Meredith’s Mistake
Grandma’s Wedding Quilts #4
by Amelia C. Adams
Dedicated to my mom—because.
With many thanks to my beta readers—Amy L., Amy P., Erin, Jeene, Jen, Jennifer, Mary, Meisje, Merrilee, Nancy, and Tracy.
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Part One
Chapter One
Salina, Kansas
1871
Meredith Atwell sat next to Luke Ridley on the bridge that crossed the small stream just a short distance away from her house. She badly wanted to take off her shoes and stockings and dangle her feet in the water, but she only had a few minutes to spare before she had to leave. Just sitting here like this was nice, though—a quiet moment with her best friend. She hadn’t found many of those quiet moments as of late, and she missed him. His quiet strength, his gentle sense of humor—he brought out the better side of her, just as a best friend should.
“Come on, Meredith,” Luke coaxed. “You’ve got time to go fishing before your party.”
“I wish I did, but I don’t. My mother expects me to help her get ready, and if I’m not home in fifteen minutes, she’ll skin me alive. In fact, I should leave right now.” Meredith stood up, shook out her skirts, and picked up the packages she’d set down. “You are coming tonight, aren’t you?”
Luke fell into step beside her as she resumed her journey. “I don’t know. I’ve never been much for dancing or any of that fancy stuff—you know that.” He kicked at a rock on the road and sent it skittering into the bushes.
“But it’s my birthday. Come on—Kizzie and Leander are coming, and Jesse and his new wife, Cora. It won’t be the same without you there. You know you’re like another brother to me.”
Luke pulled a face. “Does that mean I’m obligated or something?”
“Yes, it does. Family means coming to birthday parties.”
“Fine. But I don’t think I’ll do much dancing.”
“That’s all right. You only need to dance once—and that’s with me.” Meredith gave him a big grin as she headed down the lane toward the Atwell farmhouse. She was only going to turn eighteen once, and she was determined to have a perfectly wonderful day even if Luke was equally determined to be grumpy about it.
“Mama?” she called out as she entered through the kitchen door. “Mama, I’m back.”
Jemima Atwell bustled into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “There you are. I’ve been dusting the parlor—I can’t believe I let it go so long. It’s a disgrace. Now, please tell me that Mr. Woods had the color of thread I need.”
“Yes, he did.” Meredith patted the package. “He said he didn’t get much call for red, so he only kept a little in stock.”
“Well, I’m glad he had what he did. I have to finish your hem, and ice the cakes, and . . .”
Meredith crossed the room and patted her mother’s arm. “It’s all right—we’ll be ready in time. Now, how can I help?”
“You can finish dusting while I go hem your dress. Once you’re done with that, please wash the dishes in the basin. I can’t believe I’ve let them sit there since breakfast, but I’ve been so busy today.”
“Thank you for everything you’re doing for me, Mama. It’s going to be a wonderful party.” Meredith leaned forward and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll take care of everything down here. I’ll even ice the cakes.”
“Thank you, daughter. You’re a good girl.” Jemima gave her a nod and then headed upstairs after grabbing the thread off the table.
Meredith took a moment to put away the other goods from her packages, then grabbed a cloth and finished dusting the parlor. It hadn’t always looked like this—she remembered when they’d first moved here when she was a little girl. Her family had uprooted and started all over again in this new house, and that meant a lot of sacrifice and adjustment. But they’d made a place for themselves here, and it now felt as much like a home as their house back in Missouri ever had.
When she was done with the dusting, she washed her hands and then pulled out the powdered sugar to begin mixing up the icing for the cakes. She shook her head and laughed as she thought about Luke’s refusal to dance. He was her dearest friend and had been almost since her first day at her new school when she was nine years old. They’d skipped stones together and picked flowers together, and just last year, he’d even taught her how to shoot, although that was a secret they’d kept from her mama. It was bad enough that Kizzie wore men’s trousers and rode and used a gun—it would be Mama’s undoing if Meredith were to take off that way.
Meredith didn’t want to disappoint her mother, but when Luke showed up with adventure in his eyes and wanted to spend the day fishing or following deer tracks, it was so hard to tell him no.
Just then, she heard a knock on the kitchen door, and she moved to answer it. Cissie Cameron stood on the other side, her face beaming.
“Meredith, I’d like to introduce you to Alexander Bingham,” she said, motioning over her shoulder. “He’s one of Jonathan’s friends from college, and he’s here for the weekend.”
Meredith’s gaze left Cissie’s face and met the eyes of the tall young man standing behind her. She’d always thought Cissie’s brother Jonathan was good-looking, but his friend? Oh, my. Brown hair, green eyes, a cleft in his chin . . . she thought only heroes in romance novels had clefts in their chins, but here was a real one right in front of her. She almost didn’t know what to say, but thankfully, her upbringing kicked in and she stepped to the side. “Won’t you please come in?”
