by Delia Parr
Gertie nodded. “We each have one under our pillow for protection, and we wanted you to have one, too.”
“It’s made of iron. That’s why it’s so heavy,” Lorelei said. “After the way you defended yourself last night, any man with a lick of sense will know not to bother the Broom Lady, but you never know what a man will do when he’s as addled as Maxwell Flynn must have been last night. Keep that piece of pipe handy, just in case you can’t get to your broom in time.”
“It might even fit in your reticule,” Gertie suggested.
“Thank you. I think it might,” Ruth replied with a small smile.
After she stored the basket behind the counter, she looked from one woman to the other and moistened her lips. As much as she hated gossip and tried to avoid it, even before her life had been turned upside down and inside out, she had to expect customers would invariably bring it into the apothecary, especially today. Curious to learn how Mr. Flynn was faring, she asked the two cousins about him.
Gertie chuckled. “From what we heard, once Dr. Woodward patched him up and he sobered up, Mr. Flynn stopped at the general store and then the bank on his way out of town.”
“He frightened poor Spinster Wyndam before he left, too. Told me so herself,” Lorelei added.
“I expect she’ll be by shortly. She told us she had a few errands to finish first,” Gertie said and nudged her cousin with her elbow. “Come along. We have just enough time before we have dinner to stop and thank Mr. Ayers and Mr. Burkalow for helping our dear Broom Lady,” she announced, and the two cousins took their leave without saying another word.
While Ruth was happy to see them go, she was concerned about her plans to have supper at Spinster Wyndam’s home tonight. At Phanaby’s insistence, she had reluctantly accepted the woman’s invitation at the church picnic, but at the time she had not known that Elias and Phanaby would be away and returning later today. Since they had taken care of Lily for the past two days, she did not want to impose by asking them to watch Lily while she went out for supper. Besides, she was growing more and more anxious for them to return, if only to find out if traveling with Robert Farrell had posed any problems and raised any concerns that might affect her remaining here with them.
Until she reminded herself of her promise to remain always in His light.
She could not decide if the fact that Jake Spencer would probably not be there, with his back bothering him again, made the invitation more or less appealing. She felt bad that Elias had not left any remedy she could take to the cabin for him and wondered if she should get word to Spinster Wyndam, suggesting she postpone their plans since it would be pointless to have a matchmaking supper for Ruth alone.
Not that she was interested in matchmaking at all. After the way she behaved at the cabin yesterday, she would not be surprised if Jake did not want anything to do with her. Even if he did, she was in no position to marry any man. Not now with a child and a tenuous future. Perhaps not ever, unless the press ended the public’s fascination with her whereabouts once and for all.
She was, however, quite certain she would much prefer having a quiet supper at home with the Garners. In addition to hearing about their trip, she also wanted to explain her misadventure last night before they heard any of the rumors circulating around the village. But mostly, she wanted to have time with Lily.
“I miss that little one,” she murmured. She was surprised by how empty she felt after not being with Lily for an entire day and night since she had been feeling so burdened lately by all the care a child her age required.
Yet for the next four hours she had little time to think of anyone or anything else other than the virtual parade of women who marched in and out of the apothecary bearing more gifts for her. Some of the women she knew from the congregation; others she had seen in the village at one time or another, but now she had names to put to their faces.
By the time she was ready to close the apothecary for the day, she had a shelf behind the counter that was filled with quite an assortment of “weapons” to keep at hand to defend herself just in case she could not get to her broom, along with well-meaning advice not to answer the door so late at night.
She went into the storeroom to get a basket to store her gifts, looked around, and sighed. One of the rickety shelves Mr. Garner was going to have Jake Spencer replace was lying on the floor, along with everything that had been stored there, leaving the room once again in disarray.
