Carpenter's Inheritance

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  Matt gazed at her for a moment, expecting, waiting for, the pain of lost and youthful love he’d experienced every time he’d seen her for the past four years, not that those times had been often. Nothing happened. That part of his heart was clear, free of an entanglement with her and well past time. Matthew Templin didn’t belong with a Howard of Massachusetts.

  Any more than he belonged with a Bell of Virginia.

  He wished he’d just find a nice farm girl. Meanwhile, caught between the old love and the new, he leaped from the wagon, hitched the horse, and then assisted Lucinda to the ground. She barely noticed his aid as she talked to Samantha, light social banter that came so easily to some people.

  “Did you come calling on me?”

  “I did. Mama wants me to invite you to dinner.”

  “So sorry I wasn’t here. I’m not anywhere near dressed enough for dinner at your house.”

  “I can wait. The coachman is driving the carriage around so the horses won’t have to stand.” Samantha looked at Matt. “Horses shouldn’t stand long, should they?”

  “Not hitched.” Matt took her meaning. He faced Lucinda. “Thank you for the walk, Miss Lucinda. I’ll be on my way so you can get yourself ready for the Howards.”

  “But—” She bit her lip, glanced at Samantha, and then looked back to him.

  His breath snagged in his throat. She wouldn’t dare turn down an invitation from Samantha Howard in favor of going to Gertie’s with him. Never would she risk her social standing and work prospects like that.

  She turned to Samantha, a smile pasted on her lips. “I truly am honored by the invitation, Miss Howard, but I already promised Mr. Templin I’d go over to Gertie’s with him.”

  Matt’s breath whooshed out as though he’d been punched in the middle. Relief. Joy. Apprehension for her sake.

  She had dared.

  nine

  Lucinda set down her fountain pen and flexed her fingers. Perhaps one day she could afford a typewriter. That would make writing so much easier. And when one wasn’t being paid for all this work, the work seemed even more onerous.

  Dear Daddy, how do I get people to pay their bills? She’d written to her father the night before, upon returning from Gertie’s.

  Gertie’s, where she had enjoyed an affable evening with two kind and generous people, not to mention an excellent bowl of chicken and dumplings, perfect for the chilly autumn evening. The warmth of Gertie’s stove, hot food for once, and fresh air from the outing made Lucinda so sleepy that Matthew teased her about having to carry her home with Gertie following to tuck her into bed. Yet once she climbed the steps to her solitary chambers, sleep eluded her. Gertie had mentioned that her cousin had difficulty obtaining the settlement and pension to which she was entitled.

  “Her husband was killed in a tunnel collapse, and the government hasn’t paid her one cent,” Gertie explained.

  “Have her contact me and I’ll be happy to review the case.” The prospect of taking on the Commonwealth of Massachusetts sent a thrill of pleasure up Lucinda’s spine. If she won this case, she would be taken seriously as a lawyer anywhere.

  She dropped her head into her hand. She’d been a fool to turn down Samantha Howard’s invitation in favor of going to Gertie’s for supper. Yet such anguish had tightened the skin around Matthew’s eyes, she hadn’t been able to go back on her acceptance of his invitation. She hadn’t thought of anything but making up for her earlier snobbishness after he had given her such an enjoyable day walking in the fresh country air.

  Samantha hadn’t appeared upset or offended. She merely smiled her sweet curve of lips, patted Lucinda’s hand, and said she would call soon.

  Lucinda doubted she would. She had allied herself with the wrong sort of people. Yet she couldn’t help herself. Matthew, she admitted when she couldn’t concentrate on her letter to her father, attracted her. A look, a touch, a smile left her insides aquiver like she was a schoolgirl.

  So when he came to her office on Tuesday and asked if she would like to have lunch with him at Gertie’s, Lucinda went. All the way down the street, she told herself she shouldn’t. With Matthew beside her, tall and strong and quiet, she was glad she had said yes.

