The House on Malcolm Street (40 page)

Marigold smiled. I gave her a hug with Eliza still clinging to my side. And then greeted Mr. Abraham with a shake of the hand. Josiah stayed back from us, my bag in his hand.

“Thank you,” I told him. And he nodded his head, something deep and solemn in his eyes.

There was no splitting up and going to two separate houses when we got back. Marigold ushered everyone in to her kitchen table and fed us tea and scones. They told me another boarder had stopped in while I was gone, a traveling man who’d only needed to stay a few days. But Mr. Abraham had made Josiah move right back in with Marigold so he’d be here in the boardinghouse to spend his nights while the stranger was here.

“I’d rather such a thing not happen again,” Mr. Abraham confessed. “I don’t like the idea of a stranger roaming the house over here. I never have, but it’s never been my place to say. Until now. So I’ve asked Josiah to stay and keep a watch on things until the spring, the Passover time, when I’d like to claim my bride.”

My mouth flew open. “Marigold!”

They both smiled, and Eliza giggled with glee. I didn’t even worry what Eliza and I would do then. Marigold and Eliza would say that the Lord would provide. And I believed it. With all my heart. He’d already worked a miracle with my father. Nothing was impossible to him.

I noticed Josiah watching me as we ate and laughed together around the table. But he remained quiet, letting the rest of us do almost all the talking. But later, after Mr. Abraham had gone home and I’d tucked Eliza into bed, I met him on the stairway, and we both stopped.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “I’m glad things went well.”

“Thank you.”

“How was the return ride, on the train?”

“So very much better.”

He looked like he was afraid again, almost like the way he’d seemed in the Kurchers’ kitchen when I’d refused to be the one to drive. His hand fidgeted on the rail and he cleared his throat a couple of times. Finally, he just lowered himself to the step where he’d stood, sitting practically at my feet. “Can I talk to you?”

He looked like a little boy, tussled hair, uncertain eyes and all.

I sat on a step near him, so we were both perched halfway up in Marigold’s front hall.

“I need to apologize,” he began.

My heart thundered, and I immediately began to protest. “Oh no. You did nothing wrong. You helped me. Really. I was in such a state I don’t think I could have managed on my own.”

He smiled, a frightened little smile, and tears came to his eyes. “That’s kind of what I thought.”

“But then – why apologize?”

“Not for the train.” He smiled a little wider. “I should have known better. I should have listened to Marigold, but more than that, what the Lord was trying to do here. It was wrong of me to be so rude to you, to try to make you promise something that would never have been right. The truth is, you helped me, maybe more than you know. And I didn’t think I’d ever be able to help you. But I guess I did. In some small way.”

“No. A big way. A very big way.”

He looked beyond me, up into the rafters. “What I’m trying to say is, since I’ve already been proved wrong on that point, I was wondering . . . if you wouldn’t find it too uncomfortable . . . I just want to know . . . if you’d have any objection to claiming me for a friend.”

I could see the hope in his face, like a child’s, the hunger to be accepted. “That would be wonderful,” I told him. “If you’d also accept me as your friend.”

He lowered his eyes and looked for a moment into mine. “I think I can do that.”

He pulled himself to his feet and offered me his hand. With fluttering heart, I took it and he lifted me gently but then turned his eyes away again.

“I know your loss is still recent. I don’t expect anything more of you, so don’t be worryin’. Just friendship. That’s enough.”

“Thank you,” I told him, feeling suddenly warm inside. “More than you know.”

His eyes returned to mine for a fleeting instant with a twinkle of light, a depth of emotion rare and almost lovely.
I could respect a man like this,
I caught myself thinking.
Maybe even love a man like this one day.

He took my hand, gave it a little shake. Then he walked on up the steps away from me.

“Josiah,” I called before he could disappear.

“Yes?” He stopped on a stair and stood stiff.

“God bless you.”

I could see his shoulders relax. He turned just a little. “God bless you too, Leah Breckenridge.”

Then he went on to his room and left me on the stairs alone. I’d just been going down to fetch fresh towels, but it took me a moment now to remember that.

Another miracle. Another gift from heaven. I don’t know why I thought of it like that. Josiah was nothing like my father. But I saw a miracle just the same. I saw grace and peace melt a barrier from a strong man’s heart, and I felt like singing. Except that I was afraid I might wake Eliza, and maybe even Marigold.

But no. I’d probably not wake Marigold. She was probably still up. Praying. For the hurt to be healed, the poor to be fed, and everything to come aright in this world.

I skipped down the stairway and twirled once or twice in the hall. Wouldn’t Eliza think I was funny if she saw me now? But she’d understand. That girl had no trouble comprehending joy. And not so long ago, I’d thought I’d never feel it again. Now I felt full to overflowing.

You are so good, God! Even when I doubted you, you never turned away. I love you. I thank you, for every wonder that you’ve wrought. Hope. Grace. And your precious gift of peace. Thank you, thank you, God!

Leisha Kelly
is the author of many popular historical fiction books, including
Julia’s Hope
,
Emma’s Gift
,
Katie’s Dream
,
Till Morning Is Nigh
, and the Country Road Chronicles
.
As L.A. Kelly, she is also the author of
Tahn
,
Return to Alastair
, and
The Scarlet Trefoil
. She and her husband have two children and live in a small Illinois town where she has served many years on her local library board. Leisha is also busy as a speaker in the surrounding area and a youth and children’s minister at her home church.

For more information on Leisha and her books, go to
www.leishakelly.com
.