scent of her cologne lingered. Clay found it an oddly disturbing fragrance. Earthy. Sensual. Unforgettable. At last it drove him out the back door of the theater where he stopped and filled his lungs with fresh autumn air.
âEthan, keep your eye on the ball.â
Clay turned in the direction of Merry Browneâs voice. On the vacant land south of the house, Merry prepared to throw a ball toward her brother who held a bat high and behind his head. Some distance in back of Ethan, Elsie waited to chase the ball if he missed it.
Baseball. A sport that had grown in popularity from coast to coast. During the war, heâd participated in many friendly games with other Union soldiers. Those games had helped keep boredom at bay and his mind off of blood and death and the acrid smell of smoke that could linger in a manâs nostrils long after battles were over.
He walked toward the Browne children.
Merry threw the ball. Ethan swung at it and missed. Elsie chased after it.
âYou need to widen your stance,â Clay called to the boy.
Ethan straightened and looked Clayâs way, suspicion in his eyes. âYou ever played baseball?â
âAs a matter of fact, yes. I have.â
âWhen?â
Clay took Ethan by the upper arms and angled the boyâs shoulder toward Merry. âBack when you were still in diapers.â He couldnât see Ethanâs frown, but he knew it was there all the same. âIâve even seen the Chicago White Stockings play.â
Ethan looked up and behind, skepticism giving over to excitement. âYou have?â
âYep.â Clay turned the boyâs head forward. âYour feet need to be a few inches wider than your shoulders. There. Thatâs good. Keep a bit more weight on your right foot. Bend your knees a little. A little more. Now hold the bat about here. Thatâs right. Keep your head steady.â He backed away from Ethan and stepped off to the side. âOkay, Merry. Throw him a good one. Ethan, be ready for it. Donât try to hit it too hard. Thatâll come later.â
The boy missed Merryâs first pitch, but he connected with the ball the next time, surprising his older sister as well as himself.
âThatâs it!â Clay shouted. âYou did it!â
Looking as proud as if heâd hit the ball over the roof of the theater, Ethan held the bat toward Clay. âYou do it, Mr. Birch.â
âMaybe later. Right now Iâm hungry. I thought Iâd fix something for lunch.â He turned on his heel and started toward the house. To his surprise, the three Browne children left their game and followed him inside.
Merry said, âAunt Vena was going to make lunch after she finished writing to the Hitching Post catalogue.â
Clay stopped in the middle of the kitchen. âThe Hitching Post ? Why was she writing to them?â
âSame reason as before.â Merry shrugged. âTo find herself a husband.â
âTo find herself a husband .â
The words reverberated through Clay.
âTo find herself a husband .â
So what had he thought she would do? Heâd offered her and the children this house to live in temporarily. He was paying her a modest salary, one he could ill afford to pay. And heâd promised her a bonus if the opera house turned a good enough profit after its openingâwhich would take a miracle. Short-term fixes, all of them.
âTo find herself a husband .â
When heâd burst into the office a short while ago, proclaiming the good news about Ada May Innsbruck, heâd wanted nothing more than to pick Luvena up and spin her around in celebration. Well, maybe heâd wanted one thing more than to spin her around. Heâd wanted to kiss her. Truth was, whenever he was with Luvena, he wanted to kiss her. Sometimes when he wasnât with her, he still thought about kissing her.
âTo find herself a husband .â
It wouldnât be
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