She was the daughter of a hired gardener.
“Everything about you matters to me, Mag.” His voice was close over her shoulder. She felt his strength behind her, rivaling the train that pounded louder and closer until it halted. His warm hand enveloped her fingers.
Maggie stepped away to board, her hand slipping from his. Turning back to him, she looked into his eyes drilling hers with confidence and intensity. “I’m a simple library assistant, Wesley. I haven’t even an academy diploma.”
He shook his head. His eyes were pleading, and for a moment she thought he might even board the train with her. But he seemed to understand she sought some safe distance.
The train started to pull away. The silhouette of his strength in the lamplight gripped her.
“Good night, Wesley Graham Hill.”
Wesley turned back to follow the way home only after he could no longer see her face in the streetcar window. The more time he’d spent with Maggie Abbott, the more tormented she seemed. One moment relaxed, the words of a story or scene rolling free from her imagination. The next, she was slipping through his grasp.
It had taken sheer willpower not to rest his hands on her shoulders and turn her to face him.
It had taken every shred of determination not to run after her—not to kiss her.
She wasn’t the toying kind of woman, no. The look in her eyes as she departed was a sort of agony that pressed at him not to give up his pursuit. Whatever it was that overwhelmed her, he would be gentle but unremitting. And if Uncle Bernard had scared her off … well, he’d have to speak his mind to the man.
Wesley reached the foot of his uncle’s front steps, heart still pounding and his mind still calculating. For a moment, he wondered what his mother felt when she stood there years ago to visit her sister who’d become the wife of wealthy Mr. Bernard Hill. When his mother had suffered from tuberculosis and his father had insisted Wesley spend summers in northern Michigan’s clean air, it was his uncle’s wealth that had afforded him breath and a future. But Wesley could never banish the memory of the ache in his mother’s eyes each summer he’d left her side. He wished that as a child he could have told her what had been in his heart—that all Uncle Bernard’s affluence and opportunity would never replace the love he felt for her.
Blast it if he let Uncle Bernard’s wealth—the thing that had saved him from consumption and ultimately from the typhoid that had overcome his parents—blast it if it would keep him from Maggie Abbott.
Wesley took the porch steps by two and found Uncle Bernard in the parlor. The paper in his hand dipped as he peered up at Wesley, who stood fighting for words that wouldn’t sound ungrateful. Aunt Maud sat forward and stood, concern and kindness lining her face.
“Oh, Wesley, she’s a lovely young lady, your Miss Abbott.” Her eyes twinkled as she laid her hand on Wesley’s arm as if to calm his untamed thoughts.
“Thank you, Aunt Maud. It’s kind of you to say so. But …” He didn’t want Uncle Bernard to dismiss his attention. “But it’s Uncle Bernard’s thoughts I need.” His fingers clenched tight within his fists.
The newspaper slacked further in Uncle’s hands. “If it’s my approval you want, I cannot give it.”
Flaming heat rushed to Wesley’s cheeks. “You don’t even know her. For the love of Saint Peter, you practically demanded references before she was granted the privilege of simply having tea in your parlor. When did my social calls become the focal point of your scrutiny? You say next to nothing about every young lady Sam has paraded through this house for weeks, yet when I find a worthy match, you dissect her to shreds. Why, you were …”
Uncle Bernard dropped the paper and stood to face him.
“You were as near to rude as one could get.”
“Are you quite finished speaking your mind?” Uncle’s eyes were unreadable steel. His jaw tightened.
Wesley’s heart pulsed in his head. Having never spoken harsh words to his uncle, his breath squeezed in his chest. He didn’t desire an argument, but he would speak the truth. He trained his silence. Forcing himself to be calm and cool, he refused to look away from the speech that was to come from Uncle Bernard.
“You are right. I don’t know the young woman. Nor do you. We don’t know her family, her history, her connections. She’s not one of us, not of the same mind. You may think you understand her, Wesley. But a life with someone like Mary Reed would be much more secure for you. A girl like Miss Abbott, well, who’s to say she’s not after the wealth you’ll someday inherit? Your position here would be assured with a match like Miss Reed.”
