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Mark was conscious of Claire peering over his shoulder. If he’d ever doubted her level of comfort in working alone with him, it vanished once her heat warmed the back of his neck.
For the past half an hour, he’d gone out of his way to avoid looking her in the eye. How could she insist on indifference from him? How was he to ignore the sweet scent that set off thoughts of an evening’s walk through a fragrant garden with her at his side?
While he preferred her perfume to cigar smoke—he didn’t even like cigars—there was only so much nearness he could take. His only salvation was to throw himself into his work.
She walked to the triple windows and looked out. “Do you think Mr. and Mrs. Dover will like the interior ideas?”
He hadn’t expected her until tomorrow, but she’d arrived after her shift at the store, her step bouncing with excitement over her ideas for the Dover house. Good ideas. She truly had a mind for creative detail.
“I can’t see why not. That was good work, Claire.” Better than he’d done yet, despite his boast about his abilities and control over his future.
She looked over her shoulder and grinned, then glanced at the octagonal wall clock he’d purchased second hand, its walnut case and fusée movement in excellent condition. Hurrying to the table, she shut the sketchbook and pushed in her chair. “I have to leave.”
Mark stopped in the middle of adding an idea for a bas-relief over the entrance door of the Lefler design. “You have a social engagement?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “It’s with my Widow’s Might friends.”
He exhaled. She had mentioned the group of widows who gathered once a week. “I thought you met with them on Sundays.”
“This is a special meeting.”
He walked with her to the front office. “Something important happening?”
“Do you remember Louisa Gruhn?”
“She’s the woman whose daughter you saved?”
Claire rolled her eyes. Mark enjoyed reminding her of her bravery, probably because he found her reluctance to take any credit endearing.
“Louisa’s home is in dire straits and needing repairs she can’t afford. The ladies and I are meeting at her house Saturday morning to do what we can.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“Verbenia always stresses that faith without works is dead. Part of our circle’s reason for existing is service, to put our faith into action.”
The mention of faith reminded him again of their last conversation. Frankly, it was one he’d thought of often in the hours that followed. He believed every word he said, but he’d sounded vain. Vain and smug. What must she think of him?
“You recommended helping Mrs. Gruhn?”
“We all make recommendations when we see a need.”
Both humble and admirable. “What kind of repairs?”
Claire pinned her hat on her head. “For one thing, we’ll replace the porch floorboards. Many of them have rotted.”
Carpentry. Did the women know the best way in which to go about such work? Did they have the proper tools? “I’m sure your decision to help stems from a desire to see Mrs. Gruhn and her daughter come to no additional harm, but replacing a porch is a big job. Are there gentlemen who help you with your projects?”
“Not normally.” She laughed. “Our usual activities include things such as knitting scarves for the boys and girls at the orphanage or preparing meals for the elderly and sick.”
He couldn’t help but tease her. “Women’s work?”
She scowled, but the humorous glint in her eyes lessened its impact.
“I didn’t realize Riverport had an orphanage.”
“Yes, it’s south of town.”
“It’s hard enough to live without one parent. I can’t imagine the burden on children who live without both parents.”
She stopped in the middle of pulling on a glove. “Do you...do you look forward to having children?”
“Very much. I’d like enough children that they will keep one another company. I know what it is to be an only child.”
The color left her face, and it occurred to Mark that, unlike his widowed mother, she had no children to raise alone, but the prospect of indiscretion kept him from asking why.
He nudged the conversation back to the work at Louisa Gruhn’s. “You said men don’t normally help you.”
The color slowly returned to Claire’s face, and she resumed pulling on her gloves. “The Third has agreed to work with us since it involves carpentry. He’s a proficient woodworker.”
“The Third?”
“My employer at the store. We refer to the youngest generation of Spencer Newlands as The Third to keep them straight. He’s courting Phoebe Crain, one of our members.”
“I see.” Courtship gave the store owner the right to join the ladies. Mark had no such right.
He really hadn’t the time to help, anyway. The Kowalskis would arrive tomorrow, and he didn’t know how their visit would affect his ability to finish the Lefler design in time.
But rotted porch boards. What if Cissy broke through one and was hurt? If Mrs. Gruhn’s house was as bad as Claire indicated, they could use his assistance.
When allowed, he would not stand by and see a shoddy job being done by those who hadn’t the experience to do better. What if one of the ladies injured herself on a saw or other tool? What if it was Claire?
“Could you use another set of male hands?”
Her eyes grew large. During several quiet moments, he decided he’d overstepped his bounds. Finally, she asked, “You want to help us?”
“My father was a construction worker and taught me a number of skills of the trade. I swing an accurate hammer.”
She clutched the handle of her purse in a tight fist. “I-I don’t know.”
“If the ladies would be uncomfortable, say so and I won’t bring it up again.” What he really meant was that if she would be uncomfortable, she should tell him.
A slow smile graced Claire’s face, one that prompted a near swoon at the dimples that popped out with it. Not that men did such a thing as swoon. But if they did...
