by Jody Hedlund
“There must be someone else now.”
For a second he was tempted to boast about some of the women in the community who had pined after him, like Lucinda Turner. But what purpose would that serve? Was he hoping to elicit more of Sophie’s jealousy?
“I’m not interested in anyone,” he finally said.
Sophie’s eyes seemed to fill with relief. But before he could read her face further, she leaned in closer and ducked her head. “Now that you have your own place, don’t you want a wife to help you?”
Wisps of her hair brushed his cheek, the tendrils as soft and smooth as the silk under cornhusks. Her breath was near his chin and so warm. They danced close enough that he was suddenly too aware again of how grown up she was, how womanly. All it would take was a tiny amount of pressure with his hands at her hips to draw her closer so that her body would touch his, so that he could feel the soft sweet pressure of her.
Her lashes lifted, revealing a blue that had the power to pull him under like a strong riptide. From the widening of her pupils, he suspected that she could read his thoughts or perhaps see his desire, which was surely written all over his face.
“So do you?” she whispered, skimming her fingers along his shoulders.
“Do I what?” he whispered back.
“Do you want a wife?”
“Maybe someday.” Even though he told himself he’d never get married, at the moment he couldn’t fathom why he’d ever been so opposed to it. How had he made it this long without a woman in his life, and why had he ever thought he could get by without one? He longed for companionship, someone with whom he could share his life.
“Why not now?” Her thumbs brushed his neck, against his pulse, which had begun to throb with the desires he’d pushed aside for too long. He was a man, not a saint. And with this beautiful creature in his arms, he could think of nothing he wanted more than a wife.
As if sensing his desire, she slid her hands to the curls that hung over his collar. The touch nearly brought him to his knees. He basked in the sensation of her closeness, of her fingers in his hair, of the slow intimacy of the dance.
He wished they could be alone, especially as he became conscious of Euphemia’s eyes upon them, of the other dancers sending glances their way, and of Lyle glaring at him from a distant corner, hurt darkening his countenance. He stopped dancing with such suddenness that Sophie bumped against him, only making him aware again of her body.
“What’s the matter?” she asked with all innocence, having no idea the effect her merest touch had upon him.
He grasped her hand, wound through the dancers, and tugged her along after him toward the door. He didn’t know where he was going or why. All he knew was that he was burning up, that he had to get out of the barn, but that he didn’t want to leave her behind.
She didn’t resist as he stalked out into the darkness that had fallen. She raced along after him, trusting him, even though she probably shouldn’t since he didn’t trust himself. He wanted to pull her into the shadows of the barn, like the couple he’d seen earlier. He wanted to slide his hands down her back, draw her as close as he could, and then take possession of her lips.
The temptation was so strong that he moved to the paddock fence post where he’d perched earlier in the evening and grabbed onto it. He was afraid of what he’d do if he didn’t find a place for his hands.
The cool night air hit his overheated face, slapping him, waking him up, and reminding him of who Sophie was—the lost sister of two of his dearest friends. Maybe he could flirt with other women at barn dances and steal a kiss or two in the shadows, but he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that with Sophie. It just wouldn’t be right.
He had to get ahold of himself.
“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, standing beside him.
How could he explain the battle waging inside him? He was too embarrassed to admit his reaction to her, a reaction that went beyond the bounds of friendship, one that was taut with more longing than he’d felt in a long time—if ever.
He shouldn’t be feeling this way about Sophie. Sweet, little Sophie. He shook his head. The problem was that he’d gone too long without real companionship. And now he was like a famished man, ready to devour a woman at the first hint of attraction. But he couldn’t say that to Sophie, couldn’t chance scaring her away with his inappropriate desires.
“Reinhold?” Her voice wavered with a hint of anxiety.
“I’m all right.” What would Elise think of him at this moment if she’d been here to read his thoughts about Sophie? She’d probably slap his cheek and tell him to go home.
