by Dorothy Love
Wyatt took her elbow and guided her away from Lillian’s open window, across the porch, and into the fragrant shade of the magnolia tree. “I’m sorry that I’ve upset you so. But I’ve already explained my position. I need you to look after Lil. That was the agreement you made. Now you want to change it.”
“I have no intention of neglecting my responsibilities to her, but I must plan for the day when she . . . after she’s . . .”
“I realize she’s lived many more years than are allotted to most folks. When Lillian goes to meet her Lord, you’ll get an additional three months’ salary, as we originally agreed. I won’t turn you out on the street. That’s a promise.”
“People break promises all the time.”
The look on her face, so full of hurt and vulnerability, nearly broke his heart. “I don’t. You’ll be welcome to stay on here at the house until you find another situation.”
“Another situation? Is this to be my life, then? Always a servant in someone else’s house, dependent upon their whims, with never a place to call home?” Tears streamed down her face. “What kind of life is that?”
“I’m not asking you never to start your business,” he soothed. “Only to wait until you can devote full time to it.”
She pointed to Lillian’s open window. “She has slept all day. I could have made three patterns by now, or trimmed a hat, or taken care of paperwork, and she’d never know. Do you know what I think? You just can’t abide the fact that I have a mind of my own.”
His patience snapped. “If you find the terms of your employment so onerous, perhaps you’d rather resign.” He saw the pure panic in her eyes before she spun away from him. He caught her arm and turned her around. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean that. I want you to stay.”
“It didn’t seem that way at the park earlier today. One minute we were having a pleasant talk and the next, you—”
“It didn’t have a thing to do with you. I spoke too abruptly, and I regret it.”
She nodded. “And I regret that you don’t approve of my plans. But I must provide for my future. There’s no one else to do it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And it seems there is no room for compromise.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. The woman was stubborn as a yearling on the end of a lasso. “We can stand here all day and not solve anything. I need to get back to the mill and pay my men.” He went to the rig and retrieved her parcels. “Here’s your hatmaking book. I’ll hold on to Mr. Thackeray’s novel.”
He touched his finger to the brim of his Stetson, turned the rig, and headed down the road.
Watching him go, Ada felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Despite his refusal to acknowledge her point of view, it was poor manners to have turned away his gift. Already she regretted their argument. She sat on the swing and set it in motion with the toe of her shoe. A cooling breeze drifted across the porch, releasing the faint scent of magnolias and setting the roses to nodding on their stems. Her eyes burned. The confrontation with Wyatt had left her feeling drained and deeply confused.
Despite her best intentions, she was beginning to have feelings for this man. A part of her longed for his companionship, even his affection. And yet she craved the peace of mind that would be hers when she no longer had to count every coin and fret over the smallest of purchases, when she would be beholden to no one. If she succeeded, she would be safe.
Even so, when Wyatt looked into her eyes, she’d almost been able to imagine a life with him by her side. She closed her eyes and willed the image away. It was far too soon—and too dangerous—to be thinking this way. Better to focus on her plan and not risk her heart.
She watched the lengthening afternoon shadows settling over the mountains like an indigo shawl and tried to convince herself that being on her own was the right choice.
Undoubtedly it was. But at what price?
TWELVE
Three days of steady rain had turned the road to a sea of mud and left the house dank and smelling slightly of mold, but Independence Day dawned sunny and hot. On the morning of the Founders Day celebration, Ada woke with swollen eyes and a throbbing headache, a result of the relentless heat and her recurring nightmare. Images of a raging fire and its grisly aftermath played in her head as she prepared a blackberry cobbler for the communal dinner on the grounds.
Ada bent to check the oven. The flames leapt and flickered. The wood hissed and popped as it burned. A small, gray mound of ashes settled to the bottom of the stove. She began to shake. Her eyes welled with fresh tears.
“What’s the matter?” Lillian paused in rolling out the pie crust to frown at Ada. “Surely this recipe isn’t that hard.”
