Courting Miss Adelaide (7 page)

Mary tied a knot in her thread. “You’re doing a fine job.”

“I don’t mean help with quilting.” Fannie sighed. “I mean help with men. Well, not all men, only one. Charles Graves.”

Adelaide missed the eye of the needle with her thread.

Mary shrugged. “I can’t be much help. My brother-in-law is a mystery, even to me.”

“Adelaide, you were talking to Mr. Graves.” Fannie whisked her gaze over Adelaide either sizing her up as the competition—or fitting her for a very tight seam. “You—” Fannie hesitated “—don’t have designs on him, do you?”

Adelaide’s pulse skipped a beat. “Designs?”

Every hand hovered over the quilt, all eyes riveted on her and Fannie. Adelaide shook her head.

“I didn’t think you did. I told Mama, ‘Adelaide Crum is too levelheaded for a man like Mr. Graves.’ I can’t imagine you two courting.” Fannie’s eyes narrowed. “So you were at the paper on business. Nothing else?”

Heat filled Adelaide’s veins. “Yes, business for the shop.”

Fannie beamed. “Oh, I’m glad. I’m mad about Mr. Graves. Mama says he’d be quite the catch.”

With her teeth, Sally broke off a length of thread. “Are you doing a little fishing, Fannie? Over at
The Ledger?
”

The women chuckled.

Fannie sighed. “I’m not sure you noticed, Adelaide, but Mr. Graves didn’t seem all that eager to try my b-biscuits.” Her voice quavered. “I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

As much as Adelaide didn’t want to, a thread of sympathy tugged between her heart and Fannie’s. The girl meant well, even if she didn’t see the consequences of her words or actions.

“Maybe your reputation as a cook is scaring him off,” Laura said, one brow arched.

“Well, it’s hard to get the temperature right in that huge cookstove of Mama’s. But how would Mr. Graves know that?”

“You told him,” Adelaide reminded her.

“I did?” Fannie thought a second. “Oh, I did!” Her green eyes filled with tears. “I’ve ruined my chances with him, exactly like I ruin my biscuits.”

Adelaide laid down her needle. “That’s no reason to cry.”

“I’m sorry.” Fannie dashed away the tears slipping down her cheeks. “It’s just that I’m getting…well, desperate.”

Martha harrumphed. “Desperate? How?”

“In three months, I’ll be twenty. I’ve always planned to be engaged by my twentieth birthday. I’m getting old!” she wailed.

Fast losing sympathy for the girl, and with her own birthday looming, Adelaide bit back a retort.

Laura shook her head. “Fannie, dear, I’m sure you don’t intend to, but you have a way of making me feel ancient.”

Fannie gasped. “Oh, chicken feathers, Laura. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you in such a rush anyway?” Martha asked, smoothing her dress over her bulging belly. “If you ask me, men are like flies. You trap yourself one, only to learn he can be a pest.”

“Appears to me, yours has been pestering you plenty,” Sally said and the room once again filled with laughter.

Fannie took up her needle again. “I’ll lose my looks soon.”

Sally waved a dismissive hand. “Phooey! You’re pretty. I look like a possum and I still managed to get a husband.”

Adelaide gasped. “You do not look like a possum!”

“I do,” Sally said, stitching along a rose-sprigged petal. “Small beady eyes, long nose, gray hair. Why, with my sons toting guns everywhere, I rarely venture out after dark.”

Chuckles bounced off the high ceiling. “You’re making fun, but I’m serious,” Fannie moaned. “What am I doing wrong?”

Laura rose and stepped around the frame, then tilted Fannie’s face to hers. “You’re too eager. Let the man take the lead.”

“I’m only being friendly,” she said dismissing the comment. “What I need is a new hat, maybe a new way to style my hair. You always look fashionable, Adelaide. Will you help me?”

Adelaide thought of telling Fannie to leave the editor alone, but that wasn’t her place. Nor did she care who he courted, though she had questions about the man. Even more about Adam Graves’s will.

Sally gave Fannie a wink. “Play possum more, Fannie.”

“Play possum?”

Sally nodded. “When you chase the men like a hound dog after a fox, why, you take all the fun out of it. Pretend you don’t care. Pretend you wouldn’t feed them a biscuit if they were the last to arrive for the fishes and loaves.”

Fannie turned to Adelaide. “You’re the best possum I know. Would you help me become more…?”