That was where he needed to go. He’d stayed at the party too long. “I should get going, Sophie.”
“Did I do something to offend you?”
He glanced at her sideways. She was close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her arm. In the darkness, her eyes were wide and luminous. And too appealing.
His grip on the wood rail tightened. “No, you haven’t done anything to offend me. It’s not you, it’s me. I need to keep my thoughts from wandering where they shouldn’t go.”
“Thoughts about what?”
Her breathy question set his heart racing again.
She touched his arm, then skimmed her fingers down its length.
He pushed away from the fence, away from Sophie, away from the temptation to treat her as anything other than his friend.
“Good night, Sophie.” He turned away from her and strode toward his wagon without a glance back.
Chapter 12
Sophie belly-crawled toward the back door, trying not to think about the hordes of beetles and spiders and other bugs she was encountering. In the darkness of night, she couldn’t see the insects. But she could hear them clicking and gnawing, their noises filling the night air. And she could feel them on her face, in her hair, and under her skirt.
She swatted at a buzzing near her ear and brushed at a tickle on her cheek. She stifled a shudder and then breathed out in relief as she made contact with a dry leaf instead of a spider.
“Just think about seeing Olivia and Nicholas,” she whispered to herself for the hundredth time since she’d started across the Ramseys’ backyard.
She’d crouched in the shrubs for hours until every light in every window had finally been extinguished. Even then, she’d waited for another hour—at least what felt like an hour—before she’d started making her way to the house, to Nicholas and Olivia, and to being together again.
While waiting, she’d tried not to think of Reinhold and the barn dance from last night. But the memories taunted her. She was giddy when he’d approached her and swept her away from Lyle. The determination on his face had made her pulse thrum with a new melody, a tune that sang out that Reinhold had wanted to be with her. He hadn’t once looked at the other girls, had hardly taken his eyes off her, so that by the time the evening was almost over she’d been floating like puffs of smoke.
Her Reinhold—as Euphemia had called him—had spent all evening with her. If she’d once admired him for his charm and the tender way he’d always regarded Elise, it couldn’t compare to how much more she liked his attention upon herself instead. If she’d once thought him handsome, it couldn’t compare to how much more striking he was to her now. If she’d ever thought she felt anything with Danny or any other boy, it couldn’t begin to compare with the depth of feelings Reinhold stirred in her.
The truth was, her past admiration for Reinhold hadn’t needed much nurturing to spring to life. But the other truth had become all too clear. Reinhold wasn’t planning to change his view of her. He wanted to keep her at arm’s length as Elise’s little sister—even though she’d clearly seen the appreciation, even the longing, for her as a woman.
Maybe she’d been too bold with touching him in those last moments together. Maybe he thought she was a hussy. And maybe she was. She’d allowed Danny to be overly familiar with her, just one of her many faults.
She couldn’t say exact
ly what was going on in Reinhold’s head. But she’d realized at the moment he’d walked away from her that he was sending her a message. He had no intention of letting anything happen between them other than friendship.
“I don’t care,” she told herself every time she replayed his departure. “He has his life, and I have mine.”
Right now, her life consisted of getting Olivia and Nicholas away from the Ramseys and then hopping the next train out of Mayfield. She couldn’t let her growing feelings for Reinhold stop her from her first priority and what she needed to do tonight.
The pressure to see the children had been building since the failed attempt with Euphemia earlier in the week. After missing out on seeing them, Sophie had anticipated talking to both of the children that morning at church as she had the previous Sunday. But only Nicholas had come to the service with the family.
His little face had been pale, without any of the color she would have expected from someone playing for hours out in the sunshine and fresh air. The dark circles under his eyes were the telltale signs that he wasn’t sleeping well.
All throughout the church service, Sophie had worried over Olivia and what had become of the girl. And her heart ached at the thought that Nicholas was having a difficult time adjusting to his new home. Maybe he wasn’t able to sleep without her stories to lull him or without her soothing hands to calm him when he awoke at night. If only she could talk to Mrs. Ramsey and give her a few tips.
