Josephine

  “We’re fine” was all Jo would say. She didn’t elaborate further because Belle knew Jo too well, and Jo didn’t want to talk about Adam or the muddled feelings he evoked. At least not yet.

  As if to prove the point, Belle said with all sincerity, “When you’re ready to talk, I’m here. All right?”

  Jo didn’t feign ignorance, or try to deny Belle’s insightfulness. Jo simply replied, “Thanks.”

  Jo left Belle to her sniffles, then went across the hall and stuck her head in Adam’s open door. He was reading. “Hello,” she called cheerily.

  “Well, hello to you, too. How’re the soldiers?”

  “They’re all well.”

  “Any word on that bounder, Reed?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing so far. Everyone at church was gossiping about Trudy, though.”

  “It’s to be expected. It is news in this little bitty town.”

  Jo sighed. “I know.”

  Adam had noted how lovely she looked this morning in her purple gown with the white lace inset. Her thick hair was done up elaborately but fashionably, and her dark unblemished skin glowed with health and beauty. She was by far the most radiant young woman he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

  “George is coming for dinner tomorrow.”

  Her voice broke Adam’s trance, and he responded testily, “Why?”

  Jo’s hands went to her hips. “Because he likes me and I like him.”

  “How much do you really know about him?”

  Jo’s jaw tightened. “We are not going to have this conversation, Adam Morgan.”

  “Just asking.”

  “And I expect you to be nice to him.”

  “Bea’s confined me to my room, remember? I doubt you’ll have to worry about me spoiling your fun.”

  “That didn’t stop you last time.”

  And it probably won’t again, he said to himself. “What time is he coming?”

  “Around four.”

  “He won’t be after the silver, will he?”

  Jo wanted to sock him. “You are a cad.”

  “But a handsome one, don’t you think?”

  Jo threw up her hands, turned on her heel and stormed off.

  Adam smiled, but as soon as he was alone, the smile faded. George coming to dinner was not the best news he’d heard today. Was Brooks seriously pursuing Jo, and if so, to what end? Marriage? Adam couldn’t see her marrying such a provincial fellow. The man for her needed to be well educated, well traveled and able to walk proudly at her side. But stranger things had been known to occur. The idea of Jo being some other man’s sweetheart didn’t sit well, though. Not at all. By all rights, Adam should be the one keeping her company; he’d known her first and had the stronger claim, even if he hadn’t known she’d grow up to be so fetching. No, he couldn’t have her, but the male in him didn’t want her sharing her smile with anyone else, either.

  On Monday afternoon at four o’clock, George arrived. He was dressed in a nice brown suit and had a bouquet of violets in his hand.

  Jo ushered him inside. She was happy to see him.

  He handed her the flowers. “These are for you.”

  Jo took the bouquet. “Thank you.” She brought the fragrant blooms to her nose. They smelled wonderful. “Come on into the parlor and have a seat. I want to put these in some water.”

  Jo went into the kitchen where her mama and Belle were finishing up the dinner preparations.

  Cecilia remarked, “My, what lovely violets.”

  “They’re from George.”

  Her mama grinned. “They’re beautiful. I like George, even if he does act as if I terrify him.”

  Jo said, “You can be very intimidating, Mama. Especially to someone who doesn’t know you very well.”

  “Me? Really?” Cecilia replied innocently.

  Belle and Jo laughed.

  “Is dinner almost ready?” Jo asked. They were having roast chicken, potatoes and Belle’s wonderful biscuits. Belle was feeling much better.

  “Almost,” her mama replied. “You go sit with George and we’ll let you know when it’s time.”

  Jo left the kitchen and placed the vase of violets in the center of the already set dining table. “This will make a beautiful centerpiece, George. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. They’re almost as lovely as you are.”

  Jo smiled.

  “How’s your friend Trudy?”

  Jo shook her head. “I haven’t spoken with her since the incident. She’s probably too embarrassed to leave her house. I don’t much blame her. Everyone’s gossiping about her.”

  “That’s too bad. She seems like a nice young woman.”

  “She is.”

  Jo came over and took a seat beside him on the settee.

  “I’ve been asking around about employment,” George said meaningfully.

  “Anything promising?”

  “So far no. The war’s making it hard to find anyone willing to hire, but I’m determined to find something.”

  His eyes met hers and Jo could see all of his feelings. She said, “It would be nice if you could find work here.”

  “I know. Then you and I could get to know each other better.”

  Whatever George planned to say next was silenced by the sight of Adam Morgan slowly crutching his way down the staircase. “I see he’s still here,” George cracked.

  “Yes, he is.”

  Jo watched Adam’s progress with her arms folded and her lips pursed. He was coming to make trouble. She just knew it.

  By the time Adam made it into the parlor he was so winded he immediately took a seat.

  “I thought you were going to stay in your room,” Jo said.

  “Didn’t want to miss all the fun. How are you, Brooks?”

  “I’m well, Morgan. You?”

  “Oh, I’m all right, be better in a week or so. When are you going home to Jackson?”

  Once again, an inwardly simmering Jo longed to sock Adam.

