Midnight Caller (Moonlight Romance)

by Haley Whitehall

  It had been three days, but their magical night seemed only yesterday. She touched her cheeks. Would everyone know she was still reveling in the afterglow of sex? Could they tell she had a man on her mind?

  She should try to hide her feelings, but that was impossible.

  No longer the grieving widow, she boldly wore a bright pink dress and a sapphire pendant, perfect for summer. She twirled the light blue parasol, rotating the handle in her hands. Some townspeople smiled, but many more gave her puzzled looks or even a stare. She didn’t care. Like Mrs. Dimshire said, it was time for her to get on with her life.

  She had never felt so energized. She stopped and looked at her reflection in the large window of the milliner’s shop. She turned her head to the left and to the right. Her bone underskirt added shape to her tiny figure. Yes, she was still young and beautiful. She pinched her cheeks. For the first time since Hank’s death she actually cared about her appearance.

  Did she want to impress Frederick? Her heart palpitated at the thought of seeing him again. It was wrong. It was very wrong. Women were expected to be sexually restrained and sleeping with a colored man was the biggest taboo she could break. But she was tired of doing the right thing. Hank had been so straitlaced, she’d been afraid to flash so much as a frown.

  Frederick made love to her with such passion, she craved a second helping. She doubted she could get enough to satisfy her appetite for the masculine roustabout.

  The lady running the milliner’s shop stepped outside and smiled. “Would you like to try any of them on, Mrs. Bennett?”

  “No, thank you. Maybe later.” Her straw bonnet adorned with pink silk and fabric daisies would do for now.

  The woman nodded and stepped back inside.

  Coffee, flour, sugar, eggs, and some peaches. She ticked off the things she needed on her fingers. This morning she discovered her pantry was quite bare. After Hank died she preferred to stay in her home, avoiding the looks of pity and condolences from the townspeople. Shopping had become a chore instead of a delight.

  Now she was going to enjoy the sunny afternoon, showing off her summer dress. It still looked fashionable even though it was a couple years old. Thanks to the strong breeze the humid heat was bearable. Perhaps she should treat herself to a glass of lemonade.

  Oh no. She spotted Mr. Hawthorne. He caught her gaze and smiled. She looked away, not wanting to encourage him.

  Mr. Hawthorne took long strides, walking toward her. Her insides pitched and bile rose to her mouth. That was the one man she didn’t care to impress. She debated whether to cross to the other side of the street. Before she could make up her mind, he was on her.

  “Mrs. Bennett, you look fetching.”

  “Thank you.” His compliment turned her blood to ice. The only thing fetching about the telegraph operator was his black suit. It seemed he had lost more of his auburn hair since Hank had died.

  He reached out and grabbed her arm. She took a step back, but he did not release his grip.

  “May I escort you to your destination?” His voice was kind, but his touch was far from gentlemanly.

  She had no choice but to nod, which was clearly his intention. He interlocked his arm with hers and patted her hand. “Where are you going on this sunny afternoon?”

  “Just to the mercantile.” Thankfully not far. His spicy cologne clogged up her nostrils. She took quick breaths.

  They walked down sidewalk arm in arm. The look he shot a passing gentleman was one of possession. She’s mine. Stay away.

  Her legs turned to cotton and did not feel like they would support her weight.

  “Are you all right?” Mr. Hawthorne asked, genuinely concerned.

  “I think I just need to sit down. It’s the heat.”

  Mr. Hawthorne guided her over to a bench outside the barber’s shop and sat next to her. He touched her cheek and she gasped and pulled back.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am. You are flushed. May I get you a glass of water?”

  Talking to him dried up her tongue. “Yes, thank you.”

  Mr. Hawthorne walked into the barber’s shop in search of a glass of water and Emma drew a deep breath. Her lungs remained clenched, but she tried to relax. He couldn’t hurt her, not out in the open where everyone would see.

