© 2018 by Melissa Jagears
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1203-7
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Melissa Jagears is represented by Natasha Kern Literary Agency
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
Epilogue
Excerpt from A Love So True
About the Author
Other Books by Melissa Jagears
Back Ads
Chapter
1
KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
SEPTEMBER 1908
The pounding of hammers above them ceased.
Marianne Lister put down her tea and smiled at the widow whose roof was being reshingled by men from their church. “Seems you’ll have peace and quiet now.”
Mrs. Danby’s faded blue eyes blinked as if it were hours after nightfall. “I could hardly hear them, sweetie. But God bless you for coming.”
“You’re welcome.” Not that she’d been much help; she’d simply kept the woman company.
If only she could’ve done more than rearrange Mrs. Danby’s pantry and chitchat while they waited. The widow had even taken over making lunch. Marianne rubbed the back of her hand where oil had left a welt. Evidently there was an art to frying ham if one didn’t want to splatter oil everywhere. As heiress to a large fortune, she’d never need to cook for herself, but that didn’t lessen her feeling of failure.
The front door opened, and Calvin Hochstetler poked in his honey-blond head. Her heart pitter-pattered like always whenever he came near.
“We’ve got your roof finished, Mrs. Danby. And none too soon considering the dark clouds rolling in. Was there more you needed done, or shall I send the men home?”
“Nothing I can think of.” She waved her age-spotted hand to encourage him across the threshold. “Why don’t you come in for more tea?”
Marianne picked up the nearly empty teapot. At least making tea was something she was good at. Even if this would be the fifth pot Mrs. Danby plied on the men.
“Thank you, but I think we’re good.” Calvin pressed a hand against his stomach and his eyes grew wide, likely at the thought of downing another cup. He managed to give Mrs. Danby a polite smile anyway, which only heightened his good looks.
“If you don’t have anything more for us to do, the men would like to get home before the storm.” He looked over at Marianne and then at the clock. “Is your driver coming to pick you up?”
She shook her head. “He won’t be coming for another hour. Would you mind walking me home?”
He beamed a genuine smile this time, making her insides warmer than the tepid teapot in her hands. “Certainly, but we’ll have to leave quickly. Are you ready to go?”
She was more than ready if it meant spending time with him. “Just let me tidy up.”
He nodded and backed out the door.
She put away the tea service, and when she returned to the parlor, Mrs. Danby had fallen asleep. Marianne arranged the quilt over the widow’s legs and let herself out.
The other men had already left, and Calvin was throwing away the last of the broken shingles.
So not only would she get to spend time with him, but they’d be alone? Her heart picked up and jitters took over. She looked at the sky. Hopefully the storm clouds weren’t in any hurry.
Calvin threw the last shingle into a bucket, carried it to the curb, then came back to meet her at the stairs. “Did you have a good visit with Mrs. Danby?”
“I did.” She tucked her arm around his, sighing a little at the tingles sweeping through her at his touch.
“I’m glad you agreed to keep her company.” Calvin tipped his hat at someone across the road as they started east. “She said her daughter hasn’t been up to see her for years.”
The poor woman, all alone with no one to help. And her daughter likely would’ve been better help today—she probably knew how to cook.
Marianne sighed. Would she ever be able to do anything of value? How was it she’d come to be twenty-one and couldn’t do much more than make tea? Wonderful tea, yes, but still nothing more significant than tea. Of course, she could also maintain a smile without it looking fake and nod her head sympathetically when Mother’s society friends complained about their husbands’ antics or philandering. If only she’d been born Mrs. Danby’s daughter, she might be able to do something useful outside a parlor. “I’m glad you let me be a part of your widow and orphan ministry, even if I am rather useless.”
“You aren’t useless.” He rubbed the top of her arm.
“When it comes to actually helping, I’m afraid I am.” She stared at the tops of her polished leather shoes. She’d certainly felt so today.
“You underestimate how much some of these widows need conversation. We can fix holes or replace windows to keep their houses warm, but you’re the one who warms their hearts.” He tucked her arm tighter against his and gave it a squeeze.
Did he see something valuable in everyone? “Might I go with you next Saturday?”
“I’d hoped so. Mrs. Phillips makes terrible tea.” He winked.
“But what if I wanted to help tear down her porch?” Manual labor couldn’t be too hard. Even children did it.
He raised his eyebrows at her. “What about talking with Mrs. Phillips?”
“I’d chat with her afterward. I know I can’t help you build the porch, but today I could’ve picked up broken shingles. Surely I could pile up rotted wood.”
“Sounds fine to me.” He waved at someone across the street. “You’ll save us time.”
