A Hearth in Candlewood

by Delia Parr

  She did not wait for him to respond. ‘‘To my mind, by continuing their disagreement, James and Andrew are filling their mother’s life with discord and disappointment. Her life is neither peaceful nor harmonious,’’ she charged, giving voice to the private thoughts she had had only moments ago. ‘‘If it were, she never would have run off to Hill House.’’

  He let out a deep breath. ‘‘While all that you say about Widow Leonard’s situation may be true, as deplorable and disagreeable as it may be, the prospect of winning a lawsuit on that basis would be next to nil, in my opinion,’’ he added. ‘‘Are you suggesting perhaps Widow Leonard is considering filing such a lawsuit? If so, let me caution you most sincerely, her suit will not prevail. You’ll have to rely on some other method to get her sons to solve their disagreement, particularly in light of your own legal difficulties,’’ he added without further comment.

  Emma’s heart sank. Despite her hopes, she respected and trusted his opinion enough to face the harsh reality that the will would be of no help to her at all. She folded up the will and sighed. ‘‘No, I’m not suggesting a lawsuit. I’m just surprised. It seems to me that if a widow’s children were not providing for her as they were required to do according to their father’s will, she should find remedy under the law, if need be, and the law should respond favorably to her needs.’’

  ‘‘I’m not suggesting she can’t,’’ he said. ‘‘For the sake of argument, let’s put aside concerns about her happiness or her general well-being. Let’s say her sons were not providing some of the items that were listed, the wood and the fabric, for example. The court would force them to do so, but that’s assuming she’d even entertain the notion of a lawsuit in the first place. Most widows in that situation don’t, and there are several reasons why they don’t.’’

  ‘‘Why? What reasons?’’ Emma asked.

  He shrugged. ‘‘Shame, for one,’’ he replied. ‘‘Most widows wouldn’t want it known that their own children weren’t providing for them, if the children were capable of doing so. Lawsuits are in the public domain, and there’s no greater fodder for gossipmongers than a lawsuit of this nature.’’

  She frowned. If Aunt Frances had been feisty enough to run away, Emma was fairly certain she would not have let the shame of a lawsuit stop her from filing it to force her sons to reconcile.

  ‘‘Shame aside, why else wouldn’t a widow pursue her rights under the law?’’ she asked, then realized the answer almost the moment she posed the question. ‘‘Funds, I suppose.’’

  ‘‘Exactly. Depending on the people and the obligations involved, a lawsuit of that nature could be quite lengthy and very expensive, far beyond the means of widows like Widow Leonard.’’

  ‘‘Very sad, but very true.’’ Although Aunt Frances had no funds to pursue a lawsuit, Emma would have easily provided them. Unfortunately, given Mr. Breckenwith’s opinion that the lawsuit would not prevail, that mattered little.

  She held up the will. ‘‘May I keep this?’’ she asked, although it probably had no value to her now at all.

  ‘‘It’s yours. In all truth, I wish I could have been more helpful,’’ he admitted.

  ‘‘No, you’ve been very helpful,’’ she countered, impressed by both his knowledge and his eagerness to share it with her.

  ‘‘May I ask if you’ve decided to proceed with the sale of that parcel of land to your mother-in-law or given any thought at all to pursuing other options, should the owner of Hill House decide not to sell it to you?’’

  ‘‘No, not yet. But soon. I just need to square away a few other matters first,’’ Emma assured him. She hesitated, half tempted to tell him about her upcoming meeting with Mr. Langhorne and her suspicions that the man had learned about her not having legal title to Hill House. But ultimately she decided against it. Given the subtle shift in their relationship—which was all too tangible today—she was not prepared to deal with the prospect that he might postpone his trip for personal, rather than professional, reasons.

  In all truth, she had struggled long and hard against the fact that there was nothing she could do to convince the owner of Hill House to sell the property to her. She had also struggled with her decision not to tell any of the others about the possibility she might lose Hill House, forcing all of them to leave. Whether or not that decision was right or fair also continued to trouble her.

