Read Online To Mend a Dream by Tamera Alexander - Free Book Online

because she thought the man a murderer. Rather because she knew the meaning of the passage. It ref lected a heart of regret. One of frustration. And she wondered what he’d been regretting in that moment when he’d quoted it. Was it giving Miss Sinclair permission to redecorate, perhaps? Understanding all the money the woman had spent? Or . . . was it another kind of regret entirely? What if he’d been referring to something far more personal?
    That possibility caused her to go still inside. What if he’d been referring to—
    â€œMrs. Pruitt!” Miss Sinclair called out, the sharp staccato of fashionable boots approaching.
    Savannah hastily returned the leather tome to the shelf and raced to stand behind the door in case Miss Sinclair looked inside the room. But the footsteps continued on toward the kitchen, and Savannah leaned her head back against the wall and allowed herself to breathe again.
    The last three or four days, Miss Sinclair had seemed bent on accomplishing everything she’d planned and more, and with good reason. She was set to return to Boston later that week.
    At the woman’s insistence, Savannah had brought her sewing machine last week and had set it up in the boys’ old bedroom upstairs in order to sew decorative pillows to the woman’s precise specifications. And Savannah had sewn a dozen so far, with another dozen cut out and ready to be sewn. Where visitors were going to sit when they came calling, she didn’t know.
    But there was a new desperation to Miss Sinclair’s efforts to make this house her home, and Savannah didn’t have to wonder long as to why. Even she sensed the distancing between the couple. She wasn’t privy to details about the pending nuptials, which was just as well. She got a sinking feeling in her gut every time she thought about it. Which she tried not to do.
    Listening for footsteps and hearing none, Savannah opened the door as Mrs. Pruitt’s voice carried toward her from the kitchen.
    â€œYes, Miss Sinclair. Last I saw Miss Anderson, she was upstairs sewing the pillows you requested, ma’am.”
    Peering down the hallway and seeing the back of Miss Sinclair’s dress, Savannah made a dash for the stairs and raced up, avoiding the risers with the worst creaks and half deciding that whatever box her father had hidden was gone. Or perhaps . . . Heart pounding, she slipped into the boys’ bedroom and took her seat at the sewing machine. Perhaps it had already been found.
    Miss Sinclair’s steps sounded on the stairs, and Savannah picked up one of the partially sewn patterns, trying not to appear as guilty as she felt. It had been hard enough to be in Priscilla Sinclair’s company before. But with what had happened with Mr. Bedford—
    But what had really happened? After all was said and done? Nothing. He’d looked at her. That was all. And as she and Maggie and Mary—her closest friends—had said in younger years, “It doesn’t take much to get a boy to look. It is getting him to look at the right things that matters.”
    The same was true for men, she guessed. Even though she wanted to believe Aidan Bedford was different. But in the end, how much did she really know about the man? Other than that he’d purchased her family’s farm, he was searching for a haven, and he held an appreciation for Shakespeare.
    As well as a tiny part of her heart.
    â€œMiss Anderson?” Miss Sinclair peered through the doorway, breathless. “Quickly! I need to discuss something with you in the central parlor. Posthaste! It’s about the furniture!”

CHAPTER NINE
    â€œâ€” AND EVERY PIECE OF FURNITURE IN THIS ROOM MUST GO . Surely you’re in agreement, Miss Anderson.”
    Aidan overheard Priscilla’s voice as he opened the front door. His interest more than piqued, especially after the day he’d had, he paused in the foyer. The door to the central parlor on