Ruth was right about Logan Farrell. He had been much too forward. Calling Adria “my lady.” She wasn’t his lady. Far from it. She had refused to even tell him her name, although Ruth had let that slip. Ruth hadn’t aimed to let the man know anything about them. She was not at all pleased that Adria invited the man into their kitchen.
Invited might not be the right word, Adria thought as she headed down the street toward the store on Saturday morning. Allowed. She had allowed the man to come into their house.
Ruth could be a stickler about using the right word. Sometimes when they were reading to one another at night, she would stop the story to point out that this or that word would be better. Not only better, but more accurate. That came from writing poetry, Adria supposed. Ruth loved words. She had instilled that love in Adria too, except Adria was more interested in the power of words instead of the poetry of their sounds.
She was continually searching for the strongest words to use in her letters condemning slavery. She sent her missives in plain envelopes to a woman in Boston so no one would suspect that she was involved with an abolitionist group. For all the postman knew, she and Abigail Summers were doing no more than corresponding about the latest fashions and their marriage prospects. Abigail clipped articles from the papers and sent them to Adria. An abolitionist newspaper would never make it out of the Springfield post office.
The fact that Adria was corresponding with the abolitionists worried Ruth. Adria seemed to be good at that. Worrying Ruth. Just like with Logan Farrell. Ruth was right. Adria shouldn’t have brought him to their house. She should have pointed him toward the doctor, but she really hadn’t expected him to have such a gash in his head. She thought it would be a mere scrape, easily cleaned and bandaged.
As Ruth often reminded her, she forgot to think about appearances or the consequences of ignoring those appearances. Ruth was right about that too. Carlton would be upset if he heard about her encounter on the street with a drifter. Not if. When. Nothing that happened in the middle of Springfield’s Main Street had much chance of being unnoticed or, once noticed, not remarked upon.
Carlton wouldn’t believe the man was saving her life. She didn’t believe the man had saved her life, although when she thought about it, those horses’ hooves were very close when they thundered past after Logan knocked her down. Perhaps she could have been trampled. Even killed. She needed to keep that thought and an attitude of gratitude when she told Carlton about what happened. Ruth thought she should tell him. First. Before the gossips made the story even better than it was.
Perhaps she could forget to mention taking Logan Farrell home with her to dress his wound. She supposed it was wrong to keep secrets from a man she was considering marrying. But she was already doing that with her letters in support of the abolitionist cause. Carlton roundly condemned the northerners who wanted to free the slaves. If she married Carlton, he would demand she cut all ties with the abolitionists. But she wasn’t standing at any marriage altars yet. She was still free to do as she pleased. Maybe not free as a bird, the way Logan Farrell had claimed, but free.
Free as a bird. A sparrow flew past her with a bit of straw in its beak. Birds seemed free, flying here and there and not tied to the earth, but how free were they? They were always busy building nests, feeding their baby birds, searching for the next worm. Not that much different than people. Busy taking care of needs. Maybe it would be better to say free as a cat.
That made Adria smile. Her Gulliver had been a free spirit as soon as he was old enough to roam. That cat would come stay with them in the winter, and as soon as the days warmed to spring, off he’d go. Out hunting new mama cats to charm, new mice to catch. Doing whatever he wanted, when he wanted.
“My lady looks pleased with the world this day.” Logan Farrell stepped out onto the walkway in front of her.
“Oh, you startled me.” Adria put her hand to her chest. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed him waiting there. Obviously watching for her. “I fear I was lost in thought.”
“Happy thoughts it seems.”
“The best kind.” She let her smile stay. In spite of his bandaged head and black eye, the man looked more presentable this morning. No blood and dirt smeared his face. His straw-colored curls looked freshly washed when he took off his hat and tipped his head toward her in greeting. His clothes were worn, but clean.
The one thing not changed was the way his blue eyes seemed to demand she notice him as he tried to charm her with his words. “The only kind. Just looking at you brings a smile to my face.”
She supposed she did look much better herself, with a fresh white blouse and brown skirt and her hair properly pinned up. The requisite hat perched on her head. It was a bit frayed around the brim, but it would have to do until she could get another since she’d lost her newest hat in the dirt yesterday.
