Even angry, her fine English manners were not long behind any outburst she might make. James pushed down the desire to press his lips against the pink in her cheeks.
“Does Delia know of your plans to leave New Haven?”
The pink in her cheeks blanched to white. “W-why do you ask?”
“She’s a busy woman. I wouldn’t want her to spend her one free day here showing you skills you’ll never need.”
Ann’s color returned. “She knows I’ll be leaving as soon as we receive word from Mrs. Turner, and she’d like to teach me a few things before I go.”
“Very well. Have your lessons then.”
Ann clapped her hands in excitement and regained her composure just as quickly. He marveled at her enthusiasm. She would no doubt be living in a fine home by Christmas, but now she was excited to learn skills she would never need. Hadn’t he once read Marie Antoinette had a working farm built on the grounds of Versailles for her amusement? Maybe it was something like that. One last frolic in working-class life before embracing a life of luxury. It was a good thing Ann was leaving, because he would never understand her.
At least that’s what he told himself as her blond hair caught the sun. And he repeated it again to himself at lunch when she coaxed Uncle Mac from his room for the fifth time in as many days—a feat he hadn’t matched in months. He repeated it a third time when she joined him on the porch after supper, and she laughed at his stories. A lilting, genuine laugh that swelled his chest and sent him chasing through his memory for other stories to entertain her.
That night, before he headed off to the back porch for a night of fitful slumber, he stared at her in the darkness. The bright, full moon cast its glow over them and lit up her eyes like two stars. That was when he allowed himself to think about what he’d tried to push out of his mind and his heart these past few weeks. What was more, he let himself say it.
“What do you think would have happened that first day if I hadn’t told you there’d been a mistake?”
The rocking chair beside him grew silent. An inconvenient cloud passed over the moon, plunging the porch into darkness. Had she even heard what he’d said? The silence continued. A swirl of hope eased over him. Maybe she really hadn’t heard, despite the hushed quiet of the farm. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take his words back.
“What I mean is...”
“I don’t know,” she interrupted.
His heart clamored double time. Her chair resumed creaking. Slow and steady. Back and forth. Minutes passed and a strong breeze whisked the cloud across the moon’s face. Moonlight illuminated her face once again, but he couldn’t discern a single emotion. Her face was a mask.
“What do you think would have happened?” she asked finally.
This was his chance. He could share the emotions that had been building inside of him these last weeks. Ask her to stay a little longer and get to know him. What was the worst that could happen? Rejection? It would be no different than the path they currently walked. And as for the best that could happen... His middle tightened at the thought of her feelings matching his budding ones.
The letter. The telegram.
His heart sank to his boots. He could tell Ann anything he wanted, but it didn’t take away the fact that he’d already brought the mistake to the agency’s attention. They had likely contacted her true match by now. Contacted his match, as well. He couldn’t take back that letter.
He cleared his throat. “I think if I hadn’t said anything, you would have figured out quickly our match was in error.”
Her rocker stopped creaking again. “What do you mean?” Her voice had an edge. She sounded...nervous?
“I mean...you’d have known as soon as you got here that this wasn’t a castle and I wasn’t a prince. You would have hightailed it right out of here. Since you can’t drive a wagon, you would have dashed down that road back to town and to the train station as fast your legs could carry you.”
She stifled what sounded like a nervous laugh. “Then what would have happened?” she asked.
“Let’s see. I wouldn’t have developed a taste for coffee that can be eaten with a spoon. Priscilla Vollrath would be wearing a completely average dress on the day of her wedding and having an absolute fit about it. Abner Milholland wouldn’t have a bump on his head from walking straight into a door while watching you at church on Sunday.”
Ann’s giggles had turned into full belly laughs. He could listen to that laugh forever.
“I wouldn’t have thirteen mosquito bites from sleeping on the back porch. Hal Schneider would probably be dead...”
He froze. Why had he said that? Though true, it was a heartless comment.
“Y-y-you’re right,” she stammered out of the darkness. “I’m very glad to have been here, even if I saved his life by accident.”
He had to choose his next words carefully. No more slipups that would expose his heart.
“So I guess it could be a good thing you were sent here by mistake. I hope you look back on your time here as an adventurous detour on your journey to the life you deserve.”
Ann grew silent again. He raked his hands through his hair. He was a fool to have even broached this subject. He wished he knew more about how to divine a woman’s emotions. Emily had had only three: smug, irritated and incensed.
“I’ll look back on my time here with great fondness,” she whispered into the darkness. Did he detect a catch in her voice? It must be wishful thinking.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he answered. “I feel the same way.”
If only she knew it was the biggest understatement of his life.
Chapter Sixteen
The coffee was just beginning to boil the next morning when there came a sharp knock at the door. Uncle Mac, in one of his sociable moods, which had become more common, had chosen to begin the day by reading on the porch. When Ann reached the foyer, he was already wordlessly greeting their guest and ushering her in.
“Delia!” Ann moved to embrace her friend, only to discover Delia’s arms laden with bundles. “How did you arrive here so early?”
