A Hearth in Candlewood

by Delia Parr

  Liesel abandoned her work at the sink and left to carry out her new task without complaint. After donning an apron, Mother Garrett took the ham left from dinner yesterday from the larder to the table, leaving Emma standing next to the cookstove with a host of questions ready to bubble over in her mind.

  Rather than question her mother-in-law directly as to her whereabouts, a tactic Emma had learned did not work, she took Liesel’s place at the sink and began scrubbing the cleaning cloth. ‘‘It’s Deborah’s birthday today.’’

  ‘‘I remembered. She’s probably looking more like you than ever,’’ Mother Garrett offered. ‘‘Has Warren written to say when they might be coming for a visit?’’

  ‘‘Not yet,’’ Emma replied and quickly turned the topic back to her immediate concerns. ‘‘Did Mrs. Sewell say where she and the girls would be having dinner?’’

  ‘‘I believe she said they might try the hotel, though why anyone would prefer food at that hotel over mine is a wonder I haven’t yet deciphered. She did say she was afraid they wouldn’t be finished shopping by dinner and didn’t want to come all the way back here and then have to venture out again to the shops. I suppose it’s the coming back up the hill they dislike more than anything else.’’

  Emma glanced out the window to find a drizzly mist had already begun to dampen the yard, which made today less than a good one to shop along Main Street. In the far distance she saw the dull bronze roof of the gazebo and hoped Liesel had Reverend Glenn well on his way back to the house. ‘‘I finished most of my correspondence while you were out. I had hoped to have my replies ready for Ditty to post at the General Store, since she had to take my note to the livery, but they took longer than I expected. The Worths will be coming back in late October, just for three days this time. Mrs. Parrish and her sister are coming about the same time, and so are the Behrs. We may be as busy next month as we were for the Founders’ Day celebrations.’’ She wondered if her days here at Hill House welcoming guests were indeed numbered and shivered when the image of Mr. Langhorne’s hard stare at services on Sunday flashed through her mind.

  ‘‘I might be recovered by then. I can’t say I’m not looking forward to November when they close the canal and we all slow down a bit,’’ Mother Garrett suggested.

  Surprised, Emma turned and met her mother-in-law’s gaze. ‘‘Are you finally admitting that buying Hill House was a good idea?’’ she asked, finding it ironic that Mother Garrett’s change of heart came at a time when Emma might have to admit buying Hill House had been a very bad idea.

  Mother Garrett blinked several times, then resumed carving the ham. ‘‘I never said it wasn’t a good idea. I just said I thought you were being hasty. One day you say you’re just looking at this place as an investment. The next morning you’re asking me if I’d mind if you sold the General Store and if I’d move with you to Hill House, which you want to restore and open as a boardinghouse.’’

  Reminded yet again of how headstrong she had been about buying Hill House and the possibility that she had made a terrible mistake—one that Mr. Langhorne definitely could use to his advantage—Emma turned back to her task and kept her worries to herself, rather than burden her mother-in-law. ‘‘The Lord opens the path He’s chosen for us in mysterious ways,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I’m still awed by how quickly and simply I was led down the path to Hill House,’’ Emma replied, though she realized she may have simply forged ahead to get what she wanted instead of waiting to be sure this was where He wanted her to be.

  Mother Garrett chuckled. ‘‘ ‘Down the path’ might not be the way most folks, including the Sewells, would describe their walk up the hill to get here.’’

  ‘‘Probably not, but there hasn’t been a guest yet who complained about the view from Hill House, either.’’ Emma gritted her teeth as she worked at a particularly stubborn stain, then smiled when she heard Butter bark. ‘‘Liesel must have Reverend Glenn back to the patio already, but I’m sure she’s got her hands full getting him inside the dining room and keeping the dog out.’’

  The next instant Butter charged into the kitchen, tracking in dirt and mud, with Liesel chasing him from behind. The dog’s coat was wet and matted, adding a musky odor to the room. ‘‘I tried. I tried to stop him. But he wouldn’t . . . stop,’’ she cried, unable to keep the dog under her control.

