Courting Miss Adelaide (2 page)

Mr. Wylie opened the door. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again.

Unable to speak, she nodded an acknowledgment. Head high, she strode through the door into the waiting area, past her staring neighbors, and into the courthouse corridor, holding herself together with the strength of a well-honed will.

Every step pounded in her head, reiterating again and again and again.
I failed. I failed. I failed.

In the hallway, she sidestepped a couple blocking her path.

“Please, Ed, we can’t replace our boy. I’d like a girl—”

“A boy is what we agreed on,” the man snapped. “I’m trying to put this family back together, and all you do is whine.”

The woman’s gaze darted to Adelaide, and then dropped to the floor. Frances. Before Adelaide could greet her, Frances followed her husband to the door. Ed turned to open it, giving Adelaide a glimpse of his face. Anger blazed in his eyes. Then, like a shade dropping over a window, he controlled his expression, leaving his countenance smooth and pleasant.

“Miss Crum,” he said, giving her a friendly nod.

Adelaide couldn’t believe this irate man could be the same person who’d picked her up after a childhood tumble and declared she’d be fine. All these years later, she still remembered his kindness, the gentle way he’d cleaned her scrapes with the red bandanna he’d dampened at a nearby pump.

Losing their son must have changed him. Whatever the cause, if Ed carried that much anger, the Drummonds shouldn’t be considered for a child. But they probably would be, since marriage seemed to be the committee’s only condition.

The pain of the rejection tore through her. Adelaide bolted for the entrance. She shoved open the heavy door, gulping in air. As she started down the steps, low-slung clouds released their moisture, spattering her face as if nature shed the tears she would not weep. Lightning zigzagged overhead and thunder rumbled, then the sky burst under the weight of its watery load.

In the deluge, her sodden garments grew heavy, but didn’t slow her progress. With both hands, she hiked her skirts and hustled across the street. As she trudged to the back of her shop, closed for this momentous day, the mud grabbed at her shoes. Her shoulders heaving with exertion, she pried the dirty shoes from her feet and dropped them outside the door, indifferent she’d ruined their fine leather. Then climbed the stairs to her quarters above the shop.

She removed her soggy skirt, and then wilted onto the bed, dropping her hat on the floor. A curtain of rain veiled the window, darkening the room. Her mother’s words echoed in her head.
It’s a man’s world, Adelaide. If you think otherwise, you’re in for a rude awakening.

Today, four men had found her unworthy to rear a child. She’d built a successful business, had taken care of herself and her invalid mother, and all without a man’s help. But what she wanted most, a child and family, she couldn’t have without a man, without a committee of men.

“Why, Lord? Why was the answer no?” No reply came.

There would be no little girl to sew for, no little girl to love. No little girl, period.

A sob ripped through her, then a piercing wail. She burrowed her face in the pillow to muffle the sound, but then remembered she had no one to hear. No one to see. No one to care.

The dam she’d built to hold back her emotions crumbled, releasing a flood of tears. As she wept, spasms shook her body until, long minutes later, exhaustion quieted her. Every part of her echoed with hollowness, emptiness. For the first time in her thirty-one years, she felt old. Old, with the hope squeezed out of her.

But then she remembered Mr. Graves’s wink.

Somehow the gesture had united them against the others. He appeared to have confidence in her ability to mother a child. Like butter on a burn, the thought soothed her wounded heart.

But even if no one else did, Adelaide had faith in herself. And even a stronger faith in God. God would sustain her.

What if the committee’s decision wasn’t God’s final word?

At the thought, Adelaide sat up on the bed. Her chest swelled with hope and her mind wrapped around a fresh determination. The committee’s rules weren’t etched in stone like the Ten Commandments. She’d never believed all the conventions in her world concurred with God’s plan. Until she knew in the core of her being God didn’t want her to mother a child, she would not give up hope. She would believe a child waited for her, waited for the comfort of Adelaide’s arms.

Charles couldn’t get the memory of Miss Crum out of his mind. He wished he hadn’t agreed to sit on this committee. He wanted no part in impersonating God. No part in causing the kind of pain he’d read on Miss Crum’s face.

