The Caregiver - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,3

I was so worried about boarding the wrong train. You and me, Katie, and my Uncle John will have to stick together then, jah?”

For a moment, she was tempted to smile right back and take him up on his offer. But that would be a silly thing to do. Within a few hours the train would stop in Cleveland and she’d never see them again.

So she settled for self-preservation. “Jah,” she said simply, then turned her head away so she wouldn’t see the expression in their eyes.

Obviously misjudging her uneasiness, he cleared his throat. “By the way, I’m Calvin and this, here, is my sister Katie.”

“Katie Weaver,” his sister corrected.

“And I am Lucy Troyer.”

Calvin inclined his head. “Lucy, we are pleased to meet you.”

“I as well,” she said. Then feeling like a fool again, she turned toward the window and closed her eyes. Though she tried her best to relax, she was finding it next to impossible. She was too aware of his presence. His smile. His easy way of moving.

And the horrible knowledge that once again she was noticing a much too handsome man whom she really knew nothing about. And was accepting his words at face value.

Just as she’d once done with Paul.

As Lucy turned away and closed her eyes, Calvin bit back regret. When he’d first spied her sitting in the row behind them, he’d been thanking his lucky stars. She was a pretty thing. Her hair was the color of dark honey, and her light golden eyes reminded him of the fields outside his kitchen window on an August morning.

But her attitude was curious. With Katie, she seemed relaxed and easy to talk to. With him, however, her manner was different. She’d been skittish. Bordering on rude.

No, that’s not quite right, he reflected. Her manner had been more circumspect. Restrained. Actually, it was almost as if she’d been afraid of him.

He frowned. Never before in his twenty-six years had a woman looked at him with such apprehension. On the contrary, most seemed to go out of their way to be good company.

He’d always taken that for granted, he supposed. It was what came of being Calvin Weaver, the oldest son of the Weaver family—the biggest landowners in Jacob’s Crossing.

As Katie squirmed next to him, he prayed she’d fall asleep soon. “Settle, shveshtah,” he murmured.

“I’m tryin’. But it’s hard to get comfortable.”

“Try harder. You’re making too much noise.”

“You take up too much room.” After a pause, she said, “Maybe I could go sit beside Lucy? She hardly takes up half a seat.”

“Of course you can’t.”

Katie’s expression turned mutinous. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t just go sit next to someone you don’t know.”

“People do on the train.”

Her logic was giving him a headache. “Hush now.”

“But—”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.” She turned her back to him, and squirmed and fidgeted.

While she did that, Calvin turned his mind back to Lucy.

What, he wondered, had set her off? Had he said something that could be misconstrued? Replaying their brief conversation in his mind, he could think of nothing untoward. Perhaps she just hadn’t felt like talking.

After another bout of restlessness, Katie curled up in a ball under a thick blanket and finally stilled.

Peace at last!

Though it was a bad idea, Calvin took the opportunity to pull a worn letter from his jacket’s inside pocket. In the relative privacy of his seat, he smoothed out the creases, rubbing his thumb against the folds . . . and over the words he had memorized six weeks ago. But couldn’t seem to let go of.

His last letter from Gwen.

There was no reason for him to still have the note. He knew why Gwen had broken up with him. Everyone in Jacob’s Crossing knew. She’d fallen in love with one of his friends and had been too full of herself to even tell him in person.

No, she’d written him a letter.

Which he still kept, much to his embarrassment.

Dear Calvin, the letter began. I fear I must finally be honest with you . . .

She’d feared. “Finally.” Each word and phrase hurt him anew. Calvin blinked, then, like an addict, focused on the words again, farther down the page.

Will and I, we can’t help our feelings, you see . . .

As the words swam in front of him, he remembered the conversation with his brothers.

“Why don’t you go to Indiana for a spell,” his youngest brother, Graham, had said. “There’s no need for you to witness their courting.”

But running away had seemed weak, and he’d told them that.

His