Hope Springs by Sarah M. Eden Page B

of drawers?” he asked, nodding toward the bureau.
    She moved to the pallet bed and sat. “The drawer frames are pulling apart.” She turned out the contents of her small coin purse on the bedtick and began counting coins.
    “Do you have a hammer and nails?” Joseph asked. He couldn’t give her fine furniture or luxurious comforts, but he could at least fix the drawers.
    “Aye, just there on the floor. I borrowed them from Tavish yesterday but haven’t had time to see to the mending.”
    Joseph hung his hat on the doorknob and slid out of his heavy jacket. “I have some time right now. I’ll fix the drawers.”
    She looked up at him, surprise and uncertainty in her gaze. “You don’t have to do that, Joseph. I know you’re busy.”
    “I’m never too busy to help.” He left unspoken that helping her, most specifically, was very near the top of his list of priorities. Only his girls and the most pressing work on his farm came anywhere near Katie’s well-being in his mind. Even if the repairs took all day, it would be well worth his time.
    He knelt in front of the short chest and pulled out each drawer. Just as Katie had described, the framing was loose and no longer square. A few nails in the right places would help.
    “If you’re staying for a piece, would you mind if I bent your ear a bit?”
    He looked over his shoulder at her. “I know I’ve heard you use that phrase before, but I don’t remember what it means.”
    She laughed lightly, a sound that did his heart as much good as hearing her music did. So many times he’d stood at the kitchen door or at his own bedroom window listening to the strains of her violin from across the fields. He knew the music had calmed her, but did she have any idea how much he had needed it as well?
    “I’m only asking if I can bother you with a great deal of talking and asking advice,” Katie said.
    “Of course.”
    The earnestness in her deep brown eyes was enough to nearly undermine his determination to keep his feelings hidden. He focused on his task, turning over the first drawer he meant to mend. If he didn’t actually look at her, she might not see his heart hanging there in his eyes.
    “I’ve been wondering on something these past weeks,” she said. “Mr. Johnson threatened to charge you the Irish price for the flour you buy me, but your cost hasn’t gone up. How is it you convinced him not to cheat you? Did you threaten him?”
    “No.” He lined up a nail. “I needed the flour price to remain the same, so I discovered something Johnson needed just as much. We came to a mutual agreement.”
    “What was it he was needing?”
    “A loan.” He pounded in the first nail, followed quickly by a second. Already the drawer was sturdier. “The trail to the train station isn’t passable for much of the winter. Johnson has to bring in all his inventory before the snow comes. He didn’t have the funds on hand to cover that expense this time around.”
    He didn’t hear her footsteps over the sound of the next two nails driving into place. He simply looked up to find her sitting on the floor near him. The familiarity of her look of pondering, of her simple, tidy work dress, of those wisps of hair that always came loose by the end of the day, settled over him. For just a moment he knelt there, hammer still in his hand, a nail held between his teeth, just looking at her.
    I could sit with her like this all day.
    He shook himself back to some presence of mind. There was no point losing his head.
    “What else does he need, I wonder?” Katie muttered the words, as if talking entirely to herself.
    “What else does who need?” He lined up his next nail, grateful for the double distraction of conversation and repairs.
    “Mr. Johnson. He’s raised the Irish price on wool and shoes and even medicine. The winter will be hard without wool cloth to make coats. The Irish can’t afford to replace the shoes their children have outgrown.”
    Joseph drove in another