“Yep. I imagine Eden’ll be out here . . . helping you before long.” With all the gardening books on her shelves and floral fripperies in her house, the woman must take great pride in cultivating her roses.
“Eden?” The man’s face scrunched up in disbelief. “Heavens, no. I’d not let that girl touch one of my plants if she begged for a week. No way, no how.”
“Aren’t they . . . Don’t they belong to her?”
“Sure enough. She picks ’em out of the catalog and tells me where to plant ’em and how to tend the soil. Why, she had me make compost with fish heads and fruit peelings after reading about it in a magazine. Fish heads. I never heard o’ that. But I did what she said, and last year we had the biggest blooms yet. Yessir, she knows a lot about ’em from all her reading. But don’t let her near an actual plant.” He scratched a spot on his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt above his graying brows.
“Why not?” If she knew what she was doing, what was the harm? And why did she let her employee bully her out of her own garden?
“The gal is pure poison to plants. Don’t know how she does it, but every plant she tends turns up dead or near to it. Poor thing. It grieves her something awful.”
Harvey shook his head and tipped it back to meet Levi’s eye. “She and I made a pact a few years back. I tend the flowers at the house, and she can play with the ones that grow wild outside of town. Even got her daddy to buy her a piece of land on the other side of Lone Oak Hill, where the bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush grow thick as a carpet every spring. She’ll take a book and go sit out there for hours at a time. Even after the bluebonnets fade, she’ll keep makin’ trips off and on through the summer and fall to collect flowers for her press. She dries ’em and makes pictures. Real purty ones. She’s got a tender touch when the things are already dead, but a live plant? It’d wither at the sight of her comin’.”
Levi gazed at the curtains that fluttered in the window that opened to the library. It must be hard on Eden to love something so much and have to keep her distance. At least she could still enjoy the beauty of the flowers and the glory of their fragrance.
His thoughts turned to the book he carried and the private correspondence hidden in its folds. Was he kidding himself? Would his sullied past poison a woman like Eden? Perhaps, like the roses, he was only meant to admire her from afar.
“Don’t let me keep you out here, son. Go on in.” Harvey smiled and made shooing motions at him. Levi stared at him as he bent back to his work.
But . . . what if he wasn’t toxic? What if God could take the garbage of his past and turn it into something that could help Eden flourish, like the kitchen scraps that nourished the roses? Levi’s fingers tightened on the spine of his book. He couldn’t just walk away if there was a chance of making a life with her. The possibility was too sweet to forfeit without at least trying to cultivate it. He only prayed that God would make things clear to him before he did anything to hurt her.
It’s in your hands, Lord.
Taking a deep breath, Levi climbed the steps and opened the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Women’s voices floated to him through the hall as he hung up his hat.
“I was so glad to hear you agreed to put together another pressed-flower piece for the spring auction. The one you donated last year brought in top dollar. At yesterday’s meeting, those of us on the fund-raising committee agreed that we needed to convince you to contribute another. I hope we didn’t pressure you too much.”
“Not at all.” Eden’s gentle laugh drew Levi into the main room. She was sitting at her desk, tiny yellow and blue flowers forming a rainbow arch across her work space with various shades of green leaves in between. “I love making art out of the flowers I collect. And truth be told, my personal parlor is quite cluttered with my previous efforts. I’d be happy to have one of my designs grace someone else’s wall.”
“And the money it provides will help buy a new blackboard for the schoolhouse. The one they have now is so cracked, Miss Albright’s tidy penmanship is barely legible.” Emma Cranford stepped to the side of Eden’s desk and peered down at a sketchpad on the tabletop. “Have you come up with a design yet?”
“No.” Eden sighed. “Usually inspiration strikes when I experiment with the dried flowers, placing them one way and then another until a pattern forms in my mind. But even after taking samples from each of the packets and pairing them in countless combinations, ideas are still eluding me today.”
