“Oh—yes, I beg your pardon.” What a clodhopper she must think him, not even knowing how to introduce himself. “My name’s Gideon Jakeman. I own a farm up the road a piece from Mrs. Blackstone.” That’s when he realized he was still holding her hand. His face flooded with color and he released her hand as if it were a live coal. “I’m sorry—”
Her laughter sounded as sweet as a running brook in spring. “Not at all. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jakeman.”
At that moment, Mrs. Blackstone peered around Mrs. Keller. “What’s keeping you, Mara? Really, we must be going. The roast will be dry as leather.” As usual, Mrs. Blackstone sounded aggrieved. Gideon wondered what it must be like for the younger woman to dwell with the older widow who was known to be difficult.
“Yes, Carina.”
“You know how crowded it gets at the entrance,” she said with a sniff and a nod to Gideon before turning around and pushing her way forward.
“Yes. I shall be with you directly.” By neither look nor tone did Mrs. Keller betray any displeasure. When she turned her large eyes—blue, he noted, fringed in black lashes—to him she smiled once more. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jakeman.” Her gaze strayed to his side and she waited as if expectantly. It took Gideon a few seconds to realize his daughter stood there. “Oh.” He swallowed, realizing again how socially inept he was. He’d forgotten all about Lizzie. “This is my daughter, Lizzie—Elizabeth,” he amended. “But everyone calls her Lizzie. Elizabeth was her mother’s name, but we called her Elsie—” He stopped, realizing how confusing his introduction had become.
But Mrs. Keller didn’t seem to notice. She was already extending her hand to his fourteen-year-old daughter with a warm smile. “How do you do, Lizzie?”
Lizzie seemed as dumbfounded as he felt with Mrs. Keller’s ladylike ways. She quickly bobbed her head, her cheeks looking as red as frost-tinged apples.
“Well, I must be going.” Mrs. Keller smiled again at Gideon, a smile which succeeded in touching him all the way down to his toes, and took a step back. “Thank you again for your help with Dietrich.”
“Anytime, ma’am,” he managed before she turned and took a step away.
“Wait—” he called, a sudden thought pushing aside all the rest.
She glanced back, a finely arched black eyebrow lifted, a half smile of inquiry on her lips. “Yes, Mr. Jakeman?” she asked when he said nothing.
He coughed, feeling his face warm, mentally cursing the fact that he was enough of a redhead to turn beet-red at the merest provocation.
“I just thought—we’re neighbors. My farm’s the one just before Mrs. Blackstone’s. If you ever want to send Dietrich down my way, he’s welcome.” Gideon glanced down at her son, who was looking at him round-eyed as if he’d proposed going to the moon.
Gideon smiled to reassure him. The boy smiled back. Gideon met the woman’s glance again. “I’ll keep him busy over there.” At the slight frown that formed between her eyebrows, he quickly amended, “I mean, he’ll find plenty to do.” Did she think he meant to put the boy to work?
Before she could say anything, the boy turned to her. “Oh, Mama, please, may I?” He started tugging on her arm, his voice rising.
Gideon put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, quieting him instantly. “Simmer down, son. Let your mother have a chance to think it over.” Dietrich nodded and looked at his feet. Gideon gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning back to his mother.
The frown eased from her brow. “Thank you, Mr. Jakeman. That’s very kind of you. But I wouldn’t want Dietrich to be in your way.”
His lips tugged upward. “Oh, he wouldn’t be in the way. I can show him a few things if you don’t mind his getting his hands a little dirty.” The boy’s hands were as white as a young lady’s. He was a good-looking lad, a lot like his mother, with her slim build.
“No, of course not,” she murmured.
“Ever milked a cow, Dietrich?”
The boy shook his head, sending his straight hair flying. “No, sir.”
“Well, we shall see,” Mrs. Keller said. “Thank you for your offer, Mr. Jakeman.”
With a nod, she took her son by the hand and moved off toward the aisle.