  Emma was not sure who was more agitated, the young woman or the dog. She was certain that something was very amiss when Butter kept barking, lunged at her, and started butting at her skirts with his massive head. ‘‘Where’s Reverend Glenn?’’ she gasped and attempted, in vain, to nudge the dog away.

  ‘‘He’s gone. I was on my way to fetch him when Butter—I never saw the dog try to run before—but he kept trying to get up the steps and kept stumbling, even when I called for him to stop. I ran down past Butter and checked for Reverend Glenn in the gazebo, but he wasn’t there. I don’t know where he might be,’’ she cried as she swiped at her tears with one hand and her damp skirts with the other.

  Mother Garrett sat at the table, her knife in the air, staring at the dog, apparently too stunned to move or speak.

  ‘‘I’m sure he isn’t far,’’ Emma insisted, although her heart was racing with the fear that he might have decided to take a bit of a walk and either fell or suffered another stroke. She patted Butter’s damp head to try to calm him. ‘‘Liesel, I’m taking the dog with me. Once I do, you be sure to clean up the mess he’s tracked into the house. Mother Garrett, why don’t you check Reverend Glenn’s room and the rest of the house? It’s not likely, but it’s possible he might have wandered back without our noticing and left Butter outside just for a moment while he got something he wanted from the house.’’

  When Mother Garrett did not respond, Emma helped her to her feet. ‘‘I’ll find him and I’ll bring him back to the house. We may have to wait under the gazebo if the rain gets heavy, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of him,’’ she promised and led Butter back through the dining room and outside without bothering to stop for an umbrella.

  The stone patio was slick underfoot. Walking carefully, she stopped at the stone wall to view the gazebo area below, but she could not see much through the heavy drizzle. She opened the gate and let Butter go first. The garden steps that laced through the terraced gardens were wet, and she nearly slipped a few times.

  When she finally reached bottom ground, she followed the dog’s lead. Instead of heading directly for the gazebo, as she expected, he turned off to the path that cut past several mulberry trees and the dense screen of pine trees that led, ultimately, across the roadway and to the canal. Once they reached the protection of the tree cover, she stopped to catch her breath for a few moments and shake the drizzle from her skirts but quickly caught up to the dog, who continued to plow his way slowly back to his master.

  With increasing anxiety, Emma followed him when he left the path yet again and proceeded directly into the woods. Immersed in total stillness, the heavy scent of pine and the barest whisper of cedar, her steps were muffled by the thick bed of needles beneath her feet. She had not traveled more than a few dozen yards before she saw Reverend Glenn lying flat on his back on the dry ground at the base of a majestic pine tree just ahead. She barely had a glimpse of him before Butter lunged forward and obscured her view.

  ‘‘Please . . . please let him be all right,’’ she prayed and rushed toward him.

  She was halfway there when she heard the minister chuckle. ‘‘Don’t rush so, or you’ll find yourself flat on the ground like I am.’’

  She stumbled in surprise and slowed her steps. When she reached him momentarily, she dropped down and knelt beside him on the bed of pine needles, with Butter already plopped against the length of his other, weaker side. ‘‘What happened? Are you all right? Are you hurt?’’ she gushed, searching for any visible sign of injury or evidence he might have suffered another stroke.

  ‘‘I’m fine. Nothing’s bent or broken, leastways not so anyone would no
tice,’’ he managed and started chuckling again.

  He was chuckling?

  Concerned that he might have struck his head, she put the back of her hand to his forehead.

  He sighed and took her hand. ‘‘You won’t find a fever, and there’s nothing hurt but a bit of my pride.’’ When he chuckled again, his eyes were sparkling. ‘‘It’s a terrible thing, getting old. One tiny misstep, and I was down on the ground. Try as I might, I couldn’t get up. Not even with Butter here trying his best to support me.’’

  He paused to pat the dog’s back. ‘‘I knew he’d go back to the house for help. I just hoped you folks wouldn’t be too alarmed.’’

  Relieved beyond measure, Emma lent her assistance when he tried to sit up. ‘‘Whatever possessed you to leave the gazebo to traipse through the woods?’’ she asked when he was finally able to sit up on his own.