She picked up her gifts and set them into the basket she found. In addition to the piece of iron pipe from the Jones cousins, she had a hatpin from Mrs. Sloan at the general store that was similar to the one the woman claimed she kept behind the counter, and a horseshoe only large enough to fit a pony, which Mrs. Avery had gotten from the livery when her husband was not looking. She also had a corkscrew from Mrs. Burkalow, who had borrowed it from her husband’s tavern, a wooden spoon with the handle sharpened to a point from Mrs. Toby, and a host of other implements.
She snatched one of the molasses cookies from the other basket and ate it slowly, wondering why Spinster Wyndam had not stopped by the apothecary since both Gertie and Lorelei had said she would. After she finished the cookie, she set the basket of gifts on the floor and walked around the counter. She was halfway to the front door to latch it closed for the day when she saw Spinster Wyndam through the display window. She was holding a rather large box. When their gazes met, the woman waved to Ruth with her cane to indicate she wanted Ruth to come outside.
So Ruth stepped outside and greeted her with a smile.
“Thank you for saving me some steps,” Spinster Wyndam said. “I need all the energy I’ve got left to get the table set for our supper, but first I have two things to give to you. One could have waited until you came for supper, but the other one you probably need now.” She took a paper from her pocket and handed it to Ruth. “Don’t fret. It’s nothing terribly awful. Just read it. You’ll see.”
Although Ruth was disappointed that supper with the elderly spinster could not be avoided, she unfolded the paper and read the message on the paper quickly:
Dearest Ruth,
We are extending our holiday by one day and will explain when we return. All is fine, and Lily is quite well.
With affection,
Phanaby Garner
Ruth’s eyes widened. “They’re staying another day,” she said. She was curious about the circumstances that would prompt Elias not to be at the apothecary for three straight days. Even though Phanaby insisted everything was “fine,” Ruth grew worried that something had gone wrong, something caused by traveling with Robert Farrell or connected to her in some way. Still, Ruth knew Phanaby well enough to be fairly certain that she would have warned her if real trouble was brewing. Curious to know how Phanaby had managed to get this note to her, she asked Spinster Wyndam directly while she refolded the note and put it into her apron pocket.
The elderly woman chuckled. “Allan Yost was in Forked River visiting his grandmother. You may not have met him, since he rarely comes into the village. Phanaby gave her note to him, and he brought it back early this morning and gave it to his neighbor Isaac Martin, who brought it with him when he carted a wagon of sphagnum moss to the docks. From there …” She waved her hand. “Anyway, I ended up with it and brought it to you, along with this,” she said as she handed a large but very light box into Ruth’s hands. “You can open it later. I reminded Mr. Spencer just a while ago that supper’s at six, and now I’m reminding you. Don’t be late,” she cautioned and walked off, leaving Ruth standing there.
She went back into the apothecary and latched the door before carrying the box over to the counter and opening it. She stared at the gift and nearly laughed out loud, convinced Spinster Wyndam had given her the most unique weapon of all. While obviously not new, the straw bonnet had four white quill feathers with shafts that could poke someone’s eyes out if she was not careful. She carried the box with her bonnet, along with the basket of her other gifts, upstairs and s
tored them next to her trundle bed before she hurried to change for supper.
Ruth got lost trying to find Spinster Wyndam’s cottage, which was nestled between two stately clapboard homes on the north side of the river, where she had never ventured before tonight.
It was well after six when she finally arrived and knocked at the door. She had gone back to Main Street to get better directions, and her cheeks were still burning as much from her extended walk as from embarrassment.
She raised her hand again to knock, but lowered her arm when she heard the click of the woman’s cane as it hit the floor. She heard not one but two latches release before the door swung open, and she braced for a reprimand for being so tardy.
Instead, Spinster Wyndam greeted her with kindness and stepped aside to let her enter. “Got lost, did you?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.” Ruth walked into a small sitting room, where a low fire was burning in the hearth. Oddly, sheets yellowed with age were draped over two chairs and a settee, as well as every other piece of furniture in the room.
