| |
“No, Teddy, dear. Legato. Listen carefully.” For the third time in the past ten minutes Phoebe repeated the chord for her pupil. “Play the notes in a smooth manner with no silence, no hesitation in between.”
The upright piano, though somewhat battered and purchased secondhand, was an extravagant item, considering the rest of her possessions, but one she would never sell, as she had done with her jewelry and all but one of her evening dresses. Without the instrument, she had no livelihood.
Even so, if she wanted to continue to pay the rent, she must enroll more students. The tuition of those she taught now barely covered the monthly expenses. Hopefully, she would be blessed with a few more pupils who possessed a musical competence.
Phoebe winced at the sour piano note that pierced her ears. With gentleness and tact, she had told Mrs. Barrett to save her money on lessons because Teddy had no interest in playing the piano. She’d left off saying he had six thumbs. Perhaps she should have added that opinion, because the woman didn’t believe her son possessed no talent or inclination to develop it.
While Teddy was a sweet boy, any more like him and she might switch to cleaning chimneys for a living...or resort to performing for the wealthy’s social gatherings again.
No, those days ended six years ago. She would prefer cleaning chimneys to being in the same place with men who reminded her of Maura’s father.
The boy sneezed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Phoebe”—her mother trotted into the sitting room—“have you seen Maura?”
With the urgency in her voice, Phoebe’s insides bounced like Teddy’s fingers on the keys. She jumped from the chair alongside the piano stool. “You sent her out back to play.”
“I checked on her, and she wasn’t there.”
“Have you looked in the bedroom?”
“I’ve looked throughout the house.”
“And out front?”
“Front and back. Down the street.” Her mother’s voice rose with panic as she twisted her knotted hands. “Where could she have gone?”
“We’ll find her.” Phoebe would find her. “Mrs. Barrett should be here shortly. Why don’t you stay with Teddy while I look for Maura.”
She slipped into her coat and fumbled with the buttons. Her scrabbling fingers exposed her anxiety. She flung open the front door and almost ran into the person on the other side. Him again?
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to talk to you, Mr. Newland.”
“Nor I you, Mrs. Crain.”
When a small face peeked from behind him, Phoebe’s heart thudded with relief. “Maura.” She crouched and reached her arms out. Her child fell into them. “We were worried.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. This man found me.” Maura peered up at her companion as if the palm of his hand held the moon.
Years ago Phoebe had seen a similar look in the mirror. If she could go back in time, she would shatter the glass.
She rose and pressed her daughter to her side. “I’m grateful, Mr. Newland. Where was she?”
He smiled down at Maura. “At the train station.”
She should have guessed. “Maura, I’ve told you to never go there by yourself.”
The child hung her head. “He didn’t come, Mama.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Phoebe spoke around a lump the size of a caboose.
Her mother said, “I’ll take Maura and Teddy to the kitchen.”
“But I want to stay with Mr. Newland. He’s nice. He gave a man a dollar so he could buy medicine for his sick wife.” Maura slapped her hand over her mouth and mumbled something about a secret.
The hint of a flush colored Mr. Newland’s cheeks. He had done something kind and wanted to keep it secret? Why?
“Go with Grandma.”
“Goodbye, Miss Maura.”
The three of them left the room, and hushed moments passed between Phoebe and the man who had seen to Maura’s safe return. She was grateful to him. Truly. Anything could have happened to her daughter while alone at the train station.
“Thank you for seeing Maura home.” The simple statement seemed too insignificant, too matter of fact for the courtesy he had done her family. But why couldn’t someone else have returned her? Why must he be the object of Phoebe’s gratitude?
“She’s a friendly child.”
“Very.”
This was her chance to make amends for last night. “If you’ll wait a moment.” She retrieved the box and returned to the door. Her grip on it tensed before she summoned the resolve to place it in his hands. “You were right. This belongs to you. I apologize for my behavior. It was wrong of me to...to use it as I did.”
He took the box, and in his steady regard, he seemed to peer into her mind, looking for the answer to her change of heart. He’d find nothing but guilt and, perhaps, a hint of fear over the compulsion to answer his smile with one of her own.
“Thank you.”
Now that he had met Maura and liked her, might he be more willing to build her a dollhouse? “Mr. Newland...”
