The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark Read Online Free Page B

lookin’ at some cattle. Won’t be back ’til afternoon milking. And Fernie and Oram are as useless as Jack and Edgar.”
    Why don’t we try being a little more negative? Andrew thought. “What if I spoke with Mr. Mayhew? I’m sure he would allow your father to pay him later.”
    The man got to his feet and turned around to face him. One eyebrow lifted over a deep-lidded moss green eye. “You would do that, Vicar?” He motioned toward the bed of the wagon and at least had the decency to blush. “You know I stole your cake.”
    And I’ve half a mind to bring you to Mrs. Paget and let her deal with you! Andrew thought. “It’s fig bread. And yes, I would do that, Harold.”
    Both eyes narrowing with suspicion, the man asked, “How did you know my name?”
    “The same way you know mine, I expect. Small village.”
    “You ain’t gonter make me promise to go to church, are you?”
    “I can’t make you promise anything,” Andrew replied. “But I confess it would please me if you did.”
    He shifted his feet. “Well, I’m Wesleyan.”
    Andrew did not contradict the man by pointing out that having a sister and two younger brothers in the Wesleyan faith did not make one a Wesleyan any more than having a brother in the Royal Navy made one a sailor. “You can find God at the Wesleyan church, too, Harold. Or I can tell you about Him now, if—”
    “We’d best get on over there if you’re gonter talk with Mr. Mayhew,” Harold cut in. “But it won’t do no good.”
    With a quiet sigh, Andrew replied, “Well, you never know until you ask.”
    As it turned out, Mr. Mayhew declared he could get to the job within the hour and didn’t seem to mind that it was a Sanders wheel he would be repairing. He even offered to allow Harold to leave one of the horses in his paddock so he could go home on the back of the other one and tend to some chores. After thanking Mr. Mayhew, Andrew walked with Harold back to his wagon and helped him unhitch the horses.
    “Here, this is for you,” the man said, avoiding Andrew’s eyes as he scooped a towel-swathed bundle from the bed of the wagon and thrust it at him. He shrugged again. “I just wanted to see if I could get away with it anyway.”
    It was on the tip of Andrew’s tongue to tell Harold to keep the loaf, but then it didn’t seem right that thievery should be rewarded—even when the thief offered to return his bounty. So he tucked it under his arm and caught up the reins of the horse that he would be walking over to Mr. Mayhew’s.
    “Think about church, now. Reverend Seaton would be happy to see you.”
    Harold mumbled something in reply that could have been either affirmative or negative—or perhaps simply a grunt—as he hoisted himself onto the bare back of the other horse. He took up the reins, lifted a hand in farewell, and rode off across the bridge.
    Just as Andrew was leaving the wheelwright’s shop, it dawned upon him that he could now right the wrong he had perpetrated earlier. He would have to confess all to Mrs. Ramsey, of course, but it would be better than living with the guilt that had returned in full force to nag at him. And how could Mrs. Paget hold it against him if the proper loaf of bread had eventually found its way to the Ramsey cottage?
    He took the back way down Walnut Tree Lane, eager to have it done with before making the rest of his calls. Recrimination no longer clouded his senses, enabling him to appreciate the coolness of the tree-shaded lane and the varied colors of newly blooming gardens in front of half-timbered and stone cottages. Within minutes his spirits were fairly soaring.
    And then his eyes caught motion in the distance ahead. Mrs. Ramsey, wearing a bonnet and carrying a shopping basket, was walking briskly toward Market Lane. Must be going to Trumbles , he thought, hurrying to narrow the distance between them so he could call out to her. But then an idea insinuated itself into his mind, causing him to return to a slower