She hadn’t noticed him approaching. “I’m fine.”
“I heard you yell at David.”
“Sorry,” she said without meaning it. David deserved to be yelled at and more. She returned her eyes to the floor as she scrubbed.
He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “This is all my fault.”
The scratching sound from her brush bristles echoed in the kitchen. “Father, it was my mistake. I went out in the storm. But I’m fine. I wish everyone would forget about it.”
“I should have seen this coming. You’re a grown woman. It’s hard for a father to recognize that sometimes.” A pained smile curved his lips. “Do you love Henry?”
How could she answer her father when she didn’t know what these feelings were? He’d awakened something in her heart, attracted her even. But love? Wasn’t falling in love supposed to be enjoyable? It was in every story she’d ever read.
Whatever was between her and Henry was too complicated to be enjoyable. Yet, just as he’d said at the springs, it was too important to ignore. She shrugged, hoping nonchalance would deter any more questions, at least until she had the answers herself. “I’m trying to take care of this household and finish my…” She stopped before she could say story. The completed story was supposed to be a surprise for her father. “I have too much work to do to worry about Henry. He’s busy too.”
Christopher took off his wide-brimmed hat. “He spoke with me last night after he brought you home. Asked permission to court you.”
“Did he?” The words slipped from her mouth on a breath. She should have seen that coming. The way he’d looked at her the day he kissed her at the springs, his sitting by her at church, his risking his life to save her from the flooding cave. Their relationship hadn’t felt like what she expected a real romance to feel like, but now he’d come to her father. He was making it real. Too real. For her and for her family. “Is that what has David so upset?”
Christopher shook his head. “Henry and I spoke alone. David doesn’t know.”
Henry was more serious than she’d thought. If he’d spoken to her father, he must think he had a future with her. Hadn’t she told him she was committed to raising her sisters and taking care of her family? Why would he pursue her?
The feelings that overwhelmed her at the springs stirred again in her heart. No matter what feelings clouded her mind, she couldn’t forget her promise. Nor could she deny her heart. She mindlessly scrubbed the same spot. “What was your answer… to Henry?”
“He has my blessing, Hannah, but it’s up to you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Henry hung another freshly printed page onto the drying line at the back of his shop and examined the print. With precisely placed letters in perfect rows he’d replicated the last page of The Gospel According to Luke. Only one month into the elders’ assignment and he’d printed over a quarter of the New Testament.
He’d worked six long days a week and would have to maintain the pace for three more months to complete the task in time. It would be a task easily accomplished if he could keep his mind focused. When he’d accepted the challenge of producing an error free copy of the New Testament, printed and bound by Good Springs’s eighth anniversary celebration, he hadn’t imagined he would want to court someone.
Hannah Vestal wasn’t just someone.
She was creative and beautiful and captured his mind, finding her way into his every thought. He hadn’t seen her all week, and it was bothering him. If his intellect were overcome by any more emotion, he might find himself desperately in love. He had to see her. It was illogical.
She would be working in her father’s house, tending to the needs of six other people. He could see her at church on Sundays, but they couldn’t speak to each other during the service and wouldn’t have a moment alone afterward. How could he come to understand her if he didn’t talk with her?
She’d said she spent her free hours on Sunday afternoons writing. He couldn’t take that away from her. If he were going to see her, he would have to leave the press during the week and go to her. That would put his work behind schedule. If he didn’t finish the elders’ assignment on time, the printing press would not become a village-supported trade. He would have to hunt and fish and grow vegetables until he could produce and trade enough books to earn a living.
With a library to fill, he’d thought that life unacceptable. His father agreed.
Perhaps a short break in the afternoons wouldn’t set him too far behind on his assignment. Not every afternoon, only now and then. Starting with now.
After a quick wipe of his hands, he untied his leather apron. As he reached to hang it on a peg on the wall, a dull thud hit the dusty floor in the doorway across the shop. He rounded the worktable and found a rock with a scrap of paper fastened to it with twine. The note read: Leave hannah alone or you will regret it.
He leaned out the open doorway. His father was standing at the top of the chapel’s stone steps, talking to Reverend Colburn who was holding a broom. Both men laughed at something one of them said. Children’s voices drifted from a porch down the road. Mr. Owens was driving his buckboard south toward his farm. No one else was around.
Henry read the note a second time. The message was meant to serve as a threat, but a perpetrator who threw rocks and ran didn’t evoke fear, only annoyance.
The note writer wanted to keep him from Hannah and had assumed he would be easily bullied. That person hadn’t been there when he’d saved Hannah from the floodwaters. The note writer underestimated the determination that simmered beneath this printer’s scarred surface.
Henry’s aching fist tightened around the slip of paper. He marched across the road to the chapel and caught his father’s eye. “May I speak with you, Father?”
Matthew met him at the bottom of the stone steps. “What is it, son?”
“Did you see anyone run past the shop?”
“When?”
“A moment ago.”
