Woman of Grace (22 page)

Evan immediately strode over to join Hannah. “Looks like you’re needing an escort again.”

Bless dear, loyal Evan. “It’s all right, really it is.” She managed a weak, lopsided grin. “Besides, if it came to blows, I think I could handle the likes of Mary Sue.”

He shot the dark-haired girl an appraising look. “Yeah, I reckon you could at that. But I like being with you any chance I get. I don’t mind standing in this line again.”

Despite her talk with Abby two days ago, Hannah still hadn’t summoned the courage to speak with Evan. If the truth be told, finding the right words to tell him it was over between them had been even harder than finding the resolve. But she would soon enough, she knew. She had to.

Evan deserved that much. And so did the Lord, if she was ever to cast all her trust upon Him. Right now, though, she must deal with Noah Starr and his aunt.

Her turn finally came. Evan, by then apparently satisfied it was safe to leave her, rejoined his father and cousin at the punch bowl across the room. Hannah walked up to stand before Noah. His face haggard in his grief and weariness, he stood there for a long moment, staring in surprise. Then, apparently remembering himself, he accepted her proffered hand.

“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for the loss of your uncle,” Hannah forced herself to say. “I know it must have come as quite a shock to you and your aunt.”

“Uncle Samuel had been ailing for some time,” the young priest admitted, “though he kept the truth about his infirmities hidden. He didn’t wish to cause concern or allow it to diminish his ability to serve his people.”

“He was a good man,” was her simple reply.

The Reverend Samuel Starr had indeed been a good-hearted if sometimes officious man. Hannah wondered now if he wouldn’t have welcomed her into his little congregation if she had ever dared ask. It was too late now, though, to find out. What she could do, however, was ask his nephew.

She noticed, then, that Noah had yet to release her hand. She glanced down at it, clasped as it still was in his larger one, and flushed. Somehow, some way, Hannah sensed Noah had already guessed she had come just now for more than the offering of condolences.

Lifting her head, she met his gentle, questioning gaze. Here goes, Lord, she whispered silently. “When things settle down a bit,” Hannah began, her voice sounding surprisingly husky all of a sudden, “would you consider accepting me for instruction? I’d like”—she swallowed hard, then forged on—“I’d like to be baptized and join your church.”

For the longest time Noah stared down at her, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Then, like the morning sun bursting forth over the horizon to gild a new day, a joyous smile brightened his face. He gripped her hand all the tighter and gave it a small shake of confirmation.

“Yes,” Noah breathed in quiet conviction. “Yes, I’d be happy—no,
privileged
—to accept you for instruction.”

13

The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

Psalm 27:1

Two weeks later, under Noah Starr’s patient tutelage, Hannah began her instruction in the Episcopal faith. To keep the secret from Abby, she arranged to spend the necessary time with Noah during her trips to town for supplies. Though those trips occurred a bit more frequently than usual—and required Devlin’s, Evan’s, or some hand’s escort—Abby never appeared to catch on.

But then, nearing the last month of her pregnancy, Abby didn’t seem to notice nearly as much as she once had. Her face took on a dreamy quality; she slept more, and her activity level gradually lessened. “Settling into her nest” or some such phrase was what Conor called it. For his part, Devlin, father of three himself, could only chuckle and second his cousin’s observation.

While Abby nearly floated through the days, Hannah agonized about how best to tell Evan their “engagement” was over. Numerous times she rehearsed the words and phrases she would use. Then, numerous times, she just as quickly discarded them. Finally, Hannah decided she would simply spit out the truth, choosing her next words based on what Evan said.

Two days before Thanksgiving she gathered her courage and, after getting Beth to watch the children for a short while, sought him out. It was a bitterly cold, windy afternoon when Hannah managed to track Evan down in one of the barns. He was cleaning a stall and, fortunately, was alone.

A blast of cold air followed her through the side door as she slipped into the barn, alerting Evan to his visitor. An armful of clean, dry straw in his arms, he paused to glance over the stall divider. At sight of Hannah, dressed in her usual blue wool jacket, a multicolored knit scarf over her head, and mittens on her hands, he grinned in unabashed delight.

Throwing his load onto the stall floor, Evan quickly wiped his hands on his denims, swiped at any stray pieces of straw that might be clinging to his dark hair, and hurried over. “What a pleasant diversion,” he exclaimed, his smoky blue eyes bright with gladness. “How did you know that, just this moment, I’d been thinking of you and wishing you were here?”

As if to punctuate his declaration, Evan took her by the arms and pulled her to him. Before Hannah could respond, he lowered his head and kissed her.

This wasn’t, she thought in dismay, at all how she had intended her talk with Evan to begin. Drawing up her hands against his chest, Hannah pushed back as gently as she could.

Always the perfect gentleman, Evan immediately released her. The look of puzzlement—and even a tinge of hurt—in his eyes, though, revealed his confusion. In Evan’s mind, Hannah realized, nothing had changed between them.

“Evan, there’s something we need to talk about.” She busied herself with the task of pulling off her mittens and headscarf, then glanced up and found a load of hay bales, yet to be stacked, in one of the empty stalls. She gestured to them. “Can we sit for a spell?”

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, but complied.

When they were both seated, Hannah gathered her rapidly waning courage and launched into the purpose of her visit. “It’s about us, Evan.” She gazed earnestly up at him. “I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I don’t think I can ever be the kind of wife you want me to be. I’d like to go back to being friends—permanently.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and Hannah could see the emotions flash by in his eyes. Shock, hurt, then briefly, a spark of anger he quickly damped.