Gideon stood looking after her until an acquaintance from the pew behind him slapped him on the back and greeted him. He shook away his distraction and focused on the kind of conversation he was comfortable with—the purchase of a new mare and the butchering of a hog.
Mara guided the horse and buggy into the barn after letting Carina off at the kitchen doorway, glad for the stillness in the large, shadowy interior after the tiresome ride home. Carina never seemed to be satisfied with anything she did. This noon it was Dietrich’s behavior in church, and her stepmother’s harangue still echoed in her ears.
Dietrich jumped down from the buggy. “Mama, let me unhitch Jacob.”
“Very well.” She allowed him to undo the traces as she unbuckled the straps of the harness. Carina allowed her use of the buggy only when she went along. But she did expect Mara to put it away when their handyman wasn’t around.
As they led the horse to the stall, Mara told her son, “I’ll give him some oats and you start brushing him down.”
The two worked quietly awhile. “Mama, that man in church was nice.”
“The one who made the lovely paper bird for you? That was Mr. Jakeman.” She remembered his offer for Dietrich.
“Yes. I kept it in my pocket.” He paused in his brushing and fished it out. “Oh, Mama, it’s crushed.”
Mara went over to his side of the stall and took the flattened paper. “We can plump it up, I think.” She folded out the creases as she spoke and tried to reshape the bird as best she could. “There, that doesn’t look too bad.”
He took it but didn’t say anything.
“Let’s put it over here until we’re finished.” She set it on a barrel then went back to brushing down the horse’s haunches. “There now, we’ll give Jacob a blanket. The days are certainly getting cooler.”
When they had set everything to rights in the barn, the two shoved closed the barn door then walked through the woodshed which connected the barn to the house. With each step closer, Mara’s spirits fell a notch at the thought of what awaited her inside. With a sigh, she pushed open the door to the kitchen.
Her stepmother turned from the cookstove. “The meat is drying out and the beans are getting cold.”
“I’m sorry. It took us a bit longer than I expected. Come, Dietrich, let’s wash our hands.”
As quickly as she could, she donned an apron and took over at the stove. As soon as she did so, Carina took her own apron off and headed to the dining room to sit down. Mara swallowed back her annoyance.
Since Mara had arrived at her father’s old house, her stepmother had relinquished all household tasks to her, making it plain she expected Mara to earn her keep. The fact that her father had left her half the house didn’t make up for the fact that Mara hadn’t a penny to her name.
The meal was a silent one, as were most in this cold, dingy house. The only sound in the dining room was the ticking of a clock over the mantel and the occasional sound of cutlery against a plate.
“Young man, chew your food with decorum.”
Mara glanced at her son and saw him quickly swallow the lump of food in his mouth. She smiled encouragement to ease the sharpness of Carina’s words to him. To take her attention off him, she said, “The minister gave a fine sermon.”
Carina’s fork paused halfway up to her mouth. “Grayson? He’s so long-winded, it’s a wonder half his congregation doesn’t nod off midway. Those pews are so hard, it’s inconsiderate of him to go on so.” Her eyes narrowed on Dietrich. “That reminds me, you’d better learn to keep quiet duri
ng service, young man. I could hardly hear the preacher for your banging your feet against the pew. Goodness, Mara, haven’t you taught your son anything?”
Mara clenched her teeth in renewed anger. Carina hadn’t yet called Dietrich by his given name. “Dietrich—” she stressed the syllables “—finds it difficult to sit still for too long…just the way some adults do,” she couldn’t help but add.
Mara regretted the words as soon as they were out. Carina narrowed her eyes at Mara until she felt she’d skewer her if she could. “Well, I never! I would hardly compare an ill-behaved boy to an elderly lady with a bad back.”
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean any offense.” Why hadn’t she just kept quiet? The words of the sermon on bearing suffering had flown out of her mind as soon as she’d left church, it seemed. Now poor Dietrich would bear the brunt of Carina’s wrath all afternoon. She searched around in her mind for something to take her stepmother’s mind off her remark. “That gentleman beside us was very nice.”
