by Delia Parr
“Good. Then she won’t mind writing a very sincere, very lengthy letter of apology. One for each of us,” Emma suggested.
Once Mark followed his mother into the store and shut the door behind him, he stopped for a moment and took a long look around. “It hasn’t changed. Not one bit. The tables are just as neatly stacked with goods and the glass in the display cabinets is just as clear. Even the curtain behind the counter is the same. I can almost see that old cash box right on the middle shelf below the counter where you always kept it,” he murmured.
Emma smiled. “It’s still there. Or it was just a few months ago,” she replied.
Indeed, it was only last fall that Mr. Atkins had purchased the General Store from the man Emma had sold the store to some four years ago. A single man with limited business experience, he had been overwhelmed by his new responsibilities.
The store had quickly become a disorganized mess, as well as a haven where less-than-honest travelers, canal workers, and factory workers learned how easy it was to pilfer what they wanted instead of paying for it. Emma and Mr. Atkins had had a rough start to their own relationship due to a misunderstanding between him and Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances, but she now considered him to be a friend.
Since then, much to Emma’s chagrin, as well as his own, he had also become the focus of matchmaking attention for Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances.
To the surprise of nearly everyone in Candlewood, including the two determined matchmakers, Mr. Atkins had married Addie Doran last week after a very short courtship. A young widow with three young daughters, she had gone to work for Mr. Atkins in the General Store after the man he had hired to help him, Steven Cross, left to take a job at the piano factory with his brother.
When the curtain parted and Addie stepped behind the counter, she greeted Emma with a broad smile. “I didn’t expect to see you today, but I did so enjoy meeting your niece. Wryn is a lovely, lovely young woman,” she offered as Emma approached the counter with her son. “Mark? Is that really you?”
Mark smiled. “It’s me. How are you, Widow Doran? Mother wrote to tell me about your troubles. Please allow me to extend my condolences,” he said gently.
“Thank you, Mark, but I’m doing very well. And it’s Mrs. Atkins now,” she said as a blush stole up her cheeks. “How good to see you again. I’d heard you and your brothers were all coming home for a visit. Mr. Atkins just left to deliver the supplies to Hill House that your mother-in-law ordered earlier today,” she explained, turning her attention to Emma. “Did Wryn forget to get something you wanted?”
“I’m not certain,” Emma replied. “Mark and I were on our way home, and I thought maybe we would stop in to make sure Wryn got everything. Do you have a list of what she purchased in the account book?”
Smiling, Addie reached under the counter to get the account book, set it on top, and opened it up. “Here is it,” she said and pointed to the center of the page. “She didn’t get all that much. Just two tins of sweets and some beef jerky. A bone-handled knife, which I wrapped up real good for her, and some needles and thread,” she said before looking up again. “Was there anything else you needed?”
“Only Wryn,” Emma muttered under her breath. “I’ll be back early in the week to settle up the account,” she promised.
Addie closed the book. “That’s fine. How long will you be staying in Candlewood, Mark?”
“For a few weeks.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting your wife and your boys.”
“I’ll be sure to stop in with them. Did . . . did Wryn happen to mention before she left if she was heading back to Hill House?”
“With all those packages she was carrying, I thought she would be, but she said she still had a few stops to make. I offered to let Mr. Atkins take her packages to Hill House for her when he left to take the other supplies, but she insisted on keeping them with her.”
“Thank you for offering to help her,” Emma said before departing. Amazingly, they found that Wryn had made only one other stop along Main Street, at Carson’s Stationery Store, where she had purchased a day book and several writing tablets.
Unfortunately, her trail ended there.
Standing at the corner of Hampton and Main Streets with her son, Emma was cold and exhausted. She also knew that if she didn’t get these boots off soon, she would be sporting a whole family of blisters on her feet. “It’s still a long walk back to Hill House,” she said as a shiver raced down her spine. “I’d dearly love to warm up with a cup of tea.”
