Refining Emma

by Delia Parr

  She hesitated less than a single, rapid heartbeat before smiling at him. “Yes,” she whispered as she slipped her hand into her pocket to find and finger one of her keepsakes—a piece of the dress she had worn when she had married her sweet Jonas—for-ever grateful for the love and affection and companionship she had shared with him.

  “Yes,” she repeated, trusting in His guidance as she contemplated beginning the journey to love again . . .with Zachary Breckenwith. “I do have one request,” she cautioned, determined to convince him that she would be capable enough to watch out for her own legal interests until April, when he would return to Candlewood for good.

  18

  THE TIME HAD COME TO SHARE SECRETS, not keep them.

  With Zachary Breckenwith on his way home and the residents and guests tucked in for the night, Emma climbed the center staircase in the dark. She wore a shawl to guard against the late-night chill of a winter evening that followed her up the stairs. She paused on the landing and waited as the grandfather clock struck the tenth hour before proceeding to Mother Garrett’s bedroom.

  She smiled when she spied the light filtering through the crack beneath her mother-in-law’s door. As she approached it she heard hushed voices inside the room, but she hesitated for only a moment before she rapped. “Mother Garrett, it’s me. Emma,” she whispered as loud as she dared for fear of disturbing the others who were already abed.

  The voices stilled. Slow, heavy footsteps approached. The door creaked open a notch.

  Wearing an old-fashioned nightcap on her head, Mother Garrett poked her face out the door. “Is he gone?”

  Emma chuckled softly. “Yes, he left some time ago. I stayed downstairs to do some paper work for a while before I locked up for the night.”

  The door swung wide open. “Then do come in. Frances and I were hoping you’d stop in to see me before taking to your bed,” Mother Garrett whispered.

  As soon as Emma slipped into the bedroom, Mother Garrett gently shut the door again. In stark contrast to the guest rooms, Mother Garrett’s bedroom was just as tiny and plainly furnished as Emma’s, with a single bureau with a small oil lamp, a bed, a footstool, and a rocking chair. Aunt Frances was sitting in the rocking chair—the very one Emma’s grandmother and mother had used and passed on to Emma, who had rocked each of her three sons in it.

  Aunt Frances tugged at the heavy afghan wrapped around her shoulders. She smiled and patted the footstool nestled between her and the single bed covered with a rumpled patchwork quilt where Mother Garrett had apparently been sitting while chatting with her friend. “Sit, Emma dear, sit. I hope you’ll forgive a pair of old busybodies, but we’ve been waiting here for some time. We were wondering if you and that nice Mr. Breckenwith were having a good visit together like Reverend Glenn and I had tonight. Did you?”

  Emma eased herself down onto the footstool and nodded. “We had a good meeting,” she offered, fidgeting a bit to get the list of prospective lawyers out of her skirt pocket. She handed it to Mother Garrett, who had sat back down on the bed.

  “What’s this?” her mother-in-law asked as she unfolded the paper.

  “Mr. Breckenwith gave it to me. It’s a list of lawyers he suggested I consult.”

  Mother Garrett stared at the list for a moment, shrugged, and handed it back to Emma, who stored it away again. “I can’t see why you’d need another lawyer when you already have one.”

  “Isn’t one lawyer enough for you?” Aunt Frances asked.

  “Ordinarily, I should hope so,” Emma replied. She quickly detailed her lawyer’s plans to be traveling back and forth between Candlewood and New York City for the next few months. Anxious to end the secrecy that had undermined her relationship with her mother-in-law since last fall, she took a deep breath. “Under the circumstances, he felt it best for me to have another lawyer familiar with my . . . my legal problem so there’s no delay should I have an opportunity to resolve it in his absence.”

  Mother Garrett frowned. “Legal problem? What legal problem?”

  Emma reached out and took her mother-in-law’s hand. “I’ve had a very serious problem since last fall. I . . . I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want to alarm you . . . or disappoint you. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to resolve this problem and it may be some time before I’m able to do so.” She blinked back tears of regret.