  Yet as they sat at the table facing one another across bowls of stew and plates of warm, fresh bread, her tongue tied in knots and she couldn’t think of a thing to say. That people stared at them didn’t help. A few not-so-quiet remarks brought blushes to her cheeks.

  “So Templin gets the second prettiest girl in town this time.”

  “Helps when he’s the best-looking man in town,” the man’s wife responded.

  Not unkind remarks, but affectionate comments. These people, those who worked hard for their livings, liked and respected Matthew.

  Lucinda liked and respected Matthew. He was kinder and more thoughtful than most of the “gentlemen” who had escorted her to parties and balls, to church and picnics over the years.

  She should be able to talk freely to him. She toyed with her spoon, setting it in her bowl and taking it out to lie on her plate. Then she picked up her coffee spoon and stirred the cream into the liquid, until Matthew’s hand curved around her wrist.

  “I think it’s stirred, Miss Lucinda.” He smiled at her, and suddenly warmth flowed through her, thawing her discomfort.

  “I’m sorry. I—I haven’t spent much time with men in several years. I mean, learning beside them, yes, but socially. . .”

  “Me either—with females, that is.” He removed his hand from her arm.

  Her skin felt cold.

  “I think we communicate—” He glanced out of the front window. “It’s going to snow soon.”

  “I’m afraid of that. In spite of all the time I spent in Michigan, I can’t get used to snow.”

  “I like it. Sledding, skating, snowball fights.”

  Lucinda shivered.

  Matt laughed. Their eyes met, and Lucinda’s insides somersaulted.

  Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. She hadn’t felt like this since her last year in college, when she thought she wouldn’t go to law school but pursue a fellow student instead. He hadn’t returned her affections, and she had decided God had other plans for her.

  Surely, He had plans for her other than this man.

  At that moment, and many, many more to follow, she wasn’t convinced of that. They could talk all of a sudden. Matt was reading Charles Dickens’s Hard Times. Lucinda had read it, but recalled thinking it was only sad, not pondering the depth of the social injustice it illustrated. They discussed it until the café emptied and they realized they needed to get back to their work.

  “It’s getting too cold for walks,” he said at the foot of her office steps. “But Gertie said we can meet in the café in the evenings. She’ll play chaperone.”

  Chaperone, like they were courting. He’d asked Gertie ahead of time, like he thought she might be willing, or at least hoped she would be.

  “I’d like to talk more about books. I haven’t had anyone to talk about them with since my mother died.”

  “You mother?” Lucinda wished she hadn’t sounded so surprised.

  Matt’s mouth tightened at the corners. “When we were reunited and moved here to work for the Woodcockses, she had given her life to the Lord and taken to reading. She gave me my love for books.”

  Lucinda blinked. “Reunited? I think there’s a story here I need to hear. You haven’t lived here all your life?”

  “No. I was born in a mining town in Nevada.” He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “It’s a long story. Will you be free on Saturday afternoon?”

  “Yes.”

  With her cheek tingling from his touch, she would make certain she was free.

  “If the weather is fine, we can go walking. If it isn’t, we’ll go to Gertie’s.”

  Hand to her cheek, Lucinda climbed the steps to her office to plunge herself into work to make the time pass quickly until Saturday. She was lonely, that was all; a single woman in a town
that wasn’t particularly friendly. Clients trickled in, mostly the wives of farmers and workingmen, and the occasional man who had learned she would work out payment arrangements, as Roger Stagpole would not. Lucinda even accepted baskets of eggs and, once, a whole chicken roasted to a turn in lieu of payment for reading a deceased parent’s will and explaining how to transfer the ownership of some land.

  Although people like the Howards spoke to her at church, they didn’t linger at her side and didn’t extend invitations. They certainly didn’t bring their legal business to her. They took that to her competitor, who did not attend church.

  This sense of isolation, of having few people to talk to other than the occasional visit from the Floyd sisters, led to her interest in Matthew Templin. That was all.

  A fine explanation that didn’t account for the way that being near him made her heart flutter and the slightest of touches turned her insides to the consistency of jelly.

