Free Lanterns and Lace by DiAnn Mills Page A

with open windows and vases of fresh roses.
    “How long will you need a room?” Mr. Snyder was a thin fellow with a long, pointed nose.
    “I’m not sure,” she said. “May I pay you each week until I make a decision?”
    “Very well.” Mr. Snyder seemed pleased. “The second floor is for the ladies. You will be in room four, up the stairs and at the end of the hall. Breakfast is served at seven, dinner at noon, and supper at six.”
    She followed the man upstairs. The establishment looked clean, and she heard no noise. Mr. Snyder unlocked a small room that looked a bit shabby in comparison to the charming bedroom at the doctor’s home.
    “Thank you, sir,” she said as his long, bony fingers handed her the key. “This will do quite nicely.” Once he left, she raised a window to air out the stale smell tarrying from the previous guest.
    She considered the room’s basic furnishings: a single iron bed, an oak washstand complete with a basin and pitcher, a dresser and mirror, a small armoire, and a well-worn chair in a faded gold fabric. A threadbare quilt lay across the bed, and blinds covered the window. But it was clean.
    Jenny removed her hat and lay across the bed. Too many things wrestled with her mind. She must consider a new plan to secure Rebecca since the good doctor was not married, as she had originally hoped. Neither did he have a houseful of children and want to give her up. She shouldn’t allow the kindness of the Andrews family or their love for Rebecca to stand in her way. Her niece deserved to be with her own family.
    Just as she drifted off to sleep, a knock at the door startled her. “Miss Martin, you have a visitor in the lobby,” Mr. Snyder said.
    “Who is it?”
    “Doc Andrews.”
    Jenny fumed. “I have no need of a physician. Not now or ever. You may give him that message.”
    *****
    Monday afternoon while Rebecca took her nap, Grant had calmed down enough to take his adoption papers to Morgan for his inspection and then to pay one last call on Jenny. His mother’s words still rang in his ears: You should have gone after her when she left church. But when he whirled around to check on Jenny, Turner had followed her. Grant figured the two deserved each other. Although that wasn’t much of a Christian thought for a man sitting in church, he had to confess to honest feelings. For some reason, Jenny Martin brought out the worst in him.
    Maybe he wasn’t a good father at all. Maybe Rebecca needed Jenny as a substitute for a mother. Maybe he was just plain selfish in wanting to keep his little daughter. He clenched his jaw. Maybe he needed to stop doubting himself.
    Grant made his way down the street to his brother’s law office. He had Rebecca’s adoption papers in his hand and a heavy weight in his heart. Two people had interrupted his otherwise peaceful life—Jenny Martin and Aubrey Turner. Jenny wanted his daughter, and Turner—well, Grant prayed he was not Rebecca’s father.
    Moments later he observed his brother painstakingly examining each document in Rebecca’s adoption file. The only sound came from the steady tick-tock of a mahogany wall clock mounted behind Morgan’s desk. Grant checked the hour, then read for the third time his brother’s law degree hanging on an adjacent wall. His attention moved across the room to the titles of law books stacked precariously on a bookcase beneath the clock.
    His patience wavering, Grant studied the lines etched on Morgan’s brow. He appeared so deeply immersed in the papers before him that he failed to acknowledge the pair of eyes scrutinizing him. Grant pulled a pen from inside his jacket and scribbled the name Jenny Martin on a pad of paper before him. Beneath her name, he wrote Rebecca Faith Andrews and her birthday. He drummed the pen on the top of the mahogany desk. His brother glanced up and shook his head.
    “Must you always make some sort of noise?” Amusement flashed from Morgan’s eyes.
    Grant smiled and ceased the