Love in the Balance (7 page)

“Perhaps we could do it again.” Prue leaned against the porch rail.

“Sounds dandy,” Bailey said. “Aunt Frances won’t miss having me at her supper table. That’s a fact. You might check with your pa, though. I don’t think I’m going to be working for him much longer. Not with the havoc the smoke plays on my eyes.”

“Smoke? That’s what’s wrong with you?” Molly blurted.

“What did you think? That I was spilling tears over some heartbreak?” But Bailey couldn’t be sure she’d heard, for she was already marching down the street unescorted.

Prue chuckled low. “You two make quite the pair. Better catch her before a vagrant crosses her path and she beats him senseless.”

“You’re right. Thanks again, Prue.” He settled his hat on his tea-damp head and trotted after Molly, who was plowing a path through the scraps of former fences left in the walkway.

Instead of wasting time offering his arm, Bailey took Molly’s and directed her to the street. She tried to pull away.

“What’s wrong? We’re in public. Are you afraid I’ve lost my convictions?”

“No, but your shirt is wet. It’s getting my sleeve dirty.”

He grinned and pulled her arm even tighter against his side. “It’d be dry if you hadn’t baptized me under the table.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind—seeing how you’ve got so much religion these days.” Her eyes flashed blue above rosy cheeks.

“Why are you worked up? You aren’t still mad at me, are you?”

Her little chin jutted out like a billy goat’s preparing to butt heads. Charming. ’Specially knowing that anger wasn’t what ailed her. It was jealousy. Bailey couldn’t hide his smile. Prue had been right, but would Molly admit it?

“I’m sorry to hear that you’ll once again be unemployed,” she said. “Can’t say that I’m surprised, though.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.” He thought about winking but remembered the tea.

“Well, if you learned a skill like blacksmithing, you might accidentally stumble into an income. Then, if you weren’t careful, you could find yourself in the uncomfortable position of having to marry me like you’ve threatened.” The jutting chin disappeared beneath a smug smile.

“Believe me, if I find myself dangerously close to being able to support a wife, I’ll be sure to call our families together and see what they suggest. We’ll meet at the church for a discussion. You should come, too. Show up in white—”

He didn’t want to stop just as her confidence was returning, but the situation at a vacant house ahead of them demanded attention. Standing on a porch the size of a cowhide was a dingy little girl peering into the window.

“No one lives there.” He frowned and went to the gate, trying to remember who the child belonged to. “Do you need help?”

The girl turned, took a bite of a sticky bun, and nodded solemnly.

Bailey held the gate open and motioned Molly into the yard.

The house stood abandoned, the flower beds brimming with winter weeds and blooms past their season. The girl’s dress had seen better days, too. With grimy fingers wrapped around her treat, she walked out to meet them.

“I’m supposed to be home before dark, but my kitty ran into this haunted house.” Her big brown eyes never left his, but she must’ve seen his amusement, for she set him straight immediately. “It
is
haunted. That’s why it’s for sale. Old Lady Ridens don’t want to share her bed with a haint no more.”

Share a bed? Oh boy. Bailey saw Molly dimple, trying not to laugh at the girl’s story, and the movement drew the child’s attention to her.

“Say, you’re dressed up real pretty like.” She took inventory of Molly’s skirt trimmings of braid and fringe. “Like the pictures in the catalogs.”

Molly gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. She peered triumphantly through her eyelashes at Bailey. He chuckled. As if he needed a ragamuffin to draw his attention to how Molly looked.

“Thank you, honey. And don’t you have the cutest—” Molly’s enthusiasm wilted.

Even Bailey could see the girl’s plain frock sported only one strand of eyelet lace, broken loose and dangling. A ribbon that should’ve been retired years ago captured fewer strands of dirty hair than it released.

“Freckles?” he offered, and Molly threw him a grateful smile.

Bailey’s heart warmed as she knelt and fished through her reticule for a handkerchief. He should’ve known she’d spiff up the child. His little sisters always begged him to bring Molly home, relishing the attention she lavished on them.

The girl slurped sticky bun off her finger but held still for Molly’s attentions. “When I get big, will I look like you?”

