“It’s thewaythey were said,” she admitted.
His imagination told him everything she had not. Nathan wondered what he could say that would turn her against Brig without turning her against him as well. The truth damned them both and lies could easily be undone. “Brig is an old friend,” he said at last, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll give in easily. This has never happened to us before, Lydia. We’ve never shared any interest in the same woman so perhaps that’s why you’re feeling some rivalry between us. I can’t speak to what Brig wants from you, but I know what I want.”
“And that is...?”
Marriage, he almost said. Yet something made him hold back the word and stop short of proposing. A chapel was not the place to discuss the type of marriage he had in mind. “Another opportunity to see you,” he said instead. “Anywhere you want to go.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me think on it, Nathan,” she said softly, raising her eyes to his. “I may have something in mind.” Before he could reply Lydia stood up, stepped over his outstretched legs, and motioned for him to follow. “There’s still the matter of your tour, I believe.”
Lydia showed him the rooms they used for classes, the sitting and dining rooms, and finally the kitchen. John and Richard were sitting at a table in one corner, their legs dangling from stools much too high for them, eating raisin oatmeal cookies. They were also trying to kick each other under the table. Mrs. Finnegan was working at the large cast-iron stove while some of the older girls who lived in the orphanage snapped peas beside a butcher-block table. None of them paid the least attention to the two boys. It was Nathan who responded when John hit his brother’s stool with his foot and tipped it backward.
Rushing ahead of Lydia, Nathan caught Richard a mere heartbeat before boy and floor collided.
Richard came up grinning in Nathan’s arms until he tasted blood in his mouth. The screams that rent the air then caused Mrs. Finnegan to drop her spoon in the stew and the girls to overturn their pan of peas. Searching out the culprit, Mrs. Finnegan’s eyes alighted on John and she started for the table, intending to box the boy’s ears. He let out a shriek, slid off the stool, crawled under the table, and eluded the cook by running full tilt into Lydia’s legs. He clutched at her skirt and begged her to save him.
Well aware of Mrs. Finnegan’s keen and watchful eyes, Lydia caught John by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the kitchen. Nathan gave Richard a handkerchief for his bleeding lip and followed quickly, leaving a trail of smashed peas behind him. As soon as they were out of sight Lydia let go of John. She knelt in front of the boy. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked anxiously. Behind her she heard Nathan chuckle.
John stuck out his bottom lip a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not much,” he said, hoping she’d believe he’d been punished enough.
“All right,” Lydia said. John’s face brightened. She patted him on his bottom. “Now go tell Father Patrick what you did. And don’t think I won’t ask after you.” His narrow face grew solemn and he turned away, dragging his feet with each step he took. Clearing her throat to quell the urge to laugh, Lydia turned to Richard. He was sitting comfortably in the crook of Nathan’s arm, holding a handkerchief to his mouth.
“Let me see your lip,” she said, suspicious that there might be a devilish smile behind it. There was. “Oh, Richard. You are an imp.”
Nathan set the boy down. “That’s why he’s going to Father Patrick and tell him that he was stealing one of the other boy’s cookies when the accident happened. Aren’t you?”
Richard’s lower lip trembled as his eyes grew round. “Must I?” he asked, looking to Lydia.
“Yes, you must.”
Sucking on his injured lip, the boy returned the handkerchief to Nathan. “Thank you, sir,” he said gravely.
Nathan and Lydia waited until he was out of sight and hearing before they shared their laughter. “Neither one of them will see the priest,” said Nathan.
She sighed. “Probably not. They’re counting on me not to inquire.”
“Will you?”
Her expression was sheepish. “Probably not.” Nathan smiled then, and Lydia felt the force of it slam against the barriers she had erected. She hated the fact that he had been kind to the children, that she had found it so easy to laugh with him, that he had found her in the place she had come to consider a kind of sanctuary. “I’ll walk you out to your carriage,” she said.
That was that, Nathan thought. He accepted her offer. When they were outside he pointed out the cinnamon mare posted at the rail. “I didn’t hire a carriage today.” They crossed the dusty yard. “How often do you come here?”
“Several times a week. Why?”
“I wondered when I might be able to see you again.”
“Mrs. Newberry is having a party this evening to celebrate her husband’s sixtieth birthday. Were you invited?”
“No. I don’t know the Newberrys.”
“I’m going with my parents and Brigham,” she said. “If you want to attend, speak to my father. He’s a good friend of the Newberrys and he can probably arrange something. I’m not sure I understand it, but my father seems to like you. At least he’s asked after you these past few weeks.”
“Actually, I saw Samuel last night at the Silver Lady. That’s how I knew to come here today.” Untethering the mare, he mounted her in a swift, graceful motion. Looking down at Lydia, he saw she was still wearing a slightly confused, all-at-sea expression. He reached in his pocket and leaned toward her. “Here, Miss Liddy,” he said, mimicking the solemn, penitent air of the boys, “have a cookie.”
She stared at it for a moment, unbelieving of her own eyes. “Where did you—”
