by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
“Just a dash.” She smiled as she spoke. “I’m glad you like it.”
He ate another muffin and set aside two to share with his father later. He could probably eat more if he didn’t know she liked to take them home for her parents to taste.
She did have a home of her own. As much as he enjoyed having her here every day, eating her food, helping with his honey—pretending they were a couple—she belonged somewhere else. He had to stop the pretense, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her companionship.
They took a few minutes to clean up from the snacks before they started on today’s batch of honey, the last he had unless he harvested some more. The raw honey was already on the stove when he came in, ready for them. It wasn’t as difficult as he expected, but it was time consuming. Nobody wanted honey with globs of wax or pollen in it. If he heated it too long, it became too thick to pour.
Edie went down the row of jars, checking the seal on them and nodding her approval. She knew, as he did, that they had finished the honey. That he didn’t need her to return tomorrow, or until the laundry was finished. And that left a hole in his heart.
She clasped her hands behind her back. “These should do well at the fair.”
“I was thinking that your honey butter would also attract buyers.” He held his breath.
“It’s so easy. Anyone could do it.”
He counted to five. For such a talented woman, she was overly humble. “But not everyone does, and not everyone can. I would love to sell it with my honey, but it belongs with your baked goods.”
“Oh.” A confused expression crossed over Edie’s face.
Pa brought his hands together in a quiet version of his former vigorous clap. “Work together.”
The idea struck Grant with the force of hurricane winds. Of course! “I think that’s a great idea.”
When Edie didn’t respond, he noticed her hand trembling where it touched the jar of honey. “My bakery.” The words came out in a whisper.
“You’ll still enter the baked goods contest. We can put them together as a business proposition at the fair. Nothing more Vermont than this. Vermont ingredients and Vermont recipes.”
“But if we win? Are you suggesting we go into business together?” The green in Edie’s eyes had died out, leaving them dead granite gray.
“Would that be so terrible? We’ve been a good team these past few weeks, you and I.”
“Is that all this has been for you? A business partnership?” The last glimmer of green winked out, and she removed her apron. “I’ll come back later to pick up my things. One of my parents will bring back your laundry.”
She moved so quickly, he hardly had time to react. When he reached the door, she was already down the porch steps. “Edie. That’s not what I meant.” She had reached the meadow path by the time he came outside. He stood at the steps, yelling, “I love you, Edith Grace!”
He had embarrassed himself in front of God and all creation, and she ignored him, scurrying away as if he were a dangerous varmint. His shoulders slumped, and he sat on the top step of the porch.
Something rattled behind him—the window. Grant twisted around and saw his father standing up from his chair. What was Pa thinking, doing something dangerous like that? Even as Grant sprang to his feet, his father collapsed.
His father had fallen back into the chair at an odd angle. When Grant tried to help, Pa pushed him away. “Go. Edie.”
“Not until I know you’re okay.”
Pa stopped fighting. It only took a few minutes to help him into his seat after that.
“Go.” His father pounded his cane on the floor, rattling the window again.
“I will.” Grant took one step back toward the door. “As long as you promise not to move until I get back.” He took a second step.
Pa lifted his right hand, finger twisted saying okay. Grant kept him in sight until he reached the door. He jumped from the porch and sprinted in Edie’s direction, hoping to catch up with her before she got to her house.
He glimpsed her across the meadow and called for her. She didn’t stop. “Edie! Please!”
She turned around. His heart flew high in his chest and propelled him across the distance separating them. He couldn’t read what was on her face—anger? Hope?
Up close, his heart slowed down when he saw the green gleaming in her eyes. She was as uncertain as he was.
She handed him her canteen. “Here. Take a drink and catch your breath.” The tiny smile accompanying her words gave him hope, but he didn’t know what to say. She waited, not filling the silence with chatter.
Before she gave up and left, before he felt too discouraged to ask, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I feel like Moses, slow of speech. Slow to see what was right in front of me. I have nothing to offer you, Edie Grace, but I hope you’re willing to wait while I prove myself to you.” There. He had said it. He could only pray she would agree.
Chapter 9
Edith’s mind scattered everywhere, not ready to respond. Grant was so disheveled, clothing tangled with branches and trampled through mud, sweat matting his hair to his head.
And his thumb—the nail had turned black and the skin had swollen around the bee sting. “Your poor thumb.” Tears threatened her eyes. For the life of her, she couldn’t think what else to say.
He froze in place. “I may not be much, but I deserve an answer.”
Drops fell on her face. Several fell before she realized rain was adding itself to her tears. She giggled. “Even God Himself is crying over two such foolish people.”
Grant didn’t laugh.
She knew her answer. Yes—but she didn’t want him to think she’d marry him out of pity. “I will answer your question on one condition.”
He looked at his hat, now in his hands, as if it held the answers. “What’s the condition?”
“That we enter the fair together, like you suggested. Give our best and see what God and the state of Vermont make of it.”
Puzzlement filled his eyes. Good. That was better than the desperation she had seen before.
“Are you saying you will only allow me to court you if we win the state fair?” Grant asked.