“You’re wrong.” It tore Wesley to say it bluntly. “How could you believe that your money, this cottage, or ideas for my future hinge on such thin assumptions? Is this what you’ve become?” Wesley sensed Aunt Maud’s gasp as she held her silence beside them. “What could ever make you pressure me into a loveless match such as that with Miss Reed?”
“I made a promise.” Uncle Bernard’s voice cracked. His square shoulders slumped.
“What? To whom?” Surely he hadn’t made an agreement with Miss Reed’s father.
“To your father.”
The admittance slammed into Wesley’s heart and mind, taking the wind from his determination. “What?” He shook his head, feeling as if he might stagger. Uncle Bernard had rarely spoken of Wesley’s father since he’d passed.
“Before his death. Your father made me promise to look after your future—to give you the future he couldn’t give you. An education. A place in my company. I promised you’d have an inheritance, that I would guard your future.”
Stunned at the truth of words spoken in haste of death, Wesley could scarcely believe that the promises that had kept him safe were the very same that pushed Maggie away.
“You were such a young lad then. Your mother had already passed. I’ve only tried to keep my word the best I know how. I’m not perfect, but I do know some things you could stand to learn, starting with the fact that you should be grateful for what I’ve given you.”
“Of course.” Of course he was grateful. “But I’ll not accept that the faith and love my parents shared is less important than the wealth and privilege you’ve given me, Uncle. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that. Perhaps this whole community has forgotten that—so swept up with the infection of prestige that we’ve all forgotten the birth of faith in the simple things like the old week-long camp meetings where my mother and Aunt Maud first came to know our Lord and Savior. Wealth, this place—this little Utopia—will all vanish someday. But what I’ll forever be most grateful for is the love and faith I found in those camp meetings here. Perhaps my father never meant for anything more than that.”
Uncle Bernard’s face softened to the kindness Wes remembered from his youth. “Wealth is a privilege and a burden, dear Wesley. I only mean to protect you and your future. Forgive me in every way I’ve failed as a—a father to you.” The contrite words cracked in a tender way that cut to Wesley’s heart. Behind the stiff businessman exterior, Uncle Bernard was a gentle soul.
“Of course I forgive you, Uncle. Only let me find my way in love—by faith.”
Uncle Bernard’s chin quivered, his lips slightly upturned beneath his white mustache as he held out his hand and locked his blue eyes with Wesley’s. For once the man’s shoulders didn’t look so burdened as he gripped Wes’s hand and pulled him close to pat a hand on his back before they parted for the night.
Wesley kissed Aunt Maud’s cheek and sauntered down the hallway toward the stairs. He paused for a moment, his hand on the banister while he listened to the low voices in the parlor.
“How I love that boy, Maud. I only hope I’ve done right by him.”
“Oh, Bern. I remember the look of love in his eyes for you as a young boy. You haven’t lost him. But I fear you know you’re about to lose him to Miss Abbott, and that’s truly what’s got you riled.”
Wesley’s heart swelled with the truth of it.
He loved Aunt Maud and Uncle Ber
nard.
But Maggie Abbott had claimed a place in his heart that he couldn’t remove her from no matter how many times she ran away from him. Uncle Bernard would come to love her, too. If only he could convince Maggie.
Chapter Eight
She hadn’t slept well. The longer she leaned over the front desk of the library, the more her back ached. Or perhaps it was her heart, she couldn’t be sure. The solace she’d always found in the safety of the library escaped her reach. Only misery, like the rain that clouded the windows and dripped against the windowpane, kept pace with her aching heart.
She was grateful for the few patrons and the silence that was only somewhat comforting. Another package had arrived from Mr. W. G. Hill that morning, and she’d slid it unopened into the drawer until after lunchtime. Miss Eloise had eyed her all through lunch as Maggie had picked at her food.
