She hid a smile. It was true Mr. Blackwood rarely imparted lightness to his intense sermons, but in truth she’d hardly noticed the past month. She’d been too busy trying not to get caught snatching glances at Bram, who sat in the pew opposite her, for he cut a very fine figure in his Sunday suit.
The reverend pointed to the rear of the small coach. “You will have to stand on the backboard, Mr. Webb, though I always say brisk air is inducive to perfecting character. Teaches one to count his blessings.”
Bram leapt up with a grin. “I am already grateful for your service, sir.”
“As you should be,” Mr. Blackwood muttered, then he offered her his hand. “Miss Inman.”
His fingers were ice. The moment she hoisted herself up, she pulled from his touch. The ride in the balloon had been harrowing, yet it was preferable to an hour-long trek sitting next to a man who made her skin crawl. Would that she could be the one on the backboard instead of Bram, no matter how brisk the air.
The carriage canted to the side as Mr. Blackwood climbed in. Gathering the reins, he clicked his tongue twice. “Walk on.”
Eva folded her hands in her lap, squeezing them tightly lest she chew on her fingernails and give the reverend something more to hold against her.
“It is not often, Miss Inman, that one finds oneself floating in the heavens, beholden to the whims of the wind ... alone with a man.” He cut her a sharp sideways glance.
She stifled a sigh. Evidently he wasn’t going to let this infraction slip by so easily. “I did not fly away with Mr. Webb on purpose. I won the Queen of the Bonfire contest, and he was crowned king. As is tradition, it was our duty to go in the balloon—safely tethered to the earth and in full view of the entire town—in order to start the bonfire. Immediately after Bram released the flaming arrow, the rope somehow broke free, and we were set loose. There was nothing to do but try to land as quickly as possible, which we did. And so you have the full story. Believe me when I say none of this was of my choosing.”
“I see.” Simple enough words, but by the sour tone of his voice, what he saw was as appealing as a dishful of curdled milk. “I suppose God’s providence does work in mysterious ways. Perhaps there is a lesson to be gained from the precariousness of your situation.”
A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “I prefer my lessons with solid ground beneath my feet.”
“Solid ground is what we all seek, but life has a way of keeping us aloft, does it not? Much like that balloon of yours.”
“I fail to see the spiritual metaphor here, Mr. Blackwood.”
The carriage wheel hit a rut, juddering her bones. She flungout a hand to grip the side of the carriage. Hopefully Bram was still standing.
“We are all tethered to something, Miss Inman,” the reverend continued after clearing another dip. “Responsibilities, relationships, even our own desires. When that tether snaps, as it is wont to do, this is when we realize the true extent of our faith.” This time he turned his whole face toward her. “I pray you find that your faith is deeply anchored in Christ.”
And there it was. The same doubt of his he managed to bring up every time he spoke a word to her. Must he always view her as a wayward lamb? Part of his responsibility as a clergyman, no doubt, but still such skepticism chafed.
She clutched the carriage wall all the tighter. “I appreciate your insight about being tethered to various aspects of life. It reminds me of the verse you preached on last Sunday, ‘For I know the thoughts I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ Perhaps even in the unexpected—such as my ill-timed balloon ride—there is an opportunity for God’s plan to unfold. A testament to His wisdom, if you will, and our trust in His divine timing. All that to say, Mr. Blackwood, that, yes, though I do not know why God allowed such a dreadful nighttime ride, I assure you my faith is deeply anchored in Christ.”
“Mmm.” It was more of a growl than a word. “For your sake, I hope that is true, Miss Inman, for one never knows which tether will be broken free next.”
14
After a night filled with dreams of a certain redheaded woman and how right it had felt to hold Eva in his arms, Bram swung into the manor’s workroom with his uncle at his side. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on such pleasantries during the day. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on it at all. That embrace last night had been a spur-of-the-moment whim on Eva’s part, nothing more. Any woman who feared heights would have been as equally grateful to land on solid earth.
So why did part of him yearn for something more?
Shoving aside the untamed thought, he pointed toward a leather messenger bag slung over the back of a chair. “There’s that pouch you wanted, Uncle.”
“Ah! So it is.” Uncle Pendleton drummed his fingers against his ample belly. “How peculiar I don’t remember leaving it in here. Could have sworn I stowed that bag in the cottage cupboard.”
Bram strode past him, chest squeezing. The last several days his uncle had been more forgetful than ever.
Scanning the big table, Bram spied the calipers he’d need on-site today and was about to turn away when unease creptacross his shoulders. Something was off. His gaze skimmed the tabletop from the amphora to the set of iron chisels, then beyond to...
He ran a finger over the empty piece of silk where a silver fibula brooch had been resting—leastwise it had been yesterday morning when he’d finished measuring it. He rummaged through the assorted tools and pieces that yet needed a good buffing, going so far as to peek beneath the table on the off chance the relic had fallen. “Did you move the silver fibula brooch? It’s not here.”
His uncle shouldered the messenger bag, then pulled off his perpetually dirty spectacles and huffed on the left lens. “No, I had nothing to do with a brooch.”
“You are certain?” He waved the empty piece of silk. “That brooch was right here, sitting atop this fabric.”
“Hmm.” Uncle Pendleton slowly rubbed the dirty side of his spectacles along his sleeve. “No, no. I am positive I had nothing to do with it.”
Setting down the cloth, Bram closed the distance between them. “Would you mind checking your coat pockets? It may have, em, fallen into one of them.”
