Free Saturday's Child by Dallas Schulze

often, to Quentin Sterling.
    "Yes, you are a fool, Katie McBride, even setting aside that he's a Sterling—and wealthy in his own right, too—what would he see in you? You're passing attractive but never likely to be a beauty and you've little to recommend you beyond the fact that you're healthy. There's nothing to draw his eyes, even if he weren't who he is and you weren't who you are. But he is and you are and that's the end of that."
    The thought was surprisingly depressing, all the more so for having been said out loud. She blinked, clearing her blurred vision as her fingers flew over the bodice. She'd worked into the wee hours the night before and risen with the birds to start again. She'd heard the big old grandfather clock downstairs strike not long ago and she'd counted the stately bongs but she couldn't remember how many there'd been. It must be after noon, and she'd not left this chair all morning.
    Maybe that would explain why she felt slightly lightheaded and why it seemed so logical that she should be talking to herself. Or perhaps it was that she hadn't eaten. She'd gone down to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter that morning. The kitchen had been abustle with preparations for the wedding dinner.
    Edith had promised to bring her noon meal as soon as she could, but she was likely as busy as Katie and had not yet had the time to climb the three flights of stairs from the kitchen. Not that she was hungry. She hadn't felt hungry in a long time. But this odd, hollow feeling in her head might have something to do with a lack of nourishment. It was hard to think of anything beyond the next stitch. She felt as if she'd spent most of her life with a needle in her hand.
    She heard the door open but it took several seconds for the sound to register fully. When it did, she slid the needle into the fabric and let the garment fall to her lap. Her fingers had been pinched around a needle for so long that it took a deliberate effort to loosen them.
    Looking up, she blinked to focus bleary eyes on her visitor, expecting to see Edith with a tray in her hands. But the figure standing in the doorway was much too large for Edith. Color rushed into her cheeks and she pushed back her hair with shaking fingers, suddenly aware of how unkempt she must appear.
    "Mr. Sterling." Her voice was hoarse from lack of use.
    "Hello, Katie. No, don't get up." She obeyed his command, uncertain that her legs would hold her.
    "What are you doing here?" She realized how blunt the question sounded and struggled to rephrase it, though her brain felt as sluggish as her legs. "I mean, what can I do for you?"
    "Nothing." He stepped into the room, leaving the door open for propriety. "The whole house seems to have gone mad with wedding preparations. I'm seeking a small sanctuary. Do you mind?"
    When he smiled at her so winningly, she'd not have minded almost anything he chose to do.
    "Not at all. I'm afraid there aren't many places to sit."
    "Don't worry about it. I've sat more these past few weeks than I have in years. I'm not accustomed to spending so much time in a sitting position, unless I'm in the saddle of a horse. Do you ride, Katie?"
    She thought of the one time she'd ridden a horse about Central Park, her leg awkwardly hooked around the saddle while the horse seemed to go wherever he pleased, paying no mind to her futile tugging on the reins.
    "I've ridden," she said cautiously.
    "In Wyoming, I spend most of my days in the saddle."
    "You sound as if you miss it."
    "I do. More than I'd thought possible." He crossed the small room to look out the window. Soft rain fell outside, running down the city's famous hills in small rivers, washing the streets clean. There was something melancholy about rain falling on a city. Rain should fall on fields and mountains where the earth could drink it in.
    He'd been here too long. Maybe he shouldn't have come in the first place. It had seemed like such a good idea when his mother wrote