Now as she opened the door a sliver, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, the lone window covered by a black cloth. The chemicals and trays and plates and lines of drying paper still filled the room.
He’d shown her the pictures from the rest of his travels in the United States—photographs from Oregon, Washington, California, Nevada, and Utah. He had some from the western part of Colorado before he’d ventured into South Park.
After Denver, he didn’t have plans for where they would go. Possibly St. Louis. Maybe New Orleans. Even Florida for the duration of the winter.
She couldn’t deny that she envied the ease with which Philip and Declan could travel. They not only had the financial capability to do so, but they needed no chaperone, could move with ease, and had few worries. If only the logistics were simpler for a single woman. And if only she were braver, like the Englishwoman who’d traveled on her own.
Even if she were braver, she’d never leave the Kellers to fend for themselves. They—and others like them—were the reason she had to keep the boardinghouse open.
At the faint clopping of horse hooves on the path leading to the house, her heart gave an extra thud. Philip was home.
Home? She shook her head. This wasn’t his home. And yet it was all too easy to pretend that it was, especially with how well he’d fit into her life during his stay. Not only had he helped share the burden of all the responsibilities, but his presence had become such a natural part of her existence that she wasn’t sure how she could go back to living without him there.
She closed the door to the bedroom. Then she smoothed her hair back, tucking the stray strands into the knot before straightening the clean and dry blouse she’d changed into after he’d left for town.
Should she run out and greet him and blurt out how she felt about him and ask him to stay? A part of her wanted to throw caution aside and be spontaneous, the way Philip sometimes was. But the other part of her clung tightly to the security that came from being controlled and careful and cautious.
As the plodding of the horse drew nearer, she rushed to the stove and began to stir the soup, needing something to occupy her hands and to prove to Philip that she hadn’t been obsessing over him—over them—the entire time he’d been gone, even though she had been.
The horse halted in front of the house instead of continuing on to the barn. Did he intend to go out again?
Her spoon came to a halt. Or maybe he was planning to leave the boardinghouse tonight and move back into town. With the Kellers being there, she and Philip certainly weren’t alone and living in sin. But the rumors were sure to abound, just as they had for Charity and Hudson—especially if Weston said anything about seeing them kissing.
It probably would be for the best if Philip lived in Fairplay for the winter. He could court her in a proper fashion, visiting in the evenings. Or she could see him when she rode into town.
As footsteps tapped up the porch steps, she made her way into the front room. Mr. and Mrs. Keller were both waiting for her expectantly, and Mrs. Keller offered her an encouraging smile.
At a soft, almost timid knock against the door, Felicity halted midway through the room. Such tapping didn’t belong to Philip. When he knocked—which wasn’t often—his was harder and more demanding.
Felicity crossed the final distance, hoping she was wrong—that it was Philip after all, that he was simply knocking lightly so that he didn’t disturb the Kellers. But as she swung open the door, she wasn’t surprised to see someone else.
A petite woman stood on the porch holding a toddler on her hip. Pretty green eyes met Felicity’s shyly amidst a delicately-boned face surrounded by light-brown hair that was braided beneath a simple bonnet.
The woman studied Felicity’s face with interest. “Miss Courtney?”
“Yes, I am she.”
The toddler, a little boy who didn’t seem older than two, lifted his head off his mother’s shoulder to peer at Felicity with curiosity too. He had the same light-brown hair, only a shade fairer, and it was as straight and wispy as straw.
The woman reached into her coat pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. As she began to open it up, Felicity recognized the information on the front. It was the advertisement for help that she’d posted around town.
“I saw the notice before the storm, but I wasn’t able to ride out until today.” The woman spoke softly. “I hope I’m not too late to apply for your position.”
Felicity couldn’t keep from giving the woman a once-over, taking in the gloves, thick cloak, and the fine gown, which was a little worn and bedraggled but still fashionable. Even though she was smaller in size, she seemed healthy and strong—if carrying her toddler was any indication.
Even so, the advertisement was specifically for a man. The notice said so in bold print: A man who can come out to the boardinghouse once a day to tend to the livestock, chop wood, haul water, and other labor as needed.
Felicity glanced behind the woman to find a fine horse with bulging saddlebags, as well as a carpetbag secured behind the saddle. “I haven’t filled the position. But as you can see from my advertisement, I’m looking for a man.”
“I can do the work of a man.” She spoke the words quickly, as if she’d rehearsed them. “I’m quite good at tending to livestock, chopping wood, hauling water, and any other work that needs to be done.”
Maybe the woman hadn’t just rehearsed what she planned to say—maybe she’d also memorized the advertisement. A quiet desperation seemed to stiffen the woman’s body as she waited for Felicity’s pronouncement.
The fact was, Felicity didn’t know if she would need the help anymore. If Philip stayed in the area, then he’d be more than willing to assist as needed just as he’d been doing. “I’m sorry, Mrs. . . .?”
She glanced over her shoulder, then dropped her voice. “Mrs. Taylor. Serena Taylor.” She had a Southern accent.
Felicity scanned the homestead yard and the lane leading back to town. Was someone chasing after Mrs. Taylor? Was she in some kind of danger? Or maybe she was simply struggling to support her child without a husband.
Felicity stepped outside and closed the door. “What about your husband, Mrs. Taylor? Is he looking for work too?”
Her gaze shot to her son, who had returned his head to her shoulder before she lowered her voice to a whisper. “My husband is . . . deceased.” When Mrs. Taylor stumbled over the word and then didn’t meet Felicity’s gaze, it was all too easy to see that the woman was hiding something.
Felicity was tempted to confront her about it. She valued truth and forthrightness for herself and expected it in others. And yet, as Mrs. Taylor gently brushed a kiss against her son’s forehead, compassion stirred within Felicity for this pretty young woman and her child.
What if Mrs. Taylor was facing some sort of difficulty with her husband? Or if the man truly was gone, then perhaps she’d come upon hard times. This job might be her last option.
Felicity pressed her lips together to keep from asking more questions. If the woman was in a crisis, then she was exactly the kind of person they hoped to help at their boardinghouse.
The truth was, they’d always been generous with those who were in need. They’d allowed people to live there, even when they couldn’t pay their fees on time, even when it took weeks for them to be able to afford the home.