Rumors and Promises (19 page)

CHAPTER 11

T
hough Sophie realized not being employed as church pianist would keep unwanted attention away from her, the disappointment stung. That Wringer woman had no business influencing the elder board to decide her fate. Yet, there were some who stood behind her. Maggie and Gloria brought their dresses to be altered. A shy Leona Packer brought her fabric and asked her to make a dress, one evening after dark. Sophie hoped they would be happy enough with her work to become repeat customers. Though a small start, she needed to build a customer base and had to begin somewhere.

Nora had been hired to provide music for the congregation each week. Though Sophie no longer needed to practice on a regular basis, she still visited Maggie weekly so that she could give Elise a piano lesson. Besides, Maggie insisted Sophie play her Bidershem piano just so she could hear it make beautiful music. Since the pastor’s sister had been so kind and the piano was in the parsonage, she felt obligated to attend the Sunday service. She sat in the back with Caira unless coaxed to move up farther by her acquaintances.

Sophie reasoned with herself if Caira must grow up as part of a church, Stone Creek Community Church might as well be the
one. And seeing Ian was a bonus though she often ran into him at the parsonage. Yet every Sunday morning her stomach knotted as they dressed for service and she pleaded with God for forgiveness every time she entered the sanctuary. Occasionally she begged off with her stomach symptoms, and they stayed home.

The snowy weeks of March passed into the rainy days of April. Sophie’s student flourished. Most Tuesday afternoons, she only caught glimpses of Ian as he ducked in and out of his study, but she enjoyed Maggie and Gloria’s company.

In the evening, after Caira slept, snuggled down in their bed, Sophie sewed new clothing for them both. With her earnings from the music lessons and sewing for others, she’d bought fabric and thread. With much effort, she’d foregone the temptation to buy brightly colored calicos, settling for dull browns and grays for herself. After she hemmed a skirt, she tried it on with the jacket.

Sophie stood in front of the mirror over the washstand, combed her hair straight back, and twisted it into a knot. She wetted it down a bit, trying to straighten out her curls. “There, that should do it,” she commented to her reflection. She looked just like the old maids she’d seen, with their “Psyche knot” hairstyles. Sophie remembered Miss McGillicutty’s white hair, pulled severely back into a tight bun and the plain, somber attire she wore. With her former piano teacher as an example, Sophie would not fail to make herself look more businesslike. This would perhaps also help her be taken more seriously and attract new customers as a seamstress. Women like Mrs. Wringer probably preferred going to a no-nonsense woman who wore modest clothing rather than a fashion plate.

Sophie had never cared for the dent in her chin, her freckles or her unruly curly hair, so she didn’t think of herself as very attractive, but she needed to look as plain as possible. Ian shouldn’t think that she was attempting to flirt with him or anybody else. Maybe this would keep his eyes away from her and slow down the looks
of disgusted appraisal from Mrs. Wringer and her followers. No man would consider her fair game for courtship or think her an improper woman this way.

One Tuesday afternoon, she sat directing Elise at the piano. “You need to curve your fingers a little more like this.” Sophie held the little girl’s hands with her own and helped form them into the right position.

Elise scaled the keyboard with concentration.

“There, that’s much better now, isn’t it?”

Her question elicited a nod and a smile from her shy student.

Sophie felt as though someone was watching them both, as though a strong presence waited nearby. She glanced up to find Ian’s eyes twinkling with a pleased look. Their eyes met and his flitted to the list in his hand.

“These are the hymns I’m suggesting for this week. I’m not completely happy with them.” He paused. “I’m open to any suggestions you might have. What do you think?”

“Oh.” Sophie wasn’t sure quite how to respond, surprised Ian had asked her opinion at all. She’d been disappointed that he almost never looked directly at her anymore and then angry with herself she would feel that way. Perhaps her plan of making herself less attractive was working a little too well? But she mustn’t think that way! She perused the list. “They look fine to me.” Sophie shrugged. “What does Nora think?”

The front door flew open. “Yoo hoo!” Esther Fairgrave’s singsong greeting pierced the air with off-key notes. The chill breeze that blew over the threshold made the remnants of late winter known, sending a shiver down Sophie’s spine.

Maggie went to greet her newest guest. “What brings you out on such a blustery March day, Esther?” She reached to take the heavy woman’s woolen coat. “Would you care to warm up with a cup of tea?”

Mrs. Fairgrave huffed and puffed as she waved a piece of paper at them. “No time for tea today.” Yet she collapsed into the nearest chair as her wet boots dripped upon the floor.

“My daughter sent me a telegram. She’s in dire need of help. She’s in the family way and all four children have the measles. Who knows how long I’ll have to be there to help take care of them. I’ll be taking a train to Marshall tomorrow.”

“Oh, Esther, how awful!” Sophie stood up from the piano bench. “I’m so sorry about your daughter’s predicament.”

“The only thing is, Sophie, you shouldn’t be left alone with all the men in that house. And Mr. Spitzer will be returning soon.”

“’Tis true.” Maggie stood nearby, smoothing her skirt.

“Wait a minute.” Sophie gestured with her hand out. “But who will cook and clean for the men? And Caira and I truly depend on the wages you kindly pay.”
As meager as they are
. Could they hear the hint of a whine in her voice?