  “I’m sorry. I realize now I shouldn’t have kept this problem a secret from you or Reverend Glenn or you, Aunt Frances,” she added, glancing over at the elderly widow. “You’re part of our family at Hill House now, too, and I can’t have you planning on returning to us in the spring for the tourist season when I’m not even sure any of us will be here then.”

  Aunt Frances smiled and patted Emma’s shoulder, but Mother Garrett’s tug on Emma’s hand drew her attention back to her mother-in-law. “This secret of yours. The legal problem. This is why you haven’t been yourself,” she managed, her voice husky with emotion.

  Emma swallowed hard, both ashamed and humbled to have to confess how wrong she had been. “I thought I could keep you from worrying and tell you about all this later, after I’d solved the problem. But . . . but I’m not sure when that’s going to happen or even if I’ll be able to resolve it in my favor.

  “I need to tell you that Hill House does not belong to me,” she admitted. Slowly and carefully, pausing often to answer the two women’s questions, Emma detailed the events that had brought her to this point: her first meeting with the lawyer representing the estate of the deceased owner of Hill House and the interests of the heir, as well; Zachary Breckenwith’s advice to fully evaluate her plans to sell the General Store, which had been in her family for three generations, to purchase the abandoned property; then the discovery that the other lawyer had absconded with the purchase money before filing the title. She ended with the news that she was currently waiting for the heir to arrive to inspect Hill House and decide whether or not to sell it to Emma.

  When she finished, she let out a sigh. “I know you urged me not to rush into buying Hill House, and as it turns out, you were right, which means you get to say ‘I told you so’ as often as you like.”

  Aunt Frances clucked and shook her head. “Poor dear. She’ll do no such thing, will you, Mercy?”

  Mother Garrett tightened her hold on Emma’s hand. “You’re a good woman, Emma. Smart too. But you’re also a bit headstrong and willful at times, which makes you just as human as the rest of us. Nevertheless, I love you just as you are. I’ve told you so before and I suppose I’ll just have to tell you over and over for whatever days I have left on this earth. We can face anything, as long as we do it together.”

  “There. That should make you feel better,” Aunt Frances crooned. “There’s no sense fussing and fuming about something you can’t change about the past.”

  “I know,” Emma murmured, glancing from one elderly woman to the other with tears that blurred her vision. “What would I do without either one of you?”

  “You’d starve yourself into an early grave if you had to rely on your own cooking,” Mother Garrett quipped as she sniffed back her own tears, obviously secure in her place as the cook in Emma’s household.

  “I’m sure you’d manage to get along just fine without me,” Aunt Frances insisted.

  “Not without the benefit of your friendship and wisdom,” Emma countered.

  “And not without those beautifully embroidered linens you design,” Mother Garrett added with a twinkle in her eyes. “Just how long do you think it’ll be before that heir—that owner or whatever—gets here and makes up his mind about selling or not selling Hill House to you?”

  “I have no idea,” Emma admitted. “Mr. Breckenwith seems to think that since the heir doesn’t seem pressed to collect his inheritance, he might wait at least until the canal reopens in the spring to come to Candlewood. But Mr. Breckenwith is also afraid the heir might be unpredictable. He could appear on our doorstep literally any day.”

  Moth
er Garrett huffed. “Then again, maybe he won’t. I doubt he’d travel all this way in the heart of winter. The weather is too mean and the snow is usually too deep—not that we’ve seen much snow so far. What did you say the man’s name was?”

  Emma shrugged. “We only have the name of the lawyer currently handling the estate, a Mr. Mitchell from Philadelphia. Apparently the heir prefers to remain anonymous, at least for now.”

  “Then how are you supposed to know he is who he says he is when he does eventually show up?” Aunt Frances asked.

  Mother Garrett nodded. “Yes, how?”

  “Mr. Breckenwith tells me the heir will have a letter with him from Mr. Mitchell, which we can match to the correspondence he’s received from Mr. Mitchell. Mr. Breckenwith has them in his office, at least for now,” Emma noted.

  Mother Garrett nodded. “Then that’s why you need another lawyer—to have that correspondence on hand in case this heir arrives while Mr. Breckenwith is away.”

