“Says the spider to the fly.”
Linsey brought her to a halt outside the school-yard gate, a mere ten paces from the apothecary. “Haven’t you always been sweet on Daniel?”
“Yes, but—”
“And haven’t you said time and again, ‘If I were Daniel’s wife . . .’?”
“You know I have, but—”
“Then go into his office and pretend to need medical attention.”
“For what? I’m in perfect health.”
“Tell him . . .” As if looking for answers, Linsey studied the empty school yard. “Tell him your arm hurts.”
“But it doesn’t.”
“Act like it does.”
Addie’s brow lifted. “I thought you wanted to be known for your honesty.”
“This isn’t dishonest, it’s . . . creative.” A proud grin brightened her face. Then, in the cajoling tone Addie had come to dread, Linsey pressed her point. “If only you’d have seen him with those children, if you’d seen the care and attention he paid them, you’d feel as certain as I do that Daniel can’t resist a person in need. Why can’t that person be you?”
Oh, Addie hated how easy Linsey made it sound! How plausible. And she hated how tempted she was to go along with such a ridiculous ruse.
But hadn’t that always been the way of things? She balked, Linsey coaxed. . . .
And Addie usually lost the battle because it was easier to go along with Linsey’s harebrained schemes than risk losing the only sense of belonging Addie had ever truly known.
Still, a thread of reason prevailed over her weakening will. “That’s all fine and dandy, but you’re forgetting one important detail. I’m no good at playacting—no, I’m worse than no good; I’m downright horrible. Don’t you remember that summer I had to play Maid Marian’s lady-in-waiting? I practically got booed off the stage because I couldn’t even—Ow! What did you pinch me for?” Addie rubbed the stinging spot above her right elbow.
“Your arm hurts now, doesn’t it?” Without waiting for a reply, she all but dragged Addie down the boardwalk, pulled open the apothecary door, and pushed her over the threshold. “Now, go in there and make that man notice you.”
The string of cowbells attached to an overhead hook jangled at her entrance. Daniel, sitting behind the counter, glanced up from the stack of papers spread out in neat piles in front of him.
Addie remained rooted to the spot, frozen and clutching her books to her bodice like armor, unsure how to proceed. How could Linsey have put her in this predicament? What should she do? What should she say?
This sudden plunge into the role of coquette left her feeling unbalanced and completely out of her element. She’d never imagined she’d find herself any closer to Daniel than the width of Wishing Well Lane. She’d been perfectly content with adoring him from afar, much as she would a priceless painting or an invaluable statue. At least then she didn’t make an utter fool of herself. At least then, he couldn’t reject her.
But, oh, he was so handsome. If there was ever a time when Daniel Sharpe, Jr., hadn’t made her knees weak and her head spin and turn her insides to mush, she couldn’t remember it. She’d been ten years old the day they’d met. And of course Addie could lay the blame at Linsey’s feet for that, since it had been her idea to jump off the rocks at Turtle Point.
With her leg broken in two places, the pain had been unbearable. But the instant Doc Sr. walked into her room with Daniel in tow, she’d forgotten her agony. Even at seventeen, Daniel had been mesmerizing. Straight, silky black hair, a stubborn jawline, mysterious eyes. And as he helped his father set her leg, his soft voice and gentle touch had soothed her faster than any laudanum drops.
From that point forward, not a day passed when she didn’t think of him, didn’t equate him with the peace he’d brought her, and yearn for that feeling again.
The idea that she could be this man’s wife . . .
A sudden attack of nerves nearly had Addie swooning.
“Can I help you, Miss Witt?”
Addie tried. Heavens, how she tried to think of some witty or—at the very least—polite reply. But her tongue seemed swollen to twice its normal size, preventing any sound from issuing out of her mouth. Her brain went to ash. Even the blood decided to clot in her veins.
She simply stood there, staring like a complete halfwit at the most handsome man God put on this earth and wishing she were anywhere but here.
“Miss Witt, is there something I can do for you?”
