Refining Emma

by Delia Parr

  “Unlike my reputation,” she murmured, grinning to herself. Being considered eccentric, if not foolish—or accused of having a touch of cabin fever for wanting to use the patio in the middle of winter—was a small price to pay for helping Reverend Glenn find a private place to propose to Aunt Frances.

  She turned from the window and stopped to extinguish the oil lamp on her dresser before leaving her room. Descending the staircase to the center hallway below, she knew that the heavy snowfall had proven to be more blessing than curse after all.

  Because roadway travel, even by foot, was virtually paralyzed, Aunt Frances’s stay at Hill House had been extended indefinitely, giving Emma more time to prepare for Reverend Glenn’s proposal. Instead of worrying if the owner of Hill House might suddenly appear on her doorstep, she could simply enjoy each and every day and try to follow Reverend Glenn’s advice about letting God’s plan for her unfold and hope to learn the lessons He set before her as it did.

  Because the storm had taken a good two days before dumping the record snowfall, she was hopeful Zachary Breckenwith had been able to ride ahead of the storm. She was also relieved Mr. Lewis had finally given up his plans to stencil the center hallway. He had removed the scaffolding yesterday.

  Shivering despite the heavy work gown she wore, she hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, where she found a good warm fire burning in the fireplace and water already heating on the cookstove. Liesel and Ditty were already at work on breakfast peeling, slicing, and dicing a mound of potatoes, but there was no sign of either Mother Garrett or Aunt Frances. She greeted the two girls with a smile before closing the door behind her. “Good morning.”

  “It is a good morning, Widow Garrett. Did you see how bright the sun is today? Maybe now some of the snow will begin to melt,” Ditty announced.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d been the one to go outside to collect the eggs. It’s just as cold today as it was yesterday,” Liesel argued. “I’m sorry. I forgot to say good morning, Widow Garrett.”

  Emma donned an apron and tied it at her waist. “How many eggs did you get today?” she asked, worried how the chickens were faring after the storm.

  “One. Just like yesterday. Come spring, we’re going to need more chickens or we won’t have enough during the season.”

  Emma chuckled. “I’m not certain I can bring another chicken onto the property. Mother Garrett seems pretty set on seeing the two I already have end up in her stewing pot.”

  As if summoned, Mother Garrett appeared, coming into the kitchen by way of the service stairs, with Aunt Frances right behind her. “To my mind, the only good chicken is a dead one, and that’s the only kind I expect to see brought into my kitchen. What you pen up outside is entirely beyond my interest. You two young ones can scoot back upstairs now. We’ll take over getting breakfast ready,” she ordered.

  Emma agreed. “The bed linens need changing today. You can get an early start in our rooms and be done by breakfast. Afterward, you can start on the guests’ rooms.”

  The two young women gave up their places at the table to the two elderly widows, but Ditty lagged behind Liesel when she started up the stairs. “What about Mr. Burke?”

  “I’ll ask his sister, but if she needs help changing the bed linens, I’ll take care of it,” Emma promised and noted the relief in Ditty’s gaze before the young woman scampered up the stairs, tripping once on the way up.

  Mother Garrett shook her head in disgust. “And to think I was under the misguided notion the girl had finally grown into her own two feet.”

  “She did better today. She fell twice going up those same stairs yesterday,” Aunt Frances offered, stopping her work long enough to defend Ditty.

  “And twice again coming down,” Mother Garrett countered and sliced her knife clear through a potato the size of her fist. “I’m not certain, but I suspect she grew into her feet, but they’ve simply started growing again.”

  Emma carried the pot of hot water over to the counter to add to the pitchers already half filled with water for the guests who would be rising soon. “As I recall, you seem to have been more patient with Ditty in the past,” she remarked as she started to fill the first pitcher.

  “That was before. When I didn’t have so much on my mind.”

  For fear of burning herself, Emma kept her gaze focused on her task. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were troubled.”

