Mr. Arthur retrieved his crutch, and a grimace flitted across his features before hiding behind a bearded frown directed at her. “I would’ve caught her, you know.” With a shake of his head, he trudged toward the hotel.
Clara winced. She’d hurt him. After all he had done for them, how could she treat him so poorly?
Mum alighted from Clara and extended her hand.
Too embarrassed to accept it, Clara stood unaided and dusted off her dress. She situated her bonnet as people inside the Stork and Spoon stared at them through the window, laughing at her expense. Foolish stunt, indeed. What had she been thinking?
A pair of gloves secured Clara’s face, forcing her to meet Mum’s eyes. “Are you injured?”
“No. Merely winded and sore.”
“Good.” Mum placed a kiss on Clara’s brow and promptly pointed a stern finger at her nose. “Never push aside a helping hand. Though pride says you’re stronger alone and fear says you’re safer alone, take it. Grasp it. The wise woman knows that strength and security are found in numbers.”
Clara heaved a sigh. “It was a stupid reflex. I didn’t even realize I’d shoved Mr. Arthur until after we hit the ground. All I could think ... all I could see was that you were falling, and I couldn’t let that happen. I had todosomething.” Her gaze fell to her hands, swathed in bandages and woefully weak. “I wanted so much to make Grand proud ... strove so hard to depend on God as he bade.”
“Oh, love. Dependence isn’t about striving, it’s about relying. It’s assuming a posture of hopeful humility at the feet of a sovereign Lord. Conferring with Him before you move. Believing that He is moving on your behalf when you’re instructed to be still.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
A smile touched Mum’s mouth. “That’s because I’m an eloquent speaker. In reality, dependence is one of the hardest disciplines, but it can be learned. With time and diligent practice, you can learn to wait upon the Lord with confident expectation and discern His heavenly promptings.”
Before Clara could respond, something tapped her boot. An automaton stork chick flapped and flailed on the ground, half a porcelain shell stuck upon its head. Noting a trail of porcelain shards a few paces away, she picked up the distressed device. A leather tube was strapped to its back of molded bronze down. She removed the eggshell from the chick’s head, and the freed chick craned its neck toward the sky, brass beak opening and closing with pitiful metallic squeaks as though it expected to be fed. The automaton would have no peace until reunited with Grand’s watch.
Clara cast a sideways glance at the Canopy of Stars, where Mr. Arthur leaned against the hotel’s half-timber wall, watching over the street vigilantly. What was she to say to him? “What if he won’t forgive me?”
“He will.” Mum rotated her to face Mr. Arthur and whispered against her ear. “Just apologize and give the boy a smile. His cheeks flush red as a robin’s breast when you smile.”
“Mother—”
A gentle push sent Clara staggering toward the hotel.
The tinkling melody of Grand’s pocket watch coaxed Clara closer despite her trepidation. Mr. Arthur’s face remained unmoving at her approach. She rested against the wall next to him, gaze fixated on the stork chick in her palm. If she met his eyes, she might never manage to string two words together.
Mr. Arthur touched the pocket watch to the chick’s beak, alleviating the automaton’s hunger and silencing both devices. “Has Mrs. S. sent you to reconcile?”
She kicked a stray pebble, sending it skittering into the river with a plop. “Yes.”
“Will this imposed apology be sincere?”
“Quite.”
“Right-oh, then.” Mr. Arthur positioned himself in front of her and waved a hand. “You may proceed, Miss Stanton.”
Clara clutched the sleeping automaton chick to her chest. Why did apologies have to be so hard? Wetting her lips, she pushed the words out before she lost all gumption. “I am truly sorry, Mr. Arthur. I never meant to shove you like that. It’s just ... you see ... I have more experience with pickpockets than gallant knights, so I tend to see pickpockets under every bush and react with this reflexive protectiveness of my family that isn’t always necessary or expedient or ... coordinated. That’s not an excuse, mind. Just a fact. A reason, rather. When one has been taken advantage of by a pickpocket, one doesn’t trust naturally. Nor does one expect gallant knights to render aid. Or even believe in them, really. Thus, when one’s mother is kicked off a roof by an angry stork, one assumes she won’t be rescued unless one is the one to perform said rescue ... oneself.”
Perspiration slicked down her neck.Bring this ramble to a point, Clara.“In conclusion, I reacted in haste, and I’m sorry. I shall try not to push aside gallant knights in the future.” And heaven help her, she would try not to push away God’s saving hand either.
When Mr. Arthur gave no response, she lifted her gaze. He just stared at her with intense eyes of green. No trace of emotion, for good or ill, evident on his features. Had she said too much? Too little? Perhaps ... perhaps she ought to test Mum’s theory.
Clara smiled hesitantly. “Am I forgiven?”
A reddish tint flushed beneath Mr. Arthur’s blond beard, and his countenance relaxed. “Since about five minutes ago,Miss Stanton.” Tucking his hands into his overcoat, he shortened the distance between them, eyes agleam. “So ... you think me gallant, aye?”
Stars, had she said that? She put on an air of nonchalance, hoping to conceal the sentiment her words betrayed. “Why, sir? Don’t you?”
Like a bucket of water over a fire, the question doused the gleam in Mr. Arthur’s eyes. He favored his crutch. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve been attacked by the fairer sex.”
In the spirit of reconciliation, she ignored his abrupt change of subject. “By whom were you accosted?”
