A Hearth in Candlewood

by Delia Parr

  Emma was halfway across the storage room when she heard Liesel call out to her, and looked back over her shoulder. ‘‘Yes?’’

  ‘‘Ditty and I were wondering . . . that is, how long will our punishment last?’’

  Emma caught her bottom lip to keep from smiling. She had gotten much the same question from each of her own sons at one time or another, especially from Benjamin, who seemed to find himself in trouble more often than either Warren or Mark. ‘‘You mean how long am I going to keep you under my wing and away from seeing young men? At the moment, I’d plan on a good while. Until you’re thirty, I should think,’’ she replied, smiled, and continued on her way.

  When she got down to the second floor, she peeked into the room where Liesel and Ditty would be sleeping. Satisfied that their new room was ready, Emma returned to the first floor, where she found Mother Garret and Aunt Frances at the kitchen table, just finishing up a pot of tea.

  After accepting an invitation to join them, Emma declined Mother Garrett’s offer to fix more tea for her.

  ‘‘We were just talking about that nice Mr. Atkins,’’ Aunt Frances offered.

  ‘‘Along with the young women you’ve been considering as a potential wife for him?’’ Emma teased.

  ‘‘I’ve only met two so far that I’d even consider for him,’’ Aunt Frances admitted.

  When Emma cocked a brow, Mother Garrett shrugged. ‘‘Since Frances hasn’t been living in town, she wouldn’t know any of the eligible young women who might be suitable, so I’ve started to introduce her around while we’re doing our errands so she could meet them.’’

  Aunt Frances nodded. ‘‘We’re not finished yet, but I should think Liza Shipley or Marguerite Hammer might be good choices. Liza works with her father at the apothecary, you know, so she’d be accustomed to helping with customers. Marguerite’s a seamstress in Mrs. Bergens’ dress shop and she’s—’’

  ‘‘I told you she’s too young for him. She’s only eighteen,’’ Mother Garrett countered. ‘‘I still think you should give Cassie Young a second look. She’s twenty-three and works hard every day at the confectionery.’’

  Aunt Frances sniffed. ‘‘She’s too far on the shy side. The girl doesn’t even look you in the eyes when she’s helping you make a selection.’’

  Emma cleared her throat. ‘‘For now, maybe the two of you should confine yourselves to matters closer to home,’’ she suggested before they got so wrapped up with their matchmaking efforts they forgot there were two young women here at Hill House who needed better supervision. She quickly detailed the punishment she had just rendered to Liesel and Ditty, if only to clarify the restrictions she expected the two elderly women to enforce.

  Aunt Frances’s eyes began to twinkle. ‘‘We’ll be like mother hens watching over our chicks.’’

  Mother Garrett pursed her lips. ‘‘I never quite thought of Hill House as a hen house before now, but . . .’’

  ‘‘No more reference to chickens,’’ Emma pleaded before a bubble of laughter escaped and her thoughts wandered back to the misadventure on Main Street earlier in the day. ‘‘This is important. Maybe if we keep these young ladies at home for a while, they won’t be so besotted with young men. Oh, and I told them both they can come down for something to eat after they’ve moved their things. Not that anyone here would entertain the thought of slipping them something, like sugar cookies, perhaps?’’ she teased.

  ‘‘I only did that once or twice, but they weren’t being punished at the time,’’ Aunt Frances countered.

  Emma chuckled. ‘‘True.’’

  ‘‘We don’t have any sugar cookies or much of anything else,’’ Mother Garrett noted. ‘‘The larder is near empty. I’ll have to get up extra early to get ready for all the guests coming tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘I did tell you the Cross family would be coming for supper tomorrow, didn’t I?’’

  ‘‘Yes. How many of them did you say again?’’

  ‘‘Four. Mr. and Mrs. Cross and their two sons, Matthew and Steven,’’ Emma explained and quickly recapped how she had met them and about her visit with Diane Cross that morning.

  Aunt Frances cocked her head. ‘‘The Cross boys. How old are they?’’

  Emma shrugged. ‘‘I’m not certain. One is eighteen or so. The other might be twenty or thereabouts.’’

  Mother Garrett grinned.