As soon as the reverend had spoken the last word of his lengthy benediction, Sophie had jumped up from her pew. However, the Ramseys were already gone. By the time Sophie made it out of the church, the Ramsey wagon was bumping down the dirt path out of town.
She hadn’t cared who was watching or how improper it was for a young woman to run on the Sabbath. She’d chased after the wagon and called a greeting to Nicholas. He’d strained to stand up and talk to her, but the Ramseys’ daughter, Rachel, had pulled him back down.
“Where’s Olivia?” she shouted.
“She’s just fine,” Rachel had called with a cold stare she’d apparently perfected from her father’s example. “She’s a little sick this morning, that’s all.”
Sophie had been nearly inconsolable. That afternoon when the dinner dishes had been washed and put away, Euphemia asked Gavin to drive Sophie over to the Ramseys’ to pay the children a visit.
Mr. Ramsey had met her at the front door. Once again he’d insisted no one was home and then asked her to leave. The longer she’d stood and argued with him, the more adamant he’d become, until at last he’d stepped outside, closed the door, and pointed his rifle at her.
Gavin pleaded with her to leave until she’d finally climbed up onto the wagon bench and allowed him to drive her away. All the while back to the farm, she’d silently fumed, and her resolve to return had only strengthened.
After she’d finished helping Euphemia with the evening chores, she managed to sneak off without anyone noticing. The walk had taken almost two hours since she’d had to stop and hide several times while wagons had passed by. But she’d made it and had hidden in the overgrowth at the back of the house, waiting patiently for everyone to finally go to bed.
This time she wasn’t just visiting. She was getting Olivia and Nicholas and running far away. And she wouldn’t let anyone stop her, especially Mr. Ramsey.
As she reached the back door, she raised herself slowly to her knees and swung the door partway open. She’d listened at the back of the house long enough to know that the door squeaked just before it reached its full capacity.
She crawled inside and gently closed the door behind her. Without rising, she crept on her hands and knees through an immaculate kitchen. Smoldering, banked coals in the stove gave her some light, enough to see that the Ramseys kept their home as spotless on the inside as the outside.
As she passed into the hallway and made her way to the bottom of the stairs, she hoped no one would be able to hear the soft thump of her knees against the hardwood floor. With every creaky step she ascended, she held her breath, waiting for Mr. Ramsey to storm out of his room but praying desperately he wouldn’t. She knew she had no right to pray. Even so, the whispered petitions tumbled out.
When she reached the top, she paused and studied the doors and tried to recall who was in each of the rooms. From her hiding spot in the brush, she’d attempted to gauge where Olivia and Nicholas’s room was located. She guessed it was the one on the west end in the rear of the house. The lights there had gone out first. But she couldn’t be entirely certain and knew that one wrong move would put her whole plan in jeopardy.
Hardly daring to breathe, Sophie crawled down the hallway. From what she could tell, there were three rooms—two smaller ones that took up the back of the upstairs, and a larger room at the front.
Her knees ached and her chest constricted, yet she didn’t stop until she reached the final door. Once there, she pressed her ear against it and listened for any sounds that would confirm that the room belonged to Olivia and Nicholas.
Without hearing anything, Sophie turned the handle slowly. It opened easily, and she peeked through a narrow slit to see who was inside. The room was too dark to see anything, but at a familiar sniffling sound, Sophie opened the door further.
A sudden sharp intake told Sophie that Nicholas had heard the door open and that she needed to reassure him before he cried out in fear.
“It’s me,” she whispered. “Sophie.”
He gasped, and his bed creaked with sudden movements.
“We have to be quiet.” She scrambled in and closed the door behind her. Before she could catch a breath, Nicholas was already out of bed and had launched himself at her. He snaked his arms around her neck and buried his face against her chest.
