Then she saw his eyes soften, grow shiny with tears. She’d never been entirely sure he loved her until that moment.
Perhaps knowing that was worth this. Whatever this—working for Cora—might be. After all, it was only six short months.
Lucy turned her gaze away from staring out the window and faced forward, ready for what lay ahead.
MOREHEAD, KENTUCKY
AS LUCY LIFTED HER HAND to knock on her cousin’s office door, she paused to take in the nameplate: CORA WILSON STEWART, SUPERINTENDENT OF ROWAN COUNTY SCHOOLS. She hadn’t seen much of her father’s favorite cousin in the last few years since she’d been elected as the first female superintendent in eastern Kentucky. Voted in by a substantial majority. Lucy would have voted for Cora, if women could vote. Father wouldn’t have.
Lucy drew in a deep and satisfying breath, at least as much as the tight strings in her corset would allow. She hadn’t felt this sense of freedom, this sense of possibility, for a very long time. She was excited. Nervous! She had butterflies.
“She’s not there.”
Lucy spun around to see a man sitting on a chair on the other side of the hall, one leg crossed over the other, his eyes focused on an open leather-bound book that rested on his knee. A hole was on the sole of his worn-out shoes, and his clothes were shabby. She’d been so focused on finding the right door to Cora’s office that she’d only been dimly aware of him as she walked down the hall. “Are you waiting to see Mrs. Stewart?”
“Miss Cora? Indeed I am.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
He gazed out the window at the end of the hall. “’Bout an hour.” He set his book—a Bible—on the empty chair next to him, rose to his feet, removed his hat, and folded it to his chest. “When Miss Cora does return, I promise to be quick about my errand.” He extended his hand. “Folks around here call me Brother Wyatt.”
Lucy took his hand, which had strength to it. She blinked, regarding this man: he was younger than she first assumed, his nearly black hair flowed in ill-kempt waves in need of a cut. His face was etched, with sharp, angular cheekbones. Gray downturned eyes crinkled at their edge in crow’s-feet. Unlike the young men in Lexington, he wore no trimmed mustache. No muttonchop side whiskers. “Are you a circuit preacher?” Father was not a fan of what he derisively called saddlebag preachers. Always looking for handouts and free meals, he said.
“Not intentionally, though there are times the Lord has asked me to preach his Word. But my true vocation is a singing school master.”
She’d never heard of such a thing and wondered if he was making it up.
“I didn’t catch your name.” He gave her a smile, his first. She thought it an oddly poignant one.
“My name? Lucy. Lucy Wilson.”
“And what brings you to Miss Cora’s door today?”
Lucy never liked to give a quick answer to anything. She mulled it over and came up with a clear response that she hoped would discourage more questions. “I’ve come for an employment opportunity with Mrs. Stewart. She’s desperately in need of assistance.”
Brother Wyatt’s smile faltered, but then he found it again. “Well,” he said, trying to recover from his surprise, but his skepticism was hard to miss. “Well”—he cleared his throat and tried again—“this should be quite . . . an adventure for you.”
“What makes you say that?”
His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Miss Cora is not known for coddling her teachers.”
Coddling? “I’m not here to teach, but to assist Mrs. Stewart,” she said, sounding much braver than she felt. “Short term. Only six months.” Six short months.
“Two of my favorite people!” came a shriek down the hall. “Lucy! Dear girl!” Striding toward her came Cora, arms outstretched to give her a maternal embrace.
Cora Wilson Stewart was a good-sized woman, well-endowed in all the right places, and her presence filled the narrow hallway. Whatever size room she was in, she had a way of filling it. Lucy allowed herself to be swallowed up in Cora’s arms.
Cora released her, though still gripped her forearms. “How was the trip? I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet your train. I tried, I truly did, but something came up, like it always does. Were you able to locate the boarding house? I hope Miss Maude was accommodating. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s decent and clean. Goodness, you must be famished. Exhausted! And how is that Victorian father of yours? Has his young new wife redecorated the palace yet?” Sentences came out in rapid fire, one after the other, with no time or space for Lucy to respond. “Just look at you. You’ve gone and grown up on me. You certainly don’t take after the Wilsons, do you?” She paused at last to let Lucy answer.
“I suppose not,” Lucy said, after taking a moment to interpret what Cora meant. The Wilsons were bold, handsome people in personality and appearance. In her midthirties, Cora’s angular face and piercing brown eyes made her seem older than her years, though her dark hair had no sign of gray. In a way Lucy had never understood, Cora seemed ageless.
Cora released the tight grip on Lucy’s forearms and said, “Come in. Come in to my office and let’s catch up before my next meeting. I’ll send someone for tea. Wyatt, have you met my cousin? Of course you have. Have you been waiting long? I do apologize.”
Hands behind his back, Brother Wyatt lifted his shoulders in a mild shrug. “Not so very long.”
“Over an hour,” Lucy said, thinking he was being overly kind. “I’ll wait outside while the two of you talk.”
“Better still, come in, Wyatt, and join us for tea.”
“Wish I could, but I’ve much to do today. It won’t take long, Cora, but I do need a minute of your time.”
Some kind of silent exchange passed between the two that Lucy picked up on, suddenly aware Brother Wyatt’s errand required privacy. “I’ll go see about finding some tea,” she said. Working as Cora’s stenographer, she assumed she’d be making quite a bit of tea.
Cora seemed relieved. “Thank you, Lucy. Down the hall.”
Lucy came to a modest ladies’ room that seemed to double as a kitchen, including a small electric stove. She rummaged through a cupboard and found cups and a tin of teabags and a small teapot. Tea always seemed to calm her—not the tea, just the fixing of it. As she waited for the water to boil, she started to rearrange the contents of the messy cupboard. It actually cheered her to discover a task she could do to serve Cora. First role: tea making. One thing Lucy was well trained in. Not much else, but tea she could make.
Father, being a staunch traditionalist, wouldn’t consider educating a woman beyond finishing school. Then came marriage. According to Father’s thinking, anyway. There were a few boys who tried to court Lucy, but they were just that. Boys . . . with very little on their minds. She gradually fell off invitation lists and sat at home, working halfheartedly at embroidery; her only outings were to visit the elderly or attend church or a charitable event.
And then Father turned everything upside down when he married Hazel, a beautiful, charming debutante who’d been Lucy’s peer all through finishing school.
Father and Hazel had scarcely returned from their grand honeymoon, following their even grander wedding, when he informed Lucy that cousin Cora had pleaded for her help as a stenographer. As Father muttered while writing the acceptance letter to Cora, “It’s impossible to say no to the Little General.” That was Cora’s childhood nickname. “But just for six months,” he added. “Then back to Lexington.”