  George shrugged. “Don’t know yet. May stay around for a while. I like the scenery.” He smiled at Jo, who was so mad with Adam she could spit fire.

  George asked Adam, “When are you going home?”

  “Not until the Best men return. Mrs. Best decided she needs a man about.”

  Jo stared, then asked, “You can’t be serious?”

  Adam smiled her way. “She didn’t tell you, I take it?”

  “No, she did not.”

  “Well, I’m here for the duration.”

  Jo couldn’t believe her mother had made such a decision. “When did this come about?”

  “A few days ago. Guess she forgot to mention it to you.”

  “I guess she did.” Jo didn’t know how to react to such potentially troubling news. According to the newspapers, the Union armies now held the upper hand in the conflict with the Confederacy, but who knew how long the war would continue? Adam Morgan could be in her hair for years!

  Apparently, George was thinking the same thing. He looked appalled. “You’re going to be here until the war ends?”

  “Appears that way.” Adam gave them both that patented Morgan smile, then settled into his seat as if he were very pleased with the world and everything in it.

  Cecilia came out of the kitchen carrying the plump golden chicken on a platter. “Well, hello, George.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Best.”

  She placed the platter on the dining table. “And Adam? What brings you downstairs?”

  “Tired of being cooped up. Thought I’d come down and join the festivities.”

  “Well, good. You didn’t hurt yourself on the stairs, did you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Mama,” Jo said, “Adam just informed me that he’ll be staying on until Papa and Dani return.”

  “Yes, he will. Isn’t that nice of him? Now, he may regret his offer once he recovers and I put him to work, but by then, it’ll be too late.”

  Adam grinned at Jo. She almost stuck out her
tongue in response but caught herself.

  Belle entered then. She had a bowl of potatoes and a plate of biscuits on a tray. “Hello, George.”

  “Hello.”

  Upon seeing Adam, she said, “Well, hello to you, too.”

  “Came down to eat Dani’s share of those biscuits.”

  Belle chuckled. “I’m sure he won’t mind. Although if I don’t hear from him soon, he may never get biscuits again.” In contrast to her sassy words, she had a slight sheen of tears in her eyes.

  Mrs. Best gave Belle a reassuring pat on the back. “We’ll hear from them soon. Mark my word. Let’s take our seats.”

  Once everyone was settled, Mrs. Best looked over at George seated next to Jo and asked, “George, will you bless the table, please?”

  To Jo’s delight, he didn’t hesitate. His prayer was appropriate, and when he was done speaking, Mrs. Best said in a pleased-sounding voice, “Thank you, George.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Jo’s insides were beaming with pride. Adam did not look impressed, but Jo was determined to ignore him even if the roof fell on his head.

  eleven

  After dinner ended, Mrs. Best and Belle cleaned off the table while Jo and George went out to the front porch. Adam hobbled over to a chair so as to not be in Belle or Mrs. Best’s way. He forced himself to sit even though he would have preferred to go out to the porch and spy on Jo and George Brooks. Doing so would only relight Jo’s fuse and Adam didn’t want to risk that. Telling himself that Brooks’s intentions toward Jo were none of his business made no difference to Adam. He wanted to know what they were doing and what sweet nothings Brooks might be whispering in her ears.

  Mrs. Best’s voice broke into his reverie. “Adam, you’re scowling. Is your ankle paining you?”

  “Uh, no,” he answered hastily. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t appear to believe him, but went ahead and removed the last of the dishes from the table, then disappeared back into the kitchen. Adam resumed scowling.

  Meanwhile, outside on the porch, Jo was listening to George’s vision of his future. He said, “I wouldn’t mind having a passel of children and a wife who was devoted to them and to me.”

  “But not a wife intent upon her family and a business enterprise?” Jo asked.

  George said, “That would be fine for a while, but after the children are born, I’d expect her to focus on being a mother.”

  Jo felt that familiar deflated feeling return. “It isn’t fair to your wife to make her choose, George.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “I think a woman can do both,” Jo insisted.

  He shook his head. “Maybe some women can, but I wouldn’t want my wife to. The family should be her business, and she should let her husband guide her future.”

  Jo couldn’t help herself. She giggled.

  George eyed her curiously. “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m sorry. I just—George, this is the nineteenth century. How can you be so—”

  “Traditional?”

  Backward had been the word Jo would have used, but decided his choice to be more diplomatic. “Yes, traditional.”

  “I feel very strongly about the roles in a marriage.”

  “As do I, and as an Oberlin graduate with my own business, I doubt I need my husband telling me what I may or may not do. My mama would have a fit if Papa tried to direct her life.”

  “Then maybe your papa should put his foot down.”

  Jo cocked her head his way, then said flatly, “Papa doesn’t want to put his foot down. He’s very proud of Mama and her accomplishments.”

  “Women were created to be a helpmate to their husbands.”

  Jo found this conversation maddening. “Women are more than just helpers, George.”

  “Not where I’m from.”

  “And you expect your wife to defer to you in all things?”

  “I do,” George said with a confident smile.

  She shook her head and chuckled. “Well, be prepared to have your mind changed.”

  “There’s nothing to change. A man is the head of his house.” His smile remained steady.