She wrapped him in her arms and for the first time in two weeks felt whole again. She pressed her face into his hair and breathed him in. This was her baby, her boy. And she loved him more than her own life. That’s why she’d been willing to give him up to a family, a small voice inside reminded her. That’s why she’d let him go, so that he could finally have a stable home, loving parents, and a better life than she could give him.
If Nicholas reassured her that he and Olivia were happy, she’d walk away. She’d hug and kiss them both and then she’d leave. She’d do what she had to for them, even if she had to have her heart ripped out all over again.
But if they were even the slightest bit unhappy, she wouldn’t hesitate to take them and run.
For long moments, she rocked back and forth, hugging Nicholas and letting his sweet embrace soothe the ache in her chest.
“I miss you.” He pulled back and sniffled. “Why haven’t you visited me yet? I’ve been waiting and waiting.”
“I tried,” she whispered, “but both times I came, Mr. Ramsey told me you weren’t here.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy him, and he relaxed against her, tilting his head back and allowing her to brush his hair from his face. His cheeks were damp from tears.
The realization that he’d been crying tore at her. She hugged him tighter. “Do you like your new home and your new mommy and daddy?”
His thin shoulders shrugged with a nonchalance that reminded Sophie of the way she responded all too often. Had Nicholas learned that from her?
“Tell me the truth, Nicholas,” she said, smoothing his forehead and trying to see his expression in the darkness.
“My mommy is nice,” he whispered. “But I miss you and Ollie.”
“What do you mean you miss Ollie?” Sophie’s heart stopped beating. “Where is she?”
“In the attic.”
A pounding on the door jolted Reinhold upright from his bed. The wool blanket he’d covered himself with fell away. For a moment he stared around the bedroom shrouded in darkness and blinked, trying to orient himself and figure out what was going on.
More rapid thudding against the door prodded him to his feet and had him reaching for his trousers from the footboard where h
e’d discarded them.
In the room adjacent to his, he heard Jakob’s bare feet slapping in hurried steps across the floor.
With one leg half in his trousers, Reinhold threw open his bedroom door and started down the steep narrow steps. “Who’s there?” he called as he hopped into his other pant leg and jerked the trousers up.
“It’s me, Lyle.”
Halfway across the front room, Reinhold froze. He hadn’t spoken with Lyle since the barn dance. He didn’t go to church earlier today. He’d made up an excuse and declined Euphemia’s invitation to supper, even though a sharp longing to talk to Sophie had swelled inside his chest until it had nearly hurt.
Reinhold glanced out the window at the moon and took note of its position in the sky. He guessed he’d been asleep for an hour or two. It was still early.
Why was Lyle here now, at this hour? Maybe he’d drunk one too many mugs of cider and decided to confront Reinhold about stealing Sophie away from him at the dance last night. In that case, Reinhold was in trouble. Lyle was a big man and a strong fighter. They’d wrestled for fun in the past, and Lyle hadn’t been easy to pin down.
“What do you want?” Reinhold slipped his suspenders over his bare shoulders. Jakob’s footsteps pattered on the floor behind him, and Reinhold held out a cautionary hand to motion the boy back.
“Mum sent me to fetch you.” Lyle’s sentence was muffled against the door.
“Why?” Reinhold approached slowly.
For a long moment, Lyle didn’t respond, and Reinhold held himself back warily, suspecting he’d get a fist in his gut the moment he opened the door.
“Mum thinks you’ll be able to help.”
“Help with what?” Reinhold stood on the opposite side of the door, close enough to hear Lyle release a weary sigh.
“It’s Sophie. Mum thinks she ran away.”
Reinhold’s blood chilled. He fumbled with the handle, suddenly not able to get the door open quickly enough. He practically tore it from its hinges as he swung it wide.
The moment Reinhold stood in front of Lyle, the big man roped his arm around Reinhold’s neck and put him in a headlock so tight it nearly strangled him. “Where is she?” Lyle yelled, yanking at Reinhold. “Hand her over now.”