Rumors and Promises by Kathleen Rouser Read Free Book Online Page A

her cheek against Caira’s pink knitted bonnet. How sad that her daughter wouldn’t have memories of a brother to have snowball fights with or race up and down the stairs. Half of her mother’s headaches must have been caused by Sophie’s confounding behavior, when all Mama wanted to do was make a young lady out of her.
    “Hope it’s a good person I remind you of. I can’t tell by the sad look on your face, though.” James didn’t dawdle before he cut to the chase. Perhaps he would make an excellent journalist if he were given half a chance.
    “Nothing to worry about.”
    The cloying, sweet, and woodsy aroma of pipe smoke wafted toward them. A man standing in front of Neuberger’s puffed on a pipe stem. Caira wrinkled her nose, sniffing the air. He wore a dark overcoat and hat to match. Smoke clouded his face. Could it be
him? Caira’s father?
The wind cut through Sophie’s shawl. She shivered, closing her eyes, and held Caira as closely as possible.
    Sophie opened her eyes. The cloud of smoke dissipated to reveal a man with a white beard. Exhaling with relief, Sophie realized she had stopped in her tracks, unable to move for a minute.
    “Are you quite all right?” James stopped alongside her.
    Caira pushed away. Sophie put her down, ignoring James for the moment as she started her journey again. The toddler took quick little steps to keep up with Sophie’s stride as their feet crunched into the fresh icy snow. Flustered, she changed her mind. She grabbed her daughter into her arms, wanting to carry her and hold her close again though the little one pressed her arms against Sophie and fussed. “You don’t have boots. Your feet will be soaked when we get there.”
    “Miss Biddle?” James frowned and kept up with her. He offered his elbow, but she sidestepped him.
    “I’ll be fine. I thought …” Sophie stopped. What could she tell him? Besides, if she never voiced her fears of Caira’s father looking for them, perhaps they would go away. “Never mind.” She picked up her pace and thought about how to change the subject. “Do you enjoy working at the newspaper?”
    “A good investigative reporter would believe he’s being diverted.”
    “Reporter? I thought you were just a copywriter!”
    James puffed out his chest and stiffened his shoulders, no doubt attempting to repair his damaged pride. “I am a copywriter with aspirations. One has to start somewhere. Why, one of these days, I’ll find a story that will make the front page of our town’s Daily Herald. Don’t you have dreams, Miss Biddle?”
    “I’m afraid dreams are a luxury when you have a little sister to raise.” Her voice cracked and she avoided looking directly into his face. “I have too many worries.”
    “What a pity. You’re too young to stop dreaming.” James halted, turning to face her.
    Sophie hadn’t been prepared for the pain caused by the reopening of her wound. Like a scab had been picked off to reveal an unhealed sore, memories long pushed down flooded into her mind. What had she wanted to do before Charles’ actions had irrevocably changed her life? “I suppose I have one dream.” She slanted a glance sideways at her walking companion. The fantasy came out of the necessity she felt for independence, for a living she could pass on to her daughter. “I’d like to have a dress shop.”
    “So you do have a few ambitions?” James raised an eyebrow at her.
    “I suppose.” But they were a far cry from her original dreams of husband, home, hearth, family, and continuing with her music.
    James stopped walking. “You’re quite fascinating, Miss Biddle. I almost missed your street.”
    “Perhaps you could point me in the right direction, then. I’ve never been to the parsonage.”
    “Certainly. Take Bradford Street left, here, and walk past the second corner. The house is on the left, as well. White picket fence. You can’t miss the parsonage. It’s just a couple down from the corner. Good day.” James