Chapter 16
Chapter
James paced the jailhouse floor, casting a glance into the street every few strides. He stopped and checked the time on his pocket watch. Again. Six eighteen. Noreen might just be running behind schedule, but his instincts made a mockery of that hopeful thought.
She wasn’t coming.
She was hiding.
The question was why. Was she feeling embarrassed?
Did she wish to avoid the awkwardness that inevitably followed a disagreement?
Did she fear he was angry with her? Those motives he could deal with.
He could put her at ease with a humorous anecdote—he had one picked out already involving a goat and a pair of underpants.
He’d gladly offer reassurance that their conversation had done nothing to taint his opinion of her, that he still found her quite remarkable.
If anything, learning more about her history only intensified his respect for how much she had overcome.
On the other hand, if she resented him for overstepping and interfering in private spiritual matters, things would be trickier to smooth over.
There were plenty of people he’d upset over the course of his adult life, especially in the line of duty, and he did his best to mend the damage that resulted from those interactions.
However, he’d learned the importance of letting things go when folks gave no indication of being willing to forfeit their grudges.
The situation with Noreen was different, though.
He didn’t want to let things go. He wanted to repair what had been broken.
Regain her good opinion, if it had, in fact, been lost. Her opinion mattered to him.
A lot. Enough that he couldn’t just let her slip away without trying to fix whatever he’d broken.
James shoved his watch back into his trouser pocket, strode for the door, and collected his hat from the nearby coatrack. If she wasn’t coming to him, he’d just have to go to her.
He ducked into the narrow alleyway that ran along the west side of the jail, choosing the privacy it afforded instead of strolling down Walnut past the courthouse.
What he was about to do could technically be categorized as calling upon a lady, and while he wasn’t ashamed to be seen paying a call on Noreen, he’d rather keep his intentions to himself in case she sent him packing.
Besides, his insides were in enough knots already without having to stop and converse with whoever might be out and about at dinnertime.
The walk to Third Street proved too short for him to unwind any of the kinks in his gut or come up with a plan for what to say to her.
He managed to squeeze in a petition asking God to guide his words, but all too soon he found himself ascending the boardinghouse front porch steps, feeling as ill-prepared as a barefooted cactus farmer.
Giving his shoulders a roll to alleviate the tightness brought on by a coat that seemed to shrink in size with each heartbeat, he cleared his throat, then rapped the door with his knuckles.
He rocked from bootheels to toes as he waited for a response.
It was the dinner hour. Not the most neighborly time to visit.
Starting to regret the impulse that drove him from the jailhouse, James backed away from the door a pace and began an inner debate regarding how long politeness dictated he cool his heels on the porch before making his escape.
He hadn’t knocked that loud. Perhaps with the dinner commotion, no one had heard—
The click of the latch broke off his thoughts. His pulse hitched as the portal creaked open to reveal a woman scowling at him. Thankfully, it wasn’t the woman he’d come to see. Although, there was a better than average chance that she’d be scowling at him, too, before this interview was over.
James fingered the brim of his hat and dipped his chin. “Evenin’, Mrs. Barker. I hope I’m not disturbing your dinner.”
“Of course you are, but I suppose I can make allowances for the law. What brings you to my doorstep, Deputy?”
Fighting the urge to tug on his collar, James tucked his thumbs into the tops of his trouser pockets. “I’d like to have a word with Miss O’Sullivan, if I may. Is she here?”
Mrs. Barker rolled her eyes. “What has that girl done now? I swear, I’ve never met a young woman so determined to run afoul of the law.”
“No, ma’am. That’s not why I’m—”
The proprietress wagged a finger in his face and shooed away his attempted defense.
“I run a respectable boardinghouse, I’ll have you know.
I’ll not play host to a criminal. If you’re here to take her in, I’ll clear out her belongings and have Mr. Clevenger come and fetch them.
I don’t need that kind of trouble here.”
“No laws have been broken, Mrs. Barker. I assure you.” Good grief. He’d come here to reconcile with Noreen, not get her evicted. “I’m paying a social call on Miss O’Sullivan. Not a professional one.”
“A social call?” The woman looked so incredulous, James didn’t know if he should be affronted for Noreen or himself.
“Well, don’t that beat all.” She swung the door wide and eyed him like some kind of circus oddity as he stepped over the threshold and removed his hat.
“Gentlemen callers are to wait in the parlor.” She led him down the short hallway and gestured to an open doorway on the right, near the base of a staircase.
“I’ll let Miss O’Sullivan know you’re here. ”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
As James lowered himself onto a floral-patterned sofa, it occurred to him that taking the alleyway to get here had served no purpose.
For with three little words, he’d managed to set the gossip wheel to spinning at such a high velocity that it was bound to rip through Albany like a twister on parade.
He just prayed that didn’t give Noreen one more reason to avoid him.
