Clean Romance 4 You

“Is that going to be all for you today, Mrs. Winters?” Alice Lind Frank asked the woman on the other side of the counter of the small dress shop.

“Yes it is, but there’s no need to be so darn cheery about it, Miss Frank,” the older woman growled.

“I’m sorry you’re bent and determined to have a bad day.” Alice sighed. “I don’t know why you can’t enjoy an afternoon like this. After all, it is absolutely beautiful today.”

“Ha! That’s what you think!” Mrs. Winters sneered at the petite, copper-headed beauty behind the counter. The look of disappointment apparent on the young girl’s face fueled the old woman’s comments further. “Besides, I don’t know why you have to go sticking your big nose into other people’s business all the darn time.” Tucking her purchase under one arm and grabbing her cane, she hobbled for the door. Opening it, she paused and said curtly, “And for your information, you young whippersnapper, I was having a perfectly good day until I saw your smug face behind that ugly counter.” With that, she slammed the door to Alice’s nana and pappy’s dress shop with such force that a small tuft of dust puffed up from between the planks of the wooden floor.

Alice shook her head in amazement, reflecting on how coldly and unpleasantly Betsy Winters had swept through the dress shop—as though Betsy was the morning frost. Granted, the bitter woman was well into her seventies and probably one of the oldest women in their seaside town, but that gave her no right to treat everyone she saw like they were parasites. Earlier that morning, Mrs. Winters had scowled at the price tag of the dress she wanted to buy.

“Why do you want so much for a lousy dress?” she’d asked.

“The material is of a very fine quality, Mrs. Winters. And lace doesn’t come cheap,” Alice replied.

“It’s ridiculous!” the woman exclaimed. “I won’t pay that kind of money for something so drab.”

Alice had indeed lowered the price slightly, which undoubtedly Betsy had known she would do. The old woman seemed to run the entire town. Everywhere she went people avoided her like the plague, which seemed to please her. For those who did not avoid her, Mrs. Winters usually succeeded in ruining any happiness they’d had in their countenance previously.

“Was that old Betsy Winters, come to terrorize the world?” Gretchen Lind asked, coming into the main part of the store from the back room where she had been doing some sewing.

“That it was. And she’s just as bitter as ever.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Gretchen shook her head and went to retrieve a glass of water she had left behind the counter. “Why, if she wasn’t so old, I’d have smacked her flat on her fanny more than once.”

Alice giggled.

“Nana,” Alice ventured more seriously. “What is it that makes Mrs. Winters such a hostile woman?”

“Well, I’m not real sure. I know she and her husband have been separated for years and years now. But I really don’t know much about her,” she said before she took a sip of water.

Gretchen Lind was a beautiful woman in her own right. Her once blond hair was now conspicuously streaked with gray and carefully piled on top of her head while her face, though somewhat wrinkled and careworn from age, still glowed with the love for life it had contained in her youth. The blue dress she wore and had sewn herself was simple but tasteful and partially hidden by the lacy apron she always wore when she worked. A sweetheart to the core, Gretchen often had people stop by the shop simply to discuss their problems; she was a good listener and Alice adored that quality in her. Having no sisters of her own to confide in, Alice had loved having a confidant ever since she started living and working with her grandparents.

Alice’s own mother, Theresa Frank, worked in the kitchens up at the palace. Alice had grown up in the palace until only recently, and the grandeur of growing up in such a place had always excited her. She had helped her mother with various tasks when the royal family threw balls, banquets, and other special events, but she often found herself standing around, just watching the fancy guests. Alice would often play with the few other children who also lived at the palace. But Alice had always preferred to spend her time with her mother, even though Theresa was a little detached from life. Though a pleasant woman, Theresa had never been the best mother for she often dwelled so much on her own grief and misfortune that she took little notice of her daughter. Still, Alice loved her and had worked with her mother in the kitchens of the palace until almost a year ago when she had grown tired of that life and had finally convinced her mother that she should live with her nana and pappy.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Alice exclaimed as she nearly ripped the apron from her waist. “I need to leave, Nana. I told Mama I’d meet her in ten minutes,” she said, looking at the small clock on the counter.

“Then you’d better run.” Gretchen laughed; her granddaughter had again let the time of day slip by her. Alice was a gifted seamstress and wonderful with people, and Gretchen loved the breath of life she brought to the shop. It had been looking so lonely and tired with no young spirit to liven things up. Now with Alice around, the entire store looked as though spring was constantly in season. Gretchen laughed again as Alice, in her haste, nearly ran head long into the doorjamb on her way out the door. Smiling to herself, she returned to the back of the store to finish up a project she had been working on while her husband was out making a delivery.

