by Griggs, Winnie; Pleiter, Allie; Hale, Deborah; Nelson, Jessica
He pretended to study it critically. “It’s not neutral, but I think I can live with it.”
Mitch had turned to signal Doug Blakely, the owner of the mercantile, that they needed help when another customer walked in. To his chagrin, it was Hilda Swenson and her boys.
The widow caught sight of him at the same time, and her expression brightened. She immediately headed his way. “Mr. Parker, how nice to see you. Are you doing your shopping, too?”
When she spied Ivy, her expression slipped for just a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Miss Feagan. I thought you were off on Wednesdays.”
Now, how had she learned Ivy’s schedule?
“I am. I’m just helping Mr. Parker pick out some fabric for kitchen curtains.”
“How very nice.” The widow glanced at the fabric Ivy had picked out. “Oh, my dear, surely you’re not thinking of going with that gingham.”
Mitch started to protest, but Ivy spoke up first.
“I know it’s not the most colorful of prints, but I’m trying to keep in mind that this is for a bachelor’s home.”
So she’d picked up on his more conservative tastes, had she?
Mrs. Swenson nodded. “Of course. But just because men don’t appreciate florals doesn’t mean we must choose something dull.” She stepped past Ivy and dug through the bolts stacked on the table. She finally pulled out one from the bottom of the pile. It had alternating stripes of red and blue separated by narrower strips of white.
“This one is much brighter and still has a masculine look to it, don’t you agree?”
Ivy nodded. “You’re right, this is a much better choice. I don’t know how I missed it.”
The woman preened. “I’m just more familiar with the offerings here.” She glanced Mitch’s way. “I confess I’m always on the lookout for ways to make my home cozier and more welcoming. Mr. Blakely lets me know when he has something that might interest me.”
Mitch cleared his throat. “I think the fabric Miss Feagan selected is fine.”
Ivy, however, disagreed. “But this one Mrs. Swenson found will work out much better than the gingham.”
Before Mitch could respond, Mrs. Swenson spoke up again. “If your duties keep you too busy to sew, I’ll be happy to make these curtains for Mr. Parker. Mr. Swenson used to say I was quite the seamstress. He took pride in showing off my domestic talents.” She lifted her chin proudly. “And of course I make most of the clothes for myself and the boys.” She fanned out one side of her skirt, inviting them to admire it.
“That’s quite kind of you,” Ivy responded, “but I consider this part of my job and wouldn’t feel right letting someone else take care of it.”
“But I—”
Mitch had had enough. “That’s indeed a generous offer, but as I’m in no hurry, I’m certain Miss Feagan can work it into her schedule.”
With a disappointed smile, the widow nodded. “Of course. But the offer stands if that changes.” Then she tightened the strings on her purse. “Now, I’ll leave you to finish making your purchase. And I’ll see you tomorrow to discuss Peter’s tutoring needs.”
Later, when they stepped outside, Mitch offered Ivy an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry if Mrs. Swenson’s interference upset you. She can be overbearing at times.”
“Not at all. She means well and she was right about the fabric.” She hefted the parcel in her hands. “This piece is much better than the one I selected.” She gave him a curious look. “I would think you’d be flattered by the attention. She’s a handsome woman with a number of nice qualities that would make her a fine wife for some lucky man.”
“She’d be better served to turn her attention elsewhere. I’ve tried to make my disinterest as clear as I can without being outright rude.”
They stopped in front of Mitch’s house and he opened the gate. Ivy handed him the fabric as Rufus raced to greet her.
She finally straightened. “Thank you for the tea and the company, but it’s time I headed back. In this heat, I’m sure at least part of the laundry has dried.”
“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ivy started to turn away, then paused. “By the way, would you mind if I spoke to Mrs. Pierce about purchasing produce from her garden? She’s harvesting more than she can use, and I like the idea of picking it fresh myself.”
“Not at all. Tell her to keep tabs on the amount and I’ll pay her once a week when I pay you.”
