by Janet Dean
A loner, Jacob shunned the limelight. She appreciated the care he took with the house, not only to make it safe and functional, but also attractive. He had a patient touch.
Aunt Hilda had possessed that same unhurried way about her. She’d devoted her life to teaching Peaceful’s children, first in a one-room schoolhouse, then in the new larger building in town. She hadn’t earned much money but with the little left over, her aunt had bought everything on this table.
Callie smoothed a slight wrinkle in the white linen tablecloth, letting her gaze sweep over her aunt’s candlesticks, flatware, lovely china. The mahogany table and chairs had come from her aunt, handed down from Callie’s grandmother, a link to her mother’s childhood home, something she cherished.
When Callie arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back, Aunt Hilda’s income went toward providing for a growing child, but she never complained about the sacrifice. Her example taught Callie the importance of giving, of helping others. She couldn’t repay her aunt, but she’d taken in Elise, as her aunt had taken her in. She hoped to make a difference for Elise, for any woman in her situation, by opening her home and her heart.
Even to her lonely neighbor. Mildred had accepted the invitation to dinner before Callie had gotten the words out of her mouth. Knowing the effort it took to prepare food, only to eat alone, she should ask Mildred to join her more often.
To ensure that she hadn’t forgotten anything, Callie let her eyes meander over the six place settings. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, she stepped back, took in the room’s high ceilings, deep moldings, crystal chandelier and gleaming wooden floor. Mere days after she and Martin had moved in, she’d painted the wainscoting white and hung above it the striped navy, pink and white wallpaper. She’d delighted in bringing even this small part of the house back to life.
Strides in the hall announced Jacob’s approach. He stood under the archway, his stance wide, as if maintaining his balance on the deck of a wind-tossed boat. His gaze swept the table, then lifted to her, the expression in his eyes as skittish as a seasick landlubber heading to open water.
“We can’t all fit around the kitchen table,” she said by way of explanation, though he hadn’t asked.
“You have the right to eat where you want.” His tone mild, unconcerned, yet he glanced toward the front door as if he were ready to make a run for it.
She chuckled. “Eating in a dining room isn’t a jail sentence.”
His gaze swiveled to hers. A flash of alarm traveled his face then vanished so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it.
“It’ll be fun. You know Mildred. You’ve met Hal Frederick.”
“I remember.”
“I’ve known Hal’s wife, Loretta, for years. She’s more big sister than friend. We’re exact opposites. She loves to hunt, while I have to work up my courage to kill a chicken for the pot.”
The warm depth of his gaze enfolded her. “I’ll be glad to handle that chore for you.”
Jacob’s kindness rippled through her. Martin had known about her squeamishness, yet rarely was around to handle unpleasant tasks. Jacob made her feel cared for. Protected. Cherished.
Inside her chest her heart rat-a-tat to a wayward beat. All because Jacob Smith looked at her with those burnished jade eyes, suggesting that he cared, suggesting they had a future, suggesting—
She wouldn’t finish the thought.
“I’m sure Loretta’s a fine person,” he said. “That all your guests are. Otherwise, you wouldn’t care about them.”
“Then why look like you’ve been given a life sentence?”
His smile faltered. “You’re imagining that.”
“Am I?” Not waiting for his answer, she moved toward the kitchen and tossed over her shoulder, “Want to help put the finishing touches on the meal?”
He followed her in, the staccato of his footfalls discordant with hers. Nothing about the two of them fit.
She enjoyed people. He avoided them.
She loved God. He denied God.
She cherished family. He cherished solitude.
Even so, Jacob’s tough beginnings and his commitment to her house connected them, along with a huge dose of attraction she didn’t trust. Whenever he was near, that attraction pulled her into a swirling eddy of conflicting emotions. Jacob Smith had a past he avoided and he wasn’t staying. She wouldn’t let feelings rule her head.
Not this time.
In the kitchen, she handed Jacob a knife. “Please slice the pie. I promised Hal apple, but decided on cherry.”
