A Hearth in Candlewood

by Delia Parr

  ‘‘I doubt it, but there’s always hope,’’ he replied. When he stopped, she realized they had reached the intersection of Main Street and Palmer Avenue, and he handed her back her bags. ‘‘I’m afraid here’s where we part company. I have to make sure we rounded up all those chickens and see if Mr. Henderson is any calmer. I’d ask you to wait until I’m finished so I can carry these the rest of the way for you, but I half suspect my visit will last the better part of an hour or so.’’

  She smiled and shifted the weight in the bags. ‘‘I appreciate your help, but I can manage the rest of the way. Thank you.’’

  He tipped his hat. ‘‘Next time we meet, maybe I’ll get a smile, especially if I’m not standing on your doorstep,’’ he suggested and continued on his way.

  ‘‘I doubt it, but there’s always hope,’’ she whispered, then hurried toward home. Other than several passing wagons, which made her step back to avoid being covered in road dust, she had the roadway to herself while she mulled over whether or not to share the tale of poor Mr. Henderson’s chicken problem with the others when she got home. She had decided against spreading this particular piece of gossip and was congratulating herself for being a good, charitable woman when she heard someone behind her call her name.

  She stopped in her tracks.

  When she turned around, being a good, charitable woman was the very last thought on her mind. She gritted her teeth together and greeted the man hurrying toward her. ‘‘Mr. Langhorne.’’

  With one hand, he held his spectacles to his flushed face. With the other, he doffed his hat. ‘‘I . . . thought . . . that was you,’’ he managed and paused to catch his breath when he finally caught up with her. After composing himself, he reclaimed the arrogance she had come to expect from him. ‘‘I need a moment of your time.’’

  ‘‘As you can see, I’m rather preoccupied with finishing up my errands,’’ she replied and shifted the bags in her hands. As much as she wanted to learn more about his interests in the Leonard properties and his connection with Andrew Leonard, she was not prepared to discuss either before she had more information of her own.

  ‘‘There’s a matter of utmost interest we need to discuss. Immediately,’’ he countered, his hands balled into fists.

  Caught in his gaze, her fear he might have learned about her predicament involving Hill House almost stole the very breath from her. Her mind scrambled to understand how Mr. Langhorne could have discovered that she did not hold legal title to Hill House.

  Zachary Breckenwith might be difficult at times, but he was a man of honor whose ethics were above reproach. Instead, she simply had to assume Mr. Langhorne had somehow uncovered the truth, perhaps through his lawyers. Added to the fact that he had probably also learned that the parcel of land he wanted so desperately to buy from her had not, in fact, been sold as she had claimed, he was not going to be easily appeased. She realized almost at the same time that she had forgotten to tell Mother Garrett about the legal snafu involving that parcel of land.

  Standing tall, she garnered her indignation and met his arrogance with determination to deal with this man on her own terms. ‘‘And you propose to discuss this ‘matter of utmost importance’ here? On Main Street?’’

  As if sent by angels to reinforce her question, a pair of wagons passed by, adding a rather dusty exclamation point to her question, if not a healthy layer of dust to her gown, which she saw as yet another barb.

  Langhorne coughed and sputtered as he brushed at the dust on his frock coat before using a handkerchief to remove particles of dust from his spectacles. ‘‘Perhaps I might be so bold as to suggest I walk with you back to Hill House so we can discuss the matter more suitably in your office.’’

  ‘‘You might,’’ she ventured, fully aware he had not even offered to carry her bags. ‘‘Unfortunately, I have guests waiting for me. Might I suggest, in turn, we meet another time? Next Monday at ten o’clock would suit me best.’’

  ‘‘Very well. Next Monday. At ten,’’ he said curtly, then huffed away.

  ‘‘That man needs two good lessons: one in etiquette and one in humility.’’ She thought of a few more lessons he deserved to learn while she covered the last few hundred yards on Main Street before it curved west and she turned east to start up the lane to Hill House.

  Oddly, she thought of Zachary Breckenwith and found herself wishing he were here in Candlewood, if only to have the peace of mind knowing she would not have to face Mr. Langhorne alone.

