Hometown Cinderella: Hometown Cinderella\The Inn at Hope Springs (11 page)

She stood at a chair at the head of the kitchen table. “That’s quite all right. It isn’t much. Please be seated.”

“Thank you.” Instead of complying, he went over to Mrs. Keller and took the soup tureen from her hands. Their hands touched briefly in the transfer. She looked downward, murmuring a brief “Thank you.”

“Mmm, smells good,” he said, to dispel the sensation the touch of her warm hands had caused inside him.

After carefully setting the tureen in the center of the table, afraid he’d slosh some over the side, he made sure everyone else was seated before standing behind the chair Dietrich indicated.

Mrs. Keller brought over the last dish. “Mr. Jakeman, please have a seat.”

He still waited until she had taken her chair. She sat across from him, Lizzie beside her.

Mrs. Keller bowed her head, the rest following suit. “Dear Lord, thank You for the food set before us. Please bless it for our use, in your dear Son Jesus’s name. Amen.”

With a murmur of amens, they unfolded their napkins and Mrs. Keller began dishing out the chowder. She handed a bowl to Dietrich. “Please pass this to Mr. Jakeman.”

The clam chowder was hot and delicious, the bread thick and soft. He savored every bite. There wasn’t too much conversation as everyone ate. He felt too intimidated with both Mrs. Blackstone’s and Mrs. Keller’s presences to contribute much.

“Do you think you’ll be able to come over soon to help me with my dress?” Lizzie asked Mrs. Keller.

Mrs. Blackstone lifted an eyebrow at Lizzie with a polite smile. “What dress is that?”

Lizzie smiled. “Mrs. Keller is going to help me make a dress for Thanksgiving.”

“I see. How nice of you, Mara. I’m glad you have found the time with all your other endeavors.”

Something in her tone sounded slightly acid to Gideon’s ears. He cleared his throat, wiping his own mouth before speaking. “Lizzie is a good seamstress. She’ll probably be able to finish it for herself if you can’t.”

After a quick look in his direction, Mrs. Keller directed her attention to Lizzie. He turned his head to catch the crestfallen expression on his daughter’s face. “B-but, Papa, I’ve never made a dress like this before.”

He felt helpless, not wanting to disappoint his daughter nor cause Mrs. Keller more on top of all her duties. “Well, we’ll see…” he mumbled. “My, this is delicious chowder,” he said in a hearty voice, trying to change the subject. He eyed both widows, wondering whom the compliment should be addressed to.

“I taught Mara how to make chowder.” Mrs. Blackstone gave a false-sounding laugh. “She came back to America knowing little of our ways of cooking. Only fancy European pastries, which most folks around here find too rich for their digestive systems. People around here like good, plain fare, isn’t that right, Mr. Jakeman?”

His spoon halted halfway to his mouth. “Uh—yes, that’s true.” He observed Mrs. Keller’s slim fingers curl around her napkin.

“I used to make clam chowder for…for my father, but it’s been a long time,” she said quietly. Not meeting his gaze, she turned to her son. “Don’t slurp your soup.”

“Dear me, no! It sounds disgusting,” added Mrs. Blackstone.

Gideon swallowed his spoonful as silently as he dared then said, “I did enjoy that chocolate cake you took to the cider pressing. It was good, wasn’t it, Lizzie?” He turned to his daughter for help, when all eyes turned on him.

She nodded, her mouth lifting in a smile. “Oh, yes, it was delicious. I even had a second helping.”

Mrs. Keller smiled, but he could see it was strained. He tried to think of another topic, hoping Lizzie would help make conversation. Usually, she was quite talkative, but she, too, seemed cowed by Mrs. Blackstone’s presence. Even Dietrich was not his usual boisterous self.

He bent his head over his bowl, deciding he’d just finish up his supper as quickly as he could and get himself home with Lizzie.

The rest of the meal passed with Mrs. Blackstone asking him about a few people of the hamlet, correcting Dietrich for some perceived fault in his table manners and addressing a thing or two to Mrs. Keller, mainly about household matters.

