“Well, you should because it’s fun.” She stood up. “I need to go now because Mama’s waiting, but you haven’t answered my question. Can I hire you to teach Freddy to be nice?”
Peter swallowed again, hoping the words would come out as he intended them. “Princess Amaryllis, I can’t promise you that I’ll be successful, but I’ll do what I can, all right? And in the meantime, I want you to keep your money, and you can give it back to me if I’m actually able to do what you hired me for. Until then, it’s safely tucked away with you.”
“Are you sure? Because I thought I was supposed to give you the money first.”
“You keep it for now. Keep it good and safe.”
“All right.” She didn’t sound like she believed him, but she slid the money back into her bag anyway. “Thank you, Mr. Thomas.”
“You’re welcome, Princess Amaryllis.” He shook her hand, then watched as she flounced out of his office and closed the door behind her.
That had certainly caught him off guard.
He leaned back in his chair once again, running over everything in his mind. Mrs. Carlson had put limits on his interference—er, help and guidance. Princess Amaryllis wanted him to “fix Freddy,” which sounded like a pretty unlimited project. They each wanted different things, and he didn’t know how to please them both. He’d like to extricate himself from the situation, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t. He was involved in this, and he would be even if he didn’t have a two-cent retainer fee being held in a tiny little reticule. He’d been involved since the first moment he’d laid eyes on Scarlett Carlson, and he couldn’t deny that truth.
“There you are,” Scarlett said, looking up from her sewing. “I thought you were only going to be gone for a few minutes.”
May sat down next to her. “It did take a little longer than I thought, but that’s how business is sometimes.”
“Business?” What on earth was May talking about, and why did she suddenly sound forty years old? “Were you doing business?”
“Some. Is Freddy back yet?”
“Not quite. I did see him through the window a little while ago, though, and he was walking very nicely and nodding to people as he went past them.” It had been quite the transformation, one she hoped would take root and show up in other areas of the boy’s life.
“Good. I knew he could do it.” May started swinging her legs, a look of satisfaction on her face.
“Who are you talking about, dear?”
“Mr. Thomas.”
Scarlett’s hands stilled. “You . . . went and saw Mr. Thomas?”
“That’s right. I hired him.” May looked up at Scarlett, and her eyes went wide. “I don’t know if I should have told you, Mama.”
“I think you’d better tell me absolutely everything.” Scarlett turned from the sewing machine and gave her daughter all her attention. “What did you do?”
“Well, I told him that I wanted to hire him to make Freddy be nice so you’d stop crying. And I told him that Freddy treats you like Daddy used to treat you.”
Heat flooded Scarlett’s cheeks. That was so much more than she wanted anyone to know, including Mr. Thomas. Maybe especially Mr. Thomas. The moment she’d walked into his office that morning, she’d been reminded how handsome he was, and it had been difficult to maintain her composure and hold her ground while looking into those kind eyes. He was exactly the sort of man she would like to marry someday, but now he knew her past, and he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. If Anthony had found her lacking after a few years of marriage, the same thing would happen with any new husband, and it was best if she didn’t even entertain the thought.
“And … what did Mr. Thomas say?” She cringed as she asked the question. This was going to be so much more embarrassing than anything else that had happened so far concerning that man—she just knew it.
“Well, he told me that he couldn’t promise anything, but he’d try.”
“He’s . . . going to try to help Freddy be good?” Even though she thought she’d been clear on that point?
May looked very serious all of a sudden. “I don’t know, Mama. It was more like . . . he wanted to help all of us. You and me and Freddy.”
“Do we need help to be good?” Scarlett asked jokingly even as her heart pounded. What did May mean? How would Mr. Thomas help them all . . . and how had her little girl become so intuitive seemingly overnight?
“Well, if we do, I think he can help. And he didn’t even take my money.”
She’d offered him money . . . well, of course she had, because that was the only thing left that would drive Scarlett into a pit of humiliation. “That’s good of him. Now, let’s see if I can finish this seam before Freddy gets back.” She needed to think about something else for a few minutes. If this conversation continued, she was likely to come undone at her seams, and she wasn’t sure anyone would be able to put her back together.
“Grandma, can you feed me?” Peter called out as he stepped through his grandmother’s kitchen door. “I only have twenty minutes. I was going to run over to the hotel, but coming here sounded so much better.”
“Of course I can feed you. That’s part of my God-given job as your grandmother.” Maude was up and moving around the kitchen before Peter had even made it all the way into the room. “Have a seat.”
Peter gave a nod to Viola Spencer and Nola Johnson, two of his grandmother’s friends who were also seated at the table. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, ladies.”
“Nothing much,” Nola replied. “We just like to sit and gab—you know how we are.”
“I do know, and I think it’s quite delightful. I’ve overheard some of the best gossip this way.” Peter gave Nola a wink.
“We do not gossip! We discuss items pertinent to the day,” she rebutted.
“Well, what’s on the docket at the moment?”
Maude set a bowl of stew in front of Peter. “You,” she replied.
“Me?” He glanced around the table to see if they were joking. They all appeared to be serious. “Why me?”
