Hometown Cinderella: Hometown CinderellaThe Inn at Hope Springs

by Patricia Davids

  Her full, wavy hair was neatly brushed, falling to just above her waist. A green ribbon was tied at the back, with shorter strands caught up in it. He could see her profile when she smiled in greeting to an uncle. Her face looked radiant—not the beet-red that frequently filled her cheeks when she was embarrassed, but a soft pink—peaches and cream, Elsie would have said. Gone was the girlish look that her usual two braids gave her. The dress had a lacy white collar and tight sleeves that reached halfway down her forearms. A wide green sash emphasized her small waist, and because she had grown so tall in the past year, in the longer gown and slim boots, she looked quite grown-up.

  He sighed, not sure if he liked it. But then she looked his way and smiled shyly, and all he could do was smile back. He wouldn’t be able to hold back time, no matter how much he tried.

  He hardly heard the rest of his cousin’s conversation, his glance skimming the rest of the company, resting on the boys Lizzie’s age and young men a few years older. Which one would win her heart and take her away from him?

  Not that he wanted to keep her for himself. He and Elsie were married when they were barely eighteen and nineteen apiece, and the following year they’d had Lizzie.

  “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

  He turned to Sarah with an apologetic smile. “What’s that?”

  “What do you think of Mrs. Keller?” Before giving him a chance to formulate a reply, she continued. “I think she’ll be good for Lizzie.” She gave a nod in their direction.

  Gideon focused on Mrs. Keller, who was standing talking to an elderly woman. He was surprised to see she was not wearing black but a gray gown with black trim. He was relieved to see her in something less severe. He wondered how long she’d been a widow. Her father had been gone almost six months now.

  What was it like for her to come and live with Mrs. Blackstone? The older lady had taken a seat someone had vacated for her, and she spread the skirts of her gown around her, sitting like a queen.

  He’d never had much to do with Mrs. Blackstone, but he knew from the little Paul let drop that she was a strict taskmaster.

  His attention returned to Mrs. Keller. Regardless of what color she wore, she was the most elegant-looking woman in the parlor. She was taller than Lizzie and just as slim—except for having the contours of a woman. Gideon could feel his neck warm around his collar at the direction of his thoughts.

  “Well, I’d better get my fiddle.”

  “There’s time yet. Why don’t you socialize a little? Lizzie seems quite taken with Mrs. Keller. She really has needed a feminine influence in her life. I wish I could do more, but you know with my brood…” She chuckled.

  “You’ve done a lot for us already.”

  Sarah continued to observe Lizzie. “Now she needs someone to teach her ladylike manners. Maybe Mrs. Keller is the person to do so. She seems to be fond of her. Funny, she only has one child, too.” Sarah gave him a sidelong smile. “He probably could use a male hand. Paul tells me he’s always up to some mischief.”

  “Dietrich’s all right. Probably just craving attention.”

  “Goodness, yes. Handsome little fellow. Well, perhaps you and Mrs. Keller can help each other out.” With a final pat on his arm, Sarah moved away.

  None too soon, in Gideon’s opinion. The last thing he needed were sly looks and innuendos when all he was trying to do was be a good neighbor, just as he’d always been to Mrs. Blackstone.

  Why did one feel like a chore and the other a privilege?

  Chapter Seven

  Mara sat on the piano bench with her newest pupil, a girl of twelve. “Let’s try that again, Louisa,” she said, holding on to her patience. The girl had not learned the simple piece Mara had given her last week.

  Louisa’s chubby fingers banged on the keys to the tune of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” A discordant note echoed in the parlor. She started again and made another mistake.

  “From the beginning.”

  After several tries, the girl finally got through the short piece.

  Footsteps clicked against the parquet floor. “How did it go?”

  The girl’s mother, Mrs. Ellison, entered and came up to the piano.

  Mara smiled with effort. “A little more practice next time, eh, Louisa?”

  The girl banged on the keys with all ten fingers, creating a din in the room.

  “Louisa!”

  Louisa ignored her mother’s exclamation, sliding off the stool.

  “May I be excused, Mama?”

  “Not yet, my dear. Mrs. Keller is here to teach you deportment as well. You want to grow up to be a proper young lady, do you not?”

  The girl stuck out her lower lip but said nothing more. She was a pretty child with honey-gold ringlets tied back with ribbons.

  Mara stood, girding herself to proceed with the next portion of lessons.

  Mrs. Ellison swept out of her way, her taffeta skirts rustling. Its high bustle at the rear, of the latest fashion, was straight enough to set a book upon.

  Instead of leaving the room, she took a seat on the velvet love seat.

  Hoping the woman would not make her daughter feel too awkward with her presence, Mara beckoned. “Come along, Louisa. Let me see you walk across the room.”

  The girl marched across, her swinging arms sending her skirt and pinafore swishing.

  “Louisa! What kind of hoyden do you think you are?”

  Mara ignored Mrs. Ellison’s sharp tone and went to stand by the girl. “Let’s walk together and see if you can match my pace.”

  Mara gently guided her, straightening her shoulders and setting a sedate pace. Each time Mara walked her through it, Mrs. Ellison offered a critique.

