“My guess is that’s a Hahpuh’s Weekly in his hands.”
“Yes.”
“My brother wouldn’t read anything else.” He offered her a smile. Elizabeth tried her best not to think of Jeremiah’s handsome dimples, but she was certain David had a matching pair beneath his mustache and chin whiskers. Her throat tightened.
“Mother wishes to invite you to attend Sunday services,” she announced.
“Oh? Well, thank you. I would be pleased to attend services with you.”
“Not with me,” she quickly corrected. “With Mother and Trudy.”
The sentence hung in the air for several seconds.
“Oh,” David said finally, looking somewhat disappointed. He took a swallow of the lemonade. For whatever reason, Elizabeth just stood there, sketchbook once again pressed to her chest. After another moment of awkward silence, he told her about his newest assignment.
“My editor wants me to do a series of articles on the slave vote.”
Her stomach immediately knotted. She knew he and Jeremiah had strong convictions concerning the subject of slavery. Their father was a well-respected Boston minister who preached against the institution repeatedly. What would he and his family think if—? She pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on what David was saying.
“Peter wishes for me to tell all sides of the story. Even that of a slave’s perspective. I can hardly wait to do so. It could be an opportunity to influence the future for good.” His excitement was building with each phrase. Elizabeth had rarely seen such emotion from him. He had always been so somber, so subdued at the hospital.
“You know,” he then said, “good sketch artists are always in demand. In fact, we are in need of a few at the Free American.”
Sketch artists? She wondered where the conversation was going.
He took another sip of lemonade. “Why don’t you come with me while I gather information for my articles? Draw a few scenes. I’ll pass them on to Peter. If he likes them, not only will he print them, but you’ll be paid for your work.”
Elizabeth blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly. “You’re asking me to accompany you? To work with you? As an artist?”
He nodded and smiled.
He thinks my drawings are worthy of publication? A rush of heat filled her cheeks. To say she was honored was putting it mildly, for Elizabeth had once dreamed of being a sketch artist. But surely his editor will think differently. “That’s very kind of you, David, but I hardly believe I am qualified.”
“Elizabeth, I do have some experience in the newspaper business. I have seen sketches before. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think you were good enough.”
The gentle certainty with which he spoke caused her to actually consider the idea. We could use the money. And I wouldn’t be copying someone else’s sketches. I’d be doing my own. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
David must have sensed her fear. “Tell you what,” he then said. “Forget showing them to Peter for now. Just come with me. Give it a try. If you don’t enjoy yourself, what have you really wasted?”
He made it sound so intriguing, so inviting, like a pleasant outing in the sunshine. Allowing her time to think on it, he set the now empty lemonade glass on the table and returned to the ladder at the far corner of the room. Soon he was back to hammering the crown molding.
For a moment Elizabeth watched him work. The cuffs of his sleeves were open, the fabric rolled up an inch or two, revealing strong, muscular forearms. Suddenly the thought struck her that she had never seen Jeremiah in anything but a federal uniform. How handsome he would have been in a pressed white shirt, silk vest and dark pair of trousers.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She could feel the black fog rolling in. As wonderful as David’s offer to sketch was, she knew she must decline. It was obvious she could not accompany him about the city. She knew she had to leave the room, lest once more she make a fool of herself in front of him.
“I appreciate your kindness, David. Really I do. But...I can’t... Please, excuse me.” She turned for the door.
“You don’t have to hide the tears from me, Elizabeth.”
The understanding in his voice stopped her in her tracks.
“I know what you are feeling. He was my brother, my best friend. I miss him terribly.”
Pain pierced her heart, but his honesty was an invitation. She turned to face him.
“How do you do it?” she asked.
He left the ladder and crossed the floor. “Do what?”
“Get up each morning? Go about your tasks? Your new job? I can barely breathe.”
A look of compassion filled his face. It appeared as though he were about to embrace her, yet just before doing so, he stopped and rubbed his whiskered chin.
“I try to remember where he is,” he said. “I try to remember there is no sickness or war in Heaven. I know he’s happy there, and one day, I will see him again.”
Elizabeth wanted her fiancé to be at rest, to be happy, but she wanted to be happy, as well. She wanted Jeremiah here with her.
“I wish I could take away your pain,” David said.
Upon impulse, she moved into his arms. David held her tightly. Elizabeth knew full well that the strength and security he offered was only that of a would-be brother-in-law’s kindness, yet even so, she soon gave in to temptation.
The same soap...the same shaving balm...
But the added hint of peppermint brought her back to reality. He is not Jeremiah. He never will be. Stiffening, she stepped out of his embrace. “Forgive me,” she said.
He took half a step back, too, and cleared his throat. Embarrassment colored his cheeks. Elizabeth felt it, as well. She wondered if David knew what she had been thinking. If he did, mercifully, he did not say. He hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
“I’m going to take this here laddah and see to those tiles on the roof.”
