Nanna. Had her grandmother misplaced them while cleaning? Nanna would never take the ledgers from Poppa’s desk if she were thinking straight, but in her confused moments...
That horrible feeling of loss struck her anew. Heartsick, she looked behind the desk’s drop-down slant front and in the drawer again. No ledgers. A quick scan of the books on the shelves in the alcoves on either side of the stone fireplace showed no green leather bindings among them.
Where else could the books be? She lifted the hinged seat on the settle and searched through the box it covered. Two old pillows, a quilt, a dented flask, a pair of worn boots and her torn rag doll. She lowered the lid, straightened, wrapped her arms about herself and slowly rubbed her upper left arm as she gazed about. There was no place left to search. Suspicion wormed its way into her thoughts and took root. Her hand stilled. He had them. Cole must have slipped into the room and taken the ledgers along with the money. There was no one to prevent him from doing what he would.
Until now.
She whirled and strode to the table, picked up the lamp and carried it across the entrance hall into the sitting room. She would tell her grandfather what she had discovered and her suspicions, but first she must be certain that what she suspected was true. Her grandmother could have misplaced the books and even the money.
Her grandfather’s occasional snore was the only sound that disturbed the silence as she searched every cupboard and drawer for the books then moved on to the dining room and butler’s pantry. The lamp chased away the darkness, lit every nook and cranny she hunted through. The ledgers were nowhere to be found. Her suspicion solidified into certainty. Cole had the books—but why? She could not go to her grandfather until she knew the answer to that question. Cole had so ingratiated himself into her grandparents’ affections, she wasn’t sure her grandfather would believe her without proof.
Fatigue dragged at her. She climbed the stairs, her steps firmed by determination. She might have been helpless to stop his brother’s attack on her—and she did not come close to matching Cole’s physical strength—but God had given her a good mind, and she had taken her turn at tending the books at the ladies’ seminary. She would be her grandfather’s eyes, and she would find out what scheme Cole was about. But first she had to find those business ledgers.
She entered her bedroom, set the oil lamp in its place and untied the fastening on her dressing gown. She would watch Cole’s every move, and when she had discovered what he was about and why, she would tell her grandfather, and he would order Cole from his home. They would be safe then. She would be safe then.
Memories pressed upon her. She glanced at her bed and gave up the idea of retiring. Her agitated state would surely bring the nightmare.
The dimmed lamplight reflected off the raindrops falling against the window. She opened the sash and stood listening to the now-gentle rain pattering on the porch roof and on the plants in her grandmother’s garden below. Where would Cole have taken the ledgers? The most likely place was his shingle mill at Payne’s cabin.
A chill coursed through her that had nothing to do with the cool breeze riffling the curtains and fluttering the edges of her dressing gown. She looked through the darkness toward the trees that sheltered the path leading to the sawmill and wrapped her arms about herself. Payne’s cabin was a short distance beyond the sawmill. How would she ever find the courage to walk that path?
So many questions with no answers. She left the window, too exhausted by her confrontation with Cole in the stable and her worries over her grandparents to resist the lure of her bed any longer. The soft sound of the rain dancing on the porch roof calmed her nerves and lulled her to a place of peace. Her eyelids slid closed. She struggled to open them, then sighed and yielded to her weariness. It would be all right. It wasn’t Payne Aylward’s face she saw against the darkness. It was Cole’s raincoat on top of the grain chest in the stable.
It had been a...thoughtful...gesture.... All that...rain...
Chapter Five
A horse’s hoofs thumped on the carriage way, and buggy wheels crunched over the gravel. Her stomach flopped. Sadie frowned and covered the teapot with a towel to keep it hot. She wasn’t ready to face callers. Perhaps Nanna would go to the door.
She stepped to the window, open in the hope of catching a breeze, pushed aside the curtain and looked toward the stable. A tall, handsomely dressed man was lifting a woman down from a black phaeton. She skimmed her gaze over the woman’s attractive green gown and caught her breath at the sight of a thick roll of chestnut hair gleaming red in the sunlight beneath a green hat. Willa.
Joy swelled. She whirled away from the window, rushed out the kitchen door. “Willa!” Tears clogged her throat, spilled from her eyes as she raced down the length of the porch.
“Sadie?” Willa stopped dead in her tracks, then lifted her hems and clattered up the steps like they had as children.
She stretched out her arms and was enveloped in a mutual hug, danced around in circles with Willa, laughing and crying, their voices blending as they choked out words. “It’s so good to see you!”
“I’ve missed you so!”
“It’s been so long!”
“So terribly long!”
A throat cleared. “Excuse me, ladies. But if you will let me pass, I will attend to my business inside while you continue your reunion.” There was amused patience in the deep, resonant male voice.
She blinked away her tears and looked over Willa’s shoulder straight into a pair of smiling brown eyes.
“Welcome home, Miss Spencer. I’m the forgotten man—Matthew Calvert, Willa’s husband, at your service.” A lopsided grin slanted across his lips. “At least I will be if I can come up on the porch.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I—”
“He’s only teasing, Sadie.” Willa’s hand gripped her arm and tugged her aside. “I keep telling him it’s very unprofessional behavior for a pastor.”
“And I keep explaining that we all have our little foibles.”
She listened to Matthew Calvert’s laughter, watched the warm, loving look Willa and her husband exchanged and something stirred deep inside. Envy? Ridiculous. She wanted no part of any man, let alone marriage. The very thought of it made her ill. She stepped toward the dining-room door. “Forgive my lapse of manners, Reverend Calvert. Please come in.”
He moved to her side and smiled down at her. “There’s no need for the formal address, Miss Spencer. I am Matthew to Willa’s friends.”
She caught the hopeful look in Willa’s eyes and smiled but couldn’t bring herself to offer him her hand. She grabbed the doorknob as an excuse to withhold it. “I’m Sadie—to Willa’s husband.”
She tried to make it amusing, but acknowledgment of her limited acceptance flickered in his brown eyes, followed by a look of compassion that made her throat constrict. He knew. Willa had told him. A flush of shame prickled her skin.
“Sadie it is. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go pay my call on your grandparents while you ladies visit.”
“They’re in the sitting room. I’ll show you—”
“No need,
