Page 37 of On a Midnight Clear

Stella lectured herself on the importance of pragmatism during the entire walk between the small house she shared with her father and the Old Corner Drug Store.

Yet the moment she spied Frank standing in front of the shop , his suit freshly pressed and his bow tie slightly askew , her pulse hiccupped , and her mind flooded with the words he’d spoken yesterday.

“I care for you a great deal.”

Heavens. How was a woman supposed to keep her feet on solid ground when a man as fine as Frank Stentz spouted such a sentiment?

Stella halted in front of the bank across the street from the drugstore and took a moment to breathe.

As tempting as it was, she couldn’t allow the giddy waves of romantic happiness surging through her spirit to mute her wits.

One had only to look to the disastrous fate of Jane Austen’s Lydia Bennet to be reminded of the dangers inherent in letting emotional whims dictate one’s decisions.

Real love wasn’t a fairy tale where happily ever after magically dissolved all obstacles a couple might face.

Real love tackled obstacles together, even those that left bruises and scars.

Real love entailed sacrifice. Perhaps even the sacrifice of letting go.

That thought added enough lead to Stella’s shoes to reestablish her equilibrium.

Moving through a cluster of ladies discussing the latest bonnet fashions, Stella stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.

About halfway across, Frank spotted her.

A smile bloomed across his face, immediately transforming the lead in her shoes into a bright, hope-filled gold.

It seemed he was an alchemist as well as a mathematician.

Stella’s steps quickened of their own accord, making her slightly breathless as she accepted his hand to ascend onto the walkway. Or perhaps the breathlessness had been induced by his nearness, because it persisted even after her movements ceased.

“You’re early,” she said, her brain currently incapable of producing conversation with an ounce of wit.

Frank shrugged, his shy gaze darting from her face to the street to somewhere in the vicinity of her neck before finally climbing back to her eyes. “After being tardy to dinner at our first meeting and again yesterday, I wished to establish that I do, in fact, possess the ability to be punctual.”

Stella smiled. He really was quite endearing when trying to impress. Of course, the simple fact that he wanted to impress her had already weakened her knees. “I’ll be sure to add punctuality to your list of favorable traits.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You keep a list?”

She laughed softly. “Only in my mind. Though it is growing rather lengthy now that I’ve had the chance to get to know you beyond an epistolary context. Perhaps I should consider a written enumeration of traits. I wouldn’t want to forget any.”

“As long as you only record my positive attributes. It would be quite disheartening to think a list of my flaws existed where some undiscerning soul might stumble across it.” He gave a little shudder. “I happen to know there are numerous datapoints in that particular subset.”

“Are there?” Stella moved toward the shop door, casting a demure glance over her shoulder. “I’ve not had cause to observe many at all.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward before he recalled that he should open the door for her. Lurching forward, he clasped the handle and swung the portal wide so that she could enter the shop ahead of him.

A half dozen patrons wandered through the deep, narrow shop, perusing the medicinal and sundry items on display in the glass cases and shelves on the merchandise side of the shop.

Stella gravitated to the right, toward the soda fountain, where a pair of boys sat on stools at the counter, sipping the dark, carbonated beverage she planned to order for Frank.

The clerk drying glasses behind the bar set aside his towel and nodded to her. “Howdy, Miss Barrington. What can I get for ya?”

“Two Wacos, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The clerk pumped dark syrup into a glass, then added soda water on top before giving it a stir with a long-handled spoon.

Frank leaned close. “I don’t see Waco on the menu board,” he murmured.

Stella smiled and pointed to the sign on the wall behind the clerk. “It’s the one at the top.”

Frank’s forehead scrunched. “I readily admit that I’m an atrocious speller, but I’m pretty sure Waco starts with a W . The top flavor on the board is named for some doctor named Pepper.”

The clinking of the spoon inside the glass diminished as the clerk finished the first drink and began making the second.

“The shop owner, Mr. Morrison, is trying to train us to use the new name,” Stella explained, “but most of the locals still call it a Waco. You’ll see why when you taste it.

The flavor is completely unique, and it’s only made here, hence the tendency for residents to claim it as their own.

One of Morrison’s pharmacists, Charles Alderton, created the recipe a few years ago.

It contains a mix of twenty-three different flavors, but no one knows precisely which ones.

” She winked and leaned in close enough to smell a hint of Frank’s shaving soap.

“I think Morrison keeps the recipe locked in a safe somewhere. Trade secrets, you know.”

“Ah, a mystery.” Frank waggled his brows. “I can’t wait to taste this secret concoction.”

Stella chuckled. “Oh, I doubt it will be a secret for long. From what I hear, Morrison plans to bottle and distribute it across the state. Who knows, in a few years, you might be able to order a Dr. Pepper in Cambridge, Massachusetts.”

“Something else to make me think of you.”

Stella smiled, but her heart drooped at the thought of him being back at Harvard ... without her.

“Here you go, Miss B.” The clerk set two full glasses of dark soda on the counter in front of her and poked a paper straw into each one.

Grateful for the distraction, she nodded. “Thank you, Lionel.”

Frank slid a couple of coins across the counter, then collected the glasses. “Where to now?”

Recalling the reason she’d asked him to meet her here, Stella nodded toward the rear of the store. “There are some tables in the back.” Tables that would afford a semblance of privacy while still being properly in public.

