poured into it. Everywhere she looked, Kate saw little touches meant to cheer.
The bouquet on the table. The floral-print high-backed chair beneath the curtained window. A rainbow-striped rug in front of the stone fireplace. A painting of a waterfall on the wall behind the sofa.
Josh obviously loved her sister. What would it feel like, she wondered, to be loved like that? Sadness pressed in on her. She couldn’t recall hearing the words I love you a single time.
Her parents weren’t given to displays of affection.
That was for the lower classes, her mother had said when Kate questioned her.
She recalled walking through the park with her nanny, envious of the children holding hands with their mothers, the little boys balanced on their father’s shoulders looking happy as could be. The longing for love and affection had only grown with time.
God loves you, a small, still voice told Kate. Her eyes smarted with unshed tears. Help me remember, Father, that You love me even when I’m unlovable.
The stillness reminded her that she was alone. For the first time in her life, there were no ladies’ maids waiting behind the scenes to help her undress or fetch her a soothing cup of tea. The realization was both heady and daunting. What would it be like to be an independent woman?
Exhausted from days of travel, not to mention emotionally drained, Kate decided to deal with unpacking later. Instead, she began the tedious process of undressing. First the skirt, then the underskirt. Bustle. Corset cover. Petticoat.
The ivory satin corset presented a problem. Without assistance, it was next to impossible to undo the tight stays. Huffing and grunting, arms twisting every which way, she was at last able to free herself from the rigid contraption. She resisted the unladylike urge to toss it across the room.
Tucking the despised article beneath her arm, she went to investigate the bedroom. Covering the wide bed was a handmade quilt similar to the one on the sofa, this one in pale blues and pinks done in the pattern of interlocking rings. She thought of the thick, luxurious silk coverlet on her own bed. Beautiful, yes, and expensive, but not unique. Before she left, she would ask Mary if she’d be willing to sell her one of hers.
Locating her satchel, she changed into her night rail. Next to the bed was a waist-high table where the oil lamp stood. Extinguishing the flame, the room was plunged into inky darkness.
Kate froze. The blackness closed in on her. Images from her childhood flashed through her mind. Her nanny’s contorted, angry face. The dark closet. Musty-smelling coats, piles of boxes and broken, discarded toys distorted by the shadows. Her lungs struggled to draw in air.
How she hated the dark!
This room was small, the ceiling low. And there were no windows to open, as in her spacious, airy bedroom at the estate. No gentle light from the row of streetlamps to ease her fear, or the occasional sound of horses clomping down the lane to comfort her.
No. I mustn’t give in to the memories.
But they came anyway … of another time, another place. The wine cellar. A man she’d adored. The extinguished candle. Her panic. His calm reassurances and mesmerizing touch. She’d felt so loved …
No! Reining in her thoughts before the shame consumed her, she scrambled beneath the covers and tugged them up to her chin.
Father God, I need You. I don’t want to remember.
He will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee. She repeated the verse until her muscles relaxed and she drifted off to sleep.
Dressed to go visiting Saturday morning, Mary placed fresh-baked loaves of sourdough bread into the basket on the counter. “How are you holding up? I know it must be difficult having Kate around. I could ask Betty if she’d mind her staying over there.”
Leaning back in his chair, Josh toyed with the handle of his coffee mug. A dear friend of his mother’s, Betty Stanley would welcome Kate into her home. He didn’t doubt she’d treat her with kindness. On the downside, she had five sons. All single. And a touch wild. Sending a delicate beauty like Kate over there would be like throwing a rabbit to a pack of hungry wolves. He couldn’t do it.
Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep out in the cabin. All alone. With nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.
“No. I’m fine, Ma.” At the questioning arch of her brow, he added, “Honest.”
“If you change your mind, let me know. I’m sure Kate would understand.”
“I’ll do that.”
“What are your plans for the day?”
“I’m working on Mr. Wilcox’s dining table. He’s anxious to have it before his in-laws arrive next weekend.”
She paused in her preparations. “Could you put it off for a couple of hours? I need someone to keep Kate company while I deliver this.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she tacked on, “I wouldn’t ask, except Nathan has been up all night with Bess. I took his breakfast out to the barn about an hour ago, and the calf still hasn’t made an appearance. And your father and Caleb are milking the cows.”
He didn’t want to play babysitter for Francesca’s little sister, but what choice did he have? His mother went out of her way to make life comfortable for him and his brothers, so whenever she asked a favor, he did his best to comply.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”
“Don’t tell anybody.”
Amid her soft laughter, there came a light knock on the front door.
“That’s probably her. Do you mind, dear?”
Swallowing a sigh, he went to greet their guest. At the sight of her, the greeting on his lips fell flat. Her clothing, fancier even than the previous day’s, was utterly out of place here.
Her silk brocade ensemble put him in mind of the eggplant growing in his ma’s garden—deep, luxurious purple. The slim jacket had sleeves that bloomed out at the shoulders and tightened at the elbow on down to the wrists. A beribboned V emphasized her trim waist, erupting into a six-inch ruffle. The straight skirt below had slits revealing pleated skirts underneath. Corded rosettes adorned both the jacket and skirt, and frothy white fringe peeked out of the wrists.
Her elegant look was spoiled by the mass of chocolate waves tumbling past her shoulders. My goodness, she looked all of sixteen with her hair down. Young and vulnerable. Sweet.
Nope. He took a step back. He refused to be drawn in by her beauty. If anything, Francesca had taught him outward beauty, no matter how innocent-looking, didn’t guarantee a beautiful heart.
“Good morning, Josh.” Her cheeks were a becoming pink. “Might I speak with your mother, please?”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
With a stately nod, she walked past him. He remained where he was, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form. She moved with grace and poise, head high and
