by Linda Ford
Mr. Elias nodded. "It sounds to me as if you've had yourself a fine adventure, young fella." Without bending his back, he stood to his feet, setting his cup on the tea table. "Now if you will all excuse me, I must leave." And he marched from the room.
Chastity did not have to listen to know his steps would lead up the stairs and into his room, where he would get his coat and then walk back down the stairs and out the front door. He would be gone exactly one hour and thirty minutes and return to his room until precisely fifteen minutes before the evening meal, when he would once again descend the stairs. The only variable was whether or not he would take a small parcel with him or return from his outing with one.
Emma's dark comments one time had sparked curiosity as to the contents of the parcels.
Mrs. B's fingers fussed at the half-made, variegated-pink doily she had withdrawn from her cloth bag.
Chastity caught the sorrow in her mother's look and swallowed back her own sadness. Mrs. B's joints were daily growing more stiff, and her eyes were no longer able to pick out the stitches as she crocheted. Chastity was certain she worked as much by feel as by sight. The current project was knotted and curled.
Her mother reached out for the doily. "You've made good progress, Ida. This is lovely."
"I can't seem to get the pattern quite right," Mrs. B said, her voice thin. "Could you see what's the matter, Marie?"
Mother held the doily in her lap and quickly pulled out several rows. "I think I can solve the problem." She took the hook from Mrs. B's lap, made a few stitches and gave the handiwork back to the older lady. "It was only a knot."
Mrs. B bent close, examining it as much with her fingers as her eyes. She sighed and lifted her head. "Thank you, Marie. I'm sorry to be such a bother."
Mother patted her hand. "Ida, you are never a bother."
Emma stood up. "I guess I'd better get back to work." She paused in front of Adam. "I think your life sounds real exciting. I wish I could do something like that." Then she laughed. "But since it's doubtful I'll ever get the chance, I'd love to see your pictures."
Adam stood to his feet and smiled at her. "That's what they're for—to give people who can't be there the chance to see what it was like."
Chastity followed Emma. As she started to pass Adam, he murmured, "It's good to see you again."
She stopped and turned to meet his gaze. Ten years ago she was barely more than a child. She narrowed her eyes. What did he remember of her back then?
"Thank you for tea," he said with a grin, as if guessing her thoughts.
"You're welcome," she said and fled to the kitchen.
But if she thought the kitchen would provide relief from thinking about Adam, she had forgotten to take Emma into account.
The girl grabbed her arm and whispered, "Isn't he something? Almost too good to be true."
"Emma! Just because he's been to the Klondike and back doesn't make him exceptional. Besides, what about his poor parents? I wonder how they felt about him disappearing into the wild blue yonder for so long?" She pursed her lips. "How old is Jack Silverhorn? Nine. Ten. Why, I'd venture a guess Jack was born after Adam left."
"And you'd be right." The deep voice behind her almost made her choke. "Furthermore, Ellen was only seven. That's part of the reason I've come back. I wanted to get to know my little brother and sister."
Chastity swallowed hard and forced herself to turn toward him. "Forgive me," she murmured. "I have no right to concern myself with your affairs."
"It hasn't offended me," he said with a chuckle, his eyes shining.
"Matter of fact, I expect I'll be the center of a lot of speculation. And I expect I can handle it."
Emma stepped over to Adam, her face glowing. "I think it's wonderful you've come back. So will everyone else."
"More than likely most of them will think I'm crazy," he said, his gaze never leaving Chastity's face. "Crazy for going, crazy for the work I do, and crazier still for coming home and bringing it with me. Isn't that right, Chastity?"
At this Chastity had to smile. She shook her head. "No, I don't think 'crazy' would be the word most people would use." She pressed her finger to her lips. "Let's see, maybe strange, unusual—" She blinked. Those were the same words she was sure people used to describe her life. "You're right. I think you'll be able to live with it."
