Chapter Four

Hands shoved in his trouser pockets, Caleb paced the street in front of the two-story limestone courthouse and glanced up at the clock tower. Again.

Would she come? Had she even read his note, or did she deposit it straight in the trash bin after he left the depot yesterday? Reaching the corner of California and Dixon, he peered east down California Street, scanning the handful of pedestrians bustling about for an overly prim blond woman in spectacles. He didn’t see her. At least not in the first block. She could be farther down, closer to the railroad.

He probably should have left the code key for her. He’d debated but decided to respect her intelligence. She’d watched him make the grids. They were simple enough to duplicate, and her memory had proven more than capable. It still amazed him how fast she’d translated that line. She had a keen mind.

Would she enjoy spirited debates? Most of his friends avoided engaging in political or religious discussions with him, not sharing his passion for a good argument. After being accused once too often of playing devil’s advocate just to be a bur under someone’s saddle, he’d moderated his conversation practices. But he missed it. Missed the challenge. Missed the way it made his mind come alive. He and David used to go back and forth for hours while in school, but discussing by letter lacked the excitement of being in the heat of battle. His mother sometimes proved an adequate sparring partner, but lately the only point she wanted to argue pertained to Roberta Fletcher, and Caleb had grown weary of that particular fight.

He glanced up at the clock tower again. Prayer meeting started in ten minutes. If he waited much longer, he’d be late. He set his jaw. Rosalind Kemp was worth being tardy for. Even if it earned him a scolding from his mother.

Surely Miss Kemp would consider his offer to escort her to a church service a harmless social outing. Although, she was fairly skittish. She never flirted. Never made extended eye contact with male customers. Avoided interacting with the rail workers who brought in supplies.

At least according to his source, one Hank Lowry, Harvey House dishwasher and prime informant. The enterprising kid had recognized Caleb’s interest in Miss Kemp early on and offered to feed him information in exchange for legal advice regarding extricating his mother from an abusive marriage. Caleb would have advised the kid for free, but the boy seemed determined to pay his way. Caleb respected that. He also respected the kid’s desire to protect his mother. Caleb was fairly certain Hank had taken on the dishwashing job to save up enough funds to help her run away from his father, but Caleb feared she would never leave. She refused to press charges against her husband or even admit any abuse had occurred.

Caleb had worried Hank would cease seeking him out after depleting his legal advice, but the boy kept visiting Caleb’s office and reporting on Miss Kemp’s activities. The kid probably just didn’t want to go home, but Caleb gladly welcomed his company. He’d been praying that he might exert some positive influence in the boy’s life.

Hank had been the one to remind Caleb that Miss Kemp always arranged her schedule to attend Sunday service and Wednesday prayer meeting at the Christian Church, and had pointed out that, “If the two o’ yous are gonna be in the same place anyhow, might as well go together.” Hank had a definite knack for matchmaking. After he’d inspired that idea, Caleb had hired him on the spot as his courtship consultant. Fifty cents a week.

Which probably explained why the kid was herding Miss Kemp down California Street this very minute. He might figure he’d get a bonus if he led her down the chute. Caleb fought a grin as he yanked his hands out of his pockets and moved to intercept them. Hank would get his bonus. Maybe even a raise.

“Mr. Durrington,” the kid called. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

Caleb had to give the little schemer credit, as he actually sounded surprised to see him. “Hank.” He nodded to the boy, then lifted his hand to tug on the brim of his hat. “Miss Kemp.”

Her cheeks glowed pink, and her blue eyes shone behind her spectacles. Her black uniform and white apron had been traded in for something with a bit more color and style. The dark blue skirt was covered in tiny white polka dots, and the shirtwaist she wore had a pleated front and a ruffled collar that added a touch of softness to her that was rarely in evidence. The simple straw hat on her head would be swallowed whole by the monstrosities his mother favored, but the blue ribbon around the crown matched her skirt and proved a nice backdrop for the little white fabric rose placed jauntily at the side.

“You look quite fetching.”

She frowned. Not the reaction he’d expected. But then, she wasn’t the type to be won over with charm. What else could he offer?

He mentally scrambled until he came up with, “I’m glad you were able to decipher my note.”

Her brows arched as if she were unsure if he’d intended to insult her intelligence with that clumsy comment.

Caleb fought down a growl. He was a lawyer, for Pete’s sake. He was supposed to be good with words, with thinking on his feet. Apparently not when Rosalind Kemp was involved.

Giving up on witty conversation, he offered his arm. “May I escort you to services?”

She didn’t take his arm. Instead, she unfastened the clasp on her small handbag and extracted a folded piece of paper. Still not saying a word, she handed it to him.

His stomach cramping, Caleb reached for it as Hank backed away.

“I’ll save ya a spot on the back pew, Miss Kemp,” the kid said as he created some distance between himself and the adults who had yet to settle anything between them.

A smile born of fondness bloomed on her face, banishing the wariness that had dominated her features since Caleb approached. “Thank you, Henry.” So her voice did work. “I’ll be there soon.”

They would be there soon. Together. Hopefully.

“I don’t remember the last time I saw him in church,” Caleb said absently as he watched the boy jog off.

“He asked me to embroider a handkerchief for his mother’s birthday next month and offered to barter in return for the service.” Miss Kemp’s eyes danced as she turned her attention from Hank to Caleb. “I told him that a month of church attendance would cover the bill.”

“Why, Miss Kemp, how divinely devious of you.”

She laughed, and the sound filtered through him like warm bathwater soaking into tired muscles. It relaxed away the nervous tension that had him so tightly coiled and left him at ease.