“No, I don’t think they would mind, but are you sure you want to place yourself in a position of being among a gaggle of unwed women?”
The question gave him pause. She had a point. He knew nothing about her friends other than they were all widows. Would his offer place him in a position of fending off desperate-for-remarriage females, or were they more like Claire and uninterested in matrimony? He was already on guard against the arrival of Paulina and her mother. Then again, helping Mrs. Gruhn meant less time for the two mothers’ matchmaking.
“It’s for a good cause. However, I’ll defer to you and whatever you think is best.”
Her expression softened, as though she were pleased by the fact that he wasn’t pushing his way into her affairs. “In that case, we would welcome the help.” She wrote down the time and address.
He opened the outer office door for her. “I’ll see you there on Saturday morning.”
Mark watched her hurry down the hall. He was an idiot for torturing himself through unnecessary contact with her.
He was a bigger idiot for volunteering for a day’s project when the clock was ticking on the Lefler competition.
***
MARK ENTERED THE HOUSE, immediately drawn to the noise coming from the parlor. He recognized his mother’s laughter, but not that of the stranger she entertained—a man. In all her years as a widow, Mark had never known her to show an interest in another man.
Intrigued, he tossed his hat on the foyer table and approached the room.
When Mama saw him standing in the doorway, her laughter drifted off like an untethered balloon. Pinched lips and a look of concern replaced the good cheer he’d heard from her. “I did not expect you home so soon, Marek.”
Just what had he interrupted?
He glanced at the smiling man on the sofa and back to his mother. “I thought I’d work from here the remainder of the afternoon. It seems I’ve arrived in time to meet our visitor. Mark Gregory, sir.”
The man stood. His smile stretched thin lips to near invisibility. Appearing to be around Mark’s mother’s age, a streak of gray ran jagged, like a lightning strike, over the top of his head. “Good afternoon. I’m Alec Olesky.”
Polish? What else should he have expected? His accent was as American as Mark’s.
Olesky’s dark stare never wavered from Mark’s face. A challenge existed in that look. If this was a social call, wariness of a son’s response could be the source. Olesky couldn’t know that Mark would never block his mother’s happiness, unless he found the suitor unworthy of her.
Mark gestured for the man to take his seat again. “How long have you and my mother known one another, Mr. Olesky?”
The man glanced at Mama. “Well, we—”
“Not long, Marek.” She sighed. “He is our new boarder.”
New boarder? As in someone living in their house?
A series of emotions washed through Mark. Confusion led the way with disbelief following on its heels.
Anger shot past them both. She had done it. She had defied him and made good on her threat. His jaw worked back and forth as he formed a retort that never slipped past his lips. Instead, he gestured toward the foyer. “Mama, I’d like to speak with you in private.”
She stood and squared her shoulders. “Excuse us, Mr. Olesky. We will return shortly.” She led the way out of the parlor, through the dining room, and into the kitchen.
Mark paced in front of the stove. “He needs to go.”
“You are overreacting.”
“Are you determined to get all of us thrown out of this house? I told you we cannot sublet a room in a house we are renting.”
Her chin rose. “There is no such provision in the lease, and I spoke with the landlord. He approved of it.”
She’d already spoken with him? Their landlord had been an accommodating old codger in other ways, but in this one, he’d been Mark’s best hope. Now what? “Do you even know anything about Mr. Olesky?”
Her face lit. “He is a widower with grown children who have moved away. He misses them terribly and does not like living alone.”
Fear bolted through him. It was one thing to imagine Olesky as a possible suitor. It was something far different to imagine him as a live-in suitor—a lonely, live-in suitor with an opportunity to take advantage of his mother. “You let him move in here with you home alone all day? What were you thinking?”
“It is not as you suspect, mój słodki chłopcze. He is a working man and will not be here during the day.”
“And what about non-working hours when I’m not here?”
“If you are so worried, perhaps you should adjust your schedule to be home more often.”
“Olesky needs to go.”
“I have already promised him the empty bedroom upstairs. I cannot ask him to leave when he has arranged to move his things in.” She patted his arm. “Take a little time to get to know him. I think you will like one another. Having him here will give me purpose, Marek.”
“What about the Kowalskis? Where will we put our guests with the third bedroom occupied?”
“I have already discussed it with Mr. Olesky.”
Of course, she had.
“He will not move in until they leave.”
The man poked his head into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I hope my presence isn’t a source of trouble.”
Mama eyed Mark, her expression pleading.
Wasn’t a sense of purpose what he wanted for her? Would allowing Mr. Olesky to stay help her to adjust more quickly to living in Riverport?
Mark could imagine Addison’s glee when he announced that they now had a boarder...until he could think of a way to get rid of the man.
***
MARK HAD DECIDED TO take Cookie for a walk—a long walk, while he pondered the best way to be a good host to the Kowalskis without giving his mother or either of their visitors any hope when it came to marriage. He’d use the deadline for the Lefler building as a shield to hide behind—a time-intensive project. After all, it was real, the truth, and he’d already warned his mother.
