No, that was silly. Why would Miss Timperman bewatchingher? Surely it was a coincidence. But after another minute, and several steps later, Sophia glanced across the street again. Sure enough, Miss Timperman was there.
She could either ignore her and pretend it wasn’t happening—or she could acknowledge the woman. The latter felt far preferable—and much more likely to put a stop to whatever reason Miss Timperman had for looking at her.
Sophia raised a hand in greeting.
Miss Timperman did not do the same. Instead, she placed her hands on her hips, stared at Sophia for half a moment longer, and then turned and continued on her way.
Sophia pressed her lips together. She’d done nothing at all to Miss Timperman—aside from marrying Matthew. Well, and taking her place on the wagon train, which Miss Timperman likely didn’t know about. And if she did, what did it matter? It wasn’t as if those wagons were going to wait weeks for their original guest to change her mind.
No, it had to be jealousy. Pure, simple jealousy. Miss Timperman wished to marry Matthew, and now she couldn’t. So she was angry at Matthew and jealous of Sophia.
A tingle of guilt bit at Sophia’s heart as she adjusted the basket hanging from her arm. It was her fault Miss Timperman couldn’t have the husband she’d intended to have.
But was it, though? Even if Sophia hadn’t arrived and met Matthew, he could have gone on to marry any number of women in Miss Timperman’s place. Perhaps he would have met someone in Pueblo. Or reconsidered one of the few eligible ladies in Crest Stone.
In her heart, Sophia empathized with Miss Timperman’s plight. Here she was, essentially stranded in a strange town, with her prospects entirely changed. Too proud to accept funds to return home. And, apparently, too upset to understand the situation and accept how it had changed.
Miss Timperman weighed heavily on Sophia’s heart that evening and into the next day. When she’d told Matthew and his parents about her, Reverend Canton suggested they all pray for her. And Mrs. Canton indicated that Matthew should find a way to make her accept the money for train fare. Sophia thought both ideas were excellent—yet neither seemed to work.
Each time she left the house, she saw Miss Timperman.
Going to the mercantile, visiting with Deirdre, bringing Matthew lunch at his office, even simply taking laundry outside to hang. Her empathy began to fray into irritation.
Hanging the last of the linens, Sophia determined to walk across the road and speak with Miss Timperman. As much as she wanted to demand the woman leave, she thought perhaps another, more gentle approach might get her further. She could offer to introduce her to some of the other ladies in town, ask if she needed help finding work, or invite her to Sunday’s church service.
But just as she picked up her laundry basket, Miss Timperman found her instead.
Sophia nearly dropped her basket at the woman’s sudden appearance. “Good afternoon.” She pushed a smile onto her face, remembering what she’d planned to do.
“It’s no such thing.” Miss Timperman crossed her arms, and Sophia was reminded of a child who’d grown angry about not getting her own way.
“I’m—I’m sorry.” Sophia didn’t much know what else to say to that. So she let it go, and summoned up one of her ideas. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to ask if you’d like to join our sewing circle. It’s an informal thing that one of the ladies in town hosts once a week.”
Miss Timperman sniffed, her face wrinkled up as if the very idea of spending time sewing with Sophia made her feel ill.
Sophia clenched her jaw.Try another. She needed patience—and to remember how Miss Timperman felt. She clutched the edges of the laundry basket and asked, “Have you been able to find work?”
“Why would you care? I’d have thought you’d want me gone from town.”
That was something. Not a particularly nice something, but a place from which to start. “No, not at all,” Sophia said, the white lie sliding through her lips. “And having been a woman on my own far from home, I understand how much the security of an income can mean. If you haven’t found a position, perhaps I could be of assistance.”
Miss Timperman’s eyebrows slanted down. “I don’t want your pity, Mrs. Canton.”
Sophia forced a breath in and out. Her patience was fading quickly. “I don’t pity you. I’ve been in a similar—”
“Oh! So you’ve had your betrothed swept away by another woman, leaving you penniless and alone in a wild, remote town far from home? I’m sorry. I misunderstood!” Miss Timperman’s voice took on a sickly, sweet quality that sent every bit of patience Sophia had remaining flying toward the mountains.
She set the basket down. “Now, wait a moment. I was only trying to be friendly and helpful. If you’re going to be rude, I’ll kindly ask you to leave my home.”
“Yourhome?” Miss Timperman’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair. “I was under the impression that this belonged to Matthew’s parents.”
It wasn’t lost on Sophia that Miss Timperman had called Matthew by his given name, as if she still held some sort of claim on him. She chose to ignore that. “It does.”
“And, tell me, Mrs. Canton, what did the reverend and his wife think when they learned you stole their son’s money and pretended to be me?”
So she did know. “They understood my situation,” Sophia said calmly. Another thought occurred to her. “How did you find out?”
“Talk around town,” Miss Timperman said in a way that made Sophia wonderwhowas talking about her. And whether it was as bad as Miss Timperman made it sound.
