Chapter 17

"Peter!" Sadie shouted as she ran down the street the next morning with two letters in hand.

"Hello there, Sadie. Another letter?"

"Yes, two. Will you be seeing the Bennetts anytime soon? I have a letter to send there for Marvin."

Peter shifted the parcels he carried and reached for her letters. "You wrote to Marvin?"

"He's due home soon. I wanted him to know where to find me." She picked at the edge of her nail. In the past she'd sent her

letters directly to Marvin at school through the postal service, but with him due home, she didn't know if he would get it

there.

"I have to go past their house today or tomorrow to deliver canning jars to Teddy Norris and his wife. I'll take it for you."

He held out two of his parcels to her. "These are from your family. A gift."

They'd sent letters with the ever-loyal Peter many times, and Violette had sent her embroidered handkerchiefs so Sadie could

sell them to the store, but she could not imagine what was wrapped in the brown paper.

"Thank you." She took the packages and hugged them to her chest as though she held the family that sent them. "Tell them I'm grateful. Can I pay you for taking the letter to the Bennetts?"

"No, it's my pleasure."

"Thank you. How is Bessy?"

He grinned. "When I left this morning, I snuck out quiet as I could, but she must have been listening. She crept out of bed

and came running for a hug. She wanted to come with me, but with all the afternoon storms we've been having, I thought it

best she stayed home."

"She's such a dear girl. Tell her I missed seeing her today."

"I will. I best get going. I've got seeds to deliver and some of my own goods to sell."

Sadie said goodbye and hurried back toward the Taylor mansion with her unopened parcels tight against her chest.

"You off shopping?" Leon asked when he spotted her.

"Peter brought these to me." She loosened her grip on her packages. "They're from my family. It's so good of him, taking my

letters to my family and"—she cleared her throat—"and to Marvin."

"You've written Marvin." Leon studied her. "Gettin' eager for him to come home?"

She exhaled. "Otis paid me a compliment yesterday. Nothing romantic, just a word of praise, but it was more than Marvin has

ever said. I suppose I felt anxious to hear him say something as kind. I told him when he returned home, I wanted to see him.

He doesn't write often and usually it's very formal. If he wants to come calling when he's home, now he knows I would welcome

it. And if he doesn't..."

"Then good riddance." Leon straightened a painting on the wall. "Are you skating today?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen Otis yet."

"He's pacing the upstairs hall, talking to Wolf, waiting for word about Elisabeth, which won't come because his query is not

even in the paper yet. You'd better go and distract him. It could be days or weeks before we hear anything, if we hear at

all."

Sadie smiled. Surely Otis's query in the paper would bring Elisabeth's true whereabouts to the surface. "I'll go and ask him

what he has planned for the day."

He waved her off in his fatherly way.

The stairway was wide, with finely carved balusters and freshly oiled handrails, which Sadie had seen to herself only two

nights before. She closed her eyes, imagining herself the lady of the house, walking up the stairs in a finely stitched gown

with dainty slippers on her feet.

"You could fall that way." Otis's voice startled her when she was still four stairs from the top.

She gripped her parcels in her left hand and the rail with her right to steady herself. "I was lost in thought."

When he smiled back at her, she relaxed. She'd been unsure what it would be like between them after she told him about Marvin.

"Are they thoughts you are willing to share?"

"No." She continued her ascent up the stairs, eyes open now. "But only because you would think me very childish if I did.

I was coming to find you. I wanted to see what you had planned for today."

His gaze lingered on the gifts in her arms. She could see questions dancing through his mind, but his mouth remained closed.

"My family sent these," she said, answering his unspoken question. "I don't know what they are."

"Don't delay opening them on my account. There is nothing I need that should take precedent over you enjoying a piece of home."

"Are you certain?"

"Nothing pressing. I plan to practice, but not now. I have too much weighing on my mind."

"You should play the piano," she said as she took three steps away from him before turning back. "It soothes you."

"It does," he said, a softness in his tone. "Meet me in the music room when you are ready?"

"I will." She lingered, looking up at Otis. His gift was not tangible like the ones in her arms, but the invitation to listen

and be his audience was not lost on her. Many times now he'd let her listen as he played. She'd stand in the doorway, quietly

absorbing the notes as they swelled in the air. But this was the first time he'd asked her to come rather than simply allowing

her to stay. Perhaps it was merely a peace offering, or a means of showing her they could be friends even after her confession.

He nodded to her before she set off for the staff quarters, where she admired the simple brown paper and string. She wanted

to enjoy the moment but also found herself eager to get back to Otis. She took the end of the string and pulled.

"Oh," she uttered aloud when the paper fell away. There in her lap was her mother's finest blue dress, only it was different

now, updated with a fashionable flair. Her breath caught in her chest—the dress was beautiful. It was not a dress bought from

a shop window, but it was finely stitched by expert hands.

She shook it out and held it against herself. "You are a frivolous girl," she told her reflection when she looked in the mirror.

Not so unlike the many characters she had written, who all longed to feel attractive, at least for one night. Was it wrong

to want to feel beautiful?