~ * ~

“I love you, peach. Be safe walking home.”

“All right,” Alice said, embracing her mother. She turned and started down the road, eager to enjoy the beauty of the day. She had run so quickly to see her mother, she’d not had a chance to revel in the beautiful day.

Stopping at the entrance gates to the palace, she stood admiring the town below. She loved how it sat on a hill overlooking the beach and the shipyards. The shipyards were a quarter day leisure walk from town, but still close enough for all the townspeople to enjoy the pleasure of being near the sea. Surrounding the heart of the town were many farms and to the west of town, the lack of civilization gave birth to the most spectacular meadow filled with beautiful wild flowers. Depending on the season, the wild flowers brushed the grasses with different colors, providing the meadow with a lovely ambiance.

To top it all, as though she lived in a fairy tale, the palace sat on a hill overlooking the town just to the east. The palace had been built a century ago and had several towers. The entire front courtyard was surrounded by archways and pillars. Thousands of statues stood around the palace, both on the building and on the ground; and the intricacy of the stone work, as though the stone had been nothing more than silk in the artist’s hands, simply amazed her. Running her hand gingerly over one of the pillars, she marveled again at the soft, cold surface of the smooth, marbled stone. Though somewhat intimidating, it was spectacular to see the structure; as if it somehow protected the quaint little town below. Alice loved the dream of it all.

As Alice began on her journey home and passed through the town, she exchanged pleasantries with a few people but mostly kept to herself, enjoying the view of the vast ocean growing in front of her and the goings-on of the town. Though the town was not large, it bustled with activity. Men could be seen driving teams of horses or helping women and children in and out of carriages. Women were loaded down with packages, wandering from shop to shop or simply standing with other women and gossiping about the latest news. Children ran down the streets, chasing rings with sticks or playing with balls. Alice smiled as one little girl, dragging her doll behind her, tried desperately to keep up with the older children, who seemed intent on deterring her from the game they were playing with a poor dog.

Then, as though nothing more than a mirage, she saw a tired man crest over the hill coming from the beach and walking towards her. The distance between the man and herself allowed her time to stare at him without being obvious. The tall man wore a tattered pair of trousers and a fairly clean, cotton shirt fastened only by three lower buttons, allowing his vast muscles to protrude from beneath as he carried a knapsack on his shoulder. His skin was bronzed from what she assumed were probably years spent in the sun. His sandy whiskers weren’t long but had obviously been neglected for many days, and his blonde hair was nearly as white as old Mrs. Winters’, but unlike hers, his hair traveled halfway down his back.

He sported an odd appearance, yet he was almost intriguingly familiar. Alice smiled to herself as she speculated about his reasons for being in town and determined he was probably a sailor anchored in town for a few months until his ship sailed again. She loved to see the sailors who came into town—happy, bursting with life, and full of stories from the sea. She imagined this man to be no exception.

As the distance between them lessened, he smiled almost wistfully at her, and she felt herself stop and stare unabashedly at the stranger for, as he smiled, a memory flashed through her mind. She briefly allowed herself to conjure up the image of a boy from long ago. Quickly she pushed the thought away, reminding herself of the impossibility of it. She forced her feet to again continue on their path home. Yet, still staring at the stranger while he passed, she felt the thrill that shot through her body as she saw him wink at her. Finally pulling herself from her constant appraisal of the man, she turned her head back around and continued on down the road.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Alice turned at the sound of a soft, masculine voice behind her and there, looking expectantly at her, stood the man she had been visually devouring only moments before. “Yes?”

“I realize this is probably a strange thing to ask, but . . .” He paused and looked at the inquisitive eyes that were lingering on him from passing spectators. He seemed suddenly less sure of himself. “D-do you know if the . . . the Newman’s still live around here?” he asked in a lowered, hesitant voice.

“Well, sure. They’ve lived west of town about a mile for longer than I can remember.” Then as curiosity got the better of her, she could not restrain the question from escaping her lips. “Are you one of Augustus’s nephews? You bear a striking resemblance to Augustus himself.”

The man chuckled uncomfortably and pushed a hand through his tangled hair. “Well, thank you, miss, but I’m not his nephew.”

