Collision of The Heart Read Online Free PDF

the young woman and then slipped through the door beside the choir loft and away to the rear of the church. Little light save for the ambient reflection of snow shone through the window. The odor of burned candle wax and old songbooks stung her nostrils, scents as familiar to her as the college library but not as comforting. These aromas pricked her conscience.
    She hadn’t been to church in far too many weeks as she pursued and followed her dream—just like her father. Except she never made promises she didn’t intend to keep. She would return to this church on Sunday and thank the Lord for preserving her life and that of so many others.
    She opened the rear door to a blast of snow-thickened wind.
    “Miss? Miss, a moment please?” The high, thin voice battled the whine of the wind around the corner of the building.
    Euphemia slammed the door and turned back. “Yes?”
    “May . . . may I speak with you a moment?” Light from the sanctuary shone on the pale hair and face of the governess.
    Legs suddenly as stiff as a snow sculpture’s, Euphemia retraced her steps down the passageway and joined the young woman just inside the church. “How may I help you?”
    “I . . . well, I was wondering . . . I couldn’t help but overhear . . .” The young woman twisted her hands together and gazed past Euphemia’s left ear. “Some people offered you a place to stay, and I’m afraid my employers won’t like me keeping their daughter amongst the hoi polloi. That’s what they’ll call this.” She swept one hand out to indicate the assembled persons sleeping on the pews. “But the hotel and boardinghouse are full. So I was wondering . . . we can compensate you, of course. My employers are generous when it comes to their daughter’s needs.”
    “You’ll compensate me for what?” Euphemia asked.
    The young woman stared at Euphemia as though she were a rather dull-witted child. “Why, for you to give up your room in the boardinghouse and stay with your friends.”
    Euphemia’s wrist throbbed. Her head ached. She could no longer feel her toes inside their sodden stockings and boots. She wanted nothing more than to steam herself dry beside a fire and then go to sleep in a real bed. But not a bed at the Goswell house. The strength to guard her heart against seeing Ayden, hearing Ayden, catching his scent of sandalwood and thyme and not suffering no longer ran through her veins.
    She opened her mouth to say absolutely not, she needed that room to work, but the governess had begun twisting her hands together hard enough for her fingertip to protrude through one of the darns in her gloves. She must be poorly compensated or need her wages for other more important matters to wear such shabby gloves in the winter. The employers who were generous with their daughter’s needs apparently didn’t feel the same about her governess. Were they ungenerous enough to dismiss her for not taking good enough care of their daughter despite the circumstances?
    The mere possibility kept Euphemia’s mouth shut until she found the courage to answer. “All right. Tell Mrs. Greene you may have my room.”
    “Thank you.” The young woman smiled, and her eyes glowed like sunlit silver. “I’ll pray extra for you for this kindness.” Back straight and steps light, she hastened to wake her young charge.
    Euphemia retreated to the entryway. The Goswells had gone. She must, like a supplicant, arrive at their door in the middle of the night.
    “How humiliating,” she muttered.
    The alternative, remaining at the church to sleep on a pew in her wet garments, was less acceptable. For warmth and food and a dry bed, she could swallow her pride just this once and risk encounters with Ayden—or perhaps not.
    For several minutes, she stood in the doorway to the sanctuary, poised on her toes and uncertain whether to run up the aisle or out the front door. The sanctuary was warm enough. She would dry eventually beside the stove. Then