by Delia Parr
“I beg your pardon?”
“The paint tins you brought into the hallway—did you have any tins containing black or white paint?”
“No, but I’m not sure I understand why—”
She let out a well-deserved sigh. “Come take a look,” she insisted, quite prepared for another “I told you so” from Mother Garrett.
He made his way over to where she stood near the base of the staircase, along the route he would have taken when he left the library. When he drew close, she pointed to the black and white stains. “I believe those are chicken droppings. In all fairness, I don’t think you tripped at all, Mr. Lewis. You probably walked through these droppings and lost your footing, which surely absolves you from any blame.”
His eyes widened. “Chicken droppings? Here? In this very hallway?”
Emma swallowed her pride and quickly detailed the events that led to keeping the chickens in the root cellar, including last night’s escape. “What happened here is decidedly not your fault, Mr. Lewis.”
“Apparently not,” he murmured. His shoulders squared and his backbone straightened a bit with the news.
She moistened her lips. “Naturally, I’ll replace the carpet, but I’ll most assuredly need your help in restoring the floorboards and some areas on the walls.”
“I can do that for you,” he assured her.
“And perhaps you might want to draw up that sample of the stencil design you had in mind for the hallway,” she added in an attempt to assuage her guilt. She set aside her previous concerns about not having the right to change Hill House in any way until the question of ownership had been resolved. By offering Mr. Lewis the opportunity to earn a fee, Emma also hoped to compensate him for this awful experience.
He nodded, thanked her, and recruited Ditty to follow him to secure the necessary agents to clean up the floorboards and walls before the paint dried.
In their absence, Emma walked to the far end of the hallway, got down on her knees, and started rolling up the carpet runner in the hopes of shoving it outside to the front porch when she finished. “Why, oh why did Mr. Lewis have to step in those droppings?” she complained. But when she thought that someone else might have slipped and fallen, like Mother Garrett or Aunt Frances, whose aged bones were very fragile, or Lester Burke, who was already troubled by his deformed foot, she decided to be grateful. At least Mr. Lewis was young enough and healthy enough to keep his balance and not fall and injure himself.
She rolled up several yards of carpet, stopped to catch her breath, and glanced down the hallway to the entrance to Hill House. If the heir and rightful owner of this boardinghouse walked through that front door right now and discovered this mess and how it had happened, he would probably evict her before the sun set.
Hopefully, he would not arrive in the next several days, which was long enough to get the hallway restored to some semblance of order. Even better, if he did not arrive for several weeks, there would be a lovely stencil on the walls to welcome him, which was the only benefit she could imagine might come out of this whole episode.
Emma was halfway down the hall, where the damage to the carpet was the greatest, when she heard a carriage pull up outside the front yard. Fearful that her thoughts about the heir might actually have conjured up the man’s appearance, she froze in place—until she heard Butter barking.
Spared her worst fear, she then fretted that Reverend Glenn and Butter would soon be entering the house through the front door, unaware of the disaster lying in wait for them. With horrid visions of the retired minister slipping on wet paint or the dog tracking paint throughout the first floor, she started rolling the carpet as fast as she could.
She ignored the wet paint flecking back toward her, but she was still a good ten feet from the door when she heard the retired minister’s footsteps on the front porch. She stopped and leaned back on her haunches again, waiting for just the right moment.
“Stop!” she shouted the moment she saw the knob begin to turn.
“Emma?”
“Yes. Please stop. It’s not safe to come inside yet. We have a bit of a spill in the hallway. I need a few more moments to make it safe for you to enter,” she explained.
“We’ll wait.”
At this point, the carpet roll probably weighed as much as she did, but she managed to roll up the last ten feet and used the last of her strength to shove the entire roll far enough away from the front door to let the elderly man and his dog inside.
She stood up, stretched to ease the kink out of the small of her back, opened the front door, and led the two of them past the barrier to the west parlor. “I just need you to keep Butter in here until we get the paint off the floorboards,” she explained, grateful the dog usually stayed close to his master.
While she carried Reverend Glenn’s coat and hat to the oak rack in the hallway, he settled himself into one of the chairs facing the fireplace with the dog plopped faithfully at his feet. “When I asked Reverend Austin to bring me home in time for supper, I had no idea I’d be in the way.”
“You’re not ever in the way,” she argued, quickly explaining what had happened last night and just this afternoon. By the time she finished, he was chuckling, and so was she.
“Forgive me, Emma. Since the tragedy, it seems some days, like today, are very difficult, but the good Lord always seems to find a way to add a bit of laughter. I didn’t mean to laugh at your expense.”
She chuckled again. “If I don’t laugh about this, I might be tempted to cry.”
“Some folks might get themselves into a snit over what happened,” he said.
“Being angry never solved anything.”
He smiled. “Being home with you all at Hill House is good for my spirit. I hope you know that.”
She nodded but swallowed hard. Unable to sit down for fear of smearing wet paint on any of the furniture, she stood beside his chair and placed her hand on top of his. “Home is more than just Hill House. It’s wherever we are. Together,” she murmured. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” she began and poured out the same tale of mistakes and disappointments she had shared with Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances last night.
