Loving Helen Read Free Page A

She’d taken but a few steps when voices — or rather, one voice, Mr. Preston’s — reached her.
    “More and more I feel I cannot continue as I have been. I am at a loss to know what to do with Beth. She needs a mother, and I …” His voice trailed off, and Helen waited expectantly for a response from whomever he was speaking to.
    None came. But Helen imagined that she heard a wearied, despondent sigh.
    “It is a wretched thing for me to bring up today, of all days,” Mr. Preston continued. “But I cannot seem to help myself. I beg your forgiveness, though I have already asked it far more than I deserve.”
    His earnest plea received no response. Helen crept closer, feeling a vague sense of annoyance and desperation on his behalf. Who would not forgive him? Would not even deign to respond?
    The second courtyard came into view, and Mr. Preston with it, hunched forward on the bench, head in his hands.
    He is upset. This unsettled her. She had expected his mood to be contemplative but not so sad or serious as he appeared now. She had also — foolishly, she worried — imagined that he would be pleased by her unexpected arrival. Never before had she witnessed Mr. Preston display any emotion aside from joviality. The change left her uncertain how to proceed.
    Everyone has problems, her grandfather had once told her. Do not ever consider yours to be greater than those of others around you. Be compassionate — a lesson I wish I had learned much earlier in life.
    Helen felt compassion stir within her now, though she felt at a complete loss as to what to do about it. Biting her bottom lip, she alternately hid behind the hedge and peeked around it as she pondered what course of action to take. She did not wish to abandon her plan — it had taken courage to come this far — but to continue seemed beyond self-serving. Mr. Preston obviously had something pressing on his mind, and she should show him respect enough to postpone her attempts to gain his attention.
    Having decided this, she felt relief. She let out a breath she had not realized she’d been holding, and her hands unclenched. Parting the bushes, she peeked into the courtyard one last time before returning down the same path she’d come. Aside from Mr. Preston, the square was empty, so whomever it was he’d been speaking to must have left already, by the opposite path.
    Odd , Helen thought, that he’d been with anyone at all. She’d watched him for nearly three weeks, and never once had she seen anyone accompany him on his morning ramblings.
    It was a mystery she would have to consider later. For now, she wished only to leave before she could be seen. Moving quietly, she began her retreat but had taken no more than five steps when Mr. Preston spoke again.
    “Miss Thatcher?”
    Helen stopped, pinned in place by his voice. She turned slowly and found him still hunched on the bench, now with his head turned sideways toward her. He’d caught her during the few seconds the path crossed his view.
    “Hello.” She did not attempt a smile. Somehow, as she noted his solemn look, smiling did not seem appropriate.
    “Have you been here long?” he asked. “Did you hear —”
    “Not long,” she rushed to assure him. “I heard you speak briefly but did not hear your companion at all. My apologies. I did not mean to eavesdrop.”
    He sighed, then straightened on the bench, tilting his head back as if searching the sky. After a few seconds looking heavenward, he lowered his head, braced his hands on his knees, and stood.
    “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Helen said, glancing over her shoulder at the path behind her. “I’ll go now.”
    “Don’t — please.” He crossed the courtyard and came to stand before her. “You needn’t leave on my account.”
    “I should not have come.” Helen could not meet his gaze, shamed that she’d ever had the idea to disrupt him on his morning walk.
    “Nonsense,” he said, a hint of his usual good humor in his tone.