Redemption by Carolyn Davidson

him her answer. And yet she must not appear too anxious. She bit her lip, wondering what a reasonable amountof time to consider the offer might be. Tomorrow? Would she be out of line if she walked back to visit on Sunday, after church perhaps?
    When would he want to marry her? Next week? Next month? Or maybe by this time he’d reconsidered the whole idea and realized he’d been impetuous. She halted in the middle of the floor and raised a hand to cover her mouth. Surely not.
    The door opened readily as she turned the knob and her feet barely touched the treads as she flew down the stairway. Catherine looked up from her book, eyes wide with alarm.
    “Are you all right, Miss Merriweather?” The child had no doubt never seen her reserved teacher move so swiftly in the two years she’d known her.
    “Fine, Catherine. I’ll be gone out for a while.”
    The way to the McPherson home was becoming familiar to her, the path narrowing as she turned onto the side street.
    She arrived, breathless and flustered, at Jake’s front walk. The swinging gate caught her eye and she made a mental note to buy new hinges at the hardware. The clean finish of the new board drew her attention and she slowed to admire Jason’s handiwork before she placed her foot in the center of it.
    Then the front door was before her and she reached up with trembling fingers and removed the sign. No Visitors. No Peddlers. No Admittance . Folding it neatly in half, she rapped sharply, then waited. From the length of the hallway, she heard the faint sound of rubber tires meeting the wooden surface of the floor, and then Jake’s face appeared for a moment at the etched glass on the right side of the door.
    He opened it, widely, she noticed, and waved her in. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his look one of apprehension. “Has something happened?”
    She shook her head, feeling foolish now that she’d rushed over here and was making a spectacle of herself, after having left him only an hour ago. “No, I just thought we needed to talk a bit.”
    “I’m in the kitchen, helping Jason with supper.” He turned his chair in a tight circle and nodded. “You’re welcome to lend a hand.”
    He was attempting to be hospitable. Perhaps he was making an effort for her benefit.
    She followed him, allowed him to push open the swinging door to the kitchen and then hold it for her to enter past him. Jason was at the stove, his back to her.
    “Pa, I think I burned the eggs,” he said regretfully. Indeed he had, for there was smoke and an overwhelming charred odor. He looked back over his shoulder, the skillet in his hand, and his mouth fell open. “Miss Merriweather…I mean, Miss Alicia.” The skillet slipped in his pot holder and the dinner hit the floor,burnt eggs scattering across the wooden surface as if they’d developed a life of their own.
    She took the situation in hand, her natural inclination to be helpful coming to the forefront. “Let me have that, Jason,” she said briskly, reaching for the skillet. He obliged, obviously pleased with her interference, and backed away from the mess he’d made. “Find the broom,” she told him, “and the dustpan, too.”
    The skillet was placed at the back of the stove and she bent to the task of cleaning the floor.
    “You don’t have to do that,” Jake said flatly. “Jason can tend to it.”
    “I’m sure he can,” she agreed. “But he could use a hand. And I’m available, after all.”
    “Are you?” The smile that touched Jake’s lips asked more than his question suggested.
    She stood, reaching for the broom. “About as available as a woman could possibly be, sir. I’m free to make my own choices, and I’ve made one over the past hour.” She began to sweep the floor vigorously. “Would you like to hear my answer to the question you posed out on the front porch?” Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she avoided his gaze. Then she heard his soft chuckle, and looked at him quickly. “Are you