  Aunt Frances chuckled. ‘‘Tomorrow’s Friday. Harry might be coming, too.’’

  Emma frowned. ‘‘What’s so funny?’’

  ‘‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’’ Mother Garrett insisted. ‘‘It just seems odd, sort of like inviting the foxes to the hen house.’’

  Emma blinked hard and quickly realized that tomorrow, the first full day of Liesel’s and Ditty’s punishment, not one but three strapping young men would be in their midst.

  Her headache returned with a vengeance.

  23

  AFTER SPEAKING WITH LIESEL’S MOTHER, Emma returned to Hill House with her charge in tow, humbled and yet heartened that Liesel would still be permitted to remain in her employ. She hung up her bonnet, sent Liesel to the kitchen to help Mother Garrett prepare for all the guests expected for supper, and waved to Ditty, who was polishing the banister on the main staircase.

  The sound of laughter drew her from the hallway to the west parlor. She stood in the doorway, but in a matter of seconds, her curiosity hit a wall of bewilderment that left her speechless, as well as immobile.

  Aunt Frances was sitting on one sofa with her grandson Harry. James Leonard sat on another sofa facing them, while Reverend Glenn occupied one of the two wing chairs at the head of the sofas. Oddly, Butter was nowhere in sight.

  The moment one part of her brain identified all of them, the other part of her brain struggled to reconcile the amiable atmosphere in the room with the tension she expected.

  Aunt Frances waved and broke through Emma’s disbelief. ‘‘Oh, there you are. Come in, Emma dear. I was just telling James and Harry about the chickens getting loose on Main Street, but don’t worry. I was very proper about it.’’

  James and Harry both rose, greeted Emma warmly, and remained standing until she sat down in the wing chair next to Reverend Glenn. She caught James’s gaze, noted no sign of resentment, and chuckled. ‘‘In the same vein, while I was out on an errand, I heard that Mr. Emerson at the hotel was considering a new feature on the dinner menu. Apparently, it’s some sort of chicken stuffed with sausage.’’

  When another round of laughter faded, Reverend Glenn edged forward in his seat and smiled. ‘‘I wonder if I might impose and ask young Harry to walk along with me. It seems Butter is out of sorts today.’’

  Harry bounded to his feet without further prompting.

  Concerned, Emma turned toward the elderly minister. ‘‘Is Butter sick?’’

  He chuckled. ‘‘Not really. When we were out at the gazebo earlier, he tried running after something he saw in the woods. Might even have been one of those chickens. I couldn’t say, but he plumb tuckered out those old bones of his. He was so exhausted I had to leave him there. If I go back to check on him now, I could take full advantage of young Harry here and get down the garden steps a little easier than when I came up by myself.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be too long, Harry. I’ll meet you at the wagon in the backyard,’’ his father suggested.

  While the two of them crossed the parlor to the center hall, Emma worried how Reverend Glenn would manage day to day without his loyal companion. But she tucked that thought behind the greater concern at hand—the nature of James Leonard’s visit. ‘‘Harry mentioned he might stop by today, but I must admit I’m surprised you came, as well. Pleasantly surprised,’’ she added.

  When he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled the flesh at his temples. ‘‘When Thomas and Harry got home the other day, we had a long talk.’’

  ‘‘After dinner,’’ Aunt Frances noted.

  He chuckled. ‘‘I didn’t raise dumb ones, that’s
true enough. Some days I think maybe the boys are a whole lot smarter than I am.’’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘‘The older I get, that’s happening more often than not. After the boys turned in for the night, I let Sarah speak her piece and realized . . .’’

  He paused and looked directly at his mother. ‘‘I still want you to come home with us. We miss you. But I realize now that someday Sarah, like as not, will be in the same situation as you are, left alone with no choice but to wander from one of our sons’ homes to another, getting caught in the middle of one squabble or another.’’

  ‘‘Most widows don’t keep their own home,’’ his mother said quietly.

  Emma held silent, listening and praying at the same time.

  ‘‘I can’t do much about that,’’ James said, then drew a long breath and squared his shoulders. ‘‘I can do something about the squabbling between me and Andrew. I suppose it took your running off to make me realize how much we had upset you. If it means you’ll be happier and you’ll come home again, then I’m willing to sit down and listen to my brother to see if we can’t get this matter settled.’’

