Every Perfect Gift (38 page)
Sophie felt for the gold locket resting beneath her gown. She hadn’t taken it off, even to sleep. Maybe she never would. “Ethan is a wonderful man. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“From the descriptions in your letters and Carrie’s, I feel I already know him.” Ada perched on the edge of Sophie’s rumpled bed. “Wyatt approves as well. He says Ethan sounds like a man who isn’t afraid to go after what he wants.”
“That’s true.” Sophie bent to the fireplace, lit the kindling, and blew on it until the flame caught. The wood hissed and crackled in the grate, chasing away the early morning chill.
Ada folded her hands, her expression expectant. One brow arched. “But?”
“He’s working on the Verandah and a few other things right now. But eventually he wants to marry me, leave Hickory Ridge, and build a new house on his family’s land in Georgia. He plans to open an architectural office in Savannah.”
“Which means you’d have to let go of the
Gazette
.”
“Yes.” Sophie drew her dressing gown tightly about her shoulders.
“And you aren’t sure you want to give up something you’ve worked so hard to earn, not even for love.” Ada smiled. “It’s my story all over again, isn’t it? When Wyatt proposed, I was certain I never wanted to depend upon a man for my well-being.”
Sophie nodded. “That’s what my mother—Rosaleen—said when she showed up here last fall.”
“Was it too awful for you, my dear, seeing her at last? You didn’t say very much in your letter.”
“It was unsettling. All those years at the orphanage when I dreamed she’d find me, I expected to feel overwhelming love for her. But looking into her eyes was like looking at a stranger.” Sophie shrugged. “It was a big letdown.”
Ada rose and embraced Sophie. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad to put the mystery to rest.”
“Anyway, it’s wise to remember that there are good men and not-so-good ones in the world. Wyatt is the good kind, and so, I’ve been told, is Ethan.” She patted Sophie’s hand. “And the world is changing, you know. Just look at how the suffrage movement is growing.”
Sophie nodded. Here lately, newspapers and magazines from everywhere had published pieces about it. Many people were convinced women soon would have the vote.
“A woman who is determined and resourceful can always open another hat shop or another newspaper office,” Ada said. “But finding the one man who wants to cherish and protect her, to love her and build a life with her, is a gift from God that can never be replaced.”
“I know that.”
“Well then?”
“I’m worried about what would happen down there if anyone found out I’m of mixed blood.”
“That was never a problem in Texas.”
“Because we kept everything a secret. I don’t want to live like that anymore.” She touched the locket at her throat. “You know how it is. A person with even a drop of African blood is considered a Negro. It’s a cruel alchemy, and I don’t want Ethan to suffer because of it.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall, then Lucy peeked through the open doorway holding a laden tray. She grinned at Sophie. “Surprise.”
“You knew about this?”
“Not until an hour or so ago. But I think it’s the most wonderful thing ever—right up there with Mr. Heyward’s marriage proposal.” She set the tray on the small table next to the fireplace, rattling the china cups in their saucers. “Brought you two some breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Sophie took a wrapped package from the walnut wardrobe in the corner and pressed it into Lucy’s hands. “This is for you. Merry Christmas.”
Lucy opened the package, unfolded the red woolen shawl, and wrapped herself in it. She checked her reflection in the mirror. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Sophie. But honestly, I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“Sometimes the most perfect gifts are the ones we aren’t expecting,” Ada said.
Lucy left, closing the door behind her. The fire danced in the grate, sending out warmth and the smell of hickory wood. Sophie offered Ada the only chair in the room and poured coffee for them both. Then she piled her pillows on the floor and lounged at Ada’s
feet, balancing her plate on her lap. While they made short work of flapjacks with maple syrup, sausages, and fried eggs, Ada brought Sophie up-to-date on their train trip from Texas and everything going on back at the Rocking C Ranch, including the new ponies Wyatt had recently bought for Wade and Lilly.
“I do miss the ranch, especially the horses,” Sophie said. “And especially dear old Cherokee. Robbie Whiting mentioned her to me after church one day. He loved that mare as much as I did.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing Robbie,” Ada said. “He was away at school when Wyatt and I came back here for poor Henry Bell’s wedding.” She took a last bite of flapjack and poured more tea. “I still can’t quite believe Henry came to such a tragic end.”
Sophie nodded. “Caleb Stanhope was talking about it just the other day—about how Griff and Carrie and his mother waited until after Christmas to tell him and his brother that Mr. Bell had died.”
Ada added sugar to her tea and stirred. “Tell me, how are things at the paper since the fire? You haven’t written much since Thanksgiving.”
“I meant to write more often, but I’ve been so busy.”
For the next hour, Sophie told Ada about Gillie’s infirmary and the Gilmans’ efforts to marry her off. She showed Ada her great-grandmother’s journal and told Ada about Julian’s arrival in Hickory Ridge, the shooting, Mr. Crocker’s impending trial, and Ethan’s Thanksgiving Day marriage proposal.
Ada laughed. “Heavenly days. No wonder your letters have been scarce lately. Whoever says nothing ever happens in a small town ought to spend a few weeks in Hickory Ridge. Now, you should get dressed, because Wyatt and the children are dying to see you.”
It didn’t take long. Within minutes, Sophie and Ada set off for the Hickory Ridge Inn. Sophie spotted Wyatt the minute she
walked through the door of the inn. He was standing in the lobby with Wade and Lilly, his dark head bent to theirs, his expression grave as he listened to their excited chatter. Her heart lifted. Wyatt Caldwell was as dear and as handsome as ever, his eyes very blue in his tanned face, his grin when he saw her as wide as the Texas prairie. He crossed the lobby in long strides, lifted her off her feet, and twirled her around just as he had when she was ten years old and in the throes of an enormous crush on him.