She smiled so big it could have lifted her off the ground if not for Calvin’s arm around hers. And here she’d thought nothing could lighten her step faster than his dimpled smile.
If she’d told anyone in her social set she wanted to pick up rotted wood, they’d have laughed at her. “What project is after Mrs. Phillips’s?”
“Not sure. Her porch will wipe out next month’s budget.”
She was tempted to promise him extra funding, but she could imagine her father would gripe about how the group conveniently started going over budget once she volunteered. “What will you do for the rest of the month?”
He shrugged and looked back over his shoulder at the threatening clouds. “The others will be happy to spend time with their families, and I’ve got projects at work to finalize. With David out of the office, I should have enough time to do so before he returns. Other than that, I’ll keep my ears open for anything we can do that doesn’t require money. What about you?”
If she didn’t have anywhere to
be, her parents would expect her to throw parties, pass cookies, and smile at eligible gentlemen . . . as long as she didn’t smile at any of them more than she did David. Calvin’s boss was the gentleman of choice when it came to a desired son-in-law.
If only they knew she and David had already discussed everyone’s expectations and chosen not to deepen their relationship. David was probably the only man in her circle who’d not take offense at her begging off his courtship because she had feelings for his secretary. “I don’t know what Mother has on the calendar, but I wish I could find something more useful to do than visiting.”
“What about that plan you had to help the homeless sell day-old breads?”
He remembered that? That had been an idea Papa had proven silly with long columns of numbers and figures, showing her business plan was unsustainable. “Seems I have to think up something that can be a blessing but still pay its own bills. If I do inherit, hopefully I’ll have figured out how to help those in need without bankrupting myself by then.”
“If you inherit?” He turned to frown at her, a deep wrinkle forming between his brows.
“Yes, if . . .” David had warned her that a relationship with Calvin might cause her parents to disinherit her. Though she’d not meant to bring that up now . . . a lady didn’t ask a man to court, after all.
“Are your parents in financial trouble? Considering the amount of business they do with the Kingsmans, I hadn’t gotten that impression.”
“Oh no, no trouble like that. Just me—being trouble, that is.”
“If you cause your parents any real trouble, I’ll eat my hat.” He flashed her the silly grin that always made her feel accepted, despite how different they were.
And if they could be such easy friends, transforming their relationship into something deeper should be just as easy, right?
Oh, what to say? A lady might not propose . . . but was there anything wrong with hinting? “Well, they’ve forever expected me to marry David, so there’s no doubt they’ll find it troublesome I’ve fallen for his secretary instead.”
Calvin stopped midstride, his face suddenly blank.
Her body grew cold as she reviewed the words she’d just said. Seemed she was just as bad at hinting as being useful. Perhaps her unchecked tongue was where the real trouble lay.
His brows drew closer, and his gaze bore into hers. When his hand came up, her heart slammed against her chest and she closed her eyes. Would she receive her first kiss? Maybe bumbling out her feelings hadn’t been such a bad thing, after all.
Instead, he twisted her nose.
Her eyes flew open. “What was that for?”
His expression was wide-eyed with panic. “I just . . . In my dreams, I’d never tweaked your nose, and I . . .” He rubbed a hand down his face. “This isn’t a dream,” he said, as if it were the most horrible thing in the world to find himself awake.
She reached up and rubbed her nose. “No, not a dream. I certainly felt that.”
“All right, then, I . . .” He nodded decisively. “I must have heard you wrong.”
“So then I didn’t just say my parents would be upset about my being in love with you?”
He shook his head, then walked off like a shot, both his hands raking through his hair and stopping at the nape of his neck.
“Wait!” Perhaps this was why her parents were always making her play tea party with the elderly women in her circle. She couldn’t get into trouble like this with them. She picked up her skirts and rushed after him. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
He wouldn’t just leave her to wonder, would he?
He didn’t slow, but he did let go of the back of his head and start gesturing with his hands as if giving someone a hesitant lecture. But though his mouth moved, he wasn’t actually saying anything. He suddenly stopped, closed his eyes, and tipped his head back to the heavens, hands on his hips.
She came up beside him, her heart hammering against her insides. If this was his reaction, maybe she’d mistaken his warm smiles and long looks to be something they weren’t. “I was pretty certain you felt the same for me, but if not, I promise I’ll try not to make things awkward whenever we’re together.” She swallowed and looked down before bringing her gaze back up and forcing out the next words. “But if I’m right, I was hoping we could build on those feelings—”
“Feelings?” He shook his head slightly, his face pale and tense. “Feelings aren’t enough.”
