Hearts Awakening (13 page)
“Boys haven’t taken to her yet?” Sam questioned.
“Not yet, but they’ll come around. Let’s see if I can get this wagon unloaded for you,” he replied.
By the time Jackson set down the first of the sausages on top of Sam’s table, Daniel was already busy retelling Sam’s tale to Ellie. “ . . . then that big old limb fell right down and broked his arm,” he explained, swooshing his arm in the air to reenact the event.
“B-broke his arm,” she correctly gently, even though her hands began to tremble.
“And then—”
“That’s enough said for now,” Jackson interjected when he noticed that Ellie’s face had paled. This was not the first time she had reacted poorly to the mere mention of a storm, recalling that she had even lost an entire night’s sleep to that same storm.
“Come along, Daniel. You can help me,” he suggested. By the time he and Daniel had Sam’s wagon unloaded, the market had come to life with customers who started to appear in waves, leaving brief moments to refill the supply of apples behind the table and the sweet treats on top of it before another wave appeared.
As he had expected, some of the folks clearly came to his stall out of curiosity about the newcomer who was now Mrs. Jackson Smith, because they left without buying as much as a single apple. Others arrived when word had spread about the sweet treats they were giving away, but no one had said anything untoward to Ellie, although he was certain that his constant presence by her side had discouraged them.
By midday, he had but two bushels of Maiden Blush apples left behind the table, and most of Ellie’s wares were gone, as well. He was hot, tired, hungry, and a bit crotchety, although he was relieved none of those mischievous troublemakers had shown up at market again this week.
Taking advantage of a lull of customers, he left Ellie and the boys by the table to go to the rear of the stall and started to brush out the empty wagon bed. He was sorely tempted to pack up early today and head for home, like Earl Chastings had done after complaining of a sour stomach, but he did not want to leave until all his apples had been sold.
When he heard a brief scuffle and Ellie’s tense voice, he looked up just in time to see her holding both boys by the hand as she marched them back to him.
She let go of their hands and pointed to the wagon seat. “Up with you both. I want each of you to sit there quietly, one on each end of the seat, until you’re ready to apologize,” she said firmly.
Daniel glanced up at his father, folded his arms over his chest, and planted his feet. “I don’t hafta. You’re not my mama.”
Ethan mimicked his brother’s stance and remained silent for several long moments before he did as he had been told, although Ellie had to give him a little help to get up on the seat.
When Ellie looked to Jackson for support, if not his help in making Daniel obey her, he didn’t step in. If she expected him to intervene every time Daniel refused to do as he was told or every time he compared her unfavorably to his mama, Jackson would have little time left for his own work.
Scowling, she scrunched down until she was eye level with the obstinate five-year-old. “Daniel Benjamin Smith, I don’t care whether you think of me as your mama or not. You may not like me very much, either, but you’ve certainly lived with me long enough now to know that I keep every one of my promises. And I can promise you this: When you misbehave for me, you’re going to be punished. Now you have precisely five seconds to scoot yourself up onto that wagon seat like I told you to do, or I can also promise you that you will not taste a single one of my desserts for a solid month,” she said firmly before straightening up again.
Daniel glanced up to his father again for help. When Jackson did little more than glance back at him, the boy’s bottom lip began to quiver and Jackson’s resolve weakened. “It would help if I knew what the problem was that apparently got you into trouble, son,” he ventured.
Ellie looked at Jackson and frowned. “The nature of the problem shouldn’t matter at all,” she said, then walked back to the table, apparently more disappointed in Jackson at the moment than she had been with Daniel for not obeying her in the first place.
Annoyed with himself for falling into Daniel’s trap and undermining Ellie’s authority, he pointed to the wagon seat. “Miss Ellie’s right, Daniel. Like it or not, you have to obey her and accept your punishment when you don’t. Climb aboard and sit quietly at the other end of the seat. But keep an eye on your brother.”
Daniel frowned but quickly did as he was told.
Although Jackson was tempted to leave the boys for a moment to speak to Ellie and apologize, he decided to finish brushing out the wagon bed first, if only to decide exactly what to say to her.
“Jackson? Would you mind helping us?” Ellie cried.
Annoyed that he had not even noticed a customer arrive, he set down his broom and cautioned his boys to stay put. As he walked back to join Ellie, he got a good view of the woman standing in front of the table and tightened his jaw. He should have known better than to think they might actually escape back home today without having the queen of gossip show up at his stall.
“Good morning,” he greeted the stout woman, who had a mouth full of one of Ellie’s treats and an applesauce cake in each of her hands.
“Mrs. Fielding wants a full basket of Russets, but she hasn’t any way to get it home,” Ellie explained.
“You don’t live very far. I’ll be happy to carry it for you. You can pay me then,” he offered, hoping he might get the woman away while her mouth was too full for her to speak to Ellie.
To his complete dismay, the woman literally gulped down her food. “That’s the best applesauce cake I’ve ever had,” she managed, unaware or unconcerned that crumbs were still caught on her lips as well as the tip of her chin.
“It’s the apples,” Ellie explained. “The Russets are wonderful dessert apples. They’re almost as good as the Pippins, but they won’t be ready for harvest until October.”
“It’s not just the apples. Not at all, my dear,” Mrs. Fielding insisted before polishing off both of the applesauce cakes she had been holding. “You’re a far sight better at baking than I am, and I daresay Jackson and those precious boys of his are fortunate to have you in the kitchen.”
