скачать книгу бесплатно
“I want to welcome you to Fair Point, and thank you for coming. You teachers, speakers and entertainers are the heart of this Chautauqua Assembly. It could not take place without you. And now for an explanation of our purpose and some rules about your classes or lectures.” Dr. Austin clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward, his bearded face sober. “It is our belief that every facet of a person—spirit, soul and body—should be ministered to in order to promote an abundant life. Therefore, this assembly will devote itself to Bible study, teacher training classes, musical entertainment, lectures on important issues of the day and how they relate to the church, recreational activity, praise meetings and devotional exercises.”
Important issues of the day. That would include her subject of temperance.
Dr. Austin cleared his throat, stepped to the edge of the platform. “It is also our belief that education should be available to every man, woman and child for the enrichment of their lives and the betterment of mankind. Therefore, reading and the discussion of books shall be an ongoing class. Also, the advances in the sciences will be demonstrated and taught.”
She took a breath and glanced around.All of the people looked so competent and accomplished. And she felt so inept and uncertain. As if she were still walking on the Colonel Phillips’s quivering deck.
Grant Winston. A vision of him walking toward her out of the darkness slipped into her mind. It was strange how safe she had felt with him beside her. And how reluctant she was to see him go when they’d been separated onto their different paths after disembarking. Would she ever see him again? She frowned and fingered the cord on her purse. That was highly unlikely. There were so many people attending the assembly it would be impossible to— The assembly. She jerked her thoughts back to the speaker.
“—in addition to the Bible readings.” Dr. Austin glanced down at the paper he held. “Today’s topic for the late afternoon featured lecture will be moral ideas. Tomorrow, it will be on drawing caricatures. And the day following will feature the first of the lectures on temperance.”
There was an audible intake of breath among those listening, a general stirring as people glanced at one another. She caught her breath at the reaction, looked down at her lap. Two more days to prepare.
“And, of course, every day there will be nature walks in the woods and promenades along the shore, boats for rowing and all manner of entertainments—music, steamer rides, fireworks...”
Steamer rides? Not for her. Unless... She closed her eyes, pictured Grant Winston standing beside her at the rail of a steamer with sunshine warm on their faces and a soft breeze riffling their hair. A smile touched her lips. He had sun streaks in his hair, the way her father did before he moved them into town. Was Grant a farmer? Or perhaps a logger? Or—
She started at movement beside her and opened her eyes. People were standing. She hastened to her feet, stepped out into the aisle and joined the flow of people exiting the tent. She had missed the rules for speakers Dr. Austin had spoken of! How could she—
“Marissa!”
She stopped and turned at the soft call. Her tent mate was hurrying up the aisle toward her. She released a soft sigh and waited for Clarice to catch up to her. Clarice would have notes.
“Well, that was interesting! What a crowd!” Clarice paused, motioned her into the line of people in the aisle and headed for the tent opening. “Are you ready to eat something, Marissa? I wasn’t able to get a seat at a table earlier and I’m starving!”
Marissa smiled and dipped her head to a man who stepped aside to let them precede him through the tent’s entrance. “I am a bit hungry.” No doubt because she had two more days before she spoke. She paused, looked around. People were entering the woods in all different directions. “Which way do we go for the ‘hotel’?”
“Up.” Clarice laughed and stepped into the trees.
* * *
Grant strode along the dock, showed his admittance pass to the gatekeeper and hurried across the flat shore area, his empty stomach rumbling. Discussing the grape samples with his father had taken longer than he expected. Not that it surprised him. His father was set against his coming to this assembly. How could the man still be so against science when he had proven to him with the concords that experimentation worked?
He frowned down at the line map on the back of his pass, tucked it in his pocket and started up a wooded path at a fast pace taking his frustration out on the hillside. He was a grown man with his own ideas, but the doctor had warned against any heated confrontations because of his father’s ill health. One fit of anger could overstress his weak heart. It made his obstinance doubly hard to deal with. If it hadn’t been for his father’s crippling accident, he would be a scientist by now, not a vineyard manager trying to cope with old-fashioned ideas.
He halted. People were clustered at a crossing of paths ahead. He glanced at the sign nailed to a long building made of rough boards. The Hotel. This was the dining hall? Hopefully, the food was better than the building.
He glanced inside and looked for a young woman with blond curls dangling at her forehead and temples. It wasn’t much to go on, but he’d find Miss Bradley. He had time. The science class wasn’t scheduled until later. And she had to eat. He stepped back outside, took up a place by the door and scanned the people entering the clearing. His pulse jumped at the sight of blond curls and a pair of lovely but sad blue eyes. She was with another lady. Well, he’d met the challenge of finding her. That was enough...for now. He smiled and stepped forward, dipped his head. “I see you survived the steamer ride, Miss Bradley.”
