James paused, and she waited in silence for him to continue.
“I–I made a terrible decision, a foolish, stupid mistake—one I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” He swallowed hard. “One night the cashier accidentally left the cash register open. I was dusting the front desk and the drawer just slid open and there in front of me seemed to be the answer to all my problems. I took the money, Stella. All of it. I know … I know how stupid it sounds now. And I intended to pay every cent back, truly I did. But of course I got caught before that could happen.”
“Oh, James,” she breathed. She didn’t know whether to be angry or whether to cry for the foolish, desperate boy he’d been back then. “What happened? Did you … did you go to jail?”
“No. The owner of the hotel forgave me. In fact, he gave me a job in the dining room waiting tables at a wage almost twice what I’d made before—on the condition that I pay him half my earnings until I’d repaid what I stole.”
“But if he forgave you, how did Papa hear about it after all these years?”
James picked up a clump of snow from the side of the walkway. He formed it into a hard ball and threw it forcefully to the ground. Anger and frustration were revealed in his action, but the look he gave her was one of adoration. “You’re so innocent, Stella. Don’t you know ‘once a thief, always a thief’? The word was all over town about what happened. If Mr. Browne hadn’t been willing to keep me on, I guarantee you I would never have worked anywhere in the county again. But God was with me, Stella. You have to believe that. After Mr. Browne forgave me, I dedicated my life to the Lord all over again. I prayed so hard that God would make a way for me to go to university. It seemed as though I were praying for the impossible. Then that Christmas Mr. Browne handed me an envelope—and inside was more money than I had ever dreamed of saving. From that day on, I never doubted God’s care for me, and I knew He’d truly given me a second chance.”
Stella wanted to offer some comfort, some comment on the things he’d confessed, but she found herself uncharacteristically speechless.
James took her hand in his. “I’m sorry, Stella,” he said. “I should have told you before. And I don’t blame your father for not wanting you to have anything to do with me. If you were my daughter, I’d feel the same way.”
She looked into his eyes, and she could find nothing there that hinted of a thief or a scoundrel. All she saw was her precious James. Papa didn’t know him. Papa was making his judgment based on cold, impersonal facts. But she knew her father well enough to know that he’d made up his mind about James, and nothing she could say or do would cause him to change it.
“Stella, I’m so sorry. I—I’ve grown to care for you deeply. But I can’t ask you to go against your father’s wishes. He’s only doing what he thinks is best for the daughter he loves. I–I shouldn’t even be talking to you now, but I couldn’t leave things unsettled between us. I wanted you to hear the truth from me.”
“Oh, James. I don’t hold what you did against you. I know you’ve changed. From what you say, anyone could see that you had a good reason for what you did.”
“Thank you, Stella. That means a great deal to me. But it doesn’t change the fact that your father has forbidden you to see me.”
She put a hand on his arm. “It’s not fair. I have to convince him to get to know you. Can’t Dr. Whitestone vouch for you?”
“From what I understand, he already did. But your father isn’t thinking about me, Stella. He’s thinking about his daughter. And that’s only right. I certainly understand his concern.”
Somehow she had to convince Papa to get to know James, to see the man she knew. The strong, loving, honest man who sat beside her now, his head bowed in defeat.
“I’ll talk to him, James,” she cried. “I’ll convince him that you’ve changed. He has to see that—”
“Stop it, Stella.” James stood abruptly and backed down the steps away from her. “I think it’s best that we leave well enough alone. Perhaps what is between us”—his hand traced an invisible path from his heart to hers—“simply wasn’t meant to be.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and with them the vision of Iva Mae Waxler clinging to James’s arm. She thought she understood then. Perhaps she had misunderstood James’s intentions all along. Maybe she had read something into his kindness, into his warm smile that wasn’t really there. At least not the way she’d imagined.
