The next caller was Miss Randall. Her red hair was tucked under a green bonnet and her dark green dress was concealed under a warm black cape. “Mrs. Bloom says the little girl is seven years old. So very young to be without parents,” She continued sincerely. “I brought a few things. I hope you don’t mind. Not having children I wasn’t sure but Mrs. Bloom assures me you and Imogen are very good seamstresses. You will make good use of my simple offering. It is difficult to know what to do at a time like this.” Rose handed Faith a brown wrapped package. Miss Randall was a quiet young woman. Her sympathy was genuine.
“Thank you,” Faith replied wondering what made Miss Randall’s offering different from that of Mrs. Bloom.
“No need to thank me,” Miss Randall declared. “Goodbye Dearie.” With these words the woman stepped off the porch. She turned and waved before continuing home.
When the string was untied and the brown paper was folded back two white petticoats emerged. “How did you know,” Faith asked her sister.
“Mrs. Bloom is not the type of woman to let her charitable works be hidden under a bushel,” Imogen replied. “The minute you unwrapped Mrs. Bloom’s four dresses I was sure some good soul would bring by needed undergarments. One of the petticoats will be prefect for making a pinafore. The other we can make into undergarments.”
Holding her new baby doll in her arms Laurie watched Imogen cut out then stitch together her new dress. While Faith took out seams and gathers from a white petticoat.
Faith hurried downstairs to answer the knock on the front door. Muttering irritably under her breath when she opened the door to discover Jim Cook was standing on her front porch. She should have glanced out the bedroom window before coming downstairs then Imogen could have answered the door.
“Good morning,” Mr. Cook greeted. He leaned towards Faith as if his very presence should delight the young woman.
“Yes,” Faith replied. Well, at least it had been a good morning before she answered the door. She stepped back hoping Mr. Cook would not follow her inside. The last thing she needed was Mr. Cook in the parlor. The man’s smile was odious.
“Mother regrets not being able to come herself,” Mr. Cook continued. He was late in removing his hat. A sign of arrogance on his part Faith believed. “I brought you a barrel of apple cider. I am sure the good ladies of Junction City will provide amble food but on a cold fall day apple cider warms a man’s soul.”
“Thank you,” Faith replied almost choking over her words. She was seeping with anger at Mr. Cook’s condescending attitude. The man was becoming more than a pest! He was a bore!
“May I bring it inside,” Mr. Cook asked. Only then did Faith notice the barrel setting on the porch at the man’s feet.
“Please do,” Faith replied. “I believe Mother is in the kitchen.” She turned towards the stairs hoping for a rapid escape.
“I was thinking you might have a moment to visit,” Mr. Cook said. His intentions were plain and talk was the last thing on the man’s mind.
Faith felt trapped by circumstances.
“Mother,” Faith called hoping Mr. Cook did not hear the panic in her voice. Imogen appeared at the top of the stairs. Laurie peeked around her long skirt.
“Mr. Cook,” Imogen greeted. “Apple cider I do believe,” she added. Jim Cook stood in the parlor with a large barrel resting on one shoulder. “So kind of you to think of us.” She gracefully walked down the stairs and took over the situation. “Do come into the kitchen. I believe the corner table,” she suggested to Faith. “Is it clear?”
“I will see,” Faith disappeared through the dining room door still muttering under her breath. Feeling unnerved by Mr. Cook’s attitude. His look had been one of possessiveness.
“Not a moment to ourselves,” Imogen said softly so as not to appear critical. “The ladies have been showing up all morning with gifts and condolences. You do understand,” Imogen continued in her soft voice.
“Yes of course,” Mr. Cook replied wondering at Imogen’s frankness. He disliked women that spoke their mind. “I won’t keep you,” he said and placed the barrel of apple cider on the table indicated.
“Thank you,” Imogen replied. “May I walk you to the front door?”
The door closed silently behind Mr. Cook. Imogen laughed softly as she viewed Faith’s mutinous glare. “Thank you,” Faith said leaning her head against Imogen’s shoulder. “I panicked. The man is odious. Why he should decide he wants to marry me is beyond my comprehension. The more I snub the man the more determined he seems to get.”
“You will look decorative on his arm,” Imogen replied mischievously. Knowing in her heart what she said was partially true. Mr. Cook felt he deserved an attractive wife.
“Goodness,” Faith said before taking a deep breath. “I hope I am more than a decoration. The sooner Mr. Cook realizes how I feel, the better.”
“Men like Mr. Cook never realize anything,” Imogen predicted. “His opinion is the only one that matters.”
Faith gave her sister a startled look. Imogen was correct. The Mr. Cooks of this world would never believe they did not know what was best. “Another reason to avoid the man,” Faith declared vehemently.
“I will answer the door from now on,” Imogen offered.
“Too late,” Faith replied. She was regaining some of her sense of humor. When faced with disaster cheerfulness was the only salvation. Mr. Cook’s attentions were disastrous. “Mr. Cook has been here and departed.”
“You never know when he might think up another excuse for a visit,” Imogen reminded.
“You can answer the door,” Faith declared whole heartedly. She did not want to face Mr. Cook again today. Her nerves were still tingling in alarm over their first encounter.
Chapter Fifteen
At the gravesite, Laurie stood between Mary Gaines and