She didn’t hold his gaze for long before her chin dipped, but it was enough to fill him with hope. If the note she handed him didn’t tell him to scram, he just might have a chance.

Slipping his finger into the folded paper, he flipped open the note and grinned.

She’d written him back in code.

A chuckle rumbled from his chest. He’d suspected for the last few months that Rosalind Kemp was special, that she might very well be the woman God intended for him. And this confirmed it. Lightning might not have struck him as it had his father, but there had definitely been a spark—a spark that grew more electric with every encounter, every puzzle and challenge she presented.

Caleb scanned the carefully penned code, his elation dimming the longer he read. She was accepting his escort on the condition that he acknowledge that nothing more than friendship could exist between them. Apparently she had plans to take a position at a Harvey House in California in the near future.

He closed the note and bent in a small bow. “I will gladly accept your friendship, Miss Kemp, and look forward to learning more about your western aspirations.” He extended his arm to her again.

She lifted her hand but let it hover in the air. “So we understand one another, Mr. Durrington?”

“I understand you perfectly.”

Whether she understood him was another story. But as far as he was concerned, delayed understanding on her part was completely acceptable. After all, any lawyer worth his salt knew one needed time to present compelling arguments to sway a jury’s opinion. He might be presenting to a jury of one, but this could be the most important case of his life. He’d use every advantage at his disposal.

As her hand settled into the crook of his arm, he grinned and immediately began his campaign.

“If we’re to be friends, I think you should call me Caleb.”

A smile blossomed on her face, but she immediately ironed out that wrinkle by pressing her lips together. “We’ll see, Mr. Durrington,” she said once she managed to get the rebellious smile contained. “We’ll see.”

Yes, they would.

When they reached the church, everyone had already taken their seats. He escorted Rosalind to the back pew where Hank sat slouched in the corner, handed her into the seat, then slid in beside her.

Halfway up the aisle on the opposite side, his mother sat in her usual place in the family pew, the plumage of her wide-brimmed hat twitching as she shifted in her seat. She had scooted in far enough to allow her son to take his rightful place beside her. When he failed to do so by the time the service started, she turned to scan the crowd. Her gaze eventually found him, then found the woman at his side. Her mouth puckered in disapproval, and her eyes shot dragon fire at him.

He’d mentally prepared himself for her displeasure, so the flames did no damage. As he removed his hat and hung it on his bent knee, he smiled and nodded to her. She’d come around eventually. As would the woman at his side.

It was ironic that the two women actually had similar goals at the moment—obstructing his romantic interest in Rosalind Kemp.

Caleb settled back against the wooden bench and grinned, making his mother’s scowl even darker before she whipped her head back around and faced forward. It was a good thing no one sat too close. They could have lost an eye to that pirouetting plumage.

“Your mother doesn’t seem to approve of your seating arrangement.” Rosalind whispered the observation as she leaned forward to retrieve a hymnal from the rack on the back of the pew in front of them.

Caleb searched her face, suddenly worried that his mother might succeed in scaring her off before he had the chance to woo her away from California. He’d been prepared for dragon fire, after all, but his companion had not. Yet there was nothing timid about the glance Rosalind aimed across the aisle. She might not be ready to accept courtship, but she wouldn’t be accepting disparagement, either.

“Don’t let her bother you,” he murmured. “She tends to contract dyspepsia whenever my decisions fail to line up with her wishes. It’ll pass with time.”

A gurgle that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter echoed between them before Rosalind schooled her features and dutifully turned her attention to the song leader who’d just called out the number of the first hymn.

The more Caleb learned about Rosalind, the more he found to admire. Intelligence, backbone, and a sense of humor. She was obviously a woman of faith and, according to a disgruntled Hank, kind to lonely old ladies who might or might not be in possession of all their faculties. If he had a list of ideal qualities to seek in a wife, she’d check all the boxes. Even the one at the bottom: fair of face and form. Spectacles and severe hairstyle aside, Rosalind had lovely features and pleasing proportions, attributes she curiously made a point to minimize.

The hymn began, and Caleb joined in, the words and tune memorized years ago so that they did nothing to impede the thoughts still rioting in his brain. His attention floated from the notes and words on the page before him to the woman sitting beside him.

What was she hiding from? Why did she frown when he complimented her appearance? Had she been raised to feel guilty for being beautiful? He’d known some rather dour Christians who seemed to believe that anything too pleasing had to be sinful. Rosalind didn’t strike him as particularly prudish, though, just excessively modest, as if determined to deflect all attention away from herself. Like a shield. A defense. Against what? Overeager men?

Caleb’s jaw clenched, cutting off his singing voice. Had she been hurt by some man who thought her beauty was his for the taking?

It was surely a sin to think violent thoughts against another in the middle of a prayer meeting, but Caleb couldn’t help himself. The idea of someone harming Rosalind made his fist ache to mete out western justice.

Good thing the Lord knew what he needed before he could ask, because Caleb was certain that the hymn announced next was intended specifically for him. Loosening his jaw, he sang the words his heart needed to pray.

“Dear Lord and Father of mankind, forgive our foolish ways; reclothe us in our rightful mind, in purer lives Thy service find, in deeper reverence, praise.”

Thank you for reminding me where I am and what I need to be about. You are in control of the past, present, and future and are worthy of my trust. Help me be worthy of Rosalind’s trust. To be a friend to her, and if it be thy will, perhaps something more. I leave her past and my future in your hands and give you my present.

Worship came easier after that, though having Rosalind at his side was a distraction that proved difficult to banish completely.

Good thing they closed the service with “Amazing Grace.”