Courting Miss Adelaide Page 13

Adelaide tended to agree. She’d learned she didn’t care much for keeping her mouth shut when a good deal needed to be said. Still, Fannie carried friendliness to an extreme. “Perhaps at first,” Adelaide said carefully, “but as a woman gets to know the man, she shares more of her thoughts.”

  She’d certainly given Charles a piece of her mind. They’d reached the point where they disagreed about everything. Perhaps she needed a few lessons in demureness. Maybe then she could live in the confines of her gender and still be her own woman.

  “Carriage is important. A woman of breeding doesn’t take a room by storm. She walks with grace and dignity.” Adelaide strolled across the room, posture erect, chin level with the floor, eyes straight ahead. She turned to Fannie. “You try.”

  Fannie lurched to her feet, almost knocking over her chair, then shook in a fit of giggling. She leaned against the table until her laughter subsided, then followed in Adelaide’s tracks, her skirts swaying provocatively. “Like this?”

  “Ah, a little less movement of the hips.”

  Fannie’s brow puckered. “I thought men liked that.”

  They did indeed. “You don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

  Fannie stared at her blankly.

  “That you’re…well…unchaste.”

  “Oh!” Fannie’s mouth gaped open, releasing a nervous laugh.

  “Now, try again.”

  This time Fannie carried herself with a modicum of dignity.

  “Much better.”

  Fannie guffawed.

  “You know, Fannie, frequent giggling detracts from a woman’s demeanor, especially if she giggles for no reason.”

  “So I should just smile? You know—the kind of smile that doesn’t show my teeth?” Fannie attempted the serene smile, which triggered yet another bout of giggling. “Oh, mercy me, I can’t.”

  Muscles knotted at the base of Adelaide’s neck. She’d once possessed patience in abundance, but Fannie’s first lesson in deportment had only begun, and already Adelaide struggled to relax her jaw.

  Part of the problem stemmed from Adelaide’s recent doubt that a woman should have to conform. A man never worried about how he walked or smiled.

  Fannie sniggered. “I’m glad I’m not one of those people who giggle so much they get on people’s nerves.”

  By now, Adelaide was grinding her teeth, but Fannie didn’t notice.

  Instead, she practiced her smile, keeping her lips together. “How’s this?” she said, then giggled raucously.

  Adelaide rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Fine. Perfect.”

  Inwardly, she admitted her first attempt to help one of the women of Noblesville had failed miserably. Effecting town-wide change with words had to be easier than helping Fannie learn to walk across a room without swishing her backside like a busy broom.

  Chapter Eleven

  A week later with the first of her suffrage articles in print Adelaide passed the dry goods store and almost bumped into Lizzie Augsburger coming out with her arms full of packages. Lizzie’s green eyes twinkled, as if she had a funny story to tell. “I’m glad I ran into you. Since you’ve started writing articles, reading the paper is exciting.”

  Her words warmed Adelaide clear to her toes. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t miss an issue. Your fashion column’s such fun. I totally agree with your thoughts on suffrage, too,” she said, using a low confidential tone. “Women should have the vote.”

  “How did your husband react?”

  “Your column caused quite a stir.” She waved her free hand. “Got George’s sap flowing. Why, he threatened to cancel the paper, told me to buy my hats somewhere else, like there’s anyplace else to buy quality hats in this town.” She chuckled and shifted the bags in her arms. “I kind of enjoyed the show. It’s been ages since we’ve discussed more than, ‘Pass the potatoes.’” Lizzie smiled. “You’ve brought exactly what we need into our house—a touch of controversy.”

  “Glad I could help. I think.”

  “Don’t worry. We made up. And that was fun, too.” She cocked her head. “Maybe next, you should tackle those nasty spittoons. The men in this town miss half the time. A lady has to watch her step.”

  They said goodbye and Adelaide headed to the bank, suddenly weary. George Augsburger, the most even-keeled man in town, had threatened to cancel the paper. Everywhere she went she got a reaction to her columns. Her words may have enlivened the Augsburger marriage, but they weren’t doing much for her life.