Delia expertly balanced her packages, despite Ann’s jostling, and stepped into the front hall. “Mother arrived from Columbus yesterday, and she wanted to visit the Schneiders as soon as she could. We hitched the wagon long before daybreak.”
She placed her packages on the hall side table and unpinned her hat. “Will you be able to visit the shop again soon? Mrs. Williams has been raving about you to everyone, and Priscilla, too—in her own way. I wouldn’t be surprised if girls in town start pressing their beaus for a proposal, just so they can order some of your lace.”
Ann waved away the compliment. “No one’s seen the dress yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. Priscilla Vollrath’s praise is as good as gold. Besides, they’ve seen your handkerchiefs. We sold the first two yesterday.”
Ann’s heart drummed. “Two?”
“Mmm-hmm. At the very least you’ll have to come into town so Mrs. Williams can pay your share. Twelve dollars.”
Ann’s head spun. She grasped for something to catch herself, but found nothing but smooth plaster walls.
“Let’s get you a chair.” Delia grasped her under the arms and walked her like a marionette to the kitchen. Her head floated while her legs felt as heavy as lead. She made it to a chair and pressed her hands to her temples as Delia poured her a cup of coffee. She took a sip and the room stopped spinning.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Ann apologized.
Delia grinned. “It is an obscene amount of money, isn’t it? And to think, you’ll receive five times that when you finish Priscilla’s lace.”
The payment for Priscilla’s dress had always felt ephemeral. Dreamlike. An amount so absurd she would never really possess it. The news of h
er first handkerchief sales made it all the more real. She would soon have enough money to pay James back and to support herself.
And you can leave...him. Ann’s head spun again, and she slurped her coffee as if it were a reviving elixir.
“That must be delicious coffee,” Delia observed, as Ann took another long draft. She poured herself a cup and took a sip. “We’ll work on your coffee first.”
“I knew it!” Ann exclaimed.
“Knew what?”
“James keeps telling me he actually likes it. I started to believe him.”
She giggled. “Maybe he does. Where is James?”
“In the barnyard.”
Delia lifted the coffee cup to her lips again but stopped short, as if she remembered the contents. “By the day’s end, we’ll have everything in order.”
“Is your mother next door?”
She nodded. “I still can’t believe you were there alone with Hal Schneider, Ann. He doesn’t like anyone in his house. Not even Mother. She said he rarely lets her past the sitting room.”
“He wasn’t in a condition to protest.”
Delia lifted the cup of coffee again, only this time she took a sip. She was polite enough to suppress her grimace. “I suppose we ought to get started.” Out of her pile of packages, she produced a thick sheaf of paper and extended it to Ann. “Mother’s best recipes,” she explained. “All of them are fantastic, of course, but I only copied the ones easiest to learn and reproduce.”
Ann accepted the stack of recipes and thumbed through each page. They were grouped by breakfast, dinner, supper and desserts, and all in Delia’s neatly flowing script. “This must have taken you forever to copy,” Ann marveled.
Delia shrugged. “It was no time at all. Besides, it gave me an excuse to review them. I’d forgotten all about her Apple Brown Betty, and James has some of the best summer apple trees in the county. I already helped myself to some this morning.”
“What’s Apple Brown Betty?”
One of Delia’s packages was a burlap sack, and she lifted a corner and sent plump red-and-yellow apples skidding across the tabletop. “The perfect recipe for a beginner.”
They spent the next hour in the kitchen, first reviewing the proper method for brewing coffee, followed by a lesson in dessert. Ann peeled, chopped and seasoned the apples, while Delia cracked walnuts she produced from yet another package. At the end of the hour, Ann had sliced her finger with the knife, and spilled precious cinnamon on the floor, but the Apple Brown Betty was also in the oven, bubbling away.
Delia nodded in approval while Ann wrapped her thumb with a clean bandage. “Only one cut. I’m pronouncing this lesson a success.”
Next they ventured into the barnyard, where the cow lowed pitifully. “She’s overdue for her milking,” Delia announced, puzzled.
“Oh no!” Ann exclaimed. “I asked James to save the first milking for me and completely forgot!” She stroked Bessie’s side and the cow turned her pitiful brown eyes toward Ann. “She must be terribly uncomfortable.”
“It’s nothing you can’t fix,” Delia said.
Ann abandoned all decorum as she squatted on the milk stool, and Delia showed her the easiest way to fill the bucket full to the top with creamy milk. Then they moved through lessons on how to properly hitch and unhitch a horse. Old Harriet waited patiently despite Ann’s fumblings.
In the next stall stood James’s plow mule. Delia laughed until she doubled over as Ann ran forward with a pitchfork full of hay just far enough to deposit it in the feed trough and dashed back again just as quickly. “She’s not going to bite!” Delia called out between laughing fits.
Ann stopped in midthrust, bewildered, her pitchfork ready with a fresh slice of hay. “I thought mules were stubborn and they kicked?” James had even referred to Hal Schneider as “more stubborn than my mule” on at least two occasions.
Delia straightened and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Even if she wanted to kick you, she couldn’t do it from inside her pen. Here—” She took Ann by the hand and led her forward. “She seems really sweet.”
