She peeked again.Winston still sat there.
“Miss Davis?”Mr.Beaumont pressed.
When she looked, his expression was a perfect match to the concern in his voice.Should she say something?But what if itwasall imagined?This was exactly how Mum had progressed.If she asked Mr.Beaumont, he could confirm her suspicions about Winston.If she were wrong, her strange behavior might serve to scare him off before he grew too attached.
“Do you see the man behind us?In the back row?Your Mr.Adler, I think.”
Mr.Beaumont frowned and peered over his shoulder, but his searching gaze indicated he didn’t see Winston.
Nora turned again to better point, but his spot was empty.She shifted from side to side to see between the heads of those behind her—earning her quite a few chastising glares—but he wasn’t there.Her gaze shot to the sanctuary’s doors.None moved as if being quietly closed, and Nora had sneaked through them enough to know if not eased shut, the slam echoed and announced an early departure.He must not have been there to begin with.Pressure built behind her eyes.She’d rather be in real danger than imagined.How was she to fight against her own mind?
“Forgive me.It was nothing.”She faced forward and swallowed hard.
Mind your face, Nora.No one can know you are losing yourself.At best they will think less of you, pity you, and treat you differently.At worst you’ll be feared, rejected, and maybe even put in the asylum.You have to hold it together.You cannot let anyone know what is going on.You and God can get through this.
Oh, God, please get me through this.
It didn’t matter what she said to herself or how she prayed.Her heart raced, and the edges of her vision blurred.She needed her knitting needles, but she had nothing to knit.Her yarn was in her bag beneath Mr.Beaumont’s seat, and she couldn’t retrieve it without making more of a scene.The pastor was already giving her reprimanding glares.Even if she could reach her yarn, it wasn’t likely he’dlook favorably upon her taking up a knitting project while he expounded upon the Beatitudes.But oh, how she needed that motion to soothe her.
Instead, she clutched the skirts of her dress.She knew what to do and to say to herself, but she couldn’t gather her wits enough to do it.
Please, God.Save me from myself.Don’t let me become Mum.
A hand covered hers, and she startled.
When she looked, Mr.Beaumont’s larger hand rested, strong and reassuring, atop hers.
The timbre of his voice was low and quiet, but fiercely protective.“It wasn’t nothing.You’re trembling.”
Though she wished to deny it, she couldn’t.Her insides trilled.“I’ll be fine.”
His expression declared his disbelief, but he nodded and faced the pastor.Quietly, almost as if embarrassed to say it, he whispered, “You don’t have to be fine.I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He didn’t remove his hand, and she, oddly enough, didn’t want him to.The feel of his skin against hers rooted her to the moment, to reality.It cleared her mind enough to focus on the truths around her and snuff out the flaming arrows that attacked her with ceaseless fury.Truths like Mr.Beaumont’s hand was warm but work-roughened, and he smelled of soap, cologne, and a hint of ...fish?She almost lifted his hand to her nose so she could determine if that was where the distinct smell came from.He must have fed Tristan before coming.The thought of that ridiculous cat worked to loosen some of the tightness in her chest.Would it be strange of her to ask Mr.Beaumont if she could see Tristan?Right now she wanted nothing more than to feel his hefty weight and soft fur.
By the time Pastor Evans announced the benediction song, Nora felt more herself.Although could she claim to be fully herself when she still hadn’t removed Mr.Beaumont’s hand from hers?When they rose to sing, Mr.Beaumont released her hand, leaving behind a warmth that the winter morning sought to steal.How could shemiss the touch of a charmer?Had her defenses fallen so completely?They must have, for her to turn into a puddle at the mere sound of his mesmerizing singing voice.
When the service was over, he exited the aisle and held out an arm.“May I escort you?”
Instinctively, Nora’s gaze sought out where Winston had been sitting.He wasn’t there, which was to be expected, but her heart still jumped at the possibility he lingered somewhere nearby, watching her.She could stand on her own two feet and march out the door unaided, or she could accept the protection the illusion of a beau might provide to deter anyone following her.Which would be scarier?Accepting the attentions of a charmer who might reject her once he realized she walked Mum’s path to insanity?Or facing alone the man who might or might not be real?
Chapter Fifteen
WHENMISSDAVIS DIDN’T ACCEPThis offered escort, Ezekiel disguised his disappointment by brushing imaginary dirt from his pant leg.She’d allowed him to hold her hand, and yet taking his arm where others could see was unacceptable?At least she deigned to walk alongside him, even if she remained silent and held that awful, unreadable mask in place.
Music.That was the key to Miss Davis’s mask falling away.He’d never seen her so expressive as when carried away by singing.She’d kept her eyes closed during familiar hymns, and the first true smile he’d ever seen from her stretched wide and peaceful.Her whole heart and soul were visible in those moments, and he’d openly watched her when she was too enraptured to notice.When she studied the hymnal, he’d been more stealthy in his observations, but he’d been no less enchanted by the way music changed her.
Well did he understand the power of music to transform.Maybe his approach for capturing her admiration had been from the wrong direction.Charm wasn’t helping, not that he’d stop the tactic, but he had other tools at his disposal.He was a composer, after all.If music moved her soul, he had the power to create a piece that might sway her toward him.God willing, anyway.
What sort of music would enchant her?Something light and airy, or moody and passionate?Her enthusiasm hadn’t discriminated between the two types of melodies during worship.Whatever she sang,she gave it everything.Surprisingly, a few note combinations came to mind, and his fingers itched to dance along the ivories.He’d need to write down the combinations before he forgot them, but writing them down wasn’t likely to happen for some time.He hummed the notes, trying to pin them in place as he and Miss Davis shuffled down the congested aisle toward the foyer.
Midway there, the septuagenarian woman who’d sat behind them caught up and interrupted his private composing session.“You two have magnificent voices.You should join the choir.”
Miss Davis tensed beside him.
“Thank you, ma’am, but Miss Davis is the true talent.”
“Well, I think you make a beautiful harmony, and in more ways than one.”She leaned forward and shielded her mouth from the view of others.“I saw you holding hands.I think you’ll make a beautiful family together, but don’t wait too long.Age sneaks up on a person.”
