Chapter 17 Sarafina

CHAPTER 17

SARAFINA

DECEMBER 9, 1897

Before the first time that we spoke, we were characters wandering through the same book, but on different pages, until suddenly, there we were, face-to-face. That's when we understood the story for the first time….

—letter from William Day to Sarafina Dove

To her joy, Sarafina found that she didn't just like her life as Dove Pond's secret top reporter. Rather, she loved it. She'd expected Aunt Em and Aunt Jane would be her biggest fans, but she'd been wrong. From day one, William—insatiable reader that he was—had read every word she wrote and enthusiastically encouraged her to do even more.

It had been a fulfilling and rewarding year and a half since she'd started writing for the Register , and she'd enjoyed every minute, taking on more and more assignments until she was no longer a part-time reporter, but was working almost every day, covering events and writing articles on a wide swath of topics. Over this time, she'd gotten to know Mr. Day rather well, too, and found him to be a fair, if at times indifferent, boss who was so distracted by his many businesses that he always seemed slightly surprised to see her.

Sarafina's only real complaint regarding her new job was that, because of her bad handwriting, Mr. Day insisted she type every single article she turned in, something no other reporter was required to do. She supposed she couldn't blame him. Even Aunt Jane, whose own handwriting was only slightly less than horrible, described Sarafina's as "the scratching of a drunken chicken trying to catch an angry grasshopper."

Which was why she was here today, late one afternoon, sitting at a desk tucked away in the back office and typing up a story about the coming Harvest Festival. She was using Mr. Day's prized Remington typewriter, which she had mastered. She had to strike the keys hard to get the letters to print, which was strangely gratifying and made her feel as if she were shouting her stories to the world.

She turned the knob and cranked up the paper so she could reread the line she'd just typed. Relieved that every word was correct, she'd just reached for her notes to begin typing again when the front door opened and William entered. She'd been expecting him, but she had to fight the urge to give a happy hop in her seat.

She wasn't the only one thriving these days. In the past year, William had gotten so good at photography that he'd taken over the studio and was now making his uncle a pretty penny. She knew he was learning a lot about his craft, but he seemed to enjoy running a business even more than taking pictures.

Sarafina hid her hand on the farthest side of the typewriter so no one would see her wave to William. He gave her an amused look and then sent her a secret salute by swiping two fingers across his forehead as if he were brushing aside his dark hair. He then tilted his head toward the back door that opened onto the alleyway behind the building. Seconds later, he ambled in that direction and disappeared from sight.

Sarafina rushed to finish her article. The moment it was done, she placed it on Mr. Day's desk for his edits, and then, casting a cautious eye at Mr. Lews, the typesetter, who was working today as well, she slipped on her coat and pinned her hat back in place. With a quick "goodbye" over her shoulder, she left the same way William had.

Like him, she always came and went through the back door, as the alley provided a shortcut to the town stables, where her horse and buggy waited. The day after Sarafina's review of the church's cantata, in which she'd called the performance both "high-quality" and "as entertaining as any big-city performance," Aunt Jane had announced at the breakfast table that it was only right for Sarafina to use the buggy and Mrs. Milk, their old mare, for transportation as she "had a real job now." That left Aunt Jane and Aunt Emily Anne sharing the large carriage, which was pulled by the bays Papa had sent from town years ago.

Sarafina was grateful for her aunts' generosity. And to her relief, they seemed comfortable enough sharing the larger and nicer carriage.

Already feeling the December chill as it seeped into the back hallway, Sarafina stepped outside and onto the stoop, the small alleyway shaded and narrow. She found William sitting on the top step, an open book in his hand. As the door closed behind her, he got to his feet. "There you are."

She noticed the breeze sweeping down the alleyway, stirring dust here and there and ruffling her skirts. "Sorry you had to wait. It took longer than I expected."

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. "That's quite all right." He held up his book. "I stayed busy."

"So I see." She sat down on the stoop and patted the empty space beside her. "Come and join me." As William sat down, she leaned over and read the title of his book, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court . "Do you like it?"

"I do. It's becoming a favorite and I'm only halfway through." He placed the book on the stoop at his side and turned to face her. "How long before you have to go home?"

She pulled out the small watch she kept on a chain around her neck. "A half hour. My aunts are expecting me to help with dinner."

"A half hour, hmm?" William slanted her a lazy grin. "Oddly enough, that's exactly how much time I have free, too."

Which was a lie, and they both knew it. He was always busy. If he wasn't taking photographs, he was unloading wagons at the stables, or helping Mr. Stewart stock merchandise for his dry goods store, or a dozen other things. That he was sitting here, with her, meant something, and she knew it.

Over the past year, their relationship had changed. The smiles had become more frequent, their conversations more personal, their feelings growing. But for the moment, they sat quietly, neither of them speaking. They knew each other well now, so silences like this were never empty. They both had things to say, but were comfortable sitting beside one another, just being together.

