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Phoebe seized the side rail as the back wheels of the carriage slid into a shallow, muddy ditch. Even with a death grip, she bounced across the seat until her hip met Spence’s.
He worked to guide the horse from the mud and onto the road. The animal tugged and pranced while the buggy rocked at a dangerous tilt. At long last, the horse stood still. Its sides heaved, but its last steps had stabilized the carriage.
Spence relaxed the reins, though the fingers entwined with the leather trembled. Understandable. She also quaked inside.
He turned to her. “Are you all right?”
“I-I’m...” She used the rail to pull to the other side of the seat. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry, Phoebe. Had I paid more attention to driving, I might not have lost control when that deer jumped out in front of us.”
“I’m sure my shout didn’t help.” She adjusted the hat that had knocked sideways when she’d slid into him. “I am thankful the carriage didn’t tip.”
Phoebe pressed a hand to her chest as a giggle erupted, expanded, then burst into laughter.
“What’s funny?”
He eyed her as if she were losing her mind, which brought more bizarre laughter. Tears blurred her vision, but she couldn’t stop. “Which of us do you think received the greatest fright? Was it us, the deer, or the poor horse?”
He cracked that inevitable smile. He really did have a nice smile. “I’d guess it was mutual terror.”
“Me too.” Phoebe fought to catch her breath and wiped the tears away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Don’t be sorry. I enjoyed it. The laughter, I mean.”
Lightheaded over the deep rumble in his voice, she looked away, breaking the connection sparked by his steady gaze.
He climbed down from the carriage. “I’ll see what I can do to get us back on the road.”
His quiet words and gentle hand soothed the spooked horse and coaxed him forward. The buggy jerked but went nowhere. His well-polished shoes squished through mud as he trudged around the vehicle and examined the wheels. The carriage shook. A moment later, he unhitched the animal.
“What are you doing, Mr. Newland?”
“I preferred Spence.” He led the horse to her side of the buggy. “I don’t know much about these things, but it looks like something broke when we hit the ditch. Do you ride?”
She stilled. “You mean...him?”
His lips twitched. “It’s either him or I tote you piggyback.”
He wasn’t serious about either choice. Was he?
She eyed the animal, and her heart rate sped. “Let’s wait for someone to come along and help.”
“We’ve passed one or two wagons this afternoon. We could wait for hours. It will be dark soon, and the temperature will drop. We have no choice, Phoebe.”
She studied the horse. All she could think about was Douglas’s fate. “I’ve never been atop a horse in my life.”
“I’ll walk beside you. I won’t let you fall.”
“You’ll walk and leave me alone up there?” The image of a bolting horse alarmed her. What if he couldn’t hang on to the animal?
“I’ll never let you fall, Phoebe. Never.” Spence held out his hand, while his stare locked on to hers. “Trust me.”
The intensity in his eyes begged for more than faith in his ability to keep her on a horse. So much more.
Run. Run. Run.
Like the deer, she longed to escape the danger in her path.
Phoebe lifted her arm but hadn’t the courage to reach out. Did she dare place her trust in another wealthy young man with the power to bring about a fall?
Her fingers stretched, then curled. Stretched and curled. What would happen if she turned her back on his appeal?
For the rest of her life, she would remain a slave to the memory of a selfish, merciless boy who had no right to instill an ounce of guilt and cynicism in her.
He speaks to people in different ways. Sometimes it’s in a dream or nature or a verse in the Bible. Sometimes we have to listen hard, because He speaks through a still, small voice.
Spence’s words to Maura echoed in her ears.
Tell me what to do.
She listened for that voice and released a shaky breath.
A cold gust whipped a loose strand of hair over her face. She brushed it from her eyes, but it persisted.
She drew in a breath and placed her hand on Spence’s palm, letting his fingers enclose hers in a man’s grip.
***
SPENCE EYED THE CLOCK, wadded another piece of paper, and tossed it across the workbench. Two hours in his workshop with little progress.
He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and knew better than to miss a meal. He’d tempted his health enough through that miserable trip to and from the children’s home.
Miserable? Memorable was more like it.
Phoebe had held quite an inner argument with herself as he’d waited for her to decide whether she could rely on him. Trust won out. Now it was up to him to never violate that trust.
The wind howled outside. It whistled under the door and through tiny cracks at the side windows. At least the old shed had a nice potbelly stove to warm both his cold hands and coffee.
While pulling a blank sheet of paper from those he kept on hand, Spence relived hearing the ache in Maura’s voice, seeing the hope when she asked if he could be her papa. How could he quit when he wished to make her dollhouse special, something she would be proud to keep for years? His gift would never take the place of a father, but her mother believed it would brighten her holiday, so he would do his part.
He paused with the tip of the pencil touching the paper. Christmas was fast approaching. How would he finish when he hadn’t made up his mind how to start?
