A Hearth in Candlewood

by Delia Parr

  Emma hooked her arm with Widow Leonard’s and patted her arm as they walked together down the aisle, anxious to distract herself from her troubles. ‘‘You did amazing work on Mother Garrett’s bonnet. Thank you,’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘I’m a tad proud of it myself. There wasn’t much I could do about the color, but replacing the bird’s nest with those butterflies changed the look of the bonnet just enough, I think.’’

  ‘‘Mother Garrett was happy, and Mrs. Sewell didn’t seem overly bothered that the bonnets were the same color. I think you’re a dear,’’ Emma managed before whispering hello to other members of the congregation as they walked toward the rear of the church.

  Once outside, they ventured across the grassy courtyard facing the church. Emma spied the other members of their party at the far corner near Mr. Henderson’s outlandishly ornate carriage, where Mother Garrett and Mrs. Sewell were already holding court as ladies stopped to admire the finery they wore on their heads.

  Widow Leonard slowed her steps. ‘‘Andrew is here, you know.’’

  ‘‘No, I hadn’t seen him. What about James?’’ Emma asked as she scanned the crowd of people congregating about the courtyard.

  ‘‘He wouldn’t be here now. He might have come. I can’t say for sure that he didn’t, but once he saw that his brother was here, he would have left. I’m certain of that. Let’s join the others. If Andrew decides to seek me out, at least I won’t have to see him alone.’’

  ‘‘No, you won’t,’’ Emma reassured her, ‘‘but the longer the troubles between your sons remain, the harder it will be to resolve them.’’ Troubled herself by the notion that any mother might be afraid to be alone with one of her children, for any reason, Emma stayed close to the newest member of her staff.

  When Andrew did appear, he was not alone. His wife, Nora, was at his side. Andrew’s gaze was set as hard and determined as when he had come to Hill House, but Nora looked a bit torn, perhaps. Emma sensed an ally in her, a sign that there was hope for a reconciliation; if not now, at some point in the future.

  Emma took full advantage the moment Andrew and his wife approached them, smiled, and said the first thing that popped into her head. ‘‘We were hoping you’d be here. I do hope you can join us for dinner at Hill House. I’m quite certain Mother Garrett has made more than enough, haven’t you?’’ she asked and caught her mother-in-law’s gaze. She made a slight grimace of apology for not checking first, but her grimace tightened when she realized Liesel and Ditty had both gone home to spend their time off with their families.

  ‘‘Unlike other people, I always prepare for the . . . unexpected,’’ her mother-in-law replied with just the barest hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘‘We have more than enough.’’

  ‘‘Then do come,’’ Emma gushed, taking hold of Widow Leonard again and stepping forward. ‘‘We have a carriage for our guests and Reverend Glenn, of course, but we usually enjoy the walk home while the weather is so pleasant. You can meet us at Hill House or walk along with us.’’

  Andrew’s glare darkened, and his wife edged closer to him. ‘‘I’d prefer to speak to my mother here and now, if you please. She is free on Sundays—or have the rules changed since we last spoke?’’

  ‘‘Of course I’m free to speak with you,’’ Widow Leonard said. ‘‘After dinner would suit me fine.’’ She looked up at Emma. ‘‘May I impose on your hospitality and ask that we have use of the library after dinner so we can speak privately?’’

  When Emma nodded, Widow Leonard looked back to her son but held silent.

  ‘‘Please,’’ Nora whispered. ‘‘Having dinner won’t take up that much more time.’’

  He paused and shifted his weight from foot to foot. ‘‘I know the way. We’ll be along . . . presently.’’

  ————

  The presence of the Sewell family made all the difference at dinner. Between the girls’ good-natured banter, Mr. Sewell’s tales of his business adventures, and Mrs. Sewell’s detailed accounts of her shopping mishaps, there was little room for the stilted awkwardness Andrew’s presence at the table might have induced or for Emma to worry about either Zachary Breckenwith or Mr. Langhorne.