She knew how complicated his relationship had been with his abusive father, and William knew how much she loved her aunts but at times felt strangled by their views. He'd learned how difficult it had been for her being left behind, even by a father she had never been close to. And she'd learned how tragic it was to live in the shadow of a dissolute, selfish father who'd caused such harm to the people of their town that he'd left his child's reputation permanently stained.

She tugged her coat collar a little closer together. "I'm pretty sure everyone in town knows I write for the Register. Twice now, Mrs. Abbott has visited Aunt Jane to tell her in a very loud voice about how her son is going to run for town mayor and what a wonderful candidate he will be."

"Fishing for an endorsement, is he?"

She nodded. "And last week I overheard—supposedly by accident—how Mr. Carter is holding a sale on sewing notions at his haberdashery."

"You're in demand."

"Which is why no one complains. I just hope my father doesn't find out. He'd come roaring in and put a stop to it. Or try to, anyway." She cast a side look at William. "One day, I'd like to move out of this town."

"Me too. I would like to start over somewhere fresh, and see what I can do."

The idea wasn't new to either of them. Most of their deepest conversations had had to do with this very topic. One day… She smiled. Whatever they did, they'd do it together. "I hope we get to be fabulously wealthy."

"It would be nice." William idly picked up his book. "Can you imagine being able to buy as many books as you want?" He seemed to realize he'd sounded wistful, because he laughed softly. "I want a library filled with leather-bound books. Not an empty space in any of the shelves."

"Of course. A library stuffed with cozy settees and fat armchairs so you can sink into a number of perfect places to read."

"And bright electric lights so you can read at night."

She nodded her enthusiasm.

"We'll have to live in a city for that."

He'd said "we" as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and it made her heart skip a beat. She'd like that.

William put his book back on the stoop and stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. "I'd like to make so much money that I can give it away to people who need it more than I do."

Her heart swelled. Almost every day, he said something that reminded her that he was far, far from the person she'd originally thought him to be. Lately, she'd been wondering what would happen if she invited him to her home to meet her aunts. I should ask Mr. Day about that. He's gotten to be friends with my aunts. Oddly enough, William's uncle hadn't discouraged her and William's relationship. In fact, he'd done what he could to advance it.

She cast William a side glance now and was surprised to see him looking down the alleyway toward the street, a frown on his face. She leaned forward to see what he was looking at and caught a glimpse of his friend Marcus McCleary standing beside a man she didn't recognize. "Who's that?"

William pulled his gaze from the street. "His name is Ellis Johnson. He runs a game out of the back of the stables."

She could see the worry in William's eyes. "You don't trust him."

"No one would. He's a known liar, thief, and worse. But Marcus…" William shook his head. "He won't listen to anything I or anyone else tell him. Not anymore."

"Anymore?"

William's eyes grew dark. "He's been sick. It's made him reckless."

Sarafina knew Marcus McCleary well enough now to find that statement less than surprising. Where William dreamed of having a library with all the books he wanted, McCleary's dreams were much, much bigger and far more rash. He wanted it all: land, money, houses, a wealthy bride. Worse, as time passed, he seemed to feel these things were owed to him.

His growing desire to enrich himself at all costs was leading him down a dark path. He gambled wildly, and—encouraged by his new acquaintances—even stole money. Sarafina knew most of this because she'd witnessed some of his and William's bigger arguments.

She wished William didn't feel the need to keep watch over McCleary. Twice now in the past month alone, William had ended up in a fistfight trying to pull a drunk McCleary from a game in some back room. But whenever she suggested to William that he distance himself from his friend, he would just shake his head and say he wasn't that kind of a person. She respected him for that, even as it left her worried and uneasy.

A shout arose from the street, and Sarafina thought it might have been Marcus.

William must have thought so, too, because he was on his feet in a flash, hands fisted, his book forgotten on the stoop. He took two steps toward the street and then looked back at her, a torn expression on his face.

She knew he wanted to make sure his friend was okay, but also didn't want to leave. She felt that way every time they said goodbye now, too. She picked up his book and held it out. "Take this and go."

He came back to take the book, his hand closing over hers where she held it, his fingers warm against hers. "Tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Tomorrow."

He released her and, with a "thank you" smile, turned and headed toward the street.

She watched him until he disappeared, and then sighed and stood. She brushed the dust from her skirts and made her way to the stables. It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment her and William's relationship had changed from friendship to what it was now, something more. It had happened slowly, the way the sun melted the frost on a cool spring day.

But right now, this very minute, Sarafina knew one thing, and one thing only: she and William were deeply, madly in love. She didn't know where the future would take them, but she already knew that, whatever happened, they'd face it together.