“What you’re speaking of is community and family,” Lord Barnes said. “The ties that bind and such. These are the sweetest offerings in this life. My life’s work has been building this town and this family and at the end, I’ll have no regrets. I’m with you, Phillip.”
I flushed warm with pleasure. Although we couldn’t have been born into more different circumstances, Lord Barnes and I were alike. We understood what truly mattered. He had it already. I wanted it desperately.
“Theo, you haven’t answered,” Fiona said. “What would you choose?”
He set aside his fork. “Peace. For myself and the world.”
“My darling boy,” Quinn said. “From your mouth to God’s ears.”
The next morning, Lord Barnes and I headed out in the larger of the two sleighs. Overnight, the weather had changed the blue sky to white. As Oz and Willie carried us toward the mill, wide snowflakes dumped from above.
As we drove along, Lord Barnes asked questions about my apprenticeship. I described my experiences as best I could. “It was something of a miracle, sir, if you want to know the truth. After I left the orphanage, I had no idea what I would do. War hadn’t yet been declared, and I had no skills, other than a good academic education provided by the nuns . I’d have liked to pursue university, but that wasn’t an option for me. I was wandering the streets one day and, to escape the rain, went into a woodworker’s shop. He had fine pieces, made from cherry and walnut.” I went on to describe Mr. Jenkins’s offer of a job. “At first I swept up or assisted him in whatever way he needed. As I observed him working, I started to envision various pieces coming from the wood. It was as if they were being built in my mind if not my hands. A woman had been in the day before when Mr. Jenkins was taking his lunch. She wanted a cabinet like the one she’d had in her childhood home in Sweden. ‘To remember my mother by,’ she told me. I drew it up on a piece of paper and showed it to her. She asked if I could make it. Of course, I couldn’t, but Jenkins had come back by then. He looked at the drawing and told her that he could easily do it for her. But after she left, he asked if I’d be interested in learning from him. He said I obviously had a knack for drawing up what the customer wanted and if I could do that, I could learn to make the pieces, too. I studied under him for two years, learning all I could. When we declared war, I knew I had to go. He gave his blessing and asked that I return to him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I did. He’d died from the flu.” My throat ached at the memory. “The shop was all boarded up. I asked around and learned he’d died during the first deluge of cases.”
“What a shame. He was a father figure to you, I suspect?”
“Yes, that’s right. All my life I’ve been at the mercy of the good souls who’ve taken me in, sheltered me, taught me. The nuns, then Mr. Jenkins, and now you.”
“I always figure a person attracts what they give out to the world. It’s no accident that you’ve come to us.”
“I came because of Josephine,” I said. “I hope you know I didn’t come looking for a handout.”
Lord Barnes chuckled. “Giving you my daughter is much harder than a loan for a business.”
I flushed. “I didn’t mean to compare them. Josephine is finer than any monetary pursuit. I’d give most anything to win her love.”
“That’s not up to me. She has her own mind, and I’ll allow her to marry whomever she chooses. But from what I’ve seen of your character thus far, I hope she returns your affection.”
“How do you know, sir? If you don’t mind my asking. About me, that is.”
“You’ve traveled across the country, risking everything, because of the letters from a girl you’d never met. My wife came here because of a letter I’d written to her about my vision for our first school. I’d imagined her an old battle-ax of a woman—one who would be fine out here in this rough, wild town. When she showed up no older than Josephine is now, I could hardly believe my eyes. She was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen and had the grit of a hundred hungry men. The courage it took for her to leave her mother and sister in Boston and come out to the frontier never ceases to amaze me. She said it was my letter that convinced her to come. The way I described the town and the children who needed a teacher moved her. There’s something similar in our stories, don’t you think?”
“I suppose there is.” I smiled to myself, touched by his confidence in me. “Except that you and Quinn didn’t know what was coming. For me, I knew Josephine from her letters. The risk wasn’t so great. Other than my soul will be crushed if she doesn’t choose me.” I said the last part in jest, although it was absolutely true.