“Well, darlin’,” he said, setting her on her feet again, “I reckon newspaperin’ agrees with you. You are one sight for sore eyes. Isn’t she, son?”
Wade ducked his head and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Lilly pulled a rumpled package from her pocket and handed it to Sophie. “I brought you a present.”
Sophie bent to the little girl and gave the package a gentle shake. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Goodness, I wonder what it could be?”
“Open it and find out.”
Sophie unwrapped a small glass vial filled with dirt. “Well. This is certainly—”
“It’s some dirt,” Lilly said, gray eyes shining, “from our ranch. I brought it all the way on the train, didn’t I, Daddy? So you can keep a piece of Texas with you wherever you go and you won’t be homesick. Or much, anyway.”
Sophie swallowed the tears building in her throat and hugged Lilly tight. “It’s the best present ever, and I will keep it until I come back to the Rocking C.”
“When are you coming? Daddy said you won’t ever live with us again because you’re a grown-up now.”
“Sometimes I don’t feel very grown up. But I’ll come back to the ranch to visit, because the people I love are there.”
Wyatt shepherded them all toward the door. “I don’t know
about you ladies, but Wade and I are starving for a platter of biscuits and Miss Hattie’s fried chicken.”
Ada linked her arm through his. “Fried chicken for breakfast?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Ada smiled up at her husband. “You and Miss Hattie’s. Some things never change.”
“More coffee, Mr. Heyward?”
The waiter hovered at Ethan’s shoulder, his silver coffeepot gleaming beneath the crystal chandelier. The dining room was filled to capacity with the inn’s regular guests, farm families in town for an early supper before tonight’s church service, a few nattily dressed salesmen eating alone, their newspapers and dime novels propped against bread plates and water glasses.
“Yes, please.” Ethan waited until his cup was full again before turning back to his notebook, which he’d left on a vacant chair during dinner. He took out his pencil and flipped to the drawings of the house he planned to build in Georgia. Now that the idea had captured his imagination, an intense longing for home gripped his heart and refused to let go.
Last night, unable to sleep in the room he’d rented just down the hall from Julian’s, he had thought long and hard about his future—and about the unwelcome possibility that Sophie, despite her great affection for him, might refuse his marriage proposal. Maybe the thought of giving up the only thing that was truly hers was holding her back. Having grown up an orphan himself, he understood the need to achieve something important, to be noticed, to matter. And to cast off the feeling, however unwarranted, that having no parents made a person somehow inferior. Regardless of where one came from.
He had loved her at first sight, loved her even when she admitted she’d kept the truth from him. And it grieved him that she thought keeping her family history hidden was the only way to win his heart. Had he really seemed that hard and unforgiving? Probably.
He set down his pencil and sipped his tepid coffee. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d trembled in his arms yesterday, her voice husky with emotion, their longing for each other shimmering in the air around them, fragile as a moth’s wing.
It wasn’t only her beauty that captivated him. He’d come to appreciate her fine intelligence, her curiosity, her determination to run her newspaper for the good of the community despite the stumbling blocks Horace threw into her path and the fire that had come close to shutting down the
Gazette
for good. Sophie not only had a gift for words; she had a true passion for her work. Such a passion should never be wasted or ignored.
Which was why he was revising his plans for the Georgia house. A woman of Sophie’s talents should have a proper place to nurture them. He envisioned a lovely room filled with sunlight, with a carved walnut desk, a place for her books and her beloved typewriting machine, a fireplace, and a cozy settee for thinking and writing and reading. He sketched it with double Palladian windows opening onto the plot of ground that had once been his mother’s garden. It would take a lot of work and a king’s ransom to restore his home to its former glory, but for Sophie he would do whatever it took.
He could picture her there already, bent over her work, the Georgia sunlight falling on her shining black hair, the windows open to the sounds of the birds and the summer insects singing in the tall grasses beside the river. Maybe she’d write only for the newspaper syndicate. Maybe she’d start up another paper. Or write poems.
He finished his coffee just as a group of snow-dusted carolers, their cheeks red from the cold, entered the packed dining room. Conversations stilled as the first notes of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” filled the room. After the first line, the diners and waiters joined in.
Ethan sang along despite the sweet ache that squeezed his heart. Somehow the words of hope and promise seemed to be speaking only to him.
“O tidings of comfort and joy!”
He almost laughed out loud, amazed at how happiness had changed him. If only he could hold on to that feeling for the rest of his life. But he had done all he could do to convince Sophie to join her life with his. The rest was up to God.
In the gathering dusk, Sophie and the Caldwells made their way along the snowy street to the church for the Christmas Eve service. Indigo light draped the foothills as a half-moon peeked out from beneath the snow clouds, and the evening sky seemed to shiver with the beat of wings. As they crossed the street, candlelight appeared in every church window, first a tentative flicker, and then a steady glow that spilled onto the busy street.
Sophie’s heart expanded with a sense of peace. How beautiful Hickory Ridge looked, all dressed up for Christmas with wreaths on every door and candles burning in the windows. The new coat of red paint on Mr. Tanner’s livery stood in stark contrast to the white church, giving the whole street a festive air. Passing Sheriff McCracken’s jail, she noticed he had hung a wreath on the door, albeit a bit crookedly. Even the thought of Mr. Crocker and the impending trial couldn’t dampen her spirits.