Chapter 5

I’ll see you tomorrow. Is seven too early?” Neil shook the hand of the man he’d corresponded with for decades, amazed at Professor Larson’s frail bones, since his strong personality had leaped out of his letters. Dusk had just crept into the sky, and the older man was flagging. They’d been conversing for over four hours.

Probably the longest Neil had ever spoken to another person in his life.

He’d used Helen as his excuse to leave the professor to rest, though he could have easily continued with their conversation had his mentor not been fighting to keep his eyes open.

Professor Larson smoothed down the long wispy white hairs that flopped in the wind instead of covering his freckled bald head. His hand trembled, but not his smile. “Seven is fine, Neil. I’m up before the sun whether I want to be or not. I can’t wait to meet your wife. I do admit, that was the last reason I expected for tonight’s visit to end. Why had you not told me you were courting a woman?”

Neil’s cheek muscle jumped to life. Thankfully the man’s eyesight seemed about as good as his, so he’d likely not notice the twitch, but would he hear it in his voice? “I didn’t exactly court the woman.”

“Oh?”

The silence following made his cheek jerk even more.

If it had been anyone else, he’d have ignored the questioning silence, but this man was only here for a few days, and if he trusted anyone in the world to give him advice… “You know how my eyesight’s been in decline. And Helen was a woman needing a future. Since I don’t have anyone to provide for, I figured I could provide for her, and she’ll be a great help to me once I can’t see anymore.”

“And what if you never go completely blind?”

Not likely, according to the doctor. “Then she’s no longer a spinster without means.”

A minute of silence passed, and Neil worked hard not to jump in and defend himself. That last sentence sounded pretty cold. But what if he admitted wanting more of a relationship despite the fear of how much he’d have to change to have it? Would the professor fill his future letters with questions of how things were going between him and Helen?

What if he failed to become the kind of man Helen wanted? Could he truly transform into someone different than he’d always been?

He’d only just admitted to himself that he wanted to love her as she should be loved. He did indeed want her as happy as he was himself, even if that meant forcing himself to talk more. But what if she never wanted anything beyond a decent dinner conversation?

The professor thumped Neil on the shoulder. “You’re taking the easy way out, aren’t you?”

Neil shook his head. “I’m finding nothing easy about this at all.”

“Reading your letters, I’ve pictured a man stalwart and strong in his convictions and set in his way of life. That’s why you surprised me by mentioning a wife just now.” Professor Larson rubbed the white stubble on his chin. “I was married for thirty-four years before Bernice passed away. You can’t keep a woman under your roof with some altruistic thought of only providing for her—not if you want to remain happy. You have to open up, allow yourself to be vulnerable, and love her like Christ—that was in the vows I assume you took.”

“Yes, to lay down my life for her. She mentioned the other day that my books were my life, so I’m trying to give her more time than my reading.” Or he would anyway. He forced himself not to kick at the dirt. He’d not done well the last two days—only attempting theological debates with her again. But since she’d brought up her disappointment with his books at dinner two days ago, she hadn’t seemed interested in discussing verses.

“Christ didn’t just give up His time or His life. He gave up everything to make Himself nothing because we needed the kind of love only He could give. He cared. Cared enough to let mankind kill Him, despise Him, reject Him.

Neil ran his tongue around his mouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but if he cared more … What if Helen didn’t like what she found when he opened himself up?

A giant yawn took over the professor’s face. He covered his mouth with a scrawny hand, taking a step back with the yawn’s intensity. “Oh my, I think this old bird better hop in his nest before he falls off a branch.”

“See you in the morning then.” Neil shook the man’s hand.

“You have to care, Neil, in order to change. Let it happen, though it might hurt. If you don’t, no matter what you do, it won’t be enough.”

He’d known his mentor wouldn’t be happy with his marriage of convenience.

But then, was he happy with it himself? “All right.”

After climbing onto the buggy’s backseat, he waved at the professor as Mr. Ferguson drove away.

As was typical, his driver wasn’t concerned with pleasantries. The man had learned not to bother.

But if he were going to stretch himself and start talking to Helen, maybe he should practice with someone who wouldn’t be as intimidating to impress. “Mr. Ferguson, I’m sorry to keep you out so late.”

“No problem, Mr. Oliver.” The man got the horses up to speed then relaxed.

The buggy swayed, tempting Neil to lean back and revisit the stimulating discussion he’d had with the professor over Hebrews chapter six. But he drew breath into his lungs and tried again. “I hope you don’t have family waiting on you.”

“Well, I do, but they aren’t upset when you keep me late, since you pay me more.”

“They? Children, I assume. How many do you have?”

“Twelve, sir.”

“Twelve? How did I not know you had so many?”

“You never asked, sir.” A sparkle of merriment infused Mr. Ferguson’s tone. He was a rather happy chap.

But a quick calculation of how much he paid Mr. Ferguson raced through Neil’s mind. How could he be happy on his salary with fourteen at home? “How do you keep them all fed and clothed?”