“Demure,” Laura provided.

“Demure?” Fannie smiled wide. “I like the sound of that.”

Had Fannie compared her to a wild animal that hung from a tree by its tail? Adelaide worked up a smile before she injured Fannie with her needle. As much as Fannie grated on her nerves, if she refused, the ladies might decide she had an interest in Mr. Graves. “It would be my pleasure.”

“With your help, Adelaide, Charles Graves will fall in love with me, and I’ll soon be a married lady.”

As Adelaide listened to Fannie chatter on about his virtues, she realized her help meant trying to get Fannie a husband and children. She had to wonder—

What kind of bargain had she struck? And what would it cost her in the end?

Charles paced the private dining room at the Becker House. His sister-in-law, wearing her best finery, sat watching him, her expression wistful. Could she be thinking Sam should be sitting beside her, instead of lying in Crownland Cemetery?

He’d wanted to rip into Mr. Evans’s briefcase to look at the terms of his father’s will. When it came to legalities, the gregarious attorney kept a tight rein on his mouth and skillfully sidestepped every question Charles had slung at him, giving no hint why Adam had mentioned the milliner in his will.

At exactly one o’clock Mr. Evans ushered Miss Crum, looking as perplexed as he felt, into the room. She glanced at him, her eyes filling with sympathy, probably for his loss. She couldn’t know grief was the last emotion his father’s death elicited.

She still wore the bird nest hat. On her, the silly hat looked good. Every hair in place, her clothing spotless, Miss Crum appeared serene. Only a heightened color in her cheeks suggested either the heat or an inner turmoil bothered her.

Well, she wasn’t the only one stirred up by the chain of events. His father was no philanthropist. He’d never cared about the financial problems a woman might have either running a business or raising two children alone. He’d never cared about anyone.

Mr. Evans stepped forward. “Miss Crum, I believe you said that you and Mary Graves quilt together.”

Miss Crum smiled. “Yes, and we attend the same church. Mary’s father is my doctor.”

“This is indeed a small town.” Mr. Evans grinned, motioning to the table. “Well, since we’re all here, let’s take seats and get down to business before we roast and find ourselves on the hotel bill of fare.” He chuckled, but no one else laughed.

Miss Crum took a chair across from Mary. Charles strode to the other side of the table and sat beside his brother’s widow.

After sitting at the head of the table, Mr. Evans unlocked his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. “I have here Adam Graves’s last will and testament.”

Charles shifted in his seat.

“‘I, Adam Graves, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath to my son, Charles Andrew Graves, and to Mary Lynn Graves, my son Samuel Eugene Graves’s widow, my house in Cincinnati and its contents.’”

Apparently his father had kept his boyhood home. Nothing could ever make him step inside that place.

Mr. Evans glanced at him and Mary. “If neither of you want to move in…”

Both Mary and Charles shook their heads.

“Then I suggest the house and belongings be sold at auction. My assistant can ship personal items you might want.”

“Sell them all,” Charles said, his tone filled with bitterness.

“If Mary agrees, I can do that, except for this.” He took a silky pouch from his briefcase and removed a gold pocket watch, the fob hanging from a thin chain. “When Adam made out his will, he asked me to give this watch to you personally.”

Taking the watch, Charles felt the weight of it in his palm and took in the intricate engraving on the lid. His gaze dropped to the fob. He pictured Grandpa Graves, a large man with a hearty laugh, dangling the fob from callused hands, coaxing Charles and Sam onto his lap. His grandparents’ rare visits were peaceful times. He tucked the watch in his pocket.

“‘I bequeath Charles Graves the sum of two thousand dollars,’” Mr. Evan continued, “‘and fifty percent ownership of
The Noblesville Ledger.’
”

Charles’s jaw tightened. Leaving half ownership of the paper to him and half to Mary wasn’t good business, but at least Charles knew his sister-in-law wouldn’t interfere at the paper.

Mr. Evans handed over the bank draft. “In a moment, I’ll go over the ownership papers.” Evans turned to the will. “I hereby bequeath to Mary Graves the sum of five thousand dollars.”

Charles squeezed Mary’s hand, pleased his father had realized she needed money more than he. The money would come in handy in the years ahead, raising Sam’s boys. And would give Mary the security she lacked since his brother had died. Weeping silent tears, she took the bank draft with trembling fingers.

Mr. Evans focused on the page in front of him. Charles’s pulse kicked up a notch.