We’d arrived at the mill by then. Lord Barnes pulled the horses into the livery and greeted the boy who looked after them while the men were at work. In this rural environment, not many had motorcars, I presumed. Riding horses to work was a necessity.
Smoke rose in a cloud from the mill’s building. A conveyer belt moved slowly, carrying logs to the round saws. As we made our way toward the office, the grinding noise of the chains that cut the boards filled the yard.
Lord Barnes and I entered the office to the smell of wood shavings. A stout man with a bushy white beard and eyebrows to match looked up as the door closed behind us. He stood up from his chair. “Barnes, what brings you here?”
“Roy, this is my friend Phillip Baker. He’s in need of some wood to make furniture.”
Roy came from behind the desk to shake my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, young man.”
“You as well.”
“He needs wood to build a table,” Lord Barnes said.
“In the arts and crafts style,” I said. “Clean lines but with practical uses, like storage.”
“What do you have for him?” Lord Barnes asked.
“We mostly have firs, pine, and cedar. You can take it home with you now if you’d like.”
“Cedar would work for a table,” I said.
“Show us the way,” Lord Barnes said.
Josephine
For two days in a row I only saw Phillip at dinner. He’d been hard at work in the shed on the Cassidys’ table, leaving the house before I’d come down for the morning. During the days, I worked at the library, coming home just after teatime. After dinner, he and I would retire to the sitting room with the rest of my family. I yearned to have him all to myself and ask him a hundred questions. Instead, we were surrounded by my sisters and watchful brothers, not to mention Papa, who seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.
At night, to distract myself from staring at him endlessly, I busied myself by knitting him a pair of fingerless gloves. Working out there in the cold, he needed gloves, but he’d mentioned they encumbered his agility. I’d finished them last night and wanted to give them to him today. Yet I hesitated, shy to go out uninvited to his working space alone. Fiona and Cymbeline were at school. The boys were working with the carpenters at the ski lodge. Papa was at his office. Mama was with the little girls in the nursery. I wished my sisters were here to ask if they’d accompany me. We were a modern household; still, I wasn’t sure Papa would like me to be alone with Phillip in such a small space.
I spent a good fifteen minutes moving restlessly around the sitting room. Finally I decided I’d take Phillip a pot of hot tea and casually leave the gloves as well. How ridiculous I was, all this fuss over whether I should go out to the shed.
I went down to the kitchen to ask Lizzie if she’d mind putting a pot of tea together for me. She and Mrs. Wu were both working in their usual harmony. Mrs. Wu was in the middle of peeling a pile of potatoes; Lizzie stood at the stove, stirring a steaming pot of broth that smelled of celery and garlic.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Hello, Miss Josephine,” Mrs. Wu said.
When she’d first come to us, Mrs. Wu couldn’t speak much English, but over the years she’d become quite fluent. She and Lizzie, so opposite in appearance—Lizzie robust and pink-skinned with round features; Mrs. Wu, birdlike an
d tiny with white hair and a dark complexion—were fast friends. After so much time together they moved about the kitchen as if in a choreographed dance.
Mrs. Wu and her granddaughter, Fai, lived downstairs in our staff quarters off the kitchen. When Li came home, if he ever did, his future was uncertain. His Chinese descent would surely keep him from playing in an orchestra. Papa had influenced the music college to take him by donating generously. But his money could only take Li Wu so far. Li had told me during his last visit home that he knew his escape to school would be temporary, but that he was enjoying every moment while he could.
“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Wu asked.
“No, thank you. I wondered if you’d put together a pot of tea for Phillip.”
Lizzie’s mouth twitched. “Are you worried he’s cold out there?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, but yes, he might be cold.” I avoided eye contact and picked up a green apple from the bowl of fruit.