  She’d made no inroads in her quest to become Emma’s mother. She’d wired Mr. Fry. In his reply he suggested she leave the matter in the committee’s hands. William’s teacher told her he was missing school but Superintendent Paul told Charles many of the boys stayed home during spring planting.

  Inside the bank, footsteps clicking on the tiled lobby floor and echoing off the pressed-tin ceiling overhead, she walked toward the teller’s window to deposit her meager receipts. Business in the shop had slowed. If this continued—

  “Miss Crum!”

  John Sparks stood at the door to his office, motioning for her. What did the president of the bank need with her? From the expression on his face, she didn’t want to know.

  She crossed the lobby to meet him.

  In the shaft of sunlight filtering in from his office window, Mr. Sparks’s bald head gleamed. “This stand you’re taking on women’s suffrage—can’t imagine what you’re thinking.” Behind his thick glasses, Mr. Sparks blinked in rapid succession. “Well, aren’t you going to explain?”

  She prayed her answer wouldn’t hurt her chances of keeping Emma. “Women are citizens of this country, but without the vote, they can’t influence the policies that affect them.”

  “They have husbands to do that for them.”

  Did everything come down to a woman’s marital status? Adelaide counted to ten. “Not every woman is married.”

  Mr. Sparks shifted his gaze to the floor. “True.” He crossed his arms and rejoined her gaze. “But men study the issues and vote for the good of the entire community, for women and children. No need to clutter ladies’ minds with government.”

  Decked out in her Sunday best, Mildred Rogers, the sheriff’s wife, entered the bank, paused a moment, then inched closer. Customers who had finished their business and were leaving the bank, slowed as they passed, then stopped to listen.

  Adelaide had come to make a deposit, not stand on a soapbox, but she said, “Women have good minds and are capable of studying issues.” A murmur of agreement left Mildred’s lips. Adelaide cocked her head. “How does Mrs. Sparks feel about it?”

  Mr. Sparks’s brows rose into what had once been his hairline. “Why, I never asked her.”

  No surprise there. “Maybe you should.” Adelaide smiled. “It never hurts to get a woman’s opinion.”

  A couple men stood listening to the exchange. “Are you that troublemaker from the paper?” the tall one asked.

  “Yes, that’s her,” Mr. Sparks said, wagging his finger. “If women get the vote, the next thing you know, they’ll be telling their husbands what to do.”

  Ah, the core of the controversy. How could she make them understand she upheld the Biblical example of marriage? “Having the right to express their opinions at the polls will merely give women a right to be heard, not a right to silence men.”

  Mrs. Rogers waved a hand as if asking for permission to speak. “I agree with you there, Adelaide.” Mildred shot Mr. Sparks a glare, then moved a step closer. A group of onlookers now circled them, arguing among themselves.

  “See all the trouble you’re causing? All this talk about women voting puts a knot in my belly.” Mr. Sparks rubbed his stomach as if to prove it. “Change. That’s what it is. And once that’s the law, no telling where it’ll lead.”

  A thin man shot a wad into a nearby spittoon. “Next thing you know, women will be wearing the breeches in the family!”

  Adelaide shook her head. “Getting the vote will give women the same r
ights as men. Not more.”

  “Miss Crum, you’re turning this bank into a sideshow.” Mr. Sparks shooed the growing group of listeners toward the counter. “The tellers are waiting, folks.”

  People inched away, looking as if they’d like to leave their ears behind. A few didn’t budge, including Mildred, but Mr. Sparks stared them down and they finally left.

  Mr. Sparks moved closer to Adelaide, within inches. “With your involvement at the paper, I wonder how you have time to care for Emma,” the banker said, his tone sinister.

  The threat stomped on Adelaide’s lungs and she inhaled sharply. “I write my columns while Emma is in school.”

  He shook his head. “The controversy’s got to affect the little girl. You’re molding an impressionable young mind. Classmates are probably teasing her as we speak.”

  “Are you suggesting the committee would move Emma to spite me? Hasn’t she been through enough?”

  “I see it as removing Emma before you confuse her.” He leaned closer. “If I were you, I’d stick to fashion columns.”

  Mr. Sparks stepped to his office, giving her one last warning scowl before closing the door with a click.

