Hometown Cinderella: Hometown Cinderella\The Inn at Hope Springs (9 page)

Lizzie took her pot off the stove. “That’s all right, ma’am. You go ahead and have your tea. We’re almost finished here.”

Mara took up the teakettle. “The water is hot.”

After Carina took her teacup and left the kitchen, Mara breathed easier.

As they strained the cranberry sauce and poured it into jars, they couldn’t speak much, but after sealing the jars with paraffin, Mara stood back and wiped the perspiration from her brow. “They look beautiful, don’t they?” They admired the dozens of jars containing a ruby-red sauce.

“Yes, they do that.”

“Why don’t you and I have a cup of tea to celebrate?”

“That’d be fine, ma’am, and then I’d best get home and fix Papa’s supper.”

“Yes, indeed.”

As they sat allowing their tea to cool, Lizzie asked, “Mrs. Blackstone’s going with us to the sociable, isn’t she?”

“I expect so.”

“Do you think she’d mind if I came over early?”

In truth, Mara wasn’t sure. But she smiled in reassurance. “I’m sure she wouldn’t. As long as your father has no objection.”

“He won’t. He says you’re a good influence for me.”

Before Mara could react to that comment, Lizzie continued. “He can pick us up in the carryall like I said. He usually takes Mrs. Blackstone anyway, if she decides to go out in the evenings.”

“That’s very nice of him.”

Lizzie looked toward the hallway, as if she wanted to say something more, but decided against it.

“The McClellans always invite Mrs. Blackstone for Thanksgiving dinner and frequently on a Sunday after church,” was what she finally said.

“How thoughtful of them, knowing Mrs. Blackstone is alone now.”

“Yes, before she was widowed, we didn’t see too much of her. She and your father kept to themselves a lot, or enjoyed the society of town.”

Mara nodded, imagining it so. Her father had grown more and more reclusive after her mother died, and Mara had heard enough remarks from Carina to realize that she did prefer the ladies of the town.

Lizzie stood. “Let me clean up some of these things while our tea cools.”

“I’ll help you.”

Lizzie didn’t let Mara do any of the heavy washing up. Mara marveled, grateful for her help, and vowed to assist the girl for the sociable.

When they’d drunk their tea, Lizzie put on her cloak and wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck. At the door, she stood a moment before opening it. “Did you really mean that about fixing my hair and all for the sociable?”

“Of course.”

She cleared her throat, fiddling with the fringes on her scarf ends. “And how to act like a lady. I mean, how to walk and move? I always feel like my hands are in the way and my feet are ready to trip over anything…” Her voice trailed away.

Mara took her hands in hers. “My dear, we all feel that way at your age.”

The girl gave her another wide smile. “Thank you, oh, thank you, ma’am!”

Without another word, she turned around and opened the door.

When Lizzie had gone, Mara stood staring at the closed door a few seconds. Then, with a sigh of satisfaction for an afternoon well spent, she took her shawl off the hook, and went in search of her son.

Perhaps her life was taking a turn for the better.

Gideon scraped most of his shaving soap off his chin and washed off the remnants. Patting his face dry, he stared at himself in the square mirror. Well, at least he hadn’t nicked himself.

The house was silent. Usually, about now Lizzie would be inspecting his shirt and tie and brushing off his frock coat. He smiled, remembering how Elsie had done the same. Well, hopefully, his tie wasn’t crooked. He’d donned a clean shirt and collar.

He brushed his hair one last time, his thoughts going to Mrs. Keller. Silly to think of her and what she might think of his appearance. He was merely collecting them to go to the sociable. What he did for Mrs. Blackstone all the time. Nothing more. Period.

He set down the brush, a mite too hard that it clattered off the washstand and fell to the floor. He bent to pick it up then hit his head on the edge of the table as he rose. Stifling an exclamation, he willed his nerves to still, before setting the hairbrush down.

He adjusted the knot of his black four-in-hand tie then turned from the mirror with a gesture of impatience. He was going only to play the fiddle, not to catch some lady’s eye.

As he rode toward the Blackstone place, his thoughts couldn’t help but return to Mrs. Keller. Lizzie had seemed so excited to be going there early. He wondered what Mrs. Keller planned with her, hoping the lady wouldn’t get his daughter’s hopes up too high.