  If indeed she did lose Hill House, however, she had to cling to the fervent belief that His will for her and those she loved would unfold, all in His time, and all for His purpose.

  Not hers.

  And only if she learned how to truly submit her will to His.

  30

  TIME PASSED BY QUICKLY AT HILL HOUSE over the next several days, but not routinely or easily.

  In less than a week, James and Andrew Leonard would arrive to air their differences. In precisely one hour, Mr. Langhorne would appear to keep his ten-o’clock appointment.

  Emma was ill-prepared for both events, preoccupied by more pressing but mundane matters. Seated behind the desk in her office, she rested her elbows on the desktop and pressed her fingertips to her temples. If she had any hope of appearing calm and being competent during her meeting with Mr. Langhorne, she needed to clear her mind.

  The renegade chicken was proving to be the winner in a frustrating but oddly comical game of hide-and-seek that made her plans for having this particular chicken for dinner seem unlikely, at least anytime soon. For the moment, she set that problem on a back burner.

  The injury to Ditty’s mother’s hand was not healing as quickly as they had hoped, and the young woman’s return to her job had been delayed indefinitely. Emma turned that concern over to prayer.

  The arrival of two unexpected guests over the weekend had kept Emma working morning to night. Though still aching and sore from the extra work, she had reason to rejoice: the guests had left this morning after breakfast.

  With her mind now free from those worries, she steepled her hands and rested her chin on her fingertips. Breathing slowly, she whispered no words of praise or made any requests; instead, she quietly welcomed the gentle peace of His presence and love into her spirit.

  She opened her eyes when the grandfather clock struck the quarter hour and quickly surveyed the top of her desk. The guest register lay on the right side at the base of an oil lamp. On the left, where she normally kept a small vase of roses behind her box of writing supplies, a sampler no larger than the palm of her hand displayed a grand message: God is love.

  Once she was satisfied there was no speck of dust anywhere and no smudge on the wooden desk, she smoothed the fresh paper on the blotter in front of her. She had no doubt Mr. Langhorne was coming to berate her for deliberately lying to him about selling the parcel of land he had been after. In turn, she would have to tell him again that she would not sell him that land. Not today. Not ever.

  Assuming that he knew she did not hold legal title to Hill House, she suspected that his true purpose for coming here was to force her to do exactly that by using the knowledge of it as leverage. Giving in to blackmail of any kind, however, was abhorrent to her very nature.

  She was also determined not to waste the little time she had before the man arrived on fear of what he might know or do today. Convinced her map held clues to Mr. Langhorne’s purpose for investing in the surrounding area, which now involved at least Andrew Leonard, if not his brother, she retrieved the map from a side drawer and unfolded it. She spread the map out on her desk and made sure north was at the top so the map was oriented correctly in hopes she might discover his purpose for wanting the Leonard land, too.

  Using a pencil from her writing box, she drew an outline around the Oliver property she had been told Mr. Langhorne had bought. Next, she outlined the land the Leonard brothers owned individually. The portion of the toll road and surrounding acreage they owned jointly she decided to mark with a series of crisscrosses. Using dotted lines, she marked the route she suspected a railroad would most likely fo
llow by starting north at Bounty and moving south along the toll road through the Leonard land, then farther south to the end point of the toll road where the old toll collector’s cabin, which the Cross family now owned, was located.

  Finally, she outlined the parcel of land she owned on Hollaway Lane that Mr. Langhorne was no doubt coming to discuss again, even though it was too far north of the projected rail line to be of much use to him.

  She leaned back, studied her work on the map again, and toyed with the pencil in her hand. Unfortunately, no matter how she tried, she could see no connection between the route she had drawn, Mr. Oliver’s land that lay farther west beyond several smaller farms that bordered the Leonard land, and her land on Hollaway Lane. She had no idea whether or not Mr. Langhorne had purchased the smaller farms or not, and it was too late to pursue the matter now. In addition, she was puzzled that Mr. Langhorne had not bought the toll collector’s cabin before the Cross family did, since the cabin was located in such a strategic location that would suit a depot for a railroad.

