Every girl anticipated her marriage proposal. Amelia’s daydream included a dapper beau bent on one knee offering a bouquet of fragrant flowers and a poetic promise of undying love and commitment. Her fantasy shattered with Mr. Early’s outburst, even though she knew he’d spouted the suggestion in jest. Would she ever have the joy of a real proposal? She was twenty-six years old already—beyond the age of desirability. The realization stung. To ease her deep pain, she chose to pretend this one was real.
She met his surly gaze. “To be frank, Mr. Early, it’s too soon for us to consider matrimony even for Lucy’s sake. But I would be willing to stay in Kingsley for a time, help you ease into caretaking for Lucy, and become better acquainted.”
All three men gaped at her, but she kept her gaze pinned on Mr. Early’s eyes. Such an unusual color—gray irises rimmed with dark blue, the colors of a stormy sky. She shivered. Staying made more sense by the minute. She’d be able to assure herself that Lucy settled in well—that the child would be treated lovingly by this standoffish, unsmiling storm of a man.
With slow, steady steps, the way she might approach a wary street urchin, she advanced across the grass until she stood only inches in front of him. She gulped. The brim of her hat didn’t even reach his chin, and she wore shoes with two-inch heels. He was an extraordinarily tall man. Her hand quivering, she touched the sleeve of his shirt with her fingertips. The taut muscles hiding beneath the cambric fabric gave her a start, but she remained in place. “You feel alone right now, Mr. Early, and for good reason, given your recent loss.”
His gaze flicked to the crosses and then settled on her again. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his tight collar.
“Now isn’t the time to make brash decisions about sending Lucy away or…” She couldn’t bring herself to say “taking a wife,” knowing he hadn’t truly meant what he’d said. The words would be a mockery and would scald her heart. She cleared her throat. “Or anything else. You need to give yourself time to heal from this wound.”
“I’m not fit for seein’ to youngsters.”
He growled the statement, and Amelia couldn’t decide if his tone held regret or a warning. Then an image of the man as she’d seen him when the sheriff guided her through the cemetery gate—bent before the crosses, his head low and shoulders slumped—flashed in her mind’s eyes. His humble, sorrowful pose had stirred her sympathy, but she’d sensed tenderness and the ability to love deeply in him. Suddenly his eyes seemed less stormy than uncertain. The embers of sympathy flared to life.
She offered an encouraging smile and pressed her fingers more firmly on his forearm. “You might surprise yourself, Mr. Early. I suspect that when your pain isn’t so fresh you’ll be able to see Lucy as the last gift your brother gave you rather than as a burden.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Lucy, who crouched in the grass and played with a few new green stems. Fondness swelled upward and filled her chest. Lucy had won her heart. In time, the child would win Mr. Early’s, too. Amelia faced the man again. “I’m willing to help you if you’re willing to try.”
He stepped away from her. His long shadow flowed across the grass and reached Lucy. The little girl looked up, her blue eyes wide. The muscles in his jaw formed a knot as he stared hard at the child. He crunched his jacket in his fists, his entire body tensing, and then he seemed to collapse. He aimed a weary look at Amelia.
“I don’t reckon I’ve got much choice until the circuit judge comes. If you’ll take care of her until then, I’d be obliged.”
“Of course, Mr. Early.” Her heart gave a happy skip. A few more weeks with Lucy was a blessing beyond compare. And a few weeks in Kingsley would give her time to plan where to go next. Certainly a bigger city where jobs were plentiful. But until then, she’d lavish her affection on Lucy. She would call these weeks her bridge from her former life to her future one.
The minister, a kindly looking older man with thick gray hair slicked back with oil, sent a frown at Mr. Early. “Where do you intend for Miss Emmett and the little girl to stay, Abe?”
The sheriff said, “Hotel’ll be awful expensive for that many days. You could check at Miz Tooney’s boarding house.”
Amelia released a little huff of disbelief. How would Lucy and her new guardian become acquainted if they weren’t together? She swung a firm look across the trio of male faces. “Mr. Early’s home is now Lucy’s home. She’ll stay there.”