  “Considering we’ve all been snowed in for a good while, I’ve had lots of time to think lately, rather than actually doing something about what’s on my mind. Not that you’d notice lately. You’ve spent the past few days convincing guests to help you dig a walkway through the snow on the patio so you can sit outside this afternoon in the middle of winter to enjoy a fire when we have more fires going inside the house than there are people. And just to set the record straight, I didn’t say I was troubled. I said I have a lot on my mind.”

  Emma suppressed a grin and swallowed the hook her mother-in-law had baited and looked directly at her. “Thinking about what? What’s on your mind?”

  “Secrets. Making secrets and keeping them,” her mother-in-law explained, emphasizing her words by dicing as she talked.

  Emma was tempted to ask which secrets her mother-in-law meant. Instinctively, however, she knew the elderly woman was not talking about the secret they had agreed to keep about Emma’s legal troubles or Mr. Breckenwith’s proposal or the location of the panther’s final resting place. And Emma had no reason to suspect Mother Garrett knew anything about Reverend Glenn’s secret or Emma’s plans to provide a place for the elderly minister to propose.

  Which only left the secret between Emma and Mr. Atkins at the General Store—a secret Mother Garrett had been chewing on for weeks, unable to get a whisper of information from Emma.

  “I told you before,” Emma cautioned and set the pot down to rest her arm before filling another pitcher. “When you and Aunt Frances are able to get to the General Store, Mr. Atkins promised he would tell you both his news in person.”

  “But we can’t get there,” Aunt Frances interjected. “He’s such a nice young man. I’m sure he didn’t expect we’d have to wait so long to find out his news.”

  Mother Garrett huffed. “You may as well forget trying to pry a word out of her. She won’t budge.”

  “Unlike some other people, who shall remain unnamed, I don’t break a secret,” Emma countered. “I might be tempted to give a few hints, since Mr. Atkins told me I could, as long as I thought I should. What you make of those hints, however, will be entirely up to you.”

  Mother Garrett set her knife down and wiped her hands on her apron. Her eyes glistened with anticipation. “Tempted how?”

  Emma shrugged. “Offering to make me a tin of molasses cookies might be a fair temptation.”

  “Tell her you’ll make her two,” Aunt Frances whispered.

  Mother Garrett glanced over at her friend. “I can’t. I used the last of the molasses making those beans that spilled on the floor when Ditty bumped into me when I was taking the pot off the cookstove.”

  “Oatmeal cookies are always a treat, especially when they’re real, real thin and crunchy, like Emma prefers them,” Aunt Frances suggested.

  Mother Garrett looked askance at her friend. “They take twice the bother!”

  “I like them as well as molasses cookies,” Emma prompted, feeling oddly left out of the conversation.

  Mother Garrett stared at her.

  “Mercy, give that girl what she wants and stop being so fussy.”

  “One tin of oatmeal cookies, but not today. I promised Mrs. Massey I’d make her some apple dumplings. Since she’s hoping to move back home a day or so after the snow melts, I need to do that first. I’ll make your oatmeal cookies tomorrow.”

  Emma did not try to hide her grin. “Tomorrow is good. In return, you can each have two questions.”

  “What? We only get to ask two questions?” Mother Garrett protested.

  “You alrea
dy know the answer to the most important question: Has Mr. Atkins found someone he’s interested in courting? The answer, obviously, is yes,” Emma admitted. “You two matchmakers just want to know who she is, so I’ll let you each have two questions, and I’ll give you hints for an answer. Fair or unfair?”

  “Fair,” the two elderly women replied in unison.

  “Think carefully. You only get two questions apiece,” Emma reminded them, leaned back against the counter, and folded her arms across her chest. Giving the two of them hints about the young woman who had caught Mr. Atkins’ attention might just give them both enough fodder for conversation this morning to keep them too busy to notice the final preparations Emma would be making so Reverend Glenn could finally propose to Aunt Frances after dinner.