Ada didn’t bother refuting the old woman’s words. Lillian had been in a foul mood ever since the rain began; arguing with her would serve no purpose and only put them both in a contentious mood. Despite the aftereffects of her nightmare, Ada was determined to enjoy her first holiday in Hickory Ridge.
She didn’t expect to see Wyatt at today’s festivities, a prospect that left her feeling both disappointed and relieved. They had spoken only briefly since the day she left him in town. She missed his smile and the languid musicality of his speech. She didn’t miss his insistence that she put her plans on hold.
“You didn’t put in the lemon juice!” Lillian angled her wheelchair closer to the table and pointed to the bowl of sugared blackberries.
“I’m just getting to it.” Ada added lemon juice, poured the mixture into the baking dish, and laid the rolled dough gently over the top.
While the cobbler baked, she helped Lillian get dressed and then changed into her own dress, an old one of deep green that complemented the color of her eyes. She coiled her hair into a simple knot at the base of her neck and donned the small hat she’d worn for traveling. It wasn’t really a summer hat, but it was the best one she had. It would have to do.
Mariah and Sage Whiting arrived to drive them into town. Ada gathered their things and took Lillian’s arm. They picked their way across the muddy yard to the wagon, where Sage settled Lillian and Ada on the seat behind Mariah.
“Where’s Robbie this morning?” Ada set the pan of cobbler at her feet.
“He spent the night with Toby McCall in town.” Mariah handed Ada a light quilt. “Best cover your dresses so they won’t get muddy. Those boys have been inseparable since the McCalls moved here last spring. I’m not so sure Toby is the right kind of friend for Rob, though.” She frowned. “He seems wild. And more worldly than our boy.”
“We can’t protect him from everything,” Sage said. “We’ve given him the right upbringing.” He patted Mariah’s hand, a gesture so sweet and intimate that it made Ada’s heart hurt. “He’ll make the right choices.”
When they neared the church, they were joined on the muddy road by the preacher in his black rig and a couple of other families headed for town. As the wagon wheels creaked, churning up blobs of rust-colored mud, the women called out greetings. The men traded jokes about the condition of the road and made plans for afternoon games of horseshoes and darts.
By the time they arrived, the park was already packed with people, wagons, and horses. The musicians arrived and began setting up their chairs in the gazebo. Men rushed about in their rubber boots, setting up long tables for the dozens of pies, cakes, and covered dishes that appeared like magic to fill every available space. In a relatively dry spot near the road, Jacob Hargrove and his friends were setting the stakes for games of horseshoes. A group of girls, Sabrina Gilman among them, sat on thick blankets nearby, their pretty summer frocks spread out around them like flower petals. Jacob looked up as Ada passed and nodded. She waved, hoping that the banker’s daughter wouldn’t break the heart of such an earnest young man.
Sage went off to find his friends, and Lillian joined a group of older women at a table beneath the trees. After adding their offerings to the array of food, Ada and Mariah made their way to the gazebo and spread a blanket in the shade to await the concert.
“Hello, Robbie.”
“I want you boys to go help your daddy with those tables.” Mariah dug her fan out of her bag and snapped it open.
“But Toby and them are getting up a rock-throwing competition. Whoever throws a rock farthest down the river wins a brand-new silver whistle. It’s wonderful, Mama. I want it really bad.”
Mariah eyed him sharply. “We are not going to argue about this, son. Go help your daddy and then find some other way to have fun, or you can wait all day in the wagon. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Now excuse yourself to Miss Ada and run along.”
More people arrived for the celebration. Patsy Greer from the Gazette drove up with her father, followed by several of Wyatt’s sawyers and their families. Nate Chastain appeared and made a beeline for Carrie Daly, who sat apart from the others, watching the children from the orphanage playing a game of tag.
Jasper Pruitt arrived from the mercantile. He joked with the other men as he set a huge jar of pickles on the table, his contribution to the meal.
