Page 15 of A Secret Heart
Rebekah placed all the other correspondence in the appropriate boxes except for those.
What should she do?
Tapping them against her desk, she worked her lip as she stared at the feminine writing. A faint scent of rose oil wafted from one. These were other women’s answers to Isaac’s ad. It was her responsibility to place them in his box. Mr. Sullivan had left the mail-order ads and correspondence in Rebekah’s hands.
It was the right thing to do.
But still, she hesitated.
Ed would arrive soon. He always checked for mail coming to the McGraws. Her hand trembled as she began to slide the letters into the box.
A wagon rattled past the window, then slowed.
Ed.
She jerked the letters back. Next time. She could put the letters in the box next time she was in town. A little delay wasn’t a deception. Her hurried steps retreated toward her desk.
He’d step inside the office any minute.
Her shin clanked against the bottom drawer of her desk, still open from earlier. She bent to drop the letters in the drawer with shaking hands, shooting a glance out the window as she stood back up. With her foot, she slammed the bottom drawer shut.
She had to hurry.
She didn’t want a chance to think. Didn’t want to give the guilt clogging her chest time to settle. If she locked up and met Ed outside, he wouldn’t have time to retrieve mail anyway. She lifted her skirt as she hurried up the stairs, then gathered her things and came back down, breathing quickly, to settle them at the front door. Then she grabbed up the satchel she’d left beneath her desk. One jerk on the door had the bell ringing as loud as her jangling nerves. She flipped the lock, pulling the door shut behind her. Her heart pounded in her ears as she scanned the boardwalk.
Ed was tying off the wagon just down the street from the newspaper office.
She’d made it.
* * *
Ed lifted the hoof of the sorrel mare. She’d favored this leg after he’d turned onto the main street.
There was the problem. A pebble had lodged in her hoof.
“Don’t worry. I know it’s uncomfortable, ol’ girl—I’ll get it out of there.” Ed worked to soothe the mare. No doubt the pebble in her hoof irritated as much as, well, having Rebekah sitting next to him on the box seat and wanting to battle with words all the way home.
He pulled out his pocketknife to scrape the loose debris from the hoof. As soon as he picked up Rebekah, he’d be ready to turn around for the trip home. If he were lucky, he might get to his cabin while he still had enough daylight to work on the other cradle.
He straightened after sorting out the horse’s hoof.
“Ed. Over here.”
He spun to find Jeb Nelson waving him over to the new shop next door to the newspaper. Ed glanced back at the newspaper office window before tying off the wagon. He could see Rebekah gathering up her things. She could wait another minute or two. Last time he’d had to wait on her.
He strode down the boardwalk to the shop next door, where Jeb extended a hand.
“Good to see you again. This is Mrs. Caroline Wilson.” Jeb shifted his gaze to the woman beside him. “This is Ed McGraw. He’s the one I told you about. He built the cradle.”
Mrs. Wilson fixed a kind smile on Ed. She had to be about his age. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your carpentry skills. And when I visited Clarissa, I saw the cradle. Your craftsmanship really impressed me.”
“Thank you.” Ed shifted under the praise, even as it bolstered a hidden part of himself. If only his brothers could hear her, maybe then they’d understand that his carpentry was viable.
“I’m opening up a new bakery here.” The woman turned to usher them into the storefront. “The plan is to open in another month, but I’m going to need some display cases. The cost to ship them in is a bit much. Besides, I’m wanting quality. I was hoping you’d be willing to make one for me. We could do it on a contract basis. If I like it, I’ll need two more.”
She wanted quality. He could give her that. Display cases in a prominent shop in town meant a validation of his business. But it also meant a huge time commitment. Ed raised his hat to comb his hand through his hair. The long list of chores at home ran through his brain. “How soon would you be wanting it?”
“Can you get me the first one in two weeks? Or less?” Mrs. Wilson walked around the open area of the empty shop. “If things go well with the bakery, I’m wanting to fill this space with tables and chairs for folks to eat at. One display case may turn into a good-sized order. What do you say?”