Carina’s eyes narrowed. “Gentleman? What gentleman? Don’t tell me you’re encouraging gentlemen with your husband not yet cold in the grave.”
Mara drew back at the sharp words. “Of course not!”
“May I remind you that you are still in mourning for your father, if not for your husband? I don’t know what the practices are over there in those foreign parts for widows, but here in New England, a widow is expected to be chaste and sober.”
Mara choked down the mashed potatoes in her mouth, and immediately felt her stomach clench in knots. How long would she have to put up with this woman? What had her poor father endured? And now Mara, for she had no money to go elsewhere.
“I need to know which gentleman you were speaking to in order to put a stop to any gossip that starts.”
Mara drew herself up. “I did nothing to start any gossip.”
Carina sniffed. “All it takes is for an unmarried woman to talk to a man and the whole hamlet knows about it within days.”
Mara set down her knife and fork on the edge of her plate. “I simply introduced myself to the gentleman sitting on the other side of Dietrich.”
“What a forward thing to do, introducing yourself to the first man you meet!”
“He was patient with Dietrich and I wanted to thank him.”
Carina thumped her forefinger against the tablecloth. “If you’d exercise some firmness with your boy, he wouldn’t fidget so much in church.”
Mara stared at the remaining food on her plate, praying for grace to keep her tongue still.
Before she could say anything, her stepmother tilted her head and pursed her lips. “As I recall that was Gideon Jakeman sitting by you.” She made a contemptuous sound, between a cackle and a snort. “Gentleman! That’s a good one!” She laughed some more. “A farmer, that’s what he is.”
She turned a scornful eye on Mara. “You’re wasting your time on that one! More’n one widow around here has tried to catch him.”
Mara stared at her stepmother’s quick turnaround from accusatory to smug.
“He’s a widower, all right, but not the kind you’d want to set your cap for, you with your fine ways.”
“I have no intention of setting my cap for anyone.”
Carina fixed her dark eyes on her in a way that always made Mara feel her malevolence like a viscous black syrup. “It might not be a bad idea for you to begin looking around at the widowers. I don’t know how long you can keep on here without contributing to the cost of the household.”
With an effort, Mara pushed her plate away and stood. “I intend to go to town tomorrow to seek employment. I will give you a portion of my wages as soon as I obtain them.”
“Employment! Why, whatever can you do for wages? I warn you, I’ll have nothing disreputable that would reflect badly on your poor father’s name!”
“I assure you, I would never shame my father’s name!” Mara’s voice shook with feeling. She pushed her chair to the table, gripping its back. “I intend to offer music lessons, perhaps deportment to young ladies—”
Another nasty cackle erupted from Carina’s lips. “Deportment! I doubt you’ll find anyone in these parts willing to pay good money to put on airs the way you do.”
Mara picked up her half-empty plate and left the table. She would keep her temper for Dietrich’s sake if nothing more.
“Mama, may I be excused?”
She turned back to her son. “Eat your turnip, dear.” If he didn’t clean his plate, it would mean more carping.
He made a face. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you must.”
He ran his fork through the mashed vegetable until Carina said sharply, “Don’t play with your food, boy! You heard your mother. Now clean your plate and be off with you.”
He gave the older woman a frightened look and quickly obeyed. As soon as he’d gagged down the vegetable he stood and looked at his mother. Mara nodded. “You may be excused.”
Dietrich ran into the kitchen and Mara followed more slowly. “Mama, may I go to Mr. Jakeman’s house?”
Mara bit her lip. She didn’t know the man, or how far away he lived. “Down the road a piece” could mean a mile or more in these parts. “We only just met him, dear.”
“But Mama, he invited me.”
“I know that, but I need to go with you the first time.”
Dietrich began to pout. Mara set down her dish and stood before him, lifting his chin. “I’ll take you soon, but today you’re to stay in the yard. Understood?”
