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She shot him a fast look. “Wrong choice of words.”
A wry but sad smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He nodded. “You’re right. I apologize. But think about it first. Their ship is only two weeks late. Anything could have happened.”
Her shoulders ached they were so tight. “My brothers deserve to know.”
“Yes, but not necessarily today,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Give yourself time to think about what you’re going to say. In fact, go on home.”
Clare took the moment to study him. Crystal blue eyes, framed by tanned skin and the tiniest of smile lines, more likely from the sun than any jocularity. Despite the reason for his proximity to her, she wanted that moment to last.
“Why should I go home?” she asked softly.
“You should take whatever time you need to get strong enough to tell them.”
Immediately, she bristled. Wasn’t she strong enough now? Again, her gaze fell on the bank’s letter on her desk. It lay there, wide-open for any and all to read, asking her to make an appointment to discuss the overdue payment.
Something clutched at her. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough. Maybe being a guardian to her brothers these past few weeks had drained her of the strength she would need to take on the role of parent. Tim and Leo were active and needed strong supervision and she would need to be at her best to handle them after they learned about their parents. What if Noah had seen that need where she hadn’t?
She snapped her eyes from the bank’s letter, hating how it reminded her of her troubles. But to lean forward and rip it from the desk as though it was a burning pot on a hot stove would call attention to the fact that the bank needed to see her, that its errand boy had hand-delivered the letter. No doubt, those around her would realize that her father had left her nothing with which to pay his bills.
And yet, Clare thought with a sigh, that news certainly didn’t surprise her. Her mother had often mentioned how her father tended to be flippant about money. Yes, he’d been busy with his work until Mother’s illness worsened so badly that he’d fussed over her incessantly. Her father had been more focused on her health than earning enough to cover their expenses. Late last year, he’d even let it slip that he’d started dipping into their savings.
Clare rubbed her forehead.
“Go home,” Noah told her, the words themselves firm though his tone stayed soft and gentle. “Do you need someone to go with you? I can send for the pastor’s wife. Or would you prefer I walk you home?”
Head still down, Clare stared at Noah’s boots. As usual, they shone. She knew he’d ridden in on his horse and had changed from his cowboy boots to these fine shiny ones. He had such attention to detail. His house was probably immaculate, too.
“Thank you, but no,” Clare answered with a brisk shake of her head. This morning, in her haste to round up her unruly brothers and send them off to school, she’d left their house looking as though a windstorm had barreled through it.
College hadn’t fully prepared her for the life she now faced. She’d taken good housekeeping courses, as all women at that college were required to take, but her studies had mostly focused on moral philosophy, English and geography, and as such, her marks reflected her interests. Good housekeeping hadn’t been her best subject.
Clare lifted her chin and leveled a stare at Noah Livingstone. If he felt she shouldn’t tell her brothers about their parents yet, then she certainly didn’t need to go home to wallow in the terrible news, either. “Nothing can be achieved at home.” Except cleaning it. “I wish to stay here and work.” She paused. “I need my salary.”
With a single long-legged stride, Noah reached the small swinging gate and opened it. His face was a mask of concern. “No, Miss Walsh. Clare. This has been a shock to you. Take the rest of the day off. In fact, if you need another, or even the whole week, it’s all right. We’ll manage.”
Clare swallowed. Today was Monday. What would she possibly do for an entire week? Brood and worry?
Still, the offer tempted her. No! If her parents were not coming home and the bank needed its mortgage payment, then taking time off work would be the worst decision. Again, she looked down at the letter on her desk. She should have tucked it away immediately after reading it. How could she be so foolish as to leave it open for all to glance upon?
The bank deserved its payments, though. They also deserved to know what had happened to her parents. She could stop by on the way home, perhaps make that appointment the manager had strongly suggested.
All right, she finally acquiesced. A few hours off but not the whole week. She could ill-afford that. But Noah was right to say that she needed time alone right now. Her gaze bounced from Noah back to the letter. She’d wanted so badly to be that model employee every office had. A tall order for a woman some might say, but she’d wanted only to prove it was time for everyone to see that women could do so much more than stay at home and have babies, or work the land until their fingers bled and their backs ached, while men took the jobs that required an education. She wanted to say honestly to Miss Worth the next time she wrote her that she was indeed the strong woman her mentor had demanded of her.