  He pointed to his right. ‘‘See that little pile of small branches over there?’’

  She nodded.

  ‘‘That’s mine. I would have had more if I hadn’t fallen.’’ He sighed. ‘‘I can’t do much these days, but I’ve been trying to think of a way I could do a little to help earn my keep, like Frances is doing with her needlework. After talking with her about the old days, I thought of something and wanted to collect some branches. . . .’’

  ‘‘You don’t need to worry about earning your keep,’’ Emma insisted. ‘‘Hill House wouldn’t be the same without you. Having you with us is a joy.’’

  When he gazed up at her, his eyes were troubled. ‘‘I hardly think coming out to rescue me in this miserable weather is a joy.’’

  ‘‘I think I’ll save my arguments about that until later,’’ she replied. ‘‘Right now we need to get back to the house before there’s a downpour and Mother Garrett gets so upset she calls out the militia to find us both.’’

  After several attempts, Emma finally managed to get him standing upright. With Butter close to his master’s side, they started back toward the path. ‘‘Hold still just a moment,’’ she said and ran to the pile of branches he had risked so much to collect. After removing her apron and laying it on the ground, she put the branches on top and wrapped the apron around them and carried them back with her.

  She stashed the small bundle of wood under one arm and held on to Reverend Glenn with the other. ‘‘You can explain your collection later when you tell your tale. First, we get back to the house and get some hot tea into us.’’

  ‘‘I don’t suppose we could cook up a better tale, rather than tell everyone this old man fell down and couldn’t get up, do you?’’ he asked as they walked toward the path leading back to the gazebo.

  Surprised that he now felt uncomfortable about sharing the precise details of his mishap with the others, she shrugged. ‘‘I suppose that would depend on how long it takes us to get back to the house,’’ she offered, wishing she had had time to bring an umbrella along.

  ‘‘It was just a temptation. There’s no sense trying to avoid the truth. Not at my age,’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s just get back inside the house so I can tell my tale and be done with it. If nothing else, I’ll get a few folks to enjoy a good chuckle,’’ he offered with a smile.

  ‘‘At least you’ve gotten the branches of wood you wanted.’’

  His smile deepened. ‘‘That’s not just wood, my dear. That’s candlewood.’’

  16

  GIVEN THE RETIRED MINISTER’S misadventure and Emma’s traipse through bad weather to rescue him, Mother Garrett had abandoned her original plans for a cold dinner. With Liesel’s help, she set out a grand offering of the ham, potatoes bubbling with a tangy sauce made from the renderings of the bacon laid on top, hot muffins, and applesauce laced with honey and cinnamon.

  Understandably, she had duly forgiven Butter for tracking mud into her kitchen. Emma had also noted that his muzzle was unusually shiny. She suspected Mother Garrett might have put a crock of butter low enough for him to reach without openly offering the treat to him but wisely chose not to ask her mother-in-law directly, just as she had chosen not to ask her about her still-mysterious errand earlier this morning.

  As Emma had expected, however, everyone had expressed only sincere concern for Reverend Glenn’s welfare and his good fortune for not being injured. There had been no discussion about the candlewood he was collecting, but there also had been nary a word or expression that might have suggested he had been foolish to wander off into the woods alone.

  Though the drizzle had stopped, the day remained cool and dreary and inspired Emma to venture upstairs for her nap. She used the back staircase that led directly from her office to her bedroom, although she also had access through another door that led to the upstairs hallway. The bedroom itself was half the size of most of the guest rooms, which suited Emma just fine. She much preferred the simply furnished pale green room rather than the heavier, formal furniture in the guest rooms, almost all of which had been included in the purchase of Hill House—furniture that she would lose if the current owner decided not to sell Hill House to her.

  She reached the top of the staircase just as the grandfather clock struck the hour of three. She opened the door and stood in the doorway for a moment to feel the memories waiting for her before slipping inside and shutting the door behind her.

  She ran her hand along the top of the walnut wardrobe her grandmother had brought with her to Candlewood and felt the scratches and nicks that marred the surface after years of use. She walked over to the yellow pitcher and bowl resting on the wooden washstand that had belonged to her mother, smiled, and traced the raised bouquet of flowers on the pitcher with her fingertips.