Dietrich’s gaze took on the mutinous look she was so familiar with in his late father’s eyes. “But Mama—”
“I’m sorry. If you won’t obey me, you’ll just have to stay in your room.”
He looked down. “All right, but it’s not fair.”
She turned him around and gave him a gentle push toward the door. “I’ll take you soon. Now, go put on your jacket. It’s chilly outside.”
When he’d left the kitchen, Mara turned wearily back to the dining room to finish clearing the table.
As she stacked the dirty dishes onto a tray, Carina sat back with a satisfied sigh. “There’ve been two or three women in the hamlet who’ve set their eyes on Gideon in the years he’s been widowed, but he hasn’t given them a glance. He pretty much keeps to himself—he and that gangly redhead daughter o’ his.”
Mara kept silent, preferring to ignore her stepmother’s criticism. She never seemed to have anything good to say about anyone. The last thing Mara needed was to have Carina accusing her of setting her eye on the poor gentleman who’d helped keep Dietrich amused this morning.
“That homely daughter o’ his keeps house for Gideon.” Carina sniffed as she lifted her coffee cup. “I’m sure she wouldn’t welcome any strange woman into her father’s life.” She gave a contemptuous snort. “I shouldn’t want to see the inside of that house! A fourteen-year-old for a housekeeper!” Another sharp laugh punctuated the statement.
Mara lifted the tray, intrigued in spite of herself. “His daughter keeps house for him?” It reminded her of her own life with her father before he’d married Carina.
“The girl lords it over him. She wouldn’t let him look at another woman even if he had any inclination to do so.” Carina’s mouth twisted in a contemptuous smile. “More’s the pity for you. Jakeman’s quite a prosperous farmer. He owns the acreage up the hill past the Tate land. We go by it on our way to town.”
Mara remembered the man’s words and his offer for Dietrich.
Her stepmother took a sip of coffee. “It’s one of the largest pieces of land in Eagle’s Bay. But you wouldn’t know it to see him or that girl o’ his. Always dressed in work clothes and standing behind a plow.” She shook her head. “I can’t see you setting your sights on th
e likes o’ him, not with all your ‘European’ ways!” She said the word as if Mara had brought home some new way of living.
Sorry she’d shown any interest in the man, Mara lifted the heavy tray and headed back to the kitchen. She’d vowed never to marry again and she intended to keep that promise, even if she had to scrub floors for a living and save every penny until Dietrich reached manhood.
“Remember, I don’t want any gossip started, you hear?” Carina called behind her. “I’ve been living in Eagle’s Bay a good many years and never been the object of shame. Just because your father saw fit to leave you part of this property doesn’t mean you can do as you please.”
Mara escaped into the kitchen, banging down the tray and causing the china to rattle. “Tomorrow I shall look for employment,” she vowed under her breath. She would have to get out of this house before she did something she’d regret!
Chapter Two
Gideon sat in the buckboard with Lizzie at his side. The two rode back from their weekly trip to town. The maples along the road were brilliant with red and yellow, the dirt road covered with their shed leaves, the fields beyond the stone walls golden yellow.
“Who’s that, Pa?”
He squinted against the late-afternoon sun at the woman far ahead of them on the gently undulating road. Her long black cloak billowed out behind her. Despite her satchel, she walked straight.
“Isn’t that the lady from church?”
“Could be.” He flicked the reins and the mare picked up her pace.
It was quite a clip to town, almost four miles, and the stretch to the hamlet was up and downhill.
When the buckboard was within twenty feet of her, she finally slowed her pace and eventually stopped as he drew Bessie abreast of her.
It was indeed Mrs.— He strained to recall her name, remembering only that it had sounded unfamiliar to these parts.
He lifted a hand to his straw hat. “Howdy. Need a lift back?”
Hometown Cinderella: Hometown CinderellaThe Inn at Hope Springs Page 2