Feeling like a fool, she struggled to her feet and ran through the snow. She didn’t stop running until she reached the sanctuary of the library. She hurried through the stacks until she found a quiet corner at the back of the massive room. There she silently wept until there were no more tears.
Chapter 6
James Collingwood stood in front of Andrews Hall and watched Stella run away from him. He knew by the slump of her shoulders as she fled that she was crying. Twice she nearly tripped as her skirt became heavy with accumulated snow. Everything in him wanted to go after her, take her in his arms, and comfort her. But what good would that have done either of them? It would only make the inevitable more difficult.
Dr. Whitestone had called him into his office that morning to inform him of Marcus Bradford’s request for a new tutor for his daughter. Bradford wanted James Collingwood to have nothing to do with Stella.
“I don’t understand,” James had told his mentor. “Have I done something wrong?”
Dr. Whitestone hung his head. “James, I’m afraid I’m unwittingly to blame for this.”
James looked at him, confusion in his eyes.
“Marcus asked me about you and I–I foolishly took it upon myself to tell the man your story. I had no right, James. I’m sorry. The man is a good friend of mine and an honorable gentleman. I promise you, I told him your story because I believe it to be one of the finest testimonies to the power of God to redeem a man that I’ve ever heard. But I didn’t take into account that Marcus was asking after you because of his daughter’s … um, shall we say … interest in you. He reacted in a way I never expected. “
James was stunned by Dr. Whitestone’s revelation. On more than one occasion, Stella had warned him that her father was overly protective. That was one of the reasons he’d been reluctant to tell her his story. But he’d never expected repercussions of this magnitude.
Apparently Marcus Bradford had also requested that James not be allowed to substitute in any class Stella attended. Arthur Whitestone had drawn the line there.
“I informed Marcus that I would not allow his mollycoddling of his daughter to interfere with the way we conduct the department,” the professor told James. “Having no daughters myself, I can’t say that I understand the man’s obsession. I’m sorry, James, but I did promise him that I would assign Stella a new tutor. I apologize. What he’s requested is not fair, but I know you’ll understand that I need to accommodate the man as much as I possibly can. He’s not only my friend and the father of a student of St. Bartholomew’s, but he’s a generous benefactor of the academy, as well.”
James nodded and dared to ask his superior if he thought Marcus Bradford would ever change his mind.
“Well, I wouldn’t hold my breath, Son.” Arthur Whitestone sighed. “I’ll be glad to put in a good word for you. Not that it will do any good. I already sang your praises when Marcus approached me, and you can see where it got me.”
James had declined the offer. If he couldn’t win Stella’s father over himself, there was no use sending someone else to do it.
Now with the damage done, James sighed, brushed the snow from his pant legs, and retrieved his valise from the bottom step. He had papers to mark and a lesson to prepare for tomorrow. He’d always known that his youthful transgressions might catch up with him. No sense in being surprised and hurt over it now.
But his heart was heavy as he trudged to Voorhaven Hall. He gathered his belongings from the office and started across town. He would work in his room at home tonight. Maybe he’d talk over his troubles with Sylvia. His sister
always had a sympathetic ear and a wise word for him.
The following Monday, Stella walked into Dr. Whitestone’s class to find James Collingwood substituting in the professor’s stead.
He nodded a barely perceptible greeting as she entered the room. She took her seat and began copying the sentences from the board with trembling fingers. For the rest of the hour, she felt his eyes upon her. Looking at him made her ache with longing. Her emotions were so muddled that she feared she would burst into tears at any moment. When the class period ended, Stella stayed in her seat, meaning to linger until the room cleared and she could talk to James alone. But several students went forward with questions, and when fifteen minutes had passed and one young man still stood in line waiting to speak with the instructor, she began to feel awkward. She knew James was aware of her presence in the back of the room, for he glanced her way every few minutes. But she could not read in his expression whether he wished her to remain or was imploring her to leave.
Finally, she slipped out of the room, feeling lower in spirit than she could ever remember.
