Chapter Seven

Spending his lunch break at the library was quickly becoming a habit. And a rather pleasant one at that. Not only did Levi get the chance to renew his acquaintance with old friends like Phileas Fogg and Passepartout in their wild adventures around the world, but he also enjoyed the opportunity to observe the enigmatic Miss Spencer.

Levi dragged his mind from the pretty librarian in order to examine the weld on the wagon rim he’d just pounded into place. After dunking it in the slack tub for fast cooling, he gave the circle a few quick taps with his hammer at various intervals, listening for the clear, bell-like sound that indicated a well-rounded rim. A hollow thud would mean he’d have to start over. He struck the iron rim a final time, and the resultant ping filled him with satisfaction. Ornery let out a guttural moan—half howl, half whine—at the sound.

“You like that, too, do you?” Using his tongs, Levi set the rim on the flat stone work surface at the end of the forge. “We’ll have to file it and fit it to the wheel later. After the library.” He crouched down to rub the dog’s neck. “A man ought to have a break in the day, don’t you think?”

His father had always claimed that his afternoons were more productive when he went home to eat lunch with Mama. Of course, the vitality he found probably had more to do with being in the company of the woman he loved than with the break itself. But surely the short time spent away from work played a role, as well. After all, Levi had no wife, yet his daily trips to the library invigorated him. A quiet retreat away from his tools and the constant heat of the fire. A chance to get lost in a fictional adventure for thirty or forty-five minutes. He looked forward to the midday escape.

Eden Spencer’s image sprang to mind. All right. So maybe he looked forward to seeing her, too. What man wouldn’t? He’d been separated from female company too long not to appreciate the view of shapely curves and a comely face. Eden Spencer possessed both. As did several of Spencer’s other young ladies. Yet there was something particular about the prickly librarian that drew his attention time and again. What that was, he couldn’t say, but it drew him all the same.

Levi ruffled the dog’s fur a final time, then gave Ornery two firm pats on the side before stretching to his feet. He strode to the back corner of his shop, where a second tub of water sat atop a three-legged workbench he’d propped up with the broken handle of a garden hoe. The table leaned backward and to the left, but as long as he didn’t overfill his washtub, it suited his purposes.

Unwilling to show up at the library smelling like a mule, Levi hung up his leather apron, pushed his suspenders off his shoulders, and stripped out of his work shirt. He scrubbed his face, neck, arms, and chest and then dried off with a flour-sack towel Mrs. Barnes had lent him. Leaving the sweat-stained shirt to air out on a peg, he took down his only other shirt, the one he wore with his suit coat, and pulled it over his head. After doing up the buttons, tucking in the tails, and snapping his suspenders into place, he turned around for inspection.

“What do you think, boy? Will I do?”

Ornery looked up at him, stared for half a minute, and then turned and padded out the back door.

“Fine lot of help you are,” Levi called after him.

The dog seemed to crave privacy as strongly as he craved companionship, a strange combination. He waited by the shop doors every morning for Levi to arrive and enjoyed a bowl of dinner scraps and an occasional scratch behind the ears. But every afternoon he left. Levi had yet to decide if the increased traffic the shop generated later in the day scared him off, or if he simply experienced a canine urge to explore the countryside and chase rabbits. It was a puzzle he might never solve.

Much like Miss Spencer.

A wealthy, beautiful woman like her should have married years ago. Yet she hadn’t. Why? And why did she pretend to be cool and aloof when he knew very well a warm heart beat within her? He’d seen it in the way she interacted with the children during the reading on Friday. And he’d seen it again on Saturday. As he’d turned up her walk, he’d witnessed her hand off a cloth-wrapped bundle to a lad of about eight. As the boy dashed past him, Levi smelled freshly baked bread and something savory that might have been ham. A truly uppity woman would have scolded the child for bothering her, not given him hot food.

However, when it came to adults, she presented a more reserved disposition. After services on Sunday, she’d flitted from one female cluster to another, a polite smile gracing her lips, yet she never once penetrated past the fringe. Did the townsfolk consider her an outsider, or was she the one putting up barriers?

Levi pushed the questions to the back of his mind and stepped out onto the street. He waved to Claude, who was checking the harness on one of his rigs while a woman with a big hat and even bigger bustle waited in the shadow of the livery. He couldn’t see her face, but he dipped his chin and fingered the brim of his hat anyway, not surprised when she made no visible response.

A line had formed in front of the café, and his stomach rumbled as the aroma of beef stew wafted toward him. He ignored the pangs, though. Mrs. Barnes had packed him a couple pieces of cold chicken and one of her soft yeast rolls. He’d eat when he got back to the shop. Levi turned away from the café and walked down the side street that led to Miss Spencer’s library.

Over the last couple of days, he’d fallen into a routine. Walk in, hang up his hat, nod to the lovely lady behind the desk, collect his book, and settle into the corner, where he could sit unobtrusively on the floor instead of crushing one of her dollhouse-like chairs with his decidedly un-doll-like physique. The two of them usually had the place to themselves while others lunched at home or at the café, but they rarely conversed. She, because she apparently had no such desire. He, because silence was the safer path.

Today, however, the sound of her voice greeted him as he trod up the walkway toward a door that stood ajar.

“Please go outside. I really don’t want to hurt you.”

