Hearts Entwined: A Historical Romance Novella Collection

by Karen Witemeyer

  “Wait!” Perhaps this was why her parents were always making her play tea party with the elderly women in her circle. She couldn’t get into trouble like this with them. She picked up her skirts and rushed after him. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  He wouldn’t just leave her to wonder, would he?

  He didn’t slow, but he did let go of the back of his head and start gesturing with his hands as if giving someone a hesitant lecture. But though his mouth moved, he wasn’t actually saying anything. He suddenly stopped, closed his eyes, and tipped his head back to the heavens, hands on his hips.

  She came up beside him, her heart hammering against her insides. If this was his reaction, maybe she’d mistaken his warm smiles and long looks to be something they weren’t. “I was pretty certain you felt the same for me, but if not, I promise I’ll try not to make things awkward whenever we’re together.” She swallowed and looked down before bringing her gaze back up and forcing out the next words. “But if I’m right, I was hoping we could build on those feelings—”

  “Feelings?” He shook his head slightly, his face pale and tense. “Feelings aren’t enough.”

  “Of course they’re not.” But she couldn’t simply ignore how his being near her made her feel at home, how she felt like she was worth something in his eyes. “Though I’d contend they should play a bigger part in choosing one’s spouse than a person’s assets. My parents married for love back when they were poor, and they’re much happier than many of the couples that flit about my set. I do want to make certain the man I marry has integrity, follows God, willingly gives of himself—”

  “Marianne.” His face was a study in hard lines and tension, nothing like the relaxed expression he’d started off with at the beginning of their walk. “No matter how you feel about me, it won’t change the fact that I’m as poor as a church mouse.”

  “You are not that poor.” How could he see value in her, but think himself so low?

  He shook his head. “I’m that poor in comparison to you.”

  She reached up to cup his cheek, but he grew so stiff she let her hand drop. “Though I might’ve been born to wealth, I don’t love it enough to make a poor match, and—”

  “I am the epitome of a poor match. You and David . . .” He blinked, then scrubbed his hand back and forth over his hair. “What about you and David?”

  David? He wanted to talk about David? She heaved a sigh and her heart slowed. Her parents nagging her about David was about all she could handle, truth be told. “Surely you’ve seen we love each other no more than brother and sister. You’re the closest person to both of us—you have to have noticed.”

  “Such things don’t keep people of your set from marrying.”

  “As I said, I think it should.” Though he hadn’t swooped in for that kiss she’d hoped for, he hadn’t yet denied he felt something for her. Her heart started beating with hope again. “Do you have feelings for me, too?”

  He grabbed her by the upper arms. “It doesn’t matter what I feel, Marianne.” He promptly let go, leaving her suddenly cold, though she’d not realized she’d been hot.

  “A woman of meager means is all I can aspire to marry.” He looked away, his voice hushed. “And if she’s half as pretty and kind as you, I’ll count myself lucky.”

  “So you’re rejecting me because I’m rich?” She swallowed down the quaver in her voice. Who said no to love because it would bring them money? “If so, don’t worry. My parents will likely disapprove of us enough to write me out of their will. But if not, we could always give the money to charity.”

  “You don’t understand.” A man bumped Calvin from behind as he walked past, but Calvin’s gaze stayed pinned on her, a sadness she’d never seen clouding his green eyes. “Love won’t make up for what you’d lose.”

  Lose? Did he think money was everything? “But what about what I’d gain?”

  He shook his head slightly. “You don’t know what it’s like for those of us who have to work.”

  “Then tell me.” She settled her hands on his arms, giving him a gentle squeeze. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable.

  The wind picked up and ruffled his blond hair. His throat worked overtime. “I can’t show you how years of want will affect you before it’s too late to escape it.” He stepped away from her and turned to look at the clouds rolling in, then tipped his head forward. “I think your driver’s coming to pick you up.”