  The two friends haggled back and forth for a few moments before Mother Garrett addressed Emma. “Was the young woman in question born in Candlewood or did she move here later with her family?”

  “She was born here.”

  Mother Garrett smiled. “That’s gonna make it easier to narrow down the list of prospects.”

  “Maybe for you. I haven’t been living in town like you have,” Aunt Frances complained before giving her attention to Emma. “Does she attend services on Sunday?”

  Mother Garrett sniffed her displeasure. “Don’t answer that, Emma,” she insisted before gazing at her friend. “What difference does that make?”

  “It makes all the difference,” Aunt Frances argued. “Mr. Atkins shouldn’t consider courting anyone who doesn’t have a good strong faith in God or attend church on Sundays.”

  “I know that. I mean, what difference does that make to us? We only had three questions left, and you wasted one of them with that one.”

  “Maybe we saw her at services. That would help us, wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s clever thinking,” Mother Garrett admitted. “Go ahead, Emma. You can answer Frances’s question.”

  “Yes and no.”

  Mother Garrett heaved a sigh. “That’s not an answer.”

  Emma grinned. “Yes, she regularly attends services, but no, she wasn’t at services the last time we were there.”

  “Oh dear. I think I did waste a question with that one,” Aunt Frances admitted.

  “We’d better think about this, Frances. We only have two left now,” Mother Garrett cautioned.

  “Don’t think too long,” Emma warned. “I’ll be sorting through some of the boxes up in the garret most of the morning, and I’m planning on enjoying a good fire outside on the patio right after dinner.”

  “That’s nice,” Mother Garrett quipped. “Frances and I have a full day planned, too.”

  “You do?” Emma asked, alarmed that her plans for Aunt Frances to spend time with Reverend Glenn this afternoon might be undone.

  “We do?” Aunt Frances echoed, batting her eyes in confusion.

  “We do,” Mother Garrett insisted. “We just have to decide whether we want to go sledding down the hill behind Hill House toward the woods or down the hill in front of Hill House toward Main Street.”

  Emma gasped. “You’re not serious. You two can’t go sledding! Not at your age!”

  Her mother-in-law tilted up her chin. “I don’t see why not.”

  “You’re both bound to get hurt, for one thing.”

  “And you’re bound to wind up with lung fever if you don’t change your plans about sitting outside in the snow on the patio for the afternoon. The snow is so high, we wouldn’t even be able to watch to make sure you don’t freeze solid in one of those chairs,” her mother-in-law countered. “Of course,” she added with a gleam in her eyes, “I sure would be willing to reconsider if you’d agree to do the same.”

  “Reconsider? Not a chance.”

  Mother Garrett turned to her companion. “We’d better hurry up and ask Emma our last two questions. This time tomorrow, she’ll be too sick to answer them.”

  “And probably too sick to eat any of her cookies, too,” Aunt Frances noted solemnly.

  Mother Garrett scowled. “What a pity.”

  28

  WITH DINNER CONCLUDED, Mr. Lewis was the last guest to leave the dining room to seek out ways to spend another snowbound afternoon. Since Emma was the last resident or staff member there, she used the opportunity to speak to him privately before carrying out her own plans for the afternoon.

  “Before you leave, I’d like to have a word with you,” she suggested as he approached the door to the center hallway.

  He turned and walked back to where she was standing. Before responding, however, he looked around as if making sure they were alone. “May I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer to stencil the hallway?” he whispered.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  The sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “How can I help you?”

  “The Burkes have been taking their meals separately from us for several days now, ever since Mr. Burke took ill. His sister is either tending to him or staying in the library . . .”

  “I’ve started painting her portrait,” he explained.

  Emma nodded. “They’ve isolated themselves rather completely. In all truth, although my bedroom is connected to the office with a staircase, I really can’t overhear anything that is happening because the door is closed. We leave their trays at the library door at mealtimes, as well as fresh water and linens. They won’t even allow us inside my office or the library to clean or to change his bed linens anymore. Orralynne does that now,” she informed him.

