Kitabı oku: «Wonders Of The Heart»
Spring wished she had artistic talent. She’d love to capture Chad on paper as he looked this very moment.
His hair reflected golden streaks under the lamplight, and the shadowed light gave his nose strength while it softened the tired lines around his mouth. An unexpected tenderness crept over her; she wanted so badly to smooth those lines away, to feel the texture of his skin beneath her fingers.
The man needed to go to bed…to sleep solidly until morning. It couldn’t hurt to merely suggest he call it a night.
She lowered herself beside him, keeping her focus squarely on his face. She leaned forward to place her hand on his shoulder. His soft breath brushed her skin, sending a quiver up her arm.
RUTH SCOFIELD
became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver–type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully, her husband applauded her decision.
Ruth began school in an old-fashioned rural two-room schoolhouse and grew up in the days before television, giving substance to her notion that she still has one foot in the last century. However, active involvement with six rambunctious grandchildren has her eagerly looking forward to the next millennium. After living on the East Coast for years, Ruth and her husband now live in Missouri.
Wonders of the Heart
Ruth Scofield
But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness,
and all these things will be given to you as well.
—Matthew 6:33
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and
certain of what we do not see. This is what the
ancients were commended for.
—Hebrews 11:1–2
To the BICC gang.
May you all continue long and creatively
as each of you balance life with gracious dedication
to love, family, your talent and our Father.
And to my daughters, Karen, Laura and Lisa,
who do the same. God bless you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Chad Alexander unlocked the door and entered his apartment. Too tired and hungry for comfort, he wondered if there was anything edible left in his kitchen. He should’ve swallowed his distaste for airport food, he guessed now, and grabbed something before starting for home. He didn’t think he had any energy left to visit Harry’s Grill, the closest place where he could order a decent meal.
He listened for his sister, Honor Suzanne.
On first observation, the apartment was fairly quiet. A CD played. He recognized the music only as a classical piece. One table lamp shed a narrow stream of light from the living room.
He set his bags down in the foyer, habit making him glance at the hall table for any mail that had caught up to him. Picking up the half-dozen on top, he stepped from the hall into the living room.
A blur of dark diaphanous skirts flashed by him in a whirl, bringing him up short. A pale bare foot paused, burrowing deep into the smooth off-white carpet, while its mate rose eye-high, arched and pointy-toed. Shapely arms reached high, fingers poised in a graceful arch. Ever slowly, the head bent backward on a delicate neck. Dark locks swung free of the dancer’s shoulders creating a graceful motion into the air.
Caught up in the beauty of the dancer, he could only stare for a long moment. This wasn’t his sister.
Spotting him, the young woman returned his look from upside down and froze. “Oh! Oh, my!” She righted herself instantly and spun to glare at him. “Who are you?”
A moment before, he’d thought her to be a friend of his sister’s, but now he revised his opinion. She was older than fourteen-year-old Honor Suzanne by a good five years.
“I may well ask you the same,” he said with sudden suspicion. What was this young woman doing here? Was she a neighbor? A dance teacher? He hadn’t authorized the expenditure, though he had no objection.
“I live here,” she answered, her blue-green eyes taking on a suspicious glint of their own.
He saw her gaze run over his unshaven jaw and wrinkled sport coat, giving him the impression she evaluated him with a decisive checklist in mind.
“How did you get in? I can call Security, you know.”
“That isn’t necessary,” he muttered, letting irony lace his words. If he’d been a burglar or otherwise bad guy, her actions held all the intimidation of a mouse’s. “I have a key.”
“You do?”
“I do. Where’s Mrs. Hinkle?”
“Who?”
He hardened his jaw, as her gaze went a little wider. Did she think he’d buy that innocent act? What was she trying to pull? Some kind of scam? Something was definitely out of kilter here. “Mrs. Hinkle. Where is she?”
“Um.” She pursed her nicely shaped lips into a pretty pout. “Sir, are you sure you have the right apartment? Perhaps—”
Just a shade too polite. Not a New Yorker. She was a good actress, he’d give her that.
Was that it? Was she one of the many young things who came to New York every year hoping to break into theater, and she’d conned her way into his household?
“Uh-uh. You can’t pull that.” His irritation boiled to the surface and he stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “This is my apartment.”
“I think, sir—” She retreated, two spots of color blossoming in her cheeks. Her gaze never wavered from his face as she fumbled behind her for the phone lying on the shadowed lamp table. “—that you should identify yourself immediately, or I will call Security.”
“That’s an excellent idea, missy. Call Security. And you may identify yourself! And tell me where my sister is,” he demanded, his tone harsh and threatening. “Explain what you’ve done with her.”