“He’d be a dunce not to appreciate any pie made by your hands.”
“Thank you.” Callie checked the roast, releasing an aroma bringing a growl from her belly. Across the way, Jacob divided the pie into wedges with the precision of someone accustomed to measuring every cut he made.
She bit back a smile. “The vegetables are almost tender. Everything’s ready…except me. I’d better change.”
“That’ll give me time to polish the banister.”
Side by side, they walked to the foyer, Callie aware of the man, towing her to him with a strength that left her shaken.
He looked around him. “Where’s Elise?”
“Upstairs taking a nap. I’ll awaken her so she can get ready.”
When they reached the staircase, Jacob took a jar and a rag out of the sack she hadn’t noticed him carry in. “Beeswax and linseed oil should give it a nice finish.” He set to work.
“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll go upstairs.”
“I’m all set,” he said. “Take your time.”
As Callie climbed the steps, she planned what she’d wear. Perhaps the gray silk dress she’d altered to give more ease in the midriff and Aunt Hilda’s lavaliere. Normally, she saved the pendant for special occasions, but the ruby would sparkle in the candlelight. Her breath caught. Here she was a widow, trying to look pretty for a Godless drifter.
Forgive me, Lord, for such foolishness. Protect my heart from a man who can destroy it.
Jake watched Callie climb the stairs. Gripped by a desire for her to turn back, he waited. Waited for a brief glimpse of her face.
Another step.
A third.
He kept watching, hoping she’d look at him as she ascended the broad staircase, her hand gliding along the banister, totally unaware of his presence below. No doubt she had her mind on last-minute details.
With the rag poised to wipe down the banister, the mixture in the jar at his feet, the tools of his trade—tangible things he could count on, unlike relationships with others, he took one last look.
She pivoted and smiled down at him.
Joy exploded in his chest and spread through every muscle and tendon, holding him transfixed, captured by her beauty—inside and out. He drank in her warmth and goodness the way sun-bleached boards absorbed the first coat of varnish.
Then, in a blink of an eye, she moved out of view.
Every feature and contour of her lovely face was fixed in his memory. The prospect of an entire evening with Callie burned within him. To watch her slim, expressive brows rise and fall. To watch her full lips turn up in a smile. To watch every nuance of her expression transform her face. What a privilege.
But then he remembered that the sheriff would share that table. How long before Frederick discovered the truth? Truth had not set Jacob free. Truth had imprisoned him.
With the sheriff at the table, Jake would have to watch every word he said. But the invitation gave him an excuse for finishing the railing, the little job a convenient ploy to get into the house early.
On silent feet, Jake moved down the hall toward the library. The knowledge that Callie trusted him alone in her house tweaked his conscience, but seeking the woman who gave birth to him wouldn’t bring Callie harm.
At the last door on the right, he turned the knob. Inside the library, he strode to the desk. He’d leave the door open, listen for Callie’s return.
The first stack of newsp
apers looked recent, but over to the side a pile, brittle and yellowed with age, looked promising. He’d start there. Rummaging through the stack, he discovered the newspapers dated decades before his birth.
His hand moved to another stack, yellowed but in better condition. His throat clogged. This stack might hold the information he sought. Flipping through the dates, he located the year 1877. With shaking hands, he looked for May 21, 1877. His birthday.
Or so he’d been told.
A squeak of the floorboards overhead. Jake jerked to his feet. One of the women would soon arrive downstairs. He straightened the newspapers and eased the door closed after him.
He made it to the foyer, grabbed the cloth and polished the banister, revealing the soft glow of the wood’s patina just as Callie made it to the landing.
“Oh, that looks much nicer,” Callie said, descending the final flight of stairs. “Lovely.”
The description fit her perfectly.
As she reached the foyer, Jake got a whiff of roses, the delicate scent she wore. Her dress accentuated her soft curves and the swell of her baby, and then swirled to the hem. The lower neckline revealed the jewelry she wore, the pale skin of her throat, the pulse hammering in its hollows in rhythm with his. “You look…stunning.”