As they strolled up his street, Cookie’s bark drew his attention to the porch. Paulina waved to him from the rail with the enthusiasm of a passenger greeting welcoming friends from the deck of a ship. He braced himself for what was to come and waved back.
Mark suppressed the sigh that longed to escape, climbed the steps, and positioned the dog between himself and his guest. He would kiss Paulina’s cheek, but there was no sense in giving her the wrong idea. “I hope you had a pleasant train ride. When did you arrive?”
“About thirty minutes ago.” His childhood friend crouched and rubbed Cookie’s head. “She’s a sweet thing.”
“She has us at her beck and call.” He bent and rubbed the wiry hairs on Cookie’s back. “Mama feeds her too much.”
“She’s eating for a litter.” Paulina’s voice crackled with humor.
“An imminent one. In the almost three weeks we’ve had Cookie, she’s grown quite large. Mama gave her an old blanket, and she’s spent the last few days creating and recreating a nest with it.” With puppies, the Kowalskis, and then Mr. Olesky, his house would soon be overrun.
“I hope they’re born while I’m here.”
How long did she and her mother plan to stay? He gestured for her sit in one of the wicker chairs on the porch. He’d find out sooner or later without sounding inhospitable.
“From what I’ve seen so far, Mark, I like the town you’ve chosen for your home.”
“So do I.”
She tilted her head. “How is your business progressing?”
“It’s beginning to bear fruit.” Was her curiosity due to hope for her future? “In fact, I have deadlines for a couple of projects. I’m afraid they’ll take me away from my host duties more often than you might appreciate.”
“I understand.”
“Also, I promised a friend I would help her with repairs to a house tomorrow morning. I hope you don’t mind.”
Humor and curiosity danced through the vibrant blue of her eyes—darker than Claire’s, but as striking. “This friend is a woman.”
“She works for me.”
“An older woman?”
It was a shame his heart didn’t beat for Paulina. She had grown into a lovely woman—inside and out. Instead, each day, his heart pounded harder for Claire. “We’re close to the same age.”
Her sudden laughter jolted him. “Smooth those worry lines, my friend. I didn’t come here to drag you before a priest.”
Once his brain registered her words, the heaviness in his chest lightened. She was different than he remembered. “Can you blame me?”
“Unfortunately, no. I used to follow along wherever Mama led.” Her countenance brightened. “That was before I met someone during my classes at the Society.”
“Society?”
“The Chicago Evangelization Society.”
“You’re a follower of Mr. Moody?” Dwight Moody was well known for the institute he’d established in Chicago and for spreading the teachings of the Gospel. “He isn’t Catholic.”
“I’m a follower of Jesus Christ, not Mr. Moody or Pope Leo.”
How had he not realized she was a woman of faith, like Claire? It was a faith he shared...within reason.
“God isn’t interested in my business.”
“God is interested in everything you do. Everything.”
“So far, my confidence has worked well for me, and I haven’t the time to wait for God to decide how I should proceed.”
It had worked well, much better than his prayers, even if he regretted the conversation with Claire. Not only had he sounded like a man full of conceit, but at the time, he’d failed to recall that her husband died young and, most likely, before accomplishing all he’d hoped to do.
“Don’t fall into the trap of thinking you alone control your future success.”
Behind her words, Mark had sensed Claire spoke from experience. There was so much about her he didn’t know and she hadn’t shared. Yet.
“Who is this man?”
“His name is Frederick.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Don’t be too happy. My parents don’t know yet, and I can’t guarantee our mothers would find either of our attitudes acceptable.”
“Ah, yes. The mothers. Where are they?”
“In the kitchen with their heads together. They wouldn’t let me in.”
“That doesn’t bode well for us.”
He started to get up from his chair, and she grasped his sleeve. “I came with Mama to seek your help.”
“What kind of help?”
“I want you to convince our mothers that we have no future together.”
He laughed. “While I’m at it, would you like me to wrap the moon for you as a wedding gift?”
She slapped his arm, but a smile curved her lips. “I’m serious. The only way Mama will accept Frederick is to know there is no chance of a marriage between me and the son of her old friend. When you mentioned your employee, I had hoped... Is she married?”
“Mrs. Kingsley is a widow.” Not that it did him much good. “Do you anticipate matchmaking while you’re here?”
“Do you need it?”
In all honesty, he’d welcome the help. However, he’d never admit it. “You assumed she’d be an answer to your problem.”
She patted the arm she’d slapped earlier. “Our problem.”
Mark didn’t even attempt to suppress a sigh this time. He rose and opened the door. “Let’s tell our mothers the good news, before mine contacts the priest and yours unpacks a trousseau.”
The weight of worry over his relationship with Paulina had turned into nothing but a feather pillow. If only he could say the same about his relationship with Claire.
Frankly, God, if You’re so interested in my future, let’s start with Claire. She’s no closer to seeing me as anything other than an employer, possibly a friend.
He waited to hear or sense a response. Nothing. Just as he’d received no response when he’d prayed for his father’s recovery all those years ago.
As with everything, succeeding in winning Claire’s affection would be up to him.