A look of pain seemed to cross his face before he tipped his head to her in parting and left her alone to ponder on the encounter. Alice knew she had never seen this man before. She would have remembered. His weathered face made him appear quite old, and she felt a stab of sorrow at the look of pain that had so recently crossed his face. The look in the man’s eyes caused him to look somehow even older than he did at first sight.

Alice’s heart twinged at the thought of what could cause a man such pain. It was a common look among sailors, but it always saddened her. And something about this particular sailor tugged at her heart more than most. Something about him caused her to reflect on a boy from years ago, a boy who had unintentionally stolen her heart. But this man was not he. She would have recognized him immediately. But something in his smile reminded her of. . . . No, she would not think on that. Still, the man did resemble Augustus Newman. Oh, there were exceptions for sure; this man had long blond hair, and Augustus was nearly bald; this man was tall with a strong frame, and Augustus was short and somewhat portly but still very strongly built. Yet she could not get the man’s familiar, sad smile out of her head the remainder of the afternoon.

That evening as she sat in the parlor with her nana and pappy, her gaze lingered on the fire while her embroidery sat forgotten on her lap. “What has your mind in a tumble tonight, peach?” Gretchen asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered casually.

“Now don’t start up with that. I know when something’s eating at you, and tonight it looks like whatever it is might just swallow you whole.”

“Oh, Nana, you do beat all,” Alice said in exasperation.

“I’m serious, peach. Did your mama say something to upset you?” Gretchen pried.

“No,” Alice stated simply.

“Well, are you just going to sit there until she drags it out of you, or are you going to tell it to us straight out?” Henry asked, equally concerned about his granddaughter.

“I don’t really know what to think, Pappy. My mind’s all muddled up and I can’t seem to make heads or tails out of anything.” She loved her pappy. He was a tall thin man with gray hair and high cheek bones. He was a tailor, and Gretchen and Alice helped him out two or three days of the week. He had stepped in after her father had died and had been the only father she really remembered.

“Why don’t you start by telling me how things were while you still could make sense of them,” Gretchen encouraged.

“Well, I went to see Mama and everything went well. She was attentive to me, and we had a real nice time. I came home, just like I always do and then . . .”

“Yes?” Henry said when she paused.

“Oh, I don’t know what to think,” Alice whispered desperately. “I was walking home, and then there was this man who came over the edge of the hill. He’d obviously come from the beach.”

“Was it Clarence?” Gretchen interrupted. “He’s normally coming back to town about that time of day.”

“Of course not,” Henry put in. “She would have recognized him.”

Gretchen and Henry were both completely captivated by what Alice had to say, but in truth Alice could not figure out what she was thinking. So how on earth did they think she would be able to tell them a story they could understand? “No, it wasn’t Clarence. In fact, I don’t know who it was. My gut instinct tells me he was a ghost, except he spoke to me.”

“A ghost?” Gretchen laughed. “Really, peach! What would put your mind to thinking something as crazy as that?”

“I’m serious, Nana!” Alice whined loudly.

“All right then. What was it about the man that put it into your mind that he was a ghost?” Gretchen asked repentantly.

“Well, he looked real enough, but he reminded me of . . . He kind of looked like . . .”

“Who?” Henry coached.

“I don’t know if I can utter his name.” Gretchen’s rather disappointed look displayed itself blatantly upon her face. Alice knew her grandparents were dissatisfied with her answer, but she didn’t know if she could tell them who the man looked like. So she changed the direction of the conversation. “He spoke to me though. His voice was low and hushed, as though he was afraid to speak.”

Once again interested in the conversation at hand, Gretchen asked, “Well, what did he say?”

“He asked if the Newmans still lived around here. And I told him they did.”

“Was that all he said?” Gretchen asked.

“Well, no . . . I asked him if he was Augustus’s nephew because his face bore such a striking resemblance to him. But he said he wasn’t.”

“Peach, Augustus doesn’t have any nephews. He’s an only child,” Henry interjected.

If Augustus was an only child, was this man’s resemblance to Augustus simply one of those bizarre, coincidental things? Or could he possibly be. . . ? No, certainly not. Going over the situation out loud made no more sense than it had in her mind.

“Alice, who was it that the man reminded you of?” Henry asked.

“Pappy, I don’t know if I can utter his name,” Alice whimpered.

“And why not?”

Alice hesitated, attempting to give enough information without actually having to say the man’s name aloud. “He died about six years ago in a ship wreck while he was at sea as a merchant sailor.”

“Are you trying to tell us that you spoke to Caleb Newman on the street in town today?” Gretchen asked reverently.