Lights shone from the kitchen window as he drove up. He didn’t even have time to get down from the carryall when Lizzie and Dietrich came out the door. “There you are, Papa. I was on the watch for you!”

He scrutinized his daughter in the half-light. The first thing he noticed was her long mane of hair. But it didn’t look wild. It was held back neatly away from her face. She wore her knee-length cloak so he couldn’t see anything else. “Hop aboard. Hello, Dietrich.”

“Hello, Mr. Jakeman,” the boy said as he scrambled into the backseat after Lizzie.

By then the ladies emerged from the house. Mrs. Blackstone secured the door and turned to him. “Good evening, Mr. Jakeman. Do you have enough room for all of us?”

“Sure thing.” He asked Lizzie to hold the reins while he hopped down and came around to help the two onto the front seat, wondering if Mrs. Keller was going to be in the middle next to him.

But Mrs. Blackstone came up to him first as he was nodding to Mrs. Keller. He took her arm and helped her up then turned to Mrs. Keller.

“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze for only an instant before turning her attention to the carryall.

He held her by the elbow but she grasped the carriage with her other hand and hiked herself up to the seat, disengaging herself from his light hold almost as soon as he had touched her.

Mrs. Blackstone made conversation as they rode the short way to the McClellans’. Lizzie chattered away with Dietrich, leaning forward often to address a remark to Mrs. Keller though Gideon couldn’t catch Mrs. Keller’s replies.

When they arrived, he helped them down at the door to the large, sprawling farmhouse before going to the barn to see to the carryall.

When he entered the house, Sarah came up to him with a smile. “Hello, Gideon. I’m so glad you brought Mrs. Keller—and Mrs. Blackstone, of course. My, but doesn’t Lizzie look pretty?” As she spoke, she took him by the arm and propelled him toward the sitting room, which was already full of people, mostly members of her own large family and the few neighbors who lived on this stretch of road. People smiled, lifting a hand and smiling at him.

Sarah stood with him near the doorway a few moments. “I haven’t seen you in over a week, so you’re not going to go off to the menfolk so fast. Just set your fiddle down here.” She indicated a side table. “You must be proud of Lizzie. I’ve never seen her look so elegant. My, my, she’s going to be a young lady soon.” She shook her head.

Gideon scanned the room for his daughter, drawing in a breath at the sight of her. She was standing alongside Mrs. Keller, greeting those already seated in chairs ranged along the walls.

Her full, wavy hair was neatly brushed, falling to just above her waist. A green ribbon was tied at the back, with shorter strands caught up in it. He could see her profile when she smiled in greeting to an uncle. Her face looked radiant—not the beet-red that frequently filled her cheeks when she was embarrassed, but a soft pink—peaches and cream, Elsie would have said. Gone was the girlish look that her usual two braids gave her. The dress had a lacy white collar and tight sleeves that reached halfway down her forearms. A wide green sash emphasized her small waist, and because she had grown so tall in the past year, in the longer gown and slim boots, she looked quite grown-up.

He sighed, not sure if he liked it. But then she looked his way and smiled shyly, and all he could do was smile back. He wouldn’t be able to hold back time, no matter how much he tried.

He hardly heard the rest of his cousin’s conversation, his glance skimming the rest of the company, resting on the boys Lizzie’s age and young men a few years older. Which one would win her heart and take her away from him?

Not that he wanted to keep her for himself. He and Elsie were married when they were barely eighteen and nineteen apiece, and the following year they’d had Lizzie.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

He turned to Sarah with an apologetic smile. “What’s that?”

“What do you think of Mrs. Keller?” Before giving him a chance to formulate a reply, she continued. “I think she’ll be good for Lizzie.” She gave a nod in their direction.

Gideon focused on Mrs. Keller, who was standing talking to an elderly woman. He was surprised to see she was not wearing black but a gray gown with black trim. He was relieved to see her in something less severe. He wondered how long she’d been a widow. Her father had been gone almost six months now.

What was it like for her to come and live with Mrs. Blackstone? The older lady had taken a seat someone had vacated for her, and she spread the skirts of her gown around her, sitting like a queen.

