“Rusty? I’d hardly say so. You play…beautifully,” he said for lack of a better word to describe the sublime sounds coming from the piano.
A pretty color suffused her cheeks. “It’s kind of you to say so, but I—I haven’t played in some months, so my fingers needed some limbering up.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know how that is.” He could have bitten his tongue, at the audacity of comparing his fiddling with her virtuosity.
“Of course. The violin is even more tricky.”
“Oh, no, I just fiddle a few old tunes.”
Her smile deepened. “I admire anyone who can entertain people with music.”
A silence fell between them. To fill it, he asked, “Reverend Grayson said your husband was a piano player?”
“Yes.” She touched a wisp of hair at her nape, and he couldn’t help notice its graceful curve. “We both played until, that is, until Dietrich was born, and…and then I gave it up, except for giving lessons when I was able.”
“That’s a shame.”
She stared at him as if not understanding his simple statement.
“I mean,” he hastened, “seeing as you play so well.”
“Oh, I don’t think anyone missed my playing.” She gave a short laugh. “I made enough mistakes this morning.”
“Well, I couldn’t hear any. I just watched your fingers go across those keys as if the very hounds were after you.”
She laughed as if she genuinely enjoyed his clumsy compliment. “Thank you. I shall remember that image the next time my fingers do not want to obey what my brain is commanding them.”
Another awkward pause fell between them, and he wished he was easy at making small talk. For some reason he wanted to prolong these moments with this woman, whom he’d normally never think to approach.
She drew herself up a fraction and began to speak just as he did. “Would you care—”
“I just stopped—”
They both fell silent just as quickly, each smiling slightly. He remained silent, determined to allow her to speak first.
“I was just going to ask you if you cared for a cup of tea or some refreshment.”
He could feel his color deepen. He hoped she didn’t think he’d been expecting her to offer him something. “Oh, no. I—uh—just stopped by with a bushel of cranberries Lizzie and I picked.”
“How lovely.”
“I left them in the shed. I don’t know if that’s where you want them.” He began backing out of the parlor.
“Oh, that’s fine, I’m sure. Let me have a look.” She preceded him and led him back to the kitchen. He hastened to open the kitchen door for her and she stepped into the woodshed. The morning sun streamed into the rough-hewn wood interior through the two windows facing east.
She bent over the basket which was full to the brim with the bright crimson berries. “Oh, my, I haven’t enjoyed some good cranberry sauce since I left New England.” She put her hand into the berries and let them fall through her fingers, smiling up at him.
He swallowed, mesmerized by her grace. There was an air of sadness about her until she smiled and then she looked so young and carefree.
Before he could think what to say, he heard running footsteps and the next second her son pulled open the door and rushed into the shed. He stopped short at the sight of Gideon. “Oh—you’re here. Hello.”
Mrs. Keller straightened. “Dietrich, where are your manners? Say a proper hello to Mr. Jakeman.”
The boy bobbed his head. “Hello, sir.”
He smiled in encouragement. “Hello, Dietrich. How are you today?”
“Fine.” His gaze landed on the bushel basket. “What are those?”
“Cranberries. Haven’t you ever seen cranberries?”
He shook his head then approached the basket and took one between his fingers.
“They’re too sour to eat raw,” Gideon warned before the boy could put it in his mouth, “but your mother can cook them up into a nice, sweet sauce. You’ll probably have some with your turkey for Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving?” Dietrich looked from Gideon to his mother.
Gideon blinked at the boy’s question. Didn’t the boy have a notion about Thanksgiving?
His mother smoothed back his hair from his forehead. “Yes, dear. It’s an important holiday here in America. We shall celebrate it in a few weeks. Now, where have you been? You’ve been gone all morning.”
Dietrich tossed the berry back into the basket and scuffed his toe against the rough floor. “Oh, just around. I went to the pond and climbed one of the apple trees.”
“Well, be careful climbing trees.”
Gideon cleared his throat. “Have you seen any of the boys from the cider pressing?”
“Only at school.”
Mrs. Keller added, “We don’t know where they live. I’m sure most live down at the harbor or on the other side of the hamlet.”
There were only a few farms down on their peninsula so Gideon sympathized with the boy and found himself offering, “Would you like to help Lizzie and me pick some more berries next time we go?” He turned to his mother. “They’re in a bog about a mile down the road.”
“May I, Mama?”
Gideon marveled at how foreign the boy sounded to him. Even the way he said “mama” was different, with the stress on the second syllable. He pictured the lad dressed in velvet in a fancy drawing room in England like a story out of St. Nicholas Magazine.
“Well, I don’t know…” Clearly, she was at a loss. “We don’t want to impose on Mr. Jakeman’s time.”
“No imposition at all, ma’am. I can take him along with me now, if you’d like. We have a new litter of kittens you can see,” he told Dietrich.
The boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve, jumping up and down. “May I see the kittens? Please, Mama!”
