Free Banished Love by Ramona Flightner

I’d hate for us to suffer her punishment.” She shuddered at the thought.
    I shook my head, thinking of poor Miss Lewis and her garnished wages for a few hours of freedom for the students.
    “Oh, but we did have a fun time of it today,” Florence continued as she cleaned the chalkboard. “We painted and sewed and a few are learning to knit.”
    I grimaced at the thought of attempting so many of the domestic arts in one day.
    “Of course there are always accidents,” she said, wiping a hand down her skirts.
    I looked toward her skirt and gasped, noting the dark green paint marring the pretty pink linen. Thankfully, there were no stains on her cream-colored shirt. “Florence! How will you get the paint out?”
    “Oh, a little of this ’n’ that. And I’m sure someone at the Chinese laundry will have an idea,” she said, wiping at her skirt again. “I shouldn’t like my clothes so much. But I do. If only I could entice you to window-shop with me.”
    “Oh, Florence, you are good medicine,” I said with a laugh.
    “When is this man going to show up, so I can finally enjoy some of the sunshine myself?”
    “Ahem,” a low voice said.
    Florence and I twirled around toward the door, nearly tripping on our long skirts. I caught myself on one of the children’s desks, flushing with embarrassment to be seen in such an unladylike way again.
    “Mr. McLeod!” I called out, straightening, though feeling short of breath. “Thank you for coming by.” I walked toward him extending my hand in greeting. He watched me intently, taking my hand in a firm yet gentle grip.
    “Miss,” he replied. He looked pointedly over toward Florence, watching her with apparent fascination, before guarding his expression. Florence seemed rooted to the spot, watching him as though in a daze.
    “Richard,” Florence whispered.
    Gabriel’s eyes flashed before he hid his emotion. “No, ma’am,” he replied. “I’m Gabriel McLeod.” His voice sounded cold, clipped.
    Florence nodded, then collapsed into a chair, looking as though she had seen a ghost. Her ashen color made me worry she would soon faint. Finally she looked up toward Gabriel and in a small voice said, “I’m Florence Butler.”
    Gabriel nodded curtly, hiding any further recognition he may have had. “Nice to, ah…meet you, Miss Butler.” He glanced quickly around the room, hiding his features from us.
    I had a few moments to study him. His strong hands gripped his hat as though in anger. His broad shoulders tensed under his dull off-white shirt and gray jacket, and he kicked at the foot of a student’s desk with a rough brown boot before turning to face me again.
    I glanced toward Florence, but she still seemed overcome with shock. I itched to hear her story. Wiping my hands on a rag, I tried to clean them and prevent dirtying my crisp white blouse. After a few moments, I set down the rag and crossed my hands on my waist, covering a simple silver belt, and hoped no chalk would mar my pretty rose-colored skirt. I smiled nervously, welcoming Gabriel.
    “I’m here about the sideboard and bookshelves, if you recall.” There was silent mirth in his eyes as he focused on me.
    I nodded my assent. “I have thought about bookshelves for a long time. Ideally I would like to have glass-fronted ones to help keep out the dust, but those are too dear and impractical with children.” I paused, lost in imagining the ideal shelves in my mind. “Therefore I would like them to go from the floor to at least shoulder height. There are a lot of books here,” I said, pointing to a pile stacked against a far wall.
    He nodded, taking in the space and dimensions at a glance. “I will need exact measurements. Have you given any thought to how you would like the bookshelves made?”
    I had thought he would make all the shelves at a standard spacing and had not imagined he would customize the project for me. Gabriel took my silence to mean I did not understand his question.
    “I can