Courting Miss Adelaide Page 3

  The numbers boggled Adelaide. Surely with that many homeless children, there’d be one child for her.

  Perhaps if she went to New York—

  “Your local committee,” he said then consulted his notes, “comprised of Mr. Wylie, Mr. Paul, Mr. Sparks and Mr. Graves, has approved the eligibility of your homes.”

  Involuntarily, Adelaide’s gaze again sought Mr. Graves. Even from this distance, the sight of his determined, serious face shot little pricks of awareness through her limbs.

  She forced her attention back to Mr. Fry.

  “I’ve been told more requests were made than we could provide on this trip. Perhaps in the future as more children come to us, we can remedy that situation.”

  Adelaide caught her breath. If they came again, then, next time she might convince the committee.

  Who was she fooling? No one in Noblesville, or New York, would give a single woman a child. If only she could give her world a twist and watch it transform like the bits of colored glass in the kaleidoscope she’d seen at the mercantile. Maybe then, she’d change a few stubborn minds.

  “Along with periodic visits by one of our agents, these gentlemen have agreed to oversee the children’s welfare. At any time, the agreement to care for a child can be broken, either by the family or by the child.”

  Perhaps a little girl would be unhappy in her new home and the committee would reconsider their decision.

  He cleared his throat. “Now, let’s meet the children.”

  Mr. Fry introduced the bigger boys in the back row. Half listening, Adelaide’s eyes remained riveted on the little blond-haired girl. At last, Mr. Fry gave her name. She stood along with an older boy beside her.

  “Emma and William Grounds are brother and sister. Emma is seven, her brother, William, ten. Their father deserted his family years ago and their mother recently died. Both youngsters are in good health.” Emma and William clutched each other’s hands, their eyes conveyed a warning—they were a matched pair, not to be separated.

  Mr. Fry continued down the row and the Grounds children sat down. Laying her head on her brother’s shoulder, Emma stuck two small fingers in her mouth. Two precious German children, whose father had left them, as hers had done. Adelaide yearned to pull them into her arms until that longing bordered on pain.

  Oh, Lord, please bring these children into my life.

  Mr. Fry instructed the selected couples to seek out the children and the meeting ended. Almost against her will, Adelaide moved toward the Grounds siblings. She froze when she spotted Frances and Ed Drummond, wearing black out of respect for Mrs. Hartman’s untimely death, talking to William and Emma.

  As Adelaide watched, Emma tentatively took Frances’s hand. William sat silent, his arms hanging limp. A woman who’d accompanied the orphans on the train joined the couple and spoke to William. Apparently overcoming his hesitation, he took his sister’s other hand.

  Disappointment slammed into Adelaide’s stomach. She swayed and sank onto a nearby chair. Her children were going to live with that angry man and his spiritless wife. Helpless to act, she watched the four of them cross to the registration table. The Drummonds signed a paper and left the room before a miracle could bring those children into her arms. Didn’t God care about them? About her?

  Across the way, Judge and Mrs. Willowby left with a dark-eyed, curly-haired boy in tow. The same process repeated all around the room. Soon all the orphans were spoken for and on their way to new homes.

  A heavy stone of misery sparked a sudden, uncustomary anger. Adelaide approached the table where the men who’d denied her application sifted through paperwork. “How could you allow the Drummonds to have the Grounds children?”

  Mr. Paul, his face turning a deep shade of crimson, leapt to his feet. “Now see here, Miss Crum, it’s not your place to criticize the decisions of this committee!”

  Mr. Wylie took Mr. Paul’s arm. “No need to raise your voice, Thaddeus.” He turned to Adelaide. “The Drummonds are fine people. Ed sits on the county council, helps his neighbors. You probably heard Mrs. Drummond recently lost her mother.” He grimaced. “A few years back, their only child died in a horrible accident. They deserve this new beginning.”

  Face pinched, Mr. Sparks came around the table. “You’re mistaken about the Drummonds. They pay their bills and attend church.”