  She looked behind her, and indeed, her parents must have sent him early in light of the approaching storm. If she had more time, she could convince Calvin he mattered more than an inheritance, especially since he was the only person who seemed to think she mattered in spite of it. “Will you accept a ride home?”

  He kept his gaze focused on her parents’ carriage. “Thank you, but no, I’m not far from my apartment.” He stepped away from her, his eyes averted, as the carriage slowed beside them.

  Was the conversation about their future over just like that?

  She blinked excessively, hugging herself as she let his rejection wash over her. And yet, he’d not rejected her—he’d rejected her status. The one man she’d thought had seen through her prestigious name to the woman inside. “Would you at least think about a future with me before you say no?”

  He closed his eyes, his body losing some of its rigidity. “I already have.”

  He had?

  Her driver jumped down from his seat, and all she could do was stare at the fat droplets making dark marks on the sidewalk and Calvin’s shoes. What could she say now? If she said more and he still turned her away, she might cry in front of everyone on the street.

  Mr. Fleischman opened the side door. “Glad I caught up with you, miss. Don’t want you to get drenched and catch cold.”

  “No.” But she couldn’t move. Was this the last time she’d walk anywhere with Calvin? Had she just ruined the friendship she enjoyed more than anything?

  Calvin took her hand, and she couldn’t help but look up at him despite her threatening tears.

  “I’m sorry.” He gently led her toward the carriage and helped her inside.

  She managed to get up the stairs without tripping on her skirts. When she found her seat, she dared to look back at him.

  He stood silently by the open door. “I really am sorry.” He stepped back. “More than you know.” Then he shut the door with a soft click.

  She was sorry, too. Oh so sorry. She dropped the shades, and the second the coach rolled away she let the tears come.

  Was hoping for a man who desired to marry her for something other than her money and pretty face unreasonable?

  Of course, how could she expect such a thing if all she could offer a future husband was nice conversation over perfectly brewed tea and the bank account of an heiress?

  Chapter

  2

  The church organ’s last notes and the exiting congregation’s chatter kept Marianne from hearing Calvin’s cough, though it had distracted her plenty throughout the service. Had his insisting on walking home in the rain three days ago caused him to fall ill? Why had he come to church with a cough like that, anyway?

  Though their last conversation had been a disaster, she had to know if he was all right.

  After a glance back at Mother conversing with a group of society ladies, Marianne slipped into a gap in the crowd, weaved her way across the aisle, and sidled through an empty pew. She crossed to the far side of the sanctuary but couldn’t find his blond head anywhere. He couldn’t have gotten out of the building already. He might’ve sat as far across the church from her as possible, but he’d also been closer to the front. Was he intent on never seeing her again?

  From somewhere behind her, two staccato coughs and one long one sounded.

  She turned. There. He had indeed passed her and was slipping out the exit. She hustled through the crowd toward the heavy wooden doors the deacons held open to the gray, drizzly day.

  “Calvin,” she called as loudly as she coul
d without sounding improper.

  He looked back over his shoulder for a second but didn’t stop.

  And had he just shaken his head at her?

  She slowed a bit. Though he might not want to pursue a relationship with her, they could still be friends, right? Surely they could still work together—even if their easy conversations were lost forever.

  Calvin didn’t stop, but he did turn his head to look at her as she came up beside him. He pulled his hat brim a little lower and stuck his hand back under his coat. “Good afternoon, Miss Lister.”

  She pressed a hand to the knot in her throat. He was addressing her formally now? “And to you. I wanted to check on that cough of yours. I felt bad for you all throughout service.”

  As if on cue, he coughed again, his hand rubbing his chest. But being this close, she’d heard the strangest little whistle in his voice. “Shouldn’t you be home resting?” she asked. “It must be hard to—”

  He coughed into his elbow, but this time the whistle sounded more like a mew.

  She screwed up her face. “What did I just hear?”

  “Nothing.” He sped up, coughing again.

  Now there definitely was a mew amid those halfhearted coughs.