“Chad!” Honor Suzanne shouted behind him. She quickly stepped around and into the room to stand beside the young woman. “Here I am—don’t get yourself into a twist. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Honor,” he croaked. He waited a moment to let his pounding heart slow down. “It’s about time you made an appearance. I thought— I was beginning to think the worst.”
“Well, there isn’t a worst. At least, not now,” Honor insisted. “This is Spring. And you don’t have to scare us out of our back teeth. It’s late and you’re home early. We didn’t expect you till next week.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing at his watch. Ten o’clock wasn’t late by New York standards. Unclenching his hands, he twitched a shoulder in irritation. Why should he apologize for coming home at any time he chose?
Spring continued to stare at him, eyes wide, then she abruptly caught her breath as though breaking a spell.
“Chad.” Her color spread into her hairline. “Of course. I should’ve known. I’m so sorry. I’m the one to apologize, and I do so humbly. You obviously didn’t remember about me being here. I’m Spring Barbour.”
She thrust her hand forward in a rather formal offer to shake hands. He took it slowly, enveloping her slender fingers and palm in his for a required moment. He felt the delicate bones beneath, and slid a thumb across warm skin.
“I don’t recall being told of your presence at all,” he murmured.
“Oh, really?” she said with a slight frown in Honor Suzanne’s direction. “Sorry. I suppose that information must have been lost along the way? But you don’t look like those snapshots Honor has of you, do you? Not much, anyway. My goodness, they must’ve been taken ages ago. Otherwise, I would’ve recognized you right off. You should have something professionally done, really.”
She dropped his hand, leaving his palm with a sense of loss. “But it doesn’t matter now…” She trailed off.
Good. She’d hushed. He’d begun to think she never breathed. Yet her voice was soft, with a gentle accent.
He glanced at his sister, wondering about her choice in friends. At twenty years her senior, he didn’t know much about teenagers, and supposed he’d have to study a bit to get up to speed.
Spring moved to turn off the CD player, her midnight blue skirts, made of some floaty material, dancing around her ankles. Raveling threads tickled her toes. He noticed for the first time that the hem wasn’t stitched. He’d already noted she had only one sleeve in the top, the neckline slanting to reveal a graceful white throat. Her dark hair fell like feathers against her bare shoulders.
“That’s a long ride in from the airport, isn’t it?” she picked up again as she turned back. “What time did you land?”
“Couple of hours ago,” he muttered, wondering who and what she was. He still wanted to know where Mrs. Hinkle had gone, thinking the woman had better have a doggone excellent excuse for allowing this young person to move into his apartment.
Where was the girl sleeping? He’d had to give up his den to accommodate the housekeeper. Another body in his apartment would put a big crunch in his life, on his space. And privacy. He had enough adjustments to face as it was.
“I’ll just bet you’re hungry,” Spring continued. “Did you have anything? No? Honor, did you finish that English paper?”
“Uh-huh. Eight pages,” Honor said, looking pleased. “It’s much better now, since you showed me where I missed my theme. Bound to pull an A.”
“Good. Then you can start the tea kettle while I change. I’ll only be a minute. Chad, why don’t you go on into the kitchen with Honor, and I’ll be there in a minute to find something for you to eat.”
“You will?” Why should she? He could take care of himself. And he wasn’t a guest!
And where was that blasted housekeeper?
But his words only trailed her, as Spring disappeared down the hall. He turned to his sister. “Where’s Mrs. Hinkle?”
“Um, Chad…” Honor laid a hand on his arm, anxiously coaxing him past the dining room alcove and into the kitchen. “Mrs. Hinkle isn’t here.”
“I can see that.” The dining alcove was a mess. The table was covered with some of the same dark cloth Spring wore, and a sewing machine sat at the end. Scraps and loose threads lay on the floor. He yanked his gaze back to his sister’s face. “Where is she?”
“I fired her.”
“Excuse me?” He halted in the middle of the small kitchen, realizing that something had changed there, but unable to give it the attention it deserved in the face of Honor Suzanne’s news. “You can’t be serious.”
“Well, I am. I did. I hired Spring, instead.”
“You what?” He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. No one in their right mind would allow a fourteen-year-old to hire or fire an employee. What had the employment agency said? Who had she talked with?
“I hired Spring…”
“How could you? What about the employment agency?”
“They didn’t have much to say about it after the letter I wrote. I didn’t like Mrs. Hinkle.”
“Now wait a minute. You wrote a letter to the agency? Why, what was the need?”
