LOVE IS PATIENT
Romance Collection
Hope’s Dwelling Place
Excerpt
Amelia trudged down the darkened street, her carpetbag growing heavier by the minute. Finally, her lantern light fell on a small yellow house. Amelia ventured closer and shone the light on the door. Above the lintel was an ornate sign that read: RICHTER HAUS.
Fatigue wilted her shoulders. “Thank goodness.”
She climbed the steps to the narrow porch, but hesitated at the door. It didn’t seem fitting to enter the house without knocking. Was the Richter family sleeping inside? She held the lantern up to one window. The light glared off the wavy glass.
She rapped on the door but there was no response. For good measure, she knocked again and listened for stirring from within. Satisfied the house was empty, she gripped the door latch and pushed.
“It’s locked!”
Her arrival was expected. Why would Mr. Richter tell her she would stay here, and lock the door without providing her a key? She worked the doorknob again to no avail.
The frustration of the day crawled up from her gut and she clenched her jaw. Leaving her satchel and reticule by the door, she tried the two front windows. Neither of them budged. She huffed out a breath of annoyance and took the lantern around the corner of the house. She held the lantern high and continued to make her way along the side of the house.
Near the back corner, she stumbled into a pile of firewood stacked against the house. “Oh!” Pieces of split stove wood tumbled down with a noisy clatter. A yowling screech split the air as a cat scrambled off the unstable woodpile.
An involuntary scream strangled in Amelia’s throat and a stabbing pain shot through her foot. She managed to hang on to the lantern as she hopped on one foot and leaned against the corner of the house.
Her breath heaved in and out as she waited for the pain to subside. Between the stagecoach’s delayed journey and the turbulent ride, Mr. Richter’s absence, and finding she couldn’t gain access to her promised living quarters, seething tears burned behind her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the tears to retreat.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she hobbled around the scattered firewood and found another window at the back. She set the lantern on the ground and pushed at the window. It gave a piercing squeak as wood scraped against wood, but at least it opened.
“Wer sind sie und was machen sie?” The deep masculine voice boomed through the still night air.
Amelia squawked and spun around. She understood the first part of the challenge: Who are you? “I’m Miss Amelia Bachman, the new schoolteacher. Mr. Richter?”
Two large, booted feet carried the man out of the shadows and into the lantern light. “You’re a woman!”
Under the circumstances, his observation was so ludicrous she didn’t know whether to laugh or throw the lantern at him.