“And you are new in town, Miss Meyers?” he asked.
Margaret could not stop her eyes from narrowing. Pathways was a decent sized town, but she’d already noted its taste for talk. Everyone knew about her past.
But could it be Mr. Dowdell didn’t? Or maybe he was giving her a chance to explain things herself.
Margaret shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I have been here a few months. And you, Mr. Dowdell?”
“Five years. I came here from Virginia specifically to work for my employer.”
“Virginia,” she said. “That is the accent I detected.”
“Yes.” He smiled, showing off straight, white teeth.
Margaret’s heart thumped. She had not meant to idle and speak with him, but she was finding it terribly difficult to pull herself away.
“And you, Miss Meyers? Where did you, ah, arrive here from?”
Something flashed in his eyes as soon as he asked the question, and he blinked and cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable.
Margaret took in a deep breath, the back of her throat burning. Fine. The man looked for gossip? Well, she would give him enough fodder to last the winter.
“I came here from Whiteridge, Mr. Dowdell, after the untimely death of my husband. His business partner shot him dead. Not that I cried very many tears over it. Any day spent without that man’s hands around my throat is a good one. Does that answer your question?”
Mr. Dowdell’s eyes widened. “I apologize. That is all unfortunate. I was wondering about before that, though. Were you born in Wyoming?”
Margaret balked. “Oh. Um...”
Heat filled her face. How could she be so stupid? Not only had she lost control of herself, she’d wrongly jumped to conclusions.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, choosing to stare at the porch’s boards instead of him. “I am very sorry.”
Stepping around him, she went for the steps.
“Wait.”
The urgency in his voice made Margaret halt. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.
“I truly am sorry about your...” Mr. Dowdell’s throat rolled as he swallowed. “All of it. Really.”
The tenderness in his voice struck Margaret right in the heart. Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly looked away.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Perhaps... perhaps we can take a walk sometime? Or I can call on you in your home?”
A swell of emotions crashed in Margaret’s chest. Was Mr. Dowdell genuinely interested in her? He seemed like such a nice man.
But how could she know? She had thought Russell was a nice man, too. For about three weeks. And then the nightmare had begun.
“Thank you, Mr. Dowdell,” Margaret said, still facing the street. “But I do not think that would be a good idea.”
“Mrs. Meyers, I understand you might be hesitant. Might it put your mind at ease to hear that any visit I pursue can remain entirely friendly? It is always nice to meet other young people in Pathways, and I should thoroughly enjoy getting to know you.”
Margaret squeezed her eyes shut. Goodness, he was polite.
But kind? How kind was he? How much could she trust him?
Not at all. She could not trust anyone.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Dowdell,” Margaret said. She walked away, leaving him standing there, and though she wanted to look back, did not.
Chapter 4
4. August
Chapter four
August paced around the kitchen of the house he shared with Zeke Davis. Night had set in not long ago, and Zeke burned two candles at the table the men ate their meals at. In front of him, a heavy book lay spread out.
Sighing, Zeke looked up from the book, pushed his spectacles further up his nose, and inspected August.
“Now what is with the pacing?” Zeke asked. “You’ll wear a hole into the floor if you keep on with that.”
“I am sorry.” August took a seat in the chair by the window, crossed his legs, and looked at the dark window. A second later, though, and he’d uncrossed his legs and turned to Zeke. “Do you know Margaret Meyers?”
Zeke frowned. “I can’t say I do, but the name does ring a bell.”
August nodded. He expected as much. Zeke was Pathways’ schoolteacher, and his interactions were mostly limited to those in the classroom. A studious and thoughtful man, he had no interest in gossip. It was literature and the mysteries of the universe that invigorated him.
“She moved here from Whiteridge several months ago,” August explained. “Her husband was killed in a gold coverup. After that, she came here.”
“And?” Zee asked.
“I spoke to her today. For the first time.”
“And, clearly, it did not go as you’d hoped.”
August sighed. He could not stop his knee from bouncing, and his stomach twisted. Margaret Meyers was so beautiful. There was an other-worldly air about her. And yet, her eyes held so much pain. She had been through awful things. Anyone with an ounce of perception could tell that merely by looking at her.
“I asked to call on her,” August explained. “And she told me no. Quite bluntly, I must say.”
Zeke chuckled.
“What’s that about?” August asked with a scowl.
“You are rather upset over this, my friend. So a woman said no to your advances. Call on another one.”