“Well, two of them are out of the house. The oldest girl helps the wife with the laundry they take in from the men at the mill next door. The next oldest girl watches the little ones, and the next two oldest boys chop and deliver firewood around town.”

“Are they not in school?”

Mr. Ferguson shrugged. “Can’t afford to keep them in school past twelve.”

Neil played with his lip. “Did any of your children wish to stay in school?” How he’d loved school as a child—still did, if he counted the studying he did. Books were wonderful escapes whenever he felt too exposed talking to others.

Exposed.

The professor told him he needed to become vulnerable with Helen. He’d have to take down his shield of books, but besides the business talk she was surely tired of by the end of the day and the theological debates they’d always engaged in, what else could they talk about?

Mr. Ferguson clicked to his team and they turned onto Eighth. “My eleven-year-old is certainly not looking forward to joining his brothers hauling firewood. He dreams of becoming some fancy word for a scientist who studies bugs. Since there can’t be money in that, he’ll just have to keep it as a hobby. So if you find any interesting dead moths or beetles, he’ll happily take them off your hands.”

“What’s he do with them?”

“Well, he drowns live ones in the alcohol his mother can’t believe I bought for him, and he goes around to the stores that sell cigars, hoping for more boxes for his collection. The wife puts up with all the dead bugs in the boys’ room, even leaves up spiderwebs for him to watch after he’s done with chores if there’s a spider on it.”

“What an interesting hobby.” And quite the dedication. Maybe he could help the boy somehow. At least he paid Mr. Ferguson more than most, but still. Twelve children. “Sounds like you have a great wife.”

“She is that.” Mr. Ferguson clicked his tongue to the horses, who turned in simple obedience down the lane.

What if Mr. Ferguson could help him figure out how to woo a woman? Considering he had twelve children … “And how did you capture Mrs. Ferguson’s heart?”

“Ice skating.”

“What? Where can one ice skate in California?”

“We grew up in Michigan. A young man can capture a lot of female attention cutting patterns in the ice and zipping around everyone else on the pond.” He chuckled. “Carved Lucy’s name in the ice with a heart around it to propose.”

The buggy halted and Neil blinked. They were home already? Darkness had descended and he didn’t see any lights in the windows.

Usually he found conversation so tedious. But after his talk with the professor and now his driver … maybe talking wasn’t so bad.

What if courting his wife wasn’t as intimidating as he’d feared it to be?

Helen wiped her clammy palms against her shirtwaist as two men maneuvered several large pieces of furniture around in their small house. Neil hadn’t told her there’d be a shipment of things coming today. In fact, she hadn’t even seen him last night. He’d spent the entire evening at the hotel with his friend.

What should she tell them to do with the bed she’d been sleeping on? The men had propped it up in the kitchen to create room to wrangle the larger frame through the bedroom door.

“Where do you want this, Mrs. Oliver?” The taller man pointed to the small slumped mattress in question. Oh, how her cheeks burned to know they knew about her and Neil’s sleeping arrangements.

Which Neil must be ready to change.

And the movers knew his intentions at the same time she learned of it.

Pressing a hand against the swirl of her stomach, she desperately looked around for an answer. “Uh, why don’t you leave it? My husband failed to tell me what he wanted done with it.” Failed to tell her anything about the furniture he’d evidently custom ordered.

“All right, ma’am.” The man pulled on the brim of his slouch hat and exited the house with the brawny youth who’d helped him lug in the bed, wardrobe, chest, and cedar trunk they’d crammed in around the other furniture in her room.

Or rather, Neil’s room.

Their room.

She sagged against the door she’d shut behind the movers and let out a shaky breath. What should she do now?

The door jiggled behind her. She moved to open it. “Did you forget—”

She held her breath, seeing the bunch of daisies in Neil’s hands.

“I saw the Newton boys drive away. Did the furniture come?”

Her throat refused to work, so she nodded.

“Great.” He moved forward, and she couldn’t help the sneeze.

“Bless you.”

She wiped at her watering eyes, her nose tickling again. “Please don’t bring those in.”

He frowned at the flowers. “These?”

“Achoo! Yes, those.”

“I’m sorry, I thought all women liked flowers.”

“I think they’re pretty—from far away. But you won’t find me strolling through a flower garden.”

He tossed the bunch toward the road then flipped a red box over and over in his hands. “I talked to Mr. Ferguson on the way home last night.”

Did he think that was newsworthy? But then, he was talking about something other than the book of Hebrews, which was a nice change.

“It wasn’t so bad actually. He’s interesting.”

She let out a silent chuckle. Did he think no one talked about anything beyond the weather? But then, her sister’s family really didn’t talk about anything interesting, unless one cared about the goings-on of the Abernathy household.

“We talked for the whole ride home this afternoon as well.” He was beaming like a child who’d just won the spelling bee.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He shrugged and smiled. “I need to practice. Here.” He held out the little red box. “This is for you.”

