Brides of Ohio (51 page)

This thought drove Anne out to the stable the next morning. All sorts of scenarios had run through her head the night before—from Mr. Ward harming Scioto to out-and-out making off with him. She was relieved to see the horse’s familiar face greet her when she came into the stable. He nudged and snuffed at her, clearly looking for food. Anne looked at his feed bin. It was empty. He hadn’t been fed yet? Furious, she filled a bucket with oats and was about to open his stall door to pour it in when a sharp voice brought her to a halt.

“Stop!”

Anne whirled around to find Mr. Ward walking in the door with an old, banged-up pot, steam rising from its contents.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, looking from her to the stall door.

Anne opened it, and he poured the pot’s contents into Scioto’s bin. The horse sniffed it then began to eat with relish. Mr. Ward smiled and patted the horse on the neck.

“There you are, old man,” he said. “Sorry, it took a little longer than I thought.” He looked at Anne. “And I’m sorry if I sounded a bit rough. This is better for him than that.”

Anne frowned. “Since when are oats poor feed for horses, Mr. Ward?”

“Oats are excellent for horses, but they’re even better when they’ve been cooked.”

“You cooked porridge for my uncle’s horse?”

“Mrs. Werner gave me the same look.” He laughed. “The German military cook their horses’ feed. It helps them digest it.”

“I’ve lived on a farm all my life, Mr. Ward. I’ve never heard of anything so outlandish.”

“I assure you it works. My friend Henry Farley swears by it. I’ll ease him onto it, of course, but he certainly seems to like it.”

Anne frowned as she glanced at Scioto who, she had to admit, was enjoying his breakfast more than he usually did. The horse nudged Mr. Ward’s arm. “You should feel honored. He doesn’t take to new people so easily.”

Mr. Ward’s eyes locked onto hers. “I know. I guess he knows I’m someone he can trust.”

Anne felt her face grow warm, and she looked down.

“I have a deep regard for your uncle, Miss Kirby. He helped lead me to my faith in God. I can see how much Scioto means to him. And to you. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Anne reached over and stroked the horse’s neck. The fact of the matter was, she really wanted to find something wrong with Peter Ward so she could still take care of Scioto. But her uncle had always been a good judge of character, and she couldn’t ignore the sincerity in Mr. Ward’s voice and face.
I’ll be leaving soon. Maybe it’s for the best.
Feeling a hand on her arm, she jumped. Mr. Ward was looking at her curiously.

“Are you all right, Miss Kirby?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied with a smile she knew had to looked forced. “He’s finished eating. He likes to be groomed now.”

Mr. Ward raised a brow at her but walked over to the tack room to fetch the grooming bucket. “I have to admit I’m almost sorry to be taking your job away from you,” he said when he returned. “You did an excellent job.”

Admiration shone in his green eyes, and her heart jumped in her chest. He was not quite as tall as her uncle, but he was close. Less than a head shorter, she estimated. And undeniably handsome. She decided he was indeed a dangerous man. Just not in the way she originally thought. “Thank you, but if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late for work.”

“You can come and visit him whenever you like.”

She paused but didn’t look back. “Thank you, Mr. Ward.”

Peter stopped the buggy outside the stable and opened the wide door to the carriage stall. He turned. Dr. Kirby had already climbed down and now stood at Scioto’s head, ready to lead him in.

“Here, sir, let me do that. It’s what you pay me for,” Peter said.

“Yes, so I do.” Dr. Kirby chuckled as he moved to let Peter take him.

“Thank you for letting me come along with you to Professor Townshend’s home for Thanksgiving dinner,” he said, unhitching the horse. “I’ve never had a better one.”

“Mrs. Townshend and her cook did themselves proud, didn’t they?” he said. Peter released Scioto’s harness from the shafts, and Dr. Kirby took hold of his bridle. “Here, allow me.”

Peter pulled the buggy into its place then took Scioto and began unbuckling the harness. Scioto shook his head.