  “George, who on earth is going to marry you under such antiquated circumstances? It’s a new world. Women are studying to be doctors. They own newspapers, they’re going to colleges. What if you and your wife have daughters? Are you planning to let them grow up ignorant and—” She noticed that he’d gone silent. “George?”

  “If a woman loves a man, she will defer to him.” George wasn’t smiling quite so hard now. It was clear he meant every word he was saying to her.

  Jo found his stubbornness very disappointing. Both her papa and brother firmly believed in a woman’s ability to know her own mind and make her own way. In reality, there were many progressive men around, but apparently George couldn’t be counted among them. Or at least not yet. “Do you mind if I attempt to change your thinking?” Jo asked bluntly.

  He responded with a twinkle in his eye. “Only if you afford me the same opportunity.”

  Jo had never backed down from a challenge in her life. “You have a deal.”

  They grinned at each other, then settled back onto the bench to talk about something else.

  Jo asked, “What’s your favorite dessert?” She was hoping to find something they had in common.

  “Blueberry pie.”

  Her eyes widened with glee. “Mine, too. Oh, my.”

  He asked, “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Violet. And yours?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t have one really.”

  Jo chuckled. “Then why’d you ask?”

  “Because most girls have a special color and I wanted to know yours.”

  Jo felt warm inside. “That’s sweet.”

  “So, those flowers were a mark in my favor?” he asked.

  “Yes. Violets were the perfect choice.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  They spent the next few hours talking about everything and nothing, but as dusk fell, Jo knew it was time for George to go. Except for their earlier debate over a woman’s place, they’d gotten along rather well. Jo felt as if she knew him much better now. Her first dinner with a gentleman caller had been a success, if one didn’t count his stubborn, outdated thinking. “I enjoyed your company, George.”

  “I enjoyed yours, Josephine. I’d like to do it again, real soon.”

  She looked over at him. “So would I.”

  “I heard Mrs. Oswald’s planning an ice-cream social on Saturday. Do you think your mama might let you attend?”

  “I don’t know, but I will ask.”

  “Good.”

  He stood then. “I should go in and say goodbye to everyone, then get going.”

  “I’ll come in with you.”

  Inside, Adam and Belle were playing checkers in the parlor. Cecilia was seated at the dining table penning a letter.

  Adam looked up from the board at their entrance and asked, “Brooks, do you play checkers?”

  “Sure. Can’t beat Miss Belle though. She’s whipped every soldier around.”

  Adam said, “I had hoped her skills had diminished with age, but I guess not.”

  “How dare you call me old,” Belle tossed back. “Just for that, I’m going to beat you until we’re seventy-five.”

  Adam said, “I don’t doubt that. She’s been beating all comers since she was sixteen. She’s even taught the pest here to play well enough to trounce me.”

  Hearing herself called by her old nickname made Jo’s mouth drop. Did Adam not see George standing here? Or had he done it on purpose just to embarrass her?

  Adam took one look at her face and knew he’d stepped into a bear trap. He was instantly contrite, “I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t mean to call you that. It just slipped out.”

  George, studying the two of them, asked, “What’s the matter?”

  Cecilia eyed her d
aughter and said gently, “Nothing, George. Nothing at all.”

  A perturbed Jo turned away from Adam and said, “Mama, Mrs. Oswald is having an ice-cream social on Saturday. George wants to escort me. May I go?”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Cecilia promised. “How about you walk George out to his carriage?”

  Jo shot Adam another deadly glare, then escorted George out of doors.

  He climbed up on the wagon’s seat and picked up the reins.

  “You seem to be moving much better, George,” Jo noted.

  “I am. The doc comes on Tuesday. I’m hoping I can put this cane away for good after he sees me.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Yes, it would be. It would also mean I’d have to find another place to stay. Mrs. Oswald houses only the injured.”

  “Well, there are at least two boardinghouses nearby. Maybe one of them would be amenable.”

  “Mrs. Oswald gave me a few names. I’m going to drive over tomorrow and talk with the landladies.” He then added, “In the meantime, I had fun with you this evening, Josephine.”

  Jo smiled. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “You bet. Take care now.”

  “I will.”

  George drove off with a departing wave. Jo waved back, fighting against the notion that it might be harder to change George’s thinking than she’d first assumed and that in the end, he might not be the man for her. Once he’d driven from sight, though, she headed back to the house to confront Adam.

  Adam hoped Jo had forgiven him for calling her by her childhood name, but the look on her face when she came barreling back inside plainly showed she hadn’t. In fact, the first terse words directed his way were, “Thank you very much, Adam Morgan.”

  “Jo, I really am sorry. I did apologize.”

  “Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was?”

  “Jo, I’m sure Adam didn’t mean to embarrass you on purpose, dear,” her mother put in.

  Jo longed to tell her mother to mind her own business, but knew better than to voice such disrespect. Instead, she said, “I’m going to my room. I’ll see you all later on.”

  And on that note, she left the parlor.

  Had Adam not been crippled by his ankle injury, he would have gone after her, but—

  He looked over at Mrs. Best, who seemed to be eyeing him closely. She asked, “It was an accident, wasn’t it, Adam?”