Two

That afternoon, Christopher stopped by the Joneses’ house to return a cup of sugar his mother had borrowed from Mrs. Jones. Happy to see her friend, Katherine poured them both lemonade and suggested they sit under the oaks in the backyard for a time. Christopher seemed all too happy to take Katherine up on her suggestion, a fact that gladdened her. A nagging thought that if Otis came courting, she wouldn’t be able to visit with Christopher with such spontaneity anymore shot through her mind, but she dismissed such dreary thoughts.

“I have good news,” she told him well into their visit.

“Oh?” His blue eyes took on an interested light, and he leaned toward her slightly in his wicker chair.

“Remember Otis?”

“Otis. Yes.” The excitement left his voice. “The sailor. Are you still writing to him?”

“Yes. I told you that.”

“You did? How about that.”

Katherine tried to ignore his lack of enthusiasm. Christopher usually wasn’t so forgetful. Why was he being like this? She made a deliberate effort to fill her voice with life. “Well, you shouldn’t mind. After all, you always told me how much you appreciated my letters when you were away at school.”

“Yes, but that’s different.” He winced.

“I don’t see how—”

“Never mind. So what’s your news?” Christopher’s mouth straightened. He didn’t look happy.

Katherine hesitated but pressed on. “He’s coming for a visit.”

Christopher’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Is that so? How about that. When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?” He leaned back in his chair. “You seem relaxed about the whole thing.”

“I’ve already swept and dusted, and with Mother and Betsy working along with me, there’s not much else left to do, really. He can take us as we are. Well”—she felt her face flush—“sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

Katherine paused. After taking in a breath to prepare herself, she revealed Miranda’s plan to Christopher.

“Miranda has convinced you to do what?” Christopher’s blue eyes lit with surprise and anguish.

His obvious disapproval left her disconcerted. “I know it sounds wild, but she only got in this mess because she was trying to help me. Now I feel obligated to help her get out of it.”

“I don’t think he’ll ever believe it, Katherine. I think you should tell him right away, the minute he arrives. You don’t want him to be disappointed, do you?”

“No. But I won’t disappoint him. I’ve always wanted to be a skilled horsewoman, a ballerina, a banjo player, a harmonica player, and a harpist. I’ll just have to accomplish all these skills a little earlier, that’s all.” She brightened. “That gives me an idea. You’re accomplished on the banjo.”

“Yes?” His tone revealed how leery he felt.

“So will you help me? Please?”

“How?”

“Your part is easy. Just teach me one tune on the banjo. That’s all.”

“One tune is not going to convince him that you are accomplished on the instrument.” Christopher settled in his seat like an immovable object and swirled the melting ice in his glass.

“Miranda promised to change the subject before he can ask me to play something else.”

Christopher didn’t answer right away, which gave her hope. But then he shook his head. “I want to help you, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry, Katherine. You’re on your own this time.”

“You can’t?” Vexation and hurt crossed her expression. She rose from her chair and took the glass from him. “It was nice to see you, Christopher, but I must bid you good day. You see, I must bake a cherry pie for my visitor.”

❧

Christopher watched Katherine walk into her house and slam the back door behind her. He knew everything was not fine. Would it ever be?

The idea that this Otis fellow planned to come in and sweep Katherine off her feet filled him with ire. Christopher had been planning to ask Mr. Jones if he could court Katherine. They had known one another since childhood, so Christopher didn’t anticipate a long courtship. He only wanted to be betrothed long enough for Katherine to plan a wedding. Knowing that Katherine didn’t want to put on airs, he imagined his bride would want a simple day. A few words uttered by the preacher in front of their closest friends and family, followed by a short reception featuring one of those big tiered cakes that the women liked to bake. Katherine wouldn’t demand an elaborate or expensive honeymoon trip, either, although he wanted to give her the best few days of her life. If they married in the fall after the harvest, they could steal away to a nice hotel in Washington, D.C., perhaps. They could see the monuments and take in a little history. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

All too soon, he recalled why these plans would have to be delayed. Perhaps they would have to be forgotten. The idea that Katherine might never be his speared his heart.

What had happened to Katherine, the sweet girl he knew and loved? Why was she letting Miranda wrap her up in a scheme to fool a correspondent she didn’t even know? Well, she hardly knew. He balled his hands into fists and relaxed them.

Father in heaven, I pray for patience.

As soon as he sent up the silent prayer, Christopher knew the answer. Katherine was sweet. Too sweet. Which was why Miranda could put on a few tears and melt Katherine’s resolve. Miranda was taking advantage of their friendship, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Patience, Lord. Please.

