Wanted: A Family. Janet Dean
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She quickly released her hold on his arm, yet felt strangely bereft. She groped for a safe topic. “You’re an excellent carpenter.”
“Carpentry comes easy to me,” he said in a husky voice, “like building a nest comes easy to you.”
“Building a nest?”
“Yes, making a home, a welcoming place for friends like Elise, even an outsider like me.” His eyes warmed. “That’s a gift. I’ve seen my share of places and the people who live there. Your hospitality isn’t something I encounter often.”
Everything inside her turned to jelly. Why did he have such an effect on her? The answer came. He understood what she valued, the importance of home and family.
“My house is a gift from God and way bigger than I need. I want to share it with others.”
As if he doubted that God gave gifts, he didn’t respond. She’d do what she could to share her faith. And leave the outcome to the One who controlled the universe. In the meantime, she’d focus on the arrival of her baby, on giving refuge to unwed mothers and ignore this transient man at her side.
As they passed Elise’s family home, Callie’s steps slowed. In the shadows of her porch Sarah Langley sat on the swing. She was a good Christian woman and Callie always thought the same way about Mr. Langley, but Elise’s decision to keep her baby called for strong support from her father, not opposition.
Sarah waved. “Callie, can you spare a minute?”
Callie glanced at Jacob Smith. “Elise’s mother may have something important to say.”
“I’ll walk on ahead.” He strode off, his lanky, easy gait eating up the distance to town, leaving a baffling void. A void she would ignore.
Sarah left her porch, motioning Callie toward the shelter of her lilac bushes. Did she think neighbors would report the conversation to her husband? “I hoped I might catch you on your walk to the post office.” She fingered the collar of her dress. “When the baby decides to come, get word to me. If I can sneak away…” Her voice trailed off.
New lines of worry etched Sarah’s plump face. Shots of gray Callie didn’t remember seeing before streaked her auburn hair. “I understand.”
“I talked to Doc Wellman. He’ll let me make payments on his fee. Get him to help Elise when it’s her time.” She dug into the pocket of her apron, then thrust a stack of bills at Callie. “This is for diapers, a dress.”
Callie put the money in her purse. “This will mean the world to Elise. After our doctor’s appointments tomorrow afternoon, we’ll go shopping for the baby.”
“I know that girl can eat.” Sarah gave a shaky smile. “Wish I could help more, but…”
Obviously, Elise’s father wouldn’t let go of a dime to help his daughter. “I have shelves of canned food in the cellar and soon we’ll have produce from the garden. We’ll manage fine.”
Eyes filling with misery, Sarah stared off into the distance. “We had such plans for Elise. You know, for schooling, a good marriage.” Her voice faltered. “Now that’s gone.”
Callie laid a hand on Sarah’s sleeve. “Elise can still have those things, Sarah. Maybe not right away, but her life isn’t over. God will bring something good from this.”
A spark of hope lit Sarah’s eyes. “You’re right. God will work it out. I know it. I do.”
“You and Mr. Langley are in my prayers.”
“God bless you, Callie. I don’t understand why you’re doing this for my girl, but I thank you.”
But Callie knew. And if Sarah weren’t wrapped up in her own worries, she’d know, too.
With a hug goodbye, Callie walked up Serenity Avenue, her eyes on the uneven brick, her mind filling with the image of Nell. Callie swallowed around a lump in her throat. Redheaded Nell—upturned nose with a dusting of freckles, blue eyes sparkling with innocence. They were only sixteen, sheltered from the facts of life. Nell had trusted a man, fallen hard. A lesson Callie ought to remember.
At the corner, she turned left on Liberty. Jacob Smith lounged against a tree. At his thoughtfulness something inside her twisted. “You waited.” But then she remembered how fooled Nell had been by a man.
“I’m in no rush,” he said as they continued up Liberty. “Life must be more complicated with Miss Langley in your house.”
“Elise is a help and I enjoy her company.”
“I know you don’t like me saying so but no man should leave a woman in her circumstances.”
“Perhaps he did Elise a favor.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Marriage to some men would be intolerable.”
“Why would a woman involve herself with such a man?”
No one could be that naive. “What’s hidden can’t be seen, Mr. Smith.”
He studied her, his eyes filling with compassion, as if he suspected that she referred to her late husband. Well, he could keep his ill-placed sympathy to himself. She’d never met anyone more secretive.
Up ahead, the street bustled with activity by Peaceful standards. Carriages and wagons clattered over the brick. Shoppers stopped to chat on the walk. The one family in town with a newfangled automobile rounded the corner, honking its horn, frightening horses and young children.
“What do you know? Someone in Peaceful owns a Waverley Runabout.”
“That’s Mr. Burch, president of the bank.”
“I visited the Waverley factory in Indianapolis,” Jake said. “Can’t think battery-powered carriages will come to anything. Now those gasoline motor automobiles Haynes- Apperson is turning out in Kokomo interest me.”
“Really? You’d want one? My mare is a lot more reliable.”
“If they can get the kinks ironed out and a way to lower the cost, it wouldn’t surprise me if one day the streets were teeming with automobiles.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Danger is a sign of progress, I reckon.”
An odd thought. One she’d examine later.
Callie greeted passersby as they strolled by the variety of shops dotting the main street: Langley’s Barber Shop, Lily’s Millinery and Gloves, Harrington’s Grocery, Cunningham’s Pharmacy. Up ahead the Mitchell Mercantile. A dog sniffed his way along the walk beside her, and then trotted across the street, successfully dodging horses’ hooves and buggy wheels.
Outside the post office, Jacob turned toward her. “I think I’ll look into getting a haircut.”
“Your hair is a bit shaggy,” she said with a smile.
He doffed his hat and plowed his fingers through his ebony hair. “We mutts aren’t groomed as often as those fancy lapdogs.”
“Nothing about you suggests mutt, Mr. Smith.”
His lips tilted up into a soft smile that climbed into his eyes and settled on her with such intensity that her mouth went dry as dust. She glanced away. “The barber is Elise’s father.”
“Thanks for the warning.” He plopped his hat on his head, flashed his dimple, then strode off, turning more than one woman’s head in his direction.
Jacob Smith was all male, more cowboy than any man she’d met. Unable to take her eyes off his lanky figure, she watched until he entered the barbershop. Chiding herself for such foolishness, she pivoted toward the post office and stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior.
Marlene Thompson, the postmistress, looked up from sorting the mail and punched her wire-rimmed