  Emma pulled the list of lawyers from her pocket again, grinned, and tore the paper into quarters and held them in one fist. “Actually, I don’t believe I’ll be using another lawyer. Mr. Breckenwith will continue to represent me until he leaves on Wednesday. I’ve asked him to bring any and all letters and documents he has concerning Hill House to me. If the heir arrives, I can easily compare signatures to determine if he’s the man he says he is. If he elects to keep Hill House for himself, then I don’t need another lawyer at all. I’m sure I can negotiate with the heir for a reasonable period of time to allow me to find a suitable place for all of us to live.

  “All of us,” she insisted and gazed directly at Aunt Frances. “I might not be needing your help here at Hill House, but wherever we are, whatever venture I decide to embark upon, I hope you’ll still come and stay with us each spring and summer.”

  “If I wouldn’t be a bother . . .”

  “You’re family, remember? You could never be a bother. Never,” Emma insisted.

  “But we all might be able to stay at Hill House,” Mother Garrett argued.

  “Yes, assuming I’m permitted to buy Hill House again. That’s when I’d definitely need a lawyer,” Emma replied.

  Mother Garrett rolled her eyes. “Then why did you tear up that list of lawyers from Mr. Breckenwith? What are you going to do if that heir does show up tomorrow or next week or next month and Mr. Breckenwith is away?”

  “Yes, Emma dear, what will you do?” Aunt Frances added.

  “I’ll ask the heir to have his lawyer draw up the proper paper work and forward it all to a lawyer here. Hopefully Mr. Breckenwith will be back by then. If not, the paper work will just have to wait.”

  “Oh, I can imagine how much Mr. Breckenwith fancied those ideas of yours,” Mother Garrett noted wryly.

  Emma cringed. “He wasn’t entirely pleased with my plans,” she admitted, “but after a rather lengthy discussion, I was able to persuade him to accept them. In the meantime, he’ll be in Candlewood, at least for short spells from time to time. If I’m given the opportunity to buy Hill House and he’s here at the time, we can decide then whether or not it would be appropriate for him to represent me and handle the sale or not.”

  Mother Garrett rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers and sighed. “I’m old and I’m tired, so forgive me, but didn’t you just say you weren’t getting another lawyer because you were keeping Mr. Breckenwith?”

  “Only in a manner of speaking,” Emma said with a smile. “You see, our business meeting ended up becoming a visit—a lovely visit. It seems Mr. Breckenwith has an ethical dilemma, one we hope to resolve over the next few months.”

  Aunt Frances frowned. “Although I haven’t known him as long as either of you, I do know Mr. Breckenwith’s character is above reproach. I can’t fathom he’d ever be faced with a question of ethics he couldn’t resolve rather quickly.”

  Emma grinned, got up from her footstool, and sat down on the bed next to her mother-in-law. “This particular dilemma is different. It seems he finds it problematic to court one of his clients. Naturally, I—”

  Mother Garrett gasped. “Court? Did you say court?”

  “Yes, Mother Garrett. I did. Mr. Breckenwith suggested that I should use the next few months, when he’s in town from time to time, to decide whether or not to allow him to court me and ultimately, I suppose, to marry. Obviously, it’s not a step I’d take lightly, and I’d want your blessing if I decide—”

  Mother Garrett hugged the words right out of Emma’s throat. “Of course. Of course you’d have my blessing,” she crooned.

  Emma eased away and cupped her mother-in-law’s face with her hands. “No one will ever take Jonas’s place in my heart, but I . . . I think I have room in my heart for . . .”

  “It’s time, Emma,” Mother Garrett whispered. “Frances and I both know it’s time.”

  “Yes, we do,” Aunt Frances murmured. “I think Reverend Glenn does, too.”

  “I haven’t accepted his proposal. I’ve only agreed to consider it over the next few months,” Emma reminded them. “And I think it would be best for now if we kept this between the three of us,” she cautioned, ever mindful of Mother Garrett’s struggle to keep secrets of any kind. “Mr. Breckenwith and I both agreed to keep our discussions about this private for now, although I did insist on telling you both. There’s a great deal to consider, not the least of which is whether or not Mr. Breckenwith is prepared to accept my family as part of our lives together. I also want to talk to the boys when they’re here for a visit in April before I make a decision as important as this one.”