“If you like, I can take you back to the hotel, where you can have your tea while I go back to Hill House and get the wagon to take you home.”
“I don’t want you to go to all that bother.”
“After all the trouble I’ve brought home with me, it’s the least I can do,” he said. “I don’t mind. Truly.”
“I know you don’t, but . . . wait. I think I have a better idea,” she said after rejecting any notion of stopping in at Zachary Breckenwith’s. He had not been supportive, at first, when she had taken in Aunt Frances. He was the last person she would expect to support her when it came to taking in Wryn, especially once he found out about the young woman’s shopping adventure today.
Emma did, however, know where she and Mark could get the advice they both needed. “I know exactly where we could both warm up in front of a nice fire with a good strong cup of tea,” she said as she urged him to turn around. “Remember when I wrote to you and Catherine about Reverend Glenn getting married and working again as our assistant pastor?”
He nodded. “We got the letter just before we left.”
“Well, his cottage is only a few squares away. I know he would love to see you and introduce you to Aunt Frances. With the weather as it is, it’s not likely they’ve had a single visitor today. Besides, I haven’t been to check up on them for almost a week now, and I want to make sure they’re faring well on their own.”
“But what about Wryn?” he asked as they started back the same way they had just come.
“She’s probably made her way back to Hill House and hidden all of her booty by now. If she has, then Mother Garrett will be sure to keep a close eye on her. If she hasn’t, then we’re both going to need to warm up before we walk back to Hill House and get the wagon to start searching for her again.”
Emma and Mark arrived at Reverend Glenn’s new home within five minutes. The cottage itself was small but boasted four small rooms instead of two, as Reverend Glenn had originally thought. The moment she stepped inside, however, she knew she had been wrong about a number of her assumptions today.
First, Reverend Glenn and Aunt Frances did not have a single visitor. They had two.
Second, any hope she had of trying to decide what to do with Wryn without involving Zachary Breckenwith was futile, since he was right there sitting next to Reverend Glenn.
Third . . .
She let out a sigh. She was too tired to think anymore. She simply smiled and wondered how unkind it would be to wish that the young lady who was sitting on the settee next to Aunt Frances might simply disappear.
6
WITH FIVE PEOPLE and one very large, very ungainly dog cramped together in the small parlor, there was little room for anyone to move about, let alone escape.
After introducing and reintroducing her son to everyone, Emma settled down in a chair across from the fire, where she could see that the doors to the two tiny bedrooms had been closed shut. Mark sat next to her in the other of the two chairs he had carried in from the kitchen. Fortunately, her son had shown the same quiet self-control as his father by not exploding into a diatribe the moment he saw Wryn. Emma suspected, for now at least, that Mark was more interested in studying the man who was courting his mother than he was in confronting his wayward niece in front of the others.
Butter, the aged mongrel who had become Reverend Glenn’s constant companion, slept at his master’s feet. Zachary sat in a chair on the other side wearing the closed expre
ssion he usually reserved for handling his clients, although the amusement she detected in his gaze was most definitely reserved for her.
Between them all, Aunt Frances sat with Wryn on a small settee. The two, both unusually small and finely boned, offered a striking vision of the opposite ends of the life cycle. Both set of cheeks were also bright pink. Emma assumed Aunt Frances’ cheeks were flushed with the excitement of having so many visitors at one time, but she hoped Wryn’s cheeks were flaming with nervous embarrassment, if only to reassure herself that the young woman possessed any sort of conscience.
After sharing a few pleasantries, Emma smiled. “What a lovely shawl you’re wearing, Aunt Frances,” she said, anxious to have her suspicions about the source of her shawl confirmed or denied.
Aunt Frances reached up to touch the exquisite lace and smiled. “It’s a bit more delicate than I’m accustomed to, but I can truthfully say that I’ve never owned anything quite as beautiful. Wryn gave it to me just before you arrived. She’s as sweet and thoughtful as you are.” She patted the girl’s hand.