“I don’t want to.”
Zeke tilted his head, his expression softening in the flickering candlelight. “What is special about this woman?”
“She has... been through hard times, Zeke.”
“And you like that?”
“Hard times create character,” August said. “They show how strong a person is. What they are worth.”
Zeke sat quietly, staring, and August wondered if he had said too much. Zeke was not only his housemate, but his closest friend. And yet, still, they did not know everything about each other. Every man had their secrets.
August was certainly no exception.
“If she is not interested in spending time with you, there is nothing you can do about it,” Zeke said.
August chortled. “I was hoping for a bit of consolation.”
Zeke’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile shimmering there. “I am always happy to console you when I can, but you should know by now that any consolation I offer is backed by pragmatism.”
“That it is,” August agreed, his worries over Margaret lifted for a second as he smiled.
“Where does she live?” Zee asked. “What does she do?”
“She works for Charles Bain, living in his home as a housekeeper.”
“She told you this?”
“No.” August hesitated. “She, uh... I learned this at the bakery. From the Aarons women.”
“A great place to collect the local news,” Zeke commented. “Or so I have heard.”
“I think she is afraid of me,” August said. “Perhaps she worries that I will be like her late husband.”
“How so?”
“When we met today, she had a rather... passionate moment. She told me about his cruel ways.”
August thought back to hours before, when Margaret’s cheeks turned red and her brown eyes flashed. The burst of emotion had taken him by surprise, and now he found himself regularly thinking back to it.
She’d been so furious at August for even speaking to her, it seemed. And he knew that many people would turn away from such behavior, but he felt himself drawn to it. Margaret Meyers hurt inside, and he understood that particular brand of pain.
If only she would give him an opportunity to show him that.
August laced his fingers together and leaned forward in the chair. “How do I convince Miss Meyers that I can be her friend? A confidant, if she needs one.”
Zeke’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You want to be her friend? I thought you wanted to court her?”
“Well... ah...” August fumbled in his search for an answer. “I wish to get to know her an
d see where things progress from there. But I told her that our meetings can be merely friendly, and still she told me to not visit her.”
Zeke smirked.
“What?” August asked in exasperation.
“It is merely that even the daftest of women could see through such a remark. You wish to be friendly with her? To call on her and talk about this and that and never entertain the idea of something further?”
“Uh... yes.”
Even as August said it, he knew it was a lie. He was smitten with Miss Meyers. She had brought her claws out, but that did not change his perception of her. She was tough, and he wanted a person like that in his life. Every day in Pathways was so dull, with most of the women caught up in fashion and their gossip. He’d heard them talking outside of church, and he wanted nothing to do with any of that.
August wanted a woman who understood the underbelly of life. A woman who had walked through fire and come out the other side.
Zeke cleared his throat. “I see clearly that that is not what you wish for.”
August leaned back in exasperation. “All right. You have caught me in a lie. I am enamored with Miss Meyers.”
“Already?”
August hesitated. “Perhaps love at first sight is real.”
Zeke laughed. “In Shakespeare’s mind, yes.”
August waggled his finger. “You jest, but I have never seen you with a young lady.”
“I am married to my studies,” Zeke answered solemnly. “And to the expansion of our land’s young minds.”
“As if I needed any reminding,” August could not help but jab.
Zeke smirked, not offended in the slightest. He was confident in his choices and sense of self, and when he said he had no interest in romance, August believed it. For a few people, such a thing had no place in their lives.
“So you are not looking to woo anyone,” August said. “But you are an intelligent man. Certainly, the most educated I know.”
“And?”
“Give me some advice. Use that advanced brain of yours to tell me how to win over Miss Meyers.”
Zeke smacked his lips. “I am afraid I cannot help you there.”
“Why not?”
Zeke removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “She does not wish to be won over.”
A heaviness settled on August’s shoulders, and he stewed in Zeke’s disappointing conviction.
“Don’t look so upset,” Zeke said.
“I cannot help it.”
Zeke’s eyes unfocused, and he took on a thoughtful look. “Then just be friendly with her,” he said. “She only arrived here a few months ago. She is likely still distressed over what happened, even if her husband was an unfavorable man. Give her time to recover her strength.”
August nodded. “That makes a ridiculous amount of sense. Why did I not see that before?”
“Because you are enamored,” Zeke explained. “You said so yourself. Such a state muddles a man’s mind and makes it difficult to think clearly.”
