Rumors and Promises (2 page)

But the passing figure had reopened a scab on Sophia’s soul. Darkness surrounded her again in her mind’s eye.
He
appeared, and there was no place to run. She blinked; daylight flooded in. Sophia held Caira tighter and focused outside the window.

Feeling a sheet of paper crinkle in the reticule on her lap, Sophia freed her other hand to fish it out. Unfolding the paper, she searched the information in the body of the letter sent to her by Mrs. Fairgrave.

The conductor strolled by her seat. “Next stop, Stone Creek, Michigan!”

Sophia scooped Caira up, gathering the carpetbag and sack with their belongings. Shuffling toward the door, she avoided eye contact with other disembarking passengers.

“May I help you, miss?” A grandfatherly gentleman offered his arm with a smile.

Sophia stiffened but nodded her assent, not wanting the embarrassment of tumbling onto the platform. “Thank you.” She lifted her chin, hoping she gave an impression of assurance, at least until she had her bearings. The older man took his leave of them once she was firmly planted on the boardwalk below.

Taking one look back at the train, she again left Sophia Bidershem behind and became plain Sophie Biddle. Not much of a change in identity, but it was something. The snowfall grew heavier as well as Caira and their few possessions. They trudged past the icy millpond, down Main Street. Sophie spotted the local mercantile, a good place to ask directions, no doubt.

The bell jangled over the door at Neuberger’s General Store. Homey scents wafted on the warmed air. Smells of spices, tobacco, new fabric, and coffee all blended, luring her farther in.

“May I help you …”

Embarrassed, Sophie curled up her work-worn, ungloved fingers as the proprietor seemed to inspect her hands, probably looking for a wedding ring.

“Miss?” A broad smile crossed the proprietor’s face as he leaned his bulky frame against the counter.

“I’m looking for notions.” Sophie placed Caira on the floor next to her and then peered into the glass casement to peruse the items of her trade. “And needles.” Sophie pointed toward an economical book of them. That and some thread would do nicely. She made the exchange of coins for her purchases, and the clerk wrapped them.

“Candy?” Caira pounded on the glass with the palm of her hand.

Sophie sighed. “No, no. Come over here with me.” Sophie took her package from the counter. “Thank you. Would you mind if we warmed up by the stove a bit?”

“Of course you can, miss. Have a seat in my chair while I’m not usin’ it.” He motioned toward a battered old wooden chair missing a spoke in the back. “Don’t believe I’ve seen you in town before.”

“You haven’t. I’m Miss Sophie Biddle and this, by the way, is Caira. I’ll be working for Mrs. Fairgrave.”

“Isaac Neuberger here. Welcome to Stone Creek, Miss Biddle.”

Sophie absorbed the warmth of the potbelly stove, preparing to brave winter’s harsh winds. She took her daughter’s bonnet and feed sack coat from her to put it over the back of the chair. The humble garment was all she could afford. Caira ran and patted the front of the glass display case again with her pudgy little hands. “Buttons!”

“No, no, sweetheart.” Sophie shook her head and grasped at a chubby arm before she had a chance to sit.

“No, Soffie!” Caira giggled and scampered out of her reach.

Hearing Caira call her by her Christian name broke her heart, but what else could be done? The bell over the door rang, interrupting her melancholy thoughts.

“’Mornin’, Reverend McCormick. That sheet music you ordered came in yesterday.” Mr. Neuburger placed his pencil behind his ear.

“Just the good news I was hoping for.” A tall man with wavy black hair strode toward the counter. His black wool overcoat fit across his broad shoulders, the rest cut rather narrow, fitting his wiry frame. Caira tumbled over an uneven floorboard and clutched the leg of his trousers to break her fall. The toddler stepped on his shoe in her clumsy attempt to right herself.

“Oh no,” Sophie moaned. “I’m so sorry, Mister … er … Reverend.” She sprang toward her child but not before the stranger had a chance to bend down to help Caira up as she let out a sob.

“Are you all right, little one?” The man got down on one knee as he examined the hand Caira held up. He brushed it off.

“Just a bit of dirt, no scrape.” He gave the child a tender smile.

Sophie couldn’t help but be impressed at this stranger showing such gentleness to Caira. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was handsome, too.

Reverend McCormick glanced up at her. Time slowed for a moment. “I take it she’s your … ”

She scooped Caira up into her arms. “She’s my … sister.” She bit her lip and looked away. “Come on, sweetie, you must stay by me.” Her child’s bottom lip quivered, and she buried her face in Sophie’s shoulder. “You’ll be all right. The nice man said so.” She bounced the toddler a bit.

Reverend McCormick stood and seemed to study them both. “An adorable child. You can certainly tell you’re related to one another.”

Mr. Neuberger cleared his throat. “Reverend Ian McCormick, let me have the pleasure of introducing our latest addition to Stone Creek. This here is Miss Sophie Biddle and her little sister, Caira.”

“Practically twins if there wasn’t such an age difference.” The minister chuckled at his own humor.

“That’s a fact.” The storekeeper grinned, propping his large frame with his elbows, square on the counter.

Sophie looked down at the chestnut curls that were so much like her own and the pink, freckled cheeks. Fiery warmth crept over her face. Sophie knew that despite the sixteen-year difference between their ages, she looked younger than her eighteen years, but it didn’t help her feel any better about the deception. It wasn’t how she’d been brought up to behave. “Excuse me, I best get my package and go. Thank you for letting us warm up a bit, Mr. Neuberger.”

“No problem, Miss Biddle.” The name she’d assumed on leaving her home still sounded strange to her ear.