  “What on earth?” She scanned the sidewalk around them but saw nothing. “Did I hear a cat?”

  He shrugged and kept moving forward, but the lump under his jacket, which she’d assumed was his hand, started to squirm.

  “What’s in your coat?” She couldn’t help the grin. If there was a man in Kansas City who’d take pity on a cat in this weather, it would be Calvin. But why take it into church?

  “Nothing. I’m on my way to see Mrs. Danby, so—”

  “Now hold on.” She cut in front of him and put her hand on the soft, wiggling lump. “This is nothing?”

  He stopped short and his cheeks flushed. His other hand came up as if readying to cover hers, but he clenched his fist instead. “All right. . . . It’s a kitten.”

  Laughter bubbled out of her, and she couldn’t help but smile. “You had a kitten under your jacket during church?”

  Though his lips wiggled up a notch, he tried to shrug it off. “I found the pitiful thing by the back door. Figured Mrs. Danby has been lonely, so she might want to nurse it back to health. I was already late for service, and I couldn’t just leave it there.”

  “Let me see.” She moved to pull back his lapel.

  His hand caught hers against his chest. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  His breathing hitched. “Just no.”

  Her palm turned suddenly hot despite the chill in the air. Was she really pressing her hand against a man’s chest right next to a busy street where almost anyone could see?

  And his heart was beating quite hard . . . unless all men’s hearts beat this hard?

  “Oh,” she breathed. She let her hand fall, closing her fist tightly to banish the feel of his heart beneath her hand.

  Though his having a heartbeat shouldn’t have surprised her, there was still a cat under his coat. What woman wouldn’t fall in love with a man who’d keep a kitten warm under his suit coat during church?

  The creature in question let out another pitiful mew as it wriggled even more.

  Calvin winced. “I’m afraid I need to get this cat to Mrs. Danby before its claws become a permanent part of my chest.”

  “It’s because you’re smothering it.” She tugged his suit coat open, and the thin little face of a big-eared black kitten popped up, one tiny paw desperately trying to find purchase on the top of Calvin’s pocket.

  A kitten in his pocket. Could anything be more adorable? She couldn’t help but smile up at him.

  But he was definitely not smiling back. Oh no, this was the look she’d seen many times over the past year, the one she’d hoped would turn into an offer of courtship and a kiss.

  His eyes held hers, and her heart thumped hard enough he could probably see it. A few more inches and their lips could meet. What if, despite his claims, he wanted a kiss, too? She leaned closer.

  He pulled back. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  She took a step toward him. “Why not?”

  “You know very well why not.”

  No, she didn’t. There was nothing wrong with the feelings between them. “I’m afraid I really don’t, or at least I don’t agree that my having money should stifle our feelings.”

  The kitten mewed again. Calvin reached up to rub its little chin and took another step back. “And that’s why I think it best I excuse myself from this conversation.” He gave her a quick nod and started down the sidewalk.

  She turned to walk with him, but he didn’t even acknowledge her. Perhaps he didn’t want to talk about their feelings now, but they couldn’t ignore them forever. Maybe he just needed more time to think. “I heard the men talking about going to Mrs. Phillips’s next Sunday instead of Saturday.”

  “Yes.” He pulled his coat over the kitten when a couple turned onto the sidewalk and headed toward them.

  Her throat went dry, and she nearly stopped walking. He’d not even planned to tell her? Had he only pretended she was worth something before? “Can I not come help you at Mrs. Phillips’s?”

  He stopped again, his hand still under his coat pocket, probably petting the kitten if the telltale stuttered rumble beneath his coat was any indication. “Perhaps it would be best . . . if you didn’t.”

  Her heart stopped cold, and she tensed to keep from drooping. She’d not turn into mush.

  His face softened a bit. “I—I was thinking about it yesterday and . . .” He scanned her dress, a cascade of turquoise flounces and gray trim beneath her black fur cape. His gaze didn’t linger long before meeting hers again. “Well, you don’t own an outfit suitable for such work.”