He listened patiently and without judgment, as always. When she finished, he turned his hand over to clasp hers. “You’ve carried a heavy burden alone all these months.”
She nodded. “I didn’t want to worry anyone else.”
“Worry never solved much of anything,” he prompted with a smile. “Unfortunately, I’ve had to remind far too many people of that these last few days.”
She nodded. “I do have some good news,” she shared, and this time, as she detailed the proposal she had received from Mr. Breckenwith, her mind was more peaceful and her heart beat just a little faster.
21
I CAN’T DO THIS.”
At midmorning on Tuesday, Emma repeated her statement for the third time as she paced back and forth in the kitchen.
And for the third time, Mother Garrett simply continued stirring the barley soup she would be serving for dinner and ignored Emma.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought over the past few days, and I’ve decided I’m just going to have to be honest with the man, speak my mind, and get the matter settled right now.”
Mother Garrett let out a sigh. “Which man? The one who has turned the library into the messiest tailor shop this side of the Atlantic? I’ve only had a peek inside, but that was enough for me.”
Emma stopped in her tracks and scowled. “No. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Burke. He’s agreed to let Liesel and Ditty into the library to clean tomorrow, and I’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t mistreat them,” she added, then resumed pacing, troubled by the man’s deteriorating health as well as his mood.
“Then you must mean the man who has made it nigh impossible to use the center hallway without risking life and limb,” her mother-in-law prompted.
Emma paced faster. “I had no idea Mr. Lewis would have to erect so
me kind of makeshift scaffolding just to sketch a bit of the design he’s created, but I’m hardly in a position to complain. He’s been very understanding about what caused his mishap in the hallway.”
“And almost as pleased as I am that those chickens of yours are safe and secure outside again,” Mother Garrett quipped. She took a taste of the soup and added more salt to the pot before stirring again. “If it’s not Mr. Burke or Mr. Lewis, that leaves a few other men here at Hill House, but I doubt they’ve done anything to set you to pacing back and forth in my kitchen like that poor panther that’s tied up in the tent Mr. Gray put up in front of his tavern.”
Emma stopped again. “Encouraging folks to spend twenty-five cents to see that pathetic creature when there’s so many people in Candlewood in need—or to use the panther to lure people into the tavern to spend more money on refreshments—is a disgrace.” She drew in a long breath but was unable to stem her outrage. “To allow people to throw stones at the animal or to poke it with poles is unconscionable. I have no qualms about confronting Mr. Gray . . . which I fully intend to do when I have the time, the opportunity, and an appropriate escort. And I’ll say the same to Mr. Guenther and his cronies who managed to capture the animal to collect Gray’s bounty.”
Emma shook her head. “It’s Mr. Breckenwith I need to speak to,” she admitted.
Mother Garrett sighed and laid her spoon down on a small plate next to the stove. After taking a seat at the kitchen table, she pulled out a chair and patted the seat next to her. “Come. Sit yourself down next to me.”
Emma hesitated. “I’m not sure I can sit still for very long. I’m too unsettled.”
“Then try. Otherwise, you’re going to wear yourself out, and you have a busy afternoon planned.”
Emma sighed her way to the chair and sat down. “I do have a busy afternoon, which is exactly my point. Mr. Breckenwith is coming to dinner in precisely three hours.”
“He’s come for dinner before.”
“As my lawyer. This time is different,” Emma argued and slipped her hand into her pocket to hold her keepsakes. “When he asked me to see him over the next few months to decide whether or not I would allow him to court me, I was very flattered and happy . . . and I said yes.”
“But now you’ve changed your mind?”
Emma bowed her head for a moment. “I . . . I think so, yes. But I’m not sure. I’m confused.”
“I see,” her mother-in-law murmured, placing her hand at the nape of Emma’s neck and gently massaging the tenseness from the muscles there. “Would you like to talk about it and tell me why?”
“I just don’t like how I’m feeling,” Emma offered, leaning back and savoring the comfort of her mother-in-law’s touch. “For the first day or so, I was certain that I welcomed Mr. Breckenwith’s interest in me. I’ve known him for over five years. He’s a good man. He’d make a good husband.”
“Agreed.”
“But then I began to think about how much my life would change if I eventually did marry him. What would that mean? Would I give up Hill House—assuming I get to buy it again, of course—or would I have to give up whatever venture I choose instead? There are simply too many uncertainties.”
“Isn’t that precisely what you two would be discussing over the next few months?” Mother Garrett asked.
“I suppose.”
“You’ve had any number of meetings and discussions with him over the years. Have you ever found him to be domineering or unreasonable or calculating?”
Emma managed half a smile. “He can be forceful in his opinions, yet he listens to me and hears me out when I disagree with him. But we were always discussing possible investments or legal matters, not building a life together. I’m not even certain I remember how to have a conversation that isn’t related to business when I’m alone with a man.”
She paused and fingered her keepsakes. “Maybe . . . maybe I should just be content with the life I have. I have wonderful memories of being married to Jonas. My children and grandchildren are coming this April, and I’m looking forward to spending time with all of them again. I have you and Reverend Glenn and Aunt Frances with me. My life is full, albeit a tad unsettled at the moment, and all Mr. Breckenwith does is complicate my life.”
