Hope Springs by Sarah M. Eden Page A

bringing her supplies before she’d told him she needed them? Perhaps he really was a fool. She’d only been gone thirty-six hours and he was already spending precious time concocting reasons to visit a woman who had pledged her heart to another. He was a fool, a complete and utter fool.
    He could be friendly, but really nothing beyond.
    The door opened and there she was. Not even a second could have passed before a smile appeared on Katie’s face.
    “Why, Joseph Archer! And what is it brings you around here?”
    Friendly. Nothing beyond. “I was in town this morning and thought I’d pick up your next barrel of flour while I was there.”
    “That was very kind of you.”
    She sounded happy, so why, then, did strain show behind her eyes? He studied her for some clue, but found none. Katie was frustratingly good at keeping her thoughts hidden.
    “Where would you like me to put the barrel?” he asked.
    She pondered a moment. “There is not a great deal of room in the kitchen area. I’d best keep my supplies in my own room.”
    Katie pulled the door open all the way, making space for him to pass through. He rolled the barrel through the doorway. Mrs. Claire sat inside, comfortably settled in her rocking chair.
    “A fine good afternoon to you, Joseph Archer.”
    “And the rest of the day to you, Mrs. Claire.”
    Her wrinkled face turned up in an amused grin. “Well, then, Katie. I see you taught him a thing or two while you lived at his house. That there was a right proper answer to an Irish greeting.”
    Joseph’s breath caught for a brief instant at the bright-eyed smile Katie gave the older woman. That was the smile he’d come to see, the one he’d closed his eyes to remember as he’d stood in his empty kitchen that morning.
    “I tried,” Katie told Mrs. Claire. “I was determined to make an Irishman out of him, but, alas, I ran out of time.”
    That seemed to be the theme of his and Katie’s connection: wanting something but not having sufficient time to accomplish it. He’d once hoped to court her after she left his employ, but Tavish was there before he had the opportunity.
    “You can roll that right in through here,” Katie said, motioning him toward the far end of the fireplace where a short hallway jutted off.
    The house was small; he reached his destination in only a few steps. Katie threw Mrs. Claire another friendly smile over her shoulder. But, Joseph noticed, that smile slid quickly away as she stepped into the dim bedroom she called her own. The strain he’d seen in her face at the door returned.
    What was weighing so heavily on her?
    “If you’d place that in the corner, I’d be grateful.”
    He took a quick look around the room as he followed the instructions. The space could use another lantern, a candle at the very least. Even in the afternoon, the small window didn’t let in enough light to make the room as cheerful as it ought to be.
    He had no argument with the simplicity of the furnishings, only their obvious need for repairs.
    He wanted more for her, at least a few of life’s comforts. If only there was a way to give her the relative luxuries she’d had only two days before. She’d had a bedframe and a comfortable mattress at his house; now she had only a straw tick on a pallet for a bed. But she’d never accept anything from him. She was too proud, too stubborn. He understood, admired her for it even, but it could be very frustrating. She likely wouldn’t even let him bring the curtains from her old room to add some femininity to this new space. Women liked curtains. She would probably enjoy having them there. But she’d never take them from him.
    “Is it still three dollars for the barrel?”
    Her question pulled his thoughts together. He nodded.
    Katie crossed to the opposite corner and knelt in front of her battered carpetbag. She opened it and pulled out a small drawstring bag.
    Joseph could see she hadn’t unpacked her things.
    “Is something wrong with the chest