Cissie and Mr. Bingham stepped into the kitchen, and Meredith closed the door. She took half a breath to compose herself before turning around and smiling brightly. “May I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?”
“I’d love some,” Mr. Bingham replied with a smile.
“Yes, please,” Cissie said. “Alex, have a seat while I help Meredith.”
“Oh, you don’t want to sit at the kitchen table,” Meredith interrupted as Mr. Bingham pulled out a chair. “Let me show you into the parlor.”
“Miss Atwell, I appreciate your hospitality, but I assure you, I’d be much more comfortable right here in the kitchen,” Mr. Bingham said. “As a child, I was never allowed into my mother’s parlor unless I was wearing my Sunday suit, and to this day, the very idea of parlors makes me feel fidgety.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to feel fidgety,” Meredith said, trying to hide her smile. “Please, by all means, sit there.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a nod and took a seat.
As Meredith pulled the kettle off the stove, she could feel his eyes on her. A glance told her that he was watching appreciatively, but knowing his expression didn’t make her task any easier. Her hands trembled as she prepared the tea tray and carried it over to the table.
“I was telling Alex about y
our birthday party tonight, Meredith, and I wondered if I could bring him along with my group.”
“Of course. I should have thought of it myself. Please do join us, Mr. Bingham.” She didn’t know why, but she felt so formal when she spoke to him. Almost stiff and unnatural. He made her nervous.
He chuckled. “I’d be delighted, but I’m afraid I didn’t bring along any party clothes. This suit is the nicest I have on this trip.”
Meredith looked at his suit. It was nicer than what most of the young men would be wearing that night. “You look splendid, Mr. Bingham.” That sounded entirely too eager, and her cheeks began to burn. “Um, I mean, what you’re wearing is perfectly all right. Please come.”
“In that case, I accept.” He raised his cup of tea in a salute, then took a sip.
Meredith made sure both her guests were situated, then returned to her icing. It had begun to harden up a little while she answered the door, so she added the tiniest bit more milk and stirred it well. Then she drizzled it over the first two cakes that stood in line on the counter.
“Meredith’s a wonderful cook,” Cissie said. “I think her mother made those cakes, but Meredith’s pies are the most delicious I’ve ever tasted.”
Meredith felt her cheeks grow even warmer. Was Cissie trying to play matchmaker, or was she just being friendly and breaking the silence? It was true that Meredith didn’t have a beau, even though there were plenty of young men in town, but she was choosy, and her brother, Jesse, helped her be choosy. He’d all but put out word that any young man who wanted to court Meredith was going to have to go through him, and no one wanted to face that challenge.
She glanced over at Mr. Bingham again. He looked strong and fit, but she had no way of knowing if he’d ever wrestled before, or shot a gun. If he was going to college, perhaps he was more into his books than anything and wouldn’t be able to best Jesse in any sort of fight.
“Do you bake, Mr. Bingham?” she asked, noticing that his eyes were still following her every move.
“No, not at all. My mother did, though, before she passed away. I was raised by my grandparents from the age of twelve.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“My mother was ill, and it seemed a blessing that she no longer had to suffer.”
“Yes, that is a good thing.”
“Why do you ask, Miss Atwell? About my baking, I mean.”
Now it seemed like a cruel thing to tease him, but she still couldn’t help herself. “Well, you seemed rather intent on watching me make the icing, and I wondered if I was doing it wrong. Or if you’d like to give it a try yourself.”
He immediately came to his feet. “Could I try it? The other cakes look so nice—I’d enjoy learning how.”
Meredith blinked at him, completely taken aback. That wasn’t what she’d expected at all. “Take this whisk and finish beating the milk into the sugar, please. It’s a glaze rather than a frosting, so we aren’t using butter.”
“I didn’t even know that frosting calls for butter. I’ll rely on you entirely to educate me.” He picked up the whisk and got to work, doing a fair imitation of what Meredith had been doing a moment before.
She looked over at Cissie, whose eyes were wide, and gave a slight shrug. There was something interesting and intriguing about a good-looking man who wanted to make icing. He finished whisking and showed her the bowl. “How’s this?”
“Let’s add just the tiniest bit of milk,” she said, measuring it out. “And the vanilla.”
“I didn’t see you add vanilla to the first batch.”
“I put it in before you arrived. Gracious, how closely have you been watching me, Mr. Bingham?”
He grinned. “Just closely enough to see how icing is made.”
Likely story. She added the vanilla to the sugar mixture and allowed him to keep whisking, then showed him how to drizzle it over the remaining cakes. By the time he and Cissie left, promising to return on time that evening, Meredith was nothing but a mass of nerves, keenly aware of his every movement, every breath. She’d never been so taken with a man before, and she was altogether unsure what to think of it.
Chapter Two
Meredith turned to look at herself in the mirror, and her breath caught in her throat. “Oh, Mother, it’s so beautiful. Thank you.”
Jemima walked around her, surveying the dress with a critical eye. “It did turn out well, I think. Are you happy with it, daughter?”