At the close of the door behind him, Spence glanced over his shoulder, then dropped the pencil. He snatched the sheet of paper off the workbench, turned, and hid the drawing behind his back, away from his little sister’s prying eyes.
“I thought I’d find you here,” she said.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“What a greeting. Is there something wrong with wanting to see my big brother?”
“Not at all.” He gave Laurie a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“Let’s not get too sentimental.” She pulled away from him and eyed the workbench. “Are you making something new? Something for Christmas?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Something for me?”
He stepped in her way. “If it was for you, scamp, I wouldn’t tell you.”
She craned her neck and tried to see around him. Suspicion narrowed her eyes. “What do you have behind your back?”
Spence’s hand tightened, crinkling the paper. At the same time, he shook his head. “Just an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
His sixteen-year-old sister had grown into a first-rate snoop. “You should curb that curiosity before it gets you into trouble.”
“I’ve always been curious and lived to tell about it.” She stopped in front of him and bounced up and down on her toes, her smile sly and dangerous. “A secret?”
Before he could brace himself, her hand shot around him and gained a grip on his drawing. “You’ll tear it.”
“Then let go so I can see.” She tugged but not hard enough to rip the paper. Her glance slid toward the workbench, and she released the drawing.
Spence had forgotten the other iterations he’d cast aside and was too slow in stopping her from snatching a rejected design. He should have tossed them into the stove.
Laurie backed a safe distance away and opened the balled-up sheet of paper. She gasped. “You’re drawing plans to build a house? Why? What’s wrong with this one?” Confusion furrowed her forehead. “Why does it only have four rooms?”
Once his sister bit into a subject, she would chew on it until she’d swallowed the facts—all of them. He might as well confess. “Yes, I am building a house, and it only contains four rooms because it’s a dollhouse.”
“Are you still battling with Father over the one at the store?”
“No. This is for a little girl I’ve met.” Spence showed her the drawing in his hand. “I haven’t finished it, but what do you think?”
“I do like the cupola.”
“Does the Italianate style make it appear too plain? Maybe she would prefer a Queen Anne or something in a Greek Revival.”
His sister tucked her lips, trying to hold in a smile, then said, “How old is the little girl?”
“Five.”
“I think this one is perfect.”
“Maybe I’m in over my head. I know nothing about little girls, let alone how to decorate the inside of a dollhouse.”
“We still have some scrap wallpaper and leftover linoleum from Mother’s decorating frenzy last year. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Good idea.”
“Who is she?”
He hesitated to give too many details but said, “Her name is Maura.”
“Maura? Is she related to the woman Wally told me is playing piano at the store?”
“Wally?” She called the nineteen-year-old boy Wally?
“Don’t be so pompous, Spence. He’s a sweet boy.”
“Yes, he is a boy.”
His sister snapped her fingers.
“Really, Laurie? Mother should take you in hand and teach you to act like a lady.”
“I’ve seen her do the same.”
That was true.
“Mrs. Crain is the one you accompanied to the orphanage yesterday.”
“How do you know about that?” He raised his hand. “Wait. Wally.”
She showed him the tip of her tongue. “No. All of Mother’s biddy friends are buzzing with the tale.”
Wonderful.
“Too bad about the wheel.”
Was there nothing about the incident the imp hadn’t ferreted out? “Which biddy provided that information?”
“You both arrived in town a muddy mess, then went your own ways, pretending you hadn’t traveled together. That, big brother, I saw with my own eyes.”
At Phoebe’s request, he had helped her off the horse before reaching the bridge. What a time they’d had!
Phoebe Crain was a constant surprise, as was his sister. “The Pinkertons could use you.”
“What a fun thought.” Laurie focused on the finger she ran along the edge of the workbench. “I’ve heard she’s a widow.”
“Who?”
“You know very well who.”
Something dastardly brewed in his sister’s devious mind. “And?”
“I think it’s sweet of you to want to give her daughter a gift.” Laurie’s voice was filled with an overabundance of cheer. “I’d be glad to help you.”
His eyes narrowed, as they often did around Laurie. “Why?”
“Since you moved into your house, I hardly see you anymore.” She pouted. “You don’t want to spend time with me?”
He ran a thumb and forefinger down his mustache. He knew his sister well enough to be sure to stay on his toes around her. He also knew she would pester him until she got her way. “Fine. While we’re working on the dollhouse, you and I will discuss Wally.”
The pout turned to a cunning grin. “I find Mrs. Crain a more interesting subject.”
Inwardly, Spence agreed. Outwardly, he frowned. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat, then we’ll get to work on Maura’s dollhouse.”
***
VERBENIA’S TWO-WHEELED cart bounced across the bridge as she and Phoebe traveled to the children’s home to deliver the remaining items made by the ladies in their circle. Unlike Phoebe’s last visit, the sun shone, the clouds were tinged with blue as opposed to gray, and the road, though rutted, was dry.