“For mercy’s sake, would you look at Jasper Pruitt? He looks like he tumbled into a hog pen.” Mariah nodded toward the tables, where the very muddy owner of the mercantile stood. “Not his fault, of course,” she added. “I can’t remember the last time the road was this bad. But I couldn’t miss the chance to catch up with everyone.” She patted Ada’s hand. “I don’t suppose your supplies have arrived yet.”
“No, but don’t worry. Mr. Biddle is very reliable.”
“I hope so. I’m counting the days until I can arrive at the harvest festival in a brand-new hat.” Mariah’s brown eyes shone. She sipped her lemonade. “Any more orders yet?”
The question reminded Ada of her unresolved disagreement with Wyatt. Every memory of their last conversation left her feeling regretful and unsettled. But that wasn’t something she wanted to share, even with Mariah. “Not yet. But my notice will appear in this week’s Gazette.”
Just then Robbie rushed over, leading the young girl from the orphanage.
“Miss Ada, this is Sophie. The one I told you about, remember? She’s almost eleven, same as me.”
“I do remember.” Ada looked into the face of the most beautiful child she had ever seen. The girl’s coffee-with-cream skin was flawless. Her wide-set eyes were somewhere between green and gray, her long straight hair the blue-black of a raven’s wing. Sophie wore an ill-fitting gingham pinafore that left her ankles exposed, but she carried herself with the natural grace of a princess.
“Hello, Sophie. I’m Ada Wentworth. Robbie tells me you are one of the smartest people he knows.”
The girl raised one shoulder in an elegant little shrug. “Mrs. Lowell thinks I’m stupid.”
“Sophie’s got more brains than anybody,” Robbie said loyally. “She knows the times tables better than me. And she tells the best stories you ever heard.”
“I love stories!” Ada said. “When I was a girl at school, my friends and I read stories all the time, even when we were supposed to be resting.”
“Ain’t no resting time at the orphan house,” Sophie declared. “Everybody but me goes to school, and after my lessons with Mrs. Lowell, I got my chores, then supper, then prayers, then bed.”
Ada’s heart broke. Sophie’s potential was being wasted because of the mixed blood in her veins. In New Orleans, Ada had known others like her who had found acceptance in society. In another place, Sophie might be able to overcome the circumstances of her birth. In Hickory Ridge, it seemed she didn’t stand a chance.
“Miss Ada, will you play tag with us?” Robbie tugged on Ada’s hand. “Over there in the grass by the merry-go-round, there’s hardly any mud at all.”
“Robbie,” said his mother, “don’t bother Miss Ada.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do, Mama? You told me not to play with Toby and them. I’m not having any fun at all. Might as well go home and do my arithmetic.”
Ada laughed and got to her feet. “All right. One game, and then I want to visit with your mother.”
“Last one there is a rotten egg!” Robbie took off, Sophie at his heels. With a backward glance at Mariah, Ada hiked her skirts and followed them across the wet ground to join the other children.
While the orphanage mistress watched from the sidelines, Ada, her hat askew, chased the squealing children around the old trees and along the path that led to the river. She let the youngest ones narrowly escape being tagged just to hear their delighted laughter. Robbie and Sophie circled and swooped past her, calling out to her, daring her to catch them. When at last she tagged them, the three collapsed onto the damp grass near the merry-go-round.
“That was fun!” Sophie said.
“It was all right.” Robbie absently plucked a blade of grass and glanced longingly toward the opposite river bank where Toby and several other boys were tossing rocks and yelling at each other. “But I still want that silver whistle.”
Just then a handbell clanged. Sophie scrambled to her feet. “That’s Mrs. Lowell callin’ us. I got to go before I gets in trouble.”
Ada looked up. “Good-bye, Sophie. I hope to see you again. Perhaps we’ll trade stories.”
“Maybe.” The girl looked at Ada with an expression that was half hope, half resignation—as if even the smallest of pleasures was too much to wish for. Then she left to join the others.
Robbie watched her go. “I sure wish Mr. Wyatt was here. He’d talk Mama into letting me play on the river. He can talk her into anything.”