  Motionless, blood pounding in her temples, Adelaide recalled Charles’s warning about this very thing. But she’d felt compelled to speak out, to explain the importance of women getting the vote.

  Mr. Paul and Mr. Wylie would undoubtedly share Mr. Sparks’s view. Would her words cost her Emma? Had she stepped out of God’s will for her life?

  God, please show me the way.

  To get a better view, Charles pushed through the crowd. Only a smoldering shell remained of the Anderson house.

  He found owner Matthew Anderson and jotted down names and ages of the family and the cause of the fire—a knocked-over kerosene lamp. Then Charles walked over to speak to Sheriff Rogers. He’d run a story, explaining the Andersons’ plight, which should generate donations for the family of six.

  Charles’s gaze swept the scene one last time. Mrs. Anderson, holding her baby son in her arms, and two young daughters huddled in a circle of sympathetic ladies. Mr. Anderson and his older boy stood apart, staring at the ruins, when Ed Drummond, of all people, approached. Curious, Charles edged closer.

  Anderson laid his hand on his young son’s shoulder. “I’m mighty grateful we all got out,” he said to Drummond.

  A shadow crossed Ed’s face. “That’s all that matters.”

  “Reckon you know that better than anyone, Ed.”

  Drummond nodded, cleared his throat and then directed his attention to the boy. “A fire’s pretty scary, hey, Tad?”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy heaved a sigh that seemed to weigh more than his small frame. “My straw-stuffed kitty burned up.”

  Ed ruffled the young boy’s hair. “Soon as I heard about the fire, I started gathering things from the neighbors. I’ve got clothing and blankets in my wagon.” He directed his words to Anderson, but his eyes remained on Tad’s soot-stained cheeks. “I remember seeing some toys. Wanna go look?”

  A grin spread across the boy’s face. “Sure!”

  Charles couldn’t believe he’d suspected Drummond, a man this kind, even tenderhearted toward a child, of abuse.

  At the wagon, Ed turned back to Matthew Anderson. “If your family needs a place to stay, the Phillips family has offered their home.”

  “The missus and kids are going to her sister’s. With chores to do twice a day, I’ll stay and sleep in the loft.”

  Charles’s gaze turned to the imposing barn and the livestock now turned out to pasture.

  As if on cue, Drummond and Anderson swiveled their heads to the ruins. “The fire department couldn’t save the house, but I’m grateful they kept it from spreading to the barn.”

  Ed clapped a hand on Anderson’s shoulder. “As soon as it cools down, fourteen men from church will be out and start raising a new house on that foundation. With that many able-bodied men at work, before you know it, you’ll be moving in.”

  Anderson bowed his head and swiped a hand across his wet eyes. “I appreciate it. More than I can say.”

  “I’ll never forget you did my chores after…Eddie.”

  “It was the least I could do.” Anderson tugged his son to his side. “When I think how close—” He stopped, shook his head.

  Charles walked to the lane, mounted Ranger and rode to town, thinking about Drummond. Ed had gathered what the burned-out family needed and would help rebuild the house along with thirteen others from his church. He’d realized a frightened boy needed a stuffed animal to cuddle. The man didn’t fit the description of any child beater he’d ever seen.

  But then, Charles’s father had been a caring man in the community, always joking, likable—and yet, a fraud.

  Could Ed be a fake, too? Charles shifted in the saddle. He flicked the reins, refusing to think about Adam Graves.

  His mind turned to Addie. To mention Ed’s philanthropy would start a disagreement. Were her suspicions the product of her unconscious hope she’d somehow end up with Emma?

  He couldn’t take the chance on a hunch. If he did anything that led to Ed and Frances losing those children, and he was wrong, he’d hurt an innocent family and ruin his credibility.

  Still, he wanted Addie to have Emma. She was a different woman than the one he’d first met at the interview. That Addie held her emotions inside. This new Addie stood up for what she believed in, laughed easily, but most importantly loved Emma.

  When Emma returned to the Drummonds, Addie’s heart would break. At the prospect, his stomach clenched.