  “You’re the only one who has contact with them now on a regular basis, and I’m concerned about Mr. Burke’s well-being. Has he recovered from the fever that sent him to his bed?”

  Mr. Lewis swallowed hard enough to set his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He hasn’t stirred from the office to sit for the finishing touches on his portrait or to work on my suit of clothes for a good while. Since I haven’t seen him at all for the past few days, I believe he’s still ill.”

  Troubled, Emma furrowed her brow. “You spend the majority of your days in the library with his sister. Hasn’t she said anything to you about her brother’s health?”

  He shook his head. “I tried asking, but Miss Burke has an uncommon ability to make one reluctant to do anything she finds objectionable a second time,” he said tactfully.

  “I see,” she murmured, reluctant to overstep her bounds as proprietress. “If I may speak freely and in confidence, I’m concerned that Mr. Burke might not be well enough to dictate the course or the matter of his treatment or that his sister might be too intimidated by her brother to defy him and ask for the doctor to be summoned.”

  He nodded. “If it’s any help, you should know that I believe she’s also concerned.”

  When Emma cocked her head, he smiled. “Her eyes. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied, acknowledging his gift as an artist to see emotions and details that others might miss. “Will you tell me, please, if Mr. Burke improves or if you think his condition has worsened and requires the attention of Dr. Jeffers?”

  “Most definitely,” he assured her. “Is there anything else? I asked Miss Burke to be ready to begin about now for another session, and she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “No. Thank you.”

  He turned on his heels and left the room.

  After offering a quick prayer for Mr. Burke’s health, Emma set aside these concerns in favor of happier ones. Without wasting time to fetch her cape, she quietly but quickly made her way to Reverend Glenn’s room and rapped on the door. “Reverend Glenn? It’s me. Emma. It’s time,” she whispered.

  When the door creaked open, he greeted her wearing a heavy coat, a hat that did not quite cover his overlarge ears, and thick gloves. Butter was right by his side. “Are you sure no one is about?”

  She nodded and smiled. “We have to get you outside. They’re bound to finish up in the kitchen very soon.”

  Although they were slow going, they made it from his r
oom next to the kitchen to the patio without being discovered. The sun was high and bright in a sky of blue, but without her cape, Emma was shivering. The air was cold but not unduly frigid, since walls of snow lining the winding pathway blocked what little wind existed.

  Emma’s heart raced with anticipation as they walked arm in arm. Surprisingly, Butter was ahead of them, both energized and excited by the snow.

  “I do trust you, Emma, but I’m afraid I’m a bit concerned about sitting outside for too long in the cold.”

  She urged him to go around the final bend and stopped. As Butter edged around them and headed directly to the fireplace to plop down in front of the fire, she nodded toward a clearing in front of the outdoor fireplace that measured a good six feet square. “I don’t think you’ll be cold here,” she suggested, savoring the warmth from the fire on her chilled body.

  The elderly man tightened his grip on her arm and stared straight ahead. His eyes widened with wonder and amazement, and he was speechless.

  Even Emma was impressed as she moved them closer to the fire and surveyed her handiwork. The two outdoor chairs were lined with fur coats she had found stored up in the garret and sat side-by-side in front of a cozy fire that had lured the dog away from its master. Beneath the chairs, to help keep the couple’s feet warm, Emma had spread an old floral rug that had once been in a guest room. Walls of snow provided privacy for anyone sitting there.

  “We have to get you seated so no one can see you,” she urged and helped him into one of the chairs.

  “I can’t quite believe it, but it’s actually warm sitting out here,” he offered.

  “Too warm to expect the snow not to melt,” she added, noting the water that had begun to collect on the stone floor along the edges of the clearing. “I’ll be back with Aunt Frances as soon as I can,” she promised and raced back to the house.

  Shivering with cold again, she let herself into the dining room, where Mother Garrett was waiting for her. “I . . . I forgot my cape,” Emma offered.