The ride back to the Bagley farm seemed to take longer than usual. Once he arrived, he took a moment to compose himself before he went into the kitchen. “Christopher, you’re late for supper,” Mother pointed out the instant he entered.

Christopher shut the back door so it thumped to a close with a gentle rap. He didn’t mind his mother’s reprimand. Though her tone was always serious, he knew her firm hand was a sign of her desire to make sure he never wavered from conducting himself in the way a country gentleman should.

“Your daddy’s already getting me another load of wood for the stove.”

Guilt visited him as he realized he could have brought his mother fresh fuel for the fire if he had arrived a few moments earlier. “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t mean to be late.” He looked beside the stove and noted the sparse state of the wood box. After he had returned home from college, he soon realized his parents expected him to resume his chores. Upon reflection, he surmised that such an expectation seemed fair. His brothers and sister had left home to marry in past years, leaving Grandpa and his parents at home. Long past his sixtieth birthday, Grandpa possessed vigor, but he could hardly be expected to perform Christopher’s chores.

He glanced at Mother, who was at that moment setting the kitchen table with the everyday dishes painted with blue flowers he had known since childhood.

“Mother, I’ll get you a couple of extra loads of wood after supper.” He took off the brimmed hat that had protected his head from the warm sun and hung it on the wooden peg beside the door.

“I’ll excuse you this time. Just don’t make a habit of it. You might have been able to run wild and do as you pleased at school, but you’re living by my rules now,” Mother reminded him as she set a spoon on the table. “Now get washed up.” She tilted her head toward the basin as though Christopher no longer remembered its location despite the fact it hadn’t changed in his lifetime.

He suppressed a chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”

“So how are the Joneses?”

“Fine. Just fine. Mrs. Jones thanks you for the return of the sugar, even though she said you didn’t need to bother.”

Mother nodded.

“Is that beef stew I smell?” While Christopher wanted to know, he also welcomed a way to distract his mother.

“Sure is. So did you see Katherine?”

So much for distractions. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And what is the latest news with her?”

“Not much. Her correspondent from South Carolina is coming for a visit.”

Mother stopped stirring the stew long enough to look him in the eye. “Her correspondent? That sailor you told me about?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I would have thought she would have stopped with that letter-writing nonsense after the war was over. I hope he doesn’t think he can just swoop in here and take over everything.”

“I don’t know what his plans are, Mother.” He sat down with a sigh.

Grandpa chose that moment to shuffle into the kitchen. “What plans?”

“Katherine’s correspondent is coming for a visit.”

“Oh.” Grandpa shrugged. “Well, that shouldn’t bother you none, Christopher. I doubt he can offer you much competition.” He sniffed the air. “I’ve been waiting for some of that good stew, and I think I smell your yeast rolls cooking, too, don’t I, Daughter?”

Mother nodded. “Yes, Papa.”

“Good.” Without fanfare, Grandpa sat down at his regular place at the table. Christopher judged by his slow movements and lethargic expression that he had just awakened from his afternoon nap.

Mother set a pan of rolls on the coolest part of the stove. The light brown tops were shiny. He had often watched her brush the bread with beaten egg whites. He didn’t know much about cooking, but he supposed that extra step was what resulted in the sheen that made the bread look so appetizing. Obviously she had prepared the bread to her usual perfection.

Christopher heard Daddy kicking the bottom of the back door, a sure sign that he had a pile of chopped wood in his arms and couldn’t open it himself. He hurried to assist him. “Sorry, Daddy. I was planning to get some wood after supper.”

Daddy released wood from his arms and let the split logs fall into the metal box. “You can take a turn next time.” He smiled.

“Yes, sir.” Christopher returned to his seat. The milk in Grandpa’s glass looked appealing. He poured himself a glass from the green pitcher Mother had left on the table.

Mother set a bowl of stew in front of Grandpa. Christopher observed Grandpa watching the steam rise and watched in amusement as the older man surveyed the food, a satisfied expression on his face.

Christopher didn’t listen to the banter of the others as he ate his beef stew, bread, and ice-cold milk. All he could think about was Katherine and how they had corresponded while he completed his studies at Maryland Agricultural College. His plans to court Katherine were dashed when Katherine asked him to participate in the ruse Miranda had cooked up to fool the war hero.

He didn’t know which part of his visit to Katherine’s upset him more—the request for him to help her fool this Otis fellow or her apparent attachment to the sailor who was important enough that she wanted to make him think the best of her.