“Looking for an excuse to see him then?” Lizzie asked as she brushed a strand of her graying hair away from her face. In her mid-forties, her face was virtually unlined but recently some gray had crept into her black curls. She and Jasper had married when she was well into her thirties and had their daughter, Florence, about ten months later. Another child was born around the same time as Delphia, but he’d died in childbirth. Lizzie had taken it hard, as had Jasper. His stoic British attitude didn’t allow him to show his grief outwardly, but I could see it in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Lizzie hadn’t been herself for at least a year. I’d found her crying down here many times, as had Mama. Eventually, though, she’d gone on, as women have to do.
I looked up from my careful examination of the apple. “Why would you say that?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Lizzie said.
“Cymbeline says he stares at you,” Mrs. Wu said. “With soft eyes. Like this.” She widened her eyes.
I laughed. “What was she doing talking about him to you?”
“She wasn’t,” Lizzie said. “We overheard her talking with Fiona and Fai. Those three gossip all day long.”
As did these two.
I took the gloves out of the pocket of my dress. “I made him these.”
Lizzie and Mrs. Wu exchanged amused glances.
“He’ll like them,” Mrs. Wu said. “But not as much as you bringing them to him.”
“I’m not sure what you two find so funny,” I said. “After I carried on about Walter, who proved to be a cad, I should be ashamed of myself. I mean, really, I shouldn’t be bothering with any of this. How can I trust myself? Or anyone else for that matter?” The room suddenly seemed cloying.
“One bad apple doesn’t ruin the whole bowl.” Lizzie pointed at the fruit. “He came here to win your heart.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“Cymbeline,” Mrs. Wu said. “She has a loud voice. Apparently, she and Mr. Phillip had quite the talk the other morning.”
“For heaven’s sake. There are no secrets in this house,” I said. What else had he said to Cymbeline? That little traitor should have told me. I’d get it out of her later.
“That’s the way it should be,” Lizzie said. “Secrets are the seeds of unhappiness.”
“You’re full of analogies today,” I said.
Lizzie picked up the teapot from the stove. She refused to use tea bags, calling them newfangled and for lazy Americans. Instead, she made a pot the same way she always had, using a strainer filled with tea leaves. I wandered over to the sink and leaned against the rim. What should I say when I came with the tea? Would he resent the interruption? I’d read that about great artists. They needed long periods of concentration.
“Whatever you’re worrying over, don’t,” Lizzie said. “He’ll be pleased to see you.”
“Lizzie, am I a fool to be thinking this way about a man we don’t know?”
“Not everyone needs to have a fifteen-year courtship like Jasper and me.” Lizzie rolled her eyes. “That blasted man.”
“Love is good,” Mrs. Wu said. “We want that for you.”
I wanted it too. I’d wanted it so much that I’d invented a love that hadn’t existed.
“You worry too much.” Mrs. Wu wriggled her fingers in front of her face. “Will give you wrinkles. See all mine. From too much worry.”
“You’re beautiful, Mrs. Wu,” I said.
“Put your coat on,” Lizzie said. “By the time you come back, I’ll have this put together. You can go out the back door here.” She pointed to the door that opened to steps into the yard.
“I suppose I have the time,” I said, joking.
“Not so much time,” Mrs. Wu said, “before you’re old like me.”
Risking my life by carrying a tray in this weather, I followed the tracks of Phillip’s footsteps out to the shed. A fresh layer of snow had partially covered them, and his stride was much longer, so I was afraid to trip and fall. By the time I got there, my shoulders ached from the effort. I caught a glimpse of him through the window. He looked up with a startled expression, then disappeared from view. A second later he hustled out the door and tromped through the snow to me. He took the tray.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You could slip and hurt yourself.”
“I thought some hot tea and a few of Lizzie’s scones would warm you.”
“They will, but I don’t want you hiking out here just for me.”
“Nonsense. I grew up here. A little walk in the snow won’t hurt me.”