After digging her purse out of the bottom drawer, Clare grabbed the letter that lay open on her desk. She shoved it so hard into her purse, she was afraid she’d poked a hole in the bottom. Then she marched past Noah, careful to ensure that she appeared as strong and resolute as any man might.
“I’ll be back this afternoon.” Holding her breath lest she release a quivery sigh, she strode out of the office.
* * *
As Noah stood at the front door of Clare’s family home, he could hear the grandfather clock deep within the Walsh house ring quarter after two. Not fifteen minutes ago, he’d closed the office for the day, sending Mr. Pooley home. It hadn’t been busy and Noah had a decent justification if anyone should complain or if Clare wanted to keep her somber news private for the time being. He’d reassured himself with the internal promise that he would check on her and that was exactly what he was doing.
Her bad news had cut into him nearly as much as it had her. Nobody had expected this and to see her hover on the verge of tears drew a lump into his throat and his own tears to spring into his eyes.
But what could he have done to comfort her? Helplessness weighed on him and he prayed hastily for some guiding words.
Anything that would help her.
He shivered. Initially, the day had promised a bit of warmth, but the sky had clouded and the wind had turned, now bearing down from the north and chilling Proud Bend.
He knocked, grimacing at the harsh sound. Then he waited. And waited. Finally, Clare opened the door.
She was wearing a frilly, spotless apron over her work clothes and had pushed up her long sleeves almost to her elbows. Whatever she was doing, she’d either just started it, or it was a clean task. He noticed, however, that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and a crumpled handkerchief bulged out the apron’s dainty pocket. Her task had been punctuated with tears.
All he wanted at that moment was to draw her into his arms and hold her there, to somehow transfer his own strength to her, the strength he’d learned—
Noah cleared his throat. This wasn’t about him, nor was it the time to think about his own situation. Clare needed him. “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. I closed the office early because I wanted to check on you.”
She looked dismayed and quickly wiped her eyes. “I’d fully planned to return after lunch, but by the time I’d left the bank, I knew I couldn’t go back to work.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I needed to tidy up anyway. I expect I’ll have visitors as soon as word gets out, and I didn’t want them to faint at the mess.”
It was a small attempt at humor, and Noah offered her an equally small smile for her effort. “Where I come from, they put a black wreath on the front door. It stops people from visiting.”
Clare looked thoughtful. “I haven’t heard of that custom before. Where do you come from?”
“A small town west of New York City. It was always easy to get a hold of a black wreath. I don’t think we can say the same here in Proud Bend.”
“It wouldn’t matter. People would only stop by and ask why I have a black wreath hanging on my door.” Clare stepped back. “Come in.”
Noah crossed the threshold, all the while removing his Stetson. The inside was cool and dark, appropriate for a house of mourning.
Unexpected indignation rose in him. There couldn’t be any mourning yet. No one knew where her parents were. So there shouldn’t be a need for an unheated house. Clare was being forced into accepting a fate that might not exist.
Noah dug out the telegram, as Clare had not taken it when she’d walked out. All she’d taken was that letter that the bank’s errand boy had delivered. “I thought you would want this.”
She accepted it slowly. “Thank you.” But instead of reading it again, she set it on the small table near the front door. “I should keep it, but frankly, I want to burn it.”
“Understandable.” Noah cleared his throat as he removed his coat. “Is there anything more I can do, Clare?” Her Christian name slipped from his lips without forethought and he glanced away.
She shut the door and hung his coat on a half-filled tree beside her. “Come into the parlor.”
If Noah expected an answer to his question, he needed to follow her there. Like the rest of the house, this room was chilly. It didn’t help that the front window offered only the dullest of daylight. Today, there was no warm April sunshine to heat the room. Clare dropped with precious little grace into one of those fussy, high-backed chairs every parlor seemed to have. They were often too short for Noah’s long legs, so he remained standing.
“My mother’s arthritis worsened the month before they left,” she began, as if expecting him to understand wherever she was starting her story. “She doesn’t travel well by train, or else my father would have made arrangements to take it all the way to the port of Halifax in Nova Scotia.” She looked up at him. “Or to travel to St. John’s in Newfoundland. But that would require a sea crossing to the island, also.”