Mitch watched Ivy walk away, surprised once again at her thoughtfulness. First her tactful handling of Hilda’s interference and now this scheme to help Mrs. Pierce out.
He slowly headed for his backyard. He’d actually enjoyed their little shopping expedition today. Strange how even the most mundane tasks took on a sense of adventure when he was able to view them through her eyes.
He was going to miss that when she was gone.
That and much more than he cared to admit, even to himself.
Chapter Eighteen
Mitch was working on a sketch of Ivy seated on the swing when a knock at the door sounded the next morning, and he reluctantly put down his pencil. This time, he had no doubt as to who it was.
He wasn’t happy at the interruption. It had been a long time since he’d had any interest in sketching a person, but he could see already that this sketch was going to be his finest work to date. If he could just capture her smile…
But before he could get up, Ivy appeared in the hallway and gave him a very firm look. “I’ll get it.”
With a smile, he settled back in his chair. She’d shown up at his kitchen door this morning with a determined look in her eye. She’d made quick work of breakfast and then shooed him away, saying she had baking to do and didn’t want to be distracted.
He’d heard her humming and talking to herself for the past few hours and it had influenced his sketching, infusing the figure coming to life beneath his pencil with a joyous abandon.
“Mrs. Swenson, good day to you.” Ivy’s words carried clearly to him, and he smiled at her formal tone. “I believe Mr. Parker is expecting you. If you and your boys will have a seat in the parlor, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Mitch put away his sketchbook as he waited for her to appear in the doorway, which she did almost immediately.
“Mrs. Swenson has arrived.”
“So I heard.”
She gave him another stern look. “I’ll have refreshments ready in a few moments.”
He knew it would be useless to tell her not to bother, so he merely nodded. He would let her have her moment, even if it might give Hilda Swenson the impression she was welcome here.
He straightened the papers on his desk, then headed to the parlor.
As soon as he stepped into the room the widow gave him a beaming smile. She sat on the sofa and her three boys occupied the other seating in the room.
He decided to remain standing for the moment.
“Peter, hand Mr. Parker your papers, please,” she instructed.
The boy solemnly complied.
Mitch smiled down as he accepted the papers, trying to put the youngster at ease. “Thank you, Peter.” He didn’t like the idea of discussing the boy’s work in front of his siblings. “Perhaps Peter and I should step into my office to review this.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that. I’m sure his brothers can learn from whatever you have to tell Peter.”
Before Mitch could insist, Ivy returned carrying a tray loaded down with two teacups and a platter of sandwiches similar to what they’d had at Eve’s place yesterday.
“I thought you might enjoy a bit of refreshment while you have your discussion.” She set the tray down on a small table next to the sofa, then turned to the two younger boys. “If you’d care to join me in the kitchen, I just took a tray of cookies out of the oven and need someone to taste them.” Then she turned to Mrs. Swenson. “If it’s okay with your mother, that is.”
Mrs. Swenson graciously gave her permission and the two youn
ger boys hopped up, eager to follow Ivy.
Before they exited, Ivy turned to Peter. “Don’t worry. There’ll be cookies left when you’re done with your business here.” Then she turned and ushered Peter’s brothers out the door.
Had she overheard his request for more privacy with Peter? Or was she just intuitive when it came to the feelings of others?
Mrs. Swenson recaptured his attention as she reached for a teacup. “It was very charitable of you to hire Miss Feagan as your housekeeper,” she said complacently.
Charity had had nothing to do with it, but he didn’t feel the need to explain himself. “She’s earning her wage.”
“I’m certain she is. And she’s providing a nice woman’s touch to your place.” She glanced at the wildflowers Ivy had placed on the mantel this morning. “In fact, I predict that you’ll miss all these little niceties once she leaves.”
Mrs. Swenson met Mitch’s gaze head-on, as if she was intentionally reminding him that Ivy would be leaving soon. Mitch made a noncommittal sound, then turned to Peter. “Before I review your papers, why don’t you tell me which parts of this test gave you the most trouble?”