“I don’t know that it was him, Nana. And besides, how could it be him? Remember? Grace said there were no survivors.”

“But . . .”

“No, Nana. I’m certain my mind was just playing tricks on me. It was probably some poor sailor, anchored in town for a few days.” With that, the topic died, and the conversation moved on to other things, but that night as Alice lay in bed waiting for sleep to engulf her, the image of the man on the street kept her weary mind company. He was, after all, intriguing and very striking in his appearance, no matter how tattered and tired he looked. The thought of him being an older version of the ever-so-handsome Caleb Newman made the mystery of the man all the more enticing. He had been such a good looking young man; tall and very handsome. Rolling over with a smile on her face, she eventually found respite as she fell asleep thinking of the young man she’d thought of so often before.

~ * ~

After meeting with the red-headed beauty on the street, the weary sailor made his way aimlessly down the old, familiar street. The petite girl had unsettled him, which is why he had stopped her. She looked as sweet as a sugar stick. He had needed a few more moments to study her, for she had reminded him of someone, a girl he had known as a young man. It had taken him less than a minute to determine that this girl, whoever she was, was a rare piece of work. Her eyes boasted the color of the amber setting sun, and her hair claimed the color of deep copper that danced with fire in the dying light of day. With freckles sprinkled delicately across the nose on her perfectly porcelain complexion, her face beamed with an obvious love for life. Years had passed since this man had seen someone with such a rare beauty about her.

Shaking his head he dismissed the thoughts of that girl and turned his mind and attention to the task at hand. As anxious as he was to make this visit, nerves dominated his being. So many years had passed since he had seen this family, yet some unseen force seemed to be propelling him onward. He always imagined his soul would rejoice when this day arrived. It had played out in his mind so many times, but now he was concerned. Concerned for the heartache of the Newmans and concerned for how this meeting would affect them. Down the main street of the town he walked and out past the town to where the farmers had their land.

The man rounded a corner and continued his journey until finally his gaze fell upon a little, cream-colored cottage with lush green trees framing the yard and a few flowers growing along the pathway, which led to the door. He frowned at the appearance of the old cottage, for a visible sadness seemed to engulf the entire property. Instead of the flowers exhibiting the colors of vibrant pinks, reds, and dark purples, all the flowers were white or pale and blended in with the cottage. The neatly trimmed grass was infested with the sprinkling of weeds, and only part of the fields behind the house held corn while the rest had been taken over by weeds and briars.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he thought of the suffering these good people had undoubtedly gone through. Before he could reconsider, the weary sailor began the long walk up the pathway to the house. He had intentionally waited until late afternoon to set out for the house because he knew that by the time he arrived, both Augustus and Grace Newman would most likely be in for the night, and he needed to talk with both of them. As he finally reached the door, he set his knapsack on the ground beside him and, with much trepidation, raised his hand and knocked loudly three times before letting his hand fall to his side. He had no choice left to him except to endure the torturous silence before the door opened.

Finally, the door slowly opened and an aging woman, nearing sixty, looked questioningly at the man who stood on the other side. The sailor felt the tears sting his eyes before they silently spilled onto his cheeks at the sight of the woman. Her once rich, dark brown hair was now silver and white. There were circles under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept in years, and her countenance was gloomy and sad, as though her spirit had died. Suddenly the woman gasped and clasped a small hand over her mouth, shaking her head and trying to stifle a sob.

The man could hold back no longer and choked out, “Hello, Ma.”

Grace approached him hesitantly with tears streaming down her careworn face. Tentatively reaching out, she placed a dainty hand to his darkly tanned cheek and gazed deeply into his cobalt blue eyes. “Caleb?” she whispered, as though she were afraid he was only a memory and would disappear again if she spoke any louder. “Caleb? Is it really you?”

“Yes, Ma. I’m home.” An instant later he found himself in her loving arms, and they stood there holding each other, crying. He had dreamed of this tender moment nearly every night for many years. His mother’s love filled him with such a feeling of acceptance and healing, he was astonished at the joy he experienced. There was only one thing missing. “Where’s Pa?”

“Oh, he went out to the barn for something. He should be back any minute.” As she looked at her son who had grown into a man, the twinkle that had been lost from her eyes before partially returned, but some clouds seemed to loom in them as she asked, “What happened to you? They said you died that night of the wreck. How’d you survive?”