Noah listened patiently. Clare was good at reading maps, he’d learned since she’d started working for him six months ago. She must have excelled at geography in college to know the port city of St John’s in England’s Newfoundland was the closest North American port to Europe. Some of the steamships must stop there before beginning their transatlantic voyages.
“The doctor said that breathing the sea air would do her good, so they wanted to leave from New York City, but I wonder if it might have made a difference if they’d left by one of those other ports.”
“What do you mean?”
She rose and walked to the long table against a far wall. There, she picked up several pamphlets. “I was tidying up today and found these. They have information on the different steamships and their ports of call. Perhaps if they’d taken one of the other lines, they might have arrived safely. These ships are newer.”
“Why didn’t they take one of them?”
“Mother gets nauseated on trains, so they went only as far as New York City and took Governor. It has the longest sea voyage. Honestly, I cannot see how breathing damp sea air is supposed to help arthritis, but I’m not a doctor.” Sighing, she set down the pamphlets again. “Governor is the oldest ship and also the most expensive, which I realize now was not good for the family finances. Although Father didn’t mind spending money.” She looked up at him, her expression resigned. “He could be a bit cavalier about that, I’m afraid.”
Noah cleared his throat. “Speaking of finances...today, you received a letter from the bank.” He’d seen the bank’s errand boy deliver it. He’d caught Clare’s sinking expression as she read the single page. But shortly after, that awful telegram had arrived, and he’d forgotten all about the letter.
Clare looked away. “I’m sure you can guess what the bank said. Father paid all the bills for March, but that’s it. His payments were always due the first banking day of the month.” She rubbed her forehead and groaned. “Let me think. Father paid March’s mortgage before they left six weeks ago. So April’s payment is now two weeks overdue.”
“Did he leave you access to his accounts?”
With lifted brows, Clare shook her head. “There was no need. They’re empty.”
Noah cocked his head, a frown deepening. “I don’t understand. Your father paid March’s mortgage at the beginning of the month, but didn’t expect to be in Europe until the end of the month. Surely, he would have realized that it would take a month to get the money back to you? That would automatically leave you a month behind in your payments, and yet he emptied his account, anyway?”
Clare looked like she was getting a headache. “He was afraid Mother would need extra time to recuperate from either the train ride or the sea voyage. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to travel to Baden-Baden—that’s where the Kurhaus is—right away. The transatlantic trip is said to be awful, and once in Liverpool, they’d need another short steamship voyage to Rotterdam before going upriver to the Rhine. He said he planned to send back enough money to pay the bills. I had assumed he’d paid at least two months, but I hadn’t asked.”
Clare flicked up her hands. “My father didn’t always consider the finances first. He often said that there would always be bills.”
Except it was irresponsible to make those bills worse, Noah grumbled internally. It might be wrong to condemn Clare’s father, and Noah did know of Mrs. Walsh’s ill health, but he didn’t feel like crushing the uncharitable thoughts rising unbidden in him. “There are more in his family than his wife.”
His clipped words cut crisply through the cool air. Yes, that was true, he decided firmly. And yes, there was more to life than earning money.
Noah tightened his jaw. People needed to look past their own needs to the needs of others. People needed—
He shut his eyes and stopped his thoughts. This wasn’t about his family. This was about Clare Walsh, the lovely, vibrant, independent woman in front of him. It was about what was probably the worst day of her life.
Would it be inappropriate to draw her into his arms? Surely if anyone needed to be comforted right now, it was her.
Yes, it was inappropriate, and a woman like Clare would resent the belief that she needed a good, strong hug right now.
“The plan had been to return whatever money they didn’t need,” Clare was saying. “They had expected to stay for the summer in Germany, but hoped her treatment would take less time. I don’t think he even cared that the mortgage would be a month late. My father often thought that there was no point in worrying about money.” She sank into her chair again. “I guess he didn’t worry about not surviving the first leg of the voyage, either.” An angry glance up at Noah told him that tears glistened again in Clare’s eyes.
Immediately, Noah dragged a chair closer to her. He perched on the edge of the rounded and uncomfortable seat, his knees poking up into the air. He really hated these fussy, overstuffed things. “Clare, we don’t know what has happened yet.” He rubbed her upper arm, then dropped it quickly, afraid the touch was too personal. “Did you explain that to the bank manager?”