  Adelaide wanted to challenge their view, but that meant butting her head into that stone wall of men. Without a doubt, Frances was a good person, but she’d changed into a colorless, weary creature, perhaps downtrodden by her husband.

  “Do you have proof they’re unsuitable?” Mr. Graves asked.

  Adelaide moved forward. “The day of the interviews, Mr. Drummond looked very angry—”

  “If that’s a crime, we’d all be in trouble.” Mr. Wylie chuckled. “I know you’ve never been married, Miss Crum, but it’s not uncommon for husbands and wives to argue.”

  She tamped down her annoyance. They hadn’t seen Ed Drummond’s expression. But they’d already gone back to their paperwork, dismissing her with silence.

  All except Mr. Graves, who studied her with dark, somber eyes. But he remained mute.

  She turned to leave, then stepped into the bright sunlight, watching wagons and buggies roll away from the schoolhouse. Her gaze lingered on the smiling couples with youngsters.

  For a moment, she regretted refusing Jack’s offer of marriage.

  But then she remembered how he’d gobble dinner, barely speaking a word, and later, hands folded over a premature paunch, would fall asleep in the parlor until he roused enough to go home. No sharing of dreams, no laughter, no connection. His only thank-you for the meal was an odorous belch.

  Without a doubt, her main appeal to Jack had been the income from her shop. Adelaide lifted her chin. If marriage offered no more than that, she could manage nicely without a man. But a child…A child was different.

  Charles watched Miss Crum leave. What had she seen or heard that upset her enough to challenge the committee? With his own misgivings needling him, he followed her. “Miss Crum!”

  She pivoted. His heart stuttered in his chest, a warning that when it came to Miss Crum, he was fast losing his objectivity. “I need to ask. What made you say the Drummonds wouldn’t make good parents?”

  She met his gaze with an icy stare. “I’ve seen Ed’s temper. Frances appears heartbroken, unable to care for two children.”

  “That’s understandable. She lost her mother—”

  A light touch on his arm cut off his words.

  “Have you ever had a bad feeling about anyone, Mr. Graves?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then you can understand my concern. I have a bad feeling about that man.”

  As a newsman, he might use intuition to guide him, but he needed tangible evidence, not the insight of one disgruntled woman. “With nothing to base it on—”

  “I know the committee’s position. They made it clear the day I applied.” She gave him a curt nod. “Good day.”

  Watching her leave, he regretted the committee’s decision. No point in getting sappy about it. He wasn’t in the business of securing everyone’s happiness, even the happiness of a woman with eyes the color of a clear summer sky.

  Crossing the street, he slipped between a buckboard hauling sacks of feed and a dray wagon. The image of Adelaide Crum nagged at him with a steadfastness that left him shaken.

  Yet, the lady saw things as black and white, right or wrong, while he found areas of gray. Not that it mattered. He had no intention of getting involved with her, with anyone.

  He had all he could do running the paper and helping his brother’s family. He didn’t want another complication in his life, in particular a complication of the female sort.

  Yet something about Adelaide Crum made him question his decision.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday morning Adelaide sewed pink ribbons on to a child’s bonnet, each tiny stitch made with infinite care. On the table besid
e her, her Bible lay closed. Unread.

  As she worked, she pictured Emma Grounds, the little German girl, wearing this hat as they picked daylilies out back. She imagined bending down to gather the girl to her, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the scent of warmed skin, the scent of a child.

  Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting tears, then knotted the final thread, snipped off the ends and laid the finished hat on her lap. In reality, a customer would buy this bonnet for her daughter or granddaughter and it would be gone, out of Adelaide’s grasp as surely as Emma.

  She removed her spectacles and laid the hat on the counter. The bell jingled over the door. The sight of Laura Larson brought a smile to Adelaide’s face. Laura’s youthful spirit might be encased in a plump, matronly body, but her laughter lit up a room like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. Without her help, Adelaide couldn’t have managed the shop during her mother’s illness. “Hello!”

  Laura strolled toward her, her gaze sweeping the shop. Slicked back into a bun, some of her salt-and-pepper curls escaped to frame her round unwrinkled face. “My, my, haven’t you been busy.”

