“May I stay and help before going to the office?” Mr. Ashby asked as he sat beside Graham.
“I’m sure Mr. Weiss wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Weiss said. “If he comes to find you, I will just say I asked you to stay.”
“Thank you for being an accomplice, Mrs. Weiss,” Mr. Ashby replied with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.
She began her instruction and we followed along. It took me several tries to get the needle through the text block, but once I did it was simple to replicate. Some of the children were too young to have the strength for it and glued the covers instead. Several of them ended up leaving the table altogether because the work was beyond theircapabilities—my three new friends were among those. Mrs. Weiss didn’t scold them but instead encouraged them to go play if they didn’t feel “called” for the job.
After a few minutes, Graham, Mr. Ashby and I were deeply immersed in the activity. Mrs. Weiss left to find more materials, and the three of us were on one end of the table while the older children who stayed worked at the other end of the table.
“So, Elsie,” Graham said suddenly. He was focusing on binding, so he didn’t look at me, but he waited for my response.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to write to my mother. Or have ye already done so?”
Sudden guilt swirled in my chest. “I haven’t. I’m sorry. I only wrote to my own family. I will help you send word to her, though.” It was deeply forgetful of me not to send a note to his mother. She had been just as worried and sorrowful as me. We had exchanged letters a few times during the year I lost contact with him.
“Ye’ve only been here for four days, yer forgiven.” He sent me a warm smile, and Ifeltforgiven. “She must have suffered.”
“I think she has been very worried for you”
“I must make amends to her.”
This was the Graham I knew. He disliked inconveniencing anyone and had always striven to provide for those he cared for. It was why I could forgive him for being gone all those years. “She will forgive you, Graham. Those who truly love you will always forgive.”
He looked at me again, and this time it seemed he was trying to gauge whether I was speaking for his mother, or myself. I smiled as if to tell him, “both.”
“I suppose I’ll forgive you, too, since we’re all doing it,” Mr. Ashby said wryly.
Graham sent him a smirk. “Do ye jest at every opportunity?”
“Aye.” Mr. Ashby mimicked Graham’s accent again. I laughed and Graham shook his head in faux annoyance. “I say, your stitches seem more efficient than mine. Would you show me how you do that?” he said, watching Graham’s dexterity as he passed the needle through the text block.
The difference between the two of them was stark as they sat side by side. I always wondered what their relationship had been. Mr. Ashby had said they were as close as brothers, but I hadn’t seen that until now. Even though from Graham’s perspective their relationship had just begun, I could sense trust between them.
It was strange, especially considering Graham’s lack of memory, but I could tell how they complemented each other. Both men were honorable, considerate, and intelligent. But that was where their similarities ended. Graham was serious, at times stoic, and Mr. Ashby was light-hearted but clever. They almost were opposites.
Perhaps that was why I sometimes felt my heart split in two.
I wanted to continue denying it. I wanted to ignore the pull I felt toward Mr. Ashby, but it became harder every day. Just as the two men before me were different, the way I cared for each of them felt unique. Graham was my first love, the one I’d always imagined marrying. We’d raise a family together in Scotland, live simply and happily with our brood of bairns. Thinking of our future together had sustained me through years of waiting.
Then Mr. Ashby had entered my life, and it seemed that everything went topsy-turvy. After only a few weeks of knowing him, my mind began conjuring a different life. A life outside of Scotland, constantly stretching my abilities to the limit with someone who believed I could do anything. I imagined living a life filled with passion and laughter. But those thoughts were probably symptoms of the adventure I’d shared with Mr. Ashby. Even if I did pursue a relationship with him,we wouldn’t be having grand adventures every day–especially if our “adventures” were anything like the ones on theKatarina. I often wondered if I felt drawn to him simply because of the hardships we’d endured together. That wasn’t something to build a life on, was it?
Graham was familiar. Graham was home.
Mr. Ashby was a wonderful friend and companion, but how could my feelings for him compare with a man I’d loved for over a decade? Still, even as I convinced myself that Graham was the only one for me, I recalled the many times I’d felt a true and deep connection with Arthur Ashby.
“What do ye think, Elsie?” Graham said. Both he and Mr. Ashby held up their finished hymnals. “Which one is better?”
My heart sped up. They were asking me to choose between them.Relax. They are speaking of hymnals.I smiled tightly at them. “Let me see.” I took the books from them and inspected. Graham’s was threaded tightly and neatly, but I noticed the pages were askew and the cover didn’t seem securely pasted. Mr. Ashby’s book was sewn more loosely, the threads sticking out at both ends, but the cover was solidly attached and the pages were symmetrical.
I placed each one back in front of their makers. “They both have good qualities and bad qualities, and I’m not telling you which I like better.” I smiled ruefully and focused on my book again, determined to make it better than either of theirs.
Chapter 29
“Mr.Ashby,thereyouare.” Mr. Weiss appeared from a room in the front of the chapel. “I thought you might have given up on our ledgers.” He chuckled and stood behind his wife, who had rejoined us a few minutes earlier. He placed his hands on her shoulders affectionately and she smiled up at him.
“Not at all. Ledgers are what I live for.” Mr. Ashby set down his hymnal and stood. “I’m ready when you are.”