“No, but I wasn’t looking.” Matthew shielded his eyes from the sunlight and glanced up the stairs at Reverend Colburn who was sweeping the chapel’s doorway. “William, did you see anyone run past the print shop a moment ago?”
The reverend shook his head and resumed his sweeping.
Matthew pointed at the note in Henry’s hand. “Is something wrong?”
Henry checked the road. Though no one else was within earshot, he led his father across the road and into the print shop. He passed the note to his father. “This is the second time someone has anonymously warned me to keep away from Hannah.”
Matthew widened his pale eyes at the note. “Seems childish. And sloppily written.”
“Then we are agreed.”
“Who do you think wrote it?”
“A child. Well, someone who is not anymore but is acting like one.”
“Who?”
Henry remembered what Hannah said about her brother David not wanting them together. “A person who doesn’t think I should court Hannah.”
One corner of Matthew’s lips curved into a grin, puffing his wooly side whiskers. “That list might be longer than you think.”
“What do you mean?”
Matthew handed him back the note. “Well, you’ve had a few bad passes at courting. Might have left some hard feelings in your wake. Maybe someone doesn’t want to see you break another heart.”
Henry tossed the note onto the worktable. “It almost sounds like you’re in agreement with them.”
“Not fully.” Matthew picked lint from his sleeves. “Men often take longer to commit than the fairer sex, but with a sweet girl like Hannah, you must be careful you aren’t leading her down a road you don’t want to travel.”
At this point he was farther down that road than Hannah seemed to be. While he was focused on her, she was focused on the story she was writing. He paced to the window and looked toward the back of the schoolhouse where they’d danced that night. “That isn’t the problem.”
&
nbsp; Matthew came beside him. “Then what is?”
When he didn’t answer, his father patted his back. “I suggest you slow your pursuit until you are certain of your heart. Don’t offer her something unless you are fully committed. It’s too small of a village and Hannah is too sweet a girl.” He stepped to the door to leave. “You are under the pressure of the elders’ challenge and shouldn’t stop your work to chase butterflies.”
Henry watched Matthew walk away. His father was right. His time was already committed. Even though he’d spent many days imagining how love and marriage and a family might improve his life, he would only hurt Hannah if he pursued her when he didn’t have time to offer more.
He rubbed the stiff scars of his left hand. Maybe someday they could court, but for now it wasn’t reasonable for either of them. The only affection he should pursue was his first love—printing.
Chapter Eighteen
Hannah reached between the cold prison bars for the figure in the dark. Before she saw his face, she could feel Aric’s strong spirit. A string of opalescent pearls dangled at her wrist beneath her puffed velvet sleeves—a gift from the prince. She was Adeline.
The tall, attractive figure stepped into the light, thinning the shadows on his unshaven face. Between the bars he clasped her hand and kissed her forehead. “I’ve found you at last.” He held up the jailor’s keys. “Your freedom, my love.”
The jangle of iron keys echoed through her stone cell. He unlocked the prison door, and it swung wide with a rusty creak. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You never gave up on me!”
“I never will.”
“What came of the battle?”
“The slave traders have been defeated.” He knelt to unlock the chains cuffed around her ankles. “Their victims are free.”
“And the kingdoms?”
“Reunited. Father abdicated, and I am king.” A proud grin warmed his expression. “The kingdom is mine, but I would not be pleased to rule without you by my side. Marry me, Adeline, for you were born to be my queen.”
Her breath caught on the magnitude of his words, but before she could answer, he kissed her. As he pulled away, her eyelids fluttered open. Instead of Aric, it was Henry who stood before her. Her sleeves were now a flower-print cotton fabric. Henry was her prince, her rescuer, her true love all along.
She traced a finger along his stubble-covered jaw, but instead of feeling whiskers, she felt something soft but lifeless.
Hannah opened her eyes and stilled her fingers, which were stroking her pillowcase.
She rolled onto her back in the bed she shared with Doris and sighed. That was the perfect ending to her story—not the part of the prince turning into Henry—before that. Aric should rescue Adeline, declare his love, and together they will rule the kingdom, happily ever after.
She checked the miniature clock on her desk beside the bed. Half past one. She’d only slept two hours. The feel of the story was as fresh in her mind as the kiss her dream prince had placed upon her lips. She had to write.
Moving in careful increments, she slid her feet to the floor. Doris let out a little hum in her sleep. Hannah glanced at her sister in the dark as she quietly opened her desk drawer. Once she’d gathered her paper and pencil, she tiptoed to the kitchen and lit the lamp on the table.
By dawn, her eyelids felt as heavy as Adeline’s chains had been, but just like her heroine, she was free. The story was complete and the ending perfect. She read over the final pages once more to check for errors then tucked it back into her desk drawer as her sister stirred.
The routine of her morning—cooking for her family, washing dishes, assigning chores to her sisters—blurred in a haze of fondness for her completed story, pride in her accomplishment, and overwhelming affection for Henry Roberts.
She’d spent as much time sorting through her feelings for him as she had spent writing her story. Now the story was complete, and her feelings were clear. She loved Henry, and he had influenced her writing more than he knew. Desperation to show him the story added urgency to her every task.