When Gideon finally rose, he felt relief. But he also felt he’d received a certain amount of insight into the Blackstone household.

Mrs. Keller seemed to do most of the work. He wondered how the late Mr. Blackstone had left his affairs to have his daughter under the thumb of his wife. And why Mrs. Keller would submit to it. He remembered their conversation on the ride home from town.

Gideon wondered how a famous concert pianist had not made enough to leave his son and wife provided for.

If anything happened to him, Lizzie had a house, acres of farm and woodland and a good bank account to her name.

Chapter Nine

A
few afternoons later, Mara met Dietrich and Lizzie at the schoolhouse. Since the day Mr. Jakeman had bought the length of cloth for Lizzie’s gown, Lizzie had been asking her to come by and help her cut it out.

She’d chosen today, because she knew Mr. Jakeman would still be chopping wood at Carina’s. Since the night he’d stayed for supper, she’d hardly been able to look him in the eye. What impression had he taken away from that evening?

Had he seen the extent of her humiliating position, living off Carina’s largesse, even when the house also belonged to her? She shuddered, partly in cold, partly in shame.

The door to the white, clapboard schoolhouse opened and the teacher dismissed the students. As soon as the children left the front step, they ran and scattered over the school yard despite the teacher’s admonitions for decorum.

Dietrich ran over to Mara as soon as he saw his mother. “Hello, Mama, what are you doing here this afternoon?”

Mara smiled at her son. “I had a few minutes this afternoon and thought I’d come walk home with you…except we’re not going home, I think.”

Before Dietrich could ask her where they were going, she spotted Lizzie emerging from the schoolhouse amidst all the boisterous children. She walked with another girl, her lunch pail swinging from her hand. When she saw Mara, her mouth broke open in a smile and she waved.

Excusing herself from her friend, she hurried over to Mara. “Hello, Mrs. Keller, how nice to see you. Are you here for Dietrich?”

She returned the girl’s smile warmly. “Hello, Lizzie. Actually, I came to see you, too.”

Hope rose in Lizzie. “Does this mean…?”

Mara nodded. “If you have time this afternoon, we could begin to make the pattern for your dress.”

“Of course I have time! Let’s go then.”

Mara laughed.

Dietrich tugged on his mother’s hand. “Does this mean you’re going with us to the Jakemans’?”

“Yes, dear.”

He began jumping up and down, still holding her hand, his own lunch pail clanging.

“Stand still, before your bucket comes off its handle. Now, if you’re ready, we may be on our way.” Although the day was sunny, the wind off the ocean was brisk, and Mara began to feel chilled from having stood there a few moments waiting for the school to be dismissed.

“Yes, let’s,” Lizzie agreed. She waved to her friends and stepped briskly along Mara’s side.

The school was only about a quarter of an hour’s walk from the Jakeman farm, along a dirt road skirting the curving, rocky coastline. The tide was out, leaving a wide expanse of mudflats strewn with rockweed. A few men were bent over double clamming.

Mara held the brim of her bonnet against the stiff breeze, listening to the children, both of whom addressed her without regarding the other.

As they neared the Jakemans’, Mara took the time to really look at the property. She had been in too much of a hurry the time before.

Mr. Jakeman owned some rolling fields of pastureland separated by stone walls and bordered by the dark green of spruce and balsam fir woodlots. Across the road was blueberry land, the fields reminding her of heather fields in Scotland, all fiery red now in their autumn color.

The meadows were still green although they’d had frost at night since September. But the fields had already been plowed, the dark soil lumpy and broken up. She knew from Lizzie and from his time at Carina’s that Mr. Jakeman spent most of his days now sawing and chopping wood for the winter months, and that when the land was covered in snow, he’d go out into the woodlots to chop down logs for next year’s firewood.

As they reached the house, the stone wall gave way to a white picket fence. Set back from the road behind three tall maple trees, their branches now bare, stood the cape-style house, its white shingles and black shutters neatly painted. Just like her own house, a woodshed was attached to the side of the house, which in turn was attached to a bright red barn, creating the impression of a much larger house than the simple cape.

Lizzie opened the white gate and ushered them through.

