Would the unveiled truth cost her the friendship she’d just begun to prize?
He was late. And it dogged him, because he loved punctuality.
Wesley’s brow prickled with moisture as he entered the library and turned toward his rendezvous with Maggie Abbott. The anxiety of being late, combined with the risk he’d taken and the one he was about to take, had his heart bounding as if he were a fly-fisherman hooking a feisty brown trout on the Minnie River.
It made him feel more alive than he’d been in a lifetime of camp meetings.
What could a man ever hope to gain without risk?
Wesley prayed his plans would come together as he hoped.
True to form, he found his library princess bent over her studies, the evening light glowing about her as she looked up. The smile she gave him landed straight in his chest, settling the last of his doubts.
“Maggie, I’m late. I wanted to be earlier—I’ve got tickets. We should hurry.”
“You’ve what?” Her brow wrinkled at his rushed and tumbled invitation.
“To the lecture at Evelyn Hall. Isabel Garghill Beecher is speaking. It’s to be magnificent. I knew you’d not be able to resist.” He grinned with the knowledge that he’d paid double the price to get Sam’s extra ticket for Maggie.
“But the Reading Circle questions … I thought …”
The library clock began to herald quarter of six.
“Miss Beecher is famous on the Chautauqua speaking circuit, you’ll see.” He began closing books and gathering papers as Miss Eloise’s footsteps sounded on cue behind him.
“Maggie Mae Abbott, I’ve got to leave early tonight. You’d best let Mr. Hill see you out now and lock the door behind you.” Miss Eloise’s directive brooked no argument from Maggie, despite the younger woman’s look of astonishment.
Maggie turned to shelve a stack of books on the wooden library cart, and Miss Eloise grinned at Wesley as she winked.
“We should hurry.” He reached to guide Maggie’s elbow.
“But I should get back …”
“Oh, and Maggie, I promised your father I’d bring him some cold cuts from the butcher. He offered to fix the broken window shutters on my front porch. It’s the least I can do, you know. Such a gentleman, your father is.” Miss Eloise chattered on, not letting Maggie excuse herself abruptly as she was accustomed. Wesley took Maggie’s satchel over his shoulder and gently guided her after Miss Eloise toward the door.
Outside the library doors Maggie flashed a look between the two of them as Miss Eloise’s key turned the lock. “There you are. Now, the two of you have a lovely evening at the lecture.” Patting Maggie on the arm, she turned away, leaving them alone.
“But I haven’t any money with me to pay for my ticket.” Maggie looked a bit ambushed.
“Already taken care of.” Wesley held up the tickets, waiting for an answer.
“I’m not dressed for an evening out.”
She met his gaze as he held out his hand, but still hesitated.
“Maggie, it’s your company I want. You look lovely.”
“You planned this with Miss Eloise, didn’t you?”
“I’ll never tell.” He winked at her, and the pink that sprinkled her cheeks was worth the exorbitant price of the extra ticket.
“You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Chapter Six
If Miss Eloise hadn’t been such a champion, Maggie would think it was time to insist she keep her nose out of … what? What exactly was Mr. Hill other than a library patron? A friend? Beside her, Wesley Graham Hill III hadn’t stopped talking about the lectures he’d enjoyed in the Reading Circle and at the assembly hall and how her mind would swell if she could hear them all. Her arm nestled in his as they crossed the wooded campus of Bay View. Of course she’d walked beneath the summer shade of these maple trees a hundred times or more, but only as if she’d borrowed the sweet place without legitimate permission. She might believe it were hers easier if she’d jumped into it with H.G. Wells’s time traveler at her side in place of Wesley Hill.
Wesley led her toward Evelyn Hall, the largest and most beautiful Queen Anne-style home near the center of campus with a large wraparound porch dotted with rocking chairs. The transom windows were cracked open to let the cool summer breeze from Lake Michigan keep the crowded room they entered from overheating while Miss Beecher spoke.