With extra care she hung the dress, smoothing the wrinkles with her hand, and then she stood, staring at it in awe. In the

folds of the dress, she'd found a letter.

. . . Every day you are away, we miss you more. Spending time on this dress has been a comfort to my heart, filling me with loving thoughts for my dear girl. A mother's heart is always full when thinking of a daughter who has grown into such a fine woman. Violette is sure you will be the belle of the ball or the rink or wherever you choose to wear this dress to, and I agree.

You are doing a noble thing, going off and working so hard for our family. I pray you know how truly proud I am.

Her mother's approval sent her soul singing with happiness. The rest of the letter talked of their hard work on the farm and

their father's attempts to regain his strength. At the end she read,

We had a bit of blue cloth left from the dress and decided to make it into a tie for your generous employer. Tell him we are

indebted to him for his kindness. We do hope to meet him one day so we might thank him in person.

She opened the second, smaller parcel containing the tie and held it next to her blue dress. It was a perfect match. Her mother's

sweet gesture deserved applause, and yet it seemed presumptuous to give a man a gift that matched her new dress. She tucked

the tie into her pocket, unsure what to do with it. Then rule number five popped in her head and she knew, on her honor, that

she had to give the tie to Otis.

Just outside of the music room door she stopped and listened to the enchanting melody. Hopeful. Promising. Like an embrace, the sound encircled her, filling her heart with eagerness and an unexplainable feeling that only good things lay ahead. When the last note faded, she stepped inside.

"That was not a sad song," she said, standing at his side. "What were you feeling when you wrote that one?"

"I wrote that very early one morning." He shifted on the bench and looked at her. "The sun was rising brighter than I ever

remembered seeing it. It illuminated everything, and for that moment my life did not seem so worthless. I felt remembered.

Which makes little sense, but I felt it all the same."

"It makes sense to me. There were mornings on the farm when the sky looked like a painting. I felt especially close to God

in those moments. Perhaps that morning he was telling you that he remembered you." She looked at the room with its closed

drapes. His fear of passersby spotting him caused him to hide from the sun on a beautiful day, but people rarely came this

way. "If you opened the drapes, you could see the sun today." He sat very quiet, and she feared she'd spoken out of turn.

"Why did you choose to play that song today?"

"I don't know... I suppose I wanted to feel that same feeling again."

She left his side and stepped near a window, peering out through the crack. "Shall I toss them open and let the sun in? It

might help you relive that moment."

"No," he said with laughter in his tone. "Not yet, but maybe someday."

She smiled toward the window, keeping her back to him. "Halfway?"

"No."

"Just a crack?"

"Not even a crack." When he laughed this time, it was louder, less reserved. He played a few notes to a rousing ditty. "Do

you play?"

"No," she said, facing him again. "We didn't have a piano, but my father plays the fiddle, so we did have music in our home."

"The fiddle is an instrument I have not heard in a very long time."

"It feels like a very long time since I've heard it as well." She forced a smile, refusing to go down the path that led to

an aching heart and heavy homesickness. "What can I do to help you?"

"I keep thinking about Elisabeth. I feel useless waiting."

"When you find her, you will not just be her uncle—you'll be filling the role of father. You could prepare yourself for her

homecoming by readying to take on such a role."

Otis stood and, just as she expected, ran his hand along the rim of his hat. He was thinking of his father. She felt sure

of it.

"How do I learn to be a good father?"

She sat in a chair opposite the piano and searched for an answer. Example had been her teacher in so much of who she'd become.

Her parents were hardworking, kind, and believers in virtue and moral living, but he'd not had such an example since his mother's

death. "Do you have someone you could emulate?"

"No. I have Leon, but he has no children. Mr.Crawford had grown children he never saw, and he was not a father to me. He

kept me fed and taught me to play and compose, but even that was done for money, not out of affection."

"Hmm... then I will tell you about my own father, and that will be a start. But first," she said and paused, her hand fidgeting

with the tie in her pocket, "I have a gift. It's not from me... it's from my mother. She sent it as a thank-you for all

you've done for me. She's grateful I have a place to live... though she still doesn't know about my time in your factory."

"Your mother sent me a gift?"

She forced her hand to remove the tie from her pocket. "Here, she made it."

He took it, shaking it out in front of him.

"I know you have plenty. I'm sure they didn't mean to imply you didn't. And it's not from the store or fancy," she rambled

nervously. "My mother is always trying to show her thanks."

"Sadie," he said when she paused, "tell them I love it."

***

Otis took the gifted tie to his room and hung it next to his modest array of clothing. It was the first gift he'd received

since he was thirteen. He'd celebrated Christmas with Reginald and his father, who had picked a gift for each of his sons.

A new sled for Reginald. A bat and glove for him. Were they still in the closet of his old room? Someday he would gather his

courage and find out. For today he was content with his blue tie and his friend, who made his heart flutter in a way it should

not.

Sadie insisted on being busy, so they met near the old dog run. It was tucked in a corner, out of sight of the road. A large

branch had damaged the fencing, leaving it in need of repair.

"I hadn't meant for you to take on repairs like this. The duster factory is probably less strenuous," Otis said as he pried

the boards away.