  She could handle the situation. She wouldn’t make a scene. She would be the proper lady everyone expected. Rubbing out a wrinkle on her dress sleeve, she pretended to not notice Mr. Hawthorne’s return. He reeked of whatever bottle of stink he had put on this morning. Was that supposed to attract women?

  She much preferred Frederick’s sweaty and fishy smell, not to mention his well-toned body. Mr. Hawthorne was nothing more than an out-of-shape man with a sagging middle.

  Finally looking up, she smiled at him. “Oh, Mr. Hawthorne. Thank you.” She took the water from his hands and she sipped it slowly. She reined in her fear and her heart fell from her throat back to where it belonged. “I am ready to continue,” she said, and accepted his hand.

  He pulled her to her feet and when he took her arm again he led her more lightly. Maybe he did care about her feelings. A little.

  She forced a smile, although a blind person would be able to tell it was fake. Many ladies she knew were watching them and she didn’t want it to look like she was treading on hot coals. They’d gossip, wonder if Mr. Hawthorne was courting her.

  She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Hank had been persuaded by the growing gossip to propose, but at that time she wasn’t much more than a girl. Now she could brave the gossip. Even if Mr. Hawthorne proposed a million times, she would never accept.

  They entered the mercantile and the clerk’s eyes widened. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps down the side of the counter closer to them. “How can I help you, Mrs. Bennett?” he directed the question at her as if he expected her to beg him to point a rifle at Mr. Hawthorne. The telegraph operator had made a few enemies in town.

  “I just need a few things, Mr. Taylor,” Emma said, straining to keep her tone normal and not quite succeeding. “Half a pound of coffee please, a pound of sugar and flour, four eggs, and eight peaches.”

  “Certainly, ma’am.” Mr. Taylor bagged the groceries, placing the eggs in a separate basket, and set them on the counter.

  “Just put it on my account,” Mr. Hawthorne said.

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Hawthorne,” Emma said, “but that is not necessary.”

  “I know Hank had some money, but you need to be careful with your budget, Mrs. Bennett. You no longer have a husband providing for you.”

  His words packed both concern and a threat. Emma’s neck prickled, but she allowed him to buy her groceries because she didn’t want to cause a scene.

  They walked outside, with Mr. Hawthorne no longer holding her arm because she had made him carry the bag of supplies and basket of eggs. That was a relief. His touch was revolting.

  “Thank you again,” she said when Mr. Hawthorne had escorted her to her front step. “I can take the groceries now.”

  Mr. Hawthorne handed over the groceries and then shoved a hand in one of his coat pockets. He rocked on his heels. “Mrs. Bennett,” he said drawing out her name. “Now that you’re…” He paused, swallowed and then tried again. “Would you do me the honor of attending the church social with me?”

  Church social? It had completed slipped her mind. When she’d been in mourning, she hadn’t worried about such things.

  “I…um…I appreciate the invitation, I really do, Mr. Hawthorne, but I do not think I am ready to take that step yet.”

  “I see.” Mr. Hawthorne frowned. “Maybe in a few more months then?”

  Oh, Lord. Save her. “I guess we’ll see in a few months,” she said. “I am not interested in courting.” Her voice was sickening sweet.

  His face reddened and she felt like she had swallowed a brick. He picked up on her refusal and she feared steam would erupt from his ears. Secretly she was not interested in courting period.


  “I am not going to give up, Mrs. Bennett,” Mr. Hawthorne said, fire blazing in his eyes. “You will change your mind.” His voice was level, tough, and determined.

  He stormed down the street leaving foul air in his wake.

  Chapter 8

  Frederick received Emma’s second summons. Giddy energy bubbled in his veins. He forced out the bounce creeping into his gait. He cracked a smile and wound his way through the streets of Louisville.

  Fireflies danced in the light summer breeze, lighting the way. It almost seemed magical.