“Could you please point us in the direction of Fairgrave’s Boardinghouse?” Sophie turned to pick up the feed sack coat from the back of a chair and put it around Caira’s shoulders. She pulled her own tattered shawl to cover the top of her head and tied a knitted bonnet onto the squirming toddler.

“Don’t you have a bit of a walk?” The minister stood between her and the door. “It’s getting worse out there.”

Sophie glanced over her shoulder, catching the worried look in Reverend McCormick’s eyes.

She felt her lips curl into half a grin. “I’m used to it.” She raised her chin toward him.

“But what about the baby? Please, let me give you a ride in my buggy. There’s not much protection from harsh weather, but I have a quilt. You both look tired.” He beckoned them toward the door.

Sophie stiffened. What was she to this minister? She’d never even visited his church. She didn’t need to be fathered or made to feel like some lost sheep. She’d already said enough and couldn’t afford anyone poking around—even with the best of intentions.

She took a deep breath as she stepped toward the door but met his glance one more time before she pushed past him. Did she detect genuine concern in his plaintive expression? Maybe she was being a bit hard on the stranger. After all, how long had it been since Sophie had seen such sincerity in a man … in anybody? The store owner had been kind, but she was a customer.

Sophie glanced down at the child in her arms and then out the window at the swirling snow. Caira had been a bit feverish the other day. And bone-wearying tiredness dragged Sophie down after hours of travel. Perhaps they should take him up on his offer. “Well then, for Caira’s sake.”

Ian McCormick saw the work-worn redness of the young woman’s hand as he helped her into the buggy. He tucked the package at her feet, lifted her bags into the conveyance and wrapped an old quilt his grandma had made around the pair. The young woman shivered, although something in her widening eyes told Ian that it wasn’t all from the cold. After all, he was still a virtual stranger to her.

“I must apologize for my rudeness.” He tipped his hat. “We’ve been properly introduced, but I neglected to mention my pleasure at making yours and Caira’s acquaintance, Miss Biddle.”

“We are …” She cleared her throat when she paused. “We are pleased to meet you, as well.” Miss Biddle gave him that slight, crooked grin Ian had noticed in the store. The frightened look in her large, amber eyes let up for just a moment. A wayward strand of chestnut hair blew free in a gust of wind. She tucked it back under the shawl.

The child snuggled against her big sister, popping a thumb in her mouth. She yawned.

“Now I think it would be proper for me to drive you home, don’t you?” He went around to the other side and climbed to his seat. “To Fairgrave’s Boardinghouse, then?” He waited in the silence.

Miss Biddle nodded. “Please.”

“Have you been in town long? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” Another frigid blast of wind stung his face.

“I just arrived on the train today.” Miss Biddle pulled the quilt tighter around herself and the child as though to shut out more than the cold, turning slightly toward the opposite side of the buggy.

“In that case, I’m sure you haven’t visited Stone Creek Community Church yet.” Silence ensued, broken only by the soft clomping of horse hooves in the fresh snowfall.

Cringing, the young woman finally answered, her voice was as frigid as the air. “No, Reverend, I’ve never been to Stone Creek before.”

He looked sideways at her, but she turned her head farther away. Like a morning glory closing in the evening, Ian sensed her spirit closing to him. In his line of work, he’d seen the signs before. Whatever her hurt, he was sure it ran deep. “We’ll have to fix that then. You’re welcome to visit us any Sunday. Consider that a personal invitation.”

There. He’d done his minister’s job. He hoped he’d sounded more like a friend inviting her to supper than a condemning judge.
He cared to know the condition of her soul, but with someone like Sophie, Ian could tell he needed to tread softly.

“Anything special that brought you here? Do you have any kin?”

“Caira and I are the only family we have left. Mrs. Fairgrave and I will see if I work out as a maid at her boardinghouse. Sometimes I bring in sewing.” She set her jaw. “It’s honest work.”

“Honest work it is,” he said. Shivering, he thought the air must have dropped ten degrees in temperature, but then her weary expression seemed to soften.

The wheels strained through the snow and over the slick, frozen ground. Soon he’d have to get the sleigh out again. The February weather couldn’t seem to decide what to do.

Glittering flakes landed on the young woman and her sister. Despite their tattered clothing, the pair was blanketed with diamond-like finery. He thought of Jesus teaching about the flowers of the field being better dressed than the wealthy Solomon. God’s exquisite handiwork couldn’t have shone better on two lovelier girls.

“Reverend McCormick.” She bit her lip. “I was wondering what kind of music you bought today.” She glanced up, and then her eyelids fluttered down with a shy look.

“Chopin—”

“Really?” Enthusiasm punctuated the question.

“And Beethoven. You enjoy music?” He noticed a sparkle kindling in her eyes.

“Enjoy it? Why, I love to play. Or I used to.” Sophie grimaced, averting her gaze for a moment.

“Oh.” What else could he say? She didn’t look like she came from any affluence. Her declaration surprised him. How far had she fallen from her original circumstances?

“Beethoven, Chopin, Bach, I played them all.” She stared as though looking into another world. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been around a piano. A good one, anyway.”

Their ride of several blocks length went too fast for Ian, despite the snow and wind slowing them.

“Here we are. Whoa.” He pulled up on the reins.

“Oh … I see.” The young woman sounded disappointed.

Could he blame her? He found the boardinghouse quite unattractive, but at least it was spotless inside and the proud Esther Fairgrave had a sterling reputation. The poor widow did what she could, but the paint was peeling, shingles lifted in the wind, and one of the shutters hung at an odd angle. He could send a crew of young men over from the church to fix things up … if only the widow would allow it.