“I told you, I didn’t like Mrs. Hinkle.”
“You said nothing before I left about not liking Mrs. Hinkle. Why didn’t you inform me? Talk to me? And merely not liking her isn’t enough reason to take such drastic action.”
“I tried to talk to you once, but…” Honor turned away to fill an enameled tea kettle he’d never seen with bottled water, before setting it on a burner. “Well, you were so busy, and, anyway, I didn’t know about Mrs. Hinkle until after you left.”
The mild statement, carrying a good degree of guilt, hit him straight between the eyes. He hadn’t heard Honor because he’d been too busy to listen to her teenage twaddle.
He hid his sense of frustration, and mentally chided himself. He might not have been eager to take Honor Suzanne into his life, but he’d had no other choice when she’d become so depressed after their father died, only two years after Honor’s mother had passed away. Now he was all she had, her only living relative.
He ran a hand against his jaw and turned away to shed his jacket. True, he’d been too involved in getting his last-minute arrangements in place for an extended absence to interview many candidates. It all had happened at once; Honor coming to live with him as he was preparing for a working trip through several European countries.
“Tell me why you didn’t like Mrs. Hinkle,” he said, pulling out one of two kitchen chairs at the tiny table meant for one. “She came well recommended by the agency. Couldn’t you have lived with your dislike until I got home?”
“No, I couldn’t. She was impossible. And I don’t know why they recommended her,” she muttered. “She steals.”
“Steals?” He frowned, silently questioning how such a woman could have gotten past the agency screening. “Are you sure? Could you have misinterpreted something you saw?”
“No, I didn’t, Chad.”
She thrust out her small chin, reminding him of her mother, Sandra. He hadn’t liked Sandra.
“I saw her going through your desk,” Honor insisted.
“I left my desk double-locked.” Uneasiness began to set in. He didn’t keep a lot of important papers in his home office unless he was working there, but he still didn’t like the idea of anything being disturbed. He did keep a list of his private bank numbers and associated interactions in a notebook in the bottom drawer, but it would have to be an experienced thief to take advantage of the coded knowledge.
He’d check his desk contents before going to bed, but said now, “Well, there isn’t anything of movable cash value in there, anyway. And I left the household funds in a special account. Mrs. Hinkle only had to charge anything else you needed.”
“Well, she pried the desk open,” Honor insisted. She reached for a pig-faced cookie jar, half-filled, which he’d never seen. “In fact, you can see scratches on the brass key holes, if you look closely.”
Frowning, he rubbed the base of his neck where a headache was forming. The problem was more serious than he’d thought. “What did you do? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t think I should bother you with it, Chad. You said you wouldn’t have time to keep track of what’s going on at home. Uncle Walter and Mr. Lester took care of it.”
Walter Peebles, his father’s friend and accountant, and Lester Brown, their building super. He’d have a long talk with Lester first thing in the morning. Right before he called the agency.
He’d reach Walter before he went to bed.
“Didn’t want to be bothered?” Guilt nearly choked him now; he had said it. He’d failed royally as a brother. “Honor, I merely meant I wouldn’t have time for, um—uh-oh, stuff it. I’d have taken time to deal with this problem, whatever it was.”
He took a cookie from the plate Honor set on the table. Home-baked oatmeal, a longtime favorite.
“But you said you were really, really busy on this trip and for me not to expect a lot of communication from you since you’d be moving around a lot,” Honor persisted, half-accusing.
She poured boiling water into an old, crackled ceramic teapot and covered it with a bright red cover. The teapot was another item he didn’t remember.
“You couldn’t come home till your business was finished, that’s what you said.”
She set out three china cups; at last, something he recognized. Vaguely. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d entertained at home, but he thought those to be the ones his girlfriend of two years ago had purchased for him.
Honor set out a small jar of honey, and spoons. “So I decided to handle it myself. And I had Dana’s help.”
“Who’s Dana?”
“Dana Bates. My minister’s wife. She knows about these things, Chad, and she helped me find Spring.”
“Hmmm… A minister and his wife.” He rubbed his jaw, then ran his hand against the back of his head, while visions of smug, do-gooding people marched through his thoughts. That’s all he needed—interference from another direction. He’d had enough of that from well-meaning old family friends after his father died, leaving his estate in a mess.
He probably should put this off until he’d had some sleep; after all, Honor was safe and sound, and he couldn’t pursue an investigation on anything stolen until morning. But…he wouldn’t.
“All right.” He let his breath out on a long-suffering note. “Tell me about Spring. Last name. Who is she? Where is she from? Where did you find her? What are her references? And how old is she?”
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