“Because today’s rumors have it that you and Mrs. Carlson were seen chatting this morning,” Maude said. “She came to your office.”
“Yes, she did. Her son, Freddy, is going to run errands for me.” Peter took a bite of stew, closing his eyes for a moment. This was why he’d chosen to come to his grandmother’s rather than the hotel. Yes, the food at the hotel was excellent, but his grandmother put an extra serving of love into everything she made, and he could use some buoying up. “And I may have myself a little bit of a situation.”
Maude sat down across from him and eyed him curiously. “What kind of situation, Peter?”
“Well, Freddy’s little sister wants to hire me to make him be nice.”
“What?” Nola’s eyes flew wide. “What a notion!”
“Good gracious.” Maude shook her head. “How on earth did that come about?”
“I’m not entirely sure—it certainly caught me by surprise. Apparently, I’ve already made an impact—she says I’m the only person who has ever told that boy to behave.”
“She can’t mean that,” Maude interjected. “What about their father? What about their grandparents?”
“She hinted that Freddy had learned his bad behavior from his father. It seems . . . it seems that Mrs. Carlson was abused in her marriage, and her children don’t know any other sort of life.” That last part made it hard for Peter to swallow. He stabbed his spoon into his bowl a few times, breaking up one of the chunks of potato in the center.
“I had to wonder,” Maude replied. “When you see children acting out like that, it generally comes from a place of deep hurt.” She gave Peter an intent look. “What do you intend to do about it?”
Peter spluttered. “What do I intend to do? What can I do? This woman and her children were strangers to me just the other day—how is it my responsibility to see to their needs?” Even as he said the words, he sensed the untruth of them—he
was responsible, and he knew it. Fate had brought them together, and now he just needed to figure out how he was supposed to proceed.
“It’s your responsibility because you’re supposed to marry the girl!” Viola proclaimed, lifting her finger. “You’re to help her find her way again!”
Peter was even more startled. Viola Spencer didn’t speak often, but when she did, people listened, and he was definitely listening now. “I’m . . . supposed to marry her?”
“Yes!” Viola’s hand was now waving as though she were conducting an unseen orchestra. “God brings the people into our lives we most need, and He has brought you together for a reason.”
Peter lowered his spoon, no longer hungry. He was supposed to marry Mrs. Carlson . . . Could the older woman be right? What if . . . He tried to imagine it—the children playing in the front room, Mrs. Carlson at the stove, him coming home for dinner . . . It was incredible how quickly that picture sprang to his mind. Of course, she wouldn’t be Mrs. Carlson. She’d be Mrs. Thomas. Scarlett Thomas . . .
But it couldn’t be possible. He’d known her a couple of days, and most of that time had been spent clearing up misunderstandings. Nothing romantic had happened at all.
Unless he counted the way his heart raced when she came into his office.
Or the way his hand tingled when he brushed her fingers.
Or the way her eyes softened when she chose to hear him out . . .
Or the way he knew, deep in his gullet, that Mrs. Spencer was right.
He’d known it for two days and he’d been thinking about it. This argument he was having with himself was completely pointless because he had already lost.
“You can’t tell us you aren’t attracted to her,” Nola said.
He blinked, bringing his mind back to the moment. “I’m definitely attracted to her. I just don’t know if I can trust my own judgment anymore. I’ve fallen in love so many times . . . Perhaps I’m the sort who falls in love with everyone. Those sorts exist, don’t they?”
“Generally only in silly books,” Maude said. “Regular people tend to have more sense.”
Peter chuckled. “And I’m not an exception to the rule?”
“No, my dear boy, you are not. You are a young man with a heart full of love to give, but you haven’t known where to direct it. Now you have the opportunity to share it with not only a woman, but her two children, all of whom need it desperately.” Maude met his gaze. “You know I struggle with rapscallion little boys who won’t do as they’re told, and to be honest, when I first met Freddy, I wasn’t impressed. But I believe that with a firm hand and an extra dose of love, his hurts can be healed, and he will grow into a fine man someday.”
“So, you all think I should marry her? What have you done—started a club to match me up with Mrs. Carlson?” Peter laughed, but then he stopped. “Wait. Have you really started a club?”
“It’s not that we started a club,” Nola hedged. “It’s more that we added on to the club we already have.”
“And . . . you’re playing matchmaker?”
“Yes, but also no. We’re encouraging people to do the things their hearts already know they should do.” Maude reached over and patted Peter’s shoulder. “Go see Mrs. Carlson after work. See what she has to say.”
“Already? So soon?”
“You don’t have to propose to her today,” Nola clarified. “Just . . . see what she thinks about getting to know you better.”
Peter pushed back from the table, shaking his head. “I think you’ve all lost your minds, but I also think you’re adorable, so I’m completely confused,” he said. “Thanks for the stew, Grandma. I’m glad you live so close to my office.”
“I’m glad I do too. Now, think about what we said.”
Peter did think about it. He thought about it all during his meeting when he should have been thinking about something else, and he thought about it all night long when he should have been sleeping. He thought about it while he ate his breakfast and trimmed his mustache. And he knew, before he ever left his house for work, what he most wanted to do. It would have to wait for a day or two because of his schedule, but it would get done.