She put a hand on his shoulders. “If you settle down and let me think.” She turned her attention to Gideon. “Are you sure you don’t mind? We can plan it for another day—”
“Not at all, ma’am.” Before she could change her mind, he lifted his chin at Dietrich. “Why don’t you hop into the wagon and we’ll be off.” As the boy ran back outside, Gideon turned to Mrs. Keller. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be all right. There are plenty of things to keep him busy on the farm.”
“I don’t know… He can be very active, and I know you’re a busy man. I don’t want him to get into any mischief.”
He chuckled, glad he could do something for her. “Set your mind at rest. I was his age once and know all about mischief.”
She smiled back but he could tell it was with an effort. Suddenly, his throat constricted, sensing how difficult it must be for her to be facing life alone with a boy to raise. He had faced the same situation in reverse—the prospect of raising a daughter to a fine young woman had filled him with fear and worry. And he hadn’t finished the job yet, not by a long shot.
He placed his hat back on his head. “Well, I’ll be off then. You can tell Mrs. Blackstone I’ll bring her more berries if she needs. Just let me know.”
Mrs. Keller followed him outside. The day was chilly although the morning sun against the house made it seem warmer than it was. “You’d best get indoors,” he said gently before turning to his horse and buckboard.
She wrapped her arms around herself and walked instead to where her son had climbed up on the seat. “Be good now, do you hear me, Dietrich?”
“Yes, Mama, I promise.”
She nodded, giving his arm a quick pat before stepping back from the wagon. “Very well, I’ll see you later. I can come for him, Mr. Jakeman. You needn’t make another special trip here to bring him back.”
“It’s no problem. We’re only half a mil
e down the road. Lizzie would like to see you.” Then he turned to the reins, thinking what a stupid thing he’d said. “I mean, if you’re here, just to say hello.”
“That would be lovely. I look forward to seeing your daughter again.”
The words sounded so sincere and friendly that Gideon couldn’t help but take another look at Mrs. Keller. He nodded his head once before releasing the brake and giving the reins a slap.
His spirit felt lighter, like the puffy white clouds floating high above him on the deep blue sky.
Chapter Five
Mara kept finding excuses to step outside and look up and down the road. It was half past five and Dietrich had not yet returned. Had Mr. Jakeman meant to bring him home himself or would he send Dietrich home by foot alone?
The sun was setting and the sea across the road in the bay was already taking a gray cast. The breeze caused Mara to shiver and wrap her wool shawl more tightly around herself. She stood a while longer at the end of their drive, looking down the road. She couldn’t see the Jakeman farm from here as the dirt road dipped and climbed in a few shallow risings between the two properties.
She bit her lip, wondering what was keeping Dietrich so long. Soon, she’d have to have supper on the table. Another meal to be endured sitting across from Carina.
Mara sighed. She had half a mind to walk the distance to the Jakeman farm. She’d have to let Carina know.
Just as she was turning to go in, not yet sure if she wanted to face her stepmother’s sharp questions, she thought she heard the sound of wheels against the dirt. She held her breath, praying it was Dietrich, and stood, waiting, her fingers gripping her shawl.
She let out a breath of relief at the sight of the buckboard cresting the slope and the young boy on one side of the seat. The driver wasn’t Mr. Jakeman but his daughter.
As soon as Dietrich saw her, he began waving and bouncing on his seat. “Mama, Mama!”
Mara couldn’t help a smile. “Sit still or you’ll fall off,” she said as soon as he was close enough to hear her without shouting.
She smiled at Lizzie who returned it with a wide smile of her own. “Good evening, Lizzie. Thank you for bringing home my son. I didn’t want to trouble you.”
Lizzie guided the wagon into the drive. “No trouble at all, ma’am.”
“May I have a kitten, please? I was going to bring one back today, but Mr. Jakeman said to wait and ask you. May I, please, Mama? They’re so tiny, all gray and black and fuzzy. I could put my finger up to their mouths and they’d start sucking.” He laughed at the idea and Mara could only smile back, feeling a sudden surge of love for her dark-haired boy.
Lizzie drew up the wagon. Before Mara could help Dietrich down, he had jumped to the ground and went off toward the barn.
“Don’t go too far. We’ll be eating supper soon. You need to wash up.”
“I won’t,” he shouted back. “I just want to find Paul and tell him about the kittens.”
“Very well.”
Mara made her way to Lizzie’s side of the wagon. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it, Mrs. Keller.” The young girl’s cheeks turned rosy. “Truth was I wanted an excuse to come by.”
“You don’t need an excuse. You’re welcome anytime.”
The girl bobbed her head shyly. “That’s nice of you, ma’am.”
“Would you like to come in now?”
“Thank you, but I have to get back to Papa.” There was a wistful look in her pale green eyes. “Maybe next time.”
“Yes.” She wished she could say or do something for the girl, but she didn’t feel at liberty to offer much, since she felt as if she were a guest in her own house. “Wait a moment. I’d like to send something along home with you.”
“You don’t have to do that—”
“But I’d like to.” Mara hurried into the house. Quickly, she took the lid off the cake pan and cut a generous portion of a coffee cake she had baked that morning and set it on a piece of parchment paper.