“So it does.” August rubbed his temples. “Now I see why you wish to have nothing to do with women.”
Chapter 5
5. Margaret
Chapter five
“Twice in one week,” Marci Aarons commented as she pulled a loaf of bread down from the racks lining the bakery’s back wall. The smell of fresh breads and cookies surrounded them, and Margaret breathed in deep, savoring the tastes floating in the air.
“Yes,” Margaret answered. “Lulu is busy preparing a supper for some of Mr. Bain’s business associates. She wants it to be special, and she said your bread is ten times better than hers will ever be.”
Marci cocked an eyebrow at Margaret, and it was easy to guess why. Those few sentences were probably the most she had ever spoken in the bakery.
Margaret did not know why she’d taken it upon herself to explain her need for bread. Perhaps she was growing tired of being so distanced from others. Or perhaps her interaction with Mr. Dowdell two days before had left a sour taste in her mouth.
She’d been needlessly harsh with the man, and she regretted it. Especially the part she’d blurted out about her husband’s cruelty.
“How is it working there?” Marci asked, taking Margaret’s cloth and doing the work of wrapping the bread in it.
Margaret started, having nearly forgotten where they were in the conversation. “It is very nice,” she said.
“Good.” Marci smiled, and something about it felt genuine. There was honest warmth there.
Margaret tucked the loaf under her arm, but now that she had engaged in a conversation she was reluctant to depart.
“Where is your daughter?” Margaret asked. “Is she not usually here?”
“She’s taking a delivery to the mayor’s house,” Marci explained. “She’ll be back shortly.”
The door opened behind Margaret, the bell hanging down its middle tinkling merrily, and Margaret turned, expecting Lydia Aarons or a random customer.
Instead, she found August Dowdell.
Margaret’s heart leapt into her throat. At the sight of her, Mr. Dowdell removed his hat.
“Hello, Miss Meyers. Hello, Mrs. Aarons.” He glanced briefly at Mrs. Aarons, but his gaze quickly jumped back to Margaret. “How are you doing this morning?”
“Well, Mr. Dowdell,” Marci cheerily said. “And how might you be?”
“Very well. Thank you.” Stepping up to the counter, he kept his hat at his chest. “I would like half a dozen hot cross buns, please.”
“Having a party?” Marci asked.
“Just a meeting at the bank. Nothing glamorous, I am afraid.” He smiled a bit, and Margaret drank in his profile. Sharp, nice lines. A few freckles on the side of his nose.
Mr. Dowdell’s gaze snuck sideways, and Margaret lowered her eyes. Had he seen her looking at him?
Marci began filling a bag with the buns, and Mr. Dowdell turned to Margaret.
“Lovely day,” he said.
“Rather cold,” Margaret commented.
“Oh, yes, well, nice except for the chill, I meant,” he said, looking flustered.
He was uncomfortable around her. Regret filled Margaret, and an apology formed on the tip of her tongue.
I am sorry about the other day.
Margaret wished she could share the words with him, but Marci’s presence made that impossible. She would just have to wait until they ran into each other a third time. Although, who knew how long it would be before that happened. They’d met twice in one week, but before that they’d gone three months without ever speaking.
“Here you are, then.” Marcie handed Mr. Dowdell the bag, and he paid her.
“Thank you,” he said.
He took a step for the door, then hesitated, casting a look at Margaret. She held her breath in anticipation.
“Have a wonderful day,” he said.
Margaret’s heart sank. Was that all? Had she really been that cruel?
The door’s bell rang as he departed.
Yes, she had been that cruel. She’d wanted him to leave her alone, and he had. But Margaret was not happy. She was never happy.
A slight chuckle filled the bakery.
“Oh, he fancies you,” Marci said.
“Does he?” Margaret was surprised at the excitement in her voice.
Marci scrunched her nose. “Certainly. The man could hardly speak.”
“Which man?” Lydia asked, coming through the door behind the counter. She’d taken her coat off, but her cheeks were pink from the cold.
“August Dowdell,” Marci said before Margaret could so much as decide whether or not she wanted to respond. “He was just in here, staring and shuffling and tripping over his words.”
Lydia laughed. “How sweet! He is a nice man.” Her eyes shone as she looked at Margaret. “Has he called on you? Did he ask you for a sleigh ride? That’s what all the young people do here in the winter. They go around town in twos and fours, riding and yelling. It drives the old folk
s crazy.”
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