“‘Complicate,’” Mother Garrett said and dropped her hand away. “You should reconsider using that word. It’s a little harsh. Try enrich or fulfill.”
“They don’t mean the same thing at all!”
“Don’t they? Think about it, Emma. Until your recent legal troubles, your life was decidedly uncomplicated. It’s better here at Hill House than it was at the General Store, I’ll grant you that much. But even though you’ve only had the boardinghouse open to guests for two years, those guests come and go from spring through fall, and you spend all those months, season after season, working so hard you scarcely have a moment for anything but work. When winter comes, we’re all holed up here waiting for spring to come and the cycle to repeat itself.” She put her arm around Emma’s shoulders.
“I know, but—”
“You won’t have me or Reverend Glenn or Frances here forever, either. At our ages, we’re grateful every morning just to wake up and be here for another day. I can’t speak for the others, but I can tell you that I don’t want you to be alone like I’ve been for all these many years. I want you to have a husband, a companion, someone who will enrich your life and make it more fulfilling for you as a woman—just a woman, not a woman of business. That usually means your life gets more complicated.”
Emma leaned toward her mother-in-law. “I don’t want to be alone, either,” she whispered. “It’s just hard to think about courting again. I’m going to be fifty-two years old in a few months, but the very notion of being courted makes me so anxious I wonder if I can do it at all. It would be a whole lot easier to just forget about the whole notion and be content remaining a widow. At least, that’s how I feel one minute; the next, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Marrying is serious, complicated business,” her mother-in-law noted. “Just remember that it’s better to be alone than it is to marry the wrong man. I think that’s something you should be thinking about over the next few months. Is Mr. Breckenwith the right man or isn’t he? You must think he might be or you wouldn’t have given his offer any more thought than you gave to Mr. Langhorne’s.”
Emma chuckled, looked up at her mother-in-law’s beloved face, and found the woman’s eyes twinkling. “He was a cad, wasn’t he?”
Mother Garrett grinned.
“Cad? Who was a cad?” Aunt Frances asked as she walked into the kitchen.
Emma straightened up and grinned at Aunt Frances. “We were talking about Mr. Langhorne.”
“Hmmph. He was a cad, a charlatan, and a fool for thinking he could set himself up as a country gentleman on land he tried to force from my boys. Not when we had you to help us. But I’m willing to forgive the man, considering he eventually found land a good ten miles from my boys,” she added with a smile. She settled into the rocking chair near the fireplace and looked back directly at Mother Garrett. “I thought I’d better tell you that we’ll be having another guest today for dinner.”
Mother Garrett rose and went back to stir the soup still simmering on the cookstove. “There’s plenty,” she said before tasting the soup and adding more salt. “Who’s coming?”
“Anson Kirk.”
Mother Garrett scowled. “And I thought you were my friend. You invited Anson Kirk here? For dinner?”
“No, Reverend Glenn invited him yesterday when Mr. Kirk said he wanted to stop back to check on the chicken pen he helped the others build. I just plumb forgot to tell you.”
“Wasn’t Reverend Glenn home all day yesterday? I don’t remember Mr. Kirk stopping by,” Emma noted as she rose to get the afghan for Aunt Frances’s shoulders.
“Reverend Glenn went out for an hour or so in the afternoon with Reverend Austin. The members of the church vestry called a special meeting and
wanted both ministers to be there, probably to thank them both for all the hours they spent helping members of the congregation after the fires and such. I’m not sure, though. Reverend Glenn didn’t really say what the meeting was about when he got home. We were so busy chatting about other things, I never thought to ask him.”
“I don’t remember him leaving,” Emma countered as she handed the afghan to her aunt-by-affection.
“Thank you, Emma dear. You were probably busy upstairs at the time. Wasn’t it Monday when Miss Burke was demanding your attention for some reason or another?”
Emma shivered. It had taken her several long hours to convince Orralynne she did not look like an elephant in the voluminous gray gown her brother insisted she wear when she began sitting for her portrait. “Yes, I believe that’s where I was.”
“Remind me to have a chat with Reverend Glenn after dinner,” Mother Garrett snapped, sloshing a bit of soup over the rim of the pot.
“Matchmaking must be contagious these days, although Mr. Kirk doesn’t seem to need any persuasion to be interested in a certain person who just happens to be stirring soup at the moment.”
Mother Garrett cast a hard glance in Emma’s direction. “Please don’t make me remind you to respect your elders, namely me. Anson Kirk is just a winter suitor. Nothing more. Which means I have no intention of paying any mind to that man.” She huffed. “All he does is complicate my life.”
Emma raised a brow. “ ‘Complicate’? You should reconsider using that word. It’s a little harsh,” she teased, tossing the woman’s very words back at her.
“He’s a winter suitor, Emma.”
“Don’t be a ninny, Mercy. That’s just a schoolgirl idea of ours and you know it,” Aunt Frances countered. “He’s a very nice man.”
Mother Garrett sniffed. “Then you talk to him at dinner,” she suggested before stirring the soup again.