The question froze on Phoebe’s tongue. What was she doing? She’d had a momentary bout of insanity last night. No use in repeating it and being shamed again. Besides, if he did agree, it meant more contact with him. Given her history, that was akin to placing herself in the path of a rampaging bull.
“Yes?”
Rather than a dollhouse, Maura would receive socks for Christmas again this year. “Never mind.”
“Then I’ll leave you to continue your lesson. Good day.” He twisted away, faltered, then turned back again. “It’s none of my business, but Maura told me she was waiting for her father at the railroad station.”
If only Phoebe could find a hole to crawl into. “I’m aware of Maura’s purpose for being there, but she knows her father died before she was born.”
“I see.”
No, he didn’t see, but thankfully, didn’t ask for details.
Once Teddy left, she would sit Maura down and explain that men didn’t arrive on trains with the aim of becoming fathers.
Somehow, she would find a way to buy Maura the dollhouse in the window of Newland’s.
***
WALLACE LET PHOEBE inside the Pittman home, his face as red as a ripe tomato. “Before you say anything, Mrs. Crain, I apologize for what happened at the store the other day. It was my fault for confusing you and Mrs. Lark.”
Mrs. Lark? The Third had meant the cigar box for a woman after all? Strange.
“Don’t worry, Wallace. It’s over.”
His bearing relaxed, and he led her down the hall to the comfortable sitting room made even more cozy when all eight ladies attended the Widow’s Might meetings. “Mrs. Jensen is the only other one to arrive.”
Months ago, Verbenia Jensen had invited her to join the group of Riverport widows who referred to themselves as Widow’s Might. As their elder mentor, Verbenia was the durable thread that kept the emotions of each member of the circle from unraveling.
Phoebe enjoyed her time with the ladies and the worthwhile projects they undertook, but she dreaded the day when they realized she was a fraud.
“Go on in, Mrs. Crain,” Wallace said. “I’ll help Claire with the refreshments.”
Phoebe sneezed.
“The Lord bless you.”
Phoebe dabbed a handkerchief against her nose. With a nasal voice, she said, “I don’t know what’s come over me. This is the third time I’ve sneezed today.”
“I hope you’re not coming down with anything.”
“It’s probably something in the air.” Or a result of Teddy Barrett’s runny nose.
Verbenia patted the sofa seat, urging Phoebe to join her. “How is everything?”
The question carried more weight than the type of casual comment most people threw out simply to fill a silent moment. The woman tended to draw honesty and confession even from Phoebe. “Christmas will be here soon, and I’m not sure I’ll have a gift for Maura, not what she wants.”
“And what is that?”
“A dollhouse.” And a father. “She’ll get socks again.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a gift of practicality.”
Phoebe breathed a soft snort. “Maura has never received a gift that wasn’t practical. She’s too little to understand financial matters, so I dread disappointing her another year.”
“It doesn’t take extravagance to make a child happy, dear. She might mope for a while, but she knows how much you love her and will get over any disappointment.” Verbenia clasped Phoebe’s forearm and gave it a little squeeze. “Perhaps there’s another way to provide what she wants.”
“Another way?”
“My daughter tells me there’s a store in Cincinnati that has hired a quartet to provide music for customers during the holiday season. You could suggest it to one of the Newlands.”
Phoebe had suggested enough to Spence Newland lately. She doubted he would be receptive to any additional ideas she put forward.
She inhaled the mild and pleasant citrus scent of the verbena toilet water her friend adored. “You’re an employee of the store. That sounds like something that should come from you.”
“I don’t play the piano, and you do.”
The door buzzer sounded, and Verbenia stood. “That must be the others.”
Laughter and the clatter of multiple pairs of shoes sounded in the hall. A moment later Claire led the rest of the ladies into the sitting room. The tall and reserved Edythe Westin brought up the rear. As usual, the widow and mother of three was dressed in the height of fashion. Despite her wealth, Edythe was one of the sweetest people Phoebe had ever met. It seemed her bias only focused on the males of Edythe’s social status.
As she smiled and greeted her friends, Phoebe reconsidered Verbenia’s idea. Her first thought had been a resounding no. She no longer played for an audience of strangers and told herself she had no desire to return to that life.
But didn’t her daughter deserve a happy Christmas?