Otis hadn’t seemed so threatening when he was safely tucked away—far away—on a navy ship. Once he was discharged, he seemed so distant in another state way down south. But now that he was coming to see them, well that was another story. If only Christopher could put a stop to the visit!

But what should stop Otis from visiting? Christopher knew he had no right to dictate to Katherine with whom she chose to correspond or if and when that person should come up to Maryland.

What a fool he had been not to realize that the correspondence could evolve into romantic notions. Not that he blamed Otis. Who wouldn’t take a chance in flirting with a woman of such beauty? He thought about Katherine’s big brown eyes, smooth skin, and glossy dark brown hair. The image of her face had kept him motivated at college when he felt lonely and wanted nothing more than to go back to the home he knew and loved. Now that he had returned home, apparently the situation had changed, and he could no longer depend on resuming his relationship with the woman he had loved since he was a boy.

“Another glass of milk, Christopher?”

He lurched back into reality. “Oh. No thanks, Mother.”

She set the pitcher back on the table and sent him a look that told him he was being too quiet. He could only be grateful for her discretion in not prying. Spooning into a square of warm bread pudding laced with cinnamon and bulging with raisins, Christopher allowed his thoughts to wander to Katherine and her dilemma.

How could Katherine have developed a love for this interloper rather than him? If anyone’s correspondence should have developed into mutual love, it should have been the one they had shared. Christopher and Katherine had exchanged letters when he was away studying. He hadn’t written flowery words or poetry to her. He had hoped she had some idea about the feelings he harbored for her. But judging from her actions, she did not. If only he had made his feelings known! Maybe then this usurper wouldn’t have proven to be such a temptation for the only woman he had ever loved. The only woman he could love.

Lord, why is Katherine tempted away from me? What can I do? I don’t want to lose her. I don’t think my life would be as happy without her.

His chest tightened in anger even as he tidied up his hands with a napkin. Maybe all this was happening because the Lord knew Katherine wasn’t right for him. As a friend, perhaps. But not as a wife. How could she ask him to help her fool Otis, a stranger she’d never met?

Christopher set his spoon in the empty dish, wishing he hadn’t been thinking such dark thoughts so he could have enjoyed the delicious treat. He noticed that Mother had held back two extra desserts for later, but he nursed no hope of enjoying either. Grandpa was sure to sneak them both before the next day. Sighing, Christopher rocked back in his chair so only the back two legs balanced on the floor.

“Christopher!” Mother’s voice cut through the air. “Where are your manners? You’re liable to put a hole in the floor rocking back like that.”

He set the front two legs back on the wide plank floor, making sure to be gentle with the motion lest he dent the wood. “Yes, ma’am.”

Still, his mother’s worries about her floor were the least of his. He couldn’t imagine how the little bit of rocking he might do could ruin pine floors that had seen his parents through twenty-nine years of marriage. The thought made him realize how lucky they were.

If only he had spoken up to Katherine sooner! Then he could have looked at the whole scenario with amusement. Katherine had always wanted to dance ballet, ride horses at an expert level, and play the harp, harmonica, and banjo. Everyone knew it. But for Miranda to tell Otis such fantasies! And for what? Some man who didn’t care about Katherine. At least, not as much as he did. And always had.

Christopher knew that Katherine never would have written such embellishments on her own; she was much too sweet for that. But now that her so-called friend had written Otis that she had mastered so many accomplishments, Katherine was in a bind. He could understand why Katherine didn’t want to embarrass Miranda even though she deserved it. Yet the fact that Katherine didn’t want to get her friend in trouble only made him love her all the more.

He wanted to send up a silent prayer that she would make a fool of herself. Such action would serve her right for agreeing to make that poor sailor think she could do so many things. After all, she was a consummate cook and an expert in the domestic arts. Those talents were far more important to the enjoyment of everyday life than being an expert horsewoman or playing the harmonica and banjo. But she couldn’t see that, he supposed.

Temptation to pray for her downfall prodded him.

Lord. . .

Lord, please make Katherine see that she doesn’t need to change a thing about herself. Help her to see her true value, that she doesn’t need to put on a show to protect a friend. I know her good-heartedness is what got her into this mess, Lord. I ask Thee to protect her in these coming weeks. In the name of Thy Son, amen.

He knew the prayer he uttered in silence was far more loving than his original thoughts. Even better, the peace he felt in his heart told him that he meant every word. Whatever happened during her correspondent’s visit would be in God’s hands. He would have to make himself content in that knowledge.