“‘I hereby bequeath to Adelaide Crum, daughter of Constance Gunder Crum, fifty-percent ownership of
The Noblesville Ledger.
’”

Constance Gunder?
Air whooshed out of Charles’s mouth and his gaze settled on the woman across from him.

“Me? Why? I don’t understand any of this,” Miss Crum said. “Why mention my mother?”

Constance Gunder, the name Charles’s mother had hurled in his father’s face after Adam had accused his wife of flirting in church. Charles had never forgotten the name—or his father’s reaction. Adam had backhanded his mother, knocking her to the floor, and then stood over her, shouting she wasn’t worthy to wipe Constance Gunder’s shoes and if she ever spoke that name again, he’d kill her. Charles had known then that somehow this woman had been at the root of Adam’s anger, anger he expelled through his fists.

Constance Gunder, the woman Charles learned to despise—could she really be Miss Crum’s
mother?

How could his father do this? Was this one last ha-ha from the grave?

“Furthermore—” Mr. Evans began.

Charles jumped to his feet. Mary laid a hand on his wrist, but he jerked away from her touch. “What’s going on here?” His voice sounded gruff and he cleared his throat. If only he could clear this nightmare his father had concocted as easily.

“It’s quite simple,” Mr. Evans said, nonplussed by Charles’s reaction. “You and Miss Crum are half owners of
The Noblesville Ledger.
”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Mr. Evans’s gaze returned to the will. “There’s more.”

“More?” Unable to sit, Charles strode to the fireplace, putting him across from Miss Crum, the woman who’d made a crack in his frozen heart.
What a joke on him.

Miss Crum’s eyes were wide, probably seeing dollar signs. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew the accusation wasn’t true. Still, the idea clung to his mind like a burr under a saddle.

Mr. Evans bent over the paperwork. “‘The equal shares of
The Noblesville Ledger
are not to be sold by either Charles Graves or Adelaide Crum for a period of two months. If either heir goes against my wishes, and sells his or her half of
The Noblesville Ledger
before the end of a two-month waiting period, the equipment and building are to be sold, all proceeds going to charity.’”

Charles stalked back to the table. Mary met his gaze with a worried frown. “He promised the paper to me! Why did he leave a perfect stranger half of
my
paper? Then force us to keep this ludicrous arrangement for months?”

Mr. Evans tipped his head between Charles and Miss Crum. “Perhaps she isn’t a stranger, at least not to your father.”

Color climbed Miss Crum’s neck. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting—”

“My father returned to Noblesville only once—four years ago, when he bought
The Ledger.
” Charles turned to Miss Crum. “Did you two arrange this then?”

Miss Crum gasped. “I’ve never even met your father.”

“Adam didn’t share his motives with me, but rest assured, knowing your father, he had his reasons. Where there’s a will, there’s always a reason.” Mr. Evans chuckled to himself.

Charles scowled. “Have you considered joining a minstrel show, Mr. Evans?”

The attorney sobered. “I apologize.” He handed Mary and Miss Crum a copy of the will, then laid the third copy where Charles had been sitting. “This lawyering can get dry as dust. I can see this is no laughing matter.”

“Surely we can make this partnership work for two months,” Miss Crum said, as if her ownership was of no consequence. “I won’t be underfoot at
The Ledger.
I have my own business to run.”

“Charles, sit down,” Mary said, tears brimming in her eyes.

But he couldn’t sit. Just when Charles had found some measure of control over his life, his father yanked it out of his hands. Even from the grave, Adam managed to control—no, punish—him.

His gaze sought the milliner’s. “If you’re expecting this business relationship to be pleasurable, Miss Crum, you’re mistaken. As soon as I can, I’ll buy you out. In the meantime, I promise, this will be the longest two months of your life.”

Chapter Five

M
inutes later Adelaide stormed out of the hotel and strode up the street. How dare Charles Graves act as if she’d robbed him? She’d considered him a friend, but he’d treated her like an enemy. True, he’d been denied half ownership of the paper, a sizable financial loss, but that hadn’t been her doing.

Adelaide dodged a woman holding a towheaded boy by one hand. The sight of the child put a catch in her throat. But she wouldn’t think about that now, not when her mind couldn’t grasp Charles’s hatred of her mother, a woman he’d never met.

She’d get to the bottom of this. No more guessing about her mother and father, about her past. But where should she begin?