He nodded and then turned toward the table. "I'm sorry I dumped your groceries like that." He picked up the sack of oatmeal. "Where do you want me to put this?"
Chastity had been about to say he didn't need to bother, but Emma spoke up. "In the pantry—I'll show you."
Adam followed her. Chastity turned to the pile of rhubarb Emma had flung on the table. It had to be washed, chopped, and hurried into the pies if they were to be baked in time.
After they returned, Emma picked up the basin of potatoes and grabbed a paring knife. Adam paused at the table, and Chastity glanced up to see what he wanted.
"I'm sorry about your mother's accident. Will she be all right?"
Chastity gulped. "I don't know if she'll ever be all right again."
"What do you mean?"
She looked down again, continuing her task as she talked. "She fell down the stairs almost two years ago. She was carrying an armload of washing and didn't realize how close she was to the first step." Chastity took a deep breath. "Doc Johnson said no bones were broken, but he thought she must have torn something inside. Her hip doesn't seem to want to get better."
She shrugged, her fingers trembling as she remembered the first days after the accident when her mother was black and blue and in so much pain.
"I'm sorry," Adam murmured. "I'm sure it's been difficult for you."
Chastity stared at the pies for a moment, breathing slowly, letting peace fill her before she lifted her face and smiled at Adam. "The worst part has been seeing her pain. As for the rest of it—all my life I've been taught God is as close as a prayer and His angels ready to minister to us. It was a thought that carried me through my childhood."
At this Adam nodded.
"But this situation made it more than a teaching. I wouldn't have traded it for anything," she added.
Caught in his blue-eyed gaze, something inside her responded to his unblinking intensity. Not a word was spoken, yet she felt a volume had been said.
"It's as if living makes life real," he said, nodding slowly.
It was exactly how she felt. Life was not chasing adventure or seeing new and exciting things. It was experienced in the living of every day to the full. She tried to make it the motto of her life.
"But—"
He smiled. "I know. You thought I had to roam the edges of the world to find meaning for my life. But that's not how it is. Sure, I want to see and touch those far places. I want to witness the making of history." He shook his head. "But I know that is not where or how life gets meaning."
"So what have you discovered gives life meaning?" Chastity realized she'd been holding her breath so that her words sounded airy.
Emma sat with knife poised motionless over the basin, her eyes wide and fixed on Adam's back. Her surprise was natural. Chastity herself wondered how the conversation had taken such a serious turn.
"That's easy," Adam answered, his expression warming. "Meaning and satisfaction come from inside oneself." He tilted his head to one side. "It's in knowing that all is right with the world because God is in control, and all is right with me because I am one of His children."
Her jaw slackened. Chastity couldn't tear her gaze from the look of peace and assurance in his face. Deep inside, something unfolded as she recognized a faith matching her own.
"That's it exactly," she murmured.
Emma's knife clanged against the basin. "My! To listen to you two, one would think life should be a safe, narrow existence." She grunted. "Adam, I thought you of all people would understand the need for something more."
His eyes lingered on Chastity a moment longer before he turned toward the younger girl. "I g
uess there's no point in my saying there's no place in life for adventure." He grinned at her. "Life would certainly be dull without it. But that's not what I'm talking about." He faced Chastity again. "With or without that sort of thing, peace is found inside."
"Hmph! Sometimes I think there's a tad too much peace around here," Emma retorted.
Chastity had been working as they talked, and now she fluted the edges of the crusts and slashed the tops. She grabbed a pie in each hand and eased around Adam to slip them in the oven. Turning to get the other two pies, she almost collided with him where he stood at her elbow with a pie in each hand.
"Thank you," she half-whispered, glad of the excuse to lower her head and hide her confusion as she slid them into the oven. She closed the oven door, wiped her hands on her apron and straightened a towel on the handle. She had no choice then but to face him.