“I don’t care much for cleaning house anymore. Covering everything up means I don’t have to dust,” her hostess explained.
When Ruth removed her bonnet and handed it to her, her arms ached, just like they had when she put it on, but the smile on the woman’s face was well worth the stares she had gotten walking here because of this particular bonnet.
“I used to wear that bonnet in my younger days, but I added a few new quill feathers for you just this morning,” the elderly woman explained before she tossed the bonnet into the air.
Ruth’s eyes widened even more when she saw the bonnet sail through the room and land on top of one of the chairs. Still reeling from this strange display, she followed the woman to the kitchen. She was surprised to see three places set, but chairs sat in front of only two, while Jake Spencer stood at the far end of the table carving what appeared to be either a very large chicken or a rather small turkey.
But the closer she got to the table, the more she realized the roasted bird was definitely too big to be a chicken. Ruth suddenly knew exactly where Spinster Wyndam had gotten those quill feathers for the bonnet—from something Jake Spencer had killed for their supper.
Twenty-Five
Jake had rehearsed the explanation he would give to Ruth for his nearly complete recovery, but he could not remember a word of it when she walked into the kitchen and stared at him.
Even with her mouth agape and her eyes simmering with curiosity, if not shock, she looked as if she had survived last night’s incident quite well. She had a rosy blush on her cheeks, while her ivory complexion was flawless, and he could not see any evidence she had sustained any injury at all. She was not limping and walked as gracefully as she ever had, except when she wore those clunky boots.
She was barely a few feet away from him, yet still failed to acknowledge him. He assumed she was simply wondering how he had managed to come for supper tonight when yesterday he had been almost completely immobilized. Anxious to calm any remaining fear she might have about trusting him, he followed her gaze and realized she was looking at something else entirely.
When she finally looked directly at him, her eyes had darkened to the color of slate and he nearly flinched. It was not curiosity staring at him now but condemnation, along with horror, which left him perplexed. “Y-you cooked it?” she stammered.
Spinster Wyndam chuckled. “Of course not. I cooked it. He’s just carving it. Men carve so much better than we women do. I never did have a man to do it for me, which is why I like to invite one over for supper once in a while. Now, let that poor man help us to our seats so he can finish slicing up that goose.”
He set the knife down and helped the elderly woman take her seat first. When he pulled out the chair opposite their hostess, which is where he had draped Ruth’s shawl, she ignored him. Indeed, she continued to gape at the centerpiece of the elaborate meal Spinster Wyndam had set out on the table.
Finally, Ruth literally plopped into her seat. “It’s a goose. It’s not a turkey,” she murmured.
“Goodness no,” the spinster quipped.
Grinning, Jake returned to his task and started to slice the last of the breast meat. “You don’t favor turkey?” he teased.
“I-I do, but I thought … I mean … When I saw that roasted bird sitting there, I thought …” She paused, glanced at the look of bewilderment on Spinster Wyndam’s face, and looked to him for help.
“Ruth and I have a mutual pest,” he began. By the time there was nothing left of the goose but a carcass, he had finished telling the tale of the territorial turkey who had taken up residence at his cabin. Spinster Wyndam was dabbing away tears of laughter, and Ruth’s eyes had gentled to pale gray again as her lips formed a smile instead of a frown.
“I’ve threatened to cook that turkey hen more than once, but when I saw it sitting there on the table, I couldn’t imagine eating the little pest,” Ruth explained.
“You thought those feathers on your bonnet were turkey feathers? Silly goose,” their hostess said. When she realized the pun she had made, she laughed out loud before she finished explaining that a number of other women had given Ruth a few gifts today, too.
Leaning hard on his cane, Jake made slow but steady progress toward his place at the end of the table, hoping to make the excuse he knew he had to offer sooner or later sound more plausible. “May I ask the occasion that inspired all those gifts?” he asked, hopeful that today was her birthday, a fact he could easily get his brother to confirm. It would be a critical key to solidifying his deep conviction that Ruth Livingstone and Ruth Malloy were the same woman.