For the rest of the week, Stella merely went through the motions of living. She rode with her father each day to the academy, she attended classes, she even worked with the new tutor Dr. Whitestone had assigned. The young graduate student was a perfectly pleasant—and quite handsome—fifth-year student. But for Stella, the lessons had become drudgery.
She did not see James again that week. She was ever watchful, hoping to catch a glimpse of his broad-shouldered form striding across the campus grounds or huddled in a study carrel in the library. But it was as though he were purposely avoiding the places where he knew she might be.
She tried to put the vision of James and Iva Mae Waxler head-to-head in the study room at Robinson Library out of her mind, but the image refused to leave. When Iva Mae approached Stella after their English grammar class on Friday morning, asking if Stella knew what had happened to Mr. Collingwood, Stella became alarmed. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I just wondered if you knew where he’s been. You seem to have the inside track where Mr. Collingwood is concerned,” she drawled.
“But … isn’t he tutoring you, Iva Mae?” she asked the girl, ignoring the sarcastic dig.
Iva Mae shook her head sadly. “Some other gent showed up, and he’s the one been coming ever since. You don’t suppose Mr. Collingwood’s left St. Bart’s, do you?”
Stella didn’t know, and she began to worry that something was wrong. If Iva Mae hadn’t seen James, then that quashed Stella’s fears that James’s interests had turned to the Southern belle. But what had happened to him? Her thoughts churning, she extricated herself from Iva Mae’s diatribe about the English department and hurried toward Dr. Whitestone’s office.
A new girl sat behind the desk in the anteroom, and Stella took advantage of the fact. “I’m here to see Dr. Whitestone,” she said, trying to make it sound as though she had an appointment.
The girl glanced at the ledger on the desk. “Why, I don’t believe he’s expecting anyone this afternoon. What did you say your name was?”
“I’m Stella Bradford. Please tell Dr. Whitestone I’m here.”
Looking again at the schedule, then shaking her head in bewilderment, the girl went back to the office suite and knocked on Dr. Whitestone’s door before opening it a crack. “Sir? There’s a Stella Bradford to see you.”
Stella could not make out the professor’s reply, but the girl motioned for Stella. She slipped into the office, a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m sorry, Dr. Whitestone, but I had to talk to you. I’m worried about James … Mr. Collingwood. No one has seen him all week and—”
Arthur Whitestone interrupted her with a raised hand, then gestured toward the leather-seated chair in front of his desk. “Please, Miss Bradford. Have a seat.” He gave her a smile that she knew was meant to reassure.
She sat down and waited while Dr. Whitestone seemed to scrutinize her face.
Finally, he told her. “You were inquiring about Mr. Collingwood’s absence?”
She nodded anxiously.
“James’s sister was taken ill on Monday. He requested the rest of the week off to care for her.”
Stella knew that her relief must have been written on her face. “Is Sylvia—is his sister seriously ill?”
“I believe she suffers chronic health problems. But James stopped by the office here midweek to pick up some papers to mark, and at that time he thought she seemed to be improving. I don’t believe it’s anything for you to worry about.”
Dr. Whitestone had a strange look on his face, and for a moment Stella was afraid he was going to reprimand her for barging into his office to inquire after things that were none of her business. Instead, he cleared his throat and leaned forward over the desk. “Miss Bradford,” he said haltingly, “I feel I owe you an explanation.”
Stella’s puzzlement must have been apparent because he held up a hand and promptly continued.
“I don’t know what your father—or James, for that matter—has said to you regarding my part in … well, in your father’s decision to have Mr. Collingwood replaced as your tutor. I suspect one of them has told you that I had something to do with all that.”