Chapter Six
Two days had gone by since Scarlett had seen Mr. Thomas, and she found herself strangely missing him. How was it possible to miss him when he wasn’t even a regular part of her life? And yet she found herself wondering what he would think about things, if he’d like the dress she was sewing, what he thought of Freddy’s progress. He was on her mind so much, it was almost infuriating.
She had just finished pinning her hair up when a knock sounded at the door. It was early, and she couldn’t imagine who might be there. She most certainly didn’t expect to see Peter Thomas standing on her porch, and yet, there he was, his hat in his hand. She was glad to see him, but surprised as well.
“Good morning,” she said. “I thought Freddy wasn’t due at your office for another few hours.”
“He’s not. It’s . . . It’s actually you I’ve come to see.”
Scarlett glanced behind her to make sure the children were focused on their breakfast, then stepped onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind her. “Is something wrong? It’s . . . it’s about May’s visit to your office, isn’t it? I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am—”
“Her visit was a welcome change from my humdrum schedule. She’s welcome to interrupt me anytime.”
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t mean that. She’d never give you a minute’s peace if she thought you were serious.” Scarlett chuckled, then motioned for Mr. Thomas to have a seat in one of the two rickety rocking chairs on the porch. She hoped they’d hold—the children were the only ones who had used them so far.
Mr. Thomas sat down, then crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. Then he shifted, putting both feet on the porch again.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Thomas?” she asked. “You’re squirming around worse than the children in church.”
“Mrs. Carlson, I know I promised I wouldn’t interfere beyond the boundaries of Freddy’s job, but that’s a promise I find I need to break.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Circumstances are becoming . . . well, I’m being pulled in more than I would in a typical employer relationship, and I believe that’s because I’m meant to help.”
“But . . .” Didn’t his promises mean anything?
He lifted a hand. “Please hear me out, Mrs. Carlson. Something happened yesterday that we need to discuss, something important.”
Her heart sank. “It’s Freddy, isn’t it? Has he lost his job?”
“No, it’s nothing like that, but it does involve him.” Mr. Thomas rubbed his fingers together, another sign of nervousness. “My grandmother is quite a wonder in the kitchen. She makes cakes and pies that melt in your mouth, and her bread—there’s nothing like it.”
Scarlett was suddenly hungry, but she had no idea why he was bringing food into this conversation. “Yes?” she prodded when he didn’t expound.
“One of her specialties is apple cider. She makes it up in the fall and puts it in jars so it’s just right during the spring. She brought me a bottle yesterday, and I set it on the shelf behind my desk.”
Freddy had broken it. Scarlett could just imagine the mess it made—sticky and wet, not to mention the shards of glass . . . “I’ll come by this morning and clean it up,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Mr. Thomas chuckled. “Mrs. Carlson, I know you’re trying to avoid being shocked by guessing everything I’m going to say before I’ve even said it, but maybe you could give me a moment to speak.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize I was doing that.” Scarlett sat back, trying to calm herself. It seemed that it was taking Mr. Thomas a long time to get to his point, but she recognized that he was trying to be gentle with her.
“I offered Freddy a glass when he stopped by my office yesterday, and he became very upset. He told me it would make me mean and I shouldn’t drink it. At fir
st, I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but then I noticed that cider is the same color as whiskey. Mrs. Carlson, was your husband addicted to drink?”
Scarlett looked down at the ground and nodded. “Yes.” Shame flooded her from the inside out. “He only drank once in a while during our engagement, but after the wedding and as the children came along, he was drinking almost every evening.”
“And . . . how did he die?”
“The doctor said he drank himself to death.” Her voice was just above a whisper. She was humiliated down to the very core of herself, and the things she’d been trying to hide came tumbling out. “People said that if I’d been a better wife, he wouldn’t have had to drown his sorrows like he did. They said . . . they said he deserved better than me.”
Mr. Thomas clenched his fist on his knee, but then relaxed it. When he spoke, his voice was temperate. “Who said those things?”
“His friends, mostly.”
“Well, we know we can’t believe anything his friends would say.” He turned to her. “Mrs. Carlson, I explained to Freddy that I don’t drink and that cider just looks like whiskey, but I’m worried that our friendship has been damaged. Would you mind speaking with him and reassuring him? I don’t believe in drink—I’ve seen what it can do to a man’s temper. I’ve never once taken a sip, and I never will.”
Scarlett was taken aback by the urgency in Mr. Thomas’s tone. This was important to him—he didn’t want Freddy to think badly of him. “Of course I’ll speak with him, Mr. Thomas. I’ll take care of it right away.”
“Thank you. It would be a great burden off my mind.” He stood and put on his hat, but then paused. “Oh, I nearly forgot. The ladies of the sewing circle are hosting a picnic for their grandchildren and their grandchildren’s friends this Sunday afternoon at my mother’s house, and as Princess Amaryllis is Eliza’s special friend, we can’t possibly carry out this plan without you. Will you come?”
Scarlett smiled. “Of course we will.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “My sister will be ecstatic. Four o’clock on Sunday.”
The Ties That Bind Page 6