Unwrapping Hope Page 7

  Laurie backed a safe distance away and opened the balled-up sheet of paper. She gasped. “You’re drawing plans to build a house? Why? What’s wrong with this one?” Confusion furrowed her forehead. “Why does it only have four rooms?”

  Once his sister bit into a subject, she would chew on it until she’d swallowed the facts—all of them. He might as well confess. “Yes, I am building a house, and it only contains four rooms because it’s a dollhouse.”

  “Are you still battling with Father over the one at the store?”

  “No. This is for a little girl I’ve met.” Spence showed her the drawing in his hand. “I haven’t finished it, but what do you think?”

  “I do like the cupola.”

  “Does the Italianate style make it appear too plain? Maybe she would prefer a Queen Anne or something in a Greek Revival.”

  His sister tucked her lips, trying to hold in a smile, then said, “How old is the little girl?”

  “Five.”

  “I think this one is perfect.”

  “Maybe I’m in over my head. I know nothing about little girls, let alone how to decorate the inside of a dollhouse.”

  “We still have some scrap wallpaper and leftover linoleum from Mother’s decorating frenzy last year. I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Who is she?”

  He hesitated to give too many details but said, “Her name is Maura.”

  “Maura? Is she related to the woman Wally told me is playing piano at the store?”

  “Wally?” She called the nineteen-year-old boy Wally?

  “Don’t be so pompous, Spence. He’s a sweet boy.”

  “Yes, he is a boy.”

  His sister snapped her fingers.

  “Really, Laurie? Mother should take you in hand and teach you to act like a lady.”

  “I’ve seen her do the same.”

  That was true.

  “Mrs. Crain is the one you accompanied to the orphanage yesterday.”

  “How do you know about that?” He raised his hand. “Wait. Wally.”

  She showed him the tip of her tongue. “No. All of Mother’s biddy friends are buzzing with the tale.”

  Wonderful.

  “Too bad about the wheel.”

  Was there nothing about the incident the imp hadn’t ferreted out? “Which biddy provided that information?”

  “You both arrived in town a muddy mess, then went your own ways, pretending you hadn’t traveled together. That, big brother, I saw with my own eyes.”

  At Phoebe’s request, he had helped her off the horse before reaching the bridge. What a time they’d had!

  Phoebe Crain was a constant surprise, as was his sister. “The Pinkertons could use you.”

  “What a fun thought.” Laurie focused on the finger she ran along the edge of the workbench. “I’ve heard she’s a widow.”

  “Who?”

  “You know very well who.”

  Something dastardly brewed in his sister’s devious mind. “And?”

  “I think it’s sweet of you to want to give her daughter a gift.” Laurie’s voice was filled with an overabundance of cheer. “I’d be glad to help you.”

  His eyes narrowed, as they often did around Laurie. “Why?”

  “Since you moved into your house, I hardly see you anymore.” She pouted. “You don’t want to spend time with me?”

  He ran a thumb and forefinger down his mustache. He knew his sister well enough to be sure to stay on his toes around her. He also knew she would pester him until she got her way. “Fine. While we’re working on the dollhouse, you and I will discuss Wally.”

  The pout turned to a cunning grin. “I find Mrs. Crain a more interesting subject.”

  Inwardly, Spence agreed. Outwardly, he frowned. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat, then we’ll get to work on Maura’s dollhouse.”

  VERBENIA’S TWO-WHEELED cart bounced across the bridge as she and Phoebe traveled to the children’s home to deliver the remaining items made by the ladies in their circle. Unlike Phoebe’s last visit, the sun shone, the clouds were tinged with blue as opposed to gray, and the road, though rutted, was dry.

  As they passed the spot where Spence Newland’s carriage had slid into the ditch, Phoebe’s attention slid in that direction. All that remained were hoofprints, deep grooves from the wheels...and Phoebe’s fledgling trust.

  “Is that where Mr. Newland’s carriage left the road?” The cart horse picked up his pace, and Verbenia eased back on the reins. “Careful, Diamond.”

