The Caged Graves by Dianne K. Salerni

having nothing to look at but a pattern of stripes and purple clover. She remembered reaching out and . . .
    She stood up, walked across the room, and knelt down. A foot and a half above the floorboards she found a jagged patch of wallpaper that had been glued back in place after spiteful little fingers had torn it away. Verity shook her head in amazement and returned to her wreath, smiling. She never could abide purple clover, and now she knew why.
    The smile faded quickly, however, for nothing she did with the wreath satisfied her. The whole structure looked too flimsy, too sparse and bare, just like the cages themselves. She was beginning to wonder if she should dismantle it and start over when Beulah stuck her head in the parlor door.
    â€œMr. Nathaniel here to see you, Miss Verity.”
    She felt her heart leap and thump painfully. “Thank you, Beulah. Please send him in.”
    Beulah shook her head. “He says he’s not dressed to come in.”
    Verity rose and smoothed out her skirts. “Very well.” She didn’t know why he insisted on visiting her in the middle of his working day, straight from the fields. In Worcester Polly had accepted calls from suitors, and Verity had entertained an admirer or two. None of those young men had ever shown up unannounced like Nate. At least he hadn’t caught her covered in flour this time.
    She started toward the kitchen, but Beulah stopped her. “Oh no,” she said. “I made him go around to the porch.”
    Verity dared to smile. “We’ll teach him yet, Beulah. Won’t we?”
    The housekeeper met her eyes briefly, and her lips twitched. “Possibly, Miss Verity.”
    Nate stood awkwardly on the front porch in his work clothes and a shabby hat, which he whipped off when she opened the front door.
    â€œGood afternoon,” she greeted him, then looked around helplessly. There was no porch swing, not even a rocker. She couldn’t invite him to sit down.
    â€œHello, Verity.” Nate looked just as confused as she felt. She wondered if he needed to be taught how to pay a call on a young lady. She couldn’t imagine that his sisters had failed to give him lessons, but maybe he wasn’t an apt pupil.
    Or maybe he was determined to do things his own way.
    â€œI came down here to . . .” Nate paused and frowned, fidgeting. “I wanted to apologize for last night. All I’ve done since you arrived is blurt out the wrong thing and then apologize afterward.”
    It didn’t cross Verity’s mind to contradict him. She did wonder if she should agree, but that probably wasn’t prudent either. So she smiled.
    He apparently found that encouraging. “I’m not always a bumbling idiot,” he told her. “You make me nervous.”
    Verity sucked in her breath, partly indignant, partly hurt. “I realize people may consider me outspoken and some may take offense. But I was taught that a woman has a right to express her opinions, and—”
    â€œYou’re beautiful,” he said bluntly, “and I didn’t expect you to be.”
    He might as well have given her a push. She could have sworn the whole porch rocked while she stood there, her mouth agape.
    â€œSo I came down here to find out if you’ve given me up for hopeless yet,” Nate continued, “or if I still stand a chance of not being a complete fool in your mind.”
    Verity had never before met anyone who could so consistently leave her speechless. Silently, she reached out to him, and he enclosed her slim hand in his much bigger one.
    Nate didn’t seem to know what to say either, but after a moment he opened his hand and looked down at hers, and she realized he’d just noticed she was wearing his ring. He ran a thumb across it, then turned her hand over to look at the ribbon tied to the underside of the band.
    â€œIt’s a little big,” she explained.
    He raised his