  Aunt Frances dabbed at her eyes. “What about Reverend Glenn?” she asked, bringing the subject closer to home.

  “He’s family, too. I hope I can talk to him about this tomorrow morning before we leave for services.”

  Aunt Frances beamed, along with Mother Garrett, before both of the elderly widows gave in to healthy yawns.

  Emma stood up. “I think I’ve kept you both from your beds long enough. We can talk more tomorrow,” she suggested and gave each of them a kiss good-night before walking to the door. She turned around to face them again. “Thank you both for loving me and for not being angry with me for not telling you about not owning Hill House.”

  Grinning, Mother Garrett looked from Emma to her friend and back again. “You’re easy to love, Emma. Besides, any woman who finds a man willing to wait to be a spring suitor instead of a winter one is a very special woman.”

  “Well, we both know Emma is special,” Aunt Frances added.

  Emma chuckled, opened the door, and stepped out into the dark hallway. With her secret about Hill House and about possibly being courted come spring now unburdened, she almost floated her way to her bedroom. She slipped into her room, changed into a nightgown in the dark, and unpinned her hair. She left her clothes lying atop the trunk at the foot of her bed. Shivering in the cold, she eased along the length of her bed to the middle and dropped down to her knees. Her nightly prayers tonight took a bit longer than usual, and by the time she finished and pulled down the quilt atop her bed and slipped beneath it, she was chilled to the bone. Huddling under the covers, she yanked her pillow closer before plopping down and letting her head hit the pillow.

  Simultaneously, she heard an odd cracking sound and felt a gooey substance saturate her hair and scalp.

  An egg!

  There was an egg . . . on her pillow!

  “Faith!” she cried, leaped out of bed, and lit the oil lamp on her bureau. She glanced at the bed, and sure enough, bits of brown eggshell littered the top of her pillow amid the scrambled contents of the egg that had not stuck to her hair.

  “Obviously someone left the door to the root cellar open,” she grumbled. She looked around the room for the chicken, but the animal was nowhere to be seen. She looked everywhere—under the bed. Under the bureau. Behind the trunk. She was about to check under the bed again when a scream coming from the direction of the hall that led to the rooms where
the Masseys and Orralynne Burke were staying sent her across the room to a peg on the wall. She grabbed her robe, slipped it on, and charged out into the hallway.

  When she passed by Mother Garrett’s room, both Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances were standing in the doorway. Emma stopped and showed them her egg-drenched hair. “It’s just the chickens. One or both of them must have gotten out of the cellar and laid an egg on my pillow before wandering off to another room. I’ll let you know as soon as I find the culprit. In the meantime, I’ll try to decide if you should start making chicken stew tonight or wait until morning,” she snapped, then continued on her way to determine which of her guests had been gifted with a late-night visit from one or both of the chickens.

  19

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Emma overslept clear through breakfast and did not wake up until she was nearly too late to attend Sunday services.

  She charged out the front door and through the front gate to the waiting carriage. Giving a quick wave to the driver, Tom Adams, who brought a carriage from the livery to Hill House every Sunday, she climbed aboard and promptly collapsed onto the seat across from Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances.

  “I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting,” she gushed as she pulled her cape tighter to keep out the cold. Nothing, however, seemed to ease the dull ache that stretched in a tight band across her forehead.

  “Don’t bother yourself. We’ll be right on time for services,” Mother Garrett insisted as the carriage began to rock them toward church.

  “You had a late night,” Aunt Frances murmured. “But don’t worry. We took care of all the guests at breakfast, even Orralynne. She still seemed a bit testy when I took her breakfast to her room, but I suppose that’s not too unusual. Most folks wouldn’t take sharing their bedroom with a pair of chickens well. She insisted I take breakfast to her brother, as well. Apparently he’s not feeling well, but I couldn’t say for sure. He had me leave the breakfast tray outside his door.”