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Phoebe raised her hand to knock on Spence’s door and knocked on air.
A girl—sixteen or seventeen—stood on the other side of the open door. Wearing a replica of Spence’s broad smile, she looked as if she’d been given an early Christmas present. “Please come in, Mrs. Crain. I’m Laurie Newland.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Newland. Please call me Phoebe.”
“Laurie.” She led her into the drawing room and gestured to the striped sofa. “Spence will be in shortly.”
The last time Phoebe had entered this room, the grand piano had filled the area near the window. Now the space gaped large and empty, awaiting the instrument’s return. She hadn’t expected this sadness to strike at the thought of losing the opportunity to continue playing the beautiful piano after Christmas.
She surveyed the rest of the room, observing the things nervous tension hadn’t allowed the last time she visited. Not frilly or ornate, yet not too masculine and bland. From the carpet to the gas fixture hanging from the ceiling, the décor reflected comfort, good taste, and light. Like the items donated to the orphanage, nothing darkened the room, not the fabrics or the wallpaper or the wood.
Laurie sat next to her on the sofa. “My brother told me about your little girl. Maura, is it?”
“Yes. She’s five.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Why would she want to meet Maura?
“Has my sister talked your ear off yet, Mrs. Crain?”
Phoebe’s gaze flitted to Spence as he stood in the doorway to the drawing room. Laurie cleared her throat and, with a pointed look at her brother, ran a hand over her hair. He received the message. Phoebe sucked in her cheeks as he finger-combed the unruly hair that stood up on the crown of his head and resembled the fin of a porpoise.
“It’s been a busy morning.”
His self-consciousness melted Phoebe’s reserve.
Laurie jumped up from the sofa. “I’ll tell Mrs. Rosenbach we’re ready for lunch.” She rushed from the room, leaving Phoebe alone with Spence.
“I apologize for my sister. She’s often spontaneous in her actions.”
His statement gave credence to Phoebe’s suspicion that the girl’s good humor typically bubbled and popped like a cream soup cooking on a hot stove. “I’ve only just met her, but I can see she’s quite spirited...in a good way.”
“I could tell you stories.”
“No, you won’t!” The girl’s call came from somewhere outside their vision.
Spence slipped Phoebe’s arm through his and laughed all the way to the dining room.
***
SPENCE TRIED TO CONCENTRATE on his salad, but the oil and vinegar didn’t mix well with his nervous stomach. After Phoebe’s hesitation in accepting his invitation last night, he’d doubted she would come.
Laurie sipped her hot tea. “Where did you learn to play the piano, Mrs. Crain?”
“Someone saw potential in me and insisted I learn.”
“From there, you performed in concert halls?”
Where had she heard that information? Spence hadn’t spilled those beans. “Which of Newland’s employees have you been gossiping with?”
Laurie paid undue attention to her lettuce salad.
“Let me guess. Wally.”
His sister stuck out her tongue, then darted a glance at Phoebe and reined it in. “Yes. Wally.”
Phoebe dabbed her lips with the napkin but failed to hide her amusement.
Laurie popped a piece of lettuce into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said, “You were going to tell us about your performances, Mrs. Crain.”
“Don’t pester her, young lady.”
“I don’t mind. Wallace was correct. Before Maura was born, I performed in front of audiences in small-town music halls on occasion.”
Laurie’s brows lifted. “You must have started very young.”
“I began at sixteen.”
“My age.”
“I was too young. Such an opportunity can go to a person’s head, especially when one is not fully mature.” Phoebe smiled, but the words held a warning for Laurie.
His sister’s voice was breathless when she asked, “Have you ever performed in New York?”
Phoebe laughed. “No, but it would be marvelous, wouldn’t it?”
A screech and shouting from the kitchen interrupted the conversation.
Spence aimed a frown at his sister. “I’m sure we know what that is about.”
Laurie tossed her napkin on the table and jumped from her seat. “Excuse me.” She dashed from the room in the direction of the noise.
Once she’d gone, he rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Don’t look so concerned, Phoebe. It’s only Myron.”
“Myron?”
“A few months ago, Laurie rescued a baby squirrel from the clutches of a cat and insisted upon raising him. She takes the spoiled creature everywhere with her. Every now and then, Myron escapes his cage and finds his way to the kitchen, where he enjoys the warmth of the stove. For some reason, Mrs. Rosenbach doesn’t appreciate his presence.”
Phoebe clucked her tongue. “How unreasonable of her.”
His shoulders shook. “Isn’t it?”
She pushed a lettuce leaf around her plate. “You mentioned a purpose for this invitation.”
“A few weeks ago, you asked me to build Maura a dollhouse.”
“A request you considered extortion.”
“I was angry at the time.”
“With good cause.” She ran the tines of her fork through the dressing pooling on her plate. “Have you changed your mind?”
“I’ve not only changed my mind, I asked you here to see what I’ve done. What Laurie and I have done.”
The hand holding the fork froze. “You’ve built Maura a dollhouse?”
***
PHOEBE FOLLOWED SPENCE into the building behind his house. He lit several lanterns until the interior shone a yellow-orange. “Let me get the stove started so we’re not shivering.”
She was on tenterhooks, certain this was a dream. Why had he changed his mind?
While he stuffed the stove with kindling, Phoebe inspected the well-ordered space. Handsaws, planes, chisels, and hammers hung from hooks and nails on the walls. The room smelled of lumber, paint, and wood stains. Shelves held jars of nails and screws. He had stacked scrap wood in various sizes against one wall, and numerous larger tools—many of which she couldn’t name—packed strategic places throughout the building.
“You have a well-equipped shop.” And the cleanliness said much about his habits.
“There are a few things I’d like to add, but I prefer to purchase them as needed.”
Where would he put anything else?