  By the time she left that afternoon, Mara’s temples were throbbing. She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Mrs. Ellison that her services would no longer be available.

  But she remembered her fee. No, she must stick it out.

  She exited the overheated house, taking a deep breath of the bracing air. She would not be feeling so out of patience, she told herself, if Louisa had not been her fourth student.

  But an afternoon of teaching children who had no real interest in learning only brought back the years of recalcitrant pupils in various European cities. Mara would return from a drafty piano studio only to find a cold flat. Once again Klaus had gone out and forgotten to put coal into the stove. Later, when he was lying in bed ill, too weak to get up and fend for himself, she’d have to set aside her own weariness and prepare him some food and keep his room warm with their meager supply of coal.

  She shook aside the memories. She would not return there. Her life was different now. She would save enough to find a nice place for Dietrich and herself.

  Gideon settled his bill at the grocer’s and picked up his parcels. One more errand, and then home before Lizzie wondered what was keeping him. He stepped onto the sidewalk and made his way to the wagon.

  He set his parcels in back, exchanged a few words with a passerby then got on his way.

  The maple trees lining the street had lost most of their color, their leaves blown off by a couple of nor’easters.

  Stately white homes with black shutters lined the rectangular green at the center of town. An American flag flapped in the breeze by a war memorial. Gideon noticed a woman ahead of him, bent slightly against the wind and carrying a heavy-looking satchel in one hand, the other clutching her bonnet.

  Without making a conscious decision, Gideon guided his horse in her direction, recognizing Mrs. Keller. She had her back to him as she reached the end of the green.

  As he drew abreast of her, she stopped, turning startled eyes to him.

  He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

 
She smiled as she recognized him. “Oh, hello, Mr. Jakeman.”

  Clearing his throat, he decided to ask before he lost his nerve. She was just the one to help him with his last errand. “I wondered if you might advise me with something. That is—” he stopped, realizing she was probably on her way to a music lesson “—if you’re not busy just now.”

  “No. As a matter of fact I’m on my way back home.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  She stood by the wagon, waiting until he remembered what he was going to say. “I wanted to pick up some cloth—a piece of fabric, that is, for my Lizzie. She’s taken a notion of making herself a new gown for Thanksgiving. She said you and she had talked of it.”

  Her smile widened. “Yes.” Then her expression grew serious. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t mean to have her ask you for something. I thought she might have some extra fabric on hand.”

  He waved aside her concern. “I appreciate your suggestion. It’s not something that would have occurred to me.” He smiled sheepishly then swallowed. “She looked right pretty the other night at the sociable.”

  Her deep blue eyes scanned his face as if to verify that he was being sincere. “Yes, she did, didn’t she?” she said softly.

  He nodded slowly. Then clearing his throat, he returned to his immediate concern. “It’s just that I wasn’t quite sure what to get her. Would…would you mind accompanying me to Pearce’s—” he mentioned the dry goods store “—to see if there is anything she might like?”

  She hesitated a moment.

  Afraid she would refuse, he hurried on. “I can give you a lift back home, if you’re running late.”

  A look of relief passed over her features. “That’s very kind of you. I didn’t want them to wonder where I was if…if I’m late.” Before he could say anything more, she climbed up into the buckboard.

  He rode around the green, coming to a stop before a two-story building with large windows displaying a host of goods on sale within.

  He lifted his hat at those who recognized him as he made his way around to help Mrs. Keller alight. After securing the horse at the hitching post, he turned to her. “Shall we go in?”

  “Yes, of course.” She walked beside him and he held open the door for her.

  He removed his hat and led her across the wood-planked floor toward the area filled with bolts of fabric. A clerk, a middle-aged woman, came up to the other side of the counter. “Hello, may I help you?”

  “I’m not sure—” he began, but Mrs. Keller pointed to a bolt.

  “May we see that green, please?”

  “Certainly, madam.” She extracted it from the other dark, woolen fabrics and placed it on the counter. “It’s a lovely spruce-green serge, perfect for the coming winter season. We just got it in this week from our supplier in Boston.”

  As the lady spoke, Mrs. Keller was feeling it between her fingertips. Without seeming to pay much attention to the woman, she turned to Gideon, a question in her eye.

  He nodded. “Looks fine to me.”

  “Oh, it would make a lovely gown for you, madam.”

  A slight color rose in Mrs. Keller’s cheeks. “Oh, it isn’t for me. It’s for a girl of fourteen. The shade of green would be just right with her coloring, don’t you think, Mr. Jakeman?” She turned to him again.

  “Yes, it would.” His thoughts weren’t on Lizzie at that second, but on what impression the saleslady had of him and Mrs. Keller together. He recognized her, of course, but didn’t know if the two women had ever seen each other. The saleslady’s remark about the fabric suiting Mrs. Keller was also lingering in his mind, as he envisioned the color against her pale skin and sable hair.

  He gave himself a mental shake to focus on the interchange between the two women. Mrs. Keller was asking the lady how much the fabric cost per yard. At her reply, Mrs. Keller turned to him, looking doubtful.