She glanced up at him, surprise in her blue eyes. “I did. Thank you again for your assistance on that slippery deck, Mr. Winston.” She smiled, glanced at her companion. “May I present Miss Gordon?”
There was a shyness in Marissa’s smile that tugged at him. He bowed an acknowledgment and shifted his gaze to Miss Gordon. A pair of gray eyes with a speculative gleam in their depths studied him.
“It’s unpleasant dining alone. Perhaps your friend would like to take his meal with us, Marissa.” Miss Gordon ignored Miss Bradley’s soft gasp and continued to gaze at him. “Unless you were waiting for someone, Mr. Winston?” There was a challenge in her tone.
Marissa. He tucked the name into his memory and slid his gaze to its owner. Her cheeks were pink. She was obviously embarrassed by her friend’s boldness. He hurried to smooth over the social misstep. “I would be honored to escort you both to dinner, if you have no objection, Miss Bradley.”
She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “I should be pleased at the sight of another familiar face at the table, Mr. Winston. The crowds of strangers are a bit overwhelming.”
“Then I am happy to serve.” He stepped to the door, motioned them into line before him.
Sunshine streamed through the cracks between the boards of the walls to stripe the dried mud on the floor. The crude benches alongside long tables covered with oilcloth were filling with people. He ushered them to one with three empty places, helped them onto the bench, then took his place and looked around.
“I’m glad it’s not raining today.”
“Me, too.”
He glanced at the women across the table.
The younger of the group smiled and pointed toward the ceiling. “Last night we had to eat while holding umbrellas.”
“Which was no easy feat!”
He looked from the laughing women to the roof. There were streaks of blue sky showing between many of the boards. It didn’t take much imagination to picture rain pouring through those wide cracks to drown the plates of food on the tables below. “I see what you mean. Thank you for the warning, ladies.”
Marissa slanted a look up at the ceiling and laughed. “It looks as if they would be wise to plan soup for the daily meal when there is inclement weather.”
She had a quick wit. He chuckled, admiring the sparkle of bright flecks in her blue eyes.
A man walking in the aisle behind them stopped, cleared his throat. “What’s that you say, young lady?” The women across the table lifted their heads, and their eyes widened.
Marissa gasped. “Dr. Austin!” Pink flowed into her cheeks. “Please forgive me, sir. I meant no—”
“Do not apologize, young lady. I am in your debt.” The leader of the Chautauqua Assembly smiled. “Good strong soup that will not be harmed by the addition of a bit of rainwater is an excellent idea. I shall pass it on to the cooks.” He gave a polite bow and walked off.
The women stared after him.
Miss Gordon burst into laughter. “You should see your face, Marissa!”
In his opinion she looked beautiful—if a bit chagrined.
Marissa lifted her hands to cover her cheeks, glanced down at the table. “What are you doing, Clarice?”
He shifted his gaze to the box Miss Gordon had opened. It held all manner of writing supplies.
“I’m making a note to include this story in my article. It’s the sort of personal touch that will make my report on this assembly lively and entertaining as well as factual. I shall title it ‘The Chautauqua Experience.’” Miss Gordon pulled out pencil and paper, dashed down words. “This is exactly what I was looking for. Something that will make my article stand out from all the other dull, factual reports and gain the editor’s and publisher’s attention.”
His eyebrows rose. “Publisher?”
Marissa Bradley glanced at him, something akin to apprehension in her eyes. “Clarice is a reporter for the Sunday School Journal.” She turned back to Miss Gordon. “You’ll not mention me by name?”
“Not if you don’t wish me to. Let me think...” Miss Gordon stopped writing, looked up and grinned. “Ah! I’ve thought of the perfect name! I’ll call you ‘Miss Practical.’ Do you agree, Mr. Winston?”
“With your choice of the name ‘Miss Practical’ for the article? Yes, indeed. But as the perfect name for Miss Bradley...” He drew his gaze slowly over her face, his pulse leaping as pink again stole across her delicate cheekbones. “It is too early in my acquaintance with Miss Bradley for me to have an opinion as to that.”
A pudgy hand holding a plate of food inserted itself between them. He nodded his thanks as a woman placed tin plates holding boiled potatoes, green beans and two-tined steel forks in front of them, then looked back at Marissa Bradley trying to judge her reaction to his intimation that he would like their budding acquaintance to continue. She had her gaze fixed on her plate. No encouragement there.