A smile curving her lips, she laid a palm on his cheek and he covered it with his, looking into her eyes. He yearned to cup her jaw, to lift her face to his. To kiss her.
Elise appeared at the head of the stairs. Their hands fell away.
Callie took a step back. “Doesn’t Elise look pretty?”
“Very pretty.”
Elise blushed, appeared ready to deny it, but Callie took her arm. “Help me pour water in the glasses.”
Once the ladies had entered the kitchen, Jake returned to his work. If the woman who’d given birth to him lived in this town, she’d had twenty-three years to claim him as her son and hadn’t. Jake saw no reason why she’d welcome him now. Still, he needed more time to search those newspapers.
His jaw clenched. He couldn’t bear the idea of Callie learning of the woman’s existence, only to see him rejected and humiliated. Nor could he allow his birth mother to be disgraced.
After spending time with Elise, he cared about his mother’s reputation. Getting others involved would stir up a hornet’s nest. Someone would get stung.
Chapter Ten
The candles were lit, the food served, the prayer given. At Callie’s side, Jacob sat stiff in his chair. Even inexperience in social situations didn’t explain his obvious uneasiness.
Talk ceased while everyone tasted the first bites, then resumed as they declared the food delicious. Callie released the breath she’d been holding and thanked her guests.
“I’m glad you’ve stopped wearing black, Callie. It’s never been your color.” Loretta gestured across the table to Jacob. “I’m also glad to have the opportunity to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Frederick.”
“Please, call me Loretta. And whatever Hal has said about me, take it with a grain of pepper.”
Hal chuckled. “Salt is too bland for my wife.”
Winking at her husband, Loretta took a bite of potatoes. “I’m impressed with your skill, Jake. That new porch floor is as solid as Marlene Thompson’s fruitcake.”
Callie snickered. “You’re terrible.”
“You know I’m speaking the truth. Marlene carries that fruitcake of hers to church suppers and carries it home untouched. Wouldn’t you think after all these years, she’d get the message?” She smiled. “Course if she did, folks would probably miss it. Grumbling about Marlene’s fruitcake is as much a Christmas tradition in Peaceful as caroling on Christmas Eve.”
At Loretta’s assertion, Elise choked on her sip of water. “That’s like Papa fussing about Mama’s dime novels. If he stopped, he’d take away half the fun of Mama’s reading them.”
Eyes on Jacob, Hal cut a slice of beef. “Smith, tell us about yourself. Where did you learn carpentry?”
“I apprenticed at a construction company. The owner took me under his wing and saw that I learned more than the basics.”
Though Jacob sounded at ease, the tight look around his mouth verified that he didn’t relish being the center of attention. His discomfort touched a spot deep inside her.
She glanced at Mildred, wearing a beribboned gown, the round neck edged in lace and trimmed with seed pearls. “You look lovely this evening, Mildred.”
“You’re sweet, dear, but truth is I look as overdone as a dried out turkey at Thanksgiving.” She smiled. “But I’m here. At my age, every day I wake up is a good day.”
Elise giggled and the others joined in. Callie could see the tension ease in Jacob’s shoulders. “From what I’ve been reading in the papers,” she said, keeping the conversation off him, “President McKinley should win reelection in the fall.”
“McKinley and Roosevelt make a good ticket,” Jacob said.
“Papa reads the newspapers from front to back,” Elise groaned. “At supper he dishes up the news like stew, chunks of politics, dash of the gold standard, pinch of Spain, on and on until Mama and I have indigestion.”
Callie chuckled. “I take it you’d appreciate a change of topics.”
“I could use some work done on our house, Smith.” Hal buttered his roll, apparently determined to return the conversation to Jacob. “Once you’re finished here, I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look. Maybe you could teach me and those sons of mine to handle some carpentry.”
Jacob shifted in his seat. “Not sure how long that’ll be. Most likely I’ll move on after I’m finished here.”
