Rumors and Promises (13 page)

Esther reappeared in the doorway. “Humph. Some hero you turned out to be.”

James had been looking straight at Mrs. Fairgrave. He turned and his eyebrows rose when he seemed to discover the silent Ian and Maggie. “Um, hello, Reverend.” He nodded. “Mrs. Galloway.”

Ian cleared his throat. “We were just leaving. See you tomorrow morning, James?”

“Well …”

“He’ll be there if I have something to say about it,” Esther piped up. “Besides, Sophie will have her debut playing the piano for the church. You wouldn’t want to miss that now, would you?”

“In that case, I’ll be there, Reverend.”

A pelt of winter air, sailing in when Ian swung the door open for Maggie, reminded Sophie to be thankful for the boardinghouse, even with its shortcomings.

“When are we going to get some supper around here?” Mr. Graemer’s grouchiness made Sophie smile. Things were getting back to normal.

She glanced down at the sleepy head on her shoulder. Caira had barely stirred with all the commotion. She yawned. “You surely will be cranky, too, if I don’t get you something to eat, before putting you down for the night. And if I wake you up now, I wonder if you’ll go back to sleep.”

Caira’s eyelids fluttered open. “I hungry.”

“All right then. How do you ask for food?”

“Pease.”

Sophie sighed. Tomorrow would be a big day for them. She hoped they would be able to get some rest.

Pearly gray light peeked through the gap between the curtains. Sophie stretched. Though Caira had lain awake a bit later than usual, she had slept through the night. Well, it was a blessed respite between bouts of fussiness with her molars yet to come in.

Sophie pushed away the covers and crossed her arms against the cold. She shivered as she placed the soles of her feet on the frigid floor. How she looked forward to the end of another Michigan winter.

Opening the door to the armoire, she pulled aside her work clothes. The only decent dress she had managed to hold onto, an evening dress that her mother and she had sewn together, hung there. The burgundy silk jacquard held such a lovely sheen. She touched a sumptuous puffed sleeve. The heart-shaped neckline
was so feminine compared to many of the tailored skirt and jacket outfits of the day.

Sophie supposed she could get away with wearing something a little less eye-catching, but how could she perform at church in a worn out calico shirtwaist and a patched skirt? She hoped such an elegant gown wouldn’t seem too unfitting.

Before Caira could wake up, she dressed and fixed her hair more carefully than usual, pinning it up. She glanced in the mirror over the old, scratched vanity table and smiled. At least the church and their handsome minister wouldn’t see a girl who looked like a housemaid for once. She pinched her cheeks to a deeper pink and shrugged. It never lasted anyway.

She felt a jolt of surprise at her thoughts. What did she care what anyone thought, especially Ian?
Well, I can’t embarrass him, can I now? He asked me to play piano for the church. Shall I go looking bedraggled?

She squared her shoulders and turned away from the mirror.

CHAPTER 7

I
an stood near the back of the sanctuary. He wanted to concentrate on each person as they stopped to shake his hand, but his gaze wandered back to Sophie as she finished the postlude, looking absolutely lovely.

When she had come through the door earlier in the morning, Ian stared at the transformed young woman. The tattered shawl had slid from Sophie’s shoulders, revealing a shimmering burgundy dress. With her hair swept up and tendrils framing her face, she looked older. He blinked. Was this Sophie, the servant girl and seamstress he left the night before?

“Elisha, good to see you this morning. Are you ready for spring?” The gentleman nodded and replied, but Ian only half heard him as his glance trained back on Sophie closing the piano lid.

“How is your mother?” He tried in vain to concentrate on Leona Packer’s round face.

“Much better, now, thank you.” The gloved hand didn’t let his go. “Reverend, are you quite all right?” Leona spoke a bit louder.

“I’m sorry. What is it?” He moved his hand to pat the arm of his concerned parishioner.

“You don’t seem quite like yourself this morning.”

“I’m fine, just have a few things on my mind.” He cleared his throat and stood up a bit straighter. “So, what did you think of the music during the service?” But then heavenly visions of Sophie were replaced with the sight of Gertrude Wringer pushing her way forward. An unwelcome chill slid down Ian’s spine.

Leona’s eyes brightened. “It was just wonderful. I—”

“Excuse me, Reverend.” Gertrude’s pinched and sour face appeared directly in front of him as she shouldered the other woman out of the way. Ian sighed. He knew she wouldn’t leave until she said her piece. And once she did, no one would want to add their praise of Sophie’s work.