Finally, she took the package from the drawer and pulled out the contents of her next assignment. A pink tea rose was pressed and laid on top. Wesley’s handwritten note lacked all academic tone and she could hear his voice in her mind as she read.
Come with me, my dear Mag. There’s an afternoon tea on Friday. A reading on the lawn at 4:00 p.m.
Yours,
Wesley
“Oh …” Maggie held the flower and the note to her heart and drew in a breath, closing her eyes. “Oh Lord, tell me what to do,” she whispered, treasuring his invitation.
“Tell you what?”
Maggie opened her eyes wide. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Then what is that ‘nothing’ you are clutching to your chest, my dear?” A twinkle lit Miss Eloise’s eyes.
“It’s Wesley—Mr. Hill, I mean—he’s invited me for tea.” Maggie’s hands shook as she thrust the invitation onto the desk, pushed her chair back, and stood. “I can’t go, of course.” She began to pace and think out loud while Miss Eloise watched her. “How shall I tell him I can’t go?”
“Nonsense. You’ll go.”
“What? I’ll not go. I can’t go. You don’t understand.”
The front door sounded and Maggie looked at the clock and back to Miss Eloise, whose twinkling eyes now had a grin to match as Wesley marched toward them, staring at Maggie dead on with that confidence she loved, yet at the moment she loathed. Confidence, she had a sinking feeling, that could sway her to agree to things she knew better than to agree to. When had the clock struck five? She wasn’t ready to face him.
Maggie’s thoughts swirled as Wesley and Miss Eloise greeted one another with conspiratorial tones before they faced her.
“So you’ll be here to fetch her at three forty-five sharp on Friday. Yes, Mr. Hill, I can release her from her duties.”
Wait! What had she missed while lost in her befuddled thoughts?
“Miss Abbott.” Wesley reached across the desk between them. He took her hand and touched a soft kiss on the back of it before looking up. “I shall see you on Friday. Rain, or shine.”
Maggie’s mouth parted, but no words came forth. She swallowed dryly as he released her hand and turned, bidding Miss Eloise good day before slipping out as quickly as he’d appeared.
The front door shut, the click of the handle snapping her back to reality.
“Miss Eloise, what have you done? Why did you do that? You knew I didn’t want to go, yet there you stood, taking full advantage of my … my …”
“You most certainly did not say you didn’t want to go.” The woman’s stubborn hands went to her waist. Her stance said she wasn’t going to lose this argument. “You said you couldn’t go.”
“But you told him I could!” Serious dread filled her at the thought. She’d tried to tell him she wasn’t like him, give him some sort of hint that she wasn’t the girl he thought she was. “I don’t even have a tea dress to wear.” Tears stung her eyelids. She sat with a thump on her chair. “This is terrible.”
Miss Eloise came around the desk beside her. “Oh, don’t worry, I have something in mind. I’ll get a dress to your place in time for you to wear it Friday. Your father will swell with pride when he sees you in it, dear.”
Maggie shot up from the chair. “Oh no, you can’t.” Panic seized her.
A knowing look came over Miss Eloise’s face. “You haven’t told him about Wesley, child?”
Maggie’s tears spilled over as she shook her head. Overwhelmed by desire and confusion, a sob lurched from her chest as Miss Eloise swept her close the way she’d always done from the time she’d first skinned her knees as a girl. But the warm bosom of Miss Eloise couldn’t whisk away the feelings in her heart this time, and before she was ready the matron pushed her away to look her in the face.
“Oh, girl, tell me, why haven’t you told your father?”
Was it the desire of Wesley’s friendship she was most afraid of? Or… “I—I didn’t want to—shame him.” More sobs erupted from her chest as she threw herself in Miss Eloise’s embrace once more. “He’s given me everything I’ve ever needed. He always trusts that God gives us just enough. More is wasteful. To wish for more … I’m so afraid I’ll hurt Father’s pride—that he’ll think he couldn’t give me enough….” She swiped away tears with some relief at the admission of truth, the weight of holding it unspoken finally free from her soul.