  “You heard?” How widespread was the gossip?

  “Even in a town of this size, word goes around with the speed and ease of a spinning wheel at the fair.” Verbenia winked. “Especially if it involves an eligible bachelor and a young widow.”

  Obviously, Phoebe’s precaution had not kept the situation from turning into tittle-tattle.

  “What do you think of him?”

  Verbenia chortled. “As an employer, a human being, or a man?”

  “As a human being, of course.” Phoebe wasn’t ready to be acquainted with the man.

  Her friend’s lips puckered and chin jutted as she thought. “For me, what stands out about The Third is his patience and thoughtfulness. On his way through the store, he’ll stop to help a customer if need be or chat with a clerk. He’s never too far above others to be of service. In my opinion, he takes after his father in that regard—a true gentleman.”

  He could easily have taken advantage of the situation during their plight on the road. On the contrary, he’d been nothing but gracious and...a true gentleman.

  “Why the interest, Phoebe?” With a touch as soft as her voice, Verbenia guided the cart horse onto the long drive to the orphanage. “When we visited his house together, I felt a chill between you two.”

  “A few days before, we’d had a slight disagreement.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew one another well.”

  Phoebe shrugged. “We’d met once or twice. Since I work for him now, I’m interested in how he’s viewed by those who know him better.”

  Verbenia halted the horse in front of the orphanage and turned toward her. “I’ve given you my opinion. However, I will add my certainty that he’s no more perfect than either of us. Anything further, you should discover for yourself.”

  They climbed out of the cart, and Phoebe lifted the box from where it had ridden between her feet. The same boy who’d greeted them last time opened the door. Did he stand watch, waiting for a loved one to return? What a heartbreaking disappointment for him.

  “Hello, Jamie. Is Mr. Jernigan here?”

  He nodded and stood aside for them to enter. While they waited in the drawing room for the administrator, Phoebe inspected her surroundings, which were warmer and less gloomy than on her other visits. “There’s something different about this room.”

  Verbenia looked around. “I believe the last time I was here there were only two lamps. I see”—she pointed as she counted—“one, two, three more.”

  “They’re not lit, yet it’s brighter in here.” Phoebe glanced around. “The draperies are different too.”

  “Yes. That dark and heavy velvet is gone.” Verbenia stroked the silky and cheerful material in a floral brocade. “They’re thick enough to hold in the warmth but add some light. I’ve seen these before.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” Mr. Jernigan entered the room. “It’s probable you saw the draperies at your workplace, Mrs. Jensen. After his visit last week, Mr. Newland sent us a number of items he felt were necessary for the comfort and well-being of our children.”

  Phoebe’s flesh tingled. “Mr. Newland did this? The Third?”

  “Yes indeed. He visited us again yesterday to see that everything had been delivered satisfactorily.” Mr. Jernigan gestured to a table with a new lamp and a stack of books. “As I told him, this room has become a popular place for reading. We’ve also received more than enough firewood for the winter, as we
ll as the promise of new paint for the outside come spring. Next week we’ll receive a new stove. We’ve praised God for the man’s generosity, and we thank you, too, Mrs. Crain.”

  “Me?”

  “You were responsible for bringing him and showing him our needs.”

  “I must be honest, Mr. Jernigan. Mr. Newland volunteered to drive me here.”

  “Then perhaps we should say the Lord brought you both that day.”

  As they climbed back into the cart a few minutes later, Verbenia asked, “May I ask you a question, Phoebe?”

  “Yes.” She needn’t answer.

  “Has your judgment of Mr. Newland been colored by your experience with Maura’s father?”

  Phoebe’s chest constricted. “What do you know about that?”

  “Just what little I’ve observed. Whenever the other women talk about their husbands and compare their lives with them, you remain silent. You never speak of Maura’s father. I don’t recall hearing you mention his name.”