Caleb looked around before he answered her. “Do you mind if we sit for a bit? I’ve been traveling all day, and I’d like to tell you and Pa at the same time.”

“Whatever you say, honey.” she smiled as she took his hand and led him to the parlor. The woman’s happiness radiated from her as though she had just witnessed an angel. Her countenance beamed with delight, and Caleb knew that she had suffered greatly in his absence.

After they were seated, Grace on the couch and Caleb in a chair across from her, Grace’s joy seemed to heighten as she continued to look at her son. “Well, you’ve certainly filled out right nice. You look just like your daddy when he was young. But your hair’s awful long.”

“Yeah.” Caleb chuckled, self-consciously pulling it away from his face and behind his shoulders. “I was kind of hoping you’d cut if for me before I go into public again. People stare at me like I’m a leper.”

Just then, the kitchen door opened and Caleb heard heavy footsteps on the floor as his father knocked the dirt off his boots as had always been his habit. “Hey, Gracie!” came Augustus’s voice from the kitchen. “Do you have some more of that old material we used to tie around the poles out west of the barn to mark those baby trees? We forgot some this morning and I want to get them done quick-like before I forget where they are.”

“Augustus, we’ve got company. Can we do it in the morning?”

“Well I suppose so,” he said. His footsteps were heard leaving the kitchen and moving towards the parlor. “And who is it that’s come a-calling at this hour?”

The back of Caleb’s chair faced the doorway of the parlor, and Caleb knew his father wouldn’t recognize him from the back. So standing, he turned around to greet Augustus. Upon entering, Augustus looked first to Caleb, and then to his smiling wife and back to Caleb before the realization seemed to set in. “Son?” he croaked. He reached out for the wall to keep him upright. Augustus was a short man with very little hair atop his head, and the hair that was on the sides was mostly gray. His tan and careworn face sported stubby whiskers from not shaving since the early hours of the morning, and his eyes glistened with moisture as he caught sight of Caleb standing in the parlor.

“Hello, Pa. I’m home,” Caleb whispered. He went to his father, his emotion caught in his throat, and quickly embraced him.

Pulling away momentarily, Augustus said, “But I don’t understand. How can this be?”

“Well, he wanted to tell us both together, so stop your blubbering and come have a seat. The suspense is near to eating me alive,” Grace said. Though what she said sounded a bit harsh, both father and son chuckled knowing her obvious eagerness to hear the story.

Only one thought entered Caleb’s mind as he walked back to his chair. It was good to be home. He had missed his mother’s theatrics, her gentle manner, and her generosity. He’d missed working alongside his father and Augustus’s ability to make him laugh. So many things were wonderful about home; he never wanted to leave. And yet, he wondered how long he would be able to stay.

“All right, don’t get your corset strings tied in knots.” Augustus chuckled as he made his way to the couch next to his wife, and Caleb moved back to the chair he’d occupied only moments before. “So, tell us, son,” Augustus began, more seriously as he took his wife’s hand in his. “Wasn’t it your ship that sent all aboard to meet their maker?”

“Yep, the Blue Sparrow did get shipwrecked like you must’ve heard about ten months after we set sail. And from what I’ve gathered from talking with various people, there weren’t any survivors.” That’s what everyone had told him about that ship—no survivors. He looked down guiltily at his hands as though he had never seen them before; those hands that served him in so many ways and ultimately had saved his life.

“No survivors, except me,” he choked out in an emotional whisper.

“So what happened? How’d you survive?” his mother asked.

Swallowing the lump that had unexpectedly formed in his throat, he lifted his eyes to his mother’s. “I don’t know,” he stated simply. “I got knocked unconscious by a giant wave, but not before I’d secured myself to a beam and that must have helped save my life somehow.” He quickly looked at the expressions on his parents’ faces. The horror of what had happened to their boy was all too apparent on their faces, and Caleb’s heart ached for the burden his disappearance caused them. “Shortly after I washed up on shore, I joined up with a crew sailing east. I had to stay with them for five years. And then it’s taken me nearly a year to get back home.”

Yes, that’s what happened; or at least the bare details of what had happened. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to tell anyone the entirety of his story. This explanation should suffice, he told himself again. It was all anyone ever needed to know about his seven years spent at sea.

“Why didn’t you write?” his mother asked.

“We seldom if ever passed a ship coming this way and were almost never on land.”

“Does anyone, then, know you survived?” Augustus asked.