Gertrude didn’t accept the hand he offered her, but only nodded.

“How are you this morning?” Ian tried to maintain his pleasant smile though his cheeks strained at the effort.

The thin woman made a noise like she was sucking on her teeth, a sort of “Tsk, tsk.” Her small eyes, an indescribable color, mostly because it was difficult to gaze into them for more than a few seconds, pierced him with an accusing stare over the bridge of her pointed nose. “Quite a spectacle that young woman made of herself this morning, parading around in an evening gown … at church. And whose child does she have with her, hmm? They’re both from an unknown upbringing. Where do you think she got such a dress? Some ill-gotten gain, no doubt! I’m surprised you’d allow such people in a prominent position here.”

Ian clasped his hands together in front of him. He might as well get to the point with the malevolent woman. “How did you find Miss Biddle offensive, Gertrude?” He hoped his inquiry sounded kinder than he felt. This was one of the many difficulties of pastoral duties.

“First of all, you never mentioned her credentials. Who recommended her to you?” She pulled in the already shallow
hollows of her face like she had just tasted a spoonful of cider vinegar.

“No one, but Miss Biddle will be presented to the board. I’m sure they’ll speak to her of these issues.”

“I’m rather disappointed. I thought you were waiting for my niece, Nora, here, to come for a visit.” The thin girl standing next to her, wispy as field grass, had pale blonde hair. She stared at the floor. “She’s graduated from Miss Melton’s Finishing School, a fine academy with excellent musical training. She’s not some riff-raff off the street.” Gertrude’s eye twitched. She gave her niece a backhanded whack on the arm. “Say ‘hello’ to Reverend McCormick, dearie.”

Nora, turning the lightest shade of pink, looked up at him with light blue eyes, and smiled. She rubbed her arm. “How do you do, Reverend?”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss … ?”

“Armstrong, Nora Armstrong. I’m pleased to meet you as well.”

Ian reached out a hand in greeting. “I assumed that your coming here was purely conjecture. I thought that a girl with so many talents wouldn’t want to come to such a quiet place as Stone Creek.”

“Humph. “Why, Nora’s the kind of girl that a pastor needs to stand alongside and be a helpmeet to him.” Gertrude sniffed.

He swallowed. So that’s what Gertrude was up to. Nora turned a shade closer to crimson than Ian thought possible for her fair complexion.

“We would still welcome her as a musical guest.” Ian smiled sympathetically toward the girl, who seemed equally uncomfortable with Gertrude revealing such intentions outright.

“I would be honored. You have a fine musician in Miss Biddle—”

“So that’s how it is.” Gertrude’s voice rose as she put a hand up to silence her niece. “I thought we had an agreement.” Her thin frame leaned toward him.

Ian hoped to reason with her. “But I never—”

“You’ll be sorry, mark my words. You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to Gertrude Wringer. Let’s go, Nora.” She pushed past him, toward the door, and mumbled as she stomped through the foyer.

Nora looked back, shaking her head as if in apology, but followed her aunt like a lamb to the slaughter.

Leona stood as though frozen, her mouth agape in her blanched face with her hand at her throat.

“Are you all right?” Ian took the chubby woman by her other hand. “What were you saying about Sophie?”

“I-I don’t know, Reverend.” She swallowed and lowered her voice, looking around. “Perhaps it’s too soon to judge. I best get home now and check on Mother.”

The usual line of greeters dissipated, many sending Ian apologetic looks, but seeming anxious to go about their own business. True to form, Etta Stout and Millie Wilson, Gertrude’s closest cohorts, frowned at him, shaking their heads and passing him by.

Elisha Whitworth edged his way back through the stragglers toward Ian. “I wanted to tell you that Miss Biddle’s playing was delightful, but you weren’t listening.” A grin filled the elder’s face. “She’s something else. I’ll talk to the board. Hopefully, they’ll listen to me instead of any troublesome woman.” He pumped Ian’s hand again. “Don’t you worry, we’ll see about a stipend for her, too.”

Ian’s cheeks creased with a smile he could not contain. “That’s good news. I was anxious to hear your verdict.”

Thankfully, Sophie and Caira were happily visiting with Maggie and Philip, alongside the piano. The little one clapped her hands and climbed up onto the bench, only to throw back her head with laughter each time her sister pulled her off. Ian hoped they hadn’t
heard much of what Gertrude had said. He rubbed the side of his face. When had his head begun to hurt so much?