The postmistress shoved three envelopes across the counter. “Can’t say I’ve seen these return addresses before.”
Mary merely smiled and thanked the postmistress, giving no hint of what she hoped the envelopes contained. Once outside, she sat Ben on the bench. Dropping down beside him, she tore open the flaps. Her pulse leapt. Each envelope held a request for a job interview. Finally, her father would get the help he needed.
She’d hoped for another letter—
Right now she’d give thanks for these answers to prayer.
The three applicants promised to arrive on consecutive Saturdays, the day she’d specified for interviews. Perfect. Within three-weeks’ time, her father could interview the candidates and handpick his replacement, then ease the young doctor into the practice until he’d earned the town’s trust. But in her heart, Mary knew the hardest citizen to convince would be Henry Lawrence.
“Come along, Ben. We need to get home.” Mary tucked the letters into her purse, then took Ben’s hand and scanned the street, looking for her nemesis.
Logan Street swarmed with buggies and wagons. A horse tied to a nearby hitching post nickered and stomped a hoof. The door of the Whitehall Café opened and closed as satisfied diners came and went, patting full stomachs and chewing on toothpicks. She didn’t see Luke Jacobs, which eased the tension between her shoulder blades.
Ben tugged at her hand, pulling her toward Hudson’s General Store window. “Wait, Mary. I wanna see.”
The Willowbys had spoiled Ben. Every time he passed a shop, he wanted a new toy or book. Usually Mary didn’t give in to his demands, but she’d let him look.
They stood in front, the sun glinting off the top of the glass, reflecting slivers of gold. Her gaze traveled to Ben’s reflection. That small, timid boy who’d arrived on the orphan train had become a taller, healthier child with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes and an air of happiness about him that no one could resist.
Ben scanned the display, and Mary marveled at how he’d taken his new life in stride, become part of the town, part of their family. Part of her heart.
Her throat clogged with emotion, and she wrapped a hand around his shoulders, drawing him close. Ben didn’t know they shared a connection, but Mary understood what it meant to be unwanted then welcomed into a family. With all her being, she prayed the road ahead would be smoother for Ben than the one left behind.
“Oh, Mary!” Ben pointed toward something. “That big ball’s my favorite colors: red and yellow. And it has stars, bright blue stars.” Ben tugged her hand. “Can I have it? I could bounce it clear to the sky!” He clapped his hands and glanced up, hope shining in his eyes. “Please?”
Listening to Ben’s clever reasoning made Mary smile. “You have a ball. Now let’s get home for lunch, sweetheart.”
Ben’s chin lolled toward his chest. “I don’t want lunch. I want to go into the store.”
Her stomach growled. She tousled his curly hair then took his hand. “Well, I’m hungry, and by the time we get home, you will be too.”
“My tummy doesn’t want food. My tummy wants the big ball.”
Mary laughed. “We don’t eat toys, Ben. But after lunch, you can play with the ball you have. Before you know it, Michael and Philip will be home from school.”
A huge smile took over Ben’s face. “Michael and Philip want you to get the ball for me.”
Biting back a smile, Mary started up the street, but Ben lagged behind for one last look.
“Why, hello again, Florence Nightingale.”
Mary’s head snapped up, and she stared into the dark, mesmerizing eyes of Luke Jacobs. Remembering the sheriff’s words, her heart raced faster than a thoroughbred at the county fair.
Then his stare slid to Ben and stayed.
Ben giggled. “That’s not her name. Her name is Mary Graves.”
“Mary Graves.” Her name rolled off Luke’s tongue. “Is this boy your…son?”
Why would he ask such a question? Unless—
Unable to continue the thought, Mary’s heart jumped into her throat and wedged there, closing off her speech. Still gripping Ben’s hand, she took a step, but the peddler blocked her way, looming over her. “Let me pass,” she said.
But he didn’t move aside. If anything, he looked more determined. Warning bells clanged in Mary’s head.
“Yoo-hoo! Mary!”
Mary whirled toward Carrie Foley, eager for the interruption, for anything that’d take the focus off Ben.
Carrie reached them and chucked a gloved hand under Ben’s chin. “Hello, dearest.”
The little boy beamed at the woman who cared for him while Mary worked at the office.
Carrie turned to Luke Jacobs. “Aren’t you the man peddling that remedy?”
Luke tipped an imaginary hat, all smiles. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“The sign on your wagon boasts your tonic will cure headaches and stomachaches. Does it work?” She waggled a finger at him. “Now, before you answer, I’ll have you know I’m a pastor’s wife.”
“Yes, my remedy works.” He chuckled. “Even for pastor’s wives.”
Mary shifted her eyes heavenward. As if the rogue didn’t grasp Carrie’s meaning.
“Did you hear that, Mary? You ought to get a bottle for your headaches.”
Luke Jacobs turned toward Mary, flashing the dimple in his cheek. Of all things, her legs turned to jelly, like she didn’t have the gumption to stand on her own two feet.
“I’d be happy to give Miss Graves a free sample. She need only ask.” Mary started to protest, but before she could, the scalawag gave a nod. “Good day, ladies,” he said, striding away.
Ben grimaced. “Ouch, you’re hurting my hand.”
Mary eased her hold. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, I…” What excuse could she give? She’d been so unnerved by Mr. Jacobs’s presence that she’d wrung Ben’s hand like the neck of a Sunday fryer.
“Isn’t he the nicest man?” Carrie said. “I should’ve invited him to church.”
Mary wouldn’t find Luke Jacobs’s name under Webster’s definition for nice. Nice would be seeing the man drive his rig out of town.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about my nephew’s rash. Is something going around?” Carrie said and then shot her a curious look.
Heat rose in Mary’s face. “Ah, not that I know of.”
“It’s probably that homemade soap. I told my sister it’s too strong for that boy’s skin, but it’s cheaper than store-bought and…”
As Carrie chatted about the boy’s rash, Mary nodded, barely able to concentrate. Luke Jacobs exhibited interest in Ben beyond ordinary courtesy. Instinct urged her to rush Ben home.
Evidently satisfied that lye soap caused her nephew’s mysterious rash, Carrie said goodbye, then touched Mary’s sleeve. “Oh, look. That peddler’s coming back.”
Still clinging to Ben’s hand, Mary pivoted, almost colliding with Luke Jacobs. Wobbling on her feet, she gasped. He reached out a hand to steady her, then let go. A warm sensation shot through her and fluttered against every nerve.
In his other hand, Mr. Jacobs held the ball Ben wanted. Mary swirled to the store window, to the empty spot where the toy had been.
“This is for you.” The rogue bent down and put the ball into Ben’s