How could bacon make someone look confused? “I used to pride myself on making people happy with my cooking, but I’ve never seen that reaction before. Perhaps Father was right to discourage me.”
“It’s good. Truly. I just wasn’t expecting . . . this.” She looked at the slice as if expecting to discover something other than bacon in her hand. “What did you do to it?”
“I glazed it with maple syrup.”
“I’m going to assume you didn’t just take up cooking because you’re cooped up with us.” She took another bite and hummed.
Now that was better.
Though talking about himself yesterday hadn’t opened her up as much as he would’ve liked, since she’d seen his drawings, he might as well tell her everything about that stifled part of himself. “Whenever I became too much of a pest, Mrs. Rice sent me down to annoy Cook. However, she wouldn’t tolerate having someone in her kitchen who wasn’t working.” He took a bite of bacon and only wished he’d been able to smoke it like she’d taught him. But at least the crispness was perfect. “I enjoyed it. But once I turned twelve, my father curbed that hobby. ‘Not befitting a man of your station,’ he said. Just like my drawings. My math skills were the only thing Father deemed worthy of my spending time honing.”
“I’m sorry I dredged up that memory for you.” She frowned as if she could actually feel the emotions he’d gone through when he’d realized chasing his dreams was a waste of time.
For some reason, he didn’t want Evelyn to feel anything at all like he’d felt that day. And if mashed potatoes could summon up a smile, then surely he could earn another with the decision he’d made last night. “You said this next year didn’t look promising, but maybe it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking—because I’ve decided to help.”
“Help?” Another smile didn’t appear on those lips, but at least the frown had fled again.
“I’ve decided to become one of those partners Mr. Lowe wants you to find for your women’s home.”
She blinked. Repeatedly.
“Right now would be the time you should let loose one of those smiles you hoard.”
She rolled her eyes instead. “I’m very pleased. I’d told myself I could get a women’s home with or without your help, but I was beginning to think I was only fooling myself.”
“Well, my help might not actually make it happen. You still have to get someone else to join in.” He stared at her bacon, wishing she’d eat it before he was tempted to snatch it away. “And I’m not going to be able to do much, but I can do something. Did Mr. Lowe outline what he required of your business partners?”
At the shake of her head, he continued. “I figured I could do a few things. I could employ a few women to clean my factory after hours. I also thought I’d sponsor a day’s worth of meals each week. Not sure what else I could do. Maybe give some cooking lessons if I’m still around. Can’t promise I’ll be in Teaville long, but I’d still sponsor the meals once I return to Kansas City.”
“All right.” Her eyes livened up a little. “Who do you know who might be swayed by your joining in?”
He shrugged. “You know more townspeople than I do. I don’t know any of them well.”
“Have you met Henri Beauchamp?”
“I take it he owns Beauchamp Flour Mill?” He passed that mill daily on the way from the boardinghouse to the factory.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t. Not much reason for a glass factory and a flour mill to work together.”
She hung her head as if his not knowing one person meant defeat.
“Now, just because I don’t know him doesn’t mean my support might not sway him. But instead of asking this Beauchamp for open-ended support, write up a list of ways he could help. Ask Mr. Lowe what he needs from us at minimum. If you make your requests more concrete, people might find it harder to refuse. And if they can see what I’m doing isn’t completely burdensome, they might be more willing to do a little something themselves.”
She settled back against her seat and looked up at the ceiling as if he’d finally said something right.
At least a little of the peacefulness he’d seen on her face last night had returned.
This woman certainly had a heart for the unfortunate, and he’d do what he could to help. Hopefully he could do enough to get something going in the right direction for her before Father came and shut him down.
15
David walked up Mr. Hargrove’s porch steps. The doctor had released him from quarantine three days ago, after Scott was strong enough to take care of himself, but David had argued to return to help them in the afternoons. If the doctor could come and go, surely he could do the same. Dr. Hiller had reluctantly given him permission, if David agreed to follow a complicated regimen to keep from spreading contagion.
But washing up and dealing with his tainted clothing was no hardship. When the doctor had first permitted him to leave, his heart had actually grown heavier.
Without bothering to knock, David ignored the big yellow isolation notice to the right of Mr. Hargrove’s front door and barged right in. “I’m here!”
Though no one answered, he took his crate of groceries straight to the kitchen. He needed almost two hours to cook his macaroni au gratin, so he’d better start if they were going to eat before bedtime.
Mr. Hargrove had offered to pay him to cook dinner and drop it off, but he wouldn’t enjoy it half as much if he wasn’t with them. Not that he could have used the boardinghouse kitchen anyway.
Without waiting for Mr. Hargrove, he filled a large pot with water, put in a generous amount of salt, and then put it on the stove to boil.
David fished out the candy from the crate and headed to the sickroom. Scott hadn’t been interested in eating much, but what child could resist sugar?
After a slight tap on the door, David poked his head into the room. “How are we doing?”
Scott smiled, and Evelyn put down the book Mr. Hargrove had started reading to the boy last night.
“I’ve got something for you.” He walked over and handed Scott his special purchase.