“Come inside. It’s warmer in there.”
I allowed him to open the door for me and passed by him, all too aware of his strong arms and shoulders. The tabletop was perched upon two sawhorses. He put the tea on the crude potting counter. Wood shavings covered the floor. The room smelled of fresh cedar and a slightly acidic smell that must be from the stain.
“Phillip, it’s pretty.” I pulled off one glove and trailed my fingers over the polished cedar. Light in color with the pretty patterns of the natural wood, it was a work of art. The pieces had been laid out to make it as seamless as possible. “How did you get the wood like this?” The surface felt like silk.
“Fine sanding and then a technique I learned for polishing using a stain.” His brow wrinkled. “Do you think they’ll like it?”
“They’ll love this. It’s fine, fine work. They’ll be proud to give it to their mother.” I turned to look at him. “They’ve had such a hard year. Losing their father and with Mrs. Cassidy not well. This will be something fresh and beautiful to cheer them.”
He crossed over to the cabinet in the corner and held up a partially finished leg. “I don’t have the right tools to make anything too ornate, so I’m giving them a simple taper.” It was indeed gently tapered, starting fat and ending slender.
“I’ve only got the one done, but they’re going fast compared to the tabletop.”
“How will you get it out to them?”
“I’ll leave the legs unattached and put them on when we get it into the kitchen. I’m using screws, so they can be taken apart if needed.”
“They’re going to want new chairs,” I said.
“If so, I can make them. Your father was generous with the wood.” He gestured to the pile of boards at the other end of the room. “Being back to work in this way feels good. The hours float away.”
“I wasn’t sure if interrupting you would be welcomed. I’m not an artist like this, but I hate being bothered when I’m reading.”
“You think I’m an artist?”
“What other conclusion could I come to?”
He grinned, obviously pleased. “Regardless of what I’m doing, there will never be a time when I wouldn’t want to see you. Also, hot tea sounds like heaven.”
Shy now, I backed up toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then. There are scones and butter too.”
He put his hands in his pockets and shuffled from one foot to the other. “You could stay. Have tea
with me?”
“I’m not hungry, but I’ll have a cup of tea with you.” I moved over to the cabinet and poured the strong tea into two cups. Steam rose playfully in the drafty room. “Sugar?” I asked even though I knew the answer. He drank his black.
“No, thank you.” He took one of the cups and its saucer from my outstretched hand. “Shall we sit? My feet are tired.” He gestured toward the bench located under the shed’s only window.
Knowing he wouldn’t unless I did, I agreed, sitting primly with my cup and saucer resting on my lap. He sat next to me, watching me as he lifted his cup to his mouth.
I sipped from my own cup, enjoying the bitterness and warmth of the tea. “Oh, I almost forgot. I made these for you.” I took the gloves from my coat pocket and handed them to him. “The fingertips are left off so you can still grip.”
“Jo, these are great. Thank you.”
My stomach turned over as he pulled them over his strong hands. “It’s nothing really.”
He spread his fingers wide, then wriggled them. “Perfect fit. How did you do that?”
I swallowed, dragging my gaze from those long fingers. “I guessed.”
He picked up his tea and took a sip. “I’ve been thinking about something. I’d like to learn to drive the sleigh. I’ve never driven horses before, but now that I live here, I should.”
“Papa can teach you. Or I?”
“I’d prefer you if I’m able to choose.”
“Why do you want to learn to drive?”
“I plan on staying here. A man needs to know how to drive a team of horses. I only hope I’m better suited for it than skating.”
I laughed. “Me too, or we might not live through our first lesson.”
Once a week after school, we had children’s story time for ages four to ten. I usually read a book with pictures as we sat in a circle on the rug. For the past month, I’d been reading chapters from The Jungle Book. The children delighted in the stories, often laughing out loud. Those moments were particularly joyful for me.
The Spinster (Emerson Pass Historicals Book 2) Page 13