He frowned down at his food, stabbed a bite of potato. There was something about Marissa Bradley that drew him in a way no other woman had done. Perhaps it was the mystery of the sadness in her eyes. Whatever it was, he intended to see her again—though instinct warned him she was a very proper young lady and would refuse a direct invitation. Propriety!
He jabbed a forkful of green beans, lifted them to his mouth as he pondered the problem. How could he overcome the social conventions of propriety? Another “chance” meeting? He worried the idea around a bit, smiled and impaled another potato. With all of its activities, the assembly should offer ample opportunity. He would find a way.
* * *
Marissa rose from the bench and slipped out of the tent to avoid the crush of people when the lecture was over. What a wonderful speaker! The woman had been so concise in making her points about each moral idea she presented. Envy struck, brought forth a long sigh. If only she could be that succinct when she was speaking. Unfortunately, memories always came swarming into her head and her heart got involved. Her subject was not an academic one. It was personal. She lived it.
Grief rose in a sickening wave. Tears stung her eyes. She lifted her hems and ran down the short, narrow path to the larger main one. It was crowded with people. The hum of their voices, chatting and laughing, caused her tears to overflow. She looked around, but there was no place to go where she could be alone. Dusk was falling, and it was too dark to go into the woods, even if she dared.
She drew a long steadying breath, wiped the tears from her cheeks and joined the flow of people going downhill.
“...saw them putting up the canopy on the shore.”
“...the concert...”
“...perfect end to the day.”
Bits of conversations about the evening entertainment flowed around her. She eavesdropped shamelessly, using the distraction of learning more about the concert to get her emotions under control. Sorting the pieces of information from the general hum of conversation was challenging, like putting a jigsaw puzzle together, and it kept her from remembering. The tightness in her chest eased.
Light flared against the dark trees beside the path ahead. She looked up at the man who had lit the torch in its box of sand, watched as he closed his lantern and climbed down the ladder of short cross boards nailed to the post. A young dark-haired woman stood in the flickering light writing something on a piece of paper that rested on top of a slender wooden box.
“Clarice!”
Her tent mate turned and looked up the path.
She waved her hand and hurried forward. “I see you are taking notes for your ‘Chautauqua Experience’ article.” She peered down at the paper. “What did you call the man—Mr. Lamplighter?”
“No. I named him Mr. Torch Man. It’s more accurate and colorful.” Clarice slipped the paper into the box, latched it and held it against her chest. “Are you going to the concert? If so, we can walk together.”
It would be better than sitting alone in the tent remembering. She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “Yes, I am.” She started back down the path, glanced over at Clarice. “Would you like me to carry that box for a bit? You must get tired of carrying it around.”
“No, thank you—though you are kind to offer.” Clarice looked down and patted the box. “I always keep these writing supplies with me. I never know when something will happen that will fit into an article, or even become one.”
“Such as when I embarrassed myself in front of Dr. Austin?” And Grant Winston. Her stomach sank at the thought, though he’d been most kind and treated her faux pas with humor.
“Exactly! That incident inspired me to go an entirely different direction with my article for the Sunday School Journal. And it will make it ever so much better. Thank you.”
Marissa dipped her head. “You’re very welcome—as long as I remain anonymous.”
“You shall.” Clarice stepped out from the cover of the trees along the path. “Oh, my! Only look at that crowd! How am I ever to make my way to a place by the musicians?”
“How are you ever going to find the musicians?” She stepped close to the trees, out of the way of the people coming off the path, and stared in amazement at the land on their right. People surrounded the striped canopy that had been erected at the edge of the lake, and from the canopy to the trees at the base of the hill there was no land visible, only people. Most of them were seated on the ground. Those coming were milling about, looking for a place to sit. The blend of their voices as they chatted with one another put her in mind of a swarm of bees.
“Well, I’d best hurry. Dusk is falling and the concert will be starting soon.” Clarice looked at her. “Are you coming?”
“Not I!” She smiled and gave a fake shudder. “You shall have to brave that crowd by yourself. I will listen to the music from over there—” she gestured to the empty shore on the other side of the path “—in solitude.”
“Coward.” Clarice clutched her box tight to her chest. “I’ll see you at the tent if I survive!”
* * *
Grant glanced over his shoulder again. People were still streaming by on the path outside. Something was drawing them. Perhaps this was the opportunity for the “chance” meeting with Marissa he’d been thinking about. He slipped off the bench and stepped out from under the canopy making as little disturbance as possible. He’d already lost track of the experiment, but it didn’t pertain to farming anyway. There was nothing in today’s session that would help him with the vineyard, and it was getting dark. He frowned at the dusky light and pulled his watch from his pocket. The steamer would be leaving soon. The “chance” meeting with Marissa would have to wait until tomorrow. With all the people crowding the path, he’d be fortunate to reach the shore in time to catch the steamer for home. Unless there was another way.