Immediately when he opened the small paper bag, Scott’s face brightened behind his flaking skin. He pulled out one of the striated candies with one hand while scratching his cheek with the other. “Can I have one now?”
“It’s ‘may I have one now,’ and you should wait until dinner.” Evelyn grabbed the hand rubbing his cheek. “And stop scratching.”
She gave Scott a look he must have gotten quite used to over the past several days, since all he did was frown back at her.
David tried not to chuckle at the glaring match going on in front of him. “Since dinner’s going to be a while, a piece of candy won’t hurt his appetite.”
Evelyn’s narrowed eyes turned on him.
He’d already figured she’d be against it, but he’d chosen his candy wisely. “They’re licorice allsorts. Licorice is medicinal.”
“And the sugary coconut parts?”
“Why, I think all medicine should contain sugary coconut parts. People might be more inclined to take it.” He plucked one of the circular candies from the bag and folded it into Evelyn’s hand. “My former nanny always said licorice could cure all sorts of ailments, even grouchiness. Not that she ever had to cure me of that, since I was a perfect angel.”
Her lips wriggled with a suppressed smile. So close.
“Ah, there you are, David.” Mr. Hargrove hobbled in, making the tiny room overcrowded in an instant. “Did you get a ham?”
He reluctantly let go of Evelyn’s hand. “No, but I got fresh catfish from a kid selling his catch that I’ll fry up. Better get to it.”
Mr. Hargrove only moved to the side of the room to let him pass. “I came to relieve Evelyn from reading, but should we wash up instead?”
“It’ll be a while. I’m sure White Fang would love to keep Scott company until then.” He winked at the boy before heading back to the kitchen.
Befo
re he’d even started cleaning the fish, Evelyn’s hushed footfalls registered behind him, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. She’d not bothered to wear shoes for nearly a week now.
“Do you need help?”
He’d love to have her company, but what could she do? “That’d be nice. Maybe you could grate the cheese?”
While she washed up, he broke the macaroni sticks into short pieces. He would have started some banter, but the contemplative look on her face kept him from doing so. Could he hope she’d sought him out for something?
It certainly would be nice if she did. She only talked to him when he spoke first or if she needed help with Scott. He’d gotten occasional glimpses of what she must be like behind the wall of propriety she hid behind, but she’d not completely warmed up to him. Mr. Hargrove, however, had fast become like the father—or rather grandfather—he’d always wished he had.
So many of his friends back home were business associates, which meant they were all under Father’s influence. He had a few friends at his home church, but they weren’t deep relationships. Perhaps his wealth and status in Kansas City had created an invisible barrier he’d not recognized.
Evelyn took down the bowl and grater from the cupboard. “So Scott’s maybe a day or two away from being able to leave.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” He stopped plopping the noodles into the water that was now roiling. He put a saucepan onto the stove and spooned in the butter to let it soften while they waited. “I was afraid he’d be here longer, considering how little he seems to get out of bed.”
“He’s only staying abed for Mr. Hargrove. Though Scott enjoys listening, Mr. Hargrove is having such fun reading aloud Scott says he doesn’t want to ruin the old man’s fun—especially because he took us in when he didn’t have to.”
Pretty insightful for a boy of twelve with his background. “That child’s going to turn out plenty fine.”
“I hope so.” Leaning against the counter with her hands folded in front of her, she stared out toward the parlor instead of grating the cheese, remaining silent as he started cleaning the fish. The few glances he caught of her might have rivaled the drawing he’d made of Hargrove for wistfulness.
“I’ve been thinking . . .” She repositioned herself as if uncomfortable. “What do you think about me asking Mr. Hargrove to keep Scott permanently?”
David set his knife down. “I thought the boy wanted to go with you?”
“He does, but I’m thinking it might be better if he lives here. Mr. Hargrove could use the company, and—”
“Mr. Hargrove’s an old man.”
“Street children are generally fending for themselves by age six. Besides, once Scott’s over his illness, he won’t need physical help. He’ll just need a roof over his head and love.”
“Doesn’t the orphanage provide that?” David washed his hands—it wasn’t as if he needed the fish ready any time soon.
“Well, yes. But I’m afraid Scott only wants to go because he believes I’ll be there forever. If he were to get attached to Mr. Hargrove and stayed with him, then when I left the orphanage, he wouldn’t be disappointed.”
David dried his hands, staring out the picture window at the trees starting to turn color. She’d be leaving soon enough to disappoint Scott? The only reason she’d give up her orphanage position was likely for a family of her own.
She was no longer staring straight ahead but rather at her fingernails.
Considering she wasn’t acting excited, the man she’d decided upon must not be willing to give up his career for the orphanage or take on a child like Scott.
He’d heard of men who sent their stepchildren to boarding schools or paternal relatives upon marrying. If some could do that to the children of their new brides, then it would be a rare man indeed who’d adopt the by-blows of prostitutes, regardless of his new bride’s love for orphans.
Would he be willing to adopt a street child?
He knew exactly how Father would answer that question for him.
Evelyn turned to look at him, her eyes questioning.
