Courting Miss Callie

by Dorothy Clark

  Sophia studied her face then looked toward the table, returned her gaze to her.

  Why didn’t Sophia say something? She looked away from the conjecture forming in her aunt’s eyes, grabbed a towel, pulled the griddle back to the front of the stove and forked on more bacon thankful for the heat of the stove that excused the flush burning her cheeks.

  “All right, dear. As you wish.” Sophia handed her the turner, gave her hand a pat and walked back to the table.

  What did that little pat mean? She let out her held breath, spread a little grease onto the other griddle and spooned on batter. No more burned food. She must stay focused on her cooking and not allow herself to be distracted by Ezra’s presence. The man was a liar. She must keep reminding herself of the fact no matter if it sat like a leaden weight in her chest. It was proving to be her only defense.

  * * *

  The hotel guest took the reins, mounted the sorrel and thrust his fingers into his waistcoat pocket. “A reward for your diligence.”

  Sunlight glinted on a small, silver coin the man flipped in his direction. Ezra snagged it in midair and watched the man ride away before he opened his hand and grinned at the sight of the half dime resting on his palm. How his life had changed.

  He chuckled, tossed the coin in the air, caught it and turned to go into the barn. He needed the money now, but when he returned to his true life, he’d give all of the small rewards he’d earned to Joe—and more besides. Much more. Joe was a true friend. The first he’d had since before he’d amassed his fortune.

  He stopped, opened his hand and stared down at the coin. It would have been a boon to him once, as it now was to Joe. A sense of unease settled over him. How would Joe react when he told him the truth? Would the disparity in their financial standings make a difference in their friendship? Would Joe trust him after he learned he’d been living a lie? A man was known by—

  “A word with you, Ezra.”

  How long had Sophia Sheffield been behind him watching him lost in thought? “Of course, Mrs. Sheffield, how may I help you?” He turned and walked toward her.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion of the barn roof.” Sophia tilted her head, lifted her hand and shaded her eyes against the sunlight. “Did you see anything dire while you were up there the other day, or do you think the roof will hold up until next spring?”

  “I saw a dozen or so badly cracked shingles which may give trouble. There—” he pointed to the thick wood shakes he was talking about “—and there. I spread pitch on as many as I could easily reach, but I didn’t want to walk around any more than needed. The shingles are sun-baked and would crack easily beneath my weight.”

  “I see. Do you think the pitch will keep out the rain?”

  Sophia sounded worried. He looked down, read deep concern on her face. “Normal rains, yes. I can’t say how successful it will be against another thunderstorm—especially one with strong winds like we had the other day. And I don’t know how the damaged shingles in that area will hold up to the snow and ice of winter.”

  “No, of course not. My questions are foolish—a search for reassurance.” She turned her head and peered up at him from beneath her open hand shading her eyes. “I have another I don’t want Joe to overhear. Come with me.”

  Something in her voice had changed. He turned and followed her back toward the hotel, wishing he’d been able to read her expression. Was this about Joe? Did she want him to replace her elderly, rheumatic groom? He discarded the idea. While the work was becoming too much for Joe, Sophia Sheffield was kindness itself—such an action would be out of character for her. Unless finances forced her hand. He frowned, glanced over his shoulder at the barn. Is that why she’d asked about the roof lasting another year? Was she struggling financially?

  “This is far enough. We cannot be seen from the hotel here.” Sophia stopped in the shadow of the buttery and motioned him to her side.

  He stopped, and waited. Speculation would gain him nothing. He had to know the problem before he could work out a way to help.

  “I am no longer a young woman, Ezra. And over the years I have learned not to let my emotions become entangled with my common sense—which is my way of saying I am not easily duped.”

  Duped? What had that to do with Joe or the roof? He hastened to readjust his thinking. “You have left me foundering, Mrs. Sheffield.”

  She fastened a sober, stern, but not unkind look on him. “I am neither dead nor blind, young man, and I would have to be one or the other not to know that you are attracted to my niece. And to not know that you are hiding something.”