“Before I came here I stopped in and saw Anthony Hielott. Actually his son, Clarence, was in the office but as I was leaving I met up with Anthony. He offered me his apologies for what happened, not that any of it was his fault, and he told me he’d help in any way he could to get me on my feet again.”

“Well, that was nice of him,” Grace said.

“Sure was. He was very helpful to us right after it all happened. He’s a good man, he is,” Augustus replied.

Silence followed Augustus’s comment as the family sat staring at each other with grins on their faces. Each person lost in his own thoughts, yet each one thinking the same thing. It was good to be together as a family again.

“Are you hungry, honey?” Grace finally asked, breaking the silence. “I’ve got some leftover stew in the kitchen.”

“That sounds good. I can’t remember the last time I had a real good hearty meal, let alone homemade,” Caleb said. He stood and followed his mother into the kitchen.

As Grace tended to Caleb and made sure he had plenty to eat, Caleb and Augustus talked of the farm and the town. When Grace finally sat down, Caleb asked, “Whatever happened to Jameson Thatcher?”

“He works for old Bailey down at the livery,” Augustus said.

“He married yet?”

“Nope. You know how shy Jameson is. He pretty much stays to himself,” said Augustus.

“But I think he has a girl over in Charleston County he sees quite frequently,” Grace added, and Augustus nodded.

This news pleased Caleb. Jameson was a good man and deserved to be happy. “Are the Linds still in town?” Caleb asked.

“Yep,” Augustus said. “Your mama goes over to visit Gretchen from time to time.”

“And you remember Alice?” Grace said and Caleb nodded slightly. “She’s living with them now. She’s such a pretty girl and all grown up,” Grace said conspiratorially, and Caleb did not miss the look of warning that his father threw her direction.

Caleb ate quietly for a few more minutes before he spoke again after wiping his mouth clean. “So, whatever happened to the Burns? Are they still around?”

Grace and Augustus exchanged glances before Augustus answered. “They’re still in that house down the road, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Caleb nodded. “And what of Lydia? Did she marry that Spencer what’s-his-name?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes, Caleb, she did,” his mother said gently.

Caleb continued eating, staring into his bowl of stew in order to conceal his reaction. Over the past several years, he had become proficient at covering up his true thoughts and feelings, no matter how deeply they affected him. “Hmm, well, good for her,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“I’m so sorry, Caleb,” his mother soothed.

“What for?” he countered nonchalantly. “It’s not your fault my ship sank in a storm and everyone thought I was dead. I certainly didn’t expect to come back and see her sitting around becoming an old maid because she was so heartbroken over my death.” But he also hadn’t expected to find Lydia married to Spencer Tollwhite.

“Now she didn’t mean that, son,” Augustus said, trying to mend the bridge before it burned down completely. “She only meant—”

“I know. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tired,” he said, guilty for his behavior.

“Let me get you a warm bath, change the sheets on your bed, and then you should get some shut eye,” Grace said as she stood up from the table.

“Thanks, Ma.”

Caleb was still somewhat stunned at both seeing his parents and actually hearing someone say that Lydia married Spencer Tollwhite. Caleb had imagined she married someone, but it was still difficult to hear it spoken. She had been angry to learn of his leaving but by the time he left, they had parted as friends. So for her to have heard of his death had most likely been shocking or even devastating. She had evidently turned to Spencer for comfort and support. Who could blame her? Caleb certainly didn’t. He was uncertain he would do any different if the situation had been reversed. Though his thoughts and feelings towards Lydia had never been what she or anyone else had thought they were or should be, she was still a sweet girl and only deserved the best. He prayed that Spencer endeavored to deserve her.

As he lay in bed thinking of so many different things and experiencing so many complex emotions, his mind wandered back to the red-headed beauty from town. His countenance lightened some as he pictured her; copper curls flying in the breeze and her face flushed from the fresh air. Perhaps she was the Linds’ granddaughter. The thought encouraged him, for she had been a delightful little girl. He remembered meeting her for the first time—red hair escaping her two pig-tails and wearing a white pressed apron while carrying a tray of fruit at a royal ball. Even at such a young age she had been able to cause his heart to flip-flop with excitement. They’d spent many days together those first years and she had enchanted him, yet she had been entirely too young for him. Still, she’d be grown up now and he briefly allowed his mind to linger on the girl from his boyhood. Was she the same girl he’d met in town? Whoever the red-headed girl was, she probably had a fiery temper and would look simply adorable with her petticoats tied in knots. Maybe, he thought as he drifted into a fitful slumber, maybe I’ll test it out sometime.