Chapter 12

Mrs. Higgins dropped the basket of apples she’d been holding when she caught sight of Virginia sitting beside Paul in his buggy. Virginia watched as the red fruit rolled every which way, and both she and Paul hurried to help pick them up after they emerged from his buggy in front of Paul’s home.

“Well, well, this is quite a surprise you’ve brought home, Mr. Paul,” she said as they filled the basket. “Mrs. Turnbridge, welcome home!”

Now it was Virginia’s turn to gape, as Mrs. Higgins had upon sight of her. Paul hadn’t even recognized her the first time he’d seen her since the wedding, yet this woman did, who’d only greeted her a moment before the ceremony?

“Thank you for remembering me, Mrs. Higgins,” she said, glad Paul had mentioned the woman’s name so she could somewhat return the familiarity.

“How could I forget you, ma’am? I’ve thought of you often since that day, wondering when the good Lord would bring you back. And here you are!”

“Have you, Mrs. Higgins?” she asked. “You weren’t offended by the whole thing?”

“Now, what right have I to judge anyone else? Come inside, both of you, before the rain comes. We’ll be like bees to the hive, isn’t that right, Mr. Paul?”

Virginia recalled the protective gear Paul had worn just before the ceremony, guessing it likely had something to do with his obvious interest in bees. She had been sorely tempted to ask him further about such things when he’d briefly commented about rain earlier, but had refrained.

It wasn’t easy trying to be invisible.

She was more than relieved by Mrs. Higgins’s welcome. At least with her she could be herself. Inside, she felt welcomed all the more. If Paul liked being a hermit, at least he was a comfortable one. The door opened to a large room with plush furniture: a long sofa, two overstuffed chairs in front of a wide fireplace. A table held an oil lamp, a neatly stocked bookshelf boasted countless hours of reading nearby, and beyond that room appeared to be a small dining room and an open door to what she guessed must be the kitchen. A stairway tucked to the side at the end of a corridor likely led to bedrooms upstairs.

Someone else had joined them outside, but no one had introduced him until he brought in Virginia’s two trunks. One was filled with several items of new clothes, from sleepwear to day dresses. The advantage of having a half-dozen apprentice seamstresses nearby was the incredible speed they had been able to create everything she needed. The other trunk was her bonnet-making goods.

“This is Tim,” Mrs. Higgins said, “who is everything from footman to handyman. My nephew.”

Virginia reached out her hand, which seemed to surprise him since he wiped his palm on his trousers as if he hadn’t prepared himself for human contact. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Now I suppose you’re hungry after that long trip from the city, so I’ll just take these to the kitchen”—she held up the basket of apples—“then see about dinner. How does roasted chicken sound to you?”

“Lovely! I’m famished.”

“Mrs. Higgins won’t disappoint,” said Paul, having just come in from outside. Virginia had last seen him checking on the horse after his long job of hauling them so far. “You wouldn’t happen to be using those apples for a pie, would you?”

Mrs. Higgins laughed, already on her way from the room. “What else would I be doing with them?”

Tim stepped closer to the door to make his exit, but Virginia detained him. “I suppose I should have asked your aunt,” she said, “but is there a pump where I can get some water to freshen with? I’m afraid the road was a little dusty.” She looked past him, out the open door. “Although I suppose I could just stand outside in that rain!”

“I’ll fill a pitcher for you, ma’am. And bring it right upstairs to—” He stopped abruptly and looked at Paul. “Aunt Leah said you got married awhile back, Mr. Paul. I expect this is the woman who came out here for the nuptials. Should I bring the water to your room for her, then?”

Virginia’s heart leaped right to her throat, and she eyed Paul, who seemed every bit as uncomfortable with Tim’s assumption. “No, Tim. To the guest room, although I suppose I should go up there and see if it’s dusty. It hasn’t been used since John and Sarah’s last visit, and that’s years ago now.”

“My aunt don’t allow dust, Mr. Paul, in a room used or not.”

Judging by the gleaming surfaces around them, Virginia had no reason to doubt him. Likely Paul knew that as well and had been hoping for an opportunity to flee upstairs as an excuse to free himself of her company.

“Could you take her trunks up there, then? I’m sure you’re right about the dust.”

When Tim left with his first trip carrying one of her trunks, Virginia wandered to the bookshelf rather than stand in awkward silence, alone with Paul. She hoped he didn’t think her nosy, but she’d regretted not bringing any reading material from the city. She’d simply forgotten, in the haste of the decision, to purchase anything to replace what she’d lost in the fire.

Since he didn’t protest, she assumed she was free to investigate. Many of the thicker volumes were natural science books, which might prove interesting considering there was so much more room out here for nature than in the city. But it was the second shelf that interested her most. He owned nearly every Dickens book she’d ever heard of!

“Oh!” she said with delight. “Do you mind if I borrow some of your Charles Dickens books on occasion? I do love his way of telling a story.”

“Help yourself. They were my mother’s.”

“Well, then,” she said as she pulled off her gloves, “you might have Mrs. Higgins toss a book into my room now and then, along with that crust of bread.”

His returning smile warmed her heart. Perhaps her concentrated silence had been worth it to build his trust, after all.

Paul couldn’t have been more relieved that Virginia seemed to be more herself since they’d arrived. But if it wasn’t dejection over leaving the city that had her so quiet all day, what could it have been?

He decided not to worry about it overmuch. As long as she looked as content as she did just now, he would be content as well.

And all it had taken was the promise of a Dickens novel.