sheets from her hands and tossed them over the banister, he placed a wooden object into her hand, and from the cuts on the tips of his fingers, she knew he had made it for her.

Through tear-filled eyes, she glanced down and saw a very crudely made knitting stick that made her heart swell the moment she saw her first name engraved down the center. Her fingers were trembling so hard, she had a difficult time turning the knitting stick over. On the back, she saw her name engraved above the year 1832.

She struggled to find her voice. “Is this . . . is this a courtship gift?” she asked, overwhelmed by the possibility that he might want her to be a part of his life.

His dark eyes glistened when he captured her gaze and held it captive. “Only if our courtship is short. Very, very short,” he said. “I love you, Annabelle. I was so very, very wrong to think I could ever live without you. I want you to know that I’ve made my peace with God, and I know now that He never stopped loving me or watching over me, even when I turned my back on Him. And I also trust that He will love us and comfort us, no matter what troubles life has in store for us.” Harrison took one more step.

“Marry me, Annabelle. Today. Tomorrow. Or as soon as you’re ready to forgive me. However long it takes, I’ll wait for you to—”

“Today. Today will be perfect,” she whispered and stepped into his open arms where she belonged, her spirit soaring straight to the heavens. She wrapped her arms around the most treasured blessing He had ever given to her and held on to him with all of her might, her tears falling freely as she felt his heart beat against her own for the very first time.

I have been blessed again to receive great support during the writing of
Hidden Affections
, and I have many people to thank. As always, my editor, Sarah Long, helped me to fine-tune the story idea as well as the manuscript. Thank you, Sarah, for your generous spirit and your valuable insight. Linda Kruger, my faithful, faith-filled agent, gave me the idea to have a heroine and hero handcuffed together in my next book. I hope I haven’t disappointed you, Linda. My sister, Carol Beth, once again allowed me to spend the summer writing in her home on Anna Maria Island in Florida. I love you, sister dear! And to the lovely ladies at Shell Point, you made my summer very special once again.

Hidden Affections
takes place in and around Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, during the winter of 1831–1832. I have tried to stay true to the area as it existed in the early nineteenth century, but I have used my “literary license” to create the background for my story.

The city and port of Philadelphia, for example, actually were frozen during the winter of 1841–1842, from early November until the middle of May. Outbreaks of yellow fever and cholera epidemics, unfortunately, occurred periodically, but I moved them around to keep them in the background of the story. Petty’s Island actually exists, although the rowdy behavior that took place there is dated a bit later.

The fictional country estate of Graymoor Gardens is loosely based on an actual house, The Solitude, which was built by William Penn’s grandson in 1784. The tunnel at The Solitude still exists and is historically significant because it is a rare example of perhaps the first tunnel in the United States that was built to be used by servants. The Solitude is still standing on the grounds of the Philadelphia Zoo, and groups of visitors can arrange for a tour. Readers who are interested in The Solitude can take a virtual tour by visiting the Philadelphia Zoo website:
http://www.philadelphiazoo.org/zoo/
Visit-The-Zoo/The-Solitude-House.htm.

Readers who are interested in the history of Philadelphia can find lots of fascinating information in two books that I used for my research:
Philadelphia: A 300-Year History
by the Barra Foundation (1982) and
Imagining Philadelphia: Travelers’ Views of the City from 1800 to the Present
by Philip Stevick (1996).

Several Web sites also provided historical information that was quite helpful. I am grateful to Yossie Silverman (
www.blacksteel.com
) and Stan Willis (
www.handcuffs.US.com
) for their help in understanding what Darby handcuffs looked like and how they worked. My colleague, Mrs. Christine Wilson, shared her knowledge of knitting with me, but I found an actual knitting stick that women used long ago so they could knit while “on the go” at
www.needled.wordpress.com/2010/01/21/sticks
. I encourage readers to visit to see Jane Brown’s knitting stick, which is dated for 1825, and also ask for their forgiveness for any mistakes I may have made while creating
Hidden Affections
.

Delia Parr

Books by

Delia Parr

Hearts Awakening

Love’s First Bloom

Hidden Affections