Levi tried to steal a glance at the paper from over Mrs. Cranford’s head, but he was too far away to see anything. Not wanting to elicit the ladies’ attention, he made no move to close the gap. Instead, he hovered in the background, hoping the preacher’s wife would conclude her business in time for him to speak to Eden before the children descended.
“The wreath you made last year was lovely.”
“Thank you, but don’t you think a fresh design would bring a better price? Something different from last year.” Eden tapped her fingers on the table’s edge, her nails clicking lightly against the wood. “I’ve made wreaths, hearts, garden scenes. I even tried a butterfly once.” As she rattled off her list, she turned her head, her exasperation evident. Until she noticed him. Her features softened, and Levi’s pulse accelerated. She didn’t smile exactly, but there was something about her eyes that told him she wanted to.
Then Mrs. Cranford spoke again and reclaimed Eden’s attention. “You’ll find your inspiration somewhere, dear. Don’t fret. The auction is a month away. You have plenty of time.” The woman eased away from the desk and began buttoning up her cloak.
“You’re right.” Eden stood and escorted her to the hall entrance, her gaze finding his for a moment before skittering away. “It was kind of you to come by, Emma. Please give my regards to your husband.”
“I will. By the way, did I tell you that David expects our shipment of prison Bibles to arrive soon? Maybe by next— Oh! Mr. Grant. I didn’t realize you were standing there.” The woman blushed, and Eden gave her a questioning look.
“Ma’am.” Levi dipped his chin and averted his gaze. Eden wouldn’t know of his connection to the prison Bibles, but Mrs. Cranford did. Discovering his presence at the same time she’d spoken of them had obviously flustered her, and he worried that Eden would somehow piece things together.
“Well, I must be off. Have to see to David’s supper, you know.” Mrs. Cranford bustled down the hall.
Eden said nothing, just watched her go.
When she turned to face him, Levi tried to think of something to say to break the silence that was growing more awkward with every second that passed. But his brain was mush.
Eden’s focus bounced between his face and a spot somewhere on the wall behind him. Then she moved back to her desk and braced her arms upon it, as if the solidity helped restore her equilibrium.
Maybe he should try something similar. He felt as unbalanced as a horse with mismatched shoes.
“Welcome back, Mr. Grant.” The smile that had been in her eyes earlier finally found its way to her lips.
Warmth radiated through him and loosened some of the tightness in his chest. He smiled in return and stepped up to the desk. Glancing down at the flowers scattered there, he blurted out the first coherent thought he could grasp. “Make a bouquet.”
“A bouquet?” Confusion laced her tone. She looked down as he peered up, their gazes crossing and holding for a brief moment before hers dropped the rest of the way. “With dried flowers?” Her hand fluttered over the blooms like a butterfly afraid to land. “They’re much too delicate to—”
Levi captured her hand in his. “No. In a picture.” He drew her hand down to the open sketchpad. “For the auction.”
Her slender fingers trembled against his palm as he gently pressed her hand against the paper. He trailed his fingertips over her knuckles, all the way to the ends of her rounded nails as he slowly withdrew. Her breath caught, and when she tipped her chin up, her mossy eyes had darkened to a deep sa
ge.
All he had to do was lean forward, cup her cheek, and press his lips to hers. She would taste like heaven. He was sure of it. Longing burgeoned inside him, until it nearly overran his good sense. He wanted that kiss more than he wanted his next breath.
But he didn’t have the right. Not yet.
Levi straightened.
Eden blinked a few times, then stared down at the blank sketchpad. “A bouquet . . .” She murmured the words, testing them out. Then all at once, she dropped into her chair, snatched up a pencil, and took the paper in hand. Hesitant at first, she drew a few exploratory lines but then picked up speed until the pencil fairly flew over the paper. “A framed bouquet. Yes. A bridal bouquet. Fit for a trousseau, an anniversary gift, a wedding.”
She spared a couple of seconds to look up at him, and her beaming smile made Levi feel as if he’d just knocked out John L. Sullivan for the heavyweight championship. “It’s a perfect idea, Levi. Perfect.”