“If I’m pushing you too hard, I can back off more,” Evan offered finally. “If it’s more time you need—”

“No.” She raised her hand to halt him. “It’s not that. It’s … us. We’re not right for each other. At least not,” she hurried to amend, “as husband and wife anyway. I love you dearly, Evan, but as a brother, a friend. And that’s no way to come to you in marriage.”

He looked away. “Plenty of folk marry for reasons other than love. And a lot of them still manage to find it eventually.” His gaze swung back to lock with hers. “You have to work at a marriage, Hannah. It isn’t all flowers and high emotion.”

Frustration filled her. Oh, how could she make him understand without hurting him even further? More than anything, she didn’t want to hurt Evan.

Yet it seemed more and more apparent the only way to avoid hurting him was to acquiesce to his request that they marry. There was no guarantee, though, that her heart would change once they were wed. Indeed, if she trusted her instincts in this matter, Hannah felt certain things would only worsen between them.

“Yes, you do have to work at marriage,” she forced herself to reply, “but there has to be something there to begin with. Something to build upon. Though you seem convinced something already exists, I’m not. It’s over between us, Evan. You’ve got to accept that and go on.”

“Accept that? Go on?”

The young man leaped to his feet so quickly it startled Hannah. She reared back, her hands lifting instinctively as if to ward off a blow. Her action only deepened the anguish burning in Evan’s eyes.

“Why now, Hannah?” he demanded, towering over her with clenched hands and rigid shoulders. “Ever since you went to work for Devlin, things have changed between us. It’s almost as if … as if he’s put ideas into your head. Ideas about him!”

Hannah blinked in confusion. Gradually but inexorably, the meaning behind his words trickled into her mind. Horror filled her. She blushed furiously.

“No.” Hannah shook her head with vehemence. “Devlin has never, ever shown any romantic interest in me. Not before Ella died, or after. At best, we’re becoming friends. But that’s all, Evan. I swear it!”

Her response appeared to mollify him. “Good thing,” he muttered, his handsome face mottling with anger. “If I thought for a moment Devlin was horning in where he had no right, especially so soon after losing Ella … well, I don’t know what I’d do. He’s always been too big for his britches. A little too high and mighty, especially considering all his own failings.”

“Well, let me assure you one of his failings isn’t running after other women so soon after Ella’s death. He still mourns her deeply.”

“Maybe so,” was Evan’s grudging reply. “You can’t blame me for wondering, though. It did seem like you started changing toward me after you took up housekeeping for him and taking care of his kids. Why, I hardly see you nowadays!”

“I’ve been very busy with the children,” she countered defensively. “Besides, I’d begun to have my doubts about us long before I first started working for Devlin.”

As much as she hated to admit that to him, Hannah felt compelled now to do so. All she needed, atop Evan getting angry at her for breaking things off, was for him to take out that anger on Devlin.

A look of stubborn determination flared in Evan’s eyes. “Doubts or no, you could still give me a chance. A man can change a lot about himself, if the right woman is willing to give him a chance.”

Hannah drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Evan, it’s over between us. And you certainly don’t need to change for my sake. Better you just wait for the right woman to come along.” She stood, pulled her mittens from her pocket, and put them on.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He took her by the arm. “I’m not done talking.”

“Yes, you are.” She tried to free herself, but his grip only tightened. “Let me go, Evan. Just let me go.”

For an instant he looked as if, for once, he intended to refuse. Hannah could see the warring emotions in his eyes, the muscles in his jaw clenching, and the rigid way he held himself.

Terror washed over her. Then she recalled whom she was with. Evan wasn’t like the other men. No matter how angry he might become, she knew him, trusted him. He’d never hurt her.

“Let me go, Evan. Please,” she repeated, this time gently.

He released her then and stepped back, breathing heavily as if it had taken all the strength within him to do so. Hannah turned and walked toward the door. Just as she reached it, his voice, hoarse with determination, reached her.

“I’ll let you go, for now,” he cried. “But I’m not giving up. Not by a long shot. You’re still searching, Hannah. And as long as you are, there’s still a chance for us. Just remember that. There’s still a chance!”

Hannah gripped the door latch and pushed down hard, then walked out. Immediately, the wind caught her in its icy grip, buffeting and slapping at her as if to chastise her for treating Evan so cruelly. She gritted her teeth, lowered her head, and plowed onward.

The wind hadn’t anymore right than Evan to berate or doubt her. It was her life, her decision, and no one else’s.

She hadn’t fought so long and hard to escape the horrible, denigrating life of the bordello to have someone else attempt to control her now. Anger swelled within her; her heart pounded, and frustrated tears filled her eyes. It didn’t matter if Evan’s love made him think that what he wanted was right for her.

The wind began to howl, the noise giving expression to Hannah’s pain and confusion. Sleet started to fall, pelting the earth, pricking her tender skin—and equally tender conscience. Hannah’s face and ears grew cold—she had forgotten to tie on the knit scarf she had earlier stuffed into her pocket. She pulled it out now, flinging it over her head.

Just then a particularly brutal gust surged down and whipped it from her, sending the scarf soaring. “No!” Hannah screamed. She ran after it, racing back down the hill.

The sleet came harder now, coating the ground with an icy layer. Hannah slipped and fell, hitting the coldhardened earth with a surprising impact. Far down the hill, the brightly colored scarf danced out of sight.

The tears came then, coursing down her cheeks. The frustration and anger at Evan—for not listening to her, not accepting what she had told him, and for having to hurt him—swelled in her throat, threatening to choke her. For the life of her, she couldn’t get up, couldn’t compel her limbs to carry her onward. That sudden lack of strength terrified her.