“Only if you’re lucky, sweetie,” Molly said. “Lucky and willing to spend two hours at your dressing table every morning, scads of money on your wardrobe, and have the patience to religiously scour
Harper’s Bazaar
for the latest fashions.” After a few swipes at the glaze, she gave up and pulled the sticky handkerchief off of the girl’s face. Sighing, Molly fished a three-cent piece from her bag and dropped it into the child’s hand.

“Tomorrow morning you go buy yourself a fresh hair ribbon.” Molly stood and tugged at her snug bodice. “And no more sticky buns. You’ll regret every bite some day.”

“Don’t pay her no mind,” Bailey said. “She does everything she can to disguise what God gave her. If she’d spend half the effort, she’d get twice the results.” He really shouldn’t be looking at Molly like that. What had Weston said about repeatedly falling into temptation?

“Now, let’s get that cat of yours before the haint does,” he said.

Pushing through the unlocked door, Bailey walked into the dark building.

———

The creaking hinges sent chills up Molly’s back. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Not usually, but sunset in the questionable part of town wouldn’t be the time or place to learn she was mistaken. Boards creaked as she felt her way further into the house.

“Bailey, don’t go by yourself.” Molly tiptoed to the nearest window and slid the tattered curtains open, making use of the last of the sunlight. “Can you hear me?”

No answer came from the dark hallway.

The girl at the door peeked in. “He’s d-dead. The haints got him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But why didn’t he answer?

Molly crept closer to the giant stone fireplace, trying to hide herself between it and whatever lurked in the shadows of the hall. Footsteps sounded, coming toward them. The child’s eyes grew large, and Molly backed into the fireplace to hide.

“Meow!”

Something landed on her neck.

“Bailey, help me.” Molly streaked across the dusky room screaming and swatting at her back. “Some beast has a hold of me. Get it off.” She touched something hairy and screamed again.

“It’s not a beast,” the girl cried. But if it wasn’t an animal, Molly’s ideas about the afterlife were shattered.

Bailey ran into the room and removed the life-threatening menace, but not before it hooked a slender claw in her neck.

Bailey handed the kitten to the little girl, who cradled it in her arms. She kept her grasp on the now fuzzy sticky bun, choosing to let the three-cent piece drop on the scuffed floor instead.

“You best keep your money, miss. If you don’t know the difference between a kitten and a haint, you might should spend less time in front of the mirror.” She spun on her bare foot and marched proudly out the door.

“The little ingrate.” Molly was appalled but bent to retrieve her coin nonetheless.

Bailey chuckled.

“I don’t expect you to be as insulted as I am, but would it pain you to hide your amusement?” she said. “Surely you don’t approve of such haughty behavior in children.”

“Absolutely not. Someone needs to take her down a peg . . .”

Molly nodded.

“. . . before she grows up and some poor fellow falls in love with her.”

Molly drew a heart with the toe of her boot on the dusty floor and then rubbed it into oblivion. “I thought you’d sworn off talk like that—to me anyway.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Talk like what? I’m merely discussing the failure of a child’s mother to teach her values. I didn’t say which child. There’s many a lesson to be learned when confronted with ill behavior.”

“You sound like Reverend Stoker.” Molly reached up and gingerly touched her hat. “Did that churl destroy my bonnet?”

“I’m more worried about the scratch. Let me see.”

He took her by the elbow and turned her from him. Molly felt his fingers trace a tender path from her hairline to her collar. She stood absolutely still, waiting until he was finished to breathe again.

“It’s too dark to see, but it raised a line. You’d better get some iodine on that before it scars.” He stepped away.

“Serves me right, venturing across the canal.”

“It’s not that bad. The McGraws have a nice house—and look at this place. Even a beginning blacksmith could afford this.”

“But you aren’t smithing anymore.”

“There are other jobs. I hear they’re looking for a bailiff.”

“Too late. I met the new man today.” It was the truth, but maybe she could’ve said it a little nicer.

Bailey seemed to pull from his inexhaustible reserve of optimism. “So I’ll find something else—butcher, baker, candlestick maker—they all have houses and families. You don’t have to live on San Antonio Street to be happy. There’s nothing wrong with starting small.”

Replacing an errant hatpin, Molly cocked an eyebrow. “Like this hovel? Where would the maid sleep?”