  The grandfather clock struck the half hour.

  The answers she had hoped to find on the map simply were not there. Despite all her efforts, she now had no more idea of what Mr. Langhorne intended to do with the land that he was buying than before she started drawing on the map. The only thing she had gained was the conviction that if and when the railroad did come, she knew precisely the route it would take.

  Frustrated that she had wasted so much time and energy on the map, she folded it up, stored it away again, and sat quietly while waiting for Mr. Langhorne to arrive.

  She counted the chimes as the clock struck the hour of ten and waited. At the quarter hour, she rose to stretch her arms and legs. At the half hour, she heard a commotion on the porch and rose to investigate. She scarcely got to her feet before the outer door flew open and Mr. Langhorne charged into her office, slamming the door behind him.

  Rendered speechless, she watched him struggle to catch his breath. At the same time, he shoved several papers back into his coat pocket and fumbled with his spectacles to put them back on. Once he did, he glared at her. ‘‘In all truth, Widow Garrett, since you routinely expect callers and guests, I find it unimaginable that you wouldn’t pen up your . . . your livestock, if that’s how one defines a chicken, instead of allowing it to roost on your front porch! I’ve been trying for half an hour to get past that chicken and finally decided to charge my way, losing my hat and almost losing my papers in the process.’’

  Her eyes widened, even more so when she spied the feather stuck to his sleeve, and she struggled not to smile. ‘‘I’m deeply sorry. I’ll certainly replace your hat, but the chicken isn’t mine at all. Apparently, it’s one of the chickens that escaped when the wagon overturned on Main Street a few weeks back. We’ve had more than a few problems trying to rid ourselves of that pest.’’

  ‘‘A good whack with a stick would suffice. Unfortunately, I couldn’t locate one or you would be rid of your problem for good and have chicken for dinner as a bonus. That’s how most of the shopkeepers solved the same problem. Don’t bother yourself about the hat. I have others. You can toss this one into the trash pit.’’

  Although she had nearly the same solution in mind to rid herself of the chicken, she felt oddly protective about the animal. ‘‘Please have a seat. May I offer you some refreshments?’’

  ‘‘Nothing, thank you.’’ He sat down, wrinkled his nose when he saw the feather, and flicked it off, letting it fall to the floor. ‘‘What I’ve come to say won’t take long.’’

  She folded her hands together and lay them on top of her desk. While meeting his hardened gaze, she braced herself and took control of their conversation. ‘‘Before you begin, let me tell you that despite what I previously told you the last time we met here about selling the land on Hollaway Lane, the sale did not proceed, for a number of reasons I won’t bother to detail. However, since then, I’ve had a change of heart. The land is not for sale, regardless of any offer you might be prepared to make.’’

  His gaze grew cold. ‘‘I’m no longer interested in that land, at any price. As you suggested at our last meeting, I’ve chosen to more actively pursue a different venture—one I’ve been planning for some months now. My visit here today is for quite another purpose.’’

  Her pulse quickened, but she held very still and kept a smile on her face, more determined than ever not to give him any inkling she even considered he might know she did not hold legal title to Hill House. Further, although she had a very good idea the railroad had something to do with the venture he claimed he had chosen to pursue, she did not want to broach the subject until she clearly understood it. ‘‘Frankly, I don’t believe there’s anything more for us to discuss,’’ she insisted, prepared to hear the worst— his threat to take Hill House from her.

  He squared his shoulders. ‘‘I disagree. Out of respect for your gender, I have come to tell you in person and in the privacy of your own office. Be forewarned, madam: Stay out of my business affairs. Should you continue to speak to either James or Andrew Leonard or anyone else about my business affairs, I shall file a lawsuit to stop you. Immediately.’’

  He did not know. He did not know. He did not know!

  Her heart pounded with relief that surged through her veins. He truly did not know she did not have title to Hill House!

  Her relief was short-lived. ‘‘A lawsuit? On what basis?’’ she managed.

