Page 7 of Beware A Wallflower's Wrath
“Ye’ll have to keep up with yer studies, mind ye.”
He jumped up, both arms in the air and his fists waving. “Right again, Cousin,” he said to Colin. “She wasna as contrary as?—”
“Annis, ye look lovely today in that shade of blue,” Colin interrupted the lad.
“Contrary as what?” she asked her son sweetly.
“As most women.” Fin looked up at Colin. “Is that no’ what ye said?”
Colin frowned. “Next lesson will be about when to keep yer mouth shut.”
Annis laughed. “Ye both have my permission as long as it’s no more than a few afternoons a week, and Colin is overseeing ye. I ken he’ll hover over ye as much as I do.”
“And then some,” mumbled Fin.
“I’m cooking beef collops tonight. Would ye care to join us, Colin?” They had dinner together at least once a week. He often brought along Rose, a woman he had been courting for the past year or so.
“Ah, one of my favorite dishes. Mrs. Douglas hasna visited lately, has she?”
“No, and my shortbread doesna compare to hers. However, she’ll be minding the bookstore for me when Fin and I go to Dunderave at the end of the month. She’s expecting ye to stop in and check on her.”
“Going for the summer solstice festivities. I wish I could join ye this year.” Colin rubbed his belly. “Mrs. Douglas’s shortbread is better than my own mother used to make.”
“Dinna let Rose hear ye say it,” Fin warned.
“Och, she lives with Mrs. Douglas and has tasted it for herself.” Colin grinned as he walked to a bucket and splashed water on his face, then ran his fingers through his thick black mane. “Clean yerself up, lad. Always leave the mill presentable, for ye never ken who ye’ll meet on the way home.”
The trio left the storeroom, climbing the stairs to the main floor. They made their way across a large weaving shed, the gigantic looms quiet now at the closing of the day. Compact steel frames glinted silver in the late afternoon rays slanting through dusty floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Have ye been able to replace everything ye lost in the fire?” Annis remembered that ghastly day in April when the textile mill had been set on fire. They’d managed to get all the employees out but had lost some machinery. Fortunately, they had been waiting on a late shipment of raw wool, and their linen cloth had already been delivered to waiting customers.
“Aye, we only needed to replace a few looms and the windows we broke to get the rest of the workers out. The storeroom was practically empty, but anything there was ruined by smoke.” Colin shook his head. “Sometimes, I wake up at night with the smell still in my nostrils. At least the blaggards responsible got justice.”
Colin pulled the wide oak doors open, letting in the breeze and noise from Clyde Street. It was a lovely day, and a young boy held the chestnut horse to Annis’s modest cart. Fin helped her up, and as she waited for her son to climb up and take the reins, she turned to Colin.
“Would you like a ride home?”
“Nay, but thanks for asking. I have a few stops to make along the way.” He handed a coin to the lad minding the conveyance, who grinned and took off at a run. “I’ll see ye this evening, hopefully with my Rose.”
As he walked away, his head well above the crowd he merged into, she thought about his words. My Rose. Her cousin was in love. The French beauty was the first woman he’d shown any interest in since the death of his wife and son over ten years ago. Annis was happy for him, though she was curious as to why they weren’t married yet. Colin had only said Rose wasn’t ready. She wondered if the lady understood how stubborn and patient the man could be. He’d wait for her until he was old and gray if he’d made up his mind. The man was loyal and persistent.
As the cart lurched forward, Fin expertly maneuvering them around stopped carriages or vendors pushing carts across the bustling street, she wondered about her own lack of romance. With her son growing up, she had to face the fact that she’d be alone in a few more years. He was growing into a handsome man, looking so much like his father. He would find a pretty girl and marry.
Love hadn’t favored Annis. After her first fiasco, any interest had been from men wanting someone to cook and care for their children or only wanting a physical relationship because she was “experienced.” She had even tried going to a few community dances and ended up standing in a corner or holding up a wall. The females had been young and appeared so innocent, pliable as Aileen had put it. Widows needed to be wealthy or amorous and certainly childless. But with her limited experience, Annis knew she was probably more innocent than many of those fresh faces. Now in her thirties, she was in limbo—too old for men wanting to start families and too green for an affair.
She shook off such dreary thoughts of the future. Books and Bits kept her quite busy. Aileen—Mrs. Douglas—had insisted she live above the shop that horrible day fifteen years earlier. The woman had taken Annis under her wing and taught her how to deal with customers, manage the books, and run the store. She had made Annis her “manager” and sold her the business a couple of years ago when she retired. Fin and books were her life, and she’d have it no other way.
They turned right on Jamaica Street and proceeded past the businesses and tenement housing. Fin nodded, then waved to a tall gentleman who called to him from the street. He was a popular young man, known for his manners and clever quips. She was proud of him, and proud of herself if she was honest. But she hadn’t raised Fin alone. Between Aileen, her aunt and uncle, and Colin, she always had support. After Colin had lost his family, he had turned to her and Fin to ease the pain of his loss.
Reaching Argyle Street and the intersection known as Boot Corner, where Jamaica merged into Union, they turned left. Fin pulled back on the reins and whistled. A black Scotty sat on the corner, his short tail wagging as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, and jumped into the back of the cart at the sound of his master’s call.
“Good, pup,” Fin said, patting his own shoulder. The dog took the cue and put his paws on Fin’s back, licking the boy’s jaw and ear. “That’s my Mac.” Then he made a face. “Phew.”
Annis laughed and then wrinkled her nose. “What does he have in his whiskers?”
“Don’t ask or look too closely. Ye may no’ like what ye see.”
Chuckling, she decided to take her son’s advice. “How did he know ye’d be here? Ye’re no’ usually at the mill.”