“Thank you,” she managed, though her face was still afire. She offered to refill his empty glass.
“I’d appreciate that.” Ladder in hand, he moved toward the door. Just before leaving the room, however, he stopped and looked back. “By the way, my brother would be proud of that sketch. I’m certain of it.”
She looked down at the image in her hands. If only he had lived to see it.
Chapter Four
David did as he had promised and carried the ladder outside. His heart was still pounding from the moment he’d held her. Elizabeth had come to him. He wanted that. He wanted to soothe her fears, be the strength she needed, the place where she found comfort.
But it isn’t me she is seeking.
He’d known the moment he’d heard the soft sigh escape her lips and felt her sketchbook pressed between them. Elizabeth was courting a memory. He shouldn’t have allowed it, for her sake and his. The instant his arms had closed around her, the desire to kiss her had been strong. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would have permitted him to do so.
You cad, he thought. She would slap your face if she knew what you were thinking. Perhaps she should. That would end this foolishness here and now.
He realized he was going to have to keep his distance from her. He would have to keep up his guard.
But just how am I going to do that?
He popped a peppermint drop into his mouth and bit down hard. Leaning the ladder against the front of the house, he then climbed to the roof. Careful inspection revealed two slate tiles were cracked, four were loose and several others were missing altogether. David craned his neck to view the tree spread out above him. There were other limbs that looked as though they would come down given one hard Maryland thunderstorm, but he wouldn’t see to them today. The clouds at present indicated the imminent coming of steady rain. The roof needed to be repa
ired, lest the Martin women wake to an ugly stain on their parlor ceiling.
He removed the oak limb. Perhaps the family had some spare tiles in the lean-to. If not, David would have to cover the roof until he could get new ones. He tried to keep his mind on the task at present, but it kept drifting to her.
Elizabeth’s drawings had surprised him. He had not known of her artistic abilities, and he suspected Jeremiah hadn’t, either, for his brother had never spoken of them even though he’d talked about her incessantly. Her work was as good as, if not better than, much of what David had seen in the papers. Many sketch artists could capture action, but she could convey the emotion. Love, laughter, pain, honor, he’d seen it all in the faces of her family members and the wounded soldiers she had drawn.
If Peter wants the series on the slave vote to be personal, Elizabeth could certainly do that. Her talents could help shape this state for the better.
But David couldn’t help but wonder if it was really the people of Baltimore he wished to benefit or himself. He reminded himself that there was no reason to worry about that now. She had, after all, declined his invitation, and he could tell by the sorrow in her eyes she didn’t have plans to change her mind anytime soon.
He descended the ladder and went to the lean-to, only to discover there were no tiles on hand. David did manage to find some oilskin cloth, so he covered the damaged portion of the roof. He was just about to put the ladder away when the front door opened. Elizabeth stepped out to the porch. In her hands was the promised glass of lemonade.
“How’s the roof?” she asked.
He told her. She paled when he said he would have to purchase the tiles.
“David, we—”
She stopped, but he knew exactly what she had been about to say. We can’t afford it.
He wanted to reassure her. “Elizabeth, you needn’t worry. I’ll see to the repairs.”
Her eyes widened in momentary relief, but the look quickly faded. “That’s very generous of you, but I can’t ask you to do so.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. I know the financial situation at present is difficult.”
She blushed.
“Elizabeth, there is no shame in your family’s position. You aren’t the first woman to run low on funds because the war has lasted longer than anyone expected. Sadly, you probably won’t be the last.”
“I’ll come up with the money to buy the tiles myself. It will just take me a little time.”
“You haven’t got time. All it will take is one thunderstorm, and you’ll be facing serious water damage.”
“I know.” She bit her lower lip. “I just keep thinking George will be home soon. And when he returns to work...”
Even if the war ended tomorrow and her brother came back abled-bodied and clearheaded, David doubted a Confederate veteran would be able to simply slip back into his previous life. Too many employers feared the mark of disloyalty and the consequences it would bring. Businessmen would be careful about who they associated themselves with as long as the US Army occupied Baltimore. He didn’t tell her that, though.
“Tell you what,” he said instead, “let me see to the repairs for now, and your brother can settle up with me when he is able.”
David had no intention of actually making claim on any bills, but she didn’t need to know that, either. His suggestion seemed to please her. A look of appreciation filled her eyes. He tried not to think more of it than he should.
This is to be my business, he reminded himself. Roof tiles, loose molding, trimming tree limbs. Nothing more. “I’ll pick up the new tiles tomorrow when I finish at the paper,” he said.
She nodded. “Thank you, David. I appreciate your kindness. I know Mother and Trudy do, as well.” Then, offering to take the now empty lemonade glass, she turned and went back inside.
* * *
David returned as promised the following afternoon to repair the roof. After seeing to it, he quickly took leave. Elizabeth’s mother tried to get him to stay for supper, but he politely declined. Elizabeth was relieved that he had. After crying and falling into his arms yesterday, she preferred to limit the contact between them.