As they passed the spot where Spence Newland’s carriage had slid into the ditch, Phoebe’s attention slid in that direction. All that remained were hoofprints, deep grooves from the wheels...and Phoebe’s fledgling trust.
“Is that where Mr. Newland’s carriage left the road?” The cart horse picked up his pace, and Verbenia eased back on the reins. “Careful, Diamond.”
“You heard?” How widespread was the gossip?
“Even in a town of this size, word goes around with the speed and ease of a spinning wheel at the fair.” Verbenia winked. “Especially if it involves an eligible bachelor and a young widow.”
Obviously, Phoebe’s precaution had not kept the situation from turning into tittle-tattle.
“What do you think of him?”
Verbenia chortled. “As an employer, a human being, or a man?”
“As a human being, of course.” Phoebe wasn’t ready to be acquainted with the man.
Her friend’s lips puckered and chin jutted as she thought. “For me, what stands out about The Third is his patience and thoughtfulness. On his way through the store, he’ll stop to help a customer if need be or chat with a clerk. He’s never too far above others to be of service. In my opinion, he takes after his father in that regard—a true gentleman.”
He could easily have taken advantage of the situation during their plight on the road. On the contrary, he’d been nothing but gracious and...a true gentleman.
“Why the interest, Phoebe?” With a touch as soft as her voice, Verbenia guided the cart horse onto the long drive to the orphanage. “When we visited his house together, I felt a chill between you two.”
“A few days before, we’d had a slight disagreement.”
“I didn’t realize you knew one another well.”
Phoebe shrugged. “We’d met once or twice. Since I work for him now, I’m interested in how he’s viewed by those who know him better.”
Verbenia halted the horse in front of the orphanage and turned toward her. “I’ve given you my opinion. However, I will add my certainty that he’s no more perfect than either of us. Anything further, you should discover for yourself.”
They climbed out of the cart, and Phoebe lifted the box from where it had ridden between her feet. The same boy who’d greeted them last time opened the door. Did he stand watch, waiting for a loved one to return? What a heartbreaking disappointment for him.
“Hello, Jamie. Is Mr. Jernigan here?”
He nodded and stood aside for them to enter. While they waited in the drawing room for the administrator, Phoebe inspected her surroundings, which were warmer and less gloomy than on her other visits. “There’s something different about this room.”
Verbenia looked around. “I believe the last time I was here there were only two lamps. I see”—she pointed as she counted—“one, two, three more.”
“They’re not lit, yet it’s brighter in here.” Phoebe glanced around. “The draperies are different too.”
“Yes. That dark and heavy velvet is gone.” Verbenia stroked the silky and cheerful material in a floral brocade. “They’re thick enough to hold in the warmth but add some light. I’ve seen these before.”
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Mr. Jernigan entered the room. “It’s probable you saw the draperies at your workplace, Mrs. Jensen. After his visit last week, Mr. Newland sent us a number of items he felt were necessary for the comfort and well-being of our children.”
Phoebe’s flesh tingled. “Mr. Newland did this? The Third?”
“Yes indeed. He visited us again yesterday to see that everything had been delivered satisfactorily.” Mr. Jernigan gestured to a table with a new lamp and a stack of books. “As I told him, this room has become a popular place for reading. We’ve also received more than enough firewood for the winter, as well as the promise of new paint for the outside come spring. Next week we’ll receive a new stove. We’ve praised God for the man’s generosity, and we thank you, too, Mrs. Crain.”
“Me?”
“You were responsible for bringing him and showing him our needs.”
“I must be honest, Mr. Jernigan. Mr. Newland volunteered to drive me here.”
“Then perhaps we should say the Lord brought you both that day.”
As they climbed back into the cart a few minutes later, Verbenia asked, “May I ask you a question, Phoebe?”
“Yes.” She needn’t answer.
“Has your judgment of Mr. Newland been colored by your experience with Maura’s father?”
Phoebe’s chest constricted. “What do you know about that?”
“Just what little I’ve observed. Whenever the other women talk about their husbands and compare their lives with them, you remain silent. You never speak of Maura’s father. I don’t recall hearing you mention his name.”
Phoebe twisted her hands. The woman was too perceptive, but that perception often helped others. “His name was Douglas, and you are right. I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Then we won’t.” Verbenia stilled Phoebe’s hands. “Nevertheless, I would caution you to base your opinion of people on an assessment of their character as individuals, not on any predetermined bias you hold against someone else.”
She had already learned through this trip that the hope for her newfound faith in Spence ran deep. It ran through the hole in her trust created the day Douglas announced his betrayal. It ran to join the voice inside that urged her to forgive. It ran to smother the blame that had tossed Spence Newland into the same batch of rotten apples that Maura’s father occupied.
And it was headed straight for her heart.