Maggie hardly noticed anyone in the audience, so enraptured was she by Miss Beecher’s recitation. Wesley seated her next to another academy man, nestling her in the chair between them. Lost in the story world the woman created, the transport into imagination so glorious, Maggie was convinced her own ability to take Wesley to Holland and back with her words paled by comparison.
Outside Evelyn Hall, shadows from the setting sun cast the flowers into greater brilliance than she’d noticed before. The air from the bay had grown cooler and the scent of pine trees filled the evening air. Goose bumps traveled up her arms, the absence of her seatmates’ nearness now chilled her as they walked farther away from the crowded speaker’s hall. She shivered and folded her hands across her arms, the story still casting a sweet satisfaction over her soul.
“You’re cold?” Wesley shifted out of his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders as the man she’d been sandwiched beside approached them. Linked on the man’s arm was a stunning brunette dressed in an evening gown Maggie had seen in a shop window. Wesley draped his arm about Maggie’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. “Come have tea with us, Mag? Please say you’ll come along, it’ll be just the thing to warm you.”
The young man with wire-rimmed spectacles grasped Wesley’s shoulder with a squeeze. “So, you’ve brought your own company finally, Wes? I thought I’d have to manage your schedule forever.” He winked at Wesley as he waited for an introduction.
“Aw, Sam, lay off. This is the lovely Miss Maggie Abbott I’ve told you about.”
Maggie felt her cheeks grow pink under the compliment and scrutiny. Suddenly she felt her smart navy skirt and ivory shirtwaist represented Miss Eloise’s generation more than her own. Soon she’d been introduced to Wesley’s lifetime chap, Sam, and Sam’s lady friend, Francine, as the four drifted away from the center of campus. Away from home. Away from the train station and the library. Away from her father and Miss Eloise. A wonderful, terrible shiver enveloped her beneath Wesley’s jacket. The jacket wafted minty soap with a mix of oak moss and ferns that made her feel as if she’d just slept in one of the English gardens she’d read about. Penhaligon’s English Fern cologne, was it? Maggie had noticed it at Fay’s Dress Shop, remembering the ingredients of the fragrance Father had told her about.
The glory of the evening was more intoxicating than any book she’d ever read, and as with books, she couldn’t tear herself away from it as they strolled through the grove and along the streets lined with cottage after cottage. Each one held its own charm, white-painted gingerbread lattice framed over lace-curtained windows. Porches lined with chairs tugged at Maggie’s yearning for a porch of her own where she and Father could sit and watch the stars or drink a cup of cocoa. July cicadas had begun to sing, announcing midsummer and the coming of August warmth.
At the foot of the steps that Sam and Francine ascended before them, Maggie hesitated, overwhelmed by the formality of crossing the threshold of Wesley’s family cottage linked on his arm. Something warned inside her, and it must have shown on her face.
“Mag?” Wesley turned back from the steps to face her as she looked up at the two-story luxurious summer home and wondered how formidably powerful and genteel the family’s winter home surely was.
“It’s so lovely.”
“Come meet my aunt. She’s been waiting for an introduction.” He stood before her, the twilight growing dark around them, the light from the parlor window around his strong shoulders. “Don’t be nervous, Mag. She’ll love you. You’ll love her.”
“You should have told me you had this in mind.” She swallowed
and bit her lip, taking a deep breath before she looked up at him. “You did … have this in mind, didn’t you?” The question blurted before she could take it back, yet she really had to know just how he’d been thinking of her.
Stepping closer, Wesley laid his hands over her arms, engulfed in his jacket sleeves.
She searched his eyes that twinkled with the rising moonlight, wanting reassurance she hadn’t been foolish. Her heart skipped a beat when he slid a lock of her hair away from her face.
“Would you have come if I’d asked?” That cheeky half grin she’d come to like tugged at his mouth. “Or would you have run off like you have every other time?”
Somehow his baritone voice, their conversations about worlds far away, all their talk of the wisdom of God and humanity, his patient waiting for her as he stood close, eased the warning within. She thought to pray before resting her arm in his, unsure she could hear any heavenly directive at such a moment. How did anyone know with certainty about such things?