“I’m sorry about your eye,” she said. “Did you find the doctor’s house without trouble?”
“I did. Managed to survive his administrations. He suggested I put a steak on my eye, but I told him I’d much prefer eating a steak rather than wearing one.” The man laughed. “He was a talkative old gent. Filled me in on a number of things in Springfield.”
“Job opportunities, I hope.” Adria did hope that, but she feared the old doctor had let Logan pump him about her own situation. Dr. Adams, the same as most everybody else in town, thought it was well past time Adria accepted her proper feminine role and married Carlton.
“Among other things.”
“Dr. Adams can be quite the talker when he’s working on a patient. It’s his way of putting a person at ease. He’s liable to say most anything then.” Adria pushed a smile back across her face. “It’s been pleasant talking with you, but I must be on my way.” She started to move past him. She had already noted several curious glances toward them from others on the street. She hoped Carlton was at work at his father’s hat factory, far from any windows.
“Wait.” He touched her arm to stop her. “I have something of yours.” He pulled his other hand out from behind his back and there was her hat.
“My hat!”
“I cleaned it up as best I could, but I’m afraid it’s a bit battered.” He brushed at the torn yellow ribbon before he handed it to her.
“But amazingly it seems all of a piece.” Adria held it up to examine it. “The ribbon can be replaced.” She looked back at Logan, smiling this time with no reservations or worry of what those passing by might think. “I can’t thank you enough. I hated losing this hat.”
“Hats are useful.” He knocked the brim of his own hat up to a jaunty angle. “To keep our brains from getting fried.”
Adria laughed. “Yes, or frozen according to the season. Now I do need to get to work, Mr. Farrell.”
“If you will allow me, Miss Starr, I’ll walk with you. I was going that way.”
“Which way?”
“Whichever way you are going.” His eyes flashed with a smile again.
She gave in gracefully. What else could she do? A few more steps down the walk with him would hardly matter after they’d been talking together for several minutes. Besides, Carlton didn’t own her. She hadn’t promised him anything. He was the one always doing the promising. Unlike this Mr. Farrell. She doubted he’d ever promised any girl anything. He let that smile and those eyes do the promising for him. Promises that probably disappeared on the wind as soon as he tired of whatever town he was in. She needed to remember that free as a bird to him had nothing to do with building nests.
Even so, she could feel her pulse accelerating as he matched his pace to hers and told her how he found her hat thrown over next to the walkways and thus safe from the wagons and horses. How long had it been since she and Carlton could talk this long without some disagreement rearing up between them?
She tried to think back. Maybe it was that picnic last October. A beautiful fall day. A basket full of ham sandwiches, apples, and Carlton’s favorite raisin pie. A buggy ride out to a flat field on his grandparents’ farm that backed up to a creek that fed into the Salt River. The day had been warm. The creek low. They had shed their shoes and Carlton rolled up his pants while she modestly stripped off her stockings without showing an undue amount of leg. She didn’t remember who had started splashing the other one first, but soon they were both soaked. And laughing.
Carlton had caught her to him and kissed her there in the middle of the creek. And she, forgetting Aunt Ruth’s warnings about being reckless when alone with a man, had kissed him back with abandon. The sun, the water, the laughter. It was like rolling down a hill. She had come to her senses and pushed him away. Shoved him actually. So hard that he fell backward into the water, but he had merely laughed again.
He got to his feet and followed her out of the creek where they sat in the sun to dry off. He didn’t try to kiss her again, but he had a different light in his eyes when he looked at her. And in the buggy on the way home he talked about where they would build their house. As though the kiss had settled everything, when all it had done was unsettle Adria.
This man beside her was unsettling her too, even as she only half listened to him going on and on about the friendliness of the people here. She knew his name and nothing else except that his smile and those eyes were making her heart beat faster. Not that she’d let him know that. Now or ever.
When he paused, she murmured a few words of agreement. She would be glad to get to the store where she could settle behind the counter and attend to her job of waiting on customers. Even if Logan Farrell came in to buy something, he’d simply be another customer then. Some of the men tried to flirt with her from time to time, but she paid them no attention. She knew it didn’t mean anything. They knew it didn’t mean anything. But walking with Logan felt different out here on the street.