Twenty minutes later, Mitch had finished his assessment. Peter seemed to have grasped all but a few of the basic principles. And the boy had meticulously detailed his computations, so it was easy to see where he’d gotten off track.
Mitch put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and turned to the boy’s mother. “There’s no need to be concerned. Peter has a good understanding of the basics, and I think just a few sessions will set him on the right path.”
Mrs. Swenson nodded. “And you’ll work with him?”
He glanced down at the boy. “I’ll be happy to.”
“Then we should discuss payment.”
Mitch frowned. “That won’t be necessary. As I said, it won’t take more than a couple of sessions, and I consider this part of my role as his teacher.”
“Then at least let me bake something for you.”
“That won’t be—”
“Nonsense. I must repay you somehow. And I do so love to bake. Mr. Swenson used to say I was quite the dessert maker.”
Apparently the late Mr. Swenson had seen no wrong in his wife. “I’m certain you are. But I have a cook so—”
Again she interrupted his protest. “I won’t take no for an answer. Now, which days would be best for you to work with Peter?”
Mitch decided the sooner this was over, the better. “Let’s plan on tomorrow and Saturday.”
“Perfect.”
“And it would be better if I saw Peter alone.”
Her expression fell.
“It will allow him to focus solely on his work,” he said smoothly. “I’m sure a good mother such as yourself can understand how important that would be.”
The bit of praise from him seemed to restore her good humor. “Of course.”
Mitch stood. “I won’t keep you.” He smiled down at the boy. “And don’t worry, Peter. We’ll have you tackling these math problems with confidence in no time.”
Mrs. Swenson stood, as well. “I’m certain Peter will be grateful for your attention. I’ll just fetch my other two boys and we’ll be on our way.”
Mitch wasn’t at all sure Ivy would welcome Mrs. Swenson into her kitchen again. “Why don’t I fetch them for you?”
She ignored his offer and moved toward the doorway. “No need. I know the way. Besides, I’m sure Peter is eager for the treat your housekeeper promised him.”
He found her insistence on referring to Ivy by role rather than name irritating. When they reached the kitchen, Mrs. Swenson paused on the threshold so abruptly Mitch almost bumped into her.
“What is going on in here?” The widow’s voice vibrated with outrage.
Mitch stepped past her and had to hide a grin.
Both boys stood on upside down crates around the table. They wore aprons made of large dish towels and were stirring the contents of a large bowl. Flour was everywhere, including the boys’ faces and clothing. Ivy stood beside them, a damp cloth in her hand, and it appeared she’d been laughing just prior to their arrival. As for the boys, they were watching their mother with identical guilty expressions.
Ivy, still looking amused, spoke up first. “Don’t worry. It’s only flour.” She gave the boys approving smiles. “Andy and Davey volunteered to help me make up a fresh batch of cookies. Unfortunately, the flour canister tipped over and a breeze from the window did the rest. My fault entirely.” She began wiping the younger boy’s face. “I’ll have them cleaned up in no time.”
Mrs. Swenson marched over, took the cloth from Ivy and began vigorously wiping her son’s face. “And just what were my sons doing wearing aprons and mixing cookie dough?”
Ivy frowned uncertainly, as if unsure why the widow was angry. “I apologize if you disapprove. I assure you I wouldn’t have let them do anything that—”
Mrs. Swenson cut her off. “Baking is not a skill my boys should be taught, nor do they need to be clothed in an apron. Baking is women’s work.”
“Quite the contrary,” Mitch said, his voice deliberately cold. “Where I come from, some of the finest and most respected pastry chefs are men.”
Mrs. Swenson’s expression of righteous indignation faltered for a moment, but she recovered and rounded on Ivy again. “Be that as it may, I will thank you to refrain from assigning my sons work of any sort.”
It took everything Mitch had not to cross the room and stand between Ivy and Mrs. Swenson’s misguided tirade. His desire to protect her—and everything about her that was joyous and charming and thoughtful—was nearly overwhelming.
