The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  He smiled his acknowledgment. “Nonetheless, I’ll come back by, to check that no harm comes to you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones.” She didn’t want to offend him. Enough talk circulated around town already about her progressive views. What had ever possessed her to ask at a ladies’ meeting what was so terrible about women getting the vote, after all?

  The crisp air encouraged a brisk walk, and she took quick, firm steps, noting spots where she would stop on the way home to look for leaves. Ever since childhood she had loved collecting leaves, but arriving at a business meeting with a bag of damp mulch wouldn’t convey the impression she wished to create. If all proceeded as she hoped, she might indulge herself on the way home.

  She only caught sight of Jericho Jones’s figure one more time before she reached the town green. Somewhat relieved not to see the militia gathered in the center, she walked past the church building, down the west side of the square, to Bailey’s Bank. Baruch Whitson stood straight and motionless as an iron post by the door. She looked up the long length of him and blinked. He reminded her a little of the guards she had heard about at the palace where the Queen of England lived.

  “Mr. Whitson? Are you keeping all our valuables safe today?”

  “As far as it’s in my power, ma’am, yes.” He winked at her, and she relaxed. His solemnity the moment before had frightened her. He opened the door, and she walked in, only to discover long lines of people had arrived before her.

  Ahead of her, she saw a former schoolmate, Margaret Beacham, her reticule held tight in her hands. “Margaret? What’s the cause for all the business this morning?”

  Lines crawled over Margaret’s forehead as she wrinkled her face. “Didn’t you hear what happened yesterday, how those awful Rebels robbed the banks in St. Albans?”

  Before Clara could answer, Margaret continued, “Of course you did. That’s why you’re here. To get your money before those Confederates rob us all blind. It’s what any sensible person would do.”

  Clara froze. All her money, every penny left to her by her parents except for the house and its furnishings, lay in an account in this bank.

  What would she do if it was robbed?

  Chapter 2

  Clara breathed in, counted to ten, then slowly released her breath. “That won’t happen. Forewarned is forearmed, they say, and everyone is taking precautions against an attack here. Why, there’s even an extra guard outside.”

  “What good is one armed guard against a platoon? They tried to burn down Governor Smith’s home yesterday.” If possible, Margaret’s eyes widened even farther. “What if they try to burn down the bank, with us inside it?” She looked ready to bolt.

  “If they do that, they can’t get the money.” Clara had seen this kind of hysteria before, when the prediction that “this war will be over by Christmas” had proved untrue. Once again, unnecessary fear stood ready to grab people by their throats, this time in her hometown.

  “That’s true.” Margaret bobbed her head and inched forward in line.

  Clara looked for Simeon Tuttle in his office but discovered him deep in conversation with the older Dixon, one of the wealthiest men in town. Given the crush of people at the bank today, she didn’t expect he’d have time to see her. Her shoulders slumped. How long must her dream take second place behind more important matters?

  A hand tapped her shoulder, and she jumped. She whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Daniel Tuttle.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, and she pulled it away. “I was gathering wool, I’m afraid.” She refused to look like a scatterbrained woman in front of this man. “I was hoping we could meet today to discuss our business, but your brother has his hands full this morning.”

  Daniel’s eyes swept the crowd. Clara had the feeling he knew not only the names and ages of every person present but also the number, make, and model of every weapon brought into the bank. He brought his gaze back to Clara’s face. “Give me half an hour. I’ll meet you at the house. I would offer you a seat in our waiting room, but …”

  “It’s already occupied.” Three more people had come in behind Clara while she was talking with Daniel. Pastor Beaton, who had come to the church after she left for the women’s seminary, almost bumped into her. “Are you waiting in line, Miss Farley?” At her response in the negative, he swept forward to take her place behind Margaret.