He’d never had much to do with Mrs. Blackstone, but he knew from the little Paul let drop that she was a strict taskmaster.

His attention returned to Mrs. Keller. Regardless of what color she wore, she was the most elegant-looking woman in the parlor. She was taller than Lizzie and just as slim—except for having the contours of a woman. Gideon could feel his neck warm around his collar at the direction of his thoughts.

“Well, I’d better get my fiddle.”

“There’s time yet. Why don’t you socialize a little? Lizzie seems quite taken with Mrs. Keller. She really has needed a feminine influence in her life. I wish I could do more, but you know with my brood…” She chuckled.

“You’ve done a lot for us already.”

Sarah continued to observe Lizzie. “Now she needs someone to teach her ladylike manners. Maybe Mrs. Keller is the person to do so. She seems to be fond of her. Funny, she only has one child, too.” Sarah gave him a sidelong smile. “He probably could use a male hand. Paul tells me he’s always up to some mischief.”

“Dietrich’s all right. Probably just craving attention.”

“Goodness, yes. Handsome little fellow. Well, perhaps you and Mrs. Keller can help each other out.” With a final pat on his arm, Sarah moved away.

None too soon, in Gideon’s opinion. The last thing he needed were sly looks and innuendos when all he was trying to do was be a good neighbor, just as he’d always been to Mrs. Blackstone.

Why did one feel like a chore and the other a privilege?

Chapter Seven

M
ara sat on the piano bench with her newest pupil, a girl of twelve. “Let’s try that again, Louisa,” she said, holding on to her patience. The girl had not learned the simple piece Mara had given her last week.

Louisa’s chubby fingers banged on the keys to the tune of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” A discordant note echoed in the parlor. She started again and made another mistake.

“From the beginning.”

After several tries, the girl finally got through the short piece.

Footsteps clicked against the parquet floor. “How did it go?”

The girl’s mother, Mrs. Ellison, entered and came up to the piano.

Mara smiled with effort. “A little more practice next time, eh, Louisa?”

The girl banged on the keys with all ten fingers, creating a din in the room.

“Louisa!”

Louisa ignored her mother’s exclamation, sliding off the stool.

“May I be excused, Mama?”

“Not yet, my dear. Mrs. Keller is here to teach you deportment as well. You want to grow up to be a proper young lady, do you not?”

The girl stuck out her lower lip but said nothing more. She was a pretty child with honey-gold ringlets tied back with ribbons.

Mara stood, girding herself to proceed with the next portion of lessons.

Mrs. Ellison swept out of her way, her taffeta skirts rustling. Its high bustle at the rear, of the latest fashion, was straight enough to set a book upon.

Instead of leaving the room, she took a seat on the velvet love seat.

Hoping the woman would not make her daughter feel too awkward with her presence, Mara beckoned. “Come along, Louisa. Let me see you walk across the room.”

The girl marched across, her swinging arms sending her skirt and pinafore swishing.

“Louisa! What kind of hoyden do you think you are?”

Mara ignored Mrs. Ellison’s sharp tone and went to stand by the girl. “Let’s walk together and see if you can match my pace.”

Mara gently guided her, straightening her shoulders and setting a sedate pace. Each time Mara walked her through it, Mrs. Ellison offered a critique.

By the time she left that afternoon, Mara’s temples were throbbing. She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Mrs. Ellison that her services would no longer be available.

But she remembered her fee. No, she must stick it out.

She exited the overheated house, taking a deep breath of the bracing air. She would not be feeling so out of patience, she told herself, if Louisa had not been her fourth student.

But an afternoon of teaching children who had no real interest in learning only brought back the years of recalcitrant pupils in various European cities. Mara would return from a drafty piano studio only to find a cold flat. Once again Klaus had gone out and forgotten to put coal into the stove. Later, when he was lying in bed ill, too weak to get up and fend for himself, she’d have to set aside her own weariness and prepare him some food and keep his room warm with their meager supply of coal.

She shook aside the memories. She would not return there. Her life was different now. She would save enough to find a nice place for Dietrich and herself.

