her feelings a mix of shock and disappointment. She hadn’t known about Griff’s visits to the gambling house. No wonder people were talking. On the other hand, according to the books she read, gambling among prominent men was an accepted practice in the Carolinas. Or at least it had been before the war, when slaves did all the work and there was nothing else to occupy a gentleman’s hours. Was it Griff’s fault if some folks in Hickory Ridge didn’t realize that?
Anger propelled her along the dusty sidewalk. How dare anyone judge her? Head down, she stomped past the barbershop just as the door swung open and a man hurried out.
“Whoa there, Miss . . . well, hello, Carrie.”
Griff, smelling wonderfully of bay rum and shaving soap, smiled down at her. “We seem always to be running into each other. Literally.”
She returned his smile, stunned at how happy she was to see him. At how quickly the sound of his voice lightened her glum mood. She loved the sound of her name on his lips, his broad, confident smile and dark eyes.
He offered his arm. “Where to?”
“The Verandah. I’ve six loaves of bread in the oven.”
He grinned and brushed one finger across her cheek, sending nerves skittering along her spine. “That explains the smudge of flour.”
Heat suffused her face. “I saw a friend on the street and wanted to catch her before she got away. I should have checked my mirror first.”
“Mrs. Whiting, wasn’t it? I saw her through the barbershop window.”
“Mariah, yes. We’ve known each other for years.”
“And she warned you not to get mixed up with the likes of me.”
“No, she was—”
“It’s all right. I’m used to being new in town—an unknown quantity, so to speak.” He nodded to a couple of men who passed them on the sidewalk. “And she’s right, you know.” His dark gaze sought hers. “The last thing I want to do is make you unhappy, Carrie.”
Her heart stumbled. Something was growing between them, something that made her feel beautiful and alive. How could he dismiss that so easily?
They reached the Verandah. He paused, one foot on the bottom porch step. “So long as we understand each other, I would like very much to have the pleasure of your company. How about another riding lesson sometime soon?”
Suppose, in the end, he disappointed her? Shattered her heart? At least she would have a few weeks of happiness.
She smiled up at him. “I’d love to.”
SEVENTEEN
Carrie slid into the back pew of the red brick church and peeled off her short lace gloves. The meeting was well underway. Up front Eugenie Spencer was speaking to a small group of women perched side by side in the first pew like birds on a wire. Through the open window came the clopping sounds of horses’ hooves and the squeak of the drayman’s wagon. In the hawthorn bush beside the window, a cardinal sang.
“. . . will need several ladies to take charge of the decorations this year,” Eugenie said. “Mariah has agreed to help and to play the piano for the Christmas Eve service.”
The ladies bobbed their heads in silent approval. Sitting alone in the back pew, Carrie couldn’t help noticing how many of their hats were Ada Wentworth designs, couldn’t help wishing Ada were here now.
Molly Scott, the mayor’s wife, spoke up. “I reckon I can get Hiram to chop us down a Christmas tree when the time comes. And I can help with the decorations too.” She shook her head. “I sure do miss the orphans. Mrs. Lowell had ’em trained into a right nice choir.”
“Whatever happened to those children?” Rosaleen asked.
She was seated near the front of the church next to Deborah Patterson, the minister’s wife. Colored light from the stained-glass window above the pulpit played upon Rosaleen’s dark hair. Today she wore a simple ivory muslin frock sprigged with pink rosebuds and a matching shawl. Even in the unadorned gown, she was easily the prettiest woman in the room. No wonder she had turned Nate’s head.
“Some growed up and left and some of the little ones found homes is what I understand.” Molly twisted around in her pew to face Rosaleen. “When the money dried up, Mrs. Lowell had no choice but to shut the doors. She moved to—”
“Ladies.” Eugenie tapped the podium to get their attention. “We’re off the subject here. Now, who else will volunteer for the pageant this year? There are costumes to sew, and there’s lots of baking to be done.