  27

  INSTEAD OF TRACKING IN ROAD DUST through the entire house, Emma used the back door and went directly into the kitchen. With one quick glance around the room, she immediately dismissed the plans she had for setting her bags on the kitchen table—not that there was much room anywhere else. If she did not know better, she would have thought Mother Garrett was preparing for an open-air market, but Emma had a good idea where all the foodstuffs had come from.

  Three bushels of apples and several baskets of potatoes and turnips sat by the door to the root cellar waiting to be stored below. Twin bags of onions and carrots topped each end of the table with several smoked hams filling the valley between the vegetables.

  She turned to the sink, saw that it was filled with cabbage, peppers, and green tomatoes, and rested her bags on the floor at her feet.

  The sound of voices coming up from the root cellar drew her attention. One after another, Mother Garrett and Liesel emerged.

  ‘‘You’re back!’’ Mother Garrett noted. ‘‘If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll clear a place on the table for you,’’ she promised and gave Liesel the task of removing the vegetables and storing them away in the root cellar.

  Once the young woman left, Emma hoisted her bags one last time and set them on the table. ‘‘I see Andrew Leonard stopped by. Since I didn’t see a wagon in the backyard, I take it he’s left already?’’

  ‘‘How did you know he was the one who brought all this?’’

  Emma started unpacking her bags. ‘‘Simple. Aunt Frances told me her boys are very competitive and always out to best each other. I know what James brought for the larder, and I also know he went to Andrew to ask him to come here to try to resolve their squabble. When he did, I’m certain he told his brother about bringing the foodstuffs. I’m not as surprised by how much Andrew brought as I am by how quickly. I hope he had the decency to sit and visit with his mother for a spell.’’

  Mother Garrett unpacked Emma’s other bag. ‘‘That he did, although he didn’t stay more than fifteen minutes.’’ She paused and surveyed Emma’s purchases, which were now spread out on the table. ‘‘All I asked you to bring back was a sugarloaf and some coffee. What’s all this?’’

  Emma slid the sugarloaf and coffee toward her mother-in-law. ‘‘These are for you. The others are my surprises.’’ She pointed to the rest. ‘‘The boxes of chocolates are for Opal and Garnet. The pincushion is for Aunt Frances to replace that old one of hers, and that’s her licorice root, too. The penknife is for Reverend Glenn to replace the old one he’s been using to whittle. And before you ask, Steven Cross said to say hello to you and thank you,’’ she added and scooped up her correspondence, although, sadly, none of her letters was from her boys.

  ‘‘Oh, I almost forgot. The daybooks are for Liesel and Ditty. I thought they might need something other than practicing their stitches with Aunt Frances to occupy their time, since they’re not allowed to go visiting anymore.’’ She stopped, scanned the items again, and smiled. ‘‘That’s about it.’’

  Mother Garrett narrowed her gaze and pointed to the licorice root again. ‘‘Who did you say that was for?’’

  ‘‘Aunt Frances. Why?’’

  ‘‘I thought that tin of licorice root over there was for her. You’ve got two tins of it, you know.’’

  Emma feigned surprise. ‘‘I do?’’

  Mother Garrett set one small tin next to the other. ‘‘You do.’’

  ‘‘Why, imagine that!’’ Emma managed be
fore laughing. She pressed one of the tins into her mother-in-law’s hands. ‘‘This one is yours. You know I wouldn’t forget to buy you a surprise.’’

  Mother Garrett slipped the tin into her apron pocket. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘You’re welcome.’’

  ‘‘I hope you like being surprised as much as you like surprising other people,’’ Mother Garrett cautioned.

  ‘‘Why?’’ Emma asked.

  ‘‘I’ve got a few surprises for you. There’s one waiting for you on the patio. Go take a peek. Just don’t open the patio door until you know what you’re doing,’’ she warned.

  Driven more by the gleam in Mother Garrett’s eyes than curiosity, Emma left the kitchen and walked through the dining room to the patio door, with her mother-in-law at her heels. With Mother Garrett standing next to her, she peered through one of the glass panes in the door and gasped the instant she saw the chicken nesting on the brown fabric that had been left on one of the patio chairs. Unlike Mr. Henderson, however, she was not going to send for Sheriff North.