Ada smiled. “Mr. Caldwell can be very persuasive.”
“What does persuasive mean?”
“Convincing.”
“Oh. How come he didn’t come to the celebration? Pa said he’s working at the mill all day. On a holiday!”
“Sometimes holidays can make grownups feel sad. This one reminds Mr. Caldwell of friends he lost in the war.”
“Yeah. Like Billy Rondo. Billy Rondo was Mr. Wyatt’s best friend in the whole world, until he grew up and met my pa. Now my pa is his best friend. But I bet he still misses Billy Rondo.”
“I’m sure he does. Miss Lillian told me about the time Mr. Caldwell and his friend Billy built a raft and went exploring on the river.”
Robbie’s eyes went wide. “By themselves?”
“I believe so.” Ada smiled. “That must have been exciting.”
Just then, she saw Wyatt striding across the park toward them. He met her eye, and the thunderous expression on his face set off warning bells in her head. “Would you excuse me, Robbie? Here he comes now.”
THIRTEEN
Wyatt stopped in front of Ada, a wrinkled copy of the Gazette in his hand. “I thought we had reached an understanding.”
Ada’s mouth went dry. Clearly he was angry enough to send her packing without a moment’s regret. She waited, her heart kicking.
His eyes blazed. “I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t pursue this hatmaking scheme so long as you’re looking after Aunt Lil . . . and now this!”
He pointed to the ad. As promised, Patsy Greer had added a drawing of a feathered hat to the ad copy beneath “Hats by Ada.”
Seeing her hopes spelled out in print made them seem possible and gave her courage. She crossed her arms and tucked her hands under them. “It isn’t a scheme, Mr. Caldwell; it’s a legitimate business venture. Believe me, I know the difference. Furthermore, we didn’t agree on anything. You laid down the law and left, assuming I’d bow to your wishes.”
He sighed. “I don’t wish to pull rank here, Ada, but—”
“Yes, I know. I work for you. I couldn’t cancel it this week even if I’d wanted to. You might have noticed that the roads are a mess. Libby Dawson didn’t show up for the soiled laundry, which means I had to do t
he washing and dry it all indoors. And I am sorry to say that your aunt had another of her spells the day before yesterday.” She pushed up her sleeve to reveal four purple bruises and a cross-hatching of long red scratches on the underside of her wrist. “She mistook me for an intruder and fought like a wildcat.”
Concern softened the hard planes of his face. “I’m sorry. Is she all right now?”
“She’s fine. Visiting with some of her friends over there by the food tables. She hasn’t been neglected, I assure you.”
The musicians began warming up. Ada felt empty, defeated. “You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Caldwell. I need this job.”
He nodded, his lips tightening. “Then act like it.”
She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, to convince him somehow of the utter impossibility of her situation. But creating a scene would only make them both angrier. She forced herself to speak calmly. “I will cancel the ad as soon as possible. For now, I’d like to enjoy the concert. If you have no objection.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped. “No. No objection at all.”
She turned on her heel, retraced her steps, and took her place on the blanket beside Mariah.
The musicians began with Stephen Foster tunes that soon had the audience clapping and singing along. As the music segued into “Dixie” and the “Bonnie Blue Flag,” former Rebel soldiers, many of them near tears, stood and removed their hats. Dressed in tattered gray uniforms, they looked older than their years, but their grief and pride were palpable.
But not everyone in the crowd felt the same. A knot of unionists standing near the gazebo began a loud chorus of jeers, drowning out the last notes of the song. Someone yelled a string of curse words. Someone else threw a punch, and the melee was on.
Despite her anger and frustration, Ada couldn’t help seeking Wyatt in the crowd. He remained where she’d left him, his worn Stetson in his hand, his sea-blue gaze locked on hers. She understood the pain that he was feeling in this moment, the worry that the divisiveness of the war might never heal. She returned his gaze, feeling something fleeting and precious pass between them. She regretted their argument. She hated knowing that he was disappointed in her.