  Anxious about what might occur after dinner, Emma ate little, save for a buttered muffin and a serving of applesauce. As dinner concluded, she clung to the message from Reverend Austin’s sermon. She rose and opened the double doors to the patio.

  While her guests debated whether to spend the afternoon on the patio or brave the steps to inspect the new gazebo, Emma ushered Widow Leonard, Andrew, and Nora to the library and closed the door that led to her adjoining office. ‘‘You’ll have the privacy you need here,’’ she said, hoping the masculine flavor of the room would help put Andrew at ease. ‘‘I’ll be in the kitchen helping Mother Garrett. Please let me know if there’s anything you’d like to have or need.’’

  ‘‘You might want to help in the kitchen, as well, while I speak to my mother,’’ Andrew suggested to his wife.

  ‘‘I’d like Nora to stay. She’s family. And I’d like Emma to stay, too,’’ Widow Leonard insisted.

  ‘‘She’s not family,’’ Andrew argued. ‘‘I cannot and will not discuss—’’

  ‘‘You must,’’ his mother countered. ‘‘We’ve tried discussing the matter on our own.’’ Her eyes misted. ‘‘You can see for yourself what good that did. If not for yourself or for me, then do it out of respect for your father, God rest his soul. Emma has a good heart and she knows her way around business matters. I trust her to be able to help us, and you should, too.’’

  In the awkward silence that ensued while Andrew made up his mind to stay or to leave, Emma opened the heavy drapes on the window before she closed the door to the center hallway. Sunlight warmed the dark paneling on the walls and danced on a pair of glass-enclosed bookcases on either side of the stone fireplace. She quickly rearranged several leather chairs to create one sitting area instead of two by placing them in a circle, chose one for herself, and sat down.

  Moments later, Widow Leonard took a seat to Emma’s right.

  Without saying a word, Andrew escorted his wife to the chair on Emma’s left before taking the last chair next to his mother.

  ‘‘Thank you, Andrew,’’ his mother said quietly.

  ‘‘I want you to end this nonsense, Mother, and come home with us. Today.’’

  Nora held silent, nodded, but worried at the edge of lace that trimmed her sleeve.

  ‘‘Why?’’ Widow Leonard asked. ‘‘Because you’re embarrassed that I’ve run off, or because you’ve come to tell me you’ve reconciled with your brother and I can come home to you both?’’

  His nostrils flared. ‘‘James has nothing to do with this.’’

  ‘‘You’re wrong, Andrew. James has everything to do with whether or not I return home to live with either one of you. Ever.’’ She drew in several quick breaths as she held his gaze. ‘‘A woman’s heart can be broken in many ways,’’ she murmured and folded her trembling hands together. ‘‘To lose a husband is a heavy burden.’’

  She turned and looked at Emma. ‘‘You’ve known that heartache, haven’t you?’’

  Emma nodded, slipped her hand into her pocket, and felt among her keepsakes to find the piece of heavy serge cut from the suit of clothes Jonas had worn on their wedding day.

  Widow Leonard’s gaze grew misty. ‘‘You carried that burden, as well, Nora.’’

  When Andrew’s wife nodded, Emma recalled that Nora had been married once before but had lost her husband suddenly, only months after they had been wed.

  ‘‘For a woman to bury her sweet babies is another heartache a woman carries for the rest of her days,’’ Widow Leonard continued. She dropped her gaze. She did not look up from her lap to either Emma or Nora, and Emma did not expect the elderly woman to do so. She had been spared the grief of losing a child, but Nora carried the very different grief of being barren.

  For several long moments, Widow Leonard stared
at her lap. When she did meet their gazes again, she dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘‘For a woman to see her grown children estranged from one another, to stand by, helpless, unable to help them resolve the troubles between them day after day is a cross of guilt and grief I fear I can no longer carry.’’

  Emma choked back the emotion lodged in her throat and noticed that Nora’s eyes had filled with tears she hurriedly blinked away.

  Andrew’s cheeks colored, and he braced his feet to adjust his position in the chair. ‘‘I’ve tried to explain this to you before. This isn’t your fault, but it’s not mine, either. There’s nothing I can do to make James change his mind. I’ve tried talking to him. He walks away. I’ve tried to show him facts and figures. He tears them up. I’ve even tried pleading with him, but he won’t listen. Not even long enough to hear me out completely.’’