And how had he called her “Mag” in such a way that made her think he’d thrown convention and formality aside like a society rebel, yet still managed to treat her in such a way that made her want to follow him through the front door of the most prominent family in Bay View?
Wesley wasn’t sure which was more worrisome—that the formidable wealth he lived in was overwhelming, or that facing Uncle Bernard as a woman of unknown family lineage might scare her away forever.
Hand at her back, he led her through the front doors, down the hallway, and into the parlor where Sam and Francine had taken their comfortable places. He hoped Sam might buffer the conversation and any unwelcome scrutiny from Uncle Bernard. But his uncle wasn’t home. Only Aunt Maud, and she brimmed with all the sweetness that he loved her for.
Wesley breathed a sigh of relief, releasing the tension and tightness from his chest. Aunt Maud, who only saw hearts and souls, could be counted on to put Maggie at ease. He winked at her from where he stood next to Maggie.
While he made introductions to his aunt, Sam and Francine drifted to the settee where they sipped tea and paged through the day’s newspaper. True to her nature, his aunt engulfed Maggie with a warm embrace that made him wish his mother could have been there for the introduction. Maggie caught his gaze for a moment as Aunt Maud engaged her attention—pouring her tea, offering her pleasantries, and drawing her in with conversation about the Reading Circle and the library.
When the teacups were emptied, he and Sam convinced Maggie and Francine to take turns reading poems aloud from the Reading Circle magazine. First Francine stood in the center of the parlor to mimic the monologue stance of the evening’s reader, then Maggie. Aunt Maud sat quietly in her rocker with needlepoint work that had slid to her lap as she’d laid her head back, her eyes closed while listening to Maggie’s sweet recitation of “The Brook” by Tennyson.
To have her here. To listen to her voice, the rhythm of her words, the song of the cicadas accompanying her from the open windows. To let his gaze lock with hers when she looked up from the page, the soft pink on her cheeks when she did—Wesley’s heart turned in his chest with the satisfaction of enjoying her presence and the feeling that she belonged here with him. He had every confidence in her, having witnessed her twill a story and paint a scene with her words. Yet, as she had glanced at him before she’d begun, as if to bolster some insecurity, she had a look on her face not unlike the near panic when she rushed away at the end of their every meeting. A look he suspected spoke of some vulnerability he’d yet to discover—an uncertainty he yearned to guard.
Sam, Francine, and Aunt Maud applauded when she finished, and Wesley stood up to take the magazine from her. A sudden urge to kiss her cheek overcame him as his hand brushed hers. All doubt vanished from Maggie’s face as she smiled under their praise for her performance, her eyes twinkling with delight as he looked down at her. But the magic moment broke with the commanding voice of Uncle Bernard interjecting into the social hour that was nearly perfect until now. “What’s all this excitement?”
Wesley followed social protocol with an introduction, praying his uncle would welcome Maggie as warmly as his aunt had. “Uncle Bernard, this is Miss Magdalena Abbott, my reading assistant from the library.”
“So you are.” He tipped his head, his direct gaze deflected to the floor a split moment as if he might dismiss her presence and turn away altogether. Instead he leaned back his head to focus on her. “So Miss Abbott, are library sciences your training and ambition?”
Wesley wanted to rescue her. Shield her from an interrogation that was sure to end in some degree of silent disapproval if she weren’t connected to a solidly established family. Aunt Maud had resurrected out of her chair and come to Maggie’s side.
“Yes sir. I hope to become head librarian one day.” She stood straight, shoulders confident. Though a few red blotches crept up her neck, she never flinched as she returned Uncle Bernard’s gaze. “It’s so gracious of your family to have shared your home with me this evening.” The pulse at her throat defied the calm in her voice.
Uncle Bernard’s eyes squinted. “Abbott, you say? I don’t recall the surname. Have you summered here long?”
“All my life, sir.” Her lip quivered.
“Here in Bay View?”
“Petoskey.” She glanced to Wesley, a look of uncertainty shimmering behind her forced confidence.
