Free Bending Toward the Sun by Mona Hodgson

place for a conversation. But would you care to be seated?” Quaid pointed to the desk chair.
    “It’s an uncomfortable topic.” When she finally met his gaze, he saw a thunderstorm brewing in her eyes. “I’ll stand. Thank you.”
    This was his first encounter with Emilie’s matter-of-fact tone, and he didn’t like it. He hated hurting her. Of course she was angry with him. They had been friends growing closer, but lately he’d been avoiding her, practically shunned her this morning.
    “I’m sorry we weren’t able to talk earlier.”
    Even her sigh charmed him.
    “Weren’t able?” She pressed a gloved hand to a cabinet as if to brace herself. “If we were on Main Street now, in my father’s line of sight, would you not run from me again?”
    “You talked to him?”
    “I had made such a fuss over the dollhouse that day I thought maybe you had decided I was still a child. But it was after you spoke to my father that everything changed between us. When I saw you this morning, I knew my father had interfered. At lunch, he finally confessed that he’d asked you to stay away from me.”
    Not to interfere with your education. Not to encourage your affections . “I’m sorry.”
    Squaring her shoulders, she stood straight. “No, I’m sorry you’re not the man I thought you were.”
    She couldn’t have stunned him more if she slapped him. He blew out a long breath.
    “The man I thought you were wouldn’t cower … wouldn’t abandon someone. Not someone he truly cared for.”
    He took deliberate strides toward her. When he’d closed the gap between them, he cupped her elbows, wishing her shawl was anywhere else. Her breath warm on his face, he lowered his lips to hers. Soft lips. Welcoming lips. He made himself take a step backward, still holding her arms. Now, the lightning in her eyes was on his side.
    “Does that feel like the kiss of a man who doesn’t care for you?”
    She shook her head.
    “I’m not the man you thought I was if you thought I could toss proprieties aside, show no respect for your father, and risk damaging your relationship with him.”
    Tears brimmed her eyes.
    “Like you, Emilie, I value family, and your father—”
    “Is all I have.” Her voice quivered, and his heart ached. He wanted to take her in his arms and make promises, say she had him too. But he couldn’t.
    “My mother told me not to chase my feelings, but to make them follow me.”
    A tear rolled from her bottom eyelid onto her creamy cheek. Bending forward, he wiped it away with his thumb.
    “I can’t trust my feelings if they mean I can’t be true to myself … who I am deep inside.”
    More tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she pulled a handkerchief from her reticule. “I like your mother.”
    “Are you sorry I kissed you?”
    “No.” Strength had returned to her voice. “But I don’t know what to do.”
    “You’re a woman of faith.”
    “I try to be. Yes.”
    “Do you believe God could change your father’s heart toward me … toward us?”
    “I want to believe it.”
    “Then you need to trust me. More important, you need to trust God.”
    Her lips tight, Emilie nodded, then walked to the door.
    Leaning on the office doorframe, he watched her walk past the wagons toward the door open to the street.
    “God, help me trust You. I love her.”

    Emilie sat in the armchair in her bedchamber. The light from her candle lantern cast a faint glow on the journal she held. Her Bible lay open on the small table beside her. Quaid’s mother was a wise woman, and her son, a wise man. A man who seemed to know her better than she knew herself. And he’d been right; it would break her heart to go against her father. Quaid had refused to ask her to choose.
    He was willing to wait.
    Had he known she’d heard his prayer and confession of love for her, waiting would have been unspeakable. She’d felt the impatience in Quaid’s tender, but certain kiss. She’d forced herself to maintain her gait until