She swallowed several times, finally managing to croak out, “It’s my arm.”
“I see. Follow me, please?”
Anywhere! she thought. Still, several seconds passed before she could make her feet move. Daniel led her behind the old ice-cream counter, around the register, through a curtained partition, and down a paneled hallway to a room bordered with black-walnut beams and a linoleum floor that squeaked beneath his soles. Addie halted in the doorway, her heart beating thrice its normal rate.
“Have a seat on the table, please. I’ll be with you in just a few minutes.”
Addie stared at the table he indicated with a wave of his hand, scolding herself for her complete lack of courage. For heaven’s sake, he was only going to examine her arm, not ravish her. Yet she couldn’t banish the feeling that this “perfect plan” was not going to turn out as well as her sister predicted. If only she had half of Linsey’s confidence. . . .
But left with the choice of walking out like a coward, standing in the doorway like a dunce, or taking a seat on the table and seeing this plan through, Addie chose the last.
Hesitant steps brought her to a waist-high table covered with a bleached sheet. While Daniel washed his hands in a blue-speckled basin, Addie hoisted herself onto the table and tried to distract herself with her surroundings. She looked around at the certificates on the whitewashed walls. The glass-fronted steel cabinet was filled with wicked looking instruments, whose purpose she didn’t even want to guess.
“You said your arm is giving you trouble?”
Addie nodded, but kept her gaze fixed on a crack in the linoleum as he moved closer. She just couldn’t bring herself to look at him. But heavens, he smelled nice. Clean and manly with a faint hint of—
“Achoo!”
Oh, bay rum. Addie fished for her handkerchief and wiped her nose. She’d always had a embarrassing reaction to the scent. Even now, she felt her eyes water and her lungs swell.
She sneezed again. A flush slid up her cheeks.
“Have you been feverish?”
Only by the grace of God did she manage to shake her head and keep her seat at the same time.
“Are you sure? You’re looking a bit flushed.”
She kept her gaze trained on the button of his vest as the blush intensified. If Linsey weren’t already dying, Addie would strangle her.
“Which arm?”
“My right,” she whispered.
“How did you hurt it?”
Addie stilled. The deception chafed her nature like raw wool, yet she didn’t see any dignified way out of this situation other than to be as truthful as possible. “I just felt a . . . pinch.”
“Well, let’s take a look at it. Would you mind rolling up your sleeve?”
Though his voice was brisk and impersonal, he might as well have asked her to strip naked and dance on the tabletop.
With clumsy fingers, she managed to unbutton the cuff and pull the ruffled sleeve past her elbow. Her hands shook. Her nerves quivered. Tears of guilt and humiliation burned at the back of her lids. Still, she thought she was doing well holding on to her rattled composure.
Until Daniel placed his cool, smooth hand beneath her elbow.
His touch made the room close up like a clamshell. A numbing fog swept through Addie’s brain. And as her muscles lost all control, Addie made a vow to kill Linsey, just before she slithered off the table onto the floor in a dead faint.
Nibbling on a thumbnail, Linsey paced the length of the boardwalk
, doing her best to curb her impatience and failing miserably. What was taking them so long? For the love of Gus, it wasn’t as if she’d broken Addie’s arm!
Another glance through the sheet-glass window displaying a collection of tonic and bitter bottles, a shiny silver manicure set, and a grouping of engraved pictures frames, gave Linsey no further clues than the last time she’d looked inside. A curtain of burgundy-and-green damask behind the ice-cream counter remained drawn shut, blocking off any view inside.
“Well, now, if it isn’t Miss Linsey Gordon, peeping in windows.”
She jumped a foot in the air and slapped one hand to her pounding heart. “Bishop Harvey, you scoundrel, you scared the wits out of me.”
Noticing that his gaze had followed the route of her hand, she dropped her fist to her side. Her nose curled. He smelled of spirits and his eyes were blurry. And God only knew when he’d last changed his clothes. They were wrinkled beyond repair, and the collar of his shirt bore smudges of what Linsey felt certain was cosmetic paint. Wouldn’t the mayor be proud if he saw “our country’s future congressman” now? “You’re drunk, Bishop Harvey.”