“Huh-uh. Not unless somebody’s there besides me to take of her. Not if you want her in one piece when the circuit judge gets here.”
Mr. Early’s statement sent apprehension dancing up Amelia’s spine. She wouldn’t abandon Lucy to the man until she was assured the child would be safe. “Then I suppose we both need to stay at your farm instead of in town.”
The sheriff coughed—loudly—into his hand. He gave the preacher a bump with his elbow and whispered gratingly, “Didja hear that, Preacher Henry? City gals.”
The preacher frowned first at the sheriff and then at Amelia. “You staying at Abe’s farm wouldn’t be seemly, Miss Emmett. A little thing like her”—he angled a glance at Lucy—“isn’t what folks around here would consider a good chaperone. Tongues would wag nonstop if he put you up in his house without a clergy speaking words over you.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” Sheriff Bailey folded his arms over his chest and glowered at her. “No such immoral doings are gonna take place in my town.”
Heat flooded Amelia’s face. Did they really think so little of her? She’d be there as a caretaker for Lucy, nothing more. She started to say so.
Preacher Henry pinched his chin. “You’re going to need a place to stay. Miz Tooney likely has a room available that would accommodate both Miss Emmett and the child.”
The sheriff nodded, leaning close to the preacher. “She charges three dollars a week for one boarder. Seein’ as how the little girl isn’t hardly the size of a lamb, I doubt Miz Tooney’d ask for extra for her.”
“So assuming Miz Tooney has a room, and she’d rent it for her standard rate, the cost of lodging for six weeks comes to…” Preacher Henry rolled his eyes skyward. “Nearly twenty dollars total.”
Amelia gasped. Twenty dollars? Such a sum! And how had the town’s minister and the sheriff gotten involved in her affairs? Why couldn’t she and Mr. Early work things out together for Lucy’s sake? She looked at the tall man, expecting him to intervene, but he stood off to the side with his black jacket all crumpled in a ball in his large hands, his mouth closed tight and his gaze fixed on the other two men. Apparently mourning had rendered him incapable of thinking for himself. She could be understanding. But she would also be very clear on her expectations.
“Sheriff? Reverend?”
The pair of men jerked their faces in her direction.
“As much as I appreciate your, er”—she pushed aside the word interference and searched for one less condescending—“concern, you seem to have lost sight of the most important issue at hand.”
“An’ what’s that, Miss Emmett?” the sheriff said.
She curled her hands over Lucy’s shoulders and set the child in front of the men. “Lucy.”
Both of them gazed down at the little girl, but she noted Mr. Early turned sideways and stared across the cemetery rather than looking at the child.
Amelia sighed. “Lucy came to Kingsley to meet her parents and to settle in her new home. I certainly don’t intend to sound indifferent to Mr. Early’s tremendous loss, but Lucy has lost something, too. She’s just a little girl, helpless and alone. Shouldn’t we do what is best for her right now?”
Preacher Henry turned a serious look on Amelia. “What do you think is best, Miss Emmett?”
Finally they were listening. She smiled. “Since Mr. Early is Lucy’s guardian as specified by the adoption papers, I think it best for them to become well acquainted. Thus, the child needs to stay at the farm where her legal guardian lives and works.”
The preacher’s eyebrows rose high.
The sheriff’s jaw dropped open.
Amelia held up her hand. “I am not suggesting that I stay nights at the farm. You’re correct, Preacher Henry, that my doing so would be unseemly. And I can assure you, Sheriff, despite my having grown up in the city, I do possess morals.”
The two exchanged a sheepish look.
“But as Mr. Early has indicated, he’ll require assistance so he can see to the responsibilities on his farm. What if I take a room at the boardinghouse by myself? Each morning I can travel to the farm to care for Lucy during Mr. Early’s working hours and return to my lodgings in the evening after she is tucked in bed. Mr. Early wouldn’t be inconvenienced, and Lucy would have a home.”