If Charles understood anything, he understood pain.

He forced his attention back to the discussion, chagrined to discover everyone looking at him, waiting for him to speak. “I’m sorry. Would you repeat that?”

“We were saying the Drummonds have the ability to train a boy in farmwork. They lost their only child to a stove fire a few years back. A terrible tragedy.”

Charles examined the burly man and his timid wife. From the little he’d listened to, Mr. Drummond had done all the talking. The man seemed affable enough, but during the interview, his wife had avoided eye contact. Perhaps she was merely shy. “Mrs. Drummond, you haven’t said. Do you want a boy, too?”

She looked to her husband, hesitating a moment. “I’d be open to a girl.” Her voice quavered, but for the first time she met Charles’s eyes. He saw a flicker of hope, and something else, something that gnawed at his memory. Before he could identify it, she lowered her gaze.

Mr. Wylie checked a list. “We’ve been told to expect a brother and sister. Would you be willing to take both of them?”

Mrs. Drummond’s gaze darted to her husband.

“How old are they?” Mr. Drummond asked.

“The boy is ten, the girl is, let’s see…” Wylie scanned a paper in front of him. “Seven.”

Mr. Drummond rubbed his chin. “Two pair of hands
would
be a help,” he said, considering. Then he smiled. “The missus would like a girl. We’ll take them both.”

“Excellent. We don’t want to split up siblings unless we have no choice.”

Mr. Drummond nodded. “Family means everything. Husband, wife…” He hesitated, his tone emotional. “Children. Nothing should divide a family.”

Mr. Wylie pushed the papers away and looked at Charles. “Any objections, Mr. Graves?”

The couple had the proper references, had said all the right words, but what did that prove? The entire exercise was ludicrous. But perhaps no more so than nature’s method of selecting parents guaranteed they’d be adequate for the job.

Yet some kind of sixth sense twisted a lump in his throat, made him hesitate, but just as quickly, he dismissed it. The others knew them, had greeted them warmly.

For the hundredth time he questioned why God, all powerful and all knowing, allowed unsuitable people to have children. He could only be certain about one thing. A child would be better off living in Noblesville than roaming the streets of New York City or living in one of its crowded orphanages. “I have none.”

“Good!” Mr. Wylie sent Mr. Drummond a smile. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, Ed, for helping fix the church roof.”

Ed nodded. “Glad to do it. We can’t expect the parson to hold an umbrella over his head while he’s preaching.”

While Wylie ushered the Drummonds from the room, Charles rose from his chair and crossed to the window. Even in the sudden downpour, the streets crawled with horse-drawn wagons and buggies. A typical Saturday, the day area farmers came to town to transact business or sell produce.

Like most county seats, the courthouse dominated the square, giving a certain dignity to the mishmash of architecture surrounding it. Noblesville was a nice little town. The decision to move here had been a good one. He’d been able to help his brother’s family and to bring
The Noblesville Ledger
back to life. That had been his father’s plan, but long before that revelation, owning a paper had been Charles’s dream, a dream he’d soon achieve.

His hand sought the telegram inside his pocket, notification his father had died peacefully in his sleep. Charles crushed the flimsy paper into a tight ball. Maybe now, he could put his past to rest.

He looked down the block to
The Ledger,
then across the street to Miss Crum’s millinery shop. She wanted a child to love, not a worker for her store.

Charles turned from the window. “I’m uncomfortable placing these youngsters to be laborers on farms.”

“Work never hurt anyone.” Wylie hunched forward, biceps bulging in his ill-fitting coat until Charles expected to hear ripping fabric. “Hard work builds strong bodies, sound minds.”

“Some of these ‘Street Arabs’ have been pickpockets and beggars,” Paul spoke up. “We’re saving them from a life of crime. If they work hard, they’ll make something of themselves.”

Charles’s thoughts turned to Miss Crum, an easy task. She stuck in a man’s mind like taffy on the roof of a tot’s mouth. Her eyes had captured him the first moment he saw her. A dazzling blue, they were deep-set under straight, slim brows, gentle, intelligent eyes. Her hair, the color of pale honey, had been smoothed back into a low chignon. Clearly a proper, straitlaced woman, the kind of woman who attended church on Sunday wouldn’t abide a man like him.

