he comes back in." Evie lifted her hat and went into her room to set it on the dresser. "Give Mr. Peyton something cool to drink," she called as she checked her hair in the mirror.
"They'll have to start calling me Uncle Jim, I reckon." Peyton watched her carefully as Evie sailed out of the bedroom tying an apron around her waist.
Carmen had already rescued Maria from the neighbor's, and Evie swept the child into her arms and gave her a hug, then presented her to their guest. "This is your Uncle Jim, Maria. Say hello."
She stuck her thumb in her mouth and said "hewwo" around it.
"It's an honor and pleasure, Miss Maria. Will you let me hold you?" Peyton offered his arms.
Maria looked uncertain for a moment, then finding something of interest, she eagerly went into his arms and pulled at his beard.
"Umph. I guess I asked for that." Peyton wrapped his long fingers around the child's smaller ones and gently untangled his goatee. He propped Maria where he could see her face more clearly. "You have eyes and hair like your mama's and grandmama's." He informed her with a smile.
Then he turned to Evie who was watching this display protectively. "And you have eyes and hair just like your mama's and grandmama's, too."
Chapter 34
Evie couldn't believe he'd said what he had. She'd never had a family to be compared to. She stared at him with a glazed look on her face, waiting for the punch line. When Peyton didn't say more, she didn't know where to look. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron, then turned to see what Carmen was doing.
The younger girl was listening unabashedly. Shaking her head to herself, Evie gestured at the rocking chair. "Won't you have a seat, Mr. Peyton? I have to start dinner. Tyler and Daniel will be home soon."
Peyton gave her a look of exasperation and still carrying Maria, walked in the direction of Evie's bedroom. "Your husband mentioned your interest in painting, Mrs. Monteigne. Are you working on anything now?"
Evie swung a frantic look to Carmen at the stove, then back to the stranger disappearing into their bedroom. She had spent too many years hoping. She couldn't believe her prayers would be answered so easily. She needed time to think, time to formulate questions, but her mind was a blur of madly spinning wishes and hopes and cries, and she could only follow the man who might hold her secrets.
He was studying the canvas propped on the easel by the window. Maria was swinging her chubby fist at the picture and saying "Tywer" over and over, to make sure the stranger got the point.
"It's a very good likeness of Tyler, my dear," Peyton informed the child calmly. "Your Miss Maryellen is a very talented young lady." At Evie's appearance, he swung around questioningly. "Why on earth do you call yourself that awful name? You did say your mother named you Evangeline, didn't you?"
"She also named me Peyton and Howell, but those names don't belong to me any more than any other. Maryellen had a nice, sweet sound to it, like someone who had a loving family around them." Now that she had come to accept that this man knew some of the answers, Evie calmed down. She would remember Jane Eyre and behave sensibly.
"Evangeline was your mother's middle name, and it was her mother's name before her. It's a good old-fashioned family name. Elizabeth must have wanted you to have your family if in name only. I still can't believe she did that." He shook his head and put down the child who had begun to wriggle to get loose.
"Can't believe she did what?" Evie stood there helplessly, watching this stranger who was examining her canvas with a professional eye and telling her the things she had always wanted to hear.
"There's no proof, I suppose." Sadly, he looked up from the painting to examine Evie in the same way he had examined the canvas. "But I don't know where else you would have come across such a name. Or those looks. And this." He gestured at the half-finished painting of Tyler and Maria.
"Perhaps, if you would explain?" She wasn't following all this. No one else had ever commented on her looks. And she didn't know if he meant the painting itself or Tyler. She knew what she hoped he meant, but Texas had taught her a thing or two about reality. She wasn't going to daydream the most