Mr. Early whirled to face the group. “You’d be there all day? I wouldn’t have to do anything for her?” He seemed more panicked than petulant.
She’d met nervous first-time parents in her years of delivering orphans to families across the Midwest, but Mr. Early won the prize for anxiety. She offered what she hoped would be received as an encouraging smile. “All day, Mr. Early.” Until the circuit judge affirmed the adoption papers and she would be free to move on. But it was best not to mention the short-term arrangement when he was so clearly tense.
“Who’s gonna pay for the boardinghouse?”
Amelia choked back a laugh. “I presume you will.”
“Why me?”
“My responsibility toward Lucy is complete”—her heart panged—“with her delivery to her lawful guardian. I’m only staying to accommodate you. Does it not make sense then that you would provide for my lodging?”
“It does make sense, Abe,” the sheriff said.
Mr. Early gave the lawman a sour look.
The sheriff ducked his head.
Preacher Henry cleared his throat. “I’m going to guess Abe’s apprehension has more to do with finances than his sense of obligation. Am I correct, Abe?”
The tall man set his lips in a grim line and nodded.
The preacher pinched his chin for several seconds, his brow furrowing. Then he snapped his fingers and smiled. “I have a solution. Miss Emmett, our youngsters have all grown up and moved on, so my wife and I have a room you could use.”
Amelia swallowed a laugh. No doubt the preacher and his wife would also monitor her comings and goings to be sure nothing of a questionable nature took place between her and Mr. Early. She didn’t mind being held accountable—she had nothing to hide. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be an intrusion?”
“Oh, now, my Lizzie has been lonesome for company since our youngest, Helen Marie, got married last fall and moved to Satanta. She’ll welcome having a young woman under our roof again.” He chuckled. “Only one word of warning. My Lizzie is a mother hen. She’ll try to cluck over you the same way she does any young person who crosses our threshold. I hope you won’t hold that against her.”
Amelia hadn’t been mothered by anyone since she was too young to remember. She smiled. “I promise.” She held up one finger. “But I will see to my own needs—laundry, meals, and housekeeping. I won’t be a burden on you.”
“I’ll let you fight that battle with Lizzie.” The minister turned to Mr. Early. “Now you won’t need to worry about providing lodging for Miss Emmett. Is there anything else we can do to help you, Abe? I’m sure you weren’t expecting to become a papa the same day you laid your dear brother and sister-in-law to rest.”
Tears briefly winked in the tall man’s eyes, and Amelia’s heart rolled over in compassion. He had been dealt a mighty blow. She would do her best to assist him in his new role as father to Lucy even though it meant giving the little girl a permanent farewell.
“I’m wonderin’ how she’ll get from town to my farm every day. Will you tote her, Preacher?”
“I keep my horse and buggy close at hand in case there’s an emergency.” Preacher Henry tilted his head and frowned at Abe. “But Ed and Ruby’s barn didn’t burn. Why not let Miss Emmett make use of their horse and wagon? We can put the horse in the lean-to with ours every night, and she can take herself to your place each morning. Then she’ll have a wagon available for errands and such, too.”
The sheriff clapped the preacher on the shoulder. “You’ve got a good thinker, Preacher Henry. An’ since you’ve got things all solved, I’m headin’ back to my office. Good to meet you, miss.” He tipped his hat to Amelia and strode off.
Mr. Early’s eyebrows pinched together so tightly they formed a knot between his eyes. “Do you know how to drive a rig?”
Amelia swallowed. She’d ridden in carriages, on streetcars, and across the country on trains hundreds of times. But she’d never been responsible for guiding any kind of conveyance. She grimaced. “I’m afraid not.” Would the plan dissolve before it had a chance to take shape?
He sighed, his chest expanding and falling. He shook out his jacket, jammed his arms into the sleeves, and sighed again. Amelia held her breath, waiting for his response. At last he gestured toward a horse and wagon waiting on the street outside the cemetery fence. “I reckon I’ll have to teach you then. Come on.”