“I’ve an assignment for which I must prepare,” David explained to them. “An interview tomorrow with state delegates Nash and Van der Geld.”
Elizabeth knew the two men were bitter rivals. One supported slave owners’ rights, the other immediate abolition. She wondered how David would manage such an interview. “Are you interviewing them at the same time?”
He chuckled slightly. “No. I am smarter than that. It is to be separate interviews. If not, I doubt I’d get any questions asked. They’d be too busy arguing with one another.”
The thought crossed her mind that she could capture delegate Van der Geld’s likeness in a sketch quite easily. Elizabeth knew him personally. He was the father of her friend Rebekah. She dismissed the idea, however, as quickly as it came. She couldn’t cover the slave vote, for more reasons than one.
“I hope all goes well for you,” her mother then said to him. “I’m certain it will make for a nice article.”
David smiled. “Thank you. I suppose then I’ll see each of you on Sunday. I’m looking forward to the service.”
As he left, Elizabeth breathed a shallow sigh. Once more she had been reminded of her shortcomings. David might be eager to attend worship, but she most definitely was not. Crying at the church service would be even worse than breaking down at the funeral. Elizabeth wasn’t certain how she would manage to excuse herself from worship again this week, but she was counting on the fact that her mother would be so pleased with David’s attendance that she would be willing to accept Elizabeth’s excuse to stay home.
Sunday dawned, however, and her plan came to naught. When her mother called her to her bedside, Elizabeth knew something was wrong. Jane Martin often suffered from headaches, and a particularly painful one had struck her that morning. Hoping to ease her discomfort, Elizabeth quickly gathered fresh water and a cool cloth to lay upon her mother’s forehead.
“Shall I ask Trudy to fetch Dr. Stanton?” she asked.
“No. That isn’t necessary. The medicine never really helps, anyway. I just need to rest. The pain will pass in time.”
Elizabeth knew from past experience that what her mother said was true, yet she still felt helpless. She hated watching her mother suffer, just as she’d hated watching those soldiers at the hospital.
“It is such a shame,” her mother said. “I so wished to be in church this morning.”
Elizabeth could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Church will still be there next week. You can go then.”
“But David promised to come. He was so looking forward to it.”
Elizabeth glanced at her father’s watch. Her mother wound it every night and kept it ticking by her bedside. According to it, David would be arriving shortly.
“Perhaps Trudy may still accompany him,” Elizabeth offered. She had no sooner said the words when her sister entered the room. Elizabeth took one look at her and knew she’d be staying home, as well. Clutching her lower abdomen, Trudy was as pale as could be.
“I’m sorry, Beth, but I am indisposed. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to services today, either.”
Oh, no, Elizabeth thought, for she knew exactly what was coming.
“Beth, dear,” her mother said, “will you then be kind enough to accompany him?”
A rock lodged in the back of Elizabeth’s throat. Her heart began to race. I can’t face the congregation! I certainly can’t do it with him at my side, not when everything he does reminds me of Jeremiah! “I think, given the circumstances, David would understand. There is always next week.”
“No,” her mother said, mustering more strength than Elizabeth thought she had in her at present. “He should not be alo
ne. He needs his family. It is important that you be there. I want you to go.”
It was not a wish. It was a command, and while Elizabeth wanted to plead her case, list all the reasons she could not step inside the church building, she would not do so. She would not go against her mother’s wishes, especially when she was ill. Elizabeth would obey if for no other reason than to bring this conversation to a close so Jane could rest.
“Very well,” she said, leaning over and kissing her mother’s cheek, “I will go.”
Despite her pain, Jane Martin smiled. “Thank you, dear. I appreciate that.”
Elizabeth tried to muster her strength, but inside she was quaking. The only way she managed to dress and roll her hair was by telling herself she wouldn’t actually have to leave the house. Surely when David learns that mother is ill and Trudy’s indisposed, he will decline my offer to accompany him.
She was waiting in the foyer when he arrived. She told him the story straightaway.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, concern evident on his face. “Shall I fetch the doctor?”
“No. Thank you, though. Mother said that wasn’t necessary. She simply needs to rest. Trudy is going to look after her.”
“Oh? Then you and I will still be able to attend church?”
Now is my chance, she thought. I will tell him no. Surely he will understand, given the circumstances. But then she remembered her mother’s insistence. The only way out of this was for him to decline. Elizabeth chose her words carefully. “Do you still wish to attend?”
“Yes,” he said. “Very much so.”
She was trapped. Biting back her dismay, Elizabeth did her best to make certain her voice was steady. “Very well. Please, give me a moment to fetch my bonnet and gloves.”
“Certainly.”
As she turned for the staircase, her knees were wobbling.
* * *
David paced about the foyer, waiting for her return. He told himself there was no reason to feel nervous. He had spent plenty of time with her before.
Second Chance Love Page 6