by Griggs, Winnie; Pleiter, Allie; Hale, Deborah; Nelson, Jessica
Her list was restrictive, but fair. “Those terms are perfectly acceptable.”
“Then we have a deal.”
Ivy shot a quick, triumphant glance Mitch’s way.
“How soon would you like to move in?” Mrs. Pierce asked.
“This afternoon, if possible.”
The widow nodded. “That’s acceptable. Give me four hours to get things in order and then the room is yours.” She stood, sending a clear signal that they were dismissed. “And please have your first week’s rent with you when you return.”
Ivy nodded and shook hands with the widow, sealing the deal, then made her exit, closely followed by Mitch.
As they stepped onto the sidewalk, he frowned at her. “I think we could have negotiated for a deal that wouldn’t have included you becoming her washerwoman.”
It was sweet of him to want to champion her, but the widow had dealt fairly with her. “It’s a fair arrangement.” she responded calmly. “As long as I’m happy with it, I don’t see where you have any cause to complain.” Then she had another thought. “If you’re thinking it’ll interfere with my work for you, I give you my word it won’t.”
He gave a dismissive wave. “That thought never even entered my mind.”
She relaxed, encouraged by his show of faith. “Looks like I have four hours to fill until I move,” she said, firmly changing the subject. “Which is good, since there are a few things I need to take care of.”
“Such as?”
At least his grumpy frown had faded. “I need to send a telegram to Reverend Tomlin about continuing to keep an eye on Nana Dovie while I’m gone. Because if he’s unable to do that, none of the rest of this matters.”
He nodded. “We’ll head to the depot first.”
“And after that, I should look in on Jubal again.” She grimaced. “I also need to arrange for extended stabling.” Another expense she hadn’t planned for.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Fred’s fees are quite reasonable.” He tugged on his cuff, cutting her a knowing look. “And I suppose after that you’ll want to check in on Rufus.”
“He has been alone all day and he’s not used to being penned up.”
He raised a hand. “No need to explain. You probably should get a look at my place while you’re there anyway. That way you can see what you’re in for.”
Ivy had to admit, to herself at least, that she was looking forward to seeing what the inside of his house looked like. Would his walls be covered with his sketches? Would there be pictures of his sisters and his late wife?
Would there be anything at all to give her insights to other parts of his personality?
He’d probably be irritated by her interest in learning more about him, but it was his own fault for being so intriguing. A girl couldn’t be blamed for wanting to get to know her own personal knight in shining armor a bit better, could she?
Besides, what could it hurt? She’d be leaving here soon enough and when she did they’d likely never see each other again.
For some reason, that thought dimmed the sunshine of her day just a smidge.
Chapter Eleven
As they approached The Blue Bottle—the building that housed that intriguing sweet shop Ivy had noticed yesterday—a woman and three young boys stepped out onto the sidewalk. Each child had a parchment-wrapped treat in his hand.
As soon as she spotted them, the woman gave Mitch an arch smile and waited for them to draw near. “Mr. Parker, it’s so good to see you. I heard you had returned to town early. I trust there’s nothing amiss.”
The woman was surprisingly tall and big-boned with blond hair and fair skin. She also seemed to have a particular interest in Mitch, which brought a frown to Ivy’s face. Did she not already have a husband? Then Ivy mentally chided herself. This was none of her business. Just because Mitch was being kind to her didn’t mean she had any sort of claim on him.
Mitch touched the brim of his hat. “Good day to you, Mrs. Swenson. Allow me to introduce my friend Miss Ivy Feagan. Miss Feagan, this is Mrs. Hilda Swenson.”
Was it her imagination or was his tone even more reserved than normal?
But the woman was studying her with an oddly assessing look, so Ivy pushed aside her thoughts and flashed a smile. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Those are handsome children you have.”
The woman relaxed slightly. “Thank you. And I’m pleased to meet you, as well. Are you in town for long?”
Was there an edge to her voice?
“About three weeks or so,” Ivy answered.
“Well, I certainly hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I will.” Ivy couldn’t help but notice how well matched this woman and Mitch would be. With their striking heights and complimentary light and dark good looks, they would command attention wherever they went. She felt absolutely mousy beside this woman.
Mitch placed a hand at her elbow, and it seemed to Ivy there was something sweetly protective and slightly possessive in the gesture.
And it didn’t go unnoticed by Mrs. Swenson, whose eyes narrowed slightly.
“If you will excuse us,” Mitch said politely, “Miss Feagan and I have business to attend to at the train depot.”
“Of course.”
As they moved away, Ivy couldn’t help but do a bit of probing. “She seems nice. What does her husband do?”
He looked at her as if trying to determine the motive behind the question. “Mr. Swenson passed away about a year and a half ago.”
“Oh. It must be difficult for her, especially with three sons to raise.” Ivy couldn’t blame the woman for hoping that Mitch would step in and fill those shoes.