  Phoebe twisted her hands. The woman was too perceptive, but that perception often helped others. “His name was Douglas, and you are right. I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Then we won’t.” Verbenia stilled Phoebe’s hands. “Nevertheless, I would caution you to base your opinion of people on an assessment of their character as individuals, not on any predetermined bias you hold against someone else.”

  She had already learned through this trip that the hope for her newfound faith in Spence ran deep. It ran through the hole in her trust created the day Douglas announced his betrayal. It ran to join the voice inside that urged her to forgive. It ran to smother the blame that had tossed Spence Newland into the same batch of rotten apples that Maura’s father occupied.

  And it was headed straight for her heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bored.

  The word jumped out at Spence the moment he stepped foot inside the Davidson home. By the time he left this soirée, he’d require suspenders to hold his eyelids up.

  Christmas was right around the corner. He should be home working on his latest project—possibly his most worthy project to date. He would be if events like this weren’t expected of him.

  Gilt-embossed wallpaper and oil paintings framed by gold-painted wood surrounded him. Crystal prisms hung from a gold-plated gas chandelier and sparkled like Queen Victoria’s diamonds. Shiny golden and brass decorative pieces sat on gold-trimmed furnishings. At any time, he expected to see an old, bedraggled miner tug a donkey laden with prospecting tools across the expansive foyer.

  The Davidsons wanted to ensure everyone understood their position in Riverport’s pecking order.

  “Good evening, Mr. Newland.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Davidson. Pardon my tardiness.”

  “Not necessary. We know how busy you are at this time of year.”

  Quiet conversations took place in the drawing room to his right. He handed a servant his coat and hat and paused outside the room to observe the dozen occupants gathered in small groups, talking and laughing.

  In their twenties and early thirties, they had dressed in the required evening clothes—the men in dark coats, white waistcoats, and white ties and the women in satin and velvet gowns of various hues, the short sleeves puffed like fabric balloons. Flowery and spicy scents of perfumes and hair tonics hung in the air.

  Rows of chairs and sofas filled the room for the pre-supper entertainment. He often found the company of many of his peers tiresome. Added to his exasperation, these gatherings were a doorway to any number of illnesses at this time of year.

  Forget the etiquette. He’d call for his coat and hat. He started to turn and brushed against Mary Alice’s arm.

  “Hello, Third.” The daughter of his hostess inspected him with heavy eyelids and a down-turned mouth that rarely changed direction. Although too forbidding for him, her features lent her a certain solemn intelligence that some men would find attractive.

  After slipping her arm through his, she guided him into the room and leaned unbecomingly close to whisper, “I shouldn’t be so forward, but will you offer to be my supper escort? Mother has hinted at pairing me with someone dreadful.”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  Her cheekbones glowed golden in the nearby lamplight. “Now that we are all here, except poor Josephine, we can begin the entertainment soon. The poor girl would have come tonight, but you know the capriciousness of her husband.”

  Mary Alice’s gossip was like the bite of a viper. Spence had no doubt she would volunteer any information he didn’t ask to hear, so he steered her to a topic less chin wagging—the upcoming holiday. After a proper interval, he excused himself with the necessity to greet other acquaintances.

  While half listening to his friends, he scanned the far end of the room and recognized the evening’s pianist. He’d had no idea whom the Davidsons had hired. A weight lifted from his mood.

  Phoebe stood with two other women and looked stunning in a gown of black satin and sequins—a remnant from bygone days? Her expertly coiffed dark hair rivaled the styles of the other women in the room. He could well imagine her gracing a concert stage.

  Spence denied his impatience and started toward her with a dawdling stride. He’d almost reached his goal, when Mary Alice glided to the front of the room near the piano. She clapped the tips of her fingers together several times in an elegant call for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen.” Content to see all eyes focused on her, she said, “My parents and I invited you here this evening to enjoy a musical performance by an artist on the piano, a woman renowned for her talent.”

  Spence found a chair on the front row as Phoebe moved to the side while waiting to be introduced.