She should take the pages to Olivia to be edited before she showed Henry. Not only had Olivia kindly critiqued her story thus far, but also she would edit it. Hannah had assured Henry the final copy would be edited. But if Olivia was busy, it might be several days before Henry would have the privilege of reading it. And several days before she had the privilege of accepting his praise after he’d read it.
Maybe she could edit it herself.
She grabbed a dust rag from the shelf above the washtub to appear to be working and hurried to her desk in the corner of her and Doris’s bedroom. The girls had gone to clean the coop, and only her father was still in the house, repairing his fishing net in the mudroom. She scanned the final pages and didn’t see a single mistake. She could always show Olivia the story later. Maybe she’d even surprise her with a printed and bound copy.
The fear of having others read her work dissolved in the certainty that the story was strong—better than strong. It was everything a love story should be. Soon, she would have Henry’s approval, which would validate her efforts. Then he would turn her story into a beautiful book.
She imagined giving her father the book on his fiftieth birthday. She would roast a chicken for dinner and bake apples for dessert. Then, after her siblings had given him their presents, she would kneel before him, tell him how much his guidance had encouraged her writing, and present him with the book. No, no. She would give it to him on his birthday morning before anyone else was up, so he would have the day to relish her gift before the others presented theirs. He would be so proud of her. Though thrilled with the notion of seeing Henry, this book business was for her father.
She gathered all one hundred ninety-six pages, tied them with twine, and tucked them into her satchel. Forgetting about the dust rag, she carried the satchel to a basket of candles on the storage shelves in the kitchen. She made sure her father could see what she was doing and slid a few candles in the satchel. “I need to go into the village for a while. I have to trade these for paper.”
Christopher glanced at her then returned his gaze to his net mending. “Trade with Henry?”
“Of course.” She was trading the candles as part of their arrangement for the book’s printing, but she couldn’t let her father know it. “Henry has the paper and cutting board.”
Her father gave her a knowing grin. Was it because of Henry or had he caught her dishonesty? The trade for paper wasn’t necessary. She closed her satchel and tied its flap securely. “You were the one who told me to write. You said you wanted to see me use my God-given talents.”
“And I meant it.” He shifted out of the doorway as she descended the mudroom steps. “Be back by lunch.”
“I will.”
She hoisted the satchel’s strap over her head to let the bag hang across her body as she scurried through the yard. The morning grass wet her hem, but she didn’t care. The warm sun flickered off the dew across the pasture. She looked to the side of the property where her mother was buried. The stone marker stood beyond the incline. Though it wasn’t visible from the path to the road, she whispered in its direction. “I finally finished it, Mama. It’s perfect.”
The vacant road into the village welcomed her with its soft morning haze. A jackrabbit sat at the road’s edge across from the Cotters’ house, chewing its breakfast. Birds chattered in the grass and underbrush and the gray leaf trees above. The stately trees reached their limbs across the road to lace their leaves with one another high above the lane.
Hannah almost hummed as she walked the road into the village, but that seemed more like something Doris would do. Her completed story gave her a taste of freedom. Perhaps that was why carefree girls like Doris hummed and twirled; only their ribbons weighed them down.
The print shop door stood open, and a rhythmic tapping came from inside. Hannah smoothed her hair and straightened her posture as she walked to the doorway. Scant light hazed the north-facing
window near Henry’s letterpress. The candles she’d traded to him last month burned brightly in the center of the shop. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light after being outside.
Henry’s back faced the door as he leaned over the letterpress, tapping a little tool against a row of type. He turned a degree when she stepped inside. His brow was furrowed with annoyance but relaxed the instant he saw her.
“Hannah,” he said closing the distance between them. “What a delightful surprise.”
“I brought you something.”
He tossed his little tool to the worktable beside them. It landed at the base of a candelabrum that held a triplet of burning tapers. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking hopeful and boyish. “Something for me?”
She opened her satchel and first drew out the candles she’d brought, setting them on the worktable two at a time, wanting to build suspense. “These are the beginning of my payment.”
The hope drained from his expression as he glanced from her to the candles and back again. “Payment?”
“Yes, you remember our agreement.” She lowered her volume. “More candles in exchange for printing my story.”
“Oh.” He moved a hand to the worktable. She expected him to touch the candles, but instead he straightened a stack of his finely printed pages. Once the pages were perfectly aligned, he picked up his tool and thumped it against the palm of his good hand.
Hoping she’d misread his disappointment, she continued her coy presentation. “I brought the first part of my payment because… even though it is two months early…” she almost squealed with excitement as she drew out the completed manuscript, “my story is ready to be printed.”
She waited for him to gasp from surprise at her efficiency or wrap her in his arms and profess his pride in her and his love for her. He only stared at the manuscript and kept thumping the tool against his palm.
She took a half step forward and slid the twine-bound pages onto the worktable next to the candelabrum. “I thought you would be… rather… aren’t you pleased?”
All Things Beautiful (Uncharted Beginnings Book 3) Page 12