She led the way to a small table for two positioned against the side wall. Frank set their drinks down, then helped her with her chair.

“Thank you.”

His smile shot straight to her heart, his eagerness to please palpable. And please her he did. So much.

Once he was seated, she took a sip of her soda and waited for him to do the same. “What do you think?”

His eyebrows arched in surprise a moment before a look of contemplation overtook his features.

“You’re right. I’ve never tasted anything like this.

” He sipped, then tipped his head. Then sipped and raised his gaze to the ceiling as if running a complex analysis.

After a moment, he accepted defeat and grinned.

“I have no idea what it tastes like, but I like it.”

“I’m glad.” After scanning the store to ensure no one she knew stood nearby, Stella took another sip for courage, then scooted her glass aside. “Frank. I’d like to talk to you. About ... well, about what you said yesterday.”

He gulped suddenly, then sputtered as a cough caught him off guard.

“Are you all right?” She started to get up, thinking to pound him on the back to help with the choking. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you with no warning.”

He waved at her to keep her seat and fished in his coat pocket for a handkerchief. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t sound fine. He sounded like a strangled toad.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m fine. Truly.”

This time he sounded more like himself, and Stella released a sigh and leaned back in her chair. The few patrons at the rear of the store who had turned to stare resumed their shopping once the choking subsided.

Frank wiped his mouth and chin with the handkerchief, then gave a discreet swipe of the tabletop that Stella pretended not to notice. She busied herself with unbuttoning her outer coat and slipping her arms from the sleeves. Embarrassment was apparently an excellent heat conductor.

Having regained control of his lungs, Frank leaned forward slightly and kept his voice low. “Am I correct to assume that you are not referring to our discussion of the nativity production?”

Stella nodded. “I didn’t have the chance to respond to your ... statement yesterday, but I wanted to confirm that my feelings on the matter align with yours.”

She doubted she would ever forget the smile that stretched across Frank’s face at that moment. Such absolute delight. Over her . She’d never thought to find someone who would care so much for her good opinion. For her affection.

“I am glad to hear it.” He glanced up at a man who’d approached a display of cigar boxes a few feet away before turning back to Stella. “Will your father be at home this evening? I would like to discuss the matter with him as well.”

Talk to her father? So he was considering a proposal. Stella felt as if her chest had been hooked up to the soda water tap. Effervescence expanded within her, nearly making her dizzy. Only the recollection of the obstacles before them kept her from floating to the drugstore ceiling.

“Before you do, I’d like to share a few concerns, if I may.”

Frank’s expression sobered, but his eyes never left hers. “Of course.”

Stella looked away first. “As you might have surmised, my father and I are very close. It’s been just the two of us for the last ten years, and I’m not sure I can abandon him to follow a path that takes me hundreds or even thousands of miles away.”

Frank leaned back in his chair, and a canyon seemed to open between them. “I see. That is a variable I had not considered.”

The man shopping for cigars made his selection and moved toward the front of the store. Seeing no one else within earshot, Stella seized the privacy of the moment and pushed aside vague conversation in favor of plain speech.

Placing her hands on the table, she leaned forward. A touch of pleading laced her words. “Perhaps we might continue our correspondence while you are in Germany, and a way will present itself for us to be together when you return.”

His gaze focused on hers again, and the intensity of it made her heart throb. As if he had no care for who might see, he reached across the small table and clasped her hand. “Stella, if I can have you, I have no need for Germany.”

“No need for Germany?” What was he saying?

“You cannot forfeit such an opportunity, Frank. Not for me.” The very idea was ludicrous.

“Papa has told me about your fellowship. How Gottingen is considered the epicenter of mathematical thought and advancement. It’s your dream.

You’ve written as much to me in your letters. ”

His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “Dreams change. As do people.” He released a sigh.

“I have a confession to make. I didn’t come here for the symposium.

I came here for you. To see if the woman I’d grown to .

.. admire through letters might consider a courtship in person.

Family is important to me, too. So important that I’d gladly forfeit a fellowship to build one of my own with the right woman.

” His thumb ceased drawing its soothing circles, and all of his fingers squeezed hers.

“I’m convinced that you are the right woman, Stella. ”

“But ... Germany. You can’t...”

His mouth tightened. “You sound like Muir.” He pulled his hand away from hers, and it hurt as much as if he’d taken a layer of her skin along with it.

“I don’t need to study in Germany to contribute to mathematical advancement.

Benjamin Peirce never left the States, and his research is considered on par with all the giants in the field.

There are other ways for me to steward the gift God has given.

Yes, I love research and delving into theories that have yet to be proven.

But I also love teaching. For of what good is knowledge if it is not shared? ”

“And this teaching you love ... it is to take place at Harvard, correct?”

He fell silent, and her heart panged. She understood the dilemma too well. His family or hers? They couldn’t live close to both, and moving somewhere between the two would only leave them close to neither.

It was a problem with no solution. At least not one she could see. But she wouldn’t give up hope just yet. Her heart belonged to a mathematician, and judging by his expression, he’d already started ciphering. If there was an answer to be found, Frank would find it.

And if there wasn’t? Well, she served a God with the power to break the rules of science and nature, so anything could happen.