They were almost to the store when pounding footsteps sounded behind them. Even before she glanced back, Adria knew it would be Carlton running after them.
“Uh-oh,” Logan said. “Whoever that is bearing down on us does not look happy. Wouldn’t happen to be your fellow, would it?”
“Whether he is or isn’t, that is hardly any of your concern, Mr. Farrell.” Adria kept her voice level.
“Maybe not, but from the look on his face, I think maybe he’s got some concerns. I better head on down the street before I get another black eye.” But he was still smiling. “My mother always told me beautiful women could be dangerous.”
“Was your mother beautiful?” Adria knew Carlton was only a few steps away, but she refused to look back at him.
“Actually she was. And wise as well.”
“Adria.” Carlton spoke behind them.
Adria turned toward him with a swish of her skirt. “Good morning, Carlton.”
She gave him her sweetest smile, even though, from the color in his cheeks, he looked ready to explode. He was breathing hard from the run to catch up with them. Somebody must have gone into the hat factory and reported on her. As if she couldn’t walk with whomever she pleased on the streets.
She took a breath to keep her anger from rising to match Carlton’s. “Have you met Mr. Farrell? He’s new to town.” She looked over at Logan. “Mr. Farrell, Mr. Damon. Mr. Damon’s father owns the hat factory. Perhaps you could find a position there.” Adria looked back at Carlton, her smile still firmly in place. “Mr. Farrell is hoping to find a job here in town.”
“We’re not hiring.” Carlton almost spit out the words. He obviously wasn’t going to be placated with smiles.
“No worries. Hat making isn’t for me anyway.” Logan held out his hand toward Carlton. “But good to meet you, Mr. Damon.”
“I wish I could say the same.” Carlton ignored Logan’s hand, and after a couple of seconds Logan let his hand fall back down to his side.
Rude. That was what Carlton was being. And unreasonable. Logan hadn’t done anything to him or to her. Except perhaps save her life.
Adria pretended Carlton hadn’t spoken. “Mr. Farrell fortuitously knocked me out of the path of a team of runaway horses yesterday afternoon. And got a nasty bump on the head in the process. And then this morning he found my hat that I lost when I fell and was kind enough to return it.” She saw no need in describing how Logan landed on top of her. Perhaps the roiling dust from the wagons and horses had kept others on the street from catching sight of that unseemly result of their collision.
Carlton just stared at her, his frown growing darker. Surely he wouldn’t rather she had been trampled than rescued by this stranger. That stirred her anger to match his. He was being worse than unreasonable.
“Look, fellow, we were just talking. No harm done.” Logan held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll just be on down the street.”
Carlton grabbed Logan’s shirt and stepped closer to him, face-to-face. “You stay down that street and away from my girl.”
“Carlton!” Adria grabbed his arm. “Stop it! You’re acting like an idiot.”
“Keep quiet, Adria.” Carlton shot a look over at her. “I’ll handle this.”
“You don’t really want to mess with me, fellow.” Logan’s smile was completely gone as he stood very still, staring back at Carlton. “Really you don’t. I already told you, the lady and I were having an easy conversation. Nothing for you to get riled up about. But now I suggest you let go of my shirt.”
They stared at each other a moment longer, and then Carlton turned loose of the man and stepped back. “Just so you understand.”
Logan smoothed down his shirt front. “I think I might be understanding more than you.” He turned toward Adria, his smile flashing through his eyes again as if the whole episode had been no more than a joke. “Good day, Miss Starr.”
“Good day, Mr. Farrell.”
She waited until he turned and walked away before she looked at Carlton. “You don’t own me, Carlton Damon. I can talk to whomever I please, and if you ever make a scene like that again, you will be the one I’m not talking to.”
“But Adria, that man is nothing but trouble. Anybody can see that.”
“He wasn’t the one making the trouble.” She gave him a hard look. “Good day, Mr. Damon.”
He started to say something, but she didn’t listen. She turned and went inside the store. Mr. Billiter and a customer scooted away from the window when she came in. She and the two men had obviously been the morning entertainment.