What had she asked again? Oh, yes, Mr. Hargrove. “I don’t know when you’re expecting to get married and leave the orphanage, but Mr. Hargrove must be over eighty years old. He may not be alive any longer than however long you’ll be at the orphanage. Scott might have to deal with losing someone before he’s comfortable in his new home either way.”
Strangely, she smiled at him. But as much as he’d had fun coaxing little smiles from her lately—the count was now three actual smiles and five almost smiles—he didn’t want to count this one.
The thought of her getting married sure wasn’t making him want to smile.
“Who said I was getting married?”
So the smile had been one of amusement or incredulity? “I’m sorry.” He blew out a breath and forced himself not to explore the reason his lungs suddenly worked better. “I just assumed marriage was taking you away from the orphanage, since you seem pretty driven to work there.”
“Oh, I’ll help at the orphanage, one way or the other, but you’re wrong about me leaving those children to get married. That’s something that will never happen.”
Well, if that wasn’t the darndest thing—his lungs cinched up again.
Mr. Hargrove was right—this woman was dead set against suitors. What was so wrong with men she’d not even consider one?
“But my parents won’t be able to work there forever. Once my parents leave, Mr. Lowe will replace them with another couple, and I can’t be certain I’ll be able to stay on. And I certainly have never been able to save enough money for anything important, let alone enough to keep a child. Besides, Mr. Lowe won’t allow a child to be adopted by a single parent. I wish I could . . .”
He stirred the macaroni noodles to keep them from clumping against the bottom of the pan as she talked on, but his ability to focus on what she was saying was hindered by what she’d said about never getting married. Though it was unusual, what did it matter if she didn’t get married? His aunt had chosen to be a spinster and had remained perfectly respectable. But then, his grandfather had left her so much money she’d been given the freedom to live as she pleased.
Evelyn wasn’t anywhere near that well-off. Did she have a huge inheritance coming from some far-off relative?
She shrugged at whatever it was she was saying, picked up the spoon he must have laid down, and started stirring the noodles for him. “I will certainly do whatever I can, but I can’t ignore the possibility that . . .”
She kept talking while he watched her hand stir. Had he ever met a single woman of little means who wasn’t pursuing marriage? He couldn’t think of any he knew who hadn’t subtly, or unsubtly, let him know she’d be willing to marry into the Kingsmans’ wealth.
Perhaps that was why Evelyn was so confusing. She wasn’t the least bit subtle about being completely uninterested.
What would he have to do to get her to change her mind about marriage?
Wait. What was he doing thinking that?
Evelyn set down his spoon. “I might not be able to convince him—or whoever he might hire—to keep me on. So if that happens sooner than . . .”
He blinked as he tried to focus on her words. What was she talking about now? His thoughts had gone haywire.
He couldn’t move to Teaville, take over an orphanage, adopt a mansion full of urchins, or anything else that might entice Evelyn to consider him. And why was he thinking about marrying her anyway? No matter how at odds he was with Father, he’d not leave one business for another he wouldn’t enjoy. An orphanage was not—
“Did you hear me?”
He blinked.
She was staring right at him.
Stepping back, he ran his fingers through the hair at the base of his scalp. “I heard you. . . . I was just thinking about it.” Sort of.
“Well then?”
She was waiting for some kind of answer? Was she waiting on his thoughts about her pred
icament or Scott’s? “What is it you wanted to know, exactly?”
She just shook her head as Mr. Hargrove’s cane thumping grew louder behind them.
“Scott’s asleep, and so was my leg.” Mr. Hargrove groaned as his stiff leg dragged behind him. “I needed to get out here before it failed to get me to the dining table. Don’t want to miss dinner.” He stopped inside the doorway and looked at them. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Uh, no.” David searched for the strainer. “But it’s going to be a while, sir.”
Evelyn sighed and moved toward the table in a slump.
He wanted to slap himself. Here she’d actually wanted to talk to him and he’d let his stupid mind keep him from listening—which might have gotten the kind of interest from her he’d wanted.
Or maybe he didn’t want.
“If dinner’s going to be late, how about some Chinese checkers?” Mr. Hargrove awkwardly let himself down into a chair.
“Sounds good to me.” Evelyn went into the hallway to retrieve the game they’d played most every night since Scott had taken a turn for the better.
David had never had so much fun with a silly game. He and Hargrove had talked about all sorts of things as they moved around marbles, from lighthearted to serious topics. And though Evelyn only joined the conversation occasionally, she’d played with a competitive spirit and even chuckled a time or two. He’d never felt so free to forget all his business woes and problems as he had his evenings here at Hargrove’s.
Maybe that was why he was latching onto Evelyn. She was part of the tranquility he’d always craved.
Perhaps she was just meant to be a wonderful memory before he had to return to the grind of real life. If she was to be anything more . . . Well, he hadn’t the time for pursuing anyone. If things were meant to be, God would have to make it so.
16
With Scott tucked under her arm, Evelyn swayed with him in the back of the wagon on their way to the mansion. Luckily, her parents had invited Mr. Hargrove to dinner to thank him for his hospitality; otherwise David likely would have insisted she ride up front.
A Love So True Page 12