meant. “Green.”
“Not green.”
He walked her to Tindells’ back door, not sorry he’d listened to her. Why not give her an evening without harsh words. Next time he’d see the new dress and pay her the rent, convince her to sell.
A lamp burned in Tindells’ kitchen, spreading just enough light through the window to see the pale oval of her face. He expected her to thank him the way she had before and disappear through the door. Instead she stayed close.
“You know that Christmas is only a few days away, don’t you?”
He’d never thought about it. Christmas was just another day in his world.
“Thank you for today and this evening. This afternoon and tonight were my Christmas presents, and I know it’s greedy, but I have one more thing to ask.”
He tensed, expecting her to ask him to stay away. He didn’t want to and wasn’t going to.
“Would you hold me? Just for a minute?”
Surprise left him speechless and frozen.
“I’m sorry. I promised myself not to do that. It’s forward and wrong, and I’m so sorry.” She fumbled her key in the lock.
Still without a word, he turned her back around, slid his hands around her waist, and pulled her into his arms. She melted into him, head on his shoulder, her hands slipping round, holding him as he held her.
“I’m sorry, but it feels so good to be held,” she whispered.
“Stop apologizing. You’re not exactly hurting me. With a little more meat on your bones, you’d feel pretty good.” That was as big a lie as he’d told for a while. She felt more than good already, like something a smarter man would keep hold of, like something a man who had lived a different kind of life could keep hold of.
Her appearance had fooled him. She felt fragile, of no more substance than his ghosts. Was that how he had felt to her all those years ago as she kept her hand on his shoulder? Summer then, though, the warmth of her hand comforting through the flimsy rag of his shirt, not like now with the bulk of winter coats between them.
She straightened and stepped away, turned the key, and disappeared.
“Thank you, Caleb. Merry Christmas.”
Merry Christmas, Norah.
Chapter 9
----
W HEN M RS. T INDELL summoned her to the parlor on the last Monday in January, Norah almost groaned out loud.
The parlor was the preferred locale for announcements of new duties or faults found. Whether the next lecture would be about the dangers of letting foreigners touch the linens or a speck of dust found in some obscure corner of the house, it would waste time and make her feel more than ever like a faceless drudge.
Mrs. Tindell came straight to the point. “In spite of your best efforts to keep your activities secret, yesterday after church I had to endure the humiliation of Mrs. Grennich telling me what you’ve been doing with all this free time you’ve taken. You know full well I won’t have an employee of mine associated with ruffians of the sort Mr. Van Cleve employs. Did you think you could keep sneaking out with him, ruining yourself and me with you?”
The accusation surprised Norah so much she took half a step back. Mrs. Tindell made it sound as if Norah had been caught meeting Caleb at the hotel.
“I didn’t sneak anywhere. I spend most of my free time with my friend Mrs. Butler. Mr. Sutton only comes to town every two or three weeks, and when he does, we walk through town in broad daylight and visit shops, and he takes me to supper at Tommy’s restaurant where at least a dozen people see us.”
“And where he whistles at you and remarks on your clothing.”
Norah couldn’t suppress a smile at the memory. Caleb’s reaction to the sight of the rose dress had been extravagant and made her feel like a queen. Of course before the evening was over he’d called her stupid and stubborn and said the look on her face would better suit a mule.
Smiling was a mistake. Mrs. Tindell’s expression hardened further. “You lied to me when you said an old
“Not green.”
He walked her to Tindells’ back door, not sorry he’d listened to her. Why not give her an evening without harsh words. Next time he’d see the new dress and pay her the rent, convince her to sell.
A lamp burned in Tindells’ kitchen, spreading just enough light through the window to see the pale oval of her face. He expected her to thank him the way she had before and disappear through the door. Instead she stayed close.
“You know that Christmas is only a few days away, don’t you?”
He’d never thought about it. Christmas was just another day in his world.
“Thank you for today and this evening. This afternoon and tonight were my Christmas presents, and I know it’s greedy, but I have one more thing to ask.”
He tensed, expecting her to ask him to stay away. He didn’t want to and wasn’t going to.
“Would you hold me? Just for a minute?”
Surprise left him speechless and frozen.
“I’m sorry. I promised myself not to do that. It’s forward and wrong, and I’m so sorry.” She fumbled her key in the lock.
Still without a word, he turned her back around, slid his hands around her waist, and pulled her into his arms. She melted into him, head on his shoulder, her hands slipping round, holding him as he held her.
“I’m sorry, but it feels so good to be held,” she whispered.
“Stop apologizing. You’re not exactly hurting me. With a little more meat on your bones, you’d feel pretty good.” That was as big a lie as he’d told for a while. She felt more than good already, like something a smarter man would keep hold of, like something a man who had lived a different kind of life could keep hold of.
Her appearance had fooled him. She felt fragile, of no more substance than his ghosts. Was that how he had felt to her all those years ago as she kept her hand on his shoulder? Summer then, though, the warmth of her hand comforting through the flimsy rag of his shirt, not like now with the bulk of winter coats between them.
She straightened and stepped away, turned the key, and disappeared.
“Thank you, Caleb. Merry Christmas.”
Merry Christmas, Norah.
Chapter 9
----
W HEN M RS. T INDELL summoned her to the parlor on the last Monday in January, Norah almost groaned out loud.
The parlor was the preferred locale for announcements of new duties or faults found. Whether the next lecture would be about the dangers of letting foreigners touch the linens or a speck of dust found in some obscure corner of the house, it would waste time and make her feel more than ever like a faceless drudge.
Mrs. Tindell came straight to the point. “In spite of your best efforts to keep your activities secret, yesterday after church I had to endure the humiliation of Mrs. Grennich telling me what you’ve been doing with all this free time you’ve taken. You know full well I won’t have an employee of mine associated with ruffians of the sort Mr. Van Cleve employs. Did you think you could keep sneaking out with him, ruining yourself and me with you?”
The accusation surprised Norah so much she took half a step back. Mrs. Tindell made it sound as if Norah had been caught meeting Caleb at the hotel.
“I didn’t sneak anywhere. I spend most of my free time with my friend Mrs. Butler. Mr. Sutton only comes to town every two or three weeks, and when he does, we walk through town in broad daylight and visit shops, and he takes me to supper at Tommy’s restaurant where at least a dozen people see us.”
“And where he whistles at you and remarks on your clothing.”
Norah couldn’t suppress a smile at the memory. Caleb’s reaction to the sight of the rose dress had been extravagant and made her feel like a queen. Of course before the evening was over he’d called her stupid and stubborn and said the look on her face would better suit a mule.
Smiling was a mistake. Mrs. Tindell’s expression hardened further. “You lied to me when you said an old
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