Smiling demurely, Wryn turned her hand over to clasp Aunt Frances’ hand. “You’re very kind.”
“Apparently, you’ve been very, very busy today,” Mark said calmly to his niece.
The blush on Wryn’s cheeks flamed red. “But I wasn’t too busy to stop and introduce myself to Reverend and Mrs. Glenn,” she countered, addressing her uncle before turning her attention back to her hosts. “Uncle Mark and Aunt Catherine told me so much about the two of you while we traveled here. I could hardly wait to meet you both.”
“We’re very, very pleased that you did,” Reverend Glenn noted, pausing for a moment from rubbing his left arm, which had been weakened by his stroke. “You shouldn’t have come bearing so many gifts,” he added, looking down at his contented dog. “Butter here hasn’t had a hunk of beef jerky like you brought for him without being chased out of Mercy Garrett’s kitchen for a good, long spell.”
“I put the rest of the jerky away and hid it right behind the crock of butter where it’ll be safe,” Wryn said without looking at either Emma or Mark.
Emma smiled and saw Reverend Glenn and Aunt Frances do the same. Unless Aunt Frances had had the butter stored high, the beef jerky might have disappeared already, courtesy of an old dog who had a peculiar fondness for butter, hence the inspiration for his name.
With the lace shawl and beef jerky accounted for, Emma suspected Wryn had given the knife she had bought to Reverend Glenn for his whittling. Wryn’s generosity, however, did not change the fact that she had purchased her gifts for the Glenns under false pretenses.
Reluctant to settle the matter of Wryn’s outlandish behavior here and now in front of the others, Emma turned her attention to Zachary. “What brought you back out into this awful weather again today?”
“Widow Ellis made a pot of soup for the Glenns. Rather than venture out into this weather, she decided I should deliver it for her, which I was only too happy to do,” he explained. “And you?”
“Just to visit,” Emma replied carefully to avoid telling an outright lie.
Aunt Frances got to her feet. “Wryn set some water to boil for tea. Come along, Emma. You can help me in the kitchen.”
“I’ll help, too,” Wryn suggested and stood up.
Aunt Frances urged her back into her seat again. “You’ve already done enough. You stay right here with the menfolk and keep the conversation going until we get back.”
Emma noticed the frown on Wryn’s face before the young woman caught herself and smiled. Following Aunt Frances through an open doorway into the kitchen, she shut the door behind her. The kitchen was twice the size of the cozy parlor, but she did not expect to see how much the room had changed in the course of the week since she had last visited.
Aunt Frances’ kitchen now had a corner cupboard and a pantry sitting on either side of the original larder built against the outer wall. Although both were obviously quite old, they appeared to be sturdy and serviceable. The two rocking chairs now rested side by side atop a braided rug instead of bare floorboards in front of the fireplace, along with Aunt Frances’ sewing basket.
Three mismatched chairs, similar to the two Mark had carried into the living room, kept company around a square table. The pot of soup from Widow Ellis was simmering on the cookstove, along with the kettle of water Wryn had set to boil. The sink now had two narrow tables on either side which served as counters.
“What a difference a week makes,” Emma noted with surprise.
“Faith and friends make all the difference in the world,” Aunt Frances replied. “There’s a blue teapot in the corner cupboard. If you get that out for me while I get the tea ready, then you can pour the water for me.”
She opened the door to the larder to get the tea while Emma headed for the corner cupboard. “Between James and Andrew, we’ll never want for foodstuffs.”
“I shouldn’t think you would,” Emma said as she lifted the well-used but attractive teapot out of the cupboard. Both of Aunt Frances’ sons farmed together now on the old family homestead they had inherited from their father. They had been very generous while their mother had been living at Hill House and more recently when Emma had provided so many with a place to live after the tragic explosion and fire.
“Widow Ellis’ soup smells awfully good,” Emma murmured, hoping Aunt Frances could not hear her stomach growl.