Looking resigned, she shook her head. “All I did was make an appointment. I can hardly ask them to wait until proof comes of my parents’ deaths. That may never happen. The manager may give me an extension, but that will come with a penalty. My wages won’t cover even the basic mortgage payment, let alone one with a late fee attached. And what about the other bills, such as food and coal? Where would the money come for them?” She sighed in exasperation. “You see, I can’t afford to take time off to sort out my parents’ affairs. That would leave us with no money.”
Outrage bubbled through him and he struggled to quell it. Her shortsighted father had left her in a bind that no woman should be in. “When is your appointment?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be speaking with the manager. Maybe before I go there, I’ll have some better answers.”
To what questions? Noah doubted proof of her parents’ condition one way or the other would come in the next twenty-four hours. Or the money she needed, for that matter. Again, resentment bit at him with a ferocity that had up to now been reserved for his own parents’ manipulation.
No, this isn’t about them. You’ve left them behind, them and that lie you’ve agreed to be a part of.
Focus on Clare.
“Clare, let—” He had just begun to speak when the front door opened and juvenile screams tore through the house.
Clare’s brothers were home.
Noah felt his eyes widen as they barreled into the parlor. The boys were in a terrible state, their clothes muddied and ripped, their faces smeared with dirt. They skidded to a stop when they spied him rising to his feet.
Clare also stood, although her movements were slower, far more careful. She blinked and swallowed and Noah wondered if she was going to blurt out what she’d learned about their parents. Surely, Tim and Leo, suddenly looking younger than their nine and seven years respectively, could not fully understand what had happened. Yes, they’d understand if their parents had died, but not something as tenuous as being overdue at their first port of call. That they could be lost at sea. Children tended to see in more clear-cut ways than adults did.
Noah held his breath, all the while watching Clare, praying she’d say nothing. At least for now.
Eyebrows raised, her eyes shutting for a long moment, Clare sat down again before asking quietly, “Why are you two home early?”
The older boy, Tim, stared at his scuffed and muddied shoes. “At lunch, we went outside and down to the river. There’s a part where a spring comes right through the bank. It’s all muddy.”
“And why did you go there?”
“So we could smear mud on our faces to scare Mary Pemberton. She sits by the window ’cuz she isn’t allowed to go outside and get her dress dirty.”
“She’s a scaredy-cat and told Miss Thompson on us,” Leo added.
“Enough of that,” Clare scolded. “She reported only the truth and should not be criticized for doing the right thing.”
Tim shrugged. “We weren’t allowed back in school unless we came home and changed.”
The younger boy hastily wiped mud off his cheeks with his sleeve. It had dried and now fell in flakes to the carpet. He then wiped his hand on his torn pants and more mud fluttered down.
From some distant recess of the house, the clock struck the half hour. “It’s two thirty,” Noah commented. “How long is your lunch break, boys?”
“And how did your clothes get ripped?” Clare asked quietly.
Tim’s gaze dropped to his filthy shoes. “We climbed a tree down at the river. One of the branches goes right out over the water without touching the mud.”
“So we could clean ourselves off without coming home.” Leo finished his brother’s explanation, as if their unorthodox ablutions were perfectly normal. “But Miss Thompson told us to!”
Tim nodded. “We thought it would be better that way.”
“In case someone saw you and reported it to me, you mean?”
The boys looked confused. Noah wondered if they were even capable of such subterfuge, or they actually thought it would be easier that way.
“But we fell into the mud,” Tim answered. Being the older brother, he knew that they’d done wrong, whereas Leo didn’t. Or else Leo was ignoring the obvious.
“I’m hungry,” Leo announced, oblivious of his brother’s contrition. “You didn’t give us enough food for lunch. And it’s cold in here.”
Noah glanced at Clare in time to see her shut her eyes again. A crimson stain crept up her neck. What was she going to do? They needed discipline. Guidance. They also needed to learn there were consequences to their actions.
“Go upstairs and change,” Clare said wearily. After a slight hesitation, she added, “Supper will be a bit late, but I want you to clean yourselves up first, anyway. Just don’t make a mess upstairs, but bring down those filthy clothes when you’re done. I’ll have to mend and wash them before school tomorrow. Let’s hope they dry in time.”
For a long moment, the boys merely stared at her, as if sensing something was off. Then, after a nudge from the older brother as he turned to leave the parlor, the younger one followed.
When Leo had closed the door behind him, Clare sagged.