“You’re ready for a rubdown, aren’t you, old man?” He smiled as the horse raised his head higher and pricked his ears forward.

Dr. Kirby laughed. “You’re doing a fine job with him, Peter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come in as soon as you’re done. With Mrs. Werner visiting her family today, I’m afraid it will be up to me to make us some coffee.”

Before long, Peter sat next to the professor in the parlor with a cup of the brew in his hands. It had turned quite chilly, and between the coffee and the fire dancing in the hearth, Peter soon felt quite warm.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with your niece to Ostrander, sir. I’m sure your family would have liked to see you.”

“I’ll see them at Christmas,” Dr. Kirby said. “They’re all coming down to visit with me then, and this big house will feel livelier for a change. The university originally built this for a professor with a much larger family, but he decided to teach elsewhere.” He looked at Peter. “Will you be going back to Pittsburgh over Christmas?”

Peter squirmed. The professor was fishing for information again. For the past week, he’d been dropping hints and asking leading questions, attempting to encourage Peter to tell him more about his past. After leaving the courthouse, the professor had brought him here and demanded to know how he knew so much about horses. Peter told him about working with Henry and then told him he was a rich family’s “poor relation.” He’d hoped that would be enough to satisfy his curiosity, but the professor seemed determined to know more detail. Peter was at a loss to understand why. He chose his words carefully. “My family would probably rather I stay away.”

“Oh?” The professor’s eyes gleamed curiously.

“I didn’t leave under the best of circumstances.”

“I see.” Expectant silence ruled for more than several moments. The professor finally broke it. “You’re not going to tell me more, are you?”

“No, sir.” He knew he should be able to trust Dr. Kirby with his past, but he still couldn’t bring himself to tell him everything. Peter saw a frown form on his face, and he settled for a portion of the truth. “We had something of a falling out.”

The professor studied him. “Does it have something to do with what you said in the courtroom? ‘I haven’t always been the man I am now.’ I believe that’s how you phrased it.”

Peter stared into his coffee cup. “There are things in my past I’m not proud of, sir. I’d rather just leave it at that.”

“I wish you would tell me, Peter.”

“And I wish you would tell me why you were so adamant I work for you instead of helping me find a job at a stable in Columbus. Or why you insisted I shave my beard.” He bit his lip, ashamed at himself for being so sharp. The fire snapped and crackled in the hearth. Peter looked up. But instead of a frown, the professor wore a strange kind of smile.

“You remind me of someone.” He leaned back in his chair. “Has my niece been trying to help you in the stable?”

“No, sir, she hasn’t,” he replied, surprised, yet relieved at the abrupt change in subject. “As a matter of fact, I only see her on mornings you both come to visit Scioto.” That fact was a great relief to Peter. The knowledge that Anne Kirby was a very capable horsewoman made her even more attractive. The care she’d given Scioto had been excellent. She was like the jewel of great worth he’d read about in the Bible a few nights ago. A man would do just about anything to possess someone like her.
Stop it
, he told himself.
She’s been hurt enough without the likes of me toying with her heart.

“She wasn’t happy to have you come along and replace her,” the professor said thoughtfully. “But I promised her pa to keep her out of the stable. He and her ma want her to settle down and find someone to marry. She can’t do that, doing men’s work.”

Peter sighed inwardly at the irony of the situation. The one person who wouldn’t mind having a wife capable and willing to do man’s work was the one person who didn’t deserve her.
I’ll only end up hurting her like all the others. Something about her will make me abandon her, and I just won’t do that again, especially to her.
“I’ll make sure she only comes to the stable to give Scioto the occasional sugar cube, sir,” he said firmly.

But the morning after Anne’s return, Peter came down to the stable to find that Scioto had been groomed. His brow furrowed as he ran his hand over the horse’s gleaming coat. There was no doubt she had done it, but
when
? Peter rose early to cook Scioto’s feed before Mrs. Werner needed the stove for breakfast. Was it possible Miss Kirby had risen even earlier than that? He watched her carefully as they sat down to breakfast. She didn’t appear tired. But something told him the cheerful face she put on was forced.

