hitched a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“I thought everyone knew everyone else’s business in small towns.”
“That’s true to a point. However, I personally don’t keep track of everyone’s comings and goings.” He shifted on the swaying seat. When a worried crease appeared between her brows, he added, “We’ll ask my mother. She’s friendly with Mrs. Matthews, so there’s a good chance she’ll have an idea where she’s gone, if anywhere. For all we know, she could’ve been visiting a friend or picking up necessities.”
Her expression brightened, then dimmed an instant later. “Even if she is nearby, I can’t possibly stay there. Not with her son.” The fingers plucking at the lace edging her sleeves stilled. “Where is Lily Matthews?”
“Dead.”
Her lips parted. “I don’t understand. Then why—”
“You resemble her.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Matthews used to be a productive member of this town, but he hasn’t been the same since the accident.” He’d heard of the man’s tendency to drink, but he hadn’t realized the severity of the problem. If he had, he wouldn’t have taken Kate out there.
“Does Gatlinburg have a hotel? Or a boardinghouse?”
“No hotel. No boardinghouse. The Copelands occasionally have rooms to let, but their son and his family are visiting from out of town.”
Again, she got that worried look.
“My parents may know of somewhere you can stay,” he tacked on. “Or you could go back to New York.”
She stiffened. “That’s not an option.”
“Why not?”
“I came here to do a job.” At his puzzled expression, she sighed. “The book, remember?”
“Ah, yes. I remember. You’re a photographer.” While he had no issue with working women, he couldn’t picture this elegant, delicate young lady as anything other than a privileged socialite. “Your coming here proved to be very convenient for Francesca, didn’t it? Why not let you deal with the unnecessary groom?”
“Mr. O’Malley, I’m sorry—”
He held up a staying hand as the driver halted the team outside of the livery. “It’s not your place to apologize. Forget I said anything.”
Kate didn’t speak as they exited the carriage. Replacing his hat on his head, he gave instructions to the driver and footman.
“We’ll leave your trunks here until we figure out where you’ll be staying.”
She glanced up and down the busy street. “I thought we were going to your house.”
“We are. It’s not far. I thought you might like to stretch your legs after being cooped up much of the day.”
Surprised that he cared one whit for her comfort, she fell into step beside him.
Passing the last business on the right, Leighton Barbershop, he led her across a quaint, wooden bridge overlooking the river.
The shaded lane enveloped them in a vibrant cocoon, leaves hanging mere inches from their heads. To the right and left stood an endless parade of stately trees reaching for the Heavens, the thick, dark trunks anchored in a sea of gold created by the shorter tulip trees’ golden leaves.
What beauty! How many are your works, O Lord! In wisdom You made them all; the earth is full of Your creatures.
She wished suddenly for a cushioned chair, a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a copy of Scientific American. She’d stay here in this lane for hours if he’d allow it.
Around the bend, the trees opened up to an expansive clearing, the green grass a lush carpet leading to a two-story cabin with a long, narrow front porch and beyond, a weathered barn and several outbuildings. It was just as he’d described, but of course the reality far surpassed her imaginings.
Pigs squealed in the distance. The sizable garden was bursting with jewel-toned vegetables—plump orange pumpkins, glossy eggplant, striped squash of different sizes and shapes, and green peppers.
Temporarily forgetting her dilemma, Kate grinned, ecstatic to see a real farm up close for the first time.
Pointing to impressive rows of trees, she asked, “Are those apple trees?”
He nodded. “McIntosh apples. They’ll be ripe in about a week.”
“That’s a lot of apples.”
“We won’t eat them all fresh. They’ll be used to make cider, vinegar, applesauce and apple butter, not to mention pies and other desserts.”
“You have a beautiful home,” she breathed, a note of wistfulness in her voice.
He glanced over at her. “The good Lord has blessed us.”
As they drew nearer to the house, Kate’s nerves assailed her. How would his parents react to her presence once they learned her awful news? Mouth dry and palms damp inside her buff-colored lace gloves, she slowed her steps.
The front door opened. A man and woman emerged, their faces alight with anticipation. “It’s about time, Joshua!” the woman exclaimed. “We were beginning to think something had happened.” Advancing down the steps, she crossed to meet them, her husband not far behind.
“Sorry to worry you, Ma,” Josh said. “This is—”
“Francesca!” To Kate’s surprise, Mrs. O’Malley clasped her hands in hers. “I’m so pleased to meet you!”
Oh, no. This was not good.
“I—”
“This isn’t Francesca.” Josh ran a finger beneath his shirt collar as if to loosen it. “May I present Kate Morgan? My ex-fiancée’s little sister.”
“Ex-fiancée?” his mother repeated, brow wrinkling in disbelief. “What’s happened, Joshua? Isn’t Francesca coming?”
More than once during her long journey to Tennessee, she’d faced Josh in her imagination. Rehearsing what she’d say. Envisioning what he might say. She hadn’t considered his family’s reaction. Standing here with Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley regarding her as if she were a creature from another planet, she regretted the omission. Not a word came to mind.
Josh’s level gaze was on her as he spoke. “Francesca changed her mind about the marriage. Kate thought it best to bring the news in person.”
“I’m sorry, son,” said Mr. O’Malley, as he placed a comforting hand on Josh’s shoulder.
His mother approached, questions lingering in her eyes. Her tremulous smile lessened Kate’s apprehension a notch. “Kate, I’m Mary. And that’s my Samuel. It’s a brave thing you did, coming here in your sister’s place. Thank you.”
Kate released the breath