“We wouldn’t want a maid, not when it could be just the two of us. Alone. Real cozy like.” He didn’t come any closer, but his voice reached out to her and pulled her into a warm embrace.

“You should see the kitchen,” he continued. “It’s the perfect size—everything at your fingertips. No hollering across a giant dining room. And for this parlor we could drop a nice sofa right here in front of the fireplace. Wouldn’t that be perfect for days like today? Cuddling under a quilt until one of us decided it was time for bed.”

True, the room did have nice trim and a pretty fireplace. A few simple pieces of furniture would finish it off. Medallion backed or cherub? While Molly couldn’t decide which sofa would best enhance the space, she could clearly imagine herself pulled up against Bailey’s chest, her feet tucked under a blanket, watching the fire spark and dance. To have the privacy the little house afforded seemed a dream. Surely even she could manage to keep a few rooms clean without a maid. So caught was Molly by the possibilities that she didn’t realize she was alone until she heard a noise in the hall.

———

What was he thinking? Bailey wandered into a deserted room and made his way to the window overlooking the ramshackle yard. Daylight had all but disappeared and with it his good sense. Nothing about this house would appeal to her. He’d have to do better before he could make an offer. And why had he even mentioned the bailiff job to her before he’d checked it out? Another missed opportunity. Another reason for her to doubt him.

Maybe he could find a job in sales. His pa always said he could talk a fish out of water. Something with commission would be good.

“What would you put in this room?”

The twilight lit the room enough to see her in the doorway, and he had to look. Could it be that Molly still had hope for him? Could she truly be satisfied with something so humble?

“It’s the bedroom.” He stepped out of the way to allow her in, the darkness amplifying the scent of her lilac fragrance. Her skirt brushed against him as she turned.

“A large wardrobe would fit in here. Mother always said my clothes needed a room of their own, but this is spacious enough. Where would you put the bed?”

He gritted his teeth. Why had God cursed him with a conscience? They were alone. At dusk. Any other red-blooded man wouldn’t hesitate, but he’d given his word. Whether she appreciated the sacrifice he was making or not, Molly was off limits.

Ignoring her question he trudged out of the house. Keeping your convictions had to be easier around homely women.

“Don’t leave me in here.” Molly ran to the front door and skidded to a stop when she saw him. Worry filled her blue eyes. “Are you angry?”

“Yes, but not at you. Come on. This is no place for us to linger.”

She still cared. That much was obvious, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Not yet. And he was no closer than he’d been a month ago.

5

To Do List:

• Convince Mr. Fenton to let me peruse Father’s account book at the bank.
  
• Buy powder to cover nasty scratch on my neck.
  
• Return the stranger’s wallet.
  

With her hands on her hips Molly surveyed the articles of clothing strewn across her sunny room at Mrs. Truman’s boardinghouse. Tidying her wardrobe didn’t suit her mood this fine Saturday morning. If she had an excuse to gad about town, she’d use it, but the bank was closed, and without getting some allowance from her father, a trip to the emporium was pointless.

That left a call at the McCulloch Hotel as her only option.

Between inquiring after available positions for Bailey and mentally arranging furnishings for a cottage, Molly had completely forgotten the wallet and bills drying on her towel rack, but now that she thought about it, a trip to the McCulloch Hotel seemed horribly inappropriate. What business did she have making a call on a complete stranger?

On the other hand, she couldn’t stay indoors on such a beautiful day. Tucking the bills into the water-stained leather, Molly checked her appearance in the mirror above her washstand. Finding nothing unbecoming, she grabbed a wrap and hurried down the stairs, leaving her chaotic mess behind. One quick trip and she’d be done with it. She’d leave the wallet at the manager’s desk and she would have the burden off her hands.

The street carried very little traffic—foot or hoof. Had her parents noticed that she was staying in town on the weekends now? Not that she’d seen Bailey much in Lockhart, but the long drive to Prairie Lea had certainly lost its allure.

Molly pulled her wrap closer against the cool morning air. The real question was how long could she remain in Lockhart if she continued to avoid Mr. Fenton. Word traveled quickly. One sighting of him with Prue on his arm and her parents would demand an explanation. Her days of freedom might be coming to an end.