An Unlikely Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

down at the table. “What are you doing, Clarice?”
    He shifted his gaze to the box Miss Gordon had opened. It held all manner of writing supplies.
    â€œI’m making a note to include this story in my article. It’s the sort of personal touch that will make my report on this assembly lively and entertaining as well as factual. I shall title it ‘The Chautauqua Experience.’” Miss Gordon pulled out pencil and paper, dashed down words. “This is exactly what I was looking for. Something that will make my article stand out from all the other dull, factual reports and gain the editor’s and publisher’s attention.”
    His eyebrows rose. “Publisher?”
    Marissa Bradley glanced at him, something akin to apprehension in her eyes. “Clarice is a reporter for the
Sunday School Journal
.” She turned back to Miss Gordon. “You’ll not mention me by name?”
    â€œNot if you don’t wish me to. Let me think...” Miss Gordon stopped writing, looked up and grinned. “Ah! I’ve thought of the perfect name! I’ll call you ‘Miss Practical.’ Do you agree, Mr. Winston?”
    â€œWith your choice of the name ‘Miss Practical’ for the article? Yes, indeed. But as the perfect name for Miss Bradley...” He drew his gaze slowly over her face, his pulse leaping as pink again stole across her delicate cheekbones. “It is too early in my acquaintance with Miss Bradley for me to have an opinion as to that.”
    A pudgy hand holding a plate of food inserted itself between them. He nodded his thanks as a woman placed tin plates holding boiled potatoes, green beans and two-tined steel forks in front of them, then looked back at Marissa Bradley trying to judge her reaction to his intimation that he would like their budding acquaintance to continue. She had her gaze fixed on her plate. No encouragement there.
    He frowned down at his food, stabbed a bite of potato. There was something about Marissa Bradley that drew him in a way no other woman had done. Perhaps it was the mystery of the sadness in her eyes. Whatever it was, he intended to see her again—though instinct warned him she was a very proper young lady and would refuse a direct invitation.
Propriety!
    He jabbed a forkful of green beans, lifted them to his mouth as he pondered the problem. How could he overcome the social conventions of propriety? Another “chance” meeting? He worried the idea around a bit, smiled and impaled another potato. With all of its activities, the assembly should offer ample opportunity. He would find a way.
    * * *
    Marissa rose from the bench and slipped out of the tent to avoid the crush of people when the lecture was over. What a wonderful speaker! The woman had been so concise in making her points about each moral idea she presented. Envy struck, brought forth a long sigh. If only she could be that succinct when she was speaking. Unfortunately, memories always came swarming into her head and her heart got involved. Her subject was not an academic one. It was personal. She lived it.
    Grief rose in a sickening wave. Tears stung her eyes. She lifted her hems and ran down the short, narrow path to the larger main one. It was crowded with people. The hum of their voices, chatting and laughing, caused her tears to overflow. She looked around, but there was no place to go where she could be alone. Dusk was falling, and it was too dark to go into the woods, even if she dared.
    She drew a long steadying breath, wiped the tears from her cheeks and joined the flow of people going downhill.
    â€œ...saw them putting up the canopy on the shore.”
    â€œ...the concert...”
    â€œ...perfect end to the day.”
    Bits of conversations about the evening entertainment flowed around her. She eavesdropped shamelessly, using the distraction of learning more about the concert to get her emotions under control. Sorting the pieces of information