Eden turned back to her sketch, mumbling something about an oval frame and touches of lace and ribbon. He didn’t follow most of it, but then, he was concentrating more on the way her eyes sparkled with creativity and how the tip of her tongue peeked between her lips while she concentrated on her drawing.
“There.” She tilted her head and examined her handiwork, then stood and turned the sketchpad around for his inspection. “What do you think?”
I think you’re beautiful. His eyes shifted from her face to the paper. “I think . . . you’ve got talent.”
The sketch was rough since it’d been drawn hurriedly, but even so, the flowers exhibited dimension and life as they bunched together above slender stems arching gently from the confines of a bowed ribbon.
“It will look better with colorful blossoms and lacy accents.” She seemed ready to say more but clutched the drawing back to her chest and gave him an apologetic look. “Listen to me rambling on about flowers and ribbon when I’m sure you don’t care a whit about such things.”
She might be surprised what could interest a man when spoken of by the right woman.
“Sorry.” She tossed the sketchpad into her chair.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I like . . . viewing your joy.”
Eden cocked her head and gave him one of those quizzical glances that made him feel like she was searching out his secrets. Not ready for her to discover them yet, he opted for a diversion.
“I’m done reading the book.” He held out Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth to her.
She took it from his hand and stroked the cover, not quite meeting his gaze. “Did you enjoy the story?”
“Yep. I—” Before he could tell her about the sheets of paper tucked into the pages, a herd of footsteps pounded up the front stairs.
“Howdy, Miss Spencer,” a young voice called out from the hall. “We’re here.”
Eden pivoted toward the sound, then turned back to him. “The children. I’ll have to log this in later.” She pulled open a desk drawer and laid the book inside. After she closed the drawer, she reached a hand out to him as if to touch his arm but stopped herself short of making contact. Levi repressed his disappointment.
“Please stay as long as you wish, Mr. Grant,” she said, stepping aside to put more distance between them as the school kids filed into the reading room. “If you find a book you would like to borrow before I finish with the children’s story, just leave it on my desk and I will deliver it to you tomorrow.”
Then she left.
All the fretting he’d done over what to say to her about the book, and their time together expired before he could even broach the subject properly. The kids swarmed her, and Levi tried not to resent their appearance. Not too tough a task when Eden’s delight was as plain to see as the sun on a cloudless day.
He wandered over to the bookshelf containing the fiction titles and glanced at the spines. Hunkering down, he pressed his finger into the crevice where Verne’s Journey belonged. Would Eden look for his written response or just shove the book back onto the shelf? He shuddered to think of someone else running across his letter. He’d have to stop by tomorrow when she first opened to check the book. If the papers were still inside, he’d simply slip them into his coat pocket and dispose of them later without anyone being the wiser.
Then again, hadn’t she said that she would deliver his selection to him tomorrow should he find a book he liked? If she came by his shop in the morning, that would afford him the opportunity to ask her about the note as well as spend time in her company. A pleasant prospect. Levi grinned. I’d better find a book.
Touching a finger to the top edge of each spine, he perused the books. He supposed he could just snatch the first one he came to, yet that felt too much like a pretense. He wanted an excuse to visit with Eden, but not at the price of deception. Guilt already hounded him for not being entirely forthright about his past. He hadn’t lied—just hadn’t expounded on things. Nevertheless, if their friendship evolved into something deeper, it’d be only natural for Eden to start asking questions about his family, his work, his experiences. He’d have to confess. Everything.
If there was any hope of keeping her, it would be found in proving he could be trusted in other matters—demonstrating a pattern of integrity that spoke to the man he had become, not the man he’d once been.
On a shelf above the Verne tales, Levi lingered over a title that struck him as familiar. Ivanhoe. He’d never read it, but if he remembered correctly it was one his old schoolmaster had tried to interest him in before he left home. A story of knights and hidden identities. Appropriate reading for a man who struggled to hold on to his nobility as well as his secrets. Levi slid the book from between its neighbors and pushed against his knees to stand.
