what he’d wanted to.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mrs. Ashford apologized. “I’m just sad for the child.” Then the woman looked worried. “How long will your sister and her little friend be visiting here with you?”
“I have adopted both girls,” Mason said, bracing himself for the backlash, not looking toward Miss Jones.
Mrs. Ashford’s face widened in shock. “How can you take care of two little girls all by yourself?” Before he could answer, she turned to Miss Jones. “You two will have to get married right away.”
He couldn’t help himself. With a quick glance, he sought Miss Jones’s reaction.
She looked as if someone had slapped her.
Mason had not expected her to be pleased with the change in his circumstances, and it was worse to find out here in such a public place where they couldn’t talk this through. He closed his eyes in defeat.
“Mrs. Ashford,” Miss Jones began, “Mr. Chandler has just returned—”
“Aren’t you going to go through with your engagement?” Mrs. Ashford asked.
Here, right here on Main Street—was this where Miss Jones would let him down?
At that moment he heard someone approaching. He turned and saw Levi Comstock, the burly blacksmith and his good friend, coming. Or, he had been a good friend. Would he remain so?
Still in his leather apron and with his soot-blackened face, Levi held out his hand. “Good to see you back. Asa’s still got your cow and—also a new heifer—”
“A heifer?” Mason asked with surprise.
“Yes, your cow had a nice little calf in the spring.”
Mason couldn’t speak. Such good news.
“And those two and your chickens are all in good order with Asa. I still have your horses and wagon at my place. When would you like to come get them?”
In reply to all this warm welcome and news, Mason clasped Levi’s large, strong hand and shook it heartily.
“Well, Mr. Chandler,” Miss Jones spoke up, “I am happy to have met you and I will see you again soon, I’m sure.”
“But Miss Jones,” Mrs. Ashford spoke up, “you’re on your way to your sister’s home today, aren’t you? Mr. Chandler’s homestead is just up the road from there. You two might as well keep each other company on your way. You can bring Mr. Chandler up to date about all that’s happened in our little town while he was away.”
Mason did not appreciate the storekeeper’s wife’s suggestion. The last thing he wanted was to “keep each other company.” And it was more than obvious that Miss Jones didn’t want to, either. But what could they do here on Main Street but comply?
* * *
Emma literally clamped her teeth on her tongue, holding back a sharp retort. She wanted to get away from Mason Chandler. Coming upon him without warning had jumbled her thoughts and emotions in a way she had not expected. But what could she say to Mrs. Ashford? She could not be rude on the main street of town. “Of course,” she said politely.
Mason appeared uncomfortable, too.
She liked him better for that.
“You’re pretty,” one of the little girls said, looking up at her with big brown eyes and chubby brown cheeks.
Emma wished once again that people wouldn’t point out her outward appearance. She knew that they meant it in a complimentary way. But she was more than just a pretty face. However, saying this would not be polite, so she merely smiled at the little girl.
Mason asked Mrs. Ashford for the few items he needed to purchase, and then soon the four of them started up Main Street, heading toward her sister’s place. Then Mason could go on from there to his homestead.
For the first few minutes while they were walking through town, neither of them said anything. She didn’t want to be thrown together with Mason, the man she planned to let down lightly. She wasn’t rejecting him personally. After losing Jonathan, she’d never wanted to marry. Only dire need had forced her to accept a proposal from a stranger. But she did not need to marry now as she had in March. So she would be polite and distant.
Soon the four of them were walking a grassy track up a rise from town, thickly guarded on both sides by towering maples, oaks and fir trees. Emma decided talking was better than this awkward, heavy silence. Besides, she wondered how had he come to adopt two little girls. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’m interested in your girls.” She left the question open for any way he chose to answer it.
He cleared his throat. “My father, a widower, told me about losing Charlotte’s mother. When he died, I went to Illinois to find my little sister.”
That commanded Emma’s attention. Some men might not have been concerned enough about a little sister, especially a little half-sister, to go looking for her. Again, this was to his credit. She wanted to ask about the other little girl, but again her desire to keep her distance and her idea of politeness held her back.
“Birdie also lived at the orphans’ home in Illinois,” Mason continued as if sensing her unspoken question. “When Charlotte came to live at the orphanage well over a year ago, the woman who runs it, a Mrs. Felicity Gabriel Hawkins, located someone in Chicago who knew sign language and hired her to come teach it to Charlotte. That teacher said that it was better to have two pupils because they could help each other. And Birdie was already Charlotte’s best friend.”
“I liked Charlotte right away,” Birdie said. “And I wanted to learn how to talk with my hands.”
At that moment Charlotte looked up to Emma for the first time.
Emma was moved by the lost expression in Charlotte’s green eyes. And she was fascinated as she watched how Birdie worked her hands, communicating with the quiet girl walking beside her. Emma suppressed the urge to hug Birdie and silently promised to be a good friend to this little sweetheart. “I’m glad you did, Birdie. I like Charlotte already and I like you, too.”
Birdie smiled up at her as she evidently signed to Charlotte what Emma had said. Charlotte almost smiled.
Suddenly Emma realized that somehow Mason was slipping past her carefully constructed defenses. He was kind. Generous. And not hard to look at, either. Blushing, she quickened her step, hurrying them as much as was polite.
Another question niggled at Emma. Should she ask it? Yes, it would distract her from her awareness of him and not give him time to turn the conversation to “them.”
“So you were allowed to adopt both girls?”
“That was what caused the further delay in my returning,” Mason said. “Mrs. Hawkins questioned me about my qualifications to take charge of my little sister. Which wasn’t surprising since she didn’t know me.”
“Of course,” Emma murmured. A blue jay sounded its raucous song as if jeering at her, trapped in this uncomfortable situation, talking politely to a man she had agreed to marry but no longer wished to.
“I told her I was homesteading in Pepin, Wisconsin. That’s when she said her childhood friend, Noah Whitmore, was also homesteading in Pepin.”
“She knew Noah Whitmore?”
“Yes, they grew up going to the same Quaker meeting in Pennsylvania. And she decided to write to him to gain a character reference for me.”
“It’s amazing how God orchestrates matters.” Emma believed this, yet felt the old tug of disappointment. She’d prayed fervently for her fiancé Jonathan to survive the war. But evidently God had denied her request. Someday she hoped she could accept that with peace. She drew in a slow breath, wishing the brittle feeling around her heart would leave her.
“I suppose,” he said.
His