“Not exactly.” She crossed her arms over her chest, where the rain had begun to soak the cloth. “You can court me while we prepare for the fair. Afterward, you can decide whether you want to marry me.” Now she had nearly proposed to him. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen.
Her suggestion brought a smile to his face. “Then you can expect a proposal on the last day of the fair. And we will win.” In one swift move, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, briefly, on the lips.
She remained in his arms. A ridiculous smile covered his face, matching hers. The rain came down harder. “I need to get home.” She looked at the laundry sitting in the wagon, getting wetter every minute. Dragging the heavy load through the mud underfoot would be difficult.
“I’ll take the laundry back. We’ll take care of it, somehow. It’s not your worry anymore.”
“But I—we don’t mind—”
He put a finger to her mouth. “We have a business to get off the ground. Let’s start the day after tomorrow. After I get things settled at home.” With a grin and a wave, he left her behind, her knees wobbling as she wondered about everything that had happened that morning. She felt shiveringly happy, as warm as a day in July.
She shivered more on the way home, and Mama wrapped her in a blanket and sat her in front of the stove as soon as she walked through the door. “A cup of tea and a bowl of soup for you, and then you get yourself dry and clean and go to bed.” Mama hummed as she went around the kitchen, all happiness and sunshine at odds with the rainstorm.
Halfway through the soup, Edith almost fell asleep. She followed her mother’s advice and went to bed, dreaming of seeing Grant again the day after tomorrow.
When she woke again, her mother sat on her bed, gently shaking her. “Edith, please. Take some
food.”
Sunshine streamed through the window to the east. She had slept through the night. Something tickled her throat and she coughed, a chest-rattling cough. Mama handed her a glass of water, which Edith gulped down with gratitude.
“I’ll bring you tea and honey later. But I want you to eat a bit of chicken soup first.” Mama dipped a spoon into the steaming bowl.
“I can feed myself.” Edith pressed her hands into her damp pillow to reach a sitting position. Her gown stuck to her back and made her movements cumbersome. She shivered, and her hands trembled. “What’s wrong with me?”
“You’ve been sick, dear. The soaking you got during the rainstorm stirred up a bad cold.” Mama directed the soup spoon at Edith’s mouth, and this time she took it without complaint. By the time the bowl was half empty, her eyes drifted closed. She slipped down to a prone position and slept.
The next day, she woke up, fully alert. Her illness felt like a long dream, one that couldn’t possibly be true. In addition to her parents, Grant had been there, too. Mama said he chattered about the honey and how they were going to beat the competition at the fair.
How many days had passed while she had been sick? What would happen to the new beginning she and Grant had planned? Or was that part of her impossible dream?
She wasn’t going to spend another day in bed. She pulled herself into a sitting position and slipped her legs over the side of the bed.
“Edie.” Grant’s voice snapped through the air.
Edith glanced over her shoulder and yelped, pulling the sheet around her.
He covered his eyes with his hands. “Stay right there. I’ll go tell your mother that you’re awake.” He turned his back to her and scuttled out of the room like a mouse escaping a cat.
Edith wiggled her toes, feeling the smooth texture of the boards beneath them, the warmth of the sunshine on her face. Someone had changed her gown and her sheets, so she felt clean and new—and whole. Ready to eat bacon and eggs and maybe a couple of pancakes. She stood for a moment, in case she wobbled. Although the bedding and her gown were clean, the air smelled stale. The window revealed a brilliantly blue sky and leafy trees, inviting her to open it and let fresh air in. She took a couple of steps and tugged on the window.
It didn’t move, even when she leaned on the windowsill. Just a little extra oomph and it flew up a couple of inches, sending her arms through the opening and pressing her face against the glass.
Her mother rushed across the room and pulled her back as if she might break the glass and fall out the window. “Edith, what are you doing?”
“It smells like a sickroom in here.” She wiggled out of her mother’s arms. “I’m fine, truly.”
“It is good to see you feeling better.” Mama hugged her then held her at arm’s length. “Are you ready to eat?”
“Everything you have.” Edith closed her eyes, imagining the feast she wanted to consume, but that left her a little dizzy. “I want to go to the kitchen.” She walked to her wardrobe and reached for a dressing gown.
“Let me help you with that.” Mama eased the gown over her arms. “Grant is eager to speak with you.”
“Mama says you wish to speak with me.” Edie’s cheeks burned red, and not from the fever that had raged through her body for several days. They contrasted sharply with her pale forehead and the dressing gown that hung loosely from her frame. Her hair fell in a tangled braid down her back.
Grant didn’t care. She was still the most beautiful woman in the world to him.
“She wants to eat. I told her I’ll fix her whatever she wants,” Mrs. Grace called over her shoulder.
“Then let’s get you to the kitchen.” He rushed ahead to the kitchen and pulled out the chair for her. The project he had undertaken with Mrs. Grace filled the kitchen. What would Edie think?
“Bacon and eggs coming up,” Mrs. Grace said. “But you might wish to sample the dishes from Edith’s Good Eating.”