  He offered her a sardonic smile. ‘‘On any basis my very expensive, very talented, and very experienced team of lawyers might suggest.’’

  Her heart pounded in her ears. Even though he was unaware of the legal quagmire she was in, the absolute last thing she needed was a lawsuit. ‘‘There’s no basis for a lawsuit against me. Whether or not I speak to someone with whom you’re doing business or counsel someone for or against doing so is perfectly legal. It’s not a matter for the courts. You can’t sue me.’’

  ‘‘Of course I can. I may not win the suit,’’ he admitted, ‘‘but I can file it. In fact, I can instruct my lawyers to drag the lawsuit from one court to another, opening every one of your substantial holdings to the scrutiny of the courts, I might add. The process could take years, which would provide more than enough gossip about the esteemed Widow Garrett to keep gossipmongers’ tongues wagging and to convince guests planning to come to Hill House to choose a more suitable place to stay. I might also be tempted to file a lawsuit against your mother-in-law or perhaps Widow Leonard, as well,’’ he added.

  Horrified as well as outraged, Emma leaped to her feet to protest, but he held up his hand to silence her objections. ‘‘Don’t bother to argue. You’ve been warned, which is what I came to do. I can show myself out . . . by the front door,’’ he snapped and left by way of the connecting door to the library.

  Trembling with fear and anger, she dropped back down into her seat and cradled her face in her hands. Though troubled by his intention to involve both Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances, she was completely demoralized by his threat to file a lawsuit against her. Once his lawyers filed a lawsuit and began investigating her affairs, they would invariably discover that she did not hold legal title to Hill House. In point of fact, she was rather surprised they had not discovered just that when he had presented his offer of a title to her only last month and could only assume his claim to know all of her affairs had been more bluff than substance.

  Nevertheless, once he did learn the truth he could blackmail her into selling him the parcel of land he wanted in return for keeping silent about her not owning Hill House. Far worse, he might contact Mr. Meyers in Philadelphia in an effort to convince the legal owner to sell Hill House out from under her, giving Mr. Langhorne the right to evict her at will.

  Additionally, because of his threat, she would not be able to tell Andrew and James Leonard that if they did settle their argument by selling any or all of their land to Mr. Langhorne, they could be giving up land that was going to explode in value in the co
ming years. If she did not tell them, she would always know she could have prevented the sale but did not do so.

  Overwhelmed with despair, she wept uncontrollably until her tears were spent, her body was exhausted, and her heart ached. With brutal honesty, she looked back over the past four years and admitted she had no one to blame but herself.

  As much as she had believed that God had led her here to Hill House, she now understood that she had bought this property to escape her growing loneliness, surrounded at the General Store by memories that reminded her every moment of the husband she had lost and their three sons who had married and moved far away.

  While her own selfish needs had prompted her to look at Hill House as an opportunity to change her life, it was pride in her ability to turn the abandoned property into a viable, thriving enterprise that had led her to ignore her lawyer’s advice. Without having legal title to Hill House in her possession, not only had she sold the General Store but she had moved into Hill House and restored it, severing all ties to the past and possibly putting her future at risk.

  It was also her pride that had kept her from seeking Zachary Breckenwith’s advice before he left on his month-long trip . . . along with her suspicions that he had developed more than a professional interest in her.

  She dried her tears and bowed her head. Buying Hill House had clearly been her will, not God’s, and not an act of true faith. Humbly, she bowed her very soul before Him, asking for forgiveness, as well as His guidance now. ‘‘Thy will be done,’’ she whispered, convinced that only with God’s help would she be able to wait for His plan for her future to unfold . . . and then accept His plan, even if it meant leaving Hill House forever.

  With her spirit refreshed, she focused on one problem she might be able to solve on her own: helping Aunt Frances. She rose, went to the window, and pulled back the curtain to glance back and forth along the side porch. The chicken was nowhere to be seen, but she did spy Mr. Langhorne’s hat and enough droppings to erase the fleeting thought she had had about protecting that chicken.