Chapter 14

Virginia read Sarah’s letter eagerly, fully intending to share every word with Paul if he gave her the chance. And why wouldn’t he? Mrs. Higgins was only now delivering their meal, and they each continued to read in silence until she disappeared back into the kitchen.

But he did set aside his letter long enough to say a traditional prayer of thanks for the meal, something she noticed he’d begun doing only a few days after the first meal they’d taken together. It was possible, though she hadn’t the courage to ask, that he’d noticed her silently pray before each meal then took the initiative himself to say one aloud for them both.

She recalled the Pastor’s words last spring, his hope that she might be the influence needed to bring Paul to church. But Paul’s prayers before meals, brief though they were, had quickly convinced her his faith was as real as Mrs. Higgins had claimed it to be.

“Is your letter as filled as mine with boasting about the baby?” he asked as he began eating.

She hadn’t quite finished her letter, which was considerably longer than what looked like a single sheet of paper John had sent to Paul.

“Oh, yes! How much he’s growing already, how he’s changing every day. That Sarah is feeling much stronger now, and that the girls will soon be moving out now that they have jobs elsewhere. I hope the tailor shop will have enough workers once the building is finished!”

“Did Sarah mention the progress they’re making? John made it a point to tell me they’re concentrating all work on your building first and may even have the roof on before the end of November.”

Was it her imagination, or had his voice grown more serious at the mention of such unexpectedly swift advancement of the rebuilding plans? She had a hard time swallowing Mrs. Higgins’s excellent meal; something was in the way that had nothing to do with its taste.

“Yes, she did mention it. I’m glad, but I did have a few improvements in mind that I wanted to mention. Perhaps we could send a note to John about it?”

“What sort of improvements?”

“Nothing too major. A larger window in the rooms upstairs. Perhaps some improvement to the heating. And more room behind the shop instead of the front. Bonnets don’t take up much display space, really. I occasionally hire seamstresses to help me, and I need more room when I’m not working alone.”

“I suppose we ought to write immediately, before changes are too difficult to make. We’ll send off a letter tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

A moment of silence followed as they ate, then Virginia asked, “Does John say anything else? I suppose he’s meeting with his clients at home until his building is available.”

“Yes, he is. And Sarah’s letter?”

She read it aloud, intending to do so in its entirety, and for the first two pages that was fine, even though her meal was likely growing cold. But on the third page, the paragraph she hadn’t already perused offered a polite question about how she was adjusting to life in the country. After that Virginia cut herself short and read silently.

…And how are things between you and Paul? I know he’s an odd sort, him and his bees, and that he can go for days without saying a word. But he has a good heart, Virginia. If there is a way you could imagine yourself staying, perhaps making a life in the country, it might make you very happy. And me miserable, of course, to have my sister-in-law-and-heart too far away, but it’s likely better for you to have someone in your life twenty-four hours a day than just the limited time any sister, no matter how fond, can have in your life.

“And?” Paul prompted, repeating the last word she’d spoken aloud. “And … Is that all?”

Virginia folded the letter, replacing it inside the envelope. “And she asks if I’m doing well away from the city.”

“What will your answer be?”

“Well,” she began slowly, carefully, “I’ll tell her I miss my clients. I do like making bonnets, but they’re easier to design when I have a specific face in mind.”

“So you’re eager, then, to go back? Perhaps in time to escape a brutal country winter.”

She said nothing, because in fact she did not know how to answer. She’d been more than comfortable here. Mrs. Higgins and even Tim were already dear to her, and she suspected if she didn’t have to sneak around to avoid positioning herself in Paul’s company she might know the happiness Sarah hinted she might find. It would be a huge change from city life, and she had yet to experience the harsh winter even Paul himself seemed not to like, but there was something peaceful about living out here. She’d found most of her happiness in her work, just as she suspected Paul did. And that she could do under any roof, as long as she imagined for whom she was making her next bonnet.

They finished their meal, and she might have excused herself as usual but was in no hurry to do so. She had something else on her mind.