He paused, and Stella could sense that he was hoping she would tell him precisely what she did know. She was grateful for his honesty and quickly reassured him. “I know you meant no harm, Dr. Whitestone. It’s just that Papa is—”
The professor saved her from having to finish the sentence. “Your father is a good man, Stella. And I trust you know that I had no idea my telling him about James would have the effect it did. As I’m sure you know, he loves you dearly and would not see you hurt for the world. On the other hand, I happen to believe that there is a young man who loves you equally dearly, though in quite a different way.”
Stella’s heart began to pound. Had Dr. Whitestone just said what she thought he’d said? “I–I don’t understand …”
The professor thought for a moment. “If you truly don’t understand, then it’s not my place to say more, Miss Bradford. Let me only say that I believe your father will come to his senses. I’m praying that he will. For James’s sake.”
As Dr. Whitestone rose and came from behind his desk, he muttered, “If I have to see that lovesick young pup moping around here much longer …”
“What did you say?” Stella asked. But she had heard the man’s words perfectly well. And they set her heart soaring.
“Nothing, nothing,” he replied. “I’m glad you stopped by, Stella. I’ll give James your greetings.”
“Y–yes,” she stuttered. “Please do.”
She practically ran from the building. Dr. Whitestone, James’s confidant, had called him—what was it?—a lovesick pup. That had to be a good sign.
Chapter 7
As she guided the horses down the land, Stella waved good-bye to Mama. Helen snuggled close beside her in the sleigh, and the horses trotted onto the country road. It would only take a few minutes to get into town. At her feet, wrapped in newspaper and a heavy quilt, was the basket of fried chicken and brown Betty she and Mama had fixed for James and Sylvia. Mama had even added some of her home-canned peaches.
Papa hadn’t been crazy about the idea, but Mama had worked her wiles with him. Mama didn’t very often argue against Papa, but when she did, he usually listened. He had finally agreed that Helen would accompany Stella. They could hitch the team on the street in front of James’s boardinghouse and deliver their offerings. “But you come directly home after that, you understand?” he’d warned. Stella didn’t care. At least she would get to see James, if only for a minute.
The horses picked up their pace on the open road, and Stella reveled in the feel of the wind in her face. She had forgotten how free she felt riding in the sleigh. Though she was always a little nervous to have the team under her control, it was exhilarating to glide so smoothly along the road. So different from riding in the wagon, which seemed to empha
size every little bump and rut. Since the storm, sleds and sleighs that had traveled over the road had forged a fine path, and the sleigh and team seemed to obey the slightest sway of the reins. Stella began to relax and loosened her grip on the reins a bit. She didn’t even mind the cold.
She glanced over at Helen. Her sister’s face reflected her elation, her cheeks rosy from the icy bite in the air, her lips parted in a wide smile.
“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Stella shouted over the jangle of the harnesses and the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed snow.
“Can I drive, Stella?” Helen shot back.
Stella shook her head vigorously. “Papa would have my head! Besides, I was almost seventeen before Papa let me take the team out on my own. You’ll have to be patient and wait until you grow up a little.”
Helen pouted for a moment, but it wasn’t long before the smile was back on her face and she was reveling in the ride again.
When the silhouette of Clairemore appeared ahead, Stella slowed the team. As they came into town, she saw that the snow had been shoveled into tall heaps along the street corners. After standing through two bitterly cold nights, the piles of snow had turned into veritable icebergs. They made it more difficult to maneuver the sleigh, and Stella’s muscles tensed as she watched the street in front of her carefully.
Fortunately, she didn’t need to change direction until she reached James’s house. They glided smoothly through town on Main Street, past the mill, until the older neighborhood where Sylvia’s boardinghouse stood came into view. The street narrowed, and an avenue of icicle-draped trees formed a canopy over the brick pavement. The sun had begun to thaw the ice that encased each branch, and the air was filled with an odd popping sound as branches broke loose from their frosty cocoons, followed by the sound of shattering glass as icicles hit the brick. Occasionally, a spray of freezing water and ice shards would land on the blanket that covered their laps, and Helen would let out a little squeal of delight.
Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote Page 44