Lynna Banning Read Online Free PDF Page B

eyes widened, then narrowed in comprehension. “Best ask Miss Scharf.”
    “Miss Scharf?” He barked the name. “What does Miss Scharf have to do with the zinnias?”
    “Well,” the old woman began, “it’s not exactly her, it’s probably.”
    Jonathan pivoted and headed for the stairs before the housekeeper could finish her sentence. He went up two at a time and with the knuckle of his fisted hand gave a short, sharp rap on Erika’s closed door.
    “Miss Scharf?”
    No answer. He knocked again, then edged the door open.
    The room was empty. The lacy coverlet had been neatly drawn up on the bed, the single window propped wide open. A fresh, sweet-scented breeze ruffled the lace curtains. Jonathan paused, his hand resting on the doorknob.
    Something felt different. The room was serene. Straightforward. No perfume atomizers or jewel boxes or other fripperies adorned the chest of drawers, no petticoats or discarded wrappers were tossed carelessly across the chair or the narrow bed. The faint smell of lemon oil made him lift his nose and sniff the air. For a moment he forgot the anger that had propelled him up the stairs.
    Something about the room slammed a fist into his solar plexus. It was neat, well-ordered, purposeful, like its occupant—the single-minded young woman Tess had engaged as a helper.
    Tess had never returned a garment to her capacious wardrobe or polished a single piece of furniture in her short married life.
    That was it! The room seemed strange because it was not like Tess. In the next instant an ache laced his heart into a knot of anguish.
    She’s gone, you fool! Let her rest in peace.
    His anger returned threefold. Someone had decimated the zinnia border Tess had wanted. Each morning for a week she had supervised the digging and planting undertaken by their neighbor, TheodoreZabersky. Each morning for a week Tess had smiled at Jonathan instead of complaining about the long hours he spent seeing patients or all-night ordeals delivering babies on remote farms throughout the county.
    It had been a sweet time for the two of them; he damn well wasn’t going to let this reminder of it be destroyed!
    He banged the door shut. “Miss Scharf?” He shouted her name louder than he’d intended. “Answer me!”
    “Here,” a muffled voice sounded. “In library.”
    Library? He didn’t have a library. She must mean the upstairs sitting room. It was the only room in the house besides his study where Tess had allowed his books. What in God’s name was an uneducated immigrant girl doing in there? He strode down the hallway and threw open the door.
    Erika looked up from the desk— his desk, he noted with annoyance—and gave him a shy smile. The curve of her mouth faltered as he loomed over her.
    “I—I hope you not mind,” she said with a slight stammer. “I find quiet place for study.” She indicated the notebook spread before her, flanked by a dictionary and a worn-looking textbook. “I pronounce new American words and write many times to remember.”
    Reading upside down, he made out a row of carefullypenciled words. Tureen. Another line began with unerring and ended with congratulate.
    “Miss Scharf, what happened to the zinnia border?”
    Her blue eyes widened. “Zinnia? What is zinnia, please?” She lifted her pencil, poised it over the notebook.
    Jonathan clenched his jaw and counted to fifteen before he trusted himself to speak. “Zinnias, my dear young woman, are the flowers that grow along the front path. Or did. Come here and take a look!” He tramped over to the window.
    When she joined him, he pulled aside the curtain and directed her gaze to the walkway below.
    “Flowers gone,” she observed. She looked at him expectantly.
    “I’ll say they’re gone. The question, Miss Scharf, is where have they gone? And why? In this household, you do not pick flowers without permission.”
    “But I do not pick!” she protested. “Maybe Mrs. Ben—”
    She halted, clapped one hand over her