*
Ivy held her tongue with difficulty.
Yes, the woman was only being protective of her children, but her response seemed out of proportion to the offense.
She’d appreciated Mitch’s ready defense and while a part of her felt the woman deserved a bit of a set down, she did understand that the woman was only being protective of her children. And it wasn’t right to argue with her in front of her sons.
Ivy took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was an employee in this house, and needed to act accordingly. “Please accept my apologies, Mrs. Swenson. Of course I should have asked your permission before allowing your sons to help me. But you can be proud of what polite, helpful boys you’re raising here.”
The widow seemed to collect herself and gave a short nod. “Thank you. And I’m certain you meant well. I’m sorry if I was abrupt.”
With the truce now having been called, quick work was made of getting the children cleaned up. Ivy handed Peter his promised treat and the Swensons finally made their exit.
Ivy went to work scrubbing down the table. To her surprise, however, Mitch returned to the kitchen after he saw his guests out.
She paused long enough to meet his gaze. “Was she still angry?”
“I think she’ll get over it.”
Was that a glint of amusement in his eyes?
She tried to remain contrite. “I should have thought it through before I invited the boys to help.”
“Perhaps. But based on the condition of the kitchen, I’d guess they were enjoying themselves.”
Her grin broke through. “That they were.”
“And I daresay, Mrs. Swenson may think twice before she brings them here to suffer under your influence again.” He gave her a mock frown. “Which is such a shame.”
This time she laughed out loud. “You, sir, are not fooling anyone.”
He grabbed the broom and helped her finish cleaning up the mess, whistling as he went.
Ivy thought she’d never heard a finer bit of music.
*
As they exited the church together on the following Sunday, Everett called Mitch over to discuss something about a story he was working on. Ivy waved him on, secretly pleased that he’d glanced her way before leaving her side.
She was looking forward to again having Sunday lunch with Mitch’s fri
ends, people she was beginning to think of as her friends, too. She’d once again made arrangements to purchase flowers from her landlady’s garden, and was trying to decide whether she should go on and take care of that or wait for Mitch when Mrs. Ortolon approached her.
“How are you this fine Sunday morning?” she asked Ivy.
“I’m doing quite well, thank you. And you?”
“My rheumatism is acting up, but I can’t complain,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. Then she gave Ivy a sympathetic smile. “But what about you? I understand that you’d fallen and injured yourself when Mr. Parker found you. I hope you’ve fully recovered.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ivy glanced toward Mitch, thinking what a fine hero he made.
“Well, it’s unfortunate that you were hurt all the same. But I must say, that aside, it sounds like a very romantic way to meet.”
Ivy nodded, smiling at the memory of those two days at the cabin. “He was quite heroic. Bandaged my head, then just lifted me up and plopped me onto that great big horse of his like I didn’t weigh more than a pup.” She smiled at the memory. “He made me ride while he walked all the way to the cabin. He even cooked me a broth and tended to my mule.”
The woman’s sharp intake of breath brought Ivy’s gaze quickly back around.
“The cabin?” The woman’s eyes had narrowed. “I thought Mr. Parker found you on the trail back to town.”
The warmth rose in Ivy’s cheeks as she realized her slip. Mrs. Ortolon watched her like a child eyeing a new toy.
What had she done?
This was exactly what Mitch had warned her about.
*
Ivy scrambled for a way to divert the woman’s suspicions. “Actually, I was on my way here, but when Mr. Parker found me I wasn’t far from the cabin so he took me there first to tend to my cut and let me rest for a bit. Then we came on to town.”
Strictly speaking, that sequence of events was correct. So why did she feel as if she’d just told a fib?
“Of course.”
From the look on her face, Ivy could tell the woman wasn’t going to let the matter drop.
Mrs. Ortolon watched her closely. “I believe that wagon you two rode into town on came from the Morrisons’ place just outside of town.”