“Paul, I wonder if you might tell me sometime—whenever you feel like it, if you want to, that is—about your bees? I know nothing about them except they sting and produce honey, and other than liking the one thing and being terrified of the other, I imagine there is quite a bit more to know.”

He eyed her as if trying to decipher whether or not she was just being polite or was in earnest about wanting him to answer a question he could likely have enough material to share that would take days to fully explore.

At that moment, she realized she wanted exactly that, to listen to him talk freely about something he was interested in.

She knew her request violated every intention of achieving invisibility, but she couldn’t bear not to take the risk by asking anyway. She was tired of being so careful around him. If he rebuffed her, she vowed to suffer through the rejection and return to her room. But if he didn’t, she knew his companionship could make this remote farmhouse a home—even through the worst of Wisconsin winters.

Paul eyed her, managing to keep his pulse steady only with extreme caution. “Do you really want to hear about it? I’ve been studying bees for quite some time. I could find any number of ways to bore you with worker bees, drones, and queens.”

She smiled. “How do you know I would find it boring? It already sounds a bit medieval, with workers and queens.”

Just then Mrs. Higgins emerged again from the kitchen, carrying two plates of pastry puffs. But instead of delivering them to the table, she walked right past and entered the parlor.

Paul watched her then turned to Virginia, who appeared as surprised as he was.

“Mrs. Higgins?” he inquired, seeing her place the two plates on the table next to the bookshelf. There, she turned the lamp down a bit, lending a cozier feel to the room connected to the dining room.

“If you must know, I can easily hear each and every word spoken in that dining room, and up until this evening it’s been downright boring. Now you’re going to sit in here and share this treat, maybe have a cup of tea or coffee, and talk until one of you—or both—falls asleep. You’ve got some time to catch up on together.”

Paul was nearly afraid to look at Virginia for fear of her being aghast at the idea of spending an entire evening with him. But she was already pushing away from the table, and so once again he escorted her into a room on his arm.

Whether or not she enjoyed hearing about how queen bees achieve their reign—as brutally accomplished at times as the worst human reign—Paul didn’t think he was fooling himself to believe she was actually interested. She asked questions, gasped and laughed at the right times, and if she wasn’t fascinated by some of the same things he was, she made a very good show of it.

The pastry and the tea were long since gone, and not a sound had come from the kitchen ever since Mrs. Higgins told them she was retiring for the evening. Paul hadn’t shared everything he knew of the bees, or some of the tales he had from working with a university only by mail, but there was another topic he needed to address before Virginia—rightly so—excused herself out of pure exhaustion.

“Virginia,” he said quietly, looking at the base of the lamp on the small table between them instead of at her, “why is it that you’ve so diligently avoided my company ever since I brought you here?”

It was the question he’d most wanted answered for some time now, but he’d been too cowardly to ask.

She hesitated so long he forced himself to look at her, hoping to read whatever it was she couldn’t put into words. Her face beguiled him. In her eyes he found only welcome, but something else, too. Confusion.

“I–I’ve tried to be unnoticeable. I know your solitude is important, because you’re dedicated to work not only in the fields, with the hives, or in the forests, but here, too.” She tapped her temple. “The thinking that must go with formulating your reports for your research’s sake takes time. Your work is important to you, and you were more than happy living here without anyone underfoot.”

“Underfoot? That’s what you think you are?”

“I’ve been trying not to be.”

He leaned back in his chair, never so tempted to laugh loud and hard. But he settled for a grin. “So it isn’t because you miss the city so much you’re miserable here, that you cannot tolerate my company, that you find me every bit as dull as countless other people do, my own brother included?”

To his astonishment, the glimmer of a tear shone in one of her eyes, and he had the audacity to welcome it if it meant he could take her into his arms again and comfort her. He really ought to find a way to do so minus the tears.

“I wonder,” he began then cleared his throat and started again. “Virginia, if I promise to respect whatever decision you make, whether or not you can live so far from the faces you need to inspire your bonnets, will you allow me to court you? Properly?”

“Oh, Paul,” she whispered, “I’d like nothing better.”

Then they both stood at the very same time, and regardless of whether or not that single tear fell, Paul drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. His only fear now was that he wouldn’t be able to let her go.