Gideon settled his bill at the grocer’s and picked up his parcels. One more errand, and then home before Lizzie wondered what was keeping him. He stepped onto the sidewalk and made his way to the wagon.

He set his parcels in back, exchanged a few words with a passerby then got on his way.

The maple trees lining the street had lost most of their color, their leaves blown off by a couple of nor’easters.

Stately white homes with black shutters lined the rectangular green at the center of town. An American flag flapped in the breeze by a war memorial. Gideon noticed a woman ahead of him, bent slightly against the wind and carrying a heavy-looking satchel in one hand, the other clutching her bonnet.

Without making a conscious decision, Gideon guided his horse in her direction, recognizing Mrs. Keller. She had her back to him as she reached the end of the green.

As he drew abreast of her, she stopped, turning startled eyes to him.

He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

She smiled as she recognized him. “Oh, hello, Mr. Jakeman.”

Clearing his throat, he decided to ask before he lost his nerve. She was just the one to help him with his last errand. “I wondered if you might advise me with something. That is—” he stopped, realizing she was probably on her way to a music lesson “—if you’re not busy just now.”

“No. As a matter of fact I’m on my way back home.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

She stood by the wagon, waiting until he remembered what he was going to say. “I wanted to pick up some cloth—a piece of fabric, that is, for my Lizzie. She’s taken a notion of making herself a new gown for Thanksgiving. She said you and she had talked of it.”

Her smile widened. “Yes.” Then her expression grew serious. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t mean to have her ask you for something. I thought she might have some extra fabric on hand.”

He waved aside her concern. “I appreciate your suggestion. It’s not something that would have occurred to me.” He smiled sheepishly then swallowed. “She looked right pretty the other night at the sociable.”

Her deep blue eyes scanned his face as if to verify that he was being sincere. “Yes, she did, didn’t she?” she said softly.

He nodded slowly. Then clearing his throat, he returned to his immediate concern. “It’s just that I wasn’t quite sure what to get her. Would…would you mind accompanying me to Pearce’s—” he mentioned the dry goods store “—to see if there is anything she might like?”

She hesitated a moment.

Afraid she would refuse, he hurried on. “I can give you a lift back home, if you’re running late.”

A look of relief passed over her features. “That’s very kind of you. I didn’t want them to wonder where I was if…if I’m late.” Before he could say anything more, she climbed up into the buckboard.

He rode around the green, coming to a stop before a two-story building with large windows displaying a host of goods on sale within.

He lifted his hat at those who recognized him as he made his way around to help Mrs. Keller alight. After securing the horse at the hitching post, he turned to her. “Shall we go in?”

“Yes, of course.” She walked beside him and he held open the door for her.

He removed his hat and led her across the wood-planked floor toward the area filled with bolts of fabric. A clerk, a middle-aged woman, came up to the other side of the counter. “Hello, may I help you?”

“I’m not sure—” he began, but Mrs. Keller pointed to a bolt.

“May we see that green, please?”

“Certainly, madam.” She extracted it from the other dark, woolen fabrics and placed it on the counter. “It’s a lovely spruce-green serge, perfect for the coming winter season. We just got it in this week from our supplier in Boston.”

As the lady spoke, Mrs. Keller was feeling it between her fingertips. Without seeming to pay much attention to the woman, she turned to Gideon, a question in her eye.

He nodded. “Looks fine to me.”

“Oh, it would make a lovely gown for you, madam.”

A slight color rose in Mrs. Keller’s cheeks. “Oh, it isn’t for me. It’s for a girl of fourteen. The shade of green would be just right with her coloring, don’t you think, Mr. Jakeman?” She turned to him again.

“Yes, it would.” His thoughts weren’t on Lizzie at that second, but on what impression the saleslady had of him and Mrs. Keller together. He recognized her, of course, but didn’t know if the two women had ever seen each other. The saleslady’s remark about the fabric suiting Mrs. Keller was also lingering in his mind, as he envisioned the color against her pale skin and sable hair.

He gave himself a mental shake to focus on the interchange between the two women. Mrs. Keller was asking the lady how much the fabric cost per yard. At her reply, Mrs. Keller turned to him, looking doubtful.

“How much do you need?” he asked.

She pursed her fine lips then consulted with the saleslady.