  That was going to be his excuse? “I have work dresses. I’ve done chores since I was little—my parents didn’t pamper me that much.”

  “Your parents—”

  “Forget about my parents.”

  “They’re coming.”

  “They’re what?” She turned to see Mother bustling toward them, with Papa paces behind.

  Calvin took a step away from her and dipped his head in greeting. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Lister.”

  Mother gave him a dignified nod and then cut her eyes toward Marianne. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “I was just checking on Mr. Hochstetler’s cough. Did you not hear him during service?”

  Mother deigned to glance at him, but her gaze quickly riveted to the wriggling lump near his heart. “I’m sorry to hear you’re sick.”

  He slid his hand under his coat and coughed, covering up a mew, but Mother’s brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as if trying to see under his coat.

  “He says he’s not sick, so I wondered if we might have him over for Sunday dinner.”

  Calvin held up his other hand. “Um, no, that’s—”

  “I’m sorry to say that’s not possible.” Mother put on her best abashed expression as Papa ambled up beside her. “We’ve got to eat quickly if we’re to make the train.” She tilted her head toward Calvin. “We’re going to visit some good friends in St. Louis. I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps another time.”

  “I had no aspirations to a dinner invitation, ma’am.” He dipped his head. “And now I must be going.” And without a look at Marianne, he turned and continued walking down the sidewalk.

  “I swear, Marianne,” Mother whispered close to her ear, slipping her arm around hers. “That man is going to catch on to your silly infatuation with him and believe he has a chance with you.”

  “But he does.” Though it seemed he was determined to let the chance go by.

  If he’d assured her he had no feelings for her, she’d have melted into an embarrassed puddle, but he hadn’t. Not today, and not three days ago.

  Mother squeezed her arm as she pulled her toward their carriage, which had stopped beside them on the brick-paved street. “You h
eard Mr. Hochstetler. He hasn’t even an aspiration to dine with us. He knows his place—which is not beside you.”

  Marianne huffed. “He doesn’t have ‘a place,’ Mother. He’s our brother in Christ, like everyone else in the congregation. There is no Jew or Greek, slave or free.”

  “That’s in the Lord’s house, Marianne.” Mother took Papa’s offered hand and, with his assistance, disappeared into the vehicle.

  Papa turned for her hand next, his expression at least holding a bit of sympathy for her plight. “The Bible is full of rules on treating the lower classes well, and we do that, but that does not mean we marry them.”

  She preceded Papa into the carriage. “But you were once lower class.”

  “Were, dear. Were.” He pulled himself up beside Mother and shut the door. “And we don’t plan to return. You don’t realize how well you have it.”

  She braced herself as the carriage veered into traffic. “I’m twenty-one years old. I’m not completely oblivious.”

  From across the carriage, Mother frowned at her. “If you weren’t, you’d have noticed that all the other twenty-one-year-old ladies are already in charge of their own households. I thought you had agreed with me months ago that David is the one you talk to when you’re hurting, who knows you better than anyone else, and is the perfect choice for you. Weren’t you writing him a letter last night?”

  She’d started one the day Calvin had turned her down, but it was nothing more than a mess of feelings and tearstains. “Yes.”

  “Did you send it?”

  No, she’d have to rewrite it if she wanted him to be able to read it. “I realize David’s a safe choice for a husband, but I don’t—”

  “Well, you can’t marry Mr. Hochstetler.” Mother sniffed as if his name carried a stench.

  She threw back her shoulders. “Why not?”

  “The question isn’t why not, Marianne; it’s why would you?”

  She turned to look out the back window, but they were too far away to see Calvin. “Because he spends his spare time helping the poor and hurting. Because he thinks of me as more than a doll to be put on display. Because he makes me laugh, cares about my ideas, and truly listens. For goodness’ sake, he saved a kitten and kept it in his pocket during church so he could cheer up an old widow. How could I not fall for him?”