  Leaning on the counter, Adelaide viewed her surroundings through Laura’s eyes. Hats lined every shelf and perched on every stand. Already full when she’d become work-possessed, display cabinets burst at the seams. “I guess I’m overstocked.”

  Laura giggled, sounding more like a young girl than a grandmother in her fifties. “I’d say so. Do you have some hat-making elves tucked away in the back?”

  Adelaide smiled. “No, I made them all.”

  “Why so many?”

  What could Adelaide say? She’d been drowning her sorrow in hats? That for the past two weeks she’d been sewing, rather than praying about her problems? “Would you like some tea?”

  “Tea sounds wonderful, if you have the time.”

  Adelaide headed to the kettle on the tiny potbellied stove in the back. “One thing I have plenty of is time.”

  “What you have plenty of, dear, is hats,” Laura said, following her.

  Pouring steaming water into a prepared teapot, Adelaide chuckled. For a moment, the sound stopped her hand. How long had it been since she’d laughed?

  Adelaide gathered two cups with saucers and added a teaspoon of sugar in each, the way she and Laura liked their tea. She carried the tray into the showroom.

  Laura joined her at the table, a cozy spot where her customers leafed through copies of Godey’s Lady’s Book while enjoying a restorative cup of tea.

  “Why not mark them down and run an ad in the paper?” Laura said. “You’ll need the space when it’s time to display wools and velvets.”

  Running an ad meant seeing Mr. Graves. She would like to strategically poke a hatpin into every member of the committee, even The Ledger’s editor. Of course, she’d do no such a thing.

  Filling Laura’s cup, Adelaide sighed. “I’ll run an ad.”

  Laura took a sip, and then rested her cup in the saucer. “You missed Wednesday night’s prayer meeting. Again.” Laura touched her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Adelaide lifted her head, meeting Laura’s gentle and accepting, ready-to-listen eyes. Her gaze skittered away and settled on the bonnet lying on the counter, then over to her unread Bible.

  She considered telling Laura about her struggles, but it might sound as if she blamed God. And she didn’t. It was her fault she resisted His will for her life. Or was it the committee who refused His will? Her mind had been so full of hurt and discouragement she no longer heard with certainty the quiet, inner voice that had guided and sustained her.

  Laura gave her hand a squeeze, but said nothing, simply waited. Tenacious as a bulldog tugging at a trouser leg, Laura wouldn’t let go until she got the story.

  “A couple weeks ago, I asked to care for one of the orphans coming to town on the train, and the committee turned me down.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Afterward—” She bit her lower lip until she could continue. “To keep busy, I made hats.”

  Laura turned over Adelaide’s hand. “Which explains your rough palms and bloodshot eyes.”

  “It’s been…a difficult time.”

  “Yes, I see—”

  “Do you? Do you see this was my last chance—” Adelaide blinked hard and pulled away her hand.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Laura said, her heartfelt tone bringing a lump to Adelaide’s throat.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry for burdening you with this.”

  “Don’t be silly! I’m your friend.” Laura slapped the table. “That committee is made up of nitwits.”

  “Some nitwits. Only the superintendent of schools, the president of the bank, the editor of our newspaper—”

  “Mr. Graves?” Laura scooted to the edge of her seat.

  “None other.”

  “Now there is a handsome man,” Laura said, with a grin. “Looks like his father.”

  Adelaide gasped. “You knew Mr. Graves’s father?”

  Laura nodded, her eyes shining like a brand-new penny. “He grew up in Noblesville. Back then, I had a huge crush on Adam Graves. But he only had eyes for your mother.”

  “My mother?”

  “Yes, dear, it might astonish you to hear this, but as a young woman, Constance Gunder reigned as belle of the county.”

  Her mother had been an attractive woman, but the pained expression she’d worn as long as Adelaide could remember suggested Constance had never known a happy day in her life.

  “For a long while, Adam and your mother were inseparable,” Laura continued. “Everyone assumed they’d marry.”

