The Spinster (Emerson Pass Historicals 2)

“Darling, no. You’re not the only one who has believed someone’s lies,” Mama said. “The only thing that matters is what you do now that you’ve learned the truth.”

“There’s a fine man right in front of you,” Papa said.

I laughed as I wiped away tears. “Not you, too?”

“Have you seen his eyes?” Papa asked.

“Like sapphires,” Mama said.

I looked at him and then to Mama. Their love wrapped me in a warm cloak.

“He is handsome,” I said. “And has very nice manners. Best of all, he likes books.” I was too shy to say anything more. I wouldn’t have been able to explain how he touched a place deep inside me with his earnest heart.

Again, my parents exchanged a glance. This time they kept their thoughts to themselves.

Phillip

We’d just finished sweeping up the last of the debris left from the party and returned the bales of hay to the livery when Mrs. Johnson brought out a jug of hot apple cider for the helpers. The morning was cold but sunny, taking an edge off the frigidity in the air. Someone had added logs to the embers of last night’s firepit. Some of the young people were gathered around warming their hands over the flames while laughing and talking.

I noticed Cymbeline was sitting alone on the bottom step of the gazebo. I grabbed a steaming cup of cider for myself and one for Cymbeline.

“I brought you some cider,” I said as I handed her the cider.

“Thanks, Phillip.”

“May I sit with you?” I asked.

“Please do.” She peeked up at me from under a red cap.

“You don’t want to join the group by the fire?” I plopped down next to her.

Cymbeline had dressed in boys’ overalls for the occasion, but that hadn’t seemed to distract the young men and boys from staring at her. Never having been an older brother, this feeling of wanting to throttle all of them was new to me.

“I would, but my nemesis is there.” She pointed to a tall and broad-shouldered boy, with a face out of a Viking picture book. Blond hair peeked out from under his cap. “That’s him. Viktor.”

“Why is he your nemesis?”

She shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I stifled a laugh. “Not to me, no. Isn’t he older than you by a few years?”

“Yes, and he never lets me forget. Around here, I’m the best skater. The fastest skater. Except for Viktor.”

“Well, he is a young man,” I said. “He’s bound to be faster.”

“Don’t say it,” Cymbeline said, sounding disgusted. “I’m as strong and fast as any boy. Except for Viktor.”

I’d observed Viktor stealing glances her way several times that morning. I suspected he didn’t think of her as his nemesis.

“Is that the only reason you don’t like him?” I asked.

“I have other ones. But I don’t know how to describe them. There’s something about him that makes me want to punch him.”

I almost spit out a mouthful of cider. “He seems perfectly nice.”

“Nice? Who cares about nice? That’s all anyone can ever talk about in my family. Being kind and nice and of service to others. All of which makes me feel quite mean.”

“Nice and kind are good qualities, aren’t they?”