“Are you quite certain that is the real reason for your tears, my girl?”
Maggie looked up to see Miss Eloise’s tender gaze that had a way of unveiling truth she hadn’t yet seen. “Yes.” But tears surged forth once more. “I think so….”
“Perhaps it’s less Mr. Hill’s social standing with your father and more your heart’s position with Mr. Hill’s that’s got you so upended? Do you care for Wesley, my dear?”
The admission of the truth bubbled up from Maggie’s heart. “Yes.” The simple word both relieved her and frightened her ridiculously.
“Your father loves you, dear girl. He wants the best for you. And if Wesley Graham Hill is the Heavenly Father’s best for you, then your earthly father won’t be looking at the man’s social standing, and you know it. He’ll be looking at the young man’s standing with the Lord our Father. I happen to approve, or I wouldn’t have allowed him to see you in the first place. You’ve never let the hard times that came to your family hold you back, and I certainly hope you won’t let those trials hold you back now.”
Maggie wiped the last of her tears away.
“Seems to me now that you’ve spoken the truth, you’ve got to find a way of telling it to the men in your life. Maggie-girl, you can’t live the rest of your life in the library like I have.”
Dinner was finished. The dishes were dried and put away. Maggie’s shoulders ached from the long day. She knew her father’s knees ached from the difficult gardening he’d done on all fours, up and down all day. When she knocked on the pine frame of his bedroom door, he looked up from the book that lay closed on his lap. Maggie always thought of the small space where his chair was placed beside his bed as a parlor where she stopped in to see him before she retired.
“You look tired, Father. Is the book not good? Shall I get you something more entertaining tomorrow?”
“Just a long day, my dear magpie.”
Maggie lingered, anxiety gripping her mind for how to broach what was on her heart.
“Sit down here.” He moved his stocking feet aside on the tattered ottoman.
Gathering her courage, she sat beside him. “Father, I’ve been asked to attend tea Friday.”
“That’s lovely. A tea with the academy girls? Miss Eloise says there are a lot of young girls who attend.”
She swallowed. “It’s Mr. Hill who’s asked.”
He stiffened. “Bernard Hill’s got a boy, does he?”
“Nephew.”
“I see.”
But Maggie couldn’t see what thoughts marched through her father’s mind, what judgments, what disappointment. Yet there was some hint in the way the lines of his forehead deepened.
“Just tea then?”
&n
bsp; “Yes sir.” What did her father know of Bernard Hill? She wanted to explain that Wesley wasn’t like the old man. Instead, she waited his response.
“I suppose there’s no harm in having tea. I’ve let bygones be bygones.”
“What does that mean? You know his nephew?” She’d never known her father to hold a grudge, and the mere mention of bygones cast a foreboding over her.
“Mr. Hill the senior. Before your mother died I used to garden at the Perry where he served on the board. When the hotel burned down, there was a rumor that a lantern caught some grass cuttings on fire—in the gardener’s shed. The entire staff was let go, even though no one knew for certain. When he rebuilt the hotel, he started with a whole new staff.”
“But you weren’t to blame.”
“Of course not. But they had benefactors who needed to be appeased. It made hard times for us. That was the reason your mother had to find work. Work that eventually wore her down until she caught pneumonia the winter we lost her.”
Maggie held her breath as the memories that led up to her mother’s passing danced behind the look on her father’s face. So much sadness and heartache he’d faced. He looked up at her with a tender smile. “I forgave him and the board. Once the Father showed me it wasn’t his fault any more than that fire was mine.”
Though there might have been flaws in his reasoning, she could see by the light in his eyes that the peace he’d made long ago was more important. Perhaps that’s what he’d decided as well. Still, there was an old pain there she didn’t want to see reopened. “It’s just tea, Father.” She wanted to reassure him.
“Yes. It is.” But the flat way he said it made her think he knew better.
In time, he might come to hold Wesley in the esteem she’d always hoped he might for the man she would choose to share life with. For now though, it was only tea she was having, for heaven’s sake.
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 53