His expression sober, he studied her face. "You've grown from a girl into a woman." His gaze lingered on her nose, then dropped to her chin before circling back to her eyes. "A fine woman. But in many ways I think you're still the same—serene and inscrutable."
His assessment both surprised and dismayed her. It made her sound like one of Mother's lifeless statues—like the one by the window of the dining room—smooth, cool porcelain.
Adam sighed. "I better get back to the store before Father thinks I've gotten lost." He dusted a speck of flour from his pants. "Thanks again. I'll be seeing you."
He turned and strode out the door before Chastity could pull her thoughts together.
Emma watched her curiously. "Exactly how well did you know Adam?"
Chastity shrugged, busying herself with cleaning up the table. "I barely remember him. He was"—she paused—"oh, probably three or four years older. Of course I knew who he was. After all, it's a small town."
Emma set the pot of potatoes aside ready to put on the stove when the time came. "He sure seemed to know a lot about you."
"I'm surprised he even remembers me."
"You must have done something for him to have such a definite opinion of what you were like."
Chastity scowled as she tried to think of all she knew of Adam.
"He liked to draw," she mused out loud. "I remember him getting into trouble at school because he would waste his time drawing instead of listening." She chuckled. "I do recall he liked to see things real close so he could draw them better. One time he tried to see a beehive closer and got stung rather badly for his efforts."
Emma's eyes grew round. "Ouch."
"He swelled up all bumpy." She stared out the window at the memories from long ago. "Another time he climbed up a tree to look into a bird's nest." She gasped. "I remember now. He fell out of the tree and landed on top of Esther James and me." She giggled. "Esther was so mad I thought she would hurt him. She might have if he hadn't hidden."
Chastity remembered the rest of the incident to herself. Esther had thought Adam ran toward the store, but he had ducked behind the fence. Chastity had seen, but she hadn't told. Later that day, or perhaps it was the next day, he had come and thanked her for letting him escape and handed her a sheet of paper. He was gone before she could look at it. It was a drawing of her—one that made her look grown up and beautiful with her fair hair circling her face and a bouquet of wild flowers lifted to her chin. She had treasured the drawing for years, hoping she would someday be as beautiful as he had made her look. She thought for a moment. The drawing was probably still tucked away among her school items.
Chastity turned away from the window. "I'll clean up the tea things and check on Mother."
Emma nodded. "I'll get this mess tidied up." Already she was heading for the door to throw the vegetable peelings on the garden.
Mrs. B had returned to her room, no doubt anxious to get back to her crocheting.
Mother sat in the chair, head tilted back, eyes closed. She heard her daughter approaching and opened her eyes.
Chastity's heart tightened at the weary lines around her mother's eyes. "Come, Mama—I'll help you to your room. I think you should take a little rest before supper."
"Merci, my dear."
She let her daughter help her to her feet, and together they headed down the hall toward the bedroom. She stifled a groan as Chastity helped her lie down.
"I don't know what I would do without you, Chastity," she murmured.
Chastity pulled a quilt over her shoulders and brushed her hair back from her forehead. Here and there a few silver strands showed up in her mother's black hair, still thick and luxuriant. Again Chastity wondered how her mother could be so dark- haired while she had hair as blond as bottled sunshine. The father she never knew must have been fair-haired.
At one time she had resented her hair coloring. People would touch her head and make comments about it—"angel wings," "goose down." But as she had grown older, people had stopped touching, and her hair had become thick and heavy, no longer flying about her face like thistledown. Chastity had learned to accept her fairness, tying her hair at the back of her neck and, for the most part, paying little attention to it.
She kissed her mother's brow, her hands lingering. Her insides tightened until she could barely breathe. Her mother had already suffered so much pain with her hip.
Please, God, don't let her suffer anymore.
Mother sighed and closed her eyes. Chastity slipped away to the kitchen.
"I'm going to Doc Johnson's and ask him to drop by to see Mother this evening," she told Emma. "Keep an eye on the pies, will you?"