Everything was neat and trim. The grass short, the slate slabs set into the ground as a pathway clear of encroaching grass. Lilac bushes, also bare of their leaves, stood at the corners of the house and rugosa roses lined the spaces in between, but they were neatly pruned.

As with most families, the front door was rarely used, and Lizzie led them in through the woodshed.

“Wipe your feet off,” Mara cautioned her son. A rope mat lay before the door. The woodshed was stacked floor-to-ceiling with chopped wood, the air redolent with its spicy fragrance. Despite being only a woodshed, its windows were brightly polished.

Lizzie opened the door to the kitchen. “Welcome to our house,” she said with a shy smile.

“Thank you,” Mara replied with a reassuring smile then she momentarily forgot the girl’s presence. “Oh, what a lovely room!” She turned slowly, taking in the kitchen’s details. A wide-planked floor was painted pine-green and didn’t appear to have a speck of dust. An oval rag rug covered a large portion of it. Over this stood a good-size oval table of a burnished maple. A brass bowl filled with dried seed pods and branches with drying red berries graced the center.

A couple of high-backed rockers with calico cushions on their rush-bottom seats graced the space between the two front windows.

“Thank you,” Lizzie said, her cheeks bright with pleasure. “I try to keep things the way…the way Mama always had them.”

Mara entered farther into the room. “You’ve done a very good job. I commend you. I know it’s not easy when you’re so young and lose your mama.”

Lizzie nodded, a look of gratitude in her gray-green eyes. “Well, let me get the fire going, ’cause I want to start work on the sewing.”

“Oh, yes. We mustn’t waste a moment. Thanksgiving is only a couple of weeks away.”

Soon the kitchen was toasty-warm. They ate a quick snack of cookies and milk before Dietrich went out to see all the animals. Lizzie and Mara examined a few pictures of ladies’ and young women’s gowns in some magazines Mara had brought along.

They finally chose a pattern that was neither too juvenile nor too old for someone on the verge of young ladyhood. Mara took her measurements and began to draw the pattern pieces for the gown.

“Are you sure these are going to end up looking like the gown we chose?” Lizzie looked doubtfully at the brown pieces of paper Mara had told her to cut out.

Mara laughed. “Yes, no matter how unlikely that appears now. The whole trick to patternmaking is to figure out how to transfer a three-dimensional garment into a two-dimensional pattern and then back again into a three-dimensional gown.”

Mara continued jotting down measurements and using her ruler and curved instruments to draw the remaining pattern pieces.

“Mama used to make all our clothes,” Lizzie said from where she stood cutting along Mara’s lines. “She made the cushions on the rockers and the slipcovers on the sofa in the sitting room.”

“She sounds very talented. She must have taught you a lot before she passed away.”

“She tried to, but I don’t think I listened very well back then. I just wanted to play with my dolls.”

“That’s only natural for a girl of nine.”

“I wish I had paid more attention. After she was gone, I kept wishing she were here to ask her how to do something.”

“Oh, course, sweetheart. I went through the same thing.”

Lizzie looked at her and nodded. “I burnt so many dishes I tried to cook for Pa, yet he never complained. Whenever I’d cry, he’d just pat me on the shoulder and say, ‘You did the best you could. It’ll come out better next time.’” She smiled. “And, bless his heart, he ate everything I made, no matter how charred or dried out or curdled. He just sat down here at the table and ate every bite.”

What a sweet man, Mara thought, imagining him coming in hungry and chilled from his work outside all day and sitting hunched over his plate, manly eating whatever was set before him.

Her own father had not been quite so understanding, though he had tried. But in the end, he had hired a cook, which had cut Mara to the quick, even though she realized her cooking was inedible for the most part. How she’d wished at the time that she’d had a woman to show her how to do for her father.

But in the end, she’d needed no one, because her father met Carina.

Lizzie continued speaking while Mara’s thoughts were in the past. “Cousin Sarah came as often as she could and began teaching me how to make things better. She taught me all kinds of things Ma had begun to, like churning butter, putting up vegetables, darning socks, knitting and crocheting. Soon, I started being able to do them on my own.”