  The irony of seeing her would-be riding skirt ending up just as ruined as Mr. Henderson’s carriage did not inspire even a hiccup of humor. ‘‘What happened? Why did you wait to do something about this until I came home? Couldn’t you do anything to get that chicken off my riding skirt and out of the patio? Like wave one of your frying pans at it to scare it off?’’

  ‘‘I cook dead chickens. I don’t know anything about the creatures when they’re alive, and that’s the way I prefer it. I’m not going any closer to it than I am right now,’’ Mother Garrett said. ‘‘Frances feels just awful about this. She only left the patio for a few minutes to come inside to get something to drink. Then Andrew arrived and they spent some time in the parlor talking. When she finally got back to the patio, the chicken was already sitting there.’’

  ‘‘Why didn’t she just shoo it away? She’s lived on a farm all her life. She should be used to chickens.’’

  ‘‘She tried, but that’s one stubborn chicken. I imagine it would probably cook up tough, too.’’

  Emma glanced at the high stone wall surrounding the patio and shook her head. ‘‘I don’t think a chicken could fly over that wall—I’m not even sure they can fly at all. How did it get there?’’

  Mother Garrett tapped on the pane of glass in front of her. ‘‘The gate’s been open, off and on, what with Opal and Garnet traipsing back and forth between the house and the gardens the last few days. See? The gate’s open now. They potted up a few small rosebushes and took them to Diane Cross. I told them I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m surprised you didn’t see them while you were running errands.’’

  ‘‘I suppose I was in one of the stores when they passed by on their way to Diane’s. And I don’t care about the roses, but what are we going to do about that . . . that chicken?’’

  Mother Garrett shrugged. ‘‘I’ve got a kitchen to set back to rights. I’m not going to do anything, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.’’

  ‘‘Me? What do I know about chickens? I’ve never lived on a farm.’’ She paused, had an idea, and brightened. ‘‘Ditty! Ditty’s family lives on a farm. Ditty should know what to do.’’

  ‘‘She’s not here. She left. That was my other surprise.’’

  Emma’s frustration doubled. She turned and faced her mother-in-law. ‘‘She’s under punishment. She wasn’t supposed to leave.’’

  ‘‘Her father came to get her not all that long after you left. I guess you missed seeing him, too,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Both coming and going, apparently,’’ Emma replied and wondered how she could keep missing so much in such a small town. ‘‘When I spoke with her father on Saturday, he seemed very agreeable to letting Ditty remain here to work.’’

  Mother Garrett patted her arm. ‘‘Don’t worry; he still is. He just needs her back home for a few days. Her mother burned her hand making soap and needs Ditty to help her with the little ones. He wasn’t positive, but he thought he could have Ditty back here Sunday night.’’

  Emma shook her head. ‘‘I can’t imagine raising eight children, even with good health. I hope Ditty’s mother recovers quickly. In the meantime, I suppose we can make do without Ditty for a few days. Unless we have guests arriving unexpectedly, it’s only Opal and Garnet here until Friday; then I think we don’t have anyone coming until Tuesday or Wednesday of next week. I’ll have to check my notes in the office to be sure.’’

  Emma’s relief was immediate but short-lived the moment she spied the chicken out of the corner of her eye again. ‘‘That still leaves the problem of doing something about that chicken. I don’t believe there’s any hope of salvaging the riding skirt. I wonder if we just keep the gate open the chicken will just go away?’’

  ‘‘Frances thought it might. If not, she said chickens are easy to handle after twilight because they’re sleepy. She could move it then. In the meantime, Reverend Glenn and Butter are going to confine themselves to the house.’’

  Emma grinned. ‘‘Butter! Butter can chase that chicken away for us. Remember? Reverend Glenn said he thought Butter had seen one of the chickens in the woods and chased it off.’’

  ‘‘I also remember it took that old dog a day or so to recover. You do what you think is best, but I want no part of it, especially if that dog dies because his heart gives out chasing that chicken.’’

  ‘‘You’re right,’’ Emma agreed and gritted her teeth. There was no way she was going near that chicken, now or at twilight or ever, whether it was asleep or awake. ‘‘Where’s Aunt Frances now?’’