“But it wouldn’t be proper, dear.” Maggie patted her arm.

“You’re right, it wouldn’t be for the best.” Sophie worried her lip, intent on stilling the trembling within. The whole thing would be rather unsavory for her, but did she have a choice? “But what will you do with your guests, Esther?” Poor Mr. Graemer certainly needed someone to check on him at least.

“You will stay here with us at night, and I will stay there with you during the day.” Maggie’s tone held insistence.

“But I couldn’t possibly ask you—”

“Nonsense. You are like family to us. Isn’t she, Ian?”

Sophie’s gaze flitted to the tall, handsome man who often stopped his work to play with Caira. His brow usually darkened with a brooding expression around Sophie lately. He stood in the doorway of the study, and rubbed the side of his face. “Well I …”

“Of course he agrees.” Maggie crossed her arms.

Ian looked rather sheepish. “I suppose we have no other choice.” He put his hands in his pockets.

Maggie came alongside Sophie and linked arms with her. “You can help me with chores here, and I will help you with chores at the boardinghouse.” She wore a grin that made her look very pleased with herself. “You’ll see, dear. It will all work out.”

“And you must share some meals with us,” Gloria piped up.

Sophie felt overwhelmed by the love these new friends had so quickly imparted to her, but she wished she knew why Ian had become so strangely distant. “Well, thank you, then. I will certainly do all that I can to not be a burden.” How much she appreciated their care!

“It’s settled then. Oh, what a relief. I can go to my Daisy now without a worry.” Esther inhaled a deep breath. “You know, Maggie, perhaps I will take you up on that cup of tea. It’s quite blustery out. And I’ll have some of your delightful spice cookies.”

One evening almost a week later, Caira stared up at Ian with large, gray eyes, pleading. “Read to me, ’Cowmick.”

“Caira, how do you ask?” Sophie sat across from them near the hearth, darning one of the child’s small woolen socks, but didn’t look up from her mending. She hadn’t meant to sound so terse, but exhausted from her work at the boardinghouse and traipsing back and forth with the new routine, she felt more irritable than usual.

“Pease ’Cowmick?” Now the child gave him one of her most endearing smiles.

“Of course, little one.” Ian tousled her curly head and pulled Caira onto his lap. She snuggled against his chest until she seemed comfortable and clasped her hands together with giggling delight as she waited for him to open the book.

He read the colorful pages aloud, pointing to the different pictures while Caira’s childish laughter filled the room. How soft
the child’s hair felt. He imagined that’s how Sophie’s was as a child. Her round cheeks and sprinkle of freckles resembled her older sister’s so much.

“Kitty.” She pointed at one of the pictures with a chubby finger.

“What does the kitty say?” Ian asked, much like his father had asked him when he was little.

“Me-ow, me-ow!” She wriggled with the effort and curled up like the little kitten.

Ian caught a fleeting sad glance, combined with a wistful smile on Sophie’s face. What was she thinking? Perhaps she was remembering her own childhood. Were the memories more painful since their parents had passed on? Surely Sophie must wish that her little sister could have had a more normal childhood, like her own.

It was difficult for Ian to believe the patience and love with which he’d seen her care for the child and her work with Elise, for that matter. Sophie seemed so motherly, so mature for the age he assumed she was. He admired such depth of character.

Caira yawned and stretched.

“It’s time for you to go to bed.” Sophie stood and held out her arms to her sister.

“No, no.” The toddler’s widened eyes begged Ian for mercy.

“You must do what Sophie says.” He hugged Caira before turning her over to the supposed enemy.

“Thank you,” Sophie whispered. She leaned toward Ian to scoop up the child. A whiff of lavender, or was it roses? filled his senses. An errant lock of curls escaped from her new, severe hairstyle and tickled his chin. He was positive she didn’t realize her hair had brushed against him. He felt the tenderness of the flesh on her arms as he passed Caira over to her. The warmth and sadness in her amber eyes, as their gazes locked for a moment, begged for Ian to touch the roundness of her cheek. He did not, but her look infused a desire to comfort her, to break into the loneliness she must feel in her world.

How solitary his own world had become. He’d dwelled in the parsonage with Maggie and Philip this last year, but he still felt so keenly alone.

If the truth were told, Maggie probably still felt very alone in her own grief. He swallowed against the dry, pasty feeling that thickened in his throat. They existed together in one house like islands in the same sea.

How wonderful it might be to become a husband and a father. He supposed that it was a ministry in its own right. Ian had performed weddings before, spoken of how man could not put asunder what God had joined together, but never before had he glimpsed what such oneness might entail for himself. To share a meal and then sit pleasantly by the fire while your wife performed ministrations as simple as mending, took on new implications. To hold a precious child on one’s lap, a child that would be part of each of you, how wondrous that could be! Or even to care for your wife’s little sister. Oh dear, had he really thought that?

Ian had taken his parents’ marriage for granted. He remembered how Mama had proffered her cheek for a “hello” kiss while she stood at the stove and Father had come in from a long day at the office. He’d scoop little Ian in his arms and give Maggie a pat on the head. Mama’s eyes always sparkled at this. Now he realized how the family had somehow been a culmination of his parents’ love for one another—a fact and a mystery to Ian at the same time.