“Of course they’re not.” But she couldn’t simply ignore how his being near her made her feel at home, how she felt like she was worth something in his eyes. “Though I’d contend they should play a bigger part in choosing one’s spouse than a person’s assets. My parents married for love back when they were poor, and they’re much happier than many of the couples that flit about my set. I do want to make certain the man I marry has integrity, follows God, willingly gives of himself—”
“Marianne.” His face was a study in hard lines and tension, nothing like the relaxed expression he’d started off with at the beginning of their walk. “No matter how you feel about me, it won’t change the fact that I’m as poor as a church mouse.”
“You are not that poor.” How could he see value in her, but think himself so low?
He shook his head. “I’m that poor in comparison to you.”
She reached up to cup his cheek, but he grew so stiff she let her hand drop. “Though I might’ve been born to wealth, I don’t love it enough to make a poor match, and—”
“I am the epitome of a poor match. You and David . . .” He blinked, then scrubbed his hand back and forth over his hair. “What about you and David?”
David? He wanted to talk about David? She heaved a sigh and her heart slowed. Her parents nagging her about David was about all she could handle, truth be told. “Surely you’ve seen we love each other no more than brother and sister. You’re the closest person to both of us—you have to have noticed.”
“Such things don’t keep people of your set from marrying.”
“As I said, I think it should.” Though he hadn’t swooped in for that kiss she’d hoped for, he hadn’t yet denied he felt something for her. Her heart started beating with hope again. “Do you have feelings for me, too?”
He grabbed her by the upper arms. “It doesn’t matter what I feel, Marianne.” He promptly let go, leaving her suddenly cold, though she’d not realized she’d been hot.
“A woman of meager means is all I can aspire to marry.” He looked away, his voice hushed. “And if she’s half as pretty and kind as you, I’ll count myself lucky.”
“So you’re rejecting me because I’m rich?” She swallowed down the quaver in her voice. Who said no to love because it would bring them money? “If so, don’t worry. My parents will likely disapprove of us enough to write me out of their will. But if not, we could always give the money to charity.”
“You don’t understand.” A man bumped Calvin from behind as he walked past, but Calvin’s gaze stayed pinned on her, a sadness she’d never seen clouding his green eyes. “Love won’t make up for what you’d lose.”
Lose? Did he think money was everything? “But what about what I’d gain?”
He shook his head slightly. “You don’t know what it’s like for those of us who have to work.”
“Then tell me.” She settled her hands on his arms, giving him a gentle squeeze. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable.
The wind picked up and ruffled his blond hair. His throat worked overtime. “I can’t show you how years of want will affect you before it’s too late to escape it.” He stepped away from her and turned to look at the clouds rolling in, then tipped his head forward. “I think your driver’s coming to pick you up.”
She looked behind her, and indeed, her parents must have sent him early in light of the approaching storm. If she had more time, she could convince Calvin he mattered more than an inheritance, especially since he was the only person who seemed to think she mattered in s
pite of it. “Will you accept a ride home?”
He kept his gaze focused on her parents’ carriage. “Thank you, but no, I’m not far from my apartment.” He stepped away from her, his eyes averted, as the carriage slowed beside them.
Was the conversation about their future over just like that?
She blinked excessively, hugging herself as she let his rejection wash over her. And yet, he’d not rejected her—he’d rejected her status. The one man she’d thought had seen through her prestigious name to the woman inside. “Would you at least think about a future with me before you say no?”
He closed his eyes, his body losing some of its rigidity. “I already have.”
He had?
Her driver jumped down from his seat, and all she could do was stare at the fat droplets making dark marks on the sidewalk and Calvin’s shoes. What could she say now? If she said more and he still turned her away, she might cry in front of everyone on the street.
Mr. Fleischman opened the side door. “Glad I caught up with you, miss. Don’t want you to get drenched and catch cold.”
“No.” But she couldn’t move. Was this the last time she’d walk anywhere with Calvin? Had she just ruined the friendship she enjoyed more than anything?
Calvin took her hand, and she couldn’t help but look up at him despite her threatening tears.
“I’m sorry.” He gently led her toward the carriage and helped her inside.
She managed to get up the stairs without tripping on her skirts. When she found her seat, she dared to look back at him.
He stood silently by the open door. “I really am sorry.” He stepped back. “More than you know.” Then he shut the door with a soft click.
She was sorry, too. Oh so sorry. She dropped the shades, and the second the coach rolled away she let the tears come.
Was hoping for a man who desired to marry her for something other than her money and pretty face unreasonable?
Of course, how could she expect such a thing if all she could offer a future husband was nice conversation over perfectly brewed tea and the bank account of an heiress?
Chapter
2
Tied and True Page 1