At that moment, Carina entered the kitchen. Mara tensed but continued what she was doing.
“I thought I heard someone—oh, it’s just you.”
“Yes.”
Carina strode to the window, the heels of her boots clicking against the floor. Mara looked over her shoulder, following her stepmother’s movements. Carina flicked back the lace curtain and peered through. “What’s she doing here?”
Mara reined in her impatience. “She brought Dietrich back.”
“Back? Where was he?”
“He went to visit the Jakemans.”
“He did, did he? Hope he didn’t make a nuisance of himself.”
Mara ground her teeth to keep from saying anything and concentrated on continuing to wrap the piece of cake. She cut a length of string and tied it around the square. “Let me take this to her so she can be on her way.”
She didn’t breathe easier until she was back outside. “Here you go, a piece of cake for you and your father with your coffee tomorrow.”
Lizzie took it from her, her face showing her gratitude. “Oh, Mrs. Keller, you shouldn’t have, but if it’s anything like that last one you made, I know Papa and I’ll enjoy it.”
“Well, it’s not nearly as fancy, just coffee cake, but I hope you two like it. Please tell your father I’m more grateful than I can say for his patience with Dietrich. I know Dietrich can be quite restless at his age, but he doesn’t mean any harm.”
Lizzie set the wrapped cake on the seat beside her as if it was a fragile piece of glass. “Goodness, Dietrich wasn’t any more restless than any boy I know.”
“He didn’t break anything, did he?”
Lizzie laughed. “’Course he didn’t. Wherever did you get that idea?”
Mara thought of the bowl that had slipped through his fingers while helping clear the table the other night and Carina’s sharp words. “Oh, I just know boys can be careless.”
“You set your mind at rest. He did fine. Oh, ma’am—” the girl’s light-colored eyebrows scrunched together “—would you like one of them kitties? I promised Dietrich I’d ask you.”
“If it were up to me, I’d say yes.” She glanced behind her toward the house and discerned Carina’s shadow behind the curtain. “But let me ask my— Mrs. Blackstone first.”
Lizzie only nodded. “Sure. Just let us know. In the meantime, the kitties’ll be waiting.”
Mara smiled. “Thank you.”
“Well, I’d best be going.”
After a final exchange of thanks and well-wishes, Mara stepped back and watched as the girl maneuvered the buckboard down the drive. With a wave, she headed up the road.
Mara wondered fleetingly what her reception would be. Her father would be relieved to see her home. They’d probably sit down to supper together. She envisioned a cozy tableau. Would he take a bit of her cake tonight? Or wait till tomorrow?
What was she thinking? Why did she care? With a shake of her head, she spun around. “Dietrich!” she called as she entered through the woodshed. “Dietrich!”
“Just a moment, Mama,” he called back, his voice coming from the barn.
“Come in to supper.”
As Mara reentered the kitchen, Dietrich’s footsteps pounded on the wooden floorboards of the woodshed. A few moments later, he burst into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of Carina.
“Mercy, child, that’s no way to enter a house.”
“Come and wash up,” Mara told him, cutting off anything more Carina would say.
Mara hurried about, placing the food on the table. “Dietrich, don’t take too long at the sink. You need to set the table.”
Their suppers were simple, little more than bread and butter
, fruit compote, a glass of milk for Dietrich, tea or buttermilk for Carina and herself.
Afterward, as she went up to tuck Dietrich into bed, she had a hard time getting him to settle down. After he’d knelt by his bed and said his prayers, Mara took up the book by his bedside to begin their story time, but every few minutes, he interrupted her reading.
“Mama, did you know Mr. Jakeman has a pig they call Gertrude? She’s so big.” Dietrich stretched both arms wide. “She has her own pen and is all black and just lies there.”
Mara nodded. “Is that so?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He nodded vigorously.
A few moments later, he said, “And he has some sheep in a pasture high on a hill beyond the fields. He took me up there with their dog, Samson. You know why they call him Samson?”
She set the book on her lap with a smile. “No, dear, why is that?”
“’Cause he’s so strong. Do you know, he can get all the sheep to come back to the barn?”
“Yes, that’s why those dogs are usually called sheepdogs.”
“Yes, that’s what he said. And he has some cows. They’re brown-and-white. And some—” He scrunched up his nose as if trying to think of the word. “Oxen!” Dietrich sighed. “They have a nice house.”
Mara waited to see if he would describe it. She wondered what it was like inside. She had only glimpsed it in passing, a small cape-style house, mostly obscured by the tall maples growing alongside the road in front of their property.
But Dietrich said no more.
“Did you go inside?” she asked.
He nodded his head. “Lizzie gave me a glass of milk and some oatmeal cookies. She baked them herself. She does all the cooking for her and her papa.”
Mara thought of how it had been for her and her father so long ago. “Yes, I imagine she learned how to do that after her mother died.”
Dietrich was pensive a few moments, so Mara took up the story again.
“I’m glad we came back to America to live.”
Hometown Cinderella: Hometown CinderellaThe Inn at Hope Springs Page 6