  Emma closed her eyes for a moment and lifted her heart to heaven in gratitude.

  Aunt Frances dabbed at the tears in her eyes. ‘‘Thank you, James. I know this isn’t easy for you. You never did like confrontation, but ignoring a problem or refusing to talk it through won’t make the problem go away, especially this one.’’

  He swallowed hard and looked at Emma. ‘‘Mother told me how happy she’s been living and working here at Hill House and how accommodating you’ve been. I wonder if I could impose and suggest that my brother and I meet here instead of at one of our homes?’’

  ‘‘Hill House is neutral territory. Of course you may,’’ she replied.

  ‘‘Thank you, Emma,’’ Aunt Frances said. ‘‘For all their good points, both of my sons have their faults, as well. My Andrew can be a hothead, and he’s a tad more ornery than he is stubborn. My James is more like a rock, steady and solid and stubborn, but once he’s pushed hard enough, he can be just as ornery as his brother.’’

  She paused to look lovingly at her son before turning her attention back to Emma. ‘‘I’m their mother. I love them both, and I refuse to take sides. But if anyone could keep Andrew from steaming up and James from holding silent and help the two of them find a way to settle their disagreement, you could, Emma.’’

  Emma narrowed her gaze. ‘‘I’m not sure that’s what James meant. I don’t think he was asking for my help—I think he just wanted to meet his brother to talk here at Hill House. Is that right?’’ Emma asked, turning to face James.

  ‘‘Yes, but my mother may be right. Having a referee of sorts to hear both sides if we can’t come to some sort of agreement is not an altogether bad idea. I’ll agree to it if Andrew will.’’

  ‘‘He’ll agree,’’ Aunt Frances said. ‘‘James, you tell him I expect him to agree.’’

  James’s eyes widened. ‘‘Me?’’

  ‘‘No, my other son James. Of course I mean you,’’ she argued. ‘‘If you go the right way home, you’ll practically pass by Andrew’s front door. Stop and tell him. Unless you expect me to rent a carriage and ride all the way out there, old as I am, when you could much more easily—’’

  ‘‘I’ll do it. I’ll stop on my way home,’’ he gritted. ‘‘When would be a good time for us to come, Widow Garrett?’’

  Emma hesitated and thought out loud. ‘‘I have guests coming in this afternoon and several more arriving off and on for stays lasting through this week and next. Would two weeks from tomorrow suit? I’m reluctant to ask you to wait that long.’’

  ‘‘Two weeks from tomorrow will suit everyone just fine,’’ Aunt Frances insisted.

  James shrugged. ‘‘Agreed, then.’’

  ‘‘I do have a few questions I’d like to ask you about the toll road property,’’ Emma ventured. ‘‘I’ve already spoken with Andrew about it, but I’d be interested in hearing your view.’’

  ‘‘There’s not much I have to say,’’ he said. ‘‘Andrew wants to sell the land, along with his own. I don’t.’’

  His mother gasped. ‘‘Andrew’s selling all his land, not just the toll road property? He wants to move away?’’

  ‘‘Just to town. He’s got his mind set on opening some sort of business in Candlewood.’’

  Emma’s pulse quickened. ‘‘So he wants to sell everything, the land you own jointly and his own land?’’

  ‘‘That’s the deal he’s been offered, but it’s all or nothing—or so he claims. I stopped listening after I told him no for the second time.’’

  ‘‘But why would you refuse to sell the land you own jointly with your brother? It’s common knowledge the toll road is in disrepair and there’s little enough acreage to be of interest. Are your father’s wishes that important to you?’’ she asked, bringing Andrew’s claims to the forefront.

  He frowned. ‘‘My father made his wishes very clear in his will, but they’re written on paper, not stone tablets. He’d be the first to tell us to do what’s smart and what’s right.’’

  ‘‘You’re the oldest. You have the greater responsibility to keep peace in the family. That’s what’s right,’’ his mother argued.

  He squared his shoulders. ‘‘What’s smart as well as right is to keep Andrew from falling victim to some smooth-talking, eastern profit-monger. I threw the man out of my house three minutes after he got there to ask me to sell my land, too.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’ Emma asked.