The steady sound of Eden’s voice called to him as she read to the children. And when his eyes found her, everything inside him went still. She was sitting in his chair. His chair. Just as he’d imagined. Well, not exactly as he’d imagined. Eden perched on the edge like a dainty bird on a branch, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t tuck her legs beneath her and curl into the cushions when no one was around to see. Her auburn hair down, lying in waves about her shoulders; a knitted throw over her lap to hold back the evening’s chill; her restrictive clothing traded in for something softer . . .
Eden looked up from her story, and Levi blinked away the vision. Her sentence rambled to a halt, and he feared his thoughts were evident on his face. She stared at him for half a second, then cleared her throat and resumed her recitation of Black Beauty’s adventures.
Time to go.
Suddenly feeling large and conspicuous, Levi strode to Eden’s desk and quietly placed Ivanhoe on top of her sketchpad, taking care not to disturb the flowers scattered across the table’s surface. Then, with a parting glance, one he told himself not to make but was helpless to resist, he stored up a final picture of Eden in the stuffed leather chair and took his leave.
Chapter Sixteen
For the first time since she began hosting the reading hour over a year ago, Eden had to fight the urge to cut the session short. She’d been keenly aware of Levi’s presence as she settled the children and found her place in the story, but when she glanced up and found him looking at her with such . . . well . . . pining, she nearly dropped the book from her lap.
Never could she recall a man looking at her in such a manner. Warmth spread through her as if she’d just climbed into a steaming tub, yet her mouth was bone dry. Rattled by her reaction, she’d done the only thing she could think to do—return to her reading. Unfortunately, vocalizing the words on the page did little to regulate her quivering pulse. Even after Levi left, her attention wavered from Black Beauty to the book she had stashed in her desk. Levi’s book.
Had he responded to her questions? Eden found her eyes wandering to the desk whenever she looked up to smile at the children. With each minute that passed, the urgency to examine that book swelled until she began stumbling over her words. A few of the children looke
d at her oddly, but she managed to muddle through. The minute the last child scampered down the front steps, however, she locked her door and flew to her desk.
To prove to herself that she did still harbor at least a modicum of self-control, she first tidied her work area by returning all her dried flowers to their appropriate paper packets and storing them in the hatbox she had stashed beneath her desk. Then she folded the sketchpad closed and recorded Levi’s latest selection in her lending log before finally granting herself permission to open the drawer.
There it sat—a mahogany-red cover, the title embossed in gold. She traced the lettering with a finger, suddenly nervous. Would she find what she’d hoped for within the pages?
Eden bit the edge of her tongue as she lifted the book from the drawer and placed it on her lap. Propping the spine in the dip between her knees, she fanned the pages until they fell open of their own accord, revealing folded sheets of writing paper. Her heart pounded and her hand shook as she reached for them. She’d grown so accustomed to disappointment, she’d almost forgotten how to react when it didn’t occur.
She had just laid hold of Levi’s letter when the door to the kitchen swung open. “Supper’s on, Eden. Quit your dallying.”
Slamming the book closed, Eden felt a ridiculous heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks. “Be right there. I . . . um . . . need to take something up to my room first.” Grabbing her hatbox by the strap and hoping her housekeeper would pay more heed to it than the book she covertly tucked under her arm, Eden dashed toward the stairs. Levi’s letter would have to wait a while longer.
Once dinner had been consumed and the dishes washed, Eden bid Verna and Harvey a good-night, ignoring the raised eyebrows her early departure garnered. She climbed the stairs with purposeful restraint, not wanting the echo of hastening footsteps to feed their curiosity. After her earlier conversation with Verna, Eden preferred keeping the subject of Levi Grant closed to further discussion. At least for now. She needed time and privacy to sort out her feelings on the matter before venturing into those waters with anyone else.