  The shock of her pronouncement struck him clear to his toes, set every sense vibrating with warning. He stayed mute, waited for her to go on. To be successful you had to learn your opponent’s strengths—and how much they knew about you. Had Sophia somehow learned who he was?

  “You are not telling the complete story about yourself, Ezra Ryder—” her eyes narrowed on him “—if that is your true name.”

  “It is.” She didn’t know, it was only suspicion. The jangling warning eased to caution.

  She stared at him a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Having judged by your actions since your arrival that you are a basically honorable and upright young man, I will accept your word on that—and I am going to assume you have a good reason to keep whatever your secret is hidden for the time being. However, this you must tell me—straight out and true—are your intentions toward my niece honorable?”

  “They are.” He met her probing gaze without flinching, carefully choosing his words. “I confess Callie is drawing my affections. I hope she will agree to spend time in my company so we might learn to know one another better and discover whether we wish to enter into a formal courtship—with your permission, of course.”

  Sophia stood studying him, her lips pursed, her gaze intent. “And this thing you are hiding—will it cause Callie hurt, now or ever?”

  Her voice was suddenly stony, inflexible. He looked at the older woman’s set face and knew he dare not try to evade the issue. He had to acknowledge her suspicion as valid. Nothing but the truth would satisfy. “I promise you it will not.”

  Sophia took a deep breath, keeping her gaze riveted on his. “And will you also promise me if Callie accepts your suit and grows to return your affections, you will tell her what this secret is before you ask for her hand?”

  “I shall tell Callie, and you also. You have my word.”

  Their gazes remained locked. At last Sophia sighed and nodded. “I’m no fool, Ezra, and I believe you. Nonetheless, heed my words—Callie is the daughter I never had, and I will be watching. I am kind by nature, and fair and just by design, but I can be a formidable foe when the occasion warrants. I’ll not have my niece hurt by you or any man. Take that as a warning—do not dare to hurt her.” She stepped from the shadow, her back straight, her head high as she walked toward the hotel.

  He stood by the buttery and watched until she went inside, then turned and headed for the barn, a frown tugging at his brows. If Sophia thought he was hiding something and realized he was attracted to Callie, why would she simply not order him off the property? Why would she not tell Callie he was hiding some truth about himself and put an end to his hopes of courting her? People did not do things without a reason. What was Sophia’s? Dare he hope, that for whatever reason, he had an ally in his quest for Callie’s affections—albeit a reluctant one?

  * * *

  “You’re home!” Sadie’s grandmother stepped out of the mercantile, rushed down the wood walkway and enfolded her in a warm hug. Callie kissed the elderly woman’s soft, warm cheek and straightened.

  “It’s so lovely to have you back home in Pinewood, Ellen.” The short, plump woman stepped back and beamed a smile at her. “You must come pay me a visit. We’ll have a nice, long chat.”

  �
��It’s Callie, Rachel. Callie Conner.”

  The elderly woman shot her husband a perturbed look. “Well, of course it is, Manning. Why ever would you say such a thing?”

  “You called her Ellen.”

  “I did?” The woman looked back at her, the green eyes, so like Sadie’s, clouded with distress. “I’m sorry, Callie, dear. I can’t imagine why I would do such a thing. I know perfectly well who you are.”

  “Of course you do, Mrs. Townsend. It’s easy to misspeak.” She leaned down and gave the woman another hug. “I’m cooking at the hotel and that keeps me quite busy, but I’ll come for a visit as soon as I can.”

  “Lovely!” Rachel Townsend’s green eyes warmed with pleasure. “And you must come too, Willa, dear. It will be like it used to be when you both came to visit...except Sadie is gone.” The woman’s ample body seemed to shrink, and she placed her pudgy hands on their arms. “Do come soon, Callie...Willa.”

  She glanced at Willa, and received a nod. “We shall, Mrs. Townsend. We’ll come as soon as we can.”