He gave a noncommittal response and this time she let the subject drop. But that didn’t mean she forgot it.
The telegram was dispatched quickly, with just a pang of guilt. And to her surprise, Mitch had been right about the stabling fees. Not only was the cost less than she would have thought, but it turned out Mr. Humphries was willing to wait until she was ready to leave town for her to settle the bill. Ivy wasn’t naive enough to believe this was something he offered to every visitor—undoubtedly it was because Mitch was there to vouch for her. But his earlier comment about her pride was still uppermost in her mind. Besides, she wasn’t in a position right now to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.
Ten minutes later, they turned onto the block where Mitch’s house was located. As soon as Rufus spotted her, he ran to the front gate, wagging his tail furiously and barking a joyful greeting.
Ivy quickened her pace and reached the gate well before Mitch. As soon as the gate was open, the dog jumped up, planting his paws on her skirt, trying to lick her face.
Ivy laughed and ruffled his neck fur. She could always count on Rufus to lavish affection on her. “Hi, boy. I missed you, too. I hope you’re behaving yourself for Mr. Parker.”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “If you and that mutt are finished greeting one another, I’ll show you the inside of the house.”
As he opened the red door, she smiled again at the color. Someday, she’d have to get the story of that red door.
She stepped across the threshold and paused to take in the house. Her first impression was that he was indeed a very tidy, orderly man. There didn’t seem to be a thing out of place. Nor was there anything of a personal nature visible from the entry.
He waved her into the parlor, and to her disappointment, the rows of books in his bookcase were the only personal touch to be seen. The curtains at the windows were a nondescript brown without ruffle or trim. The mantel over the fireplace was as empty as the walls were blank. There were no pictures, trinkets or memorabilia in sight.
Why didn’t he at least display his sketches?
She itched to add some clutter and color to the place, to move a few books off the shelf and onto a table, set out a vase or two of wildflowers, replace his curtains with a less bland set.
If the rest of his house was like this, the only housekeep
ing she’d be doing would be a daily sweep of the floors.
She glanced at him. “How long have you lived here?”
“Nearly two years.”
How could he not have put his own stamp on the place in all that time? She knew, deep down, this man had a flamboyant expressive streak—he couldn’t draw those wonderful sketches if he didn’t. So why did he work so hard to keep it bottled up inside?
“Do you have many visitors?”
“No.”
She was surprised by his response. He seemed to have so many friends here. Everywhere they went he was greeted with respect.
But his expression told her not to press. “What exactly will my duties be?”
“Sweeping, dusting, mopping—that sort of thing.”
“That should take me all of an hour.” She couldn’t accept a full day’s pay for so little work.
“Don’t forget the cooking. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
She stepped inside the room across the hall and found two walls lined with bookcases, a solid-looking desk and a pair of comfortable chairs situated in front of a fireplace.
“Oh, I’d expected this to be a dining room.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t need a dining room. I did need a study.” He waved her back into the hallway. “Shall we move on to the kitchen?”
She followed him down the hall and found herself in another very stark, almost sterile room. The kitchen, of all rooms, should be warm and inviting. Back home, it was where she and Nana Dovie spent the most time together; it was where they’d had countless talks as she’d grown up and it was where Nana Dovie had comforted her when that awfulness with Lester had happened five years ago.
Mitch, however, seemed perfectly happy with it the way it was. “The pots and dishes are stored over there,” he said, indicating a cupboard across the room. Then he moved to a door set in the wall to their left. When he opened it, she saw a well-organized pantry with shelves of perfectly arranged foodstuffs.
“I think you’ll find it’s well stocked for someone with my simple tastes. But I’ll set you up on my line of credit at the mercantile and butcher shop so you can shop for whatever you need.”
She tried to match his businesslike tone. “Tell me what kind of food you like.”
“Other than not caring for liver or beets, I’m easy to please.”
Clearly she’d have to draw her inspiration from elsewhere. She moved to the back door. “How big is your kitchen garden?”
“I don’t have one.”
Ivy turned to stare at him in disbelief. “No fresh herbs or vegetables?”
He shrugged. “I get what I need from the mercantile or local farmers.”
“But every home should have a garden. If for nothing else than the satisfaction of eating something you’ve grown yourself.”
He seemed to find that amusing. “I haven’t seen the need.”
Perhaps he just needed someone to show him the way. “I know it’s late to be planting, but do you mind if I put a garden in for you?” The thought of actually doing something meaningful for him lifted her spirits tremendously. Not only would she be doing work she loved, it would also help her feel as if she were actually earning her pay.
But he raised a brow. “It hardly seems worth the effort since you won’t be here to reap the benefits.”
He had a very flawed view of what a garden could be. “Planting things and watching them grow is always worth the effort.”
That drew a smile from him. “Then by all means, plant.” He stepped past her to open the back door. “My entire yard is at your disposal.”