“Not so much that I can’t recognize a beautiful woman when I see one.” He moved closer.
She stepped back, more out of annoyance than alarm. For all his faults, Bishop wasn’t a violent man. Just a pathetic one.
“If you’ve got a hankering to peep into windows, be at my place at midnight and I’ll give you something really worth looking at.”
“You are disgusting.”
“And you, Linsey-woolsey, are even more beautiful when you’re riled.”
That did it. She poked her finger into his chest. “Why you horrid, impertinent cad . . . don’t you ever call me that!” Only her family called her by the pet name, and she’d be hanged before she’d allow this pitiful excuse for a human being to sully something she treasured. “I’ve not given you permission to call me Linsey, much less something more personal.”
“Don’t like it? Fine. I’ll call you pet. Or sweet muffin. And you can call me—”
“An undertaker if you don’t find another corner to haunt. I’ve told you time and again that I am not interested in your attentions, and I swear on my mother’s soul, if you don’t leave me alone, Bishop Harvey, I’ll . . . I’ll put a curse on you!”
She spun on her heel and wrenched the apothecary door open, smirking in satisfaction at the pained howl that followed as it smacked into him. She hope she’d broken his dad-gum nose.
Linsey crossed the shop and plopped down on one of the stools bolted to the floor in front of the ice-cream counter. It had been put in long ago, when Mrs. Sharpe was still alive, and Linsey remembered sitting here countless times as a child, watching the woman churn her homemade blends, waiting for that first sweet taste of heaven.
It had been years since she’d eaten ice cream, years since she’d sat at this counter, but she recalled the pleasure clearly. Thanks to Bishop, even that was being denied her. God, but she loathed that man! No, she’d not insult the gender by calling Bishop Harvey a man. He was a toad. No, a worm. No, the slime a worm left behind—
The sudden appearance of Doc Sr. interrupted her thoughts, and brought back to mind the scene she’d witnessed through the open window earlier.
Linsey hoped the smile she gave him didn’t look as strained as it felt. What she’d seen had been personal and private, and frankly, she wished she hadn’t seen it at all. Until today, she’d never had reason to question the relationship between Daniel and his father. Perhaps they didn’t show outward affection, but she hadn’t imagined that they didn’t have at least an amicable relationship.
Linsey pretended interest in the swirling pattern of the counter’s tiles and tried to decide if she should strike up polite conversation or just keep silent.
Luckily Addie emerged from behind the curtain just then, coming to her rescue.
Or so Linsey thought, until she caught a rare flash of anger in her sister’s eyes.
Snatching up her reticule, Linsey fell into step beside Addie, who kept walking right out the door into the street.
“What happened?” Linsey asked.
“What happened? I made a complete fool of myself, that’s what happened! I knew this was a stupid idea. Marry Daniel Sharpe indeed—I can’t even be in the same room with the man!”
“You didn’t make him notice you?”
“Oh, I got him to notice me, all right—after he had to pick me up off the floor and pass an amonia vial beneath my nose to rouse me. Now, if you are finished making me the brunt of another perfect plan, I have a meeting with a parent.”
If Addie could have found a hole deep enough, she would have crawled in and never come out. How could she ever, ever have let Linsey talk her into such a ludicrous scheme? She’d known from the beginning that it wouldn’t work. If only she had listened to her instincts. But she hadn’t. And now—
Oh, how could she ever face him again?
Well, she was done. Through. No more letting herself be swayed by Linsey’s outlandish schemes.
From now on, she would focus soley on what she was good at, what she felt confident enough to handle.
Her children.
Arriving at the double doors of the blacksmith shop, Addie retied her bonnet, brushed the wrinkles out of her skirts, and patted her cheeks. Once she made herself as presentable as she could, she took a deep, restoring breath, then entered the structure to meet with Bryce Potter’s father.
