Christine Johnson - Mail Order Mommy

“A tablecloth would help brighten things, too,” she said aloud to no one but herself. If she cut the cloth precisely, she might have enough left over to make one.

“Brighten things where?”

The masculine voice made her pause the treadle and look up. Garrett stood in the entrance to the writing room where Mrs. Calloway housed the sewing machine. Amanda had not expected to see him this Saturday afternoon, since he had given her the day off until suppertime.

“You’re not with the children?”

“They’re spending the afternoon with Roland and Pearl,” he pointed out. “What are you making?”

Amanda turned back to her sewing. “These are the curtains for your house.”

She heard him step into the room until he stood just a few steps behind her. “They are bright.”

“Sadie and I thought they looked like sunshine.”

He didn’t respond right away.

She glanced back.

He looked down at the hat in his hands. “I suppose you’re right, but they’re...bright.”

“Cheerful. They make me smile, especially knowing how much Sadie liked the fabric.”

As expected, that wore away the last of his resistance. “You really did ask Sadie to help you pick out the cloth.”

“Of course. She has excellent taste, especially when it comes to color. You must have noticed that she’s quite the little artist.”

He didn’t answer.

Again Amanda paused long enough to glance back. He was frowning. Why? “Do you disapprove of artists?”

“It’s not very useful.”

“Sometimes the most important things in life are not useful. Beauty lifts our spirits.”

If anything, he looked more uncomfortable.

“A tablecloth would only get stained,” he said gruffly.

“It could also teach the children to take care when eating.” She didn’t mention Garrett’s tendency to shovel food in his mouth as fast as possible. She’d seen starving children do the same thing in the orphanage. Perhaps he’d had to battle Roland for enough to eat. “Were you poor when you were growing up?” The moment she said the words, she regretted them.

Garrett’s complexion darkened, and she steeled herself for a rebuke.

Instead he denied it. “No. Not at all.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

He walked over to the window. Already the light was low. Soon darkness would settle over the land. “Forget it.”

She searched for another subject. “You must have come here today for a reason.”

He cleared his throat. “Roland and Pearl insisted I speak to you about the project they have for me. Us.”

She had forgotten. “The stable?”

“I don’t need help. I’ll cut the sheep from wood.”

“That would work, but they won’t be very nice for the children to cuddle.” When Pearl had first broached the idea, Amanda had imagined the children holding the lambs and perhaps even taking them home.

“Cuddle? I thought this was a depiction of the nativity.”

Amanda bit her tongue. Garrett was right. This was a holy, solemn moment. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But how will we make them look like the animals? I don’t know anyone with paints.”

“I do.” Fiona swept into the room. “The moment Garrett told me about the project I sent for my painting supplies. They should be on the next mail boat from Chicago.”

“You paint pictures?” Amanda had to shut her gaping mouth.

Fiona smiled indulgently. “Singing is not my only talent. In the theater, one becomes accomplished in many arts.”

Amanda wondered why she’d never mentioned this before, especially when watching Sadie, who loved to draw.

Fiona had turned her attention away from Amanda and lavished it on Garrett. “You look quite handsome tonight.”

For the first time, Amanda noticed that Garrett was wearing his Sunday suit and good coat. He carried a felt bowler rather than the cap he wore when working in cold weather. His hair was combed into place, and he’d shaved.

He extended an arm to Fiona. “Shall we?”

“Of course,” she purred, casting a triumphant glance at Amanda. “We wouldn’t want to be late.”

Amanda turned back to her sewing and pretended to work. Almost immediately the bobbin thread snarled. Still, she worked the treadle, making the knot worse and worse. Only when she was certain Garrett and Fiona had left did she stop. The mass of knotted thread would take forever to untangle, but not as long as her foolish hopes.

* * *

Garrett felt awful from the moment he stepped into the boardinghouse and Mrs. Calloway sent him to the writing room. The woman clearly thought he was there for Amanda. The fact that she was working on curtains for his house only made things worse.

He should have explained that he’d agreed weeks ago to escort Fiona to her Saturday concert, when Sawyer Evans, her accompanist who usually walked her to the hotel, asked him for the favor. Sawyer had left this morning for Chicago to meet up with family ahead of the holidays.

“I don’t trust anyone else,” Sawyer had told him when Garrett hesitated.

The man must not have realized Fiona’s ambitions toward Garrett, or he would never have asked the favor.

At the time, Garrett couldn’t find a single reason to object, so he’d agreed. It wasn’t that he felt anything for Fiona. True, they’d dined together on occasion at the hotel, but they were just good friends. At least that’s what he told himself.

Fiona’s actions revealed just how wrong he was. She’d made a point of besting Amanda over the animals for the nativity play. Maybe he should have agreed with Pearl’s idea to make stuffed animals, but it had seemed like far too much work for Amanda, who was already helping at the school, working for him and making the costumes for the play. He’d wanted to ease her burden, but instead he’d paved the way for Fiona to triumph over Amanda.

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