  He couldn’t get to her house fast enough. No. He was not in love with her. She was just his favorite client. At least that was what he kept telling himself. Deep down he knew that was a lie. It was ridiculous to fall for a woman so fast. But she had enchanted him from first sight.

  He hadn’t thought straight since their first meeting. George had been eager to learn about his new client, but now he was bored of his constant ramble about Emma. Frederick laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

  Perhaps if he got all his feelings out now, he could put on some semblance of sanity. He had to lock away his feelings and lose the key. Tonight he would be cold and professional.

  He would satisfy her sexual appetite and nothing more.

  He turned the corner and from the mouth of the street he saw there was a tall, pudgy man standing next to Emma’s neighbor’s fence, smoking a pipe. He seemed to be lost in thought, sometimes glancing up at the stars, sometimes glancing down the street.

  Frederick’s pulse slowed down to a crawl. He couldn’t go to Emma’s door with the man watching. He had caught the man’s eye. The white man stared at him as if silently demanding why he was there. He pulled the pipe out of his mouth and blew smoke in his direction. His long face tensed.

  Frederick bowed his head and continued down the street, praying the man wouldn’t stop him.

  “Boy,” the man called and then waved him over.

  Damn it. His stomach tightened more and more with each step. He reached the fence and glanced off to the side, avoiding the man’s face all together. “Yes, sir?”

  “What are you doing?”

  That was the question he expected, but he didn’t come prepared with an answer. Frederick opened his mouth and then his eyes widened. He had an idea. “I am working around here. I was told to go to the house of a Mrs. Bennett. Do you know where it is?”

  The man gave him a skeptical look, clearly not expecting his answer. He pointed with his thumb to the house next door. “You’re close, boy. She lives right there.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Frederick turned ready to walk away when the man grabbed his arm. He had a tight grip. Frederick could struggle free, but he allowed himself to be kept prisoner.

  “Not so fast,” the stranger said, spinning Frederick around. His high forehead accentuated the fact he was balding. His olive-colored eyes drilled him straight through and Frederick struggled to stay still.

  “Is there something wrong, sir?” Frederick kept his tone low and respectful. The same way he had talked to his master.

  “What kind of work are you doing?”

  Frederick straightened and pointed over to Emma’s barn. “She wants me to patch the roof and fix the fences. She said her husband has died and she needs help around the place. The roof won’t last through another storm.” It wasn’t far from the truth.

  “And you can’t do this work in the morning? It would be easier to patch the roof in the light.”

  “Yes, sir. It would at that,” Frederick agreed. “But I work as a roustabout by day. She said as long as I do a good job, she didn’t care if I worked at night.”

  “Hmm,” the man said, “All right, go on.”

  Frederick nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He walked around to the back of Emma’s house and rapped on the door. The door flew open a second later and he dashed inside. Frederick’s heart was ramming his chest and knocked the breath out of his lungs.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma asked.

  “There was a man out there. He saw me,” Frederick wheezed.

  Emma blanched. She looked like he had just said the devil was standing outside her door. “Do you think he…?” Her words stopped, face frozen in panic.

  Frederick wrapped his arms around her and drew the small woman to him. “No, I don’t think he knows why I’m really here,” he said and then kissed the top of her head. “But I need a hammer and a lantern. Is your ladder in the barn?”

  “Yes, it is. Why do you need it?”

  “I told him I was here to help fix up your place.”

  “Oh.” Emma left the room and returned with a lighted lantern.

  “I am sorry,” Frederick said. “I hope you are not upset your dollar is going toward a stronger roof and a straighter fence.”

  Emma frowned, but nodded. “I understand. Thank you.” She put on her coat and followed him outside, carrying the lantern. She waited outside the barn while he carried out the ladder.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked, pointing to the roof.

  “I was apprenticed to a carpenter before my master hired me out as a roustabout.” Emma’s free hand folded into a loose fist when he said master. What did that mean? Why would it bother her? Frederick mentally shook his head. Women were impossible to understand.

