Courting Miss Adelaide. Janet Dean

calls the paper his dream, but really it’s his refuge.”

      Two men strolled past, discussing the rising price of seed. Once out of earshot, Adelaide leaned closer to Mary. “Do you understand why Adam Graves left me half the paper?”

      “I have no idea. I never knew Sam’s father, only met him once—at Sam’s funeral. He came up to the casket, spoke to me and the boys, and then tried to have a word with Charles. That didn’t go well, and Adam left immediately, didn’t even attend Sam’s graveside service. He never contacted me after that, not even to check on his grandsons.”

      Mary fell in beside Adelaide and they began walking again, but at a slower pace. When they reached the Masonic Lodge with its impressive gables, Mary cleared her throat. “If you never met Adam, then the connection had to have been between your mother and Adam.”

      “My mother never mentioned him, but a friend said they were childhood sweethearts. I don’t understand any of it, but I’m going to search the attic to see what I can find.”

      Mary laid a hand on Adelaide’s arm. “Do you want company?”

      At the gesture, Adelaide blinked back sudden tears. “That’s a kind offer, but…why would you want to?”

      “I wouldn’t want to poke around in the past alone. Plus, I knew Sam, and I know Charles. Perhaps I can give you insight.”

      “I’d appreciate it,” Adelaide admitted, then led the way to her shop.

      Inside, they found Laura helping a shopper try on a hat. “Back already?”

      Adelaide took Laura aside. “Thanks for tending the store. Would you mind staying while Mary and I have a visit?”

      Laura greeted Mary, and then smiled. “I’d love to stay. I’ve missed the shop.”

      Adelaide ushered Mary up to her quarters, then lit the lantern and opened the door to the attic. Adelaide climbed the stairs with Mary close behind. In the dim light, Adelaide didn’t see the cobweb until it plastered against her face, a sticky reminder of the attic’s neglect.

      At the top of the stairs, the scent of lavender permeated everything her mother had touched, now mingled with the musty smell of age. Regret she and her mother hadn’t been close laid heavy on her chest. Maybe here she’d find the clue to her mother’s aloofness.

      Mary looked around the stand-up attic. “This is huge,” she said, then sneezed.

      “I’m sorry, it needs cleaning.”

      Mary laughed. “With two boys, I’m used to a little dust.”

      Along one wall stood makeshift shelves filled with long forgotten fruit jars, crocks, a glass butter churn with a wooden paddle, a jar of buttons. Across the way sat a dressmaker dummy and an elaborate wicker carriage.

      Under the window, Adelaide spied the large camelback trunk.

      Dropping to her knees, Adelaide blew a layer of dust off the lid, and then raised it carefully. She removed an old rust-stained quilt then pushed aside a stack of linens. Underneath she found a celluloid-covered box. She tugged it out, and then lifted the tiny brass catch to reveal a stack of handkerchiefs. “Granny must have tatted these.”

      Mary fingered the lace. “They’re lovely.”

      A visit from her grandmother had been an oasis in the desert of her life. She put the box aside to take downstairs.

      Still, no hint here to what went before. Adelaide led Mary past a dresser. Tucked behind a hall tree, she found the small trunk. She rolled it out, its metal wheels squeaking, and then opened the latch. Inside she found another quilt, a half-finished pillow slip, a Bible—Granny’s.

      Had she been foolish to think she’d find anything that would reveal her mother’s past in this dirty, stuffy place?

      About to give up, her hand brushed against paper, paper that crackled with age. “Oh, it’s my parents’ marriage license.”

      The license promised “until death do us part,” yet her parents’ marriage had ended nearly as quickly as it began. Her gaze swept over the wedding date. She gasped. January 17, 1866, not the October date she’d been told.

      “Is something wrong?”

      Adelaide’s fingers flew to her mouth. “They married six months before my birth. I didn’t know.”

      A spark of insight ignited in Adelaide’s heart. Her mother’s warnings about men now made sense.

      Oh, Mama, did my conception end your hopes and dreams?

      The afternoon sun glinted in through the window, sparking off an old mirror in the corner. Adelaide rose and walked to the window facing the street, thinking about her mother’s loss of independence and the load of responsibility she’d carried alone.

      A woman and small child, their eyes downcast, came into view. Adelaide’s pulse tripped. Emma, the orphan girl, held Frances Drummond’s hand. Dressed in black from head to foot, a veil covered Frances’s face. They stopped in front of The Ledger, then disappeared inside. Perhaps Frances had a delivery problem with the paper. Yet, something about the two troubled her.

      Adelaide turned back to Mary. “Your boys will be home from school soon. Maybe we should continue the search later.”

      Mary looked at the watch pinned to her bodice. “Oh, I should be going, but we haven’t found what you wanted.”

      “I’ll look another time.” She smiled at Mary. “But thanks, I’m grateful for your company.”

      Closing the lid of the trunk, and gathering the box of hankies and the lantern, they returned below.

      Later, Adelaide waved goodbye to Mary and Laura, then stood at the window, waiting for Frances and Emma to leave The Ledger.

      

      Charles threw down his pen and shoved aside the copy he’d tried to edit for the past hour. Even with his insides twisted into a pretzel over losing control of the paper, he couldn’t put Miss Crum out of his mind. He’d not soon forget her anger-filled eyes tinged with hurt.

      The door opened and he lifted his gaze from the paperwork, half expecting, even half hoping to find Miss Crum standing there. It wasn’t. A twinge of disappointment settled in his gut.

      His visitor wore a black gauze veil attached to her hat, hiding her face, making it difficult to identify her—until Charles spotted a little girl he did recognize peeking around the woman’s skirts—one of the orphans. Charles rose and went around his desk.

      Carrying a satchel, the woman approached with cautious steps. “Mr. Graves, I’m bringing Emma to you.”

      He leaned closer. “Mrs. Drummond?”

      “Yes.” Her hand fluttered to the veil. “I’m feeling poorly…since Mama died. Not up to caring for Emma right now.”

      “I see.” But he didn’t see at all. “What about William?”

      “Ed needs William on the farm. But Emma…” She hesitated. “Emma needs someone to see she eats right and keeps up with her schoolwork, needs someone to braid her hair.” With a gentle touch, she ran work-worn fingers over Emma’s silken plaits. “I hope you might know a good place for her until I’m on my feet.”

      Charles saw Mrs. Drummond’s obvious reluctance to let Emma go and her responsibility for Emma shifted to his shoulders.

      “I’d be glad to help.” This poor woman carried a heavy load. “I’m sorry about your mother’s…death.”

      “I can’t believe she’d…” Her shaky voice trailed off.

      Neither spoke the horrifying truth lingering beneath the conversation—suicide. He could imagine Mrs. Drummond’s regrets; guilt for not having seen it coming, for not having done more to prevent