  She watched Manning Townsend escort his wife down the three steps from the walkway to the road and hand her into their buggy, then smiled and waved as they drove off. “I’m glad we chanced to meet them, Willa. Grandmother Townsend is as sweet as ever.” She watched the Townsends’ buggy rumble across the Stony Creek bridge then turned and resumed their interrupted stroll down the walkway toward Cargrave’s Mercantile.

  “Yes, she is.” Willa glanced over at her. “But I’m becoming concerned about Grandmother Townsend, Callie. She seems to be easily confused lately. She called you Ellen.”

  “Well, that’s understandable, Willa. I haven’t been in Pinewood for a long time.”

  “Perhaps, but Ellen was here until a short time ago, and there have been other instances.” Willa slanted a look at her. “Matthew and I were favorably impressed with Mr. Ryder when Sophia introduced him to us after church on Sunday. He’s very polite and well-spoken. Handsome, too. Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

  She tried her best not to react to his name. “Why would I? I’ve had more important things to discuss than Sophia’s new employee. Oh, my! Look at that yellow bonnet.” She stopped in front of the window of the millinery shop. “It’s like a piece of sunshine sitting there.”

  “Why, Callie Conner—” Willa stopped, and gaped at her. “You’re attracted to Mr. Ryder.”

  She huffed out a laugh, tried to look astonished. “Whatever gave you that notion?”

  “Your attempt to change the subject.” Amusement replaced the shock on Willa’s face.

  She feigned a look of surprise. “Why ever would you say that?”

  Willa’s blue-green eyes sparkled at her. “Don’t even try to dissemble, Callie. It won’t work. I know you too well. You hate bonnets—you never wear yellow—and you’re doing that thing you do with your eyelids when you’re uncomfortable and want to distance yourself from a conversation.”

  “What thing?” She jerked her gaze to her reflection in the window, but couldn’t see anything odd about her eyelids. Willa’s smiling face appeared close beside hers.

  “You can’t see it when you are looking at yourself, but you lower them halfway down—as if you want to hide.”

  The whisper tickled her ear. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about. Why should I want to hide?”

  “That is what I’m wondering.”

  She shook her head in seeming incredulity. “Simply because I dislike wearing bonnets doesn’t mean I can’t admire one, Willa. Even a yellow one.” She turned away from their reflections and started down the walkway to hide her face. Willa was right—she did know her too well.

  “That’s true.” Willa fell into step and gave her a sweet smile. “So tell me, when did Sophia hire Mr. Ryder?”

  She sighed, stepped into the recessed entrance of the mercantile and shot a look permitted by lifelong friendship over her shoulder. “Did anyone ever tell you you are a most persistent person, Willa? You really should work to temper your tenacity. At times it can be most...unattractive.”

  “Such as now—when I am asking about Mr. Ryder?”

  “Did I mention you are also incorrigible?” She lifted her chin at Willa’s delighted laugh and shoved open the door, woefully aware that the tinkling bells only announced a delay, not an end to the conversation.

  Chapter Ten

  The sun shone full on the wagonload of seasoned oak bolts thrown helter-skelter one upon another by the man who had delivered them.

  Ezra eyed the shrinking shadow where he worked, put down the ax and rolled the sleeves of his blue wool shirt up to his elbows. Splitting stovewood wasn’t hard, but it was hot work. Too bad he couldn’t shuck his shirt the way he had done as a young boy on the farm.

  He crooked his elbow, swiped the sheen of moisture off his forehead, picked up the ax and took a low, underhanded swing at the end of the nearest bolt lying on the ground, its butt hard up against the pile. The short length of log split. He set one half on the large, upended log used for a chopping block, took a firm grip on the ax and swung from the shoulder in a smooth, continuous rhythm. The stove-sized pieces split from the thick chunk in rapid succession and toppled from the log to litter the ground at its base. He repeated the procedure with the other half of the bolt, then stopped and rolled his shoulders. He’d forgotten how good it felt to have his muscles flexing and stretching with physical labor.