  Once her guests were settled in the seats provided for them, Mary Alice said, “May I present Miss Phoebe Langford.”

  Langford?

  Phoebe’s stony glance hit Spence like a rock from a slingshot. He shook his head, silently assuring her he had said nothing. At the same time, he thought her reaction was a bit overblown. What difference did it make if people knew the name she performed under?

  “Please welcome the Little Darling of the Ivories,” Mary Alice said. While Phoebe hesitated, Mary Alice smirked, as if she’d achieved a victory.

  What did she know about Phoebe that he didn’t?

  At the polite applause, Phoebe collected herself and sat at the piano, giving Spence a full view of her profile from the front row of seats. Mary Alice occupied the chair next to him.

  Even though Phoebe’s back was as straight as a plumb line and her shoulders stiff, her fingers floated across the keys in the tranquil way placid waves lapped in and out along the shoreline. The longer she played, the more she visibly relaxed, presumably lost in the music that moved her as much as it did Spence.

  Mary Alice broke the spell when she whispered, “She’s quite talented. Don’t you agree?”

  “Quite.”

  “Mother recognized her at the store. Don’t you wonder what else Miss Langford hides in addition to her identity?”

  “Perhaps she prefers her married name because she wants privacy.”

  “And perhaps you shouldn’t be gullible.”

  Gullible? Spence ground his molars and recalled the suspicion on Phoebe’s face when she looked at him. The last thing he would do was betray her confidence. “It wasn’t fair of you to ambush her, Mary Alice.”

  “Ambush her? Don’t be silly. Performers thrive on recognition. Can you imagine my surprise when Mother informed me of having seen one of our own perform on a concert stage?” Mary Alice directed her dialogue to Spence, but her gaze never left Phoebe. It reminded him of a wolf staring down its prey. The mental image curled the toes inside Spence’s new shoes.

  Phoebe performed for another forty-five minutes while everyone in the room sat enraptured. Afterward, she turned to the audience and asked, “Does anyone have a request?”

  “I do.” Mary Alice stood. “I request a duet between y
ou and Mr. Newland.” She faced Spence and clapped her hands, encouraging him to accept. The others did the same.

  This wasn’t his first time to be asked to play during an evening out, and declining such an invitation was considered rude. He strode to the front of the room as one of the guests placed a chair next to Phoebe’s stool.

  “What is your choice, Mr. Newland?”

  To leave, right now...with you.

  A spark of rebellion struck him. “Let’s liven up the party, shall we? ‘Camptown Races,’ Mrs. Crain.”

  She blinked. “‘Camptown Races?’” She shot a glance at Mary Alice and whispered, “That particular tune isn’t appropriate for the setting.”

  “Are you familiar with the music?”

  “I am, but—”

  “Then let’s play it.”

  A tiny smile tipped her lips. “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  She placed her fingers on the keys. “Are you sure you can keep up, Mr. Newland?”

  “I’ll do my best.” He grinned. “Shall we?”

  He waited as she played the introduction, then he joined in. As their fingers bounced on the keys, the others gathered around the piano.

  Toes tapped the floor and hands clapped to the lively rhythm. Guests began to sing. The whole room reverberated with the sounds of sopranos and tenors and basses.

  Phoebe sped up the tempo, and Spence worked hard to keep up. She laughed when he matched her note for note.

  With the last note, her hands stilled, but Spence kept playing, adding his own flair of creativity to the end. As he grazed the ivories, his shoulder brushed hers. His right hand came to rest alongside her left, both warm with the exertion. He couldn’t stop his fingers as they crept over hers and squeezed. The pleasure he’d noted in her expression moments before underwent a slow but dramatic change. Not quite fearful, not quite confident. Poised yet tentative.

  He might well be wearing blinders. His eyes took in nothing to the left and nothing to the right, only what was before him. Only Phoebe. Just like that day in the carriage when they’d laughed over the near miss with the deer. He might have stared at her for hours that afternoon had she not looked away.