  Stymied by yet another delay to her business with the Tuttles, Clara considered stopping by the café for a cup of tea and a slice of toast while she waited. The establishment had closed for the day, as had Dixon’s Mercantile and every other business in town except for the bank. The air was turning cold, so Clara went to the one place she was certain would have open doors—the church.

  The building had changed some over the years. The elders had even considered enticing Richard Upjohn to design a new building. Clara was glad the congregation had decided against it. Comfortable pews had replaced backless benches, and an organ accompanied music once sung a cappella. A bell tower replaced the old steeple. Yet for all the changes, she felt a peace, knowing that people had come here to meet with God ever since the town was first established in 1763.

  Her hand ran over the plates indicating who had donated money for which pew: IN LOVING MEMORY OF STEPHEN REID … HIRAM BAILEY … SOLOMON TUTTLE … JAMES DIXON. Founding fathers, all. The newest and shiniest one read IN LOVING MEMORY OF ALBERT L. FARLEY. Her eyes welled. “Oh, Papa, I miss you so!”

  She sat down in the pew marked with her father’s name and said a prayer that she had made the right decision regarding her inheritance. Lewis wasn’t entirely convinced of the wisdom of her plan.

  But every time she asked the Lord, she received the same answer—peace. Straightening her shoulders, she picked up her reticule and headed out the door.

  “Keep an eye out for trouble.” Daniel spoke so only Whitson could hear. “I don’t like the looks of that crowd.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you want me to stay inside the bank?”

  Daniel considered the idea but shook his head. “Simeon will let you know if he wants you inside. Until then, I need you out here, keeping an eye on any trouble coming from the outside. At least no strangers have shown their faces in town today.”

  “Not that I’ve seen. You can count on me, Captain.” Whitson’s eyes gleamed, almost as if he wished some action would come his way.

  “I’ll be over at the Bailey House if you need to find me.” Daniel shook off the feeling of unease that settled on him like a swarm of black flies in June and instead focused on his upcoming meeting with Clara Farley. “Go ahead and lease it. Sell it, if she’ll take it.” That had been Simeon’s advice when Daniel had sought him out a few minutes earlier. “With the run on the bank today, we could use the funds.”

  But Daniel didn’t want to stay inside for any length of time, not until things returned to normal. A quick run through—that’s all he would allow Miss Farley today.

  As he thought of her, she stepped out of the shadow of the church and into the sunshine. The autumn light shown on her dark-chestnut hair and bounced off the sheen of her unrelieved black clothing. In spite of her severe hairstyle, modest style of dress, and those ridiculous spectacles, she couldn’t hide her beauty. He kept his smile inside. She wouldn’t want him saying so. From what he remembered of the dark-haired beauty, she’d keep discussion on a strictly business level. She would never use feminine wiles to gain an advantage … and was convinced she had no wiles to try in any case.

  A fine mind and a sharp tongue, that described Clara Farley well enough. The day suddenly seemed more pleasing as he crossed the common, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the lively discussion he would have with the young miss. He lengthened his strides to make sure he arrived a few steps before she did.

  “I hope I have not kept you waiting.” Her soft voice didn’t fool him, not when he knew her sharp eyes had marked his progress across the
common.

  “Not at all. I’m sorry I had to ask you to wait.” He extracted a key from his pocket and opened the door. Grandfather Bailey was one of the few people in Maple Notch who bothered with locked doors. After the troubles yesterday, the precaution no longer seemed so strange.

  How cold and quiet the house seemed, even though Daniel lived there now. The staircase gleamed as much as ever, and sun poured through the windows as it always had, but without the laughter of children, the smell of his grandfather’s pipe, Cook’s delicacies baking in the kitchen … what life was left in the house had died along with his mother.

  If Clara noticed his hesitation, she didn’t show it. “I’ve never been upstairs.” She set her right foot on the first step and paused to look up the wide sweep of the staircase.

  “Grandfather liked to do everything on a grand scale.” He smiled at her as he offered her his right arm.