Levi pulled up short.

“No. Not toward me. To the door. The door!” She squealed, and Levi bounded forward, taking the stairs in a single leap. He threw the door wide and brought up his fists, ready to take on the unseen threat.

“Get it off! Get it off!” She held her skirts away from her body and twisted her head to the side as if trying to put as much distance as possible between her and the invader clinging to the dark green fabric of her dress.

A cockroach. A big ugly one—three, maybe four inches long, its wings still slightly askew.

“Please.” Miss Spencer whimpered, and the sound galvanized him to action.

Levi opened his hand and swiped the oversized beetle from her skirt. Then, before the thing could scamper into a dark corner, he crushed it with a stomp of his boot, wincing at the audible crunch that echoed in the now-quiet hall. He scraped his sole over the carcass like a horse pawing the ground, and sent the bug sailing out the door.

“Did you have to squish him?”

Levi jerked his eyes to Eden Spencer’s face. What had she expected him to do? Tie a leash around its neck and take it for a walk?

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, as she raised a shaky hand to fidget with the button at her collar. “I appreciate your removing that beastly insect from my person.” She shuddered slightly, and her gaze dropped to the darkened spot on the hardwood floor that evidenced the roach’s demise. “However, I can’t abide violence against any of God’s creatures. Even horrid, wing-sprouting behemoths.”

“I don’t like it, either,” Levi said, recalling the vow he made in the Huntsville chapel the day he chose to hand his life back over into the Lord’s keeping. “But if . . . I need to take violent action to . . . protect another, I will.”

Not for himself. Only for another. Never again would he fight for sport, pride, or self-defense—only if the well-being of someone else hung in the balance. Although, the speed at which he’d clenched his fists and charged when he thought Miss Spencer was in trouble concerned him. Old habits died hard. The fighting impulse had taken control of his body before his mind had a chance to piece together what was happening.

Sending the Lord a silent plea for more self-discipline, Levi ducked around Miss Spencer, not wanting to see any more condemnation in her eyes. Crushing a bug was no sin, but her accusations prodded his guilt. If the woman was upset at him for killing a cockroach, he hated to think what her reaction would be if she ever discovered what he used to do for a living. Or what happened during that last prizefight . . .

Never again, Lord. I swear, never again.

After he hung his hat on its customary top hook, he strode into the reading room and collected his book from the shelf. The quiet rustle of a woman’s skirts echoed behind him. He didn’t turn. In fact, he lengthened his stride until he realized there was something different about the corner he usually sat in. The vacant space had been filled with a large leather wing chair. A sturdy chair. A masculine chair. A chair he’d never seen before.

He did turn then.

“I thought you might prefer it to the floor.” She met his eye briefly, then looked away. “Harvey brought it in from my father’s study. Since Father rarely visits, I doubt he’ll mind if we borrow it for a while. I can use it for my story time, as well.”

Levi stared at the woman before him, her thoughtfulness pouring light into a place inside him that had long been darkened. A place that reminded him of family and acceptance, of belonging. His mind scoffed at the tender reaction stirring in him. It was just a chair—leather, wood, some stuffing. It wasn’t new or even really his. But the gesture left him shaken nonetheless. He’d not received such a gift since he left home so many years ago.

Miss Spencer waved her hands in the air as if his response was unimportant to her, but Levi caught the sidelong glances she shot his way as he kept silent.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll ask Harvey to move it back.”

He tried to shape his gratitude into words, but before his sluggish tongue could spit them out, she exhaled a heavy breath, and her arm flopped to her side.

“You know what? I’ll just go fetch him right now. He’s probably in the kitchen with Verna.” Her face flushed as she spun away from him.

She didn’t understand.

Levi tossed his book onto the seat of the chair and lunged forward. He snagged her hand and tugged her to a halt. Still, she didn’t look at him. He wanted to call to her, to urge her to face him. Using her given name would be too presumptuous, though, and calling her Miss Spencer would embarrass them both. So, letting go of her hand, he cupped her shoulders and gently forced her around.

He waited, his hands holding her in place.

Finally she looked up, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Perhaps he should have smiled to ease her nerves, but he couldn’t. That sort of surface smile would only cheapen the sentiment he wanted to express.

“I like it. Very much. Thank you.” He gazed into her eyes while he spoke, hoping that somehow she would comprehend the depth of his gratitude despite his inadequate words. Those mossy green eyes peered back at him, and for a moment the chair, the library, the house—all of it—disappeared. All he saw was her. Then she blinked, and the world returned.

Levi released her shoulders and stepped back, dredging up the very smile he’d rejected earlier to cover his own sudden bout of nerves.

“Well,” she said, “enjoy your book.”

He nodded, and a strange look passed over her face, almost as if she were trying to contain a giggle. What in the world did that mean?

As he settled into the leather seat, he opened to the page where he had left Phileas yesterday, but his gaze kept drifting over the edge of the book to follow Miss Spencer as she wandered about the room, straightening shelves that were already tidy.

A man could get used to such a view. Levi looked his fill until Miss Spencer swiveled to inspect a bookcase near his corner. He ducked his head so fast, vibrations ricocheted down his spine. After that, Levi maintained continuous visual contact with Mr. Verne’s pages, but when he took his leave thirty minutes later, he couldn’t recall a single word he’d read.