“She’s a fair cook, but not as good as Mercy,” Aunt Frances commented. “Would you like a little soup to tide you over till supper?”
“No, thank you. The tea will be enough for now.”
“I haven’t had to cook much myself until now. People kept sending something over when we first moved in, but not so much anymore,” she said as she filled a tea ball before adding it to the teapot Emma had set onto the table. “Members of the congregation have been so generous in other ways, too. I brought this teapot from home, but the kettle came from Addie Atkins just the day before yesterday. She said she had an extra one after setting up housekeeping with Mr. Atkins.”
Emma plucked a heavy cloth from a peg, picked up the kettle, and poured the boiling water into the teapot. “Are you feeling any better about Addie now?”
“I never thought poorly of the woman in the first place. If you’re referring to whether or not I’ve had my feelings hurt because Mr. Atkins chose to marry her instead of listening to my suggestions or Mercy’s, then there isn’t a doubt in this old head of mine that he made a better choice. And a kinder one,” she added thoughtfully. “As we both know, it isn’t always easy for widows as they grow older, or for single women, for that matter. Orralynne Burke had that cookstove sent over. She’s sold the house she inherited from her brother, you know.”
“No, I hadn’t heard,” Emma replied. “Then I take it she’s going to live with the Masseys permanently,” she suggested. She was pleased to think the friendship between the lifelong spinster, some ten years younger than Emma, and the young couple who had celebrated the birth of their son at Hill House, had deepened—yet another blessing that had come after the tragedy this past January.
“She seemed to think so,” Aunt Frances replied. “She’s been a great help to them, and they’re being very good to her, too. I believe she said young Matthew Cross and his brother bought the house. Now that their father has passed on, there’s no need to stay in that old place where they’d been living. Besides, it’s too far from town for them to keep an eye out for their mother while they’re working.”
“Matthew and Steven are good, solid young men. They’ll make good husbands one day,” Emma suggested, hoping the two young men she had met shortly after they had moved to Candlewood would not be tempted to court either Liesel or Ditty away from Hill House anytime soon.
Aunt Frances peeked into the teapot and frowned. “Needs another few minutes. You know, Emma, I was very blessed to have a good man like Reverend Glenn welcome me into his life. What about you? Have you decided to marry Mr. Breckenw
ith yet, or are you following in Mercy’s footsteps and simply enjoying the chase?” she teased.
Emma chuckled as she left to remove seven mugs from the cupboard to a tray Aunt Frances had set on the table, along with a crock of honey and a pitcher of cream. “Poor Mr. Kirk. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to get Mother Garrett to accept his proposal.”
Aunt Frances countered with a grin. “Heaven knows that woman is as likely to accept a proposal from him as she is to let someone commandeer her kitchen, although she does seem agitated now that she has a serious rival. Widow Cates has given up, but Widow Franklin is still vying for Mr. Kirk’s attention, you know, but I wasn’t asking about Mercy. I was asking about you and Mr. Breckenwith.”
Emma let out a sigh. “I thought I’d decided to accept his proposal, but with the boys coming home and now with Mark arriving several weeks early, my life’s a bit too complicated at the moment to sort through all the issues that need to be resolved before I can agree to marry him.”
Aunt Frances placed her hand on top of Emma’s. “One of those complications wouldn’t happen to be named Wryn, would it?”
Emma sighed again. “I only met that young woman a few hours ago, but calling her a complication is probably the kindest way to think of her at the moment. When I first met her this morning, she was sitting on top of the kitchen table gobbling down one cruller after another and being rude. At the time I thought she was an irreverent little snip. But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you half of what she’s managed to do since then,” Emma grumbled, still reluctant to spoil the pleasure Aunt Frances and Reverend Glenn had received from the gifts Wyrn had given to them.
“On the contrary,” Aunt Frances said. “I think I might. That young woman’s got a heart full of hurt tucked deep inside of her and acting out is just her way of trying to bear it. I suspect you already know that, don’t you?”
