The fourth weekly package of assignments arrived three days ahead of schedule. The new assignment was of an entirely different nature—English royalty. The questions were more probing, more concerning the character and nature of Queen Victoria. Thrilling. Maggie could hardly wait for five o’clock. But it was the yellow rose pressed flat with an attached note in his handwriting that kept her thoughts circling back again to Wesley Graham Hill.
The fragrance of the friendship rose she knew well.
The sudden catch of her breath—quite unfamiliar.
A rush of warm emotion washed over her each time she read his words of thanks for taking him to Holland and back. Beneath the careful script, it was signed, “Your Friend Always, Wesley.”
The words, the rose, said nothing more than friendship. But as she worked through the questions, Maggie found she began to cherish his way of matching her curiosity for adventure and learning. Anticipation and wonder mounted as she delved deeper into study. Would his eyes be filled once more with that knowing sense that he understood her mind?
The library was silent. Miss Eloise was tucked in her office with the door half cracked open. Once Maggie had caught the matron with eyes closed though she sat over a book, making Maggie giggle to herself.
The clock chimed the fifth time. Five o’clock.
Maggie pulled the drawer of the library desk open where she’d tucked the pressed friendship rose. Was it friendship alone that fueled the expectation she felt mounting within? Pushing the uncertain thoughts aside, she gathered her study materials, found their usual study alcove, and spread out her papers.
She’d already worked through the introductory questions about England’s countryside and delved into the more interesting memoirs of Queen Victoria’s younger years. Maggie admired Victoria because she’d forsaken the privilege of an isolated court life for one that brought her into daily contact with the sufferings of the poor.
She looked back to Wesley’s question. “Was Queen Victoria’s life of privilege more or less, or of equal value to those of lower social standing?” Of course, she knew the answer.
But how could she explain to Wesley Graham Hill III that even though everywhere she looked in Bay View there was the belief that riches, knowledge, and opportunity were paramount to happiness, in her own humble home in Petoskey she’d flourished under the wealth of love, faith, and trust? How could she answer his question without admitting what she knew from her own experience?
Would the unveiled truth cost her the friendship she’d just begun to prize?
He was late. And it dogged him, because he loved punctuality.
Wesley’s brow prickled with moisture as he entered the library and turned toward his rendezvous with Maggie Abbott. The anxiety of being late, combined with the risk he’d taken and the one he was about to take, had his heart bounding as if he were a fly-fisherman hooking a feisty brown trout on the Minnie River.
It made him feel more alive than he’d been in a lifetime of camp meetings.
What could a man ever hope to gain without risk?
Wesley prayed his plans would come together as he hoped.
True to form, he found his library princess bent over her studies, the evening light glowing about her as she looked up. The smile she gave him landed straight in his chest, settling the last of his doubts.
“Maggie, I’m late. I wanted to be earlier—I’ve got tickets. We should hurry.”
“You’ve what?” Her brow wrinkled at his rushed and tumbled invitation.
“To the lecture at Evelyn Hall. Isabel Garghill Beecher is speaking. It’s to be magnificent. I knew you’d not be able to resist.” He grinned with the knowledge that he’d paid double the price to get Sam’s extra ticket for Maggie.
“But the Reading Circle questions … I thought …”
The library clock began to herald quarter of six.
“Miss Beecher is famous on the Chautauqua speaking circuit, you’ll see.” He began closing books and gathering papers as Miss Eloise’s footsteps sounded on cue behind him.
“Maggie Mae Abbott, I’ve got to leave early tonight. You’d best let Mr. Hill see you out now and lock the door behind you.” Miss Eloise’s directive brooked no argument from Maggie, despite the younger woman’s look of astonishment.
Maggie turned to shelve a stack of books on the wooden library cart, and Miss Eloise grinned at Wesley as she winked.
“We should hurry.” He reached to guide Maggie’s elbow.
“But I should get back …”
“Oh, and Maggie, I promised your father I’d bring him some cold cuts from the butcher. He offered to fix the broken window shutters on my front porch. It’s the least I can do, you know. Such a gentleman, your father is.” Miss Eloise chattered on, not letting Maggie excuse herself abruptly as she was accustomed. Wesley took Maggie’s satchel over his shoulder and gently guided her after Miss Eloise toward the door.
Outside the library doors Maggie flashed a look between the two of them as Miss Eloise’s key turned the lock. “There you are. Now, the two of you have a lovely evening at the lecture.” Patting Maggie on the arm, she turned away, leaving them alone.
“But I haven’t any money with me to pay for my ticket.” Maggie looked a bit ambushed.
“Already taken care of.” Wesley held up the tickets, waiting for an answer.
“I’m not dressed for an evening out.”
She met his gaze as he held out his hand, but still hesitated.
“Maggie, it’s your company I want. You look lovely.”
“You planned this with Miss Eloise, didn’t you?”
“I’ll never tell.” He winked at her, and the pink that sprinkled her cheeks was worth the exorbitant price of the extra ticket.
“You won’t regret it. I promise.”