Edie didn’t take the chair Grant offered her. Instead, she walked along the counter, staring at every loaf of bread, cupcake and muffin, cookie and pie. She reached the door that led into the pantry and poked her head around the corner. Cards featuring her recipes hung from string nailed along the shelves. Bottles of honey with bright red and blue ribbons and labels saying “Grace Meadow Honey” filled the shelves. So far he couldn’t tell her reaction.
Edie walked down the pantry, adjusting a bottle here and there. When she studied the cards, he wondered if she could tell he had copied them himself, from her recipe box. He’d even baked a batch or two.
“Your mother and I tried the revisions you had indicated. You may want to adjust them again, of course. But I thought people might like to buy some of your favorite recipes, if you don’t mind giving away some of your secrets.” He had given her the gift he thought she wanted, a chance to win at the fair.
“When did you do all this?” Her hand gestured down the length of the pantry.
“Your food is ready. I fixed you some honey corncakes with your blueberry honey butter.” Mrs. Grace’s voice carried across the room.
Edie’s mouth worked as she repeated the words. “I don’t have a blueberry honey butter.”
“You do now.” Mother smiled.
Grant held the chair and helped her scoot close to the table. She bit into the crisp bacon and swallowed. He let her finish a batch of eggs before he spoke. “Do you know what day it is?”
She laid her fork on her plate. “How long was I sick?”
“You’ve been in bed for ten days.” He saw the wheels turning in her brain.
“Then the fair starts …”
“In three days.”
The beautiful green dancing lights in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a rocky gray. “Then I haven’t got a moment to lose.” She laid down her silverware and attempted to push back from the table.
Grant held to the chair, not allowing her to leave. “You cannot go to the fair if you aren’t well.”
“You’re not the one to decide whether or not I will go to the fair.” She thrust against the chair with such strength that it drove his belt buckle into his stomach, and he cried out. When he let go and clutched his stomach, she sank back into the chair. “And now I’ve hurt you again. I’m surprised you want to see me, with the hammers and bee stings I bring your way.”
Tears stained her eyes, tears that saw all of her dreams disappearing.
“Aw, Edie, don’t worry so. I’ve done everything I can to get your things ready for the fair.”
Before she could respond, Mrs. Grace interrupted. “Edith Mae, listen to me. He’s been here day and night. When he hasn’t been at your side, he’s been in the kitchen finishing with the honey or helping me with the recipes. He spent hours copying all those recipes.”
“It’s nothing—” Grant said.
Mrs. Grace wouldn’t let him finish. “He even brought his father over here, moving in so he could take care of both of you. If you make a fool of yourself and get sick all over again, well, I’ll—” Mrs. Grace ran out of words.
Edie’s eyes changed colors as quickly as a kaleidoscope, suggesting her emotions were going in a circle like a carousel, up and down, and circling around until they stopped where she started. “Forgive me for being so thoughtless.” She blotted the tears from her face and eyes and finished her glass of milk. “Now, I believe I’d like to try one of those honey oatmeal cookies and maybe a bit of gingerbread.”
Mrs. Grace hurried away to the pantry. “I noticed those recipes had been changed,” Edie said. “I want to taste and see if they deserve the Edith Grace seal of approval.”
Grant’s facial muscles stiffened, until her cheeks dimpled. “They could taste like clay and I would still think they were the best desserts I’ve ever tasted. Anything done with such selflessness deserves a golden crown in heaven.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Grace returned with the cookie and gingerbread. Edie bit a piece of the cookie first. “Thi
s cookie is definitely a winning recipe. It tastes like there’s an extra ingredient in it, something not listed on the card.”
Grant couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face. “That’s because you can’t put love in a jar.”
Chapter 10
The first day of the fair dawned with a hint of fall in the air. Edith counted on the strength the Lord promised to get through the next few days. The doctor had pronounced her well enough to travel but cautioned her to be careful. The fair demanded a lot of stamina.
They had traveled to Rutland by wagon, but Edith looked forward to seeing motorcars at the fair. One dealer had already set up an exhibit with two shining machines. Half-a-dozen men crowded around it, studying the engine the way ladies might examine a particularly well-made dress.
“You’ll have to find time to visit the cars, Grant.” Edith stapled a green-checkered bunting to the front of their booth.
He hovered over her on a stepladder, placing a custom-made sign overhead. Edith had insisted that they call the business “Oscar Farms” since they had named both products after her family.
Once he finished, he came down and put his arm around her shoulders. “Oscar Farms, Grant Oscar and Edith Grace, Proprietors.” Pride rang through his voice.
“That sign alone makes me feel good. In spite of everything.” She waved her hands. “God let us get here. Adding a Bible verse to the labels was smart.”
“After all, ‘How sweet are thy words unto my taste! Yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!’” Grant wiggled his eyebrows. “I could mention some other verses about honey, but I don’t think anyone wants to hear that they’ll vomit if they eat too much of it.”
Edith pretended to gag. “That’s only common sense.” She stepped back to study the effect. If heart, hard work, and quality alone could win, they’d jump to first place in a minute.
Grant joggled her arm. “Ladies are gathering for the baked goods competition.”