He stood at his place at the table and waited for Ruth to answer him.
Ruth’s smile froze for a moment. “I-I suppose I could tell you,” she replied, but Spinster Wyndam spoke up.
“You may ask, but neither one of us is going to give you an answer. There are precious few secrets we women get to keep, and this is one of them.”
Ruth’s complexion paled to the color of fresh snow.
“Besides,” the spinster continued, “if we keep chatting, our supper will get cold. Pass that platter of meat to Mr. Spencer, will you, Ruth?”
Ruth picked up the platter with both hands, turned in her seat, and held it out to him. When she saw that he was still standing and there was no chair for him, she set it down on the table and furrowed her brow. “You’re not going to sit down?”
“I’d like to sit and join you, but I’m afraid I can’t,” he explained and dropped his gaze because he was also afraid she would see through his lie.
Spinster Wyndam patted his arm with the tip of her cane. “When I saw him earlier this afternoon, he told me about the mishap he had yesterday and that he couldn’t possibly come for supper because he’d aggravate his back if he sat down. I told him I didn’t mind at all if he ate his dinner standing up, and I assured him you wouldn’t, either.”
Ruth’s eyes glistened like pools of silver.
“It’s not so bad,” Jake said. “By this morning I found I could walk or stand without much pain, but I doubt I’ll ever stand straight again if I sit down tonight.” He took several slices of the meat and put them onto his plate. “I stopped at the apothecary on the way here, but it was closed. I was hoping Mr. Garner had returned and could make up some remedy for me, but—”
“But I told him the Garners delayed their return until tomorrow,” their hostess interjected. “I do hope Elias left some remedy for Mr. Spencer so he doesn’t have to wait until tomorrow to get some relief.”
Ruth moistened her lips. “I’m sorry. If he left any for you, I couldn’t find it. I looked last night when I got home.”
He shrugged and slid the handle of his cane on the end of the table so it would hang there. “I can wait until tomorrow for the remedy, but I’d rather not wait any longer to enjoy this fine supper.”
Spinster Wyndam smiled and began briefly lifting the lids off the serving dishes that left litt
le room on the table for anything other than their place settings. She announced each dish, perhaps to clarify any more misperceptions. “Fried oysters, straight from the kitchen at Burkalow’s Tavern. I can’t even bother with all the mess it takes to make them. Pickled beets. Corn cakes. And finally, my favorite: carrots glazed with butter and honey.”
Jake’s mouth watered, his stomach growled, but his mind raced in anticipation of walking Ruth home after supper. He just could not decide whether to feign a fall in front of the apothecary to get her to invite him inside or to ask to see the shelving he had been hired to replace. Either way, he hoped to get an opportunity to look for that wooden chest tonight.
Two hours later, he and Ruth were walking down Main Street.
At twilight, the heart of the village was slowing down. Burkalow’s Tavern at the far end and a smaller tavern near the docks, which only seamen and rougher elements frequented, were the only establishments open at this hour. The roadway itself was deserted as well.
Overhead, the sky was clear yet not dark enough to detect a single star. The air was laced with just a hint of a breeze that carried the light lavender scent she wore—a scent he had not detected above the smells in the kitchen during supper.
Jake looked down at the young woman holding his arm, and his pulse started to race. He could easily see himself, in another time and in another place, becoming enamored of this very intriguing, rather attractive woman.
Fortunately, his mind took control of those dangerous thoughts and quickly yanked him back to reality. He was not here as a man anxious to court her, despite Spinster Wyndam’s intentions. He was here as a reporter to investigate whatever it was she was hiding. And even if all his efforts in that regard were for naught, she would never forgive him for violating every ethical code of professional conduct in the process, including lying to her repeatedly, most especially yesterday at the cabin.
