Page 28 of Part of Your World

Moving in front of the door to block the nun's retreat, Muriel pulled her notebook and pencil from her pocket and scribbled a handful of words on the page.

Vow given to Mrs. U, not God.

I'm trapped in a scheme.

No way out without good people getting hurt.

She thrust the notebook at Sister Mary Vincent. The young nun's brow furrowed as she read, but when she handed the tablet back to Muriel, no condemnation marred her expression.

"I cannot begin to guess what challenge you are facing, Miss Quinn, but I do know that our God can make a way where there is none. When the Israelites were trapped between the Egyptian army and an impassable sea, there seemed to be no way out . . . until God opened a path. He can do the same for you, if you have the courage to follow where he leads." She glanced meaningfully toward the Bible sitting on the corner of the desk. "Seek the Lord's guidance." After delivering that very nun-like and not particularly helpful advice, her mouth turned up at the corners. "You might start with Isaiah 42:16. I've found that courage is much easier to grasp when one has first been buoyed by hope."

Sister Mary Vincent stepped around Muriel, pulled open the door, then glanced back over her shoulder. "I shall pray for you, Miss Quinn."

Muriel dipped her chin, her heart brimming with a gratitude that couldn't be captured in words even if she'd been free to speak them.

After closing the door, she crossed to her desk and reached past the food to clasp her Bible. She thumbed through the pages to the book of Isaiah and found the recommended verse.

"And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them."

The promise soaked into Muriel's spirit. The Lord would make a way. He would not forsake her. Yet she must be willing to let him straighten the crooked places in her. The bent truths and misshapen motives. She'd once watched a smith refashion a plow blade that had been damaged by a rock. It took a lot of heat and hammering to make the crooked blade straight again, but in the end, the plow had been restored.

I can't say that I'm lookin' forward to the heat and hammerin', Lord, but I'll do me best to submit.

And maybe in the process her honor would be restored.

Chapter 13

Zane stood outside the Ursuline Academy and checked the straightness of his tie before ringing the bell to announce his presence. Breathe, man. Just breathe.

Thank heaven he'd had the revisions of his veranda design to focus his mind at work today. The pressure of providing Mr. Clayton a quality sketch had been the only force strong enough to keep his mind from constantly drifting to a certain titian-haired mermaid. Not that visions of Muriel hadn't still found their way into his mind. They had. Often. Each time he wrenched his mind away from her, he did so with the promise that he'd be able to see her tonight. And now here he stood, all thought of ironwork and classical proportion systems stored away in mental drawers so he could give his full attention to the young woman his heart had been seeking for years.

The heavy door pulled inward and a middle-aged woman garbed in black with a frightfully stern countenance peered up at him, a question in her eyes.

"Zane Erickson, ma'am." He tugged off his hat and offered a smile. "I'm here to escort Miss Muriel Quinn to Forbes's Confectionary."

She looked him over from head to toe as if measuring his worthiness. Her raised brow seemed to indicate she lacked conviction that he met the standard, but she admitted him anyway.

"This way, sir."

Zane followed the nun through a dim corridor, his shoes tapping loudly against the stone floor. His heart tapped its own rhythm, doubling the tempo of his steps.

The nun assigned the duty of petrifying male callers drew to a halt and aimed a steely glance at him that promised the wrath of God would strike should Zane disregard her instructions. She stretched an arm toward an open doorway to his right. "You may wait in here, Mr. Erickson. Miss Quinn and her maid will be down shortly."

Her maid? He hadn't thought a public outing to an ice cream shop would require a chaperone. He went there all the time with his friends, including those of the female variety. But then, he'd not been paying court to any of those ladies, and they'd not been alone. He should have expected that a woman living in a school run by nuns would have a stricter code to follow. Not that he minded . . . too much. Though it might make the surprise he'd planned for the walk home a little awkward.

The sister left, and Zane paced the small receiving room, making an effort to distract himself by noting the elements of gothic styling, but not even the vaulted ceiling or the pointed arch design above the door managed to capture his attention for more than a moment. He'd gotten desperate enough to start counting the individual panes in the line of tall, narrow windows along the outer wall when the sound of footsteps had him abandoning his tally and pivoting to face the open doorway.

The stony-faced nun held him back with a stare as effective as being jabbed in the chest with a spear. Did she practice those fear of God injection glares, or was it a natural talent? Either way, she'd found her calling. No dishonorable intention could survive that withering glare. Even with completely honorable intentions, Zane still felt the pinch. He had to remind himself that he'd done nothing wrong.

Thankfully, he didn't have to endure the hostile stare of the guardian nun much longer, for a vision in dark green entered and offered an opportunity for escape.

"Miss Quinn." He stepped forward and sketched a bow, his hat tucked beneath his left arm. "I'm delighted to see you again."

Delighted was such a tepid word. Enraptured. Jubilant. Exultant. Those would be better descriptors for the swirling giddiness that attacked his abdomen at the sight of her. Yet, he doubted Sister Steel-Eye would approve, and he didn't want to do anything to sabotage this meeting.

Muriel tilted her head back and lifted her lashes. Her hazel eyes lit with a joy so genuine he didn't need the smile blooming upon her face to recognize her pleasure. Though her smile was a sight to behold. Straight, white teeth on full display, she held nothing back. Except her voice. But he'd prepared for that.

Sister Steel-Eye cleared her throat. "Mrs. Underhill has provided her maid, Vanessa, to accompany Miss Quinn this evening."