  She accepted without even glancing at the place where his left arm should be and ascended the stairs. “I was thinking the treads here are wide enough to allow numbers of people to move at a time. They’re not narrow and restrictive, like some I’ve seen.”

  His hand tingled where their arms were linked. Upon reaching the second floor, she studied the stairs continuing on to the nurseries. “I’ll check there later.”

  Clara went to the room at the front of the house. “This must have been your grandparents’ bedroom.”

  He nodded. “Simeon removed a few pieces, but we will rent the rest furnished, if you like.”

  She scrunched her face and pulled a folding ruler from her pocket. “I think the space might be better used as a classroom. Do you mind?” She handed him the end of the ruler and gestured at the wall. Bemused, he watched her unfold it, then run it the length and breadth of the room, marking down numbers in a little notebook. She stuck the pencil behind her right ear and measured the windows next. She couldn’t quite reach the top of the window pane, so he lifted his long arm and held the ruler for her. His eyes fell on the notebook, where he saw a rough sketch that approximated the layout of the room.

  “I didn’t realize you had studied architectural drawing.”

  She peered at him over the top of her glasses. “What, this? We studied room arrangement at the seminary, how to make the most of …” She paused in midsentence. “But you don’t want to know all of that. Let me see the other bedrooms on this floor, please.”

  So there was a proper way to decorate a room? His lips curled at the thought. His mother had known how to make a house a home. Whether the small cabin she had lived in at the beginning of her marriage—now dubbed the newlyweds’ cabin by the family—or the Bailey house, she had placed her own stamp on it. He reached down and lifted a pot with dried lilacs in it and felt her spirit in the empty spaces of the room.

  Unlike Simeon’s wife. Molly owned many beautiful things but could never make them coordinate. Clara could, he was certain of it. He’d have to find an excuse to visit the Farleys’ home one day.

  Clara made her way to his mother’s room next. Daniel hesitated at the door. He knew that the writing desk still held the paper and quills she had used to write letters to his father during their secret courtship, when his Aunt Peggy had acted as a go-between. Once again, out came the folding ruler and notebook, neat figures and drawings added on its pages.

  Did the woman intend to measure every room in the house? He thought about the old servants’ quarters on the third floor. No one had been up there since he’d returned home, and cobwebs and who knew what else had collected over time. That decided him.

  “I promised Simeon I would come back to the bank quickly. Things are too unsettled for me to spend much time on personal business.” He stretched his lips in what his youngest sister insisted was a dazzling smile. “Perhaps we can arrange another time next week, when we are more certain if Maple Notch will be affected?”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it and smiled … her own version of a polite smile to match his. “I had my heart set on seeing the house this week. I will be here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Of course, if those Confederates do make another showing, I will reschedule.”

  He found himself agreeing to her suggestion. He escorted her outside to the corner where the road to her home ran, glad to see Jericho Jones patrolling the road. “Any sign of danger?”

  “Not a thing. I’ve ridden down as far as the bridge to St. Albans, and you wouldn’t know there’d been so much as a gun fired yesterday.” He nodded at Clara.

  “You should be safe heading home, Miss Farley.”

  She graced Jones with a genuine smile, not the polite version Daniel had seen earlier.

  “I’m certain of it, Mr. Jones. The Lord is paving my way with sunshine.” She gestured to the sun directly overhead. “I intend to enjoy every minute of this beautiful weather for as long as it lasts.” Picking up the edges of her skirt, she set off at a brisk pace.

  She didn’t look back to catch Daniel watching her when she stopped to examine scarlet maple leaves where they had fallen to the ground. When her posture relaxed, she looked beautiful—demure, even. A woman like that was open to life and love.

  Daniel found himself glad that he had arranged another meeting with Miss Farley.

  Clara had chosen a sensible violet gingham for today’s meeting. After wearing the same outfit for two days, she decided she wanted a change of dress. A restless night had turned into a restless morning. So taken up was her mind with today’s meeting with the Tuttles, she’d had trouble focusing during her quiet time. Prayers for a positive resolution to their business mixed together with an occasional guilty prayer for the people of St. Albans and others fighting far away.

