Chapter Thirty-Two

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1871

Sylvie swept the shanty floor, shooing Oliver away when he attacked the broom. Not bothering to grab a cloak, she stepped outside, heartened by the tinkling of the little bell that hung on the door handle. She inhaled the bracing cold air and tossed the contents of the dust pan around the corner of the shanty so it wouldn’t be immediately tracked in again. Hurrying back inside, she shut the door on the blustery weather and tucked strands of hair back into her braided chignon.

The bright curtains and rag rug she’d made with Anna lent a coziness to the meager place, and the smell of coffee was ever present as a welcome to anyone who might stop by. Karl and her father had fashioned two tall bookshelves that held a growing collection of old friends. Whichever titles did not sell she was happy to keep for herself.

With Stephen accompanying Meg as she painted on the North Side today, Sylvie was alone but not lonely. Helping herself to a piece of Anna’s strudel, she returned to the table to indulge in one more chapter of Villette. But as this book was borrowed from Jasper, it only reminded her more keenly of his absence.

Hadn’t he felt hers? At all? Had she only imagined that their moments alone together in his library a couple weeks ago had meant more than the words they’d said?

The bell jingled, the door unlatched, and Louis Garibaldi sauntered in. “The sign says open, so I opened it.”

Sylvie laughed softly. “That’s the idea.” She cut him a slice of strudel and beckoned for him to join her.

Swiping his cap into his hand, he obliged. “This is good,” he said, chewing. “Mama’s going to have her baby any day now, so I’ll be needed at home. You won’t be seeing me for a while. But I wanted to tell Miss Meg that I finished the book she gave me, and I wondered if you have more stories like that. I’ve been reading to the little ones at home to keep them quiet for Mama, see.”

“I do see.” Sylvie went to the bookshelf and selected Robinson Crusoe. “This one has a shipwreck and adventure on a deserted island. Do you think they might like that?”

He said they would. “How much?” He took one last bite of his pastry, stood, then dug in his pocket, bringing out a handful of change.

Sylvie named an amount he could afford.

Replacing his cap, Louis dropped the coins in her hand and beamed as he took the book. “You’ll tell Miss Meg I was here, won’t you? Tell her I bought a book. She’ll like that.” He left with a bounce in his step.

Sylvie was clearing his plate from the table when the bell jingled again.

Stepping inside, Jasper doffed his hat and smiled, bringing the dimple to his cheek, and all thoughts of Louis and his family fled.

“Jasper! What a surprise to see you!”

He cringed, then turned to hang his hat on the peg beside the door. “Then I’ve neglected my friends for too long.”

Friends. He’d lumped her in with her sister and father. “I’m sorry to say Meg and Father are out at present.” Thank goodness they weren’t due to return for a few hours. “But I can offer you strudel and coffee, since you’re here. I don’t suppose you need to purchase or order any books?”

“Of course! Isn’t that why most customers come?”

So now he was just a customer. Sylvie pressed her lips together to trap a growing exasperation. Possessing herself, she smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “Why exactly are you here?”

He grew serious, all jesting fading away. “You all left in such a hurry on Thanksgiving. I wanted to see how things have been for you. Has your father adjusted to being home?”

“He’s adjusting. We all are.” She folded her hands in front of the belt at her waist. “That’s why you came?” She longed for so much more, and yet she could hear herself pushing him away with her clipped tone and short words.

He studied her for a moment. “You’re different, Sylvie. Something’s wrong. I’ve been so busy with classes, and perhaps I should have called earlier, but I thought your family needed some time alone during your father’s transition home. I hope that—other than that—I haven’t done anything to offend you.”

A short laugh escaped her. He hadn’t done anything at all. And yet his presence stirred her in ways she wanted to deny. She ought to be done with it, with him, once and for all. She would stop pining for this wooden man, and her father would stop persuading her she ought to.

Lifting her chin, she resolved to do just that, for he caused her more angst than joy. “I borrowed this book from Hiram’s library. I’ll send it home with you now.” She scooped up Villette and thought of his image nesting between its pages.

“Have you finished it yet?”

“I don’t need to. I know how this story ends, and I actually hate it.”

When he reached to take it from her, his hands lingered on hers. “Are you sure?”

She thrilled to his touch, to his question. Oh, the meaning she could assign to those three words. He could mend her heart or break it with so little effort, it scared her.

“Jasper, please,” she whispered, folding her arms over her starched and pleated shirtwaist. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” The dimple reappeared, and she turned away from it. “I’m sorry. I’m not a tease. I do want to see more of you, and I’d supposed—perhaps wrongly—that our last conversation made my regard for you clear. It’s just that my studies keep me very occupied.”

“You want to see more of me as a friend?”

A charming pink stole over his features. “As more than that. If you agree.”

Dare she believe him? Her heart lurched with a resounding yes, then plummeted. “My father would never allow it.”

He frowned. “But why? What have I done?”

“Nothing.” She bit her lip. Everything her father held against Jasper was based on misunderstanding, she was sure of it. She could ask him to clear it all up for her, thus clearing the path for their budding future together.

But did she really want to be the one to tell Jasper that his grandmother, the woman who raised him, had told Hiram he was dead in order to cut them off from each other? That could only bring him sorrow. And he’d already been through so much.

And the photograph. That was another question mark. For her, it was of no consequence that he’d had it taken a month before the war’s end rather than when he signed up to serve. She had several good theories, but if she could resolve the matter definitively, perhaps Stephen would be satisfied.

“What aren’t you telling me, Sylvie?” Jasper stepped closer, filling the space between them with his balsam scent.

She swallowed, glancing out the window to make sure no one else was coming. “There’s a photograph in the book. That book.” She nodded toward the novel he’d tucked under his arm. “Of you.”

The color left his face. Going to the table, he set down the book and opened it, flipping the pages from front to back. Not finding it, he searched the pages again. Held the book upside down by its covers and shook it. Nothing.

He unwound the muffler from his neck and dropped it on the table, then unfastened the buttons of his cloak. “What photograph?”

“It must have fallen out in the back room. But it’s a carte de visite of you in your Union army uniform. A studio picture. On the back, Hiram wrote the date it was taken. March 1865. It’s a striking image, and I’m sure you’ll want to hang on to it. Show your children and grandchildren someday.”

“Perhaps.” He scanned the front room, as though searching for the card. “Who else has seen it?”

She pinched her locket between her finger and thumb. “Just me and Meg, and Nate and my father. The only thing is, my father wonders why it was taken so late in the war. That is, what made you wait four years before having your picture made?”

There was only the slightest pause before he replied. “I wouldn’t have had it made at all, but Uncle Hiram said he wanted to have my likeness.” He shrugged. “So finally I gave in to please him. He was very patriotic, as you know. As proud of my service as he was of his own.”

“Of course,” she breathed. “That makes perfect sense. Give me a moment, and I’ll go find it.”

Bustling into the back room, she searched for the card, but to no avail. She didn’t see her father’s carte de visite either. Perhaps Stephen had taken them both when he left with Meg, unwilling to be without either one for some reason.

Irritated, she returned to the front room, the curtain falling closed behind her. “I didn’t see it, but I’m sure as soon as Meg and my father come home, one of them will know where it is. We’ll return it to you soon.”

The corner of Jasper’s lips curved up. “See that you do.”

Snow flurries swirled into the room when he opened the door. As he left, he was no longer smiling.