She stepped out onto the back porch, working out the logistics in her mind. “Let’s see, it’s not too late to plant a few herbs and maybe some tomatoes, peppers and beans. They’ll need lots of watering and loving attention at this late stage, but if we got some hearty cuttings we could probably coax some produce from them.” She eyed him. “But I would expect you to keep it going after I’m gone.”
He raised his hands palms up. “I make no promises.”
“If it’s a matter of not knowing how to care for a garden, I could teach you.”
In fact, sharing something she loved so much with him would be rather nice.
But when a shadow of some strong emotion crossed his face, Ivy realized she’d gone too far.
*
Mitch did his best not to let her see how his gut twisted at her simple offer. She couldn’t know that he’d been a farmer at the time his world had exploded around him. He forced a smile. “Scratching in the dirt is something I’m not particularly interested in.”
From the expression on her face, he could tell some harshness had spilled into his tone despite his efforts. He tried to cover with a more conciliatory tone. “But I’m not averse to you getting your hands as dirty as you like.”
There’d been a time when he’d taken pride in tilling the soil and reaping the crops he’d grown himself for the family table. He could still see Gretchen smiling in triumph when she’d harvested her first ear of corn from the land they’d built their home on.
“Oh, you have a swing!”
The utter delight in Ivy’s voice shook him out of his sober thoughts. She was staring at the oak tree that shaded one end of his backyard. Whoever had owned this place before him had attached both ends of a long chain to one of the sturdy branches and used a notched board for the seat.
Other than noting it was there, he’d paid very little attention to it in the time he’d been here.
She turned back to him with a teasing grin. “It appears there’s a bit of playfulness in you after all.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but that swing was already there when I moved in.” He regretted the words as soon as he saw the disappointment flash across her face.
But she rallied quickly. “It’s yours now, though. And it looks strong enough to support even you.”
He was relieved to hear her teasing tone. Apparently she wasn’t holding his lack of enthusiasm against him. “I wouldn’t know.”
She fisted a hand on her hip. “You mean to tell me that in the two years you’ve lived here you’ve never once even sat in that swing?”
“Guilty.”
“Well, I call that downright wasteful.”
He smiled at her nonsensical notion and waved a hand toward the swing. “Feel free to make use of it while you’re here.”
She gave him a challenging grin. “Well, you can be all stuffy and grumpy, but I like a bit of play in my life. And there’s no time like the present.” With a saucy smile she started across the lawn, a defiant spring in her step.
He leaned against a porch support, crossing his arms and enjoying the view.
Ivy sat on the board and set the swing in motion, soaring high and laughing aloud at the pure joy of it. She pumped her legs and threw her head back with as much enthusiasm and abandon as would any of his students during recess. Rufus followed the movements of the swing, barking encouragement and running to and fro.
As Mitch watched her, it occurred to him that perhaps her presence in his heretofore serene household was going to change his life more than he’d considered.
He watched her with her unruly braid flying out behind her and her unapologetic laughter ringing around him, and couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry.
He told himself if he had any modicum of sense remaining he’d head inside. But for some reason he never followed through on the thought. It was fifteen minutes later before Ivy abandoned the swing, and even then, she did so reluctantly.
When she finally rejoined him on the porch after a quick game of fetch with Rufus, she was grinning. “That was fun. You ought to try it sometime.”
He decided not to grace that comment with a response. “Have you selected a patch of ground for your garden yet?”
She surveyed his backyard. “I think that spot right there by that clump of clover flowers will work for a small herb garden. The vegetables can go next to your east fence.�
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He studied the two spots she’d indicated and nodded. “You have a good eye.”
“I told you, I have a knack for gardening. Nana Dovie says that God gives each of us at least one thing we’re good at. He gave you the ability to draw those wonderful pictures. And to open your students’ minds to learning new things. I guess gardening is what He gave me.”
She continued to surprise him with her homespun insights.
“Any idea where I could get some cuttings?” she asked. “It’s late to be trying to plant from seeds.”
He thought about that for a moment. “Reggie has a nice garden out behind her house. And her place is near Mrs. Pierce’s. Perhaps after we get your things moved in, we can stop by and speak to her.”
He looked at his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, we have another two hours before Mrs. Pierce will be ready for you. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I can start working the ground for the garden. I’ve actually missed mine these past few days.”
“Then by all means, till away.”
“Do you have any gardening tools?”
“There were some left by the previous owner. They’d be in the toolshed. Come on, let’s see what we can find.”
He led her to a small outbuilding in his backyard. When he opened the door, he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. He ducked his head to step inside the small room, and she followed him without hesitation.
He heard her chuckle. “Even your toolshed is organized.”
She said that as if it were a bad thing. He had actually spent a great deal of time organizing this place when he’d first moved in and was quite proud of the result. There were tools of all sorts arranged on shelves or hanging from pegs. The center of the room held a couple of sawhorses, three small kegs—one with chains, one with nails and one with wooden stakes—and a lawn mower.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing.
