A Home Of Her Own. Keli Gwyn

Wright’s eyebrows rose. “You two have met?”

      Lord, please give me courage.

      She stood, lifted her chin and looked into Mr. O’Brien’s eyes without flinching. “We haven’t been properly introduced, but he did assist me earlier.”

      “Assisted you? I saved you. If it weren’t for me, you could have been crushed by that wagon wheel.” He shook his head and addressed the doctor. “This impetuous young woman took off running after a flea-bitten stray. If I hadn’t been there, she could be in on your examination table with a broken leg—or worse.”

      She wasn’t familiar with the word impetuous, but his disapproving tone indicated he wasn’t paying her a compliment. If he didn’t have her at a disadvantage, she would choose a fitting word to sling back at him and show him what she thought of his high-handed manner.

      His mother rose and linked arms with Becky. “Do not talk to her that way, mein Sohn.” Mutti spoke English now, but she had a marked German accent, with her w’s sounding like v’s and her t-h’s like z’s. “This lovely young woman only wanted to help the dog. There is nothing wrong with that. It proves she has a kind heart.”

      Mutti’s approval renewed Becky’s determination to be strong. This was her opportunity to show Mr. O’Brien she expected to be treated with respect. The Lord was with her, and she could trust Him to look out for her, as He had when Dillon had come after her. “Thank you, Mutti. Now, I think it’s time for your son and me to have a talk.”

      Mr. O’Brien’s mouth fell open. “What did you call her?”

      His mother gave Becky’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “She called me Mutti because I asked her to. And she is right. You two have much to talk about. Go.” She fluttered a hand toward the front door.

      Dr. Wright extended his arm. “You may use my office, if you’d prefer, since I’m sure you’d like some privacy. It’s the first door on the right.”

      Becky didn’t wait for Mr. O’Brien to respond. “That’s kind of you. We will.” She ignored the pain in her midriff, marched through the doorway and didn’t stop until she reached the paneled room. Two burgundy chairs faced a desk with beautiful scrollwork. She perched on the armless chair, leaving the wingback armchair for Mr. O’Brien.

      He sat and angled his right side away from her. Interesting. His scar must bother him. She could understand, having spent the past week with her face to the floor so people wouldn’t see her unsightly bruises.

      She smoothed the skirt of her best dress. The faded fabric had seen many washings. The black crepe mourning gown was sorely in need of another after her week on the train. And she was in need of this job.

      A good thirty seconds went by with the ticking of the desk clock the only sound. Although it was a man’s place to initiate a conversation, she could take no more. She drew in a deep breath and launched into her carefully crafted speech.

      “Your mother and I had a good conversation. She’s accepted the fact that she needs help, and I’m just the woman for the job. I spent years nursing my own dear mother before she lost her battle with consumption back in ’69, and kept house for my father and brother after she was gone. I’ve become a fair cook, and I can clean and sew, too. I know it cost a lot for you to bring me out here, so I’m willing to work for nothing more than room and board until I’ve earned enough to repay the money you had Dr. Wright wire for my train ticket. When would you like me to start?”

      There. She’d stood firm and taken charge of the situation. Jessie would be proud of her. Now to find out if Mr. O’Brien would accept her offer.

      He stared at the patterned rug for the longest time, his eyes clouded with sadness.

      The impending loss was going to be hard on him. In her experience, men were at a disadvantage when dealing with such devastating news, especially strong men like him, who were used to being in control. They felt the need to shoulder their burdens in silence. At least he had the Lord to lean on, provided he would turn to Him.

      “Dr. Wright said you’re qualified, but I believe in being honest. I was seeking an older woman, not a young one like you.”

      “I’m not that young. I’m twenty-one. I was only sixteen when my mother took to her bed and I began caring for her. I was up for the task then, so I don’t think my age will be a problem. It’s clear your mother likes me.”

      “I can’t argue with that.” He smiled, crinkling his scar the same way he had when she’d come close to colliding with him. Perhaps he hadn’t been sneering before, after all. He really should smile more often because he looked quite dashing when he did, reminding her of a rogue from one of the stories she’d read.

      “It seems to me you’d be eager to give me the position. How else could you be sure I’d have the money to pay you back?”

      He braced his right elbow in his left hand and covered the scarred side of his face with his palm. “You’ve made your point. The position is yours.”

      She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to get him to agree.

      “I do have one condition.”

      Oh, no. “Yes?”

      “I want Dr. Wright to examine you.”

      Mr. O’Brien was full of surprises. “That’s not necessary.”

      “It’s obvious you’re in pain. The job will entail a fair amount of lifting. I want to make sure you’re able to handle it.”

      “I’m fine. I don’t need to see the doctor. I c-can’t.” She’d intended to sound forceful, not fearful. If only her voice hadn’t betrayed her.

      “You can, and you will—if you want to work for me.”

      His clipped words and sharp tone riled her. Dashing rogues were one thing. Rude, unyielding men were another. “As I told you, I can’t see him. I don’t have the money for an examination. Besides, I’m sure I’ll be better in a few days.”

      “Who did this to you?”

      His rapid change of subject took her aback. “What?”

      He leaned forward and peered at her beneath the wide brim of her simple muslin bonnet. “Who struck you, Miss Martin?”

      Shame surged through her, so bitter she could almost taste it. It had been hard enough telling her new friends that her own brother had slapped her. She couldn’t tell this stern-faced stranger. “That’s not important. I’ll never see him again.” At least she hoped not.

      Mr. O’Brien narrowed his eyes. “It’s important to me. I don’t want an angry suitor showing up at my door seeking to get you back. I won’t put Mutti in danger.”

      She blinked several times. “I can assure you it wasn’t a suitor. I’ve never had one.”

      Now, why had she said that? Her romantic life—or lack thereof—was none of his business.

      “How do I know you’re telling the truth? A woman in your situation could go to great lengths to get away from her attacker. She might even...lie.”

      “I’m not like that. I’m a follower of Christ and would never deceive you.”

      The words had scarcely left her lips when guilt soured her stomach. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t exactly told him the truth, either. She’d misled him, just like she’d misled everyone else since she’d embarked on her journey.

      Although she felt like a fraud every time someone called her Becky or Miss Martin, her pastor and his wife had agreed that altering her name was necessary in order to keep Dillon from locating her. If her brother found her, there was no telling what he would do to her. A man who would set fire to a factory and accuse his own sister of having committed the crime was capable of almost anything.

      He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I put