  “How much do you need?” he asked.

  She pursed her fine lips then consulted with the saleslady.

  “We’ll take it,” he told the lady. “Do you need anything else?”

  Mrs. Keller considered. “Something for the collar and cuffs, perhaps in white, and some buttons…but I think I’ll wait and come with Lizzie. That way she can have some say in her new gown.” Amusement danced in her blue eyes.

  He nodded and smiled, gratified with how sensitive she was to his daughter’s feelings. He turned to the saleslady. “Very well, wrap it up.”

  As they exited the store a short while later, a paper-wrapped parcel in Mrs. Keller’s hands, she asked him as he held the door open for her, “You don’t think it was too dear, do you?”

  “Not at all. Lizzie deserves a little something special. She rarely asks for anything for herself.”

  He helped her into the wagon. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  As he maneuvered the wagon down Main Street, he tried to convince himself this was no different than offering Mrs. Blackstone or any other widow from the hamlet a lift home.

  Except this was no old widow. He gave Mrs. Keller a sidelong glance as they crossed the bridge over the river on their way out of town.

  Trying to figure out how to express his appreciation, he cleared his throat, his eyes firmly fixed on the point ahead above his mare’s two ears. “Lizzie hasn’t had anyone—that is, a woman—a lady—to show her what to do. That is, how to behave and such now that she’s getting older—getting to be a young woman herself.”

  “It must be hard for you, but you’ve done a fine job.”

  “I appreciate your taking the time. I didn’t realize till I saw her the other night at the McClellans’ that in another year or so she’ll be all grown up.”

  “Well, I commend you. I understand now what a tough time my father must have had when I was Lizzie’s age. I lost my mother, too, when I was young.”

  Her words made him forget his self-consciousness. He glanced at her. She turned and smiled briefly—a smile touched with sadness—he thought, before she gazed forward again. He didn’t know too much about her history, he realized. Her father had pretty much kept to himself. All he’d known was that he had a daughter living “overseas somewhere,” as the locals said.

  Before he could get up his nerve to ask her anything about herself, she asked instead, “How old was Lizzie when she lost her mother?”

  “Elsie passed away when Lizzie was nine—too young for a girl to learn to do all she’s had to do.”

  Mrs. Keller nodded. “I was only about a year older. After the initial shock and sadness of losing the person one is closest to at that age, I began to see it as my duty—a most pleasurable duty, I add—to take care of my father. We became very close.”

  “Yes…it’s been like that with us.”

  “We lived in a coastal town, not so unlike here, north of Boston then. My father never liked the city, although he had to go there for exhibitions of his paintings.” She shifted on the hard seat, adjusting the scarf around her neck.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No, I’m fine, though it is quite chilly, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Not long before we’ll see our first snow.”

  She shivered. “And then it won’t be until April that we’ll see signs of spring.”

  He thought of her walking from town. “If you ever need a ride into town, let me know.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. If I dress warmly, it’s not bad.”

  He said nothing, thinking of the snowbanks and chilly northwest winds in winter.

  “My father and I lived as if we didn’t need anyone else,” she continued after a bit. “We had a lovely house beside the sea, and when I’d come home from school, I’d keep house for him. The rest of the time, I would practice my music and he would paint his c
anvasses.”

  Except for the last part, it sounded much like his life with Lizzie. “Lizzie keeps house for me and I farm. In winter, besides logging, I spend a lot more time indoors.”

  “Your own little haven.” She gave a bittersweet laugh. “I didn’t realize back then that that world limited to two was not enough for my father.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, not sure of her meaning.

  “Shortly after he moved up here, ever in search of new vistas to paint, he met Carina—Mrs. Blackstone—and married her.”

  He nodded in understanding. It must have been a difficult adjustment for a young girl to make. He didn’t know Mrs. Blackstone too well, but she didn’t strike him as someone who would be a warm, accepting stepmother to a girl. “How old were you then?”

  “I was just eighteen. My father and I had talked for a long time about my attending the music conservatory in Boston, so it was not the fact that he was recently married that prompted my leaving home so quickly. But I felt at the time that it worked out well to both our benefits—mine and Carina’s.” She sighed. “My father and she were able to begin married life together without a child in tow.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t have been in the way.”

  She said nothing, half turned from him as she regarded the passing fields and forest.

  Despite the chilly breeze, the sun was pleasant upon his face. It seemed strange to be riding with a woman—one close in age—like this. He hadn’t done so, he calculated, since riding home from town with Elsie. Not wanting to draw too close a comparison, reminding himself that Mrs. Keller was only a neighbor, nothing more, he tried to concentrate on what she had told him of her girlhood and how it related to Lizzie. It was good for Lizzie to have a woman who’d gone through something so similar.

  He gave the reins a slight flick. “I reckon it’ll be Lizzie who’ll soon be finding our life a bit too narrow. I hadn’t noticed…perhaps hadn’t wanted to notice…how quickly she’s growing up.”

  “Oh, she’s young yet. She has many years to be at home with you. She just wants to feel a little more confident of herself, I expect, when she is in mixed company.”