If he’d had an interest in such things, Maura’s father would have purchased everything at once, then let much of it sit idle or never used. Not for the first time, she asked herself what she had seen in the man.
Laurie pointed to the workbench and a large lump covered by a stained cloth. “You and Maura will adore the dollhouse, Phoebe.” She placed the basket she’d carried with her on the workbench. “I brought some wallpaper remnants Mother was happy to part with. You know your daughter best, so choose whichever ones you think she’d like.” She laid various wallpaper pieces alongside the basket.
Phoebe ran a finger over a deep red floral pattern. “This is lovely, but Maura is drawn to bright colors.”
“I’ve seen her green-and-orange socks.” Spence reached into the basket and pulled out a scrap of bright blue wallpaper with tiny red-and-white flowers. “How about this?”
“Perfect.” Her fingers itched to remove the covering that hid the dollhouse. “May I see it?”
“Of course.” He turned to his sister. “Would you like to do the honors?”
The girl hopped up and down. “Yes, I would.” She yanked the cloth off.
The sight of the dollhouse stole Phoebe’s breath. Finally her daughter would receive something special for Christmas. She touched the roof of the tiny cupola with its wooden windows painted to resemble stained glass.
“Laurie painted those,” Spence said. “We didn’t want to use glass.”
“You did a beautiful job, Laurie.”
The outer walls of the house were a barn red. Unfinished thin gray lines were scrawled across them to represent brick. The roof had been painted black.
“Let me show you this.” Rather than turning it around to display four rooms, two up and two down, Spence grabbed miniature knobs on a double door painted on the front and pulled. Wings of the house swung open in both directions, displaying extra rooms at each side and creating eight in all.
Phoebe gasped. “I don’t know what to say.”
He fidgeted, his voice cautious as he said, “Tell us you like it.”
His face swam before her as tears teemed in her eyes. “What amazing work. I was right in thinking you could create something that outshone the one in the store. Thank you.” She wrapped Laurie in a hug. “Both of you.”
“Hugging my sister hardly seems fair when I did most of the work.” Spence teased her with an exaggerated frown.
Phoebe stood on her tiptoes, ready to wrap her arms around him, but his wink and a realization of what she was about to do scorched her skin with the heat of a lightning bolt. An impulsive act, based on excitement, could open a door better left closed.
“Thank you, Spence.” She spun on her toes without touching him and grabbed the first piece of wallpaper under her hand. “This will work.”
Laurie stared at her. “I thought you said Maura would prefer something brighter.”
Phoebe looked at her choice, a patterned gray as dull as anything she had ever seen. “You’re right. I meant the blue one and the one with the yellow fruit for the dining room.”
Her attempt to laugh off the mistake fell flat.
***
SPENCE ENTERED HIS office at the same time Phoebe placed an envelope on his desk. “Here again on an off day?”
She flinched and whipped around. Guilt paraded in the progressive shades of pink coloring her face.
“I had no idea you liked our store so well.” He expected the lighthearted remark to put her at ease, but the straight line of her lips said she would have none of it.
She snatched the envelope from the desk and held it out to him. “I wanted to leave this.”
He read his name on the front but didn’t touch it. “What is it?”
“Payment for the dollhouse.”
She thought he intended to sell it to her? “I don’t want payment, Phoebe.”
“Please take it.”
“No.” Seeing the glow on her face yesterday was worth every hour spent in his workshop. He wanted no other compensation.
Her stubborn chin rose to attention. “Then I’m afraid I can’t accept the dollhouse.”
“You’re the one who asked me to make it for Maura. Now you won’t accept it?”
“I asked to trade, but things are different now. Working here and playing for the Davidsons has provided more than enough to pay you.”
He shut the door, stalked to the other side of his desk, and rearranged a group of papers to keep his hand from seizing that envelope and tearing it into tiny pieces. “Keep your money.”
Phoebe turned to face him. “You’re angry?”
“I’m not angry.”
“You sound angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Maybe a little.
All right, yes, he walked a fine line between anger and disappointment. When she’d backed away from him yesterday as if he were a wolf ready to devour her, that was disappointment. When realizing nothing he’d done had moved them past her qualms over his motivations, that was disappointment. When thinking over his flirtation in the workshop left him with an inclination to kick himself into Sunday, that was anger.
“You and Laurie put hours of work into something for a child you barely know, Spence. I won’t take advantage of you. What about the materials? I’m sure they cost you.”
She was not about to let this go. “I can afford a few pieces of wood. It was something I wanted to do. For Maura.”
And for her mother.
Her expression softened. “I appreciate it but would feel better if you took the money.”
“I don’t want it, Phoebe.”
“I won’t give my daughter something that costs me nothing. We’ll trade.”
He fought to control an unexpected urge to laugh at her tenacity. “Haven’t we been through this before? What is your offer this time, Mrs. Crain?”
“I’m willing to play for the store through New Year’s with no compensation.”
Before he could tell her to forget it, someone knocked on his door. “Come in.”
“Spence, have you seen Gil today?” Roslyn marched into the office, a paper clenched in her hand. Her red and puffy-eyed glance shifted from him to Phoebe and back. “I’m sorry. You and Mrs. Crain are busy. I’ll come back.”
Phoebe placed the envelope on the desk. “No. I’ll go and let you two talk.”
“We’re not done...negotiating, Mrs. Crain.” Spence pointed to a second chair. “Stay.”
She looked to Roslyn, who said, “It’s all right. Anything said here will be all over the store shortly anyway.”
Phoebe sat in the chair he indicated and turned her head away, as if doing so made her unable to hear whatever he and Roslyn were about to discuss.
Spence leaned against the corner of the desk. “Tell me the problem, Roslyn.”
“Has Gil come in this morning?”
“I haven’t seen him. Why? What’s wrong?”
“He’s missing.”