  He raked his hand through his hair. ‘‘Tell me, Mother. What can I do? If James isn’t willing to discuss the matter at all, what can I do? Nothing,’’ he charged without giving her a chance to reply. ‘‘There’s nothing to be done but to accept the fact that I no longer have a brother.’’

  ‘‘Your father would be—’’

  ‘‘My father? My father should have divided the land into two equal parts in his will; instead, he created a . . . a living nightmare for all of us that has you putting yourself out to work as if you had no family to care for you.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure your father had good intentions,’’ Nora offered and looked to her mother-in-law for support.

  Curious to learn more of the details surrounding the issue that had driven James and Andrew apart, Emma looked to Widow Leonard, as well.

  The elderly woman looked at each of them in turn and sighed. ‘‘Enoch was a good husband and a good father. In all the years I knew him, he did not once entertain a wicked thought or deed, and he was a fair-minded man. To his credit, he wanted to be sure you would both benefit equally. Unfortunately, he could not predict the changes the future would bring, any more than he could envision the day when his two sons would be at odds with each other.’’

  ‘‘He could have avoided any and all problems by dividing the land differently.’’

  ‘‘And I suppose you wouldn’t have felt slighted or cruelly treated if James had gotten the greater share?’’

  ‘‘To my eye, James always gets the bigger portion. He has the better land and four sons to help him work it. Must he now keep me from trying to secure what little I can for myself?’’

  When the echo of Andrew’s bitter words faded, the cadence of uneven breathing was the only sound that filled the room. Nora dabbed at her silent tears, no doubt hurt by her husband’s callous reference to her inability to bear a child. For his part, Andrew kept his gaze locked on his mother, who simply bowed her head and stared at her lap.

  Andrew’s words also sliced through Emma’s first impression that a piece of land was the cause of the fallout between the brothers. She also knew enough to suspect the Candlewood Canal, built some years after Enoch Leonard’s death, played a role in the dispute between James and Andrew.

  Andrew, however, had just revealed, unwittingly or not, the truth: The troubles between them were rooted deep in jealousy and envy that had apparently been brewing for years.

  Without knowing the land in question or the precise argument concerning it, there was little she could offer to guide this family toward reconciliation. ‘‘I wonder if I might pose a question,’’ she murmured and directed her question to Andrew.

  Still winded from his gust of words, he waved his hand to indicate he had no objection.

  ‘‘I have a vague recollection of the extent of the land your father owned, but I’m not certain as to how he divided it in his will. Can you tell me about the land in dispute?’’

  He straightened in his chair. ‘‘The land separates my land from my brother’s and runs north and south, covering a portion of the toll road that starts just south of Candlewood and runs north to Bounty. There are two acres on either side of the toll road, as well.’’

  ‘‘What about the tolls that are collected? Do you share them equally with your brother?’’

  He shook his head. ‘‘The toll gate is at the midpoint, close to my home. I collect the tolls and take a larger portion. The rest goes to my brother.’’

  She cocked a brow and wondered if he realized he had just undercut his own argument about his brother always getting more than he did. ‘‘A larger portion?’’

  ‘‘I earn it,’’ he argued. ‘‘Not that there’s much point to my efforts. Once the Candlewood Canal opened, road traffic dwindled, and it’s only gotten worse. At this point in time, a week could pass before I collect a single toll, which means there’s little sense wasting either time or money to make repairs. Some of the other landowners have abandoned their toll gates completely. James and I would be better served if we could just sell the land and divide the money between us.’’

  Emma narrowed her gaze. Selling a strip of land four-odd acres wide might not be all that easy, but she supposed some investor might be interested. ‘‘That sounds reasonable.’’

  He snorted. ‘‘Being reasonable is not one of my brother’s finer qualities. He refused to consider the matter at all, despite the fact that we have a fair offer. But then, why should he? He already has everything he wants and more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ve said more than I wanted to say.’’