Not news, but still Jacob’s words banged against her heart. As soon as Jacob repaired her house, he would leave.
“Too bad you’re moving on. Lots of buildings in town could use repairs, new roofs. There’s enough work here to keep an honest man busy for years.”
Mildred patted Jacob’s hand. “Maybe Jake will change his mind. The Granger place over on Harmony could use some attention. The roof leaks like a slotted spoon. After Elmer died, Louise took in boarders for a while, but didn’t earn enough to keep the place up.”
“I arrested one of her boarders for forgery, a man from out of town.” Hal leaned back in his chair and gave a smug grin. “Found his face on a wanted poster.”
Jacob’s mouth flattened. He quickly wiped it with his napkin, averting his gaze.
“A squirrel got in there once. The poor thing tore the parlor curtains and upholstery to shreds,” Elise said. “That squirrel was the talk of the town.”
Loretta grinned. “Louise asked me to trap the varmint. I suggested she just open the door, but she was afraid that the squirrel’s pals might see it as an invitation.”
“Houses in Peaceful have more stories than floors.” Mildred grinned. “Just imagine what we could learn if lumber and plaster could talk.”
The sheriff nodded. “The McGuire place at the edge of town has this big old tree, once used to hang a man.”
Loretta wagged a finger at her husband. “That’s hardly dinner-table conversation, Hal. There’s a difference between trapping squirrels and stringing up a man.”
“I apologize, ladies. Such talk is routine in my line of work. I forget the sensibilities of the womenfolk.”
“No need to apologize on my account,” Mildred reassured him. “It’s only natural you’d remember houses involved in crime.”
Loretta glanced at Jacob. “Any houses with tales to tell where you grew up, Jake?”
“I wasn’t interested in houses until I got into construction.”
Hal glanced at Jacob. “Where’s the construction company where you worked located?”
Lifting a forkful of potatoes toward his mouth, Jacob’s hand stilled. “Bloomington.”
Elise gasped. “Indiana? Callie, isn’t that the hometown of the unwed pregnant girl you said would be arriving soon?”
“Yes, someone in Bloomington knows someone, who
knows someone who knows me.” She grinned. “I’m expecting a letter any day now with the date of her arrival.”
Under his tan, Jacob paled. Callie frowned. If the arrival of someone from where he’d lived upset him, he must have something to hide. His skittish behavior suggested that he’d felt more on trial than carefree, as if he had something to fear from the law.
As Callie walked to the kitchen for dessert, she knew her attempt to give Jacob a nice evening had failed. And worse, all the evening had accomplished was to put a large knot of mistrust of Jacob Smith twisting inside her.
Dinner churning in his stomach, Jake all but applauded when he saw the pie heading his way. Dessert meant the meal would soon end and he could leave. During dinner, Frederick had quizzed him several times, real friendlylike, as if his answers didn’t matter. Jake knew better.
Worse, an unwed mother would soon arrive in Peaceful from the town where he’d been arrested and found guilty. She might recognize his name, even his face, since the story had hit the papers. He had to get out of town before she arrived.
A knock sent Callie to answer the door. “Commodore, come in,” she said, her voice carrying to the dining room.
“You’ve got company. I don’t want to interrupt. Dorothy asked me to drop off this sack of Martin’s baby things. Said to tell you that she aired and washed them.”
“Thank Dorothy for me. I’m glad my baby will get to wear his father’s things. Join us for a piece of cherry pie.” Callie tugged Commodore into view. “You know everyone.”
Mildred smiled a welcome. “Commodore, settle a quarrel for us. Who owned the Adams place when you were a boy?”
Frederick pulled a chair up to the table and gestured to Commodore. “Have a seat.”
As Callie hurried to get his pie, her father-in-law looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he sat. Everyone greeted him, followed by an awkward pause.
“Reckon that would be the Prendergast family,” Commodore said. “John Prendergast was one of the town’s first settlers.”