  Adelaide clung to a thread of emotional conclusions, not to the strong rope of cold facts. For her sake, he either had to disprove her theory—or if abuse existed, uncover the truth.

  With the paper out this morning, he had some time and would drive out to talk to Tulley. Maybe Ed’s neighbor would give new insight. He’d ask Addie to ride along.

  Even with the turmoil between them, picturing Adelaide’s face in his mind, he longed to have her near.

  At the livery, Charles left Ranger in the care of the freckle-faced stable hand, and then loped toward the center of town and crossed the street to Adelaide’s shop.

  As he entered, two ladies toting hatboxes walked past. He held open the door and they gave him a friendly nod.

  “Ladies,” he said smiling, and then closed the door after them. He crossed to where Addie stood and soaked up some of the radiance from her face. Was it the sales or could he be the reason for that glow?

  “Charles.” His name sounded gentler, more refined coming from her lips. “This is a surprise.” She fingered a garment on the counter. “I figured you were still angry with me.”

  How could he ever be mad at anyone with eyes that blue? “And you with me. Considering our dual ownership of the paper, it’s bound to happen. As a newsman, I’ve learned not to take a dispute personally.”

  “As a woman, I’ve learned a man can be wrong—without taking it personally.” She shot him a triumphant smile.

  He chuckled. “I kind of enjoy that temper of yours.”

  Her eyes widened. “Me? What about you? You—”

  “See how easy it is to raise your hackles?”

  She let out a laugh. “So you came to pester me?”

  “No, ma’am.” He stepped closer. “I came to look at you.” Her face colored, pretty as a pink rose in bloom. He liked tipping her poise with a few words. “And to hear about Jack.”

  On the counter, she began ironing the garment’s folds with her hands. “I shouldn’t have said those things about Jack.”

  “Oh, but I’m glad you did.”

  Her chin went up and she shot him a look that would have squelched a weaker man, but Charles merely laughed.

  “Don’t think you’re perfect. You have faults, too.”

  “Name them.”

  She examined her nails. “I can’t waste my day listing them. You’re a smart man. Surely, you can figure them out yourself.�
�

  He chuckled, then let his gaze roam her face, memorizing every contour. The high cheek bones, pert nose, slim straight brows. He couldn’t let her down. “You looked busy when I came in.”

  “Those ladies were my first paying customers since my column came out.” She sighed. “Still, I’ve got to start on fall hats. I’ve decided to ask Laura Larson to help in the shop two days a week so I’ll have more time with Emma.”

  Charles laid a hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. “And for me, I hope.”

  “All I can concentrate on is keeping that precious little girl.” Adelaide pulled her hand from under his.

  “That’s why I’m here. I have to see Joe Tulley, one of our county commissioners, for an article. His farm edges the Drummond place. If you want to ride along, we’ll ask his opinion of Ed.”

  “I’d love to.” Adelaide gave him a dazzling smile. “What do you want to see the commissioner about?”

  He blinked. His mind suddenly blank as a new chalkboard. “What?”

  “Why are you interviewing Mr. Tulley?”

  He cleared his throat. “Ah, Tulley is pushing for upgrading the county roads.”

  He was reacting as if she were a magnet and he was a pile of iron filings, losing every coherent thought, except ones of her. He rose and walked to the counter to put some distance between them. “I spoke to the committee. They had nothing new to say about Ed, though they all mentioned the tragedy of his son’s death.”

  “Sympathy for the Drummonds’ loss colors the committee’s judgment. And it doesn’t help that Ed’s uncle, Roscoe Sullivan, is a respected member of the community.”

  Maybe she had valid points. Still, he suspected Addie of overreacting, not maliciously, but because she cared.

  Deep down, Charles knew Addie would never have permitted a child of hers to be beaten, by anyone, even the child’s father. Unlike his mother or hers, Addie had an inner strength, a strength he supposed came from her deep faith in and obedience to God.

  For her sake, he’d gather information and see where the facts led, hoping they would point to Ed’s unsuitability. But after what he’d seen out at the fire, the gentle way Drummond had treated the Anderson boy, he doubted it. “So far, we have no reason to suspect Ed of abusing William.”