  He got to his feet and helped his wife from her chair. ‘‘Mother, if you’ll collect your things, I’d like you to head home with us.’’

  Widow Leonard looked up at her son. ‘‘I can’t, Andrew. Not until you fix matters with your brother.’’

  Emma rose, moved behind the elderly woman’s chair, and placed her hands on the woman’s shoulders. ‘‘Your mother has been wonderful company for Reverend Glenn, who is still troubled by the stroke he suffered. Your mother’s presence here and her encouragement have made a big difference to him, and it might be more helpful if she stayed with us for a while longer.’’

  When Andrew opened his mouth to argue, Nora silenced him by merely placing her hand on his arm.

  He glanced down at her, looked over at his mother, and let out a deep sigh. ‘‘If you want matters settled, then you should speak to my brother. In the meantime, if you change your mind and want to come home, send for me,’’ he said and escorted his wife from the library.

  ‘‘There’s no hope. Just no hope at all,’’ Widow Leonard whispered after they left.

  Emma was tempted to agree. But beyond Andrew’s obvious affection for his wife and his mother, there was one sliver of light that shone through his bitterness. ‘‘As long as Andrew still refers to James as his brother, I believe there is hope.’’

  15

  WEDNESDAY DAWNED BRIGHT with the promise of another glorious day, although the day itself was remarkable simply because her granddaughter Deborah turned five today. With the arrival of thick cloud cover by midmorning, the promise faded, along with Emma’s hopes that this might be the day she would be able to speak privately with Mr. Sewell.

  Unfortunately, he had left at first light for the third day in a row to inspect yet another potential investment property and did not expect to return until well after supper. Other than a few moments here and there when she had answered his questions about some of the new businesses in town, there had been no time for them to meet privately to discuss business. His wife and daughters had decided to brave a walk along Main Street to shop, although Emma had sent Ditty to the livery with a note to arrange for a carriage to be available to bring them home with their packages when they finished.

  Emma had been working downstairs in her office for several hours handling correspondence, while Widow Leonard worked at her sewing upstairs. She noted the change in the weather, set her work aside, and went directly to the kitchen, but she found only Liesel at the sink washing the cleaning cloths Ditty had used to freshen their guests’ rooms.

  She glanced a
round and frowned. There were no pots simmering on the cookstove, no aromas coming from the oven. With literally no sign of dinner in the making, Emma felt the first prickle of suspicion that the day held more surprises. ‘‘Is Mother Garrett about?’’

  Liesel paused and rested the cleaning cloth against the washboard. ‘‘She said she wouldn’t be long and that she’d be back soon.’’

  Liesel was not a young woman of few words, another sign of impending trouble. Emma waited for more of an explanation, but when the young woman offered nothing more, she prompted her. ‘‘Did she say where she was going?’’

  ‘‘She had an errand to run. On Main Street,’’ she added when Emma narrowed her gaze.

  ‘‘I see.’’ She glanced from Liesel to the cookstove and back again. ‘‘May I assume dinner will be on time for our guests?’’

  Liesel’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘‘Mrs. Sewell told Mother Garrett that she and her daughters wouldn’t be here for dinner and they wouldn’t return until late afternoon. I expect they’ll be here for supper. She didn’t say they wouldn’t be.’’

  Unaccustomed to being informed about her guests’ plans after the fact, Emma felt her pulse quicken. ‘‘What about the rest of us? Will we have dinner today?’’

  Liesel’s blush deepened. ‘‘Mother Garrett said we would—’’

  With that, Mother Garrett huffed her way into the kitchen. ‘‘I said we would have cold platters today, which we will as soon as I can make them. I’m sorry, Emma. My errand took me longer than I expected,’’ she said after she stopped to catch her breath.

  When she did, she looked directly at Liesel. ‘‘Be a dear, won’t you? Go out to the gazebo and take an umbrella with you for Reverend Glenn. The rain’s not far off and might get here before he can manage his way back to the house. And if it does start raining, keep that mongrel out on the patio until you wipe down his paws and that mangy tail of his.’’