After days of deliberation, she’d finally come up with a way to promote the boy’s talents. The only thing left now was to discuss it with his father and get the man’s permission.
Despite the cool wind and crispness of autumn outside, inside the smithy it felt like the middle of August. Fired coal, hot iron, and horse sweat mingled with the steaming heat radiating from the huge cast-iron box in the center of the barn-like structure. One side of the smithy had been reserved for hay stacks and tack, while a half dozen stalls took up the other side. Horses nickered from within.
Mr. Potter emerged from behind a pyramid of barrels, and Addie’s mouth dropped open. Bare from the waist up, save for a pair of elbow-length leather gloves and a soiled apron, his tanned skin shined with perspiration.
A treacherous warmth curled inside her belly. Her fingers itched to smooth the wild mane of black hair swept back off his brow.
“Miss Witt?”
The sound of her name wrenched her out of the fantasy. Forcing herself to look into his eyes—and only into his eyes—Addie managed to say without stuttering, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all.”
Heavens, he actually sounded pleased to see her.
He stabbed a poker into an ovenlike structure, and orange sparks sprayed the air. He tugged off his heavy gloves and motioned toward an upended crate by a room crowded with saddles and other equipment. “So. What brings you here this afternoon?”
She sat straight-spined and press-kneed on the crate, doing her utmost to ignore the splinters poking through her petticoats—and the man leaning his bare shoulder against a thick support beam.
“I wished to speak with you about Bryce.”
He straightened and alarm streaked across his craggy features. “Nothin’s happened to him?”
“Oh, no, no.” Once he relaxed again, Addie toyed with the cuff of her gloves. She had to be very careful how she presented her observations. The little boy’s future depended on how she approached the man who ruled his life. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager, but neither must she give an impression of indifference. So she settled for plain and simple professionalism. “Mr. Potter, I’m sure you are aware that your son is an exceedingly bright boy. He is merely eight years old and can easily do the schoolwork of an eighth-grade pupil.”
A shy smile of obvious pride stretched across the blacksmith’s face. Addie’s breath caught in her throat at the beauty of the sight, like a mountain kissed by the dawn.
“I’m a simpl
e man, Miss Witt. If he got smarts, he got them from his mama.”
Addie swallowed. Clenching her purse strings, she sought to keep her mind on his words and her mission. “I’m not sure that’s true, Mr. Potter, but his intellect exceeds that of my top five students combined. What I am sure of—and I’m certain you will agree—is that every opportunity should be made available to a boy of Bryce’s obvious gifts.”
“What are you saying?”
Forcing any hesitation out of her tone, she stated, “I feel that Bryce would benefit from a far more advanced education than I can give him. There are schools on the East Coast—”
“Hold up a minute—the East Coast?”
“They are very fine schools, Mr. Potter, much better equipped to cultivate the educational potential of children like Bryce.”
“I’m sure they are. But Horseshoe is our home. I’ve got a business here. It’s not the grandest business, but it’s honest. And me and Bryce get by. Neither one of us has any plans of giving up what we have here.”
“No one is suggesting that you give up your business, Mr. Potter. Many of the schools will room and board their students, right on the grounds. Bryce could come home during weekends and holidays—”
“Thank you for coming by, Miss Witt, but I’m not interested.”
“Surely you can see that his mind is not—”
His steady, obdurate gaze fell on her. “What I see, Miss Witt, is that you are a teacher. It’s your job to teach my boy.”
“My resources are limited. Books are hard to come by, and the funds for new material simply aren’t there . . .”
Addie let the sentence trail off. The stubborn set of Mr. Potter’s jaw and the flatness of his deep blue eyes made it clear that her reasons were of no consequence. And in all honesty, the dearth of proper teaching material was a minor obstacle. They’d held fundraisers before. But books were only as good as the person who read them: her graduate certificate and basic teaching degree were no match for Bryce Potter’s level of intelligence.
“Potter!”
Both Addie and the blacksmith swung toward the doors just as Robert Jarvis burst into the smithy, his face wreathed in excitement.
Loving Linsey Page 7