“Your father must have been very proud.”

Lizzie nodded. “The best times for me were when he’d clean his plate and sit back and sigh, and tell me that was as good as Mama had always made. And I knew then that he wasn’t just saying those things to be nice. I could tell by the way he ate them with real gusto that they had come out good.” She smiled. “Why, I could taste them myself!”

“Of course you could.”

Dietrich ran into the kitchen at that moment. “May I bring Samson inside, please?”

“He usually doesn’t come in till the sun goes down, but I guess he can come in. Just make sure his paws are clean.”

Dietrich hardly heard the last words as he ran back out the kitchen door.

Lizzie shook her head. “Boys sure are different than girls.”

Mara laughed. “That is so. You’re probably not used to them, and Dietrich makes up for about three. I hope he hasn’t made a nuisance of himself here.”

“Aw, no. Pa dotes on him. And Pa has a way about him. He’s gentle but he’s firm. Dietrich obeys him.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”

As they spoke, the two continued working. Mara straightened from the table. “There, that should do it for the pattern pieces. I’ll help you finish cutting them and then we can lay them out on the fabric.”

She glanced at her watch. “Although we shan’t have time today. It’s getting later than I thought.”

Dietrich threw open the door again, the large black dog bounding in behind him and coming straight to his mistress.

“Settle down, you overgrown beast, before you tear my pattern piece,” she said, shoving him away.

When she’d finished cutting her pattern piece, Lizzie set down her scissors. “What I meant to say before this dog interrupted me was, would you like to stay for supper?”

Mara felt torn, a part of her wanting nothing better, the other, more rational part, knowing it was wiser to go home. Carina expected her, and Mara didn’t want to have to endure her insinuations afterward. “I don’t think so…” she began but was interrupted immediately by wails from both children.

“But you promised us you’d come to our house for supper the next time—”

“Oh, Mama, may we, please? Please say yes!” He began tugging her skirts, continuing to clamor.

“Hush, Dietrich, you’re not letting me think!”

Samson got up and started barking, circling around Dietrich. Into this din stepped Mr. Jakeman.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” He held up a hand, his glance going from Dietrich to Lizzie and coming to rest on Mara. She could feel her cheeks grow warm at the look of concern in his eyes.

The next second, he called the dog’s name in a sharp tone. Samson obeyed immediately, coming over to him and offering him his nose, his shaggy tail wagging. As Mr. Jakeman stroked his head, he said, “Dietrich, why don’t you simmer down and let your mother tell me what’s afoot.”

“Oh, nothing, really,” she began, reaching up to a lock at the nape of her neck. “I was just getting ready to go home. I didn’t realize it was so late. Your dinner will probably be delayed since I kept Lizzie so long.”

“Papa, I just asked Mrs. Keller to stay for supper with us. Remember, she promised to come to our house when she was here last?”

“Of course, I remember.” His gaze rested once more on Mara, and she wondered what was going through his mind. Did he see her as some designing female, out to win his daughter in order to connive her way to him? “You’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Thank you, but, I…ah…don’t think so. I mean, I wasn’t able to inform Mrs. Blackstone.”

He waved a hand. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Dietrich and I can walk over and let her know so she won’t worry. That would give Lizzie time to get supper ready.”

Lizzie surprised her by taking both her hands. “Oh, please say yes, Mrs. Keller. I know it’s not much. I was just going to make some fish cakes. I’ve already got the fish flaked and the mashed potatoes cooked up. It won’t take long. I know it’s nothing fancy the way you’re probably used to—”

She couldn’t let the girl think she was used to fancy fare—nor could she bear to destroy the hopeful look in her eyes. “Not at all. I happen to love fish cakes, and I can help you if you’d like. I just didn’t want us to impose on you both without any notice.”

“Impose—oh, fiddle! You’ve helped me all afternoon with my dress.”

Mr. Jakeman rubbed his hands together. “Well, it looks like it’s settled then. I’ll go along with Dietrich and get ourselves out of your hair, ladies.” His smile took away any sting, and warmed Mara’s heart in a way she considered out of proportion to his simple intention.