Sam and Francine announced their leave and bid all good night, relieving Maggie of the inevitable study of Uncle Bernard. Wesley drew Maggie toward the door, his hand on the small of her back, wanting to protect her from any impending disapproval. He would defend her strengths to his uncle no matter the pressure and resistance, but only after he’d seen her home safely. “It’s late, Uncle. Forgive the short introduction, but I must get Maggie home.”
Uncle Bernard bowed slightly, ever polite. “Next time we’ll visit about your family, Miss Abbott.” He smiled. Wesley knew he meant well, but his mannerism still boded a thorough interrogation ahead.
“Perhaps, sir.” She managed to hold a confidence as she faced him, then thanked Aunt Maud. He felt Maggie’s urgency mount as she moved toward the door, holding his arm a little too tightly, as if ready to bolt.
Chapter Seven
She had summered here all her life. She hadn’t lied. Maggie reminded God of that truth as Wesley led her down the steps of his summer home. She reminded Him, too, that she wasn’t tempted to lie about her humble beginnings—she cherished her faith and roots far too deeply to betray them. Why should she have to prove herself worthy to a man who only cared about her family’s name?
“Maggie, slow down.” Wesley quickened his steps to catch up to where she outpaced him.
She pinched her lips between her teeth to stem the rush of emotion behind her eyes.
She’d been a fool to come.
He enveloped her shoulders with his jacket once again as they walked back through the grove toward the train station. Wesley’s scent filled her senses once again, holding her in the comfort of his friendship. She didn’t want to resist his kindness—but she had to.
“Mag, please. Don’t run away like you always do.” His confidence unrelenting, Wesley kept her pace. “Didn’t you love the evening?”
She shouldn’t have looked up at him, but she couldn’t bear to think he believed she hadn’t loved every moment of it. “Of course I did.”
“Then why such a rush to escape? Come with me to the lecture again next week, will you? Don’t let Uncle scare you. I promise he’s not uncaring.”
“I’m sure he’s not. That’s precisely it. He cares very much for protecting his ambition, his family name—as I suppose he should. But …” She didn’t want to say the obvious. The things Wesley seemed not to care about.
“But what? Mag, say you’ll come with me again.” Wesley tugged her arm to stop, while Sam and Francine walked arm in arm far in front of them.
“Wesley, I can’t.” She willed him to see the truth without jeop
ardizing the opportunity he’d extended to her—a friendship on an equal footing. “I’m not a lifetime member here in Bay View like you are, with a generation before me to establish my standing.” Her throat nearly choked on the words that would force him to see their difference.
“You live in Petoskey. Lots of summer folk live there and still attend all our Chautauqua activities without being Bay View members.”
“Wesley, I don’t have a winter mansion in Detroit or Chicago. I live here year round.”
“My uncle’s wealthy for sure, but it doesn’t define me. It shouldn’t—”
“You don’t understand,” Maggie blurted. Her heart felt as if it were going to tear in two. She wanted nothing more than the simple comfort of her moonlit bedroom to calm the tumult charging through her. After all, he’d introduced her only as his library assistant. The rose he’d sent spoke only of friendship. To wish for more was foolish. Risky at best. She turned away from him to pick up her pace again as they neared the train station, the gas lamps lighting the boardwalk in the distance.
Ahead of them, Sam and Francine called their evening farewells as they turned back along the street that overlooked the moonlight on Lake Michigan.
“Mag, it doesn’t matter to me that you haven’t been a lifetime member here in the Bay.” He’d kept his stride with hers even though she’d pressed onward without him.
“But it does matter.” She rushed to wait for the next train under the lamplight. Shifting out of his jacket, she handed it back to him and turned to watch down the tracks.
She couldn’t look at him. Grateful that he didn’t argue or stand face-to-face to defy her, she released her breath and wished to return to the simple pleasure of sharing work together at the library. Where things were simpler and the lines of friendship were clear.
Life had been simpler at the library.
The tracks vibrated as the rumbling train drew near. Maggie kept her back to Wesley, willing her heart to slow down, her eyes on the train as it neared. He was a wealthy cottager.
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 52