  ‘‘She’s up in the garret. I believe she’s going through that trunk again to find something else to use for your riding skirt. Unless she already did. Then you’ll find her in her room sewing.’’

  Emma sighed. ‘‘It’s awfully late in the day. No matter how hard she tries, she’ll never be able to finish in time. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning. I don’t want her up all night on my account. I may just have to borrow a pair of trousers from Opal or Garnet.’’

  ‘‘Or change your plans,’’ Mother Garrett suggested and started back to the kitchen.

  Emma checked the patio door to make sure it was secure and followed her mother-in-law. ‘‘Why would I want to change my plans?’’

  Mother Garrett picked up a ham from the table and passed in front of Emma to store it in the larder. ‘‘How long has it been since you rode a horse?’’

  Emma pouted. ‘‘A few years.’’

  Laughing, Mother Garrett stored the ham away. ‘‘Must be quite a few, since I can’t seem to recall that particular occasion.’’

  ‘‘Warren was just a baby. You weren’t living with us then.’’

  Mother Garrett put her hands to hips. ‘‘And Warren is how old? Twenty-nine?’’

  ‘‘Not until next month.’’

  ‘‘And after twenty-eight years, you suddenly decide you want to spend half the day riding about the countryside. And you don’t see any sort of problem in that?’’

  ‘‘Mr. Adams has a gentle mount for me, and Opal and Garnet will be with me. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I have a good mind. Once I’ve learned something, like how to ride a horse, I’m not apt to forget it.’’

  Mother Garrett patted her shoulder. ‘‘That’s true. You’re a very bright woman. I’m sure you’ll remember how to ride, just like I’m sure you’ll remember this ride with Opal and Garnet as a special, special day, assuming you find something appropriate to wear,’’ she crooned.

  Emma had the distinct impression Mother Garrett was being just a tad patronizing and narrowed her gaze. ‘‘I think I’ll go check on Aunt Frances now,’’ she said and slipped from the room.

  On her way upstairs, she prayed for four things. First, that the chicken who had claimed the patio would be off that same patio by morning. Second, that Aunt Frances would miraculously finish a riding skirt for her before bedtime. Third, that she might learn something on her ride t
hat would help her to resolve the Leonard brothers’ squabble should they need her help. And fourth, that she would return from her ride tomorrow with enough praises from Opal and Garnet about her riding ability to make Mother Garrett’s words ring true.

  And she had every faith her prayer would be answered.

  28

  EMMA WOKE UP EARLY Tuesday morning after a fitful sleep and knelt at her bedside. Her prayer of gratitude for no longer having the chicken on the patio was sincere, but the one she offered for the riding skirt Aunt Frances had finished just before Emma had gone to bed was halfhearted.

  She got to her feet, stared at the dark purple sweater, matching blouse, and the riding skirt Aunt Frances had made, and frowned. In truth, she favored the blouse and sweater. To get the purple color that deep, Mother Garrett had saved sugarloaf wrappers for a good while. Emma smiled. Her mother-in-law’s hands had been stained purple for weeks, and she’d vowed never to use those wrappers again.

  The thought of wearing the striped silk brocade riding skirt— even behind her closed bedroom door, let alone parading on horseback down Main Street—made her shudder. ‘‘Even with Opal and Garnet beside me, I’d draw fewer stares if I wore men’s trousers,’’ she grumbled, fully aware that Zachary Breckenwith would no doubt have more than a few words to say about the gossip sure to follow. Dressing quickly, she re-braided her hair and pinned it atop her head. She grabbed the straw farmer’s hat Opal had bought for her at the General Store, plopped it on, snatched a pair of leather gloves, and left her room.

  She did not bother to check her appearance in the mirror. If she had, she might have changed her mind about not disappointing Aunt Frances, climbed back under the covers, and feigned illness to avoid being seen in this outrageous skirt, a tactic her lawyer would probably fully endorse.

  Instead, she proceeded to go downstairs. When she entered the kitchen, she found Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances at the kitchen table and wished them a good morning but saw no sign of the picnic basket or the Mitchell sisters.