  Emma shifted her weight and picked fuzz off the front of her dress. She suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Frederick said.

  “I know.”

  “Are you afraid of heights?”

  Emma glanced up at the barn roof. “I guess it isn’t really that high up there.”

  Frederick gave a slight nod. He wasn’t about to mention a fall would result in broken bones. He wouldn’t let her fall.

  “Would you mind climbing up with me and holding the lantern? It would be the safest way for me to see what I am doing and avoid a fire.”

  Emma pressed her lips together. She nodded, but she didn’t seem too sure.

  Frederick exhaled. Good. She trusted him. Either that or she was just being adventurous again.

  He set up the ladder, then climbed up with a hammer and bucket of nails in one hand and boards to patch the roof in the other. He steadied himself without gripping the sides of the ladder. He was so tall that it only took him a few steps to reach the roof. He set down the nails and boards, then scrambled to the top.

  Resting on his knees, he reached an arm out for Emma.

  She took each step slowly, tentatively. He could tell she did not think climbing to the top of the barn fun. Her free hand had a death grip on the ladder, her knuckles reddening. She locked eyes with him and he sent her silent encouragement.

  He took the lantern from her hand and carefully placed it on the roof a fair distance from them. The last thing he wanted was for it to tip over and spark the dried wood.

  She stared at the roof like it was shark-infested waters.

  He offered his hand and Emma accepted, her small fingers grasping his.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  With one strong, fluid motion he pulled her and she stepped onto the roof. He sat back and she nestled in his arms, breathing heavily. He wanted to kiss her, love away her fear, and applaud her bravery, but he couldn’t.

  He gently pushed her away. She shouldn’t be this close to him. They needed to maintain a proper distance, especially outside where passersby could see. It stayed light late into the evening in July, except tonight it was overcast. He didn’t really need the lantern yet, but he would before he was finished.

  He set a board over a weathered part of the roof, took out a nail and hammered it in place. Emma didn’t move from where she sat, but she held the lantern up for him. It cast enough glow for him to work across the whole roof.

  Neither of them spoke. Frederick didn’t know what to say. He looked at Emma to make sure she was all right.

  She tilted her head and gave him a flirtat
ious smile.

  He grinned back. Her smile was enough to warm his middle.

  The sound of his hammering rang through the night. He hammered for what seemed like hours. It hadn’t been long, but mending Emma’s roof was not what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to mend her aching heart.

  It would have been better to be in his work clothes, but a few rips in his suit was much better than being arrested for loitering or some other charge. Emma’s presence helped him work faster. He wanted to finish this job and still have enough time left over to see to her needs.

  She smiled at him again, the lantern illuminating her face with a soft glow. She was his angel even if she didn’t know it. No other woman would ever hold a candle to her.

  Roof done, he climbed back down the ladder. Standing at the bottom, he waited patiently for Emma to descend. Going back down the ladder seemed as frightening to her as going up. Maybe it was the act of going backward.

  “If you slip, I’ll catch you,” Frederick said. He wouldn’t let her get hurt. He’d rather be tarred and feathered.

  She quickened her pace and once she reached the ground Frederick put both his hands on her shoulders, steadying.

  “Thank you, Frederick.”

  It was the first time she had said his name and he loved the sound of it on her lips.

  “It won’t take me too long to fix those fence posts,” he said, indicating the leaning offenders.

  Emma nodded. “I’m afraid the property is a bit neglected.”

  “Except for your flower garden.”

  “You noticed! I pride myself with my flowers.”

  “Then that must be why you smell so sweet,” Frederick said, hammering the side of one of the posts to straighten it. He looked at the wood to avoid Emma’s face. That was the silliest thing he could have said. He was surprised she wasn’t laughing.

  After seeing to the fence, he entered Emma’s house again. A spicy fruitiness wafted to his nose. How could he have missed it before? His terror must have masked the mouth-watering aroma.