She paused to lick her lips, studied Ellie, and shook her head. “I see what I’ve heard today is true. You are indeed a far sight plainer than Rebecca, may she rest in peace, but I’m not one to judge others by their appearances, am I, Jackson? Did you tell your new wife that we’re practically neighbors?”
He took a step closer to Ellie. Although he had been surprised by how easily his new wife had shared her limited knowledge about the apples he grew, he was not surprised by his customer’s audacity. “Actually, I haven’t had time. I’ve been pretty busy with the harvest,” he said, convinced the woman would not leave until he told Ellie that they were indeed city neighbors. “Mrs. Fielding’s home is—”
“Just down the square from his Sunday house, although I saw Rebecca there much more than anyone else, since Jackson rarely brought his family to the city to stay there so they could attend Sunday services,” she said, her mouth twittering as if she could not get her prattle out fast enough. “Rebecca never did like living out there on that island, but . . . well, I suppose it’s understandable that your husband hasn’t mentioned anything about that Sunday house.” She leaned closer to Jackson before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Under the circumstances, I must say I’m relieved that I don’t have to tolerate such goings-on as when Rebecca stayed there, leaving you and those poor boys alone while she—”
“These apples dry well, too,” Jackson blurted, determined to intercept the woman before she added any more tidbits of gossip, particularly when he noted how pale Ellie’s face had become. “If you like, perhaps Ellie can write down the recipe for those applesauce cakes, since you seem to enjoy them so much.”
Easily distracted, the woman clapped her hands. “Oh, would you?”
Ellie nodded. “Of course. I’ll bring it with me next week.”
“That would be so lovely! As I said, I’m not much of a baker, but my sweet sister Donna is, which means I’ll need to take both baskets of apples you have left, since I can’t very well ask her to bake any cakes for me unless I give her some apples to use for herself,” she suggested and handed her coins to Jackson.
He placed the coins in his moneybag, stored it in the box sitting in front of Ellie, and smiled, even though his hopes to leave early today fell flat to the ground. The woman’s sister lived a good mile away from here, and the heavy street traffic in the city on Market Day eliminated any hope of delivering the apples by wagon. He was left with no choice but to deliver them on foot.
While he had some qualms about leaving Ellie and the boys for the ten or fifteen minutes it would take him to carry the apples to Mrs. Fielding’s house, he had no desire to leave them for the hour or so it would take to walk the apples to her sister’s and return.
“We can come along with you,” Ellie murmured, as if sensing his reluctance to leave her alone.
“No, the boys are tired as it is, and you’ve been on your feet all day, too. Stay right here with them. Don’t leave the stall for any reason, and keep an eye out for that band of mischief-makers. They’re bound to show up today at some point, and I don’t want you or the boys caught up in their shenanigans,” he cautioned sternly. “I should be back in fifteen minutes or so for the last basket, but it’ll take a good hour more for me to deliver the last one.”
“We’ll stay here,” she promised and handed Mrs. Fielding yet another applesauce cake to eat on the way.
As he had hoped, he made quick work of delivering the first bushel of apples. When he got back to his stall at the market, he found the boys sleeping in the back of the wagon bed, and Ellie was at the stall next door helping Sam with his customers. He hoisted up the second bushel and waved to Sam. “Keep a good eye on my family while I’m gone,” he said, hoping any other gossipmongers who might arrive while he was gone would soon move on when they realized there were no apples left for sale. Ellie would simply have to wait for him, just as she promised.
When Jackson returned an hour later, after stopping on his way back to buy Ellie something very special to show her how much he appreciated her efforts at market today, he took one look at his stall and realized he had been a fool.
A total fool.
Daniel and Ethan were gone, and so was the woman he had left in charge of them. In fact, his stall was empty, and so was Sam’s. His wagon was empty, too, save for the broom Jackson had been using earlier in the wagon bed and the small wooden box where he had stored his moneybag.
With his heart pounding, he looked inside the box and scowled. No moneybag.
“I’m not just a total fool. I’m a stupid fool,” he grumbled, certain Ellie had gone off shopping, just as Rebecca had always done. Breathing hard, he charged back to the front of the stall and scanned the crowd of shoppers, hoping to get a glimpse of Ellie or the boys.
Battling memories of Rebecca’s waywardness, if not her outright defiance of his wishes, his anger flared. That Ellie had gone off to spend his hard-earned cash was irrelevant. His frustration was that he would not be there to protect his sons, who knew nothing about their mother’s scandalous behavior or even how she died, if gossipmongers dared to babble their tales about Rebecca’s behavior in front of them.
Breathing hard, he charged through the crowd. Finally, he got a brief glimpse of his boys before catching sight of that drab brown gown of Ellie’s, and his heart pounded with relief. When he finally reached them and saw that she was carrying a parcel from Mrs. French’s Ladies’ Shoppe, visions of Rebecca carrying similar pink-ribboned parcels flashed through his mind. His anger swelled and washed over him, drowning every good thought he’d had about the woman he had married. She was proving to be no better than Rebecca.
Barely mindful of the people around them, he snatched each of his boys by the hand and glared at her. Leaning close, he found the wherewithal to keep his voice low, so only she could hear what he had to say. “You broke your promise. You disobeyed me and left. For what?” he gritted. “For that parcel of pretties you no doubt purchased with funds you pilfered from my moneybag? I hope they were worth it, because that’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Hand over my moneybag. I’m marching you straight to the lawyer’s office.”