  ‘‘If the land is that valuable now, it’ll be all the more valuable in a few years when all the boys are grown and I’d be tempted to think about selling out. But no. Andrew wants to sell now. He even sent that buyer of his back to see me to try to change my mind, at least on the land I own with him. There’s no way I’ll sell that land and risk having the new owner deny me access to the toll road that I use to take my produce to Candlewood. My brother claims the man just bought Stan Oliver’s land, too. I tossed him out again just yesterday.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘That man left in such a rush, his spectacles slipped right off his face and landed in a mud puddle, along with his hat. He won’t be back to see me again.’’

  Emma’s heart skipped a beat. ‘‘Do you happen to recall the man’s name?’’

  ‘‘Langtree. Lowhorne. No, Langhorne. That’s it, Langhorne.’’

  She swallowed hard. ‘‘I’ve met him. He’s very persistent. He’ll be back to see you.’’

  ‘‘He won’t get past the front door this time,’’ James vowed and got to his feet. ‘‘Unfortunately, I have work waiting for me at home.’’ He stooped to kiss his mother’s cheek. ‘‘I’ll see you in two weeks,’’ he promised, stood tall again, and faced Emma.

  She got to her feet. ‘‘Thank you for coming.’’

  ‘‘I’ll let myself out the front and head around back to the wagon. Harry’s probably there waiting for me by now. When we first arrived, he brought in a couple of bushels of apples and some sweet potatoes and turnips we brought for your larder.’’

  ‘‘That was very kind of you. Thank you for going to all that trouble.’’

  ‘‘No trouble. That’s part of my father’s will, too.’’

  When she cocked a brow, he shrugged. ‘‘There’s more to it, but let’s just say he kept my mother’s well-being in mind in a number of ways,’’ he offered and took his leave.

  She took a few steps and sat down next to Aunt Frances. ‘‘If all goes well after James and Andrew talk, you’ll be able to go home with your sons. It appears we can look forward to having you with us for at least two more weeks, and you won’t have to worry from day to day whether one of them might come to try to get you to leave.’’

  ‘‘If I’m not a bother.’’

  Emma took the older woman’s hand into her own and smiled. ‘‘In truth, you haven’t been here but a few weeks, but it won’t be easy for us to see you leave. You’ve become part of our
family now, too, and we’re going to miss you.’’

  A muffled thud interrupted their conversation.

  Emma hurried out to the hallway with Aunt Frances on her heels and spied a red-faced Ditty sitting at the bottom of the staircase surrounded by several cleaning rags and the furniture polish she had been using.

  ‘‘I’m fine. I just missed the last step or two,’’ she quipped, got to her feet, and started to pick up the cleaning rags. ‘‘Nothing broken, nothing harmed.’’

  Aunt Frances nudged Emma and leaned close. ‘‘That young woman’s as clumsy as a caterpillar missing most of its legs, but she’ll turn into one fine butterfly someday, you’ll see.’’

  Emma sighed. ‘‘Even if Hill House survives, I’m not sure I’ll live that long.’’

  24

  HILL HOUSE WAS READY to receive her next guests, the Mitchell sisters. Whether or not Candlewood was any more prepared for this visit than for their first remained to be seen, although by now, most people accepted the ladies as darling eccentrics.

  Emma slipped out to the porch, sat down on one of the chairs, and tucked her legs beneath her to wait while Mother Garrett met their guests at the landing. Hill House stood ready; the guest bedrooms were dressed with fresh linens, and in both parlors sat vases of fresh-cut roses, truly the last of the season, offering sweet allure, while the fruits of Mother Garrett’s labors crowded the sideboard, ready to fill the plates already set on the dining room table.

  Grateful for a bit of time to herself, Emma leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her mind, however, would not let her rest. Even though she trusted in God’s wisdom, she still remained troubled about the future of Hill House, Reverend Glenn’s health, Liesel and Ditty’s escapade, the ongoing feud between the Leonard brothers, and Mr. Atkins’ struggles at the General Store, as well as the fear Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances might yet be matchmaking, though neither one had said much about it in the past few days.