"Of course. Is she in a great deal of pain?"
"She's trying to hide it, but she can scarcely move." Chastity took a trembling breath. "I'm guessing she's undone everything."
"Just when she was getting better." Emma shook her head. "It's too bad. But you run along. Take your time." She smiled. 'Take the 'long' way home. I can manage here."
Chastity laughed. "I know you can." Emma had proven herself capable since the day she walked into the kitchen shortly after her mother's accident.
Chastity stepped into the sunshine, lifting her face to the warmth. She would never have managed running the boardinghouse without Emma's help, not after Stella, the woman who had worked for her mother for years, had walked out in a huff declaring she would not work for a young girl. Although dismayed by Stella's leaving, Chastity had smiled at being described as a young girl, for she felt she was well on her way to being an old maid. She reached the sidewalk, squinting against the brightness of the sky. It was beginning to look as if she would spend her life running the boardinghouse for her mother—doomed to be a spinster for life.
For about the space of a heartbeat, disappointment swelled in her chest. Then she smiled, comforting herself with the assurance that God would work things out for her good.
In Your time, Lord—in Your time.
The streets of Willow Creek rang with summer. Chastity's steps held a little spring as she made her way to the doctor's office. A few minutes later, after leaving a message with Doc Johnson's nurse, she stood on the steps outside his office.
Across the street and up a few buildings was Silverhorn's Mercantile. At that moment Chastity saw Adam walk out of the store, with Jack following him. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but Jack was waving his arms and talking rapidly. Adam ruffled his younger brother's hair and nodded. Together they stepped into the shadowed doorway of the storeroom. Chastity waited a moment longer, but they didn't reappear. Soon she could hear the sound of hammering. Adam must not be wasting any time getting to work on his shop.
Rather than turn her steps toward home, she decided to do as Emma had suggested and take the long way down the side streets past the elegant homes of Willow Creek's prosperous businessmen. She thought the three-story, turreted house and the two replicas further down the street were beautiful. The yards were finely manicured. But in her mind they were not places to spend time dreaming about, and she hummed under her breath as she strolled along the pleasant streets.
She
glanced about her, noting how the flowers were thriving in one yard and admiring the new green trim on a house across the street. She breathed deeply of the familiar scents of lilacs, a freshly mowed lawn and the distant underlying odor of a nearby farm. She had never been more than a few miles from this town in her whole life, and somehow she couldn't imagine why anyone would want to wander very far away.
She turned a corner. Her steps quickened until she neared the end of the block and slowed down. She took two more steps, then stopped, touching the white picket fence and staring at the low white house, surrounded by perennials and low bushes. Tall poplars lined one side of the yard, with a stately spruce forming the backdrop. A narrow veranda ran the length of the house.
After a moment she made her way past the gate to the corner of the fence and turned down the sidewalk. She peered into the backyard, where a stone pathway led to a tiny lattice arbor under which stood a white wrought iron table and two matching chairs. A book lay turned over on the table, a cup beside it.
Her heart beat calmly when she finally turned away, a smile tugging at her lips as she made her way toward the boardinghouse.
Chapter 2
Emma carried in the gravy while Chastity came behind with the potatoes. She checked to see if everything was in place, then pulled out the chair at her mother's right.
As soon as she was seated, Mother took her hand. "Let's pray."
They all bowed their heads, and there was a moment of silence.
They had offered a blessing that way since Chastity was nine years old—when Mr. Brownlee died and her mother inherited the boardinghouse.
At the time, curious about the change in her mother's asking the blessing, Chastity had waited until they were in their own rooms, the rooms where Mr. and Mrs. Brownlee had previously slept, before she asked, "Mama, why did we have to pray like that?"
Her mother sat down beside her on the edge of the bed that had been moved from the upstairs bedroom. "Some of those men at our table would feel belittled to have a woman ask the blessing. This way nobody needs to be offended."