“We’ll take it,” he told the lady. “Do you need anything else?”

Mrs. Keller considered. “Something for the collar and cuffs, perhaps in white, and some buttons…but I think I’ll wait and come with Lizzie. That way she can have some say in her new gown.” Amusement danced in her blue eyes.

He nodded and smiled, gratified with how sensitive she was to his daughter’s feelings. He turned to the saleslady. “Very well, wrap it up.”

As they exited the store a short while later, a paper-wrapped parcel in Mrs. Keller’s hands, she asked him as he held the door open for her, “You don’t think it was too dear, do you?”

“Not at all. Lizzie deserves a little something special. She rarely asks for anything for herself.”

He helped her into the wagon. “Thank you,” she murmured.

As he maneuvered the wagon down Main Street, he tried to convince himself this was no different than offering Mrs. Blackstone or any other widow from the hamlet a lift home.

Except this was no old widow. He gave Mrs. Keller a sidelong glance as they crossed the bridge over the river on their way out of town.

Trying to figure out how to express his appreciation, he cleared his throat, his eyes firmly fixed on the point ahead above his mare’s two ears. “Lizzie hasn’t had anyone—that is, a woman—a lady—to show her what to do. That is, how to behave and such now that she’s getting older—getting to be a young woman herself.”

“It must be hard for you, but you’ve done a fine job.”

“I appreciate your taking the time. I didn’t realize till I saw her the other night at the McClellans’ that in another year or so she’ll be all grown up.”

“Well, I commend you. I understand now what a tough time my father must have had when I was Lizzie’s age. I lost my mother, too, when I was young.”

Her words made him forget his self-consciousness. He glanced at her. She turned and smiled briefly—a smile touched with sadness—he thought, before she gazed forward again. He didn’t know too much about her history, he realized. Her father had pretty much kept to himself. All he’d known was that he had a daughter living “overseas somewhere,” as the locals said.

Before he could get up his nerve to ask her anything about herself, she asked instead, “How old was Lizzie when she lost her mother?”

“Elsie passed away when Lizzie was nine—too young for a girl to learn to do all she’s had to do.”

Mrs. Keller nodded. “I was only about a year older. After the initial shock and sadness of losing the person one is closest to at that age, I began to see it as my duty—a most pleasurable duty, I add—to take care of my father. We became very close.”

“Yes…it’s been like that with us.”

“We lived in a coastal town, not so unlike here, north of Boston then. My father never liked the city, although he had to go there for exhibitions of his paintings.” She shifted on the hard seat, adjusting the scarf around her neck.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine, though it is quite chilly, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Not long before we’ll see our first snow.”

She shivered. “And then it won’t be until April that we’ll see signs of spring.”

He thought of her walking from town. “If you ever need a ride into town, let me know.”

“Oh, that’s all right. If I dress warmly, it’s not bad.”

He said nothing, thinking of the snowbanks and chilly northwest winds in winter.

“My father and I lived as if we didn’t need anyone else,” she continued after a bit. “We had a lovely house beside the sea, and when I’d come home from school, I’d keep house for him. The rest of the time, I would practice my music and he would paint his canvasses.”

Except for the last part, it sounded much like his life with Lizzie. “Lizzie keeps house for me and I farm. In winter, besides logging, I spend a lot more time indoors.”

“Your own little haven.” She gave a bittersweet laugh. “I didn’t realize back then that that world limited to two was not enough for my father.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, not sure of her meaning.

“Shortly after he moved up here, ever in search of new vistas to paint, he met Carina—Mrs. Blackstone—and married her.”

He nodded in understanding. It must have been a difficult adjustment for a young girl to make. He didn’t know Mrs. Blackstone too well, but she didn’t strike him as someone who would be a warm, accepting stepmother to a girl. “How old were you then?”

“I was just eighteen. My father and I had talked for a long time about my attending the music conservatory in Boston, so it was not the fact that he was recently married that prompted my leaving home so quickly. But I felt at the time that it worked out well to both our benefits—mine and Carina’s.” She sighed. “My father and she were able to begin married life together without a child in tow.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have been in the way.”

She said nothing, half turned from him as she regarded the passing fields and forest.