Sitting at Mrs. Barker’s dining room table and mentally berating herself for being a coward, Noreen dipped her spoon into the bowl of beef stew that stared up at her. Stew that should have been shared with James but instead had found its way to Mrs. Barker’s table.
“Would you pass the corn bread, Noreen?” Velma Stafford gestured to the cloth-covered basket that had come to rest in front of Noreen. “I know I shouldn’t have a second piece, but yours is so fluffy and delicious, I fear I have no willpower.”
Another item that should have been shared with James.
Noreen had chosen a recipe from a Northern cookbook that called for eggs and sugar, knowing how much the deputy enjoyed cake.
But over the course of the afternoon, she’d talked herself out of visiting him, not wanting to see the truth in his eyes—that she’d ruined their budding friendship.
Noreen forced her mouth into a smile as she passed the basket. “I’m glad you like it. I was trying out a new recipe.”
“It’s delicious.” Velma helped herself to a large square, then reached for the butter dish.
“I envy your skill in the kitchen. I’m an utter disaster.
” She chuckled. “Mama tried to tell me that following a recipe is just like following a dress pattern, but when I added canned beets to a vanilla cake because I liked the pretty pink color it made, she gave up on teaching me how to cook.”
“Well, I’d say you chose the right profession.” As the local dressmaker, Velma had a thriving business and a man who intended to wed her in the fall.
“I warned John of our need to employ a cook after we wed. Can’t have the dear man wasting away because he chose to fall in love with a woman who can’t even bake a potato without it exploding all over the stove.
” Velma tilted her head as she considered Noreen.
“I don’t suppose you would be interested in the position, would you? ”
Play cook to a pair of newlyweds who would be a constant reminder of all she would never have? She’d rather take one of Velma’s needles to the eye.
“I . . .”
Mrs. Barker swept into the dining room, saving Noreen from having to formulate a polite refusal. Although, the way her landlady’s gaze roamed Noreen’s face as if searching for a third eye or second nose made her dread what her salvation might cost.
“You have a caller, Noreen. A gentleman caller.”
Velma set down her butter knife with an audible clink. “A gentleman? Oh, Noreen. How exciting! Is it anyone I know?”
“Oh, it’s someone we all know.” Excitement glowed in Mrs. Barker’s gaze at that pronouncement, the kind of excitement that only appeared when she acquired exclusive rights to a tidbit so juicy it guaranteed her ascension to the top of the town’s gossip ladder. “Deputy James Paxton.”
James was here? Why? To collect on her food promise?
No, James wasn’t the type to make demands on folks, even if they had offered something and failed to deliver.
More likely he’d come to check on her. Make sure she wasn’t ill or something.
That was more his style. Kind. Patient. Ridiculously bighearted.
Unlike her, he didn’t hide from his problems.
“Noreen! I didn’t know you and the deputy were courting.” Velma’s voice quivered with enthusiasm.
“We’re not.” Good heavens. As if being the topic of schoolyard gossip wasn’t bad enough, by tomorrow morning the entire town would be speculating on her relationship with the deputy.
“Mr. Paxton has been assisting me in planning a civic event. That’s all.
I’m sure he just stopped by to relate some information pertaining to that project. ”
Mrs. Barker shook her head and leveled a look at Noreen that spoke volumes. “Amateur. Do you really think I’ll be thrown off the scent so easily?”
“He said this was a social call, not a professional one. Made that point quite clear.” She tipped her head toward the dining room doorway. “He’s in the front parlor. Best not keep him waiting, girl.”
Noreen swallowed a groan, only half due to the fact that there was a better than average chance of Deputy’s Paxton’s social call making the headlines of the next edition of the Albany News.
The other half was due to having to face James and try to explain why she hadn’t brought him the meal she’d promised.
One thing was certain, however. She needed to get James away from Mrs. Barker. Her landlady was an expert eavesdropper, and whatever the deputy intended to say, Noreen preferred to be the only one listening.
“Thank you, Mrs. Barker.” Noreen removed her napkin from her lap, then rose to her feet.
As she passed through the doorway, her landlady touched her arm and whispered in her ear. “Don’t mess this up, Noreen. You’re not likely to have another half-decent man show interest in you.”
She supposed the woman had good intentions in dispensing that less-than-helpful guidance, but Noreen bristled anyway.
Not because of the woman’s doubt in her ability to attract a man—by Noreen’s reckoning, that assessment was accurate—but because of her characterization of the man waiting in the parlor.
“You’re wrong about him, ma’am,” Noreen whispered back. “James Paxton is not half decent. Decency fills him to the brim and runneth over. Be sure to portray him accurately when you tell your tales.”
Mrs. Barker took a step back, her eyes wide. She blinked at Noreen as if she’d never seen her before.
Taking advantage of the opening, Noreen slid through the doorway and down the hall. She paused outside the parlor to inhale a steadying breath and wing a prayer heavenward for courage, then stepped across the threshold.