  ❧

  Saturday took too long to come. When it did, sunshine and crisp air promised a fine walk. They strolled through the woods beneath nearly barren trees. Leaves crackled underfoot, releasing the sweet, sharp scent of fallen leaves.

  “So tell me about Nevada,” she urged. “It sounds so much more exciting than my life.”

  “I think it might have been exciting,” he began, speaking slowly as though choosing each word with care, “but I don’t remember most of it. You see”—he paused, then took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow—“I was trapped in a mine when I was five. I don’t remember, but I’ve been told I wandered down there while my mother was working. They were digging deep for the silver by then, and I followed some men down. There was a cave-in, and we were trapped for days. When we were rescued, I didn’t remember a thing.”

  “How horrible for you.” Lucinda hugged his arm to her side, realized what she was doing, and jumped away.

  Matt smiled down at her and took her hand in his. “From what I’ve been told, it’s probably nothing I’d want to remember. I grew up on the streets of the mining town until my mother met Vincent Woodcocks and he offered her work back east. She’d reformed by this time, so she was the Woodcockses’ housekeeper until she died ten years ago.”

  “I expect after nearly losing you, she was just as glad to leave the West.”

  “That’s what she said. She said it was right to leave her old life behind and give me a better life and home than what I would have had.”

  “So you grew up with John Paul Daggett.”

  Matthew snorted. “Of course I knew him, but growing up together was hardly how it happened. We weren’t allowed to speak to one another, and we are eight years apart. He, of course, went away to school.”

  “But the Woodcocks were good to you?”

  “They were. They got me the apprenticeship when Mrs. Woodcocks found me repairing a banister on the stairway. I’d been doing things like that for years. I like working with my hands.”

  And such nice hands they were—calloused and scarred, but strong and gentle.

  Oh, she was getting lost indeed.

  Instinct told her to stay away from him, protect her heart for the sake of her work. Protect her heart for the sake of her heart. Yet as November turned colder and wetter, she found herself in Matthew’s company more and more, from the occasional meal at the noon hour, to Saturday afternoon walks or conversations in Gertie’s cozy parlor, to sitting beside him in church. The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him.

  ❧

  The more time she spent with Matthew, the less certain people spoke to her. Samantha Howard, for example, didn’t contact her until a blustery day the week after Thanksgiving.

  Lucinda paced her office, trying to think how best to respond to a letter regarding Gertie’s cousin, Parthina Carr. The Commonwealth wanted proof she’d already given them, and she couldn’t think how to say so without offending the recipient.

  A knock on the door caught her in midstride. She spun, snatched her jacket off the back of her chair, and was button-ing it when the door opened.

  “Good afternoon, Lucinda.” Samantha Howard stepped over the threshold, a covered platter in her hands. “If you’ll make the tea, I’ll supply the food.”

  “That actually doesn’t sound fair.” Lucinda closed the door behind Samantha and led the way to her living quarters. “But I’m not going to turn down more of your mother’s delicacies.”

  Samantha laughed. “You mean the cook’s delicacies. Mama hasn’t cooked a thing in her life.”

  “Well, um, yes.” Lucinda began to prepare the tea. “I don’t think my mama cooked either, but don’t remember that much. I insisted that I know how.”

  “I tried to learn, but my parents wouldn’t allow it.” Samantha removed the cloth from the platter.

  An array of scones, tartlets, and cookies bloomed with golden-brown crusts and deep red berry filling. The aroma set Lucinda’s mouth watering so much she feared she might drool.

  She hadn’t eaten, again.

  With tiny china plates and cups before them, Lucinda and Samantha faced one another across the table, sipping tea and nibbling delicacies, but not speaking. The street noise, carriage wheels and a man shouting at a cat, rose unnaturally loud. Then a wave of raindrops splashed against the window, and Samantha jumped. Her face lost its dazed expression, and she folded her hands on the edge of the table.

  “Now that you and Matthew are courting, I suppose I should tell you about us.”

  Lucinda curled her fingers around her cup. “I’ve heard talk, of course, but what do you mean by ‘us’? I mean, you and Matthew?”