  The trunk hugging the foot of her single bed had once been filled with Jonas’s clothes and, later, with her babies’ clothing. Though tempted to sit awhile on the trunk, she fluffed her pillow, slipped her keepsakes underneath, and stretched out on the bed without bothering to pull the quilt up from the bottom. After closing her eyes, she snuggled her face against the soft, downy pillow. Surrounded by the familiar, she hoped to set her troubles aside and fall asleep thinking only of her children and grandchildren, especially little Deborah, since it was her birthday. Instead, a soft rap intervened at the opposite door, which opened up to the upstairs hallway.

  ‘‘Emma? It’s me. Do you think you might spare me a moment?’’

  Emma had groaned out loud at the sound of the knock, and now she silently berated herself for begrudging Widow Leonard a moment of her time and quickly got up to open the door.

  The woman stood there holding a set of bed linens as white as the full moon in winter. ‘‘I hope I didn’t disturb you. May I come in?’’

  ‘‘Certainly.’’ Emma stepped aside to let the woman into the room and shut the door behind her.

  When Widow Leonard turned around, she was holding the linens out to Emma. ‘‘These are for you.’’

  Puzzled, Emma accepted the linens and ventured just a peek at the heavy embroidery on the hem of the pillowcase on top. ‘‘I thought you were too busy mending bed linens to have time to embroider.’’

  The elderly woman’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘I’ve been working on these at night or in the afternoons sometimes.’’ She sat down on the bed and patted the place next to her. ‘‘Sit. Let me show them to you.’’

  The moment Emma sat down, Widow Leonard lifted the pillowcase from the top, unfolded it, and spread it out on her lap so the thicker, embroidered edge of the pillowcase was facing Emma. ‘‘Take a look.’’

  Emma stared at the woman’s handiwork and gasped. ‘‘How did you manage to do this?’’ she whispered. With her fingertips, she traced the outline of the General Store the woman had created with her stitchery and marveled at the detail in the white-on-white image.

  ‘‘My memory is good enough, but I made sure of the details when I went to the General Store to get the thread.’’

  ‘‘I had no idea . . .’’

  ‘‘There’s more,’’ Widow Leonard insisted and turned
the pillowcase over, where another image brought Hill House to life.

  ‘‘You even stitched the gardens and the gazebo,’’ Emma said, unable to resist tracing these patterns, too.

  ‘‘Reverend Glenn was kind enough to keep me company in the gazebo while I worked.’’ She peered closer to her handiwork and wrinkled her nose. ‘‘I’m still not sure I’m happy with those roses.’’

  Emma choked back tears, hugged the pillowcase to her heart with one hand, and gave Widow Leonard a brief hug with the other. ‘‘I love them just the way they are. I love you, too, for making this for me,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Thank you. It’s . . . it’s the finest gift I’ve ever been given. Ever.’’

  ‘‘After taking me in the way you did, I knew I had to make something special for you, and now . . . maybe now you could call me Aunt Frances like the young ones do. I know we’re not blood related, but I feel like we are.’’

  Emma swallowed hard. In the space of a few weeks, this tiny, elderly woman had made a deep impact on everyone at Hill House and had truly become a member of their family. Mother Garrett now had a friend close to her own age, a blessing that also invited a bit of mischief. Reverend Glenn had become more confident, spending more and more time out of his room and outside in the gazebo. Both Liesel and Ditty loved being a bit spoiled and were eagerly learning their embroidery stitches. And now Emma had been touched by her kindness. ‘‘I do, too,’’ she said. She prayed with all her heart that Widow Leonard might be able to remain here at Hill House, surrounded by people who both loved her and needed her.

  Grinning, her aunt-by-affection started to unfold the bed sheet. ‘‘Wait until you see—’’

  Another knock at the hallway door interrupted them.

  ‘‘Emma? May I come in?’’

  Emma cleared her throat and looked down at Aunt Frances, but before she could ask her if she would mind, Mother Garrett opened the door and poked her head inside. ‘‘Oh! I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you were here, Frances. I’ll come back later.’’