  Lewis was already in the kitchen when she came down. He looked her up and down, and she felt heat rushing into her cheeks. “What has you up so early?” she asked, more to divert his attention from her appearance than because she wanted to know.

  “The lads and I want to check out a bit of business.” He grinned his cocky smirk. “We could use some extra income if your plans go through.” He looked at her again and smiled. “Looking as good as you do today, I’m sure you’ll succeed.” He poured himself a cup of coffee.

  The strong scent of the hot beverage wafted across her nostrils. “I’ll take a cup of that, if you please.”

  “It’s strong.” He poured her a cup.

  “I know. The stuff you make always is. That’s what I need this morning.” She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and took a sip. No stronger than she expected, but still she frowned and shivered.

  “Cream? sugar?” Lewis stirred some more into his cup.

  “No. It doesn’t make it any more … palatable.” She slathered a slice of bread with honey butter. Sweets called for a strong beverage, like coffee. “Do you want a hot breakfast?”

  “No.” He grabbed an apple from the barrel. “Don’t wait supper on me either. We may be gone overnight.”

  “What are you up to? Who are you going with?”

  “Oh, the usual group. Bradford, Dupre, Ford.”

  He hadn’t told her everything, but he was a man. She couldn’t treat him like a child reporting to his parents. “Godspeed then, brother.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll take that as good luck.”

  Lewis wasn’t big on faith, one of her major prayer concerns alongside the war and her school. From the window, she watched him strap a satchel behind him on his favorite horse, Shadow. The dappled gray matched his impulsive temperament, while the silvery-white Misty suited her far better.

  What business did he have in mind? In the wake of Wednesday’s attack and yesterday’s panic at the bank, she was glad someone had found reason for hope. I’ll take that as a sign of things to come. She smiled at the thought. After she put away the breakfast things, she draped her coat about her and started down the road to town.

  Cold snapped in the air, but the sky remained cloud-free. Before long, they would have the first snow of the season, but th
is was perfect weather for walking. Jones passed her on the way into town. His posture had relaxed since yesterday; he no longer peered into the trees, ready to jump at shadows.

  Before she arrived at the town common, she saw Daniel riding in her direction. When he reached her, he dismounted. “Simeon wants to meet with us first to review your financial information.”

  Clara’s heart skipped. That sounded promising. “Certainly. I have the information right here.”

  She expected Daniel to climb back on the horse, but instead he ambled beside her. They walked in silence for a short time. She was about to ask for news from St. Albans when he said, “I love walking through the woods in the autumn. ‘Tis one of the things I missed.”

  Clara’s travels were limited to a school trip to Seneca Falls to discuss the importance of the 1848 convention about women’s rights. She would enjoy the opportunity to travel more … but not under the circumstances that had dragged Daniel away from home.

  “Not that I missed our winters. They would have made camp life miserable.” He chuckled.

  “You can laugh about it?”

  The amused sound stopped. “There was a camaraderie among the men, a sense of purpose, much as my grandfather must have felt when fighting for independence. That, and the music. There’s nothing like music to ready men for battle.”

  “I am thankful for your service. Slavery has been a blight on this country ever since the beginning. If our Founding Fathers had taken a bolder stand then, there wouldn’t have been a need for this war. For your sacrifice.” She touched him on the shoulder above the arm that ended at the elbow. He jerked away.

  “It is what it is.”

  They had reached the common. Daniel tethered his horse in front of the bank and led her inside. A few customers milled about doing business, but with none of the panic she had observed yesterday. Pastor Beaton stood at one of the windows, perhaps rethinking whatever business he had conducted yesterday. She hoped people would reopen their accounts for the Tuttles’ sake. For the town’s sake. A town needed a strong bank.