The Caged Graves by Dianne K. Salerni Page B

the Claytons’ and go into the woods, you will probably find what you need.”
    â€œThank you,” Verity said, breathing a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to work with Liza.
    The rain fell too heavily and steadily for work in the fields that day. With his afternoon suddenly free of obligation, Nate accepted Verity’s offer to take a meal at the Boone house. He paid a visit to the kitten, now named Lucky, and agreed that his new life, sleeping on a pillow by the stove, was a fortunate change in circumstance for the little fellow.
    â€œBeulah complained at first,” Verity confided in a whisper, “but I caught her slipping him cream. I think she likes the cat better than she likes me.”
    Nate gave Verity a startled look, then glanced over her shoulder at the housekeeper. “Don’t let Beulah fool you,” he said with a grin.
    After dinner, Verity’s father astonished her by producing an old chess set and challenging Nate. “You want a rematch, boy?”
    â€œOnly if you want to lose again, old man,” Nate replied glibly.
    Verity was once again left speechless. Apparently, Nate and her father knew each other better than she knew either one of them. Settling in to watch them play with Lucky on her lap, she pledged to change that if she could.
    Â 
    Nate stayed later than he meant to, and it pleased her to think she’d made him lose track of time. True, if it hadn’t rained all day, he might have left sooner. But she was happy that they’d enjoyed each other’s company. She had no desire to pit herself against his farm for his affection; she was rather afraid she’d lose.
    â€œYou like him?” her father asked after Nate had left.
    â€œYes, of course,” she replied without thinking, and then was relieved to realize it was true.
    â€œYou don’t have to marry him, Verity.” Ransloe Boone waved his hand. “Ring or no ring—promise or no promise. I gave him permission to write to you, but I was surprised you agreed to the marriage before you met him.”
    Verity nodded, embarrassed. She’d been caught up in the romance of the moment when Nate had made his proposal, and that regrettable volume of poetry had pushed her over the edge. Still, Nathaniel McClure was the sort of solid and dependable young man any girl ought to desire for a husband. “
You
think he’s a good choice. And you’d like to have him as your partner.”
    â€œNot a good reason to marry him,” her father replied. “Your mother wouldn’t like to think I pushed you into marriage just to make
my
life easier.”
    â€œI’m content with the match,” she assured him.
    He nodded slowly, but as he left the room to retire for the night, he muttered, “Rather see you happy than content.”
    Verity remained downstairs only long enough to see all the candles and lamps put out, then followed him upstairs. When she entered her bedroom, a gust of wind almost snatched the door from her hand. There was just time enough to see her window wide open, the curtains billowing and snapping, before the candle in her hand went out.
    She rushed to the window and threw down the sash. Immediately, the curtains fell back into place.
    Who had left the window open? Beulah? But why would the housekeeper open a window on a night like this?
    Feeling her way in the darkness, she found a matchbox on her dressing table and relit the candle. Then she surveyed the room with dismay. The rain had drenched the bedclothes, and the floor was strewn with white and pink petals that must have blown in through the window. She bent and scooped up a handful of sodden, sweet-smelling flowers. What a horrible mess!
    She didn’t want to disturb Beulah, who would probably assume Verity had left the window open herself. She stripped the wet coverlet off the bed and mopped up the puddles on the floor. It was only after she finally sat down at her dressing