  Samantha sighed, and color tinged her cheekbones. “I met Matthew six years ago. I was eighteen and he was twenty. He was an apprentice carpenter and came to the house to do some work. I was bored here, out of school in Boston, and. . . Well, you’ve seen him. I was susceptible to his looks and kindness and skill. He’s more artist than artisan, you’ve noticed, I’m sure.”

  Lucinda nodded and glanced to the outer room, where one of his chairs presided in turned, wooden splendor.

  “So we started talking when he came to the house,” Samantha continued, her eyes downcast. “Then we started meeting at other times, going for walks, having picnics. Mama was showing signs of her illness then and wasn’t paying much attention to me. Daddy was so worried about her, he didn’t either. And I was too old for a governess, and no one has a companion around here, not even the Floyd ladies, who could probably use one.” Her sweet smile flashed. “If I become more of a spinster, I may have to apply for the position.”

  “You’re so pretty and kind. I can’t see why someone hasn’t snatched you up.”

  “They don’t want to be saddled with an invalid mother-in-law, and, well, my courtship with Matthew rather tarnished my reputation here.”

  “Oh?” Lucinda arched her brows. “Why?”

  “Because of his mother.” Samantha shot Lucinda a sidelong glance. “Do you know about his mother?”

  “Yes. I think people are ignorant and narrow-minded to care who his parents were or were not, and I know it’s society’s way. I barely passed muster for society back in Virginia.”

  “But I thought all lawyers were from good families.”

  “Most are, yes, but not necessarily women.” Lucinda emitted a humorless bark of laughter. “In fact, most good families won’t let their daughters attend something as vulgar as law school, while encouraging their sons to go. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Not particularly.” Samantha laughed, sounding amused. “No wonder the Floyd twins took a liking to you. You’re a rabble-rouser like them.”

  Lucinda shook her head. “Not at all. I just want to quietly practice law.” And someone in Loveland didn’t want her to. “But no more about me. What happened with you and Matthew?”

  “Young love. I think there’s a rather vulgar term for it. My crush.”

  Samantha’s refined voice speaking the slang term brought a smile
to Lucinda’s lips, and the meaning of her words brought a ridiculous pang to her middle. Or perhaps that was just hunger, not jealousy.

  She took up a jam tartlet and nibbled the edge of the crust. “So what happened? Did you end it and break his heart?”

  “My father caught us holding hands and sent me away to stay with my aunts in Maine for the rest of the summer.” Samantha picked up a scone, which promptly crumbled between her fingers making a mess on her plate. “I don’t know what was said to Matthew, but when I got back, he suddenly owned a few acres of land outside town and wouldn’t even look at me.”

  Lucinda stared at her. “You mean, your father bought him off?”

  “Apparently so. I tried to see him again, tried to talk to him.” Samantha blushed fully this time. “I even went to his rooms one evening. He only said he wouldn’t break his word.”

  “And what about his word to you?”

  “What word?” Samantha picked up her plate. “Do you have some place for waste?”

  Lucinda took the plate from Samantha and carried it into the storage room, where a metal canister held the scraps she’d promised to save for Gertie’s pig. Rain pounded on the tin roof and against the door. The wind had picked up and now moaned around the corner of the building, making the steps creak.

  She should have Mr. Shannon look at those steps, make sure they were stable. They shouldn’t creak in the wind, unless nails had loosened.

  Brows knit in thought, she returned to the living quarters and found Samantha calmly chewing a macaroon.

  “Matthew never made me promises,” Samantha continued. “He wasn’t in a financial position to have a wife then, and we both knew it. That all has changed, you know.”

  “I can guess. But I’m not thinking of marriage to him or anyone else. We— Well, I like his company.” And the way he looked at her, the way his touch on her cheek or her hand warmed her, the way he smelled of fresh-cut wood and fresh air. . .

  Samantha sighed. “Matthew Templin deserves a kind and loving wife. He deserves someone who doesn’t care about his background, and whose family doesn’t care about it. I was hoping that person was you.”