“Did you and Mr. Ward enjoy yourselves at Dr. Townshend’s, Uncle?” she asked.

“Yes, our feast was very good. I don’t have to ask about yours. Your ma is one of the finest cooks in all of Delaware County,” he replied. “How is everyone? How is Millie getting on with that young man she’s been seeing?”

Peter swore he saw all color leave Miss Kirby’s face. The professor was taking a bite of his eggs and didn’t notice. By the time he looked up again, she had pasted a smile on her face.

“Andrew Campbell proposed to Millie,” she said, a little too brightly. “They want to get married in the spring.”

“That’s wonderful news!” the professor said. “I’ll have to write to Jonah and congratulate them.”

“Congratulations, Miss Kirby,” Peter said. “I’m happy for your sister.”

Anne nodded and picked up her plate as she rose from her place. “I am, too. Thank you, Mr. Ward.”

He watched her walk into the kitchen, wondering just how happy she was. As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long to find out. After finding Scioto groomed for the next two mornings, he decided to confront her about it. He’d be breaking his promise to the professor if he didn’t. He went to bed early and managed to wake up while it was still quite dark. He dressed quietly and saw a light as he crept downstairs from his room. She was standing in Scioto’s stall, brushing him down. Something glinted on her face in the lamplight. He frowned. Was she crying?

“I love Millie, but I can’t help but envy her happiness.”

She spoke softly to the horse, but the tightness in her voice told him everything. He walked to the stall. The door stood open. He moved in behind her and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. Without thinking, he used her Christian name. “Anne?”

Her head dropped. “I’m sorry, Uncle Daniel.”

Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably.

She turned to look at him. Her eyes widened.

“Mr. Ward!”

She thrust the brush she held into his hand and left the stall. Scioto started and pawed his straw, forcing Peter to lay a comforting hand on his neck and speak a few soothing words to him. By the time he’d calmed the horse, she was gone.

T
wo days later, Anne stepped onto the streetcar, paid the fare, and settled into a seat near the rear of the car. She’d watched Mrs. Werner leave on an earlier car, and her uncle had left on Scioto an hour or so ago. He’d told her he didn’t expect to be back until dinner. The only other person to evade was Mr. Ward, and that had been easy enough to accomplish since he spent most of his time in the stable.

Heat rose in her cheeks as if she’d sat in front of the fire too long. She closed her eyes. It had been a foolish thing to do; sneaking out to the stable so early to be with Scioto. She should never have snuck out to groom him. Then Mr. Ward wouldn’t have suspected anything. How much had he heard the other morning? Worse, would he tell her uncle? It hadn’t appeared he had yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. If he did, she’d come up with some sort of explanation. The harder thing to face was that she certainly couldn’t risk sneaking out again.

The car left the area around the university and soon approached the rail yards. The road sloped downward and entered a short tunnel. Many trains had to cross High Street to get to Union Station, making the tunnel a necessary evil. The filth created by the streetcar horses made the odor within quite strong, even for Anne’s farm-raised nose. She raised a handkerchief to her face, and she and the other passengers took a great gulp of fresh air when the car resurfaced.

She kept track of the streets as they rolled by so she wouldn’t miss her stop. Spring Street, Long Street, Gay Street, and then finally, Broad Street. Broad and High bustled with activity, even on a Saturday. She got off and stood on the northwest corner of the intersection, admiring the tall three- and five-story buildings. Her favorite was a castle-like building directly across Broad Street. It was the Huntington Bank, where her uncle did business. He said Mr. Huntington, the owner, was one of the friendliest men who ever lived. She was smiling over what Uncle Daniel had told her about the banker greeting customers as he sat whittling on the steps of his bank, when the Broad Street streetcar stopped in front of her. Sharply reminded of her errand, the smile slipped away, and she got on, once again taking a seat near the back.