She took the box, trying not to sneeze again from the tickle the daisies had left in her nose and throat. After untying the lid, she peeped in to see shards of peanut brittle. With a small smile, she nodded. “Thanks.” She’d have to remember to take the box to her sister’s. Jeffrey was the only one in her family who ate the candy. Fishing for her handkerchief but not finding one in her pocket, she headed into the kitchen, slipped the box onto the table, and went to retrieve a tissue from her room.

“I got that wrong, too, didn’t I?”

She wiped her nose and came out of the room. “What’d you say?”

“You don’t like peanut brittle.”

Well, after putting it so flatly, how could she agree without hurting his feelings? It was the first gift he’d ever brought her. “You tried.”

“Hmmm.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like an awkward schoolboy wondering why a girl didn’t appreciate finding his pet toad in her desk.

But then, it was sort of awkward. He didn’t know her at all. Not really. There was only one thing that could’ve been worse. “You might want to make a note not to bring me strawberries. They give me hives.”

He pulled out a kitchen chair and melted into it. “I suppose I should’ve talked to you first before I wasted money.”

She smiled at his “waste.” Her sister spent more on hats every week, and God and everyone knew Margaret didn’t need any more of those. “My nephew loves peanut brittle—he’ll enjoy it.”

“Mr. Yates told me he and your brother-in-law were in my office this morning … wanting to finalize the details on the Orchard Street property you’re selling them, but couldn’t, since neither you nor I were there. I’m surprised at the price you quoted them.”

Oh, why hadn’t she taken a bigger whiff of those daisies so she could avoid this conversation by hiding in that massive bed with her itchy eyes? Why couldn’t he have cloistered himself up in his study after walking through the door like he usually did? She had prayed her deal with Jeffrey would go through unnoticed. Neil was selling a lot of property right now to simplify his business for her, so why did Mr. Yates have to bring that one up? Her family had already rescheduled and met with Neil’s secretary an hour ago.

What if, with her first foray into making a business deal—an admittedly bad one—in a vain effort to win her sister’s elusive regard, she lost Neil’s? “I … I admit I was too hasty in letting them think I could quote them a price.”

“No, you’ve got full authority to quote a price.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have given me that authority.”

“Why’s that?” He was squinting at her as if he were measuring her expression. Could he see well enough to see how stupid she felt?

She turned her head to look out the window. Thankfully her sniffing could be blamed on the daisies. Making a mistake was a dumb reason to get teary, but she had captured so little of Neil’s regard, and a man who chose only the best workers, workers who’d take a pay cut before they entered into a bad deal on their boss’s behalf, couldn’t be happy with her rash decision. “Because I can’t be trusted. You picked the wrong business partner.”

“I wouldn’t have married you if I couldn’t trust you. And—”

“Well, I can’t be trusted to make good decisions where my family is concerned then.”

“Why’s that?”

She blew out a breath, not daring to look at him. “Because I stupidly think that one day I can gain their … their admiration. Someday they’re bound to think of me as more than an inconvenient relative.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not sure why I care anymore anyway.”

“If they haven’t realized what a help you were to them by now, then they never will. People don’t change.”

“I can’t believe that. If so, what hope is there for me? What hope is there for …”

Us.

If something didn’t change soon, marrying Neil would become nothing more than jumping from one household that only tolerated her to another. And if she’d ruined Neil’s trust in her because of a stupid need to prove herself worthy of Margaret’s esteem, then she was every bit the fool Margaret thought her to be. “Jeffrey’s made mistakes in the past, but how can I believe he’ll never be a better man? If no one gives him a chance to prove himself, then how can he?”

“It’s not good intentions, but good character that determines the future.”

“And you’ve never had good intentions go awry?”

That seemed to shut him up. He sighed and glanced over at the peanut brittle. “I suppose I’ve done that today.” He crossed his arms. “But there’s a difference between praying for people to change and trusting them before they do.”

“Well then, you’ve made a bad decision with me.” She blinked against the warm threatening tears, thankful that Neil’s vision would keep him from seeing how ugly she could be when she tried not to cry.

“Now, Helen—”

“If Mr. Yates made the same deal with Jeffrey as I did, would you keep him on?”

Neil shrugged. “Depends on how often he’d made poor decisions. Too many times, and then the mistake becomes mine for keeping him on.”

“See—”

“But he’s my secretary, you’re my wife.”

She shrugged. “Not much difference.”

“I’m afraid you’re right about that.”

Well, she hadn’t expected him to agree so easily. Her heart sank to her knees.

“But I don’t want it to stay that way.”

Oh yes, the bed. She took a step back. “Maybe things should just stay as they are.” How could she be that close to a man who viewed her as nothing but a helper through his infirmity? Whom she would surely disappoint many times over, though he couldn’t fire her like he could Mr. Yates?

She’d never won her mother or sister’s affection, so how could she have possibly thought she’d win over a man who’d never formed much of an attachment to anyone—who for the first time in his life had messed up by taking her on as a business partner?

How had she ever thought to make him happy? “I’m … I’m tired. I need to rest.” Praying he wouldn’t follow her, she slunk into her room, stared out the window, and tried not to think about how all she’d ever been was a perpetual disappointment.