Courting Miss Adelaide. Janet Dean
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giggled, sounding more like a young girl than a grandmother in her fifties. “I’d say so. Do you have some hat-making elves tucked away in the back?”
Adelaide smiled. “No, I made them all.”
“Why so many?”
What could Adelaide say? She’d been drowning her sorrow in hats? That for the past two weeks she’d been sewing, rather than praying about her problems? “Would you like some tea?”
“Tea sounds wonderful, if you have the time.”
Adelaide headed to the kettle on the tiny potbellied stove in the back. “One thing I have plenty of is time.”
“What you have plenty of, dear, is hats,” Laura said, following her.
Pouring steaming water into a prepared teapot, Adelaide chuckled. For a moment, the sound stopped her hand. How long had it been since she’d laughed?
Adelaide gathered two cups with saucers and added a teaspoon of sugar in each, the way she and Laura liked their tea. She carried the tray into the showroom.
Laura joined her at the table, a cozy spot where her customers leafed through copies of Godey’s Lady’s Book while enjoying a restorative cup of tea.
“Why not mark them down and run an ad in the paper?” Laura said. “You’ll need the space when it’s time to display wools and velvets.”
Running an ad meant seeing Mr. Graves. She would like to strategically poke a hatpin into every member of the committee, even The Ledger’s editor. Of course, she’d do no such a thing.
Filling Laura’s cup, Adelaide sighed. “I’ll run an ad.”
Laura took a sip, and then rested her cup in the saucer. “You missed Wednesday night’s prayer meeting. Again.” Laura touched her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Adelaide lifted her head, meeting Laura’s gentle and accepting, ready-to-listen eyes. Her gaze skittered away and settled on the bonnet lying on the counter, then over to her unread Bible.
She considered telling Laura about her struggles, but it might sound as if she blamed God. And she didn’t. It was her fault she resisted His will for her life. Or was it the committee who refused His will? Her mind had been so full of hurt and discouragement she no longer heard with certainty the quiet, inner voice that had guided and sustained her.
Laura gave her hand a squeeze, but said nothing, simply waited. Tenacious as a bulldog tugging at a trouser leg, Laura wouldn’t let go until she got the story.
“A couple weeks ago, I asked to care for one of the orphans coming to town on the train, and the committee turned me down.”
“Oh, no.”
“Afterward—” She bit her lower lip until she could continue. “To keep busy, I made hats.”
Laura turned over Adelaide’s hand. “Which explains your rough palms and bloodshot eyes.”
“It’s been…a difficult time.”
“Yes, I see—”
“Do you? Do you see this was my last chance—” Adelaide blinked hard and pulled away her hand.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Laura said, her heartfelt tone bringing a lump to Adelaide’s throat.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry for burdening you with this.”
“Don’t be silly! I’m your friend.” Laura slapped the table. “That committee is made up of nitwits.”
“Some nitwits. Only the superintendent of schools, the president of the bank, the editor of our newspaper—”
“Mr. Graves?” Laura scooted to the edge of her seat.
“None other.”
“Now there is a handsome man,” Laura said, with a grin. “Looks like his father.”
Adelaide gasped. “You knew Mr. Graves’s father?”
Laura nodded, her eyes shining like a brand-new penny. “He grew up in Noblesville. Back then, I had a huge crush on Adam Graves. But he only had eyes for your mother.”
“My mother?”
“Yes, dear, it might astonish you to hear this, but as a young woman, Constance Gunder reigned as belle of the county.”
Her mother had been an attractive woman, but the pained expression she’d worn as long as Adelaide could remember suggested Constance had never known a happy day in her life.
“For a long while, Adam and your mother were inseparable,” Laura continued. “Everyone assumed they’d marry.”
Adelaide hadn’t been told any of this. Why had her mother gone from belle to bitter? “What happened?”
“Constance fell in love with your father. Not a staying kind of man, but he swept your mother off her feet.” Laura sighed. “Adam moved away right after that. Landed in Cincinnati, I believe. Your folks got married. As far as I know, Adam never came back, not even to visit his parents before they died.”
“That seems callous.”
“A broken heart can change a man—and a woman. I’ve always wondered if that’s what damaged your mother.”
Adelaide shook her head. “My mother never opened her heart enough to get it broken.” She ran her finger around the cup’s rim. “Did you know my father?”
“Not really. A fun-loving, charming traveling salesman with dimples—that pretty much describes Calvin Crum.”
“Do you know why he left?”
Laura shook her head. “Constance never confided in me.” Laura pursed her lips, as if cutting off something she wanted to say, then brightened. “Well, all that’s water under the bridge.” She waggled her brows. “I understand Adam Graves’s son is available.”
“For what?”
“For your ad, what else? And you better get over there, before all these hats start gathering dust.” Laura returned to her tea, her face the picture of innocence, knowing full well she’d used the exact words that would convince Adelaide to place the ad and put her into the presence of Mr. Graves.
Whether Adelaide wanted to deal with the editor or not, she needed cash to buy supplies. She couldn’t afford to dip into her meager savings.
Besides, she had another pressing reason to see him. “I do owe Mr. Graves and the entire committee an apology.”
“Why?”
“I lost my temper at the distribution of the orphans.” Adelaide glanced at her hands.
“I’d have wanted to give them a piece of my mind, too.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t have. I’ve asked God’s forgiveness.” She swallowed. “But I’ve put off the next step.”
Laura nodded. “You’ll be doing the right thing. You can place the ad as an act of repentance and good business.” Laura smiled, then rose to give Adelaide a quick hug. “I’ll be back to quilt on Monday. I’m only blocks away if you need me,” Laura said, then left.
Adelaide restored order to the shop and then climbed the stairs, her stomach lurching at the prospect of facing Mr. Graves and the entire committee. If she had more say in what happened, maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess. In her world, an unmarried woman couldn’t discern anger in a man, couldn’t challenge the decisions of men. Couldn’t be deemed fit to rear a motherless child, though countless widows raised their own children.
If only I had a way to get through to these men, to let my voice be heard.
Then maybe—
“Oh, why am I even bothering