She’d shown a passel of courage facing the committee, even more strength of will when she’d left with her dignity pulled around her like a cloak. Of all the women he’d met that day, Miss Crum was the only one he felt certain would give a child the kind of home he’d read about in books.

He might have fought more for her, but thoughts of his widowed sister-in-law’s struggles had stopped him. Besides, to object further would have been a waste of time. He’d soon discovered folks in Noblesville resisted anyone who challenged their customary way of life.

By noon all the children had been spoken for. The actual selection of the orphans would take place in two weeks on the day of distribution. The four men shook hands, relieved they’d finished their job, at least for now. After the distribution, the committee had agreed to keep an eye on the children and their guardians as best they could.

A fearsome responsibility.

Outside the courthouse the men dispersed. Charles pulled his collar up around his neck and dashed to the paper in the pounding rain, splattering puddles with every footfall. Ducking into the doorway of
The Ledger,
he removed his hat, dumping water on his shoes, his spirits as damp as his feet.

His gaze shifted across the street to the CLOSED sign in the window of Miss Crum’s millinery shop. In the months he’d been here, he’d never seen the shop closed on a Saturday.

As he opened the door to the paper, he couldn’t help wondering what Adelaide Crum was doing right at this moment, after four men had dashed her hopes as surely as the sudden storm had wiped out the sun.

Chapter Two

A
delaide woke with a start, bolting upright in bed. Something important was to take place today. Then the memory hit and she sank against the pillows. The children would arrive today.

For her, another ordinary day; for twenty-eight couples, this day had blessed them with a child.

The past two weeks, she had relived the meeting with the committee numerous times, trying to see how she could have convinced them. Wasted thoughts. Wasted hopes. Wasted tears.

She’d been certain God approved of her desire to rear a child, yet the committee had turned her down. Could she have been wrong? Didn’t God want her to mother an orphan? If not, why?

I’d be a good mother. I’d never be like Mama—crabby, critical, always taking the pleasure out of everything.

After a decade of caring for her mother and running the shop, at first her mother’s death had been a relief. The admission put a knot in Adelaide’s stomach, and she said a quick prayer of repentance.

Shaking off her dark thoughts, Adelaide held up her left thumb. “I’m thankful, God, for a thriving business.” Lifting her index finger, she continued, “I’m thankful for these comfortable rooms that give me shelter.” Then, “Thank you, Lord, for good friends.” Touching each finger in turn, she found, as always, many things for which to give thanks.

But today, it wasn’t enough.

She climbed out of bed and shoved up the window. The clatter of wheels, a barking dog and a vendor’s shout brought life into the room. She walked to the dresser mirror and picked up her brush. In her reflection, she found no ravages of age, no sign of crow’s-feet. Her nose was clearly too long, but, all in all, a nice enough face.

Nice enough for a handsome man like Mr. Graves to admire?

Adelaide blinked. Where had that thought come from?

She laid down the brush and leaned toward the mirror, then crossed her eyes.
If you don’t stop that, Adelaide, your eyes will get stuck there.
Recalling her mother’s warning, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Feeling better, she dressed, then hurried to the kitchen and made coffee. As she sipped the hot brew, her gaze traveled the room, pleased with the soft blue walls above the white wainscoting. Blue-and-white checked curtains, crisp with starch, hung at the window over the sink. This would be a cozy place for a child to have breakfast. The oak pedestal table circled with four pressed-back chairs, plenty of seating for a family.

Neither a crumb littered the floor nor did a speck of dust mar the table. She sighed. All too aware, she lived in the perfect, uncluttered home of a childless woman.

Enough of self-pity. Time to open her shop. Downstairs, she flipped the sign in the window and sat down to mend a torn seam when the bell jingled.

Sally Bender, dressed in drab green with her gray hair stuffed beneath a faded blue bonnet, tromped into the shop. “Land sakes, Adelaide! Are you buried alive under all these hats?” Before Adelaide could answer, Sally went on, “It’s high time you got out your frame so we can finish that quilt.”