  Adelaide hadn’t been told any of this. Why had her mother gone from belle to bitter? “What happened?”

  “Constance fell in love with your father. Not a staying kind of man, but he swept your mother off her feet.” Laura sighed. “Adam moved away right after that. Landed in Cincinnati, I believe. Your folks got married. As far as I know, Adam never came back, not even to visit his parents before they died.”

  “That seems callous.”

  “A broken heart can change a man—and a woman. I’ve always wondered if that’s what damaged your mother.”

  Adelaide shook her head. “My mother never opened her heart enough to get it broken.” She ran her finger around the cup’s rim. “Did you know my father?”

  “Not really. A fun-loving, charming traveling salesman with dimples—that pretty much describes Calvin Crum.”

  “Do you know why he left?”

  Laura shook her head. “Constance never confided in me.” Laura pursed her lips, as if cutting off something she wanted to say, then brightened. “Well, all that’s water under the bridge.” She waggled her brows. “I understand Adam Graves’s son is available.”

  “For what?”

  “For your ad, what else? And you better get over there, before all these hats start gathering dust.” Laura returned to her tea, her face the picture of innocence, knowing full well she’d used the exact words that would convince Adelaide to place the ad and put her into the presence of Mr. Graves.

  Whether Adelaide wanted to deal with the editor or not, she needed cash to buy supplies. She couldn’t afford to dip into her meager savings.

  Besides, she had another pressing reason to see him. “I do owe Mr. Graves and the entire committee an apology.”

  “Why?”

  “I lost my temper at the distribution of the orphans.” Adelaide glanced at her hands.

  “I’d have wanted to give them a piece of my mind, too.”

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t have. I’ve asked God’s forgiveness.” She swallowed. “But I’ve put off the next step.”

  Laura nodded. “You’ll be doing the right thing. You can place the ad as an act of repentance and good business.” Laura smiled, then rose to give Adelaide a quick hug. “I’ll be back to quilt on Monday. I’m only blocks away if you need me,” Laura said, then left.

  Adelaide restored order to the shop and then cli
mbed the stairs, her stomach lurching at the prospect of facing Mr. Graves and the entire committee. If she had more say in what happened, maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess. In her world, an unmarried woman couldn’t discern anger in a man, couldn’t challenge the decisions of men. Couldn’t be deemed fit to rear a motherless child, though countless widows raised their own children.

  If only I had a way to get through to these men, to let my voice be heard.

  Then maybe—

  “Oh, why am I even bothering to dream about what can’t be undone?” she said to the empty room.

  Adelaide whipped off the apron, smoothed her navy skirt and then donned hat and gloves. Mr. Graves would not see how dejected she’d been since the committee’s decision.

  In fact, she wouldn’t let Mr. Graves see her heart at all.

  Downstairs, she flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED, left the shop and stood at the edge of the boardwalk, waiting while horses of every description clopped past. The sight of the huge animals always left Adelaide weak in the knees. Would she ever get over her fear of horses?

  Seeing an opening, she hustled across the street, holding the hem of her skirt out of the dust. Arriving safely on the other side without being crushed by the temperamental beasts, she heaved a sigh of relief. In front of The Ledger, she took a moment to slow her breathing. Grasping the handle of the door, she turned the knob when the door burst open.

  A young man slammed into her. The red-faced youth steadied her with his hand. “Excuse me, miss! Are you all right?”

  Adelaide fluffed her leg-of-mutton sleeves. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I’m rushing to get to the courthouse. A horse thief is being arraigned today, and I’m sitting in on the trial.” Holding a pad and pencil aloft, he puffed out his chest like a bantam rooster. “I’m a reporter.”

  “Not apt to be one for long if you knock down a loyal reader, James,” warned a deep masculine voice, a familiar voice that sent a wave of heat to Adelaide’s cheeks.

  The young man’s complexion also deepened to the color of beets. The editor smiled, softening the harshness of his words, and gave Adelaide a wink. The second time he’d winked at her. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile back.