  “Well, there’s no doubt you have chopped wood before, Ezra. That’s as neat a job as I’ve ever seen.”

  He turned toward the porch, and grinned up at Sophia Sheffield. “Not to boast, but wait until I get back into practice.”

  “Ah, a modest man.” She laughed and offered him the glass she held in her hand. “I thought a cool drink of water might be in order.”

  “Just the thing, thank you.” He stepped to the porch, took the glass in his free hand, and looked toward the kitchen door.

  “She’s busy roasting chickens and baking biscuits for supper.”

  He drank the water, and gave her a wry smile and handed the glass back up over the railing. “Am I that obvious?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She took the glass and turned. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  “Mrs. Sheffield?”

  She turned back. “Yes?”

  He grounded the ax, crossed his hands on the butt of the handle and looked up at her. “I do not mean to meddle into your affairs nor to set myself forward in any way—but I’ve been thinking about what you said about the barn roof the other day and I wondered if, perhaps, you were a bit concerned about your finances?”

  She stiffened, and he held up his hand to stop her from speaking. “I am not seeking to pry, madam, but, as I’ve told you, I worked in an insurance brokerage, and I have some knowledge of business.” He looked full into her eyes, letting her read his sincerity. “I also have experience of dining in restaurants in the city, and I declare to you, I have never eaten finer meals than I have had since I came here.”

  A small frown creased her brow, etched tiny lines at the corners of her violet eyes. “Callie is an excellent cook. She’s a very talented young woman. What has that to do with my finances?”

  Clearly, Sophia was not fully in his camp when it came to Callie. She was withholding judgment, but it was obvious he still had to earn her trust. He nodded, and held her gaze. “It’s not Callie I wish to discuss.”

  Her brows rose, her eyes took on a curious, suspicious cast. He had her full attention, even if it was less amenable than he would have liked. He leaned closer to the railing. “Mrs. Sheffield, have you ever considered opening your dining room to the public? I believe it would become an excellent, added source of revenue for you.”

  She gaped down at him, slowly shook her head. “Why, no. I’ve never thought of such a
thing.”

  He allowed a moment for the idea to take hold, watched the surprise, the initial look of resistance fade from her face, and pressed his point. “There is no place, at present, in the village where a young man can take a young woman he is courting, or for a husband to take his wife, or for friends to meet for tea.”

  “Tea...”

  He smiled at the speculative, receptive tone in her voice. Sophia’s quick mind was latching on to the possibilities. “Your dining room sits empty except for your guests at meal times, so you would have no expense other than an increased food budget. And, perhaps, eventually, a few more tables with chairs.”

  Sophia nodded, and pursed her lips. “I would need more kitchen help, of course—but I’ve been intending to hire another cook as the number of guests always increases when the weather turns better for travel. Callie can teach the new one...perhaps Agnes...” She gave her head a little shake, leaned down and held out her hand to him. “I’ll ponder it a bit more, but right now I can see no reason not to take your excellent suggestion. Thank you, Ezra.”

  “My pleasure, Mrs. Sheffield.” He took her hand in his and made her a small bow.

  “An insurance brokerage, you say?”

  The unexpected comment froze him for a moment. Sophia Sheffield was quick indeed. He dipped his head.

  She stared down at him, then slipped her hand out of his. “I shall accept that for now, Ezra—and look forward to the day you tell us the rest of your story.” She turned and walked to the kitchen door. It squeaked open, and closed.

  Us. Sophia had just given tacit approval to his wooing Callie. He grinned and turned back to the log chopping block. He leaned his ax against it, loaded his arms with the split stovewood and carried it to the dwindled stack at end of the porch. His whistled tune blended with the solid thunk of the pieces as he added them to the pile.

  * * *

  “What do you think, dear?”

  Callie smiled, ran her fingertip along the molding on the mantel. “I think Agnes is a wonderful choice for the new cook, Aunt Sophia. I hope she accepts. And that the Karchers will agree to her staying here through the week.”