Delia placed her hand on the mule’s nose and stroked downward. After confirming Delia still had all her fingers, Ann followed her example. Her fingertips glided over the short silvery hair and onto the mule’s velvety nose. Her flank was speckled white, as if she’d been spattered with paint.
“What’s her name?” Delia asked, as the mule nosed her muzzle into Ann’s palm.
A deep voice resonated behind them. “Her name is Mildred.”
Ann jumped at the sound of James’s voice but didn’t turn. She was certain her cheeks were flushed and she waited for them to cool. She hadn’t spoken to him since last night but had observed him ambling about the barnyard that morning from the relative safety of the kitchen window. Even her request to save the first milking had been in the form of a note left on the kitchen table where she was sure he’d find it. She chided herself for avoiding him. He’d only been making conversation when he’d asked her those questions last night—wasn’t he? Why did thinking about it make her so flustered?
James sidled up beside her and added his sun-darkened hand to the donkey’s nose. “She likes to be scratched right here.” As if on cue, Mildred snorted and closed her eyes in mule contentment.
“So, Delia, I heard the two of you have lots of plans today.” He didn’t stop stroking Mildred’s muzzle. His fingertips brushed the back of Ann’s hand and a shiver raced up her arm.
“Oh, a few odd lessons,” Delia replied. “Ann’s a natural once she sees something done once. We’ll likely run out of things to do.”
Ann disguised a snort as a delicate cough. She knew Delia exaggerated for effect, but the idea that she could learn everything in less than a year was ludicrous. She had only cut herself once during the first cooking lesson. How would they count success next time? Singeing off her eyebrows but not burning down the kitchen?
James bent down and whispered in Ann’s ear, his warm breath on her neck, quiet enough so only she could hear. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve seen the evidence myself.”
Her stomach tumbled. “I’m sorry?”
James straightened and moved to the mule’s flank. She couldn’t avoid his gaze now. His hazel eyes twinkled. He addressed both women. “Ann’s proving to be a natural around the farm.”
Ann couldn’t disguise her snort this time. “Don’t tease!” she scolded.
James ducked his head and raced a hand through his hair. “It’s true. I have to admit, I was in the hay mow when you milked the cow. I’d have never guessed it was your first time.”
“It’s true,” Delia chimed in.
“Maybe you can have a hobby farm at your new home,” he added. “A cow in the back for fresh milk. A few chickens and a rooster milling around for ambiance. Rich people do that, don’t they?”
Ann’s belly quivered. If only he knew the truth. At least she could say she’d prepared the way for whomever came after her. Whether bland featured or beautiful, James McCann was unlikely to ever judge a book by its cover again. And no bride of any appearance could possibly be a worse cook. Anything would be a step up for James and Uncle Mac.
Delia was by her side now and gave her arm a quick squeeze. “I think it’s time for us to move on to something new.”
“Of course, of course.” James backed up, ducking a moment before his head struck the low beam. “I have some things to get in order if I’m going to take work at the mill.” He stood there awkwardly a few more moments, with both hands thrust into his pockets, as if waiting for something more to be said.
“Come in for lunch. Ann will be preparing all of it,” Delia said as she shooed James out the barn door. Even under Delia’s questioning eye, it was difficult for Ann not to watch him until he was out of sight.
The two women fed th
e hens and waited for them to scurry off their nests before gathering the eggs. Then they ducked inside for a moment to remove the Apple Brown Betty from the oven—it was perfectly browned on the top and had filled the kitchen with a sweet and spicy aroma. Delia placed it on the windowsill to cool and they were back to Ann’s lessons.
The last task before lunch was the garden. Ann had already had lessons on weeding the field from James, but the scraggly green tops before her looked nothing like the corn or wheat she’d hoed before. Delia walked Ann through the differences between radish tops and beet greens, and showed her how to plumb the soil around carrots to determine their size and ripeness.
“We’ll do some canning and drying of the garden bounty next time,” Delia said as they tucked into their lunch of boiled beets, fried beet greens and Apple Brown Betty a few hours later. They’d rung the great iron bell in the barnyard to signal the meal, but James had yet to arrive. Uncle Mac had appeared, eaten lunch with his eyes rolled back in approval and returned to his book on the front porch.
Ann ate her lunch in relative silence. Her head spun with new knowledge, and her palms sweat to think about everything she still had to learn. But every new skill increased her chances of finding work later. She said a silent prayer of thanks to God for the sale of her handkerchiefs but knew she couldn’t count on selling them outside New Haven. The fact that she’d been able to place them in even one shop—and at such a high price—could only have been divine providence. She only hoped the money from her lace would be enough to support herself as she sought out a job with some permanence.
“You’re so good at all of this,” Ann moaned around her first mouthful of warm apples and spice. “I don’t know how I could ever learn enough to earn a proper position.”
Delia reached across the table and patted Ann’s hand. “You’re doing a wonderful job. Besides, you only need to know the basics for now. The rest can be learned on the job.”
Ann groaned as she imagined the master of a fine house eating burned rack of lamb while she experimented in the kitchen. “I don’t think I could subject someone to any more of my practice.”
A Mistaken Match Page 17
