Page 5 of Papa's Little Bride
He doesn’t answer my question, though his expression becomes pained for a moment, as if a dark memory has suddenly flitted through his mind. I want to know what he’s thinking about, but I don’t dare ask. Instead, I blink away the remaining moisture in my eyes and offer him a tiny smile. In an instant, the clouds in his eyes disperse and he looks upon me with affection.
My heart doesa little dance.
Though I’m slightly familiar with him, he’s still very much a stranger. Maybe I should fear his reason for looking at me as if he cares for me, but he doesn’t raise the hairs on the back of my neck as Mr. Ashlor did. Still, though I believe Mr. Freemont wishes to help me, I also suspect he wants something from me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what that somethingmight be.
He clears his throat and steps back, then nods at a nearby hallway. “Please come with me, Faith. The kitchen is this way.”
I walk with him, feeling as if I’m floating in a dream. But I quickly remind myself that I won’t be here for long. Mr. Freemont probably just likes to help people. That’s all he’s doing with me. Helping me clean up and then he’ll send me on my way.Back to the orphanage. I’m foolish to think he was actually looking at me with affection. I must have been mistaken.
The kitchen is large but homey. There’s a plump older woman standing at the stove, stirring a pot of something that makes my mouth water. My stomach chooses that moment to growl. I flush and lower my head, not daring to presume that I’ll be offered a meal or anything beyonda rag to clean the dirt off myself.
“Good afternoon, Master Freemont. And who might this lovely young girl be?” The old woman turns with a smile and wipes her hands on her apron. Her gaze is kind and welcoming. I instantly like her and feel at ease in her presence.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Summers. This is Faith. Faith, meet Mrs. Summers.”
I dip into a slight curtsey. “It’s niceto meet you, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Summers, Faith took a tumble in the street and needs our assistance. Would you mind fetching some medical supplies?”
“Of course, Master Freemont. I will return shortly.” She turns back to the stove, places a lid over the steaming pot, and then departs the kitchen.
“You really don’t have to go to any trouble for me, Mr. Freemont,” I protest. Despitehis kindness, I’m starting to feel on edge and out of place. I’m dressed in rags compared to Mr. Freemont. The social divide between us looms over me like a rolling, black cloud that billows larger and larger the longer I stay here. “I am fine, I assure you. In fact, I ought to return to the orphanage now before the snow starts.”
I move to leave the kitchen, but Mr. Freemont’s stern voicehalts me.
“Little girl, you will sit your bottom down right now. No arguments.” He pulls out a tall stool that’s pushed up against the island in the center of the kitchen. He arches an eyebrow at me, and I feel thoroughly scolded by his abrupt strictness.
“Mr. Freemont…”
“Sit. Now, young lady.”