A narrow trail on his left parted the woods. Light filtering through the branches of the trees lit its downward slope. He glanced back at the crowd on the main path, entered the woods and followed the winding way. The sound of voices faded, gave way to birds twittering their night songs. He stepped cautiously through a cluster of pines where it was too dark to see clearly and entered a clearing. Tents formed rows laid out like streets to his left and right. Children laughed and played games, chased one another in and out of the trees. Adults talked over cooking fires. The smell of coffee tantalized his nose. He took a deep sniff, looked around. The path had disappeared.
A woman wearing a long apron straightened from a cooking fire, rubbed her back and looked his way. “You took the wrong path if you’re going to the concert. Or else you don’t care if you get there late.” She motioned to her left. “The main path is a short piece that way.”
He smiled his gratitude. “Thank you. I thought this trail might be a faster way to the shore. Obviously, I was wrong.” He gave her another smile. “Did you say there was a concert tonight?”
The woman nodded and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Down on the shore. Isn’t that where you was headed? It seems like everybody is going—except those of us with young’uns to watch over. You’d best hurry if you hope to attend. It started at dusk.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Perhaps I will attend.” He smiled and dipped his head. “Have a good evening.”
“And you. Mind your step, there’s pines along that path and their roots will trip the unwary.”
The woman’s words followed him into the darkness beneath the pines. He picked his way to the wider path and started down, joined with others coming out of narrow side paths and clearings to merge with the crowd ahead of him. He wasn’t the only one late for the concert. There had to be a hundred or more people within his limited scope of vision.
He scanned the crowd for Marissa’s blond curls as he walked, though he knew it for a fruitless effort. The dusky light made all of the ladies’ hair seem dark. He snorted at his own foolishness and glanced up at the darkening sky. It wouldn’t be long now until the Colonel Phillips made its last run of the day. He’d sit on the dock and listen to the music until they ran out the gangplank and he could go aboard.
Music sounded in the distance. He followed those ahead of him out of the trees onto the shore, stopped and stared. The failing light made it difficult to see, but he was almost certain... He smiled and started forward.
* * *
Marissa lifted her hems and moved closer to the lake. A warm, gentle breeze carrying soft music from the concert down the lakefront caressed her face and fluttered the curls at her forehead and temples. She stopped and brushed back the curls, gazed at the Colonel Phillips floating on the silvered water at the end of the dock, its lanterns golden orbs against the evening sky.
May I assist you to your destination? Sun-streaked hair above a handsome face with a disarming smile rushed back from the oblivion to which she’d assigned them. Seeing Grant Winston at the dining hall this afternoon had brought back the memories of him on the boat. She sighed and shook her head. It was foolishness to entertain romantic thoughts about a man she would likely never see again. But he was so nice. And it was such a perfect night for dreaming...
“Miss Bradley?”
She froze. It couldn’t be. She turned, stared at the object of her dreaming. “Mr. Winston!” Heat rushed across her cheeks.
“At your service.” He smiled and dipped his head.
She nodded a greeting, pressed her hand over her pounding heart and struggled to order her scattered thoughts.
A frown pulled his straight dark eyebrows together. “I’m sorry if I startled you, Miss Bradley. But you were so lost in thought you didn’t notice me.”
Thoughts about him! The heat in her cheeks increased. She fussed with a fold in her skirt for an excuse to put her head down. “I was admiring the sight of the Colonel Phillips against the night sky.” Don’t mention the steamer! “And the lake, of course. Even the silvered water is lovely—from a safe distance.” She pressed her lips together to stop her babbling. There was no point in letting the man see that the unfortunate timing of his appearance had her completely undone. It served her right for dreaming about him.
A smile curved his lips. “There is no quivering deck under your feet here.”
It wasn’t her feet that were quivering. It was her stomach. She lifted her head, gave him a polite, if somewhat forced, smile and groped for a change of subject. “How did you find me?” Oh, dear. She’d made it sound as if he were on a quest of some sort! “I mean, what do you want?” And that was worse! She stared at him, aghast at her lack of manners.
His gaze traveled slowly over her face, came to rest on her eyes.
The apology she was about to offer died on her lips.
“You have a penchant for standing alone away from the crowd, Miss Bradley. And you are the only person on this part of the shore. I took a chance that it was you.”
His gaze held hers. He had warm brown eyes. So...warm... The quivering spread to her knees. She broke the eye contact, clenched her hands to keep from pressing them against her stomach and wished he’d stop talking long enough that she could gather her wits together.