"We did this sort of work on the farm all the time." She had her hair swept up away from her face. Her cheeks were rosy from

exertion as she used her small frame to clear out debris.

"Tell me more about your father. Someday, I want Elisabeth to talk about me how you talk about him."

She stumbled backward when one of the boards came loose but managed to catch herself. "He is the hardest-working man I know. He never complains. He just does what has to be done. I've always loved that about him. Whenever something would happen on the farm, he'd just grab his coat and go to work."

"He didn't grumble at all?"

"Maybe internally, but we rarely saw it. He loved his land, so he took care of it."

Otis threw the loose boards out of the dog run and into a heap. "You said he plays the fiddle. What else does he do?"

"When my sisters and I were growing up, he liked to listen to the stories we wrote and watch the plays we put on. He also

liked to ride his horse. He'd take my mama and they'd ride out to the edge of our land and back. I always liked the way they

were together. They're a love match. So many of the farmers aren't like them. They are married so that there is someone to

tend the fields and someone to tend the house. But not my parents. They love being together. My pa still looks at my mama

like she is the sun and the moon."

Otis hung on her every word. She talked of a father who was gentle when she was hurt, who had patience when she was learning

new things, and who seemed to abound in love.

"I understand now why you've sacrificed so much for them," he said after nailing a new rail onto the fence. "Your family is

very different from how mine was."

"But your family going forward can be like that." She took the end of the next board and held it in place for him. "My father

was raised by a harsh man. He wasn't wealthy like your father, but he had a temper."

Otis held the nail in place and then swung the hammer. "Was it hard for him to be different?"

"He didn't make it look hard. But he did say he had good friends he learned from, and my mother came from a kind family. Her rel atives lived close, and they were good to my father. That might have helped." She put her hands on her hips and looked at their progress. "If we put a few more boards up, this should keep Wolf in."

"He'll like being able to come out whenever he wants."

Sadie picked up the hammer. "Want to see who can put in a nail in fewer swings?"

"All right." He let her go first. She was a small woman, but he knew better than to make assumptions about how she'd do. She

swung once, and the nail went a third of the way in. He held the board still for her as she swung again, sinking it deep.

"Your turn," she said with an adorable smirk on her face. "My father taught me. You'll have to teach Elisabeth."

"I'll have to get better myself," he said as he set the next board in place. She stepped closer to hold it steady. Her hand

brushed his when she came to help, and like before, her touch left him in an unfamiliar tizzy that was nearly impossible to

ward off.

"Are you going to hammer it in?" she asked when he delayed.

Afraid she'd suspect what he was feeling, he put the nail in place and swung quickly, missing the board completely. Sadie

laughed delightfully at his mishap.

"You win," he conceded in a raspy voice. "Do I owe you a prize?"

She shook her head, already picking up the last board. "No." And then she stared at him. His old instincts told him to shrink

away from her perusing eyes. "You're going to be a good father," she said at last. "You lost with grace. That's what my father

would have done too."

Otis didn't trust his voice, so he finished the repairs in silence, grateful she didn't press him to speak.

The day raced by in an unnatural hurry. They watched Wolf as he examined his newly repaired run. They ate together. They played

chess three times and polished silverware together.

In the late afternoon they skated, their feet growing steadier as they went around in giant circles.

"What are you thinking?" he asked when her eyes took on that faraway look.

"That the next story I write needs to have roller-skating in it."

"What do you do with all your stories?"

She slowed. "We used to do readings from them. On long winter nights we would sit in a circle and read our parts. It was great

fun. But mostly I just wrote them as a way of feeling things I hadn't ever felt and going places I had never been."

"Someday will you let me read them?"

She blushed. "I... I'm not sure. I've only ever shared them with my family."

"I played for you," he said. "Maybe someday..." He let his sentence trail off, sensing her unease. He'd pushed too hard,

even after telling himself that he had to keep his distance. She was courting someone else—she'd as good as told him that

her heart was not free. Still, he felt drawn to her. Grateful for the friend he'd found.

An idea popped into his head, something he hoped would ease them back to comfortable.

"Wait here," he said. And then, over his shoulder as he went to the bench, he added, "We could make this scene better."

***

... We skated to the sound of a single harmonica player....

Sadie stopped writing, unsure how to put into words how glorious the night had been. Otis had returned to the factory with

Leon and Leon's harmonica.

"I wanted to bring a piano," Otis had said. He grinned and her heart melted. "A harmonica will have to do."

They floated as though they were on a cloud. Everything else faded away except the two of them.

"This would make a very fine scene," she said.

"Is there anything that would make it better?"

Answers filled her mind, but she couldn't say any of them, not when there were so many unsettled matters at play. "No," she

finally said. "This is perfect."

And it was. But if she ever wrote the scene into a story, she would have her leading man pull his lady toward him, closing

the distance between them so their lips could meet.

Leon left when he said his mouth could not play another note. They were alone then, and though she felt the pull to linger,

she went to the bench and sat, readying herself to leave.

"Another rule," she said. "Always skate to music if you can."

Otis nodded, a solemn, thoughtful expression on his face. "Is that an official rule?"

"No," she said with a small smile. "But it is my favorite one."