“Of course!” Meredith threw her arms around her mother and gave her a hug. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, I can’t have a daughter of mine dressing like a little girl while she’s becoming an adult. We need to make over your dresses and get you looking proper.”
“Oh, who says a girl has to grow up when she turns eighteen?” Meredith looked in the mirror again. “I’d be perfectly happy to stay a little girl forever.”
“That would suit your pa just fine, but I know full well that the clock is going to keep ticking whether we want it to or not. We’d best be ready for whatever’s coming.” Jemima gathered up her sewing basket. “Be downstairs in ten minutes, ready to meet your guests.”
“Yes, Mama.” Meredith smiled at her mother in the mirror until Jemima disappeared from sight, then she took hold of the neckline of her dress and pulled it down a few inches to study her scar. When she was nine years old, not too long after the family had moved to Kansas, a bad man had come to the Atwell farm looking for Kizzie, and he’d grabbed Meredith to use her as a hostage. She still remembered what he looked like, what he smelled like. He’d put a knife to her throat, and then he’d cut her. Not badly, but enough to create a scar that could be seen when the lighting was just right.
Of course Jemima had kept that in mind while making Meredith’s dress, but the old insecurity crept back in, and Meredith had to be absolutely sure that the scar wasn’t visible. It was right underneath the edge of the white lace collar Mama had put on the dress, and it should remain out of sight even as she moved around and danced. Her friends and family were all used to it—it was as much a part of her as her hair or her eyes. But Mr. Bingham . . . well, he was an acquaintance, and she didn’t see the need for him to know everything about her all on the first day.
Gracious. Would there be a second day with Mr. Bingham? She was certainly presuming a lot, wasn’t she? But he had looked at her with a great deal of interest, and if he enjoyed the party, he might come back for another visit . . .
Meredith’s cheeks were now as red as her dress. What was she doing, thinking like that? He was a stranger—an absolute stranger. She shouldn’t be speculating about him—it wasn’t fair to him or to her. For all she knew, he was already engaged and had only come to her house earlier that day because . . . well, because Cissie made him come. But that begged another question—why would Cissie make him come over if he was engaged? No, she was certain that Cissie meant to play matchmaker, and in a case like that, perhaps Meredith had better think things through so she’d be prepared. Speculating sometimes had its uses.
She smoothed her curls and then headed downstairs. She wasn’t only excited, but a little bit nervous. This was the first adult party she’d ever attended, let alone held, and she hoped she wouldn’t make an utter fool of herself before the evening was over. The Atwells weren’t fancy people by any means, although her mother tried to keep them all on their best behavior, and she was keeping her fingers crossed that their humble affair would be nice enough for some of the more established families in town.
Cissie was the first to arrive, along with Jonathan and Mr. Bingham. With them was Edward Turrell, who was a particular friend of Cissie’s, and hung on her every word as though she were a philosopher. Meredith greeted them all politely, then focused her attention on Jonathan.
“I thought for sure you’d bring a lady friend with you tonight.”
He chuckled. “Well, I seem to be fresh out of lady friends as of late. Perhaps you’ll take pity on me and p
romise me a dance.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that.” Only then did she turn back to Mr. Bingham. “And you came, as you said you would.”
“I needed to make sure that my cakes were displayed properly,” he replied with a grin. “After all that work you put into teaching me the craft, it would be a shame if it wasn’t admired and appreciated.”
Meredith nodded toward the refreshment table. “See for yourself. There they are, front and center for all the world to see.”
“Excellent. And may I also take advantage of this opportunity before your other guests arrive to ask for a dance at some point in the evening?”
She’d assumed he’d ask her—it was only the polite thing to do—and yet when he actually did it, her heart sped up a bit. “Of course.”
He gave her a nod, and they moved into the parlor.
Before long, it seemed that every inch of their home was filled with well-wishers. Some were friends of her parents’, some had come specifically because they’d heard that Jesse was now married and they wanted a chance to visit with the bride, and many were there for the dancing. Meredith didn’t mind if she wasn’t their sole purpose in coming out—it was a lovely party regardless, and she was enjoying herself.
The door opened again, and in stepped Luke. He wore his Sunday suit and his hair was slicked back, and he looked both dapper and uncomfortable at the same time. Meredith crossed the floor to greet him, tucking her arm through his and leading him toward the refreshment table. “I know you’ll feel less grumpy about being here once you’ve got some food in you,” she said.
“I’m not grumpy about being here,” he replied. “I’d just rather be about twelve different places, that’s all.”
She laughed. “Well, I do consider myself honored that you came.”
“It’s your birthday. I can’t let you celebrate alone.” He glanced around the room. “Although, you’re hardly alone, are you?”
“No, not really. Isn’t this so much fun? I don’t even know some of the people here, but everyone seems to be having a good time. Come on—get a plate.”
Meredith's Mistake (Grandma's Wedding Quilts Book 4) Page 1
