Into the Woods (16 page)

"I brought two dresses," Stella said before the door had closed securely behind them. "One blue, and one peach. I think either of them will look lovely on you." She laid the parcel on the long table in the main room and untied the string. The brown paper fell open to reveal the neatly folded dresses, peach and pale blue silk looking ludicrous against the rough wood of her table.

"I don't know," Matilda began skeptically. "They're beautiful, but..."

"You'll need shoes," Stella interrupted. "Mr. Fox keeps a few pairs in stock, perhaps he'll have something you can purchase. It's too bad there's no time to order a pair. I have a lovely catalog at home."

She wondered what Declan would think of her in one of the lovely silk gowns, wearing shoes on her feet and sporting a painstakingly arranged coiffure. How could she ever compete with someone like Vanessa Arrington?

"Perhaps I'll visit Mr. Fox tomorrow and see what he has. Otherwise, I'll simply have to polish my boots and wear them."

Stella wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. "Oh, I do hope he has something suitable! Boots! How will you possibly dance with grace and lure all those men in your walking boots?"

Matilda grinned widely. She'd likely not dance with grace unless the shoes she purchased were enchanted, and the only man she cared to lure was Declan Harper.

Stella did not stay long, but as she left, she said she'd be by Saturday morning to help Matilda style her hair. Then, she said in a voice that held no room for argument, they'd all ride to town together in the Hazelrig buckboard.

* * *

Declan impatiently awaited Robert's return. The young man had not been happy about his assignment, but the promise of a much-needed bonus had encouraged him. It was almost dark before Robert returned to the plantation house.

"Did you get a lot accomplished?"

Robert, who had apparently not seen Declan standing in the shadows of the deep porch, snapped up his head as he dismounted. He narrowed his eyes, searching, until Declan stepped into the fading light.

"Yes. I chopped wood and hauled water, mostly, and this afternoon I suggested to Matilda that we build a wooden trench from the spring to her garden, something high at the water's edge and tilting down to the garden. That way she could water the garden whenever she wanted without carrying those heavy buckets." The young man smiled widely at his own suggestion, his mood a far cry from the frightened boy who'd left here hours ago.

And he called her Matilda, already, Declan noted. "That sounds like a fine idea," he said calmly.

Robert placed a dirty boot on the front-porch steps. "She's not what I expected," he said in a lowered voice. "All the talk about her, it can't be true. She's too sweet and pretty to be a witch, and she made me the best lunch I've had in... in forever."

Young Robert was obviously smitten, Declan realized with dismay. He should not be surprised. Who could weather Matilda's smile and not be smitten? "You'll go to her cottage three times a week," he said in a calm, businesslike tone of voice. "I don't want her hauling water or cutting wood, and I feel sure there are other chores you could do for her, as well."

"I'll be happy to, Mr. Harper. When I finish with the everyday chores, I can set about building that trench for her."

"Excellent," Declan said as he turned away and headed for the cavernous plantation house he grudgingly called home.

* * *

"Has he asked yet?" Johnny whispered in the dark, his voice less than warm.

Vanessa sighed. Sometimes she wished Johnny loved her less, that he only wanted what she did: the fabulous physical element of their relationship. "Not yet," she whispered.

They'd met in the guest house many times in the past two years, in the afternoon or at night when they should be sleeping. Right now her father thought she was sound asleep in her canopied bed, rather than half naked in the guest house bed with Johnny lying beside her.

"You said soon," he said, raking his hand down her body in a familiar way. "Soon. Why do you torture me like this, Vanessa? I've waited, and waited, and I've tried to be patient and give you what you want and need. I've given you everything you've ever asked for." She could hear the growing frustration in his voice. "If only I could convince you to marry me."

"Johnny..."

"But you won't, I know that. If all I can have is a part of you, I'll take it. But dammit Vanessa, I've waited long enough."

She came up and rolled over him, letting her hair fall over his chest and neck. "I feel like we've waited forever," she whispered.

"So do I," he groaned.

Vanessa trailed her fingers over Johnny's face, tracing the lines of his jaw and his lips. Even in the tiny bit of moonlight that broke through the window, he was uncommonly beautiful. And he was right. They had waited long enough.

"Maybe I can speed things along." She kissed his cheek, then his neck, then his bare chest. "Maybe I can get Mr. Harper to propose marriage this weekend." She wanted Johnny so bad it hurt, but she would not sacrifice her virginity to just any man. "I can push for a quick wedding, make him think I can't wait to be his wife." She grinned and reached down to touch Johnny's erect flesh, to stroke its length with teasing fingers. "On my wedding night," she whispered, "I'll leave his bed and come to this one."

Johnny groaned, and his arousal grew.

"I'll expect you to be waiting."

* * *

Mr. Fox was obviously surprised to see her. His eyes widened and his eyebrows arched as Matilda walked into the general store on a Wednesday afternoon. The sweets she'd prepared that morning were in danger of being pilfered, but she knew Hanson and Gretchen wouldn't take too much. They never did.

"Good afternoon, Matilda," Mr. Fox said suspiciously. He touched a hand to his dark hair, dark hair aided by a special cream made with walnut juice, administered regularly to cover his premature gray strands. "What can I do for you this fine day?"

She was suddenly embarrassed, and her toes unconsciously wiggled in her boots. "Shoes," she said, her chin high. "I'd like to purchase a pair of shoes."

Mr. Fox smiled and led her to the back of the store, where a shelf accommodated several pairs of boots and shoes. They were plain and fancy, large and small. "What size?" he asked.

Matilda stuck out one boot-encased foot and looked down at it, trying to remember. Mr. Fox looked down as well. He reached knowingly for a pair of plain black leather shoes.

"Try these on," he suggested.

Matilda sat down and removed her boots, and slipped on the black shoes. They were unadorned, square toed, and a bit too large for her feet. Looking at them, she found them not much more suitable for dancing and enticing than her boots.

Perhaps this was a silly plan, perhaps she was as vacuous as Vanessa Arrington for even thinking of trying to lure Declan Harper with a dress that was not her own and something as silly as a pair of shoes.

She slipped the black shoes off, certain that she was a fool for coming here. She'd wasted half a day in pursuit of something completely inconsequential. A pair of shoes! Granny would surely be disappointed. She could not make herself into someone she was not, and she should not even try.

But when she looked up and spied a bronze-colored heel peeking out from a shelf high on the wall, a spark of something like hope lit her heart. Maybe she had not wasted half a day, after all.

"What about those?"

Mr. Fox reached up and snagged the bronze shoes, and as soon as Matilda saw them she knew these shoes were meant for dancing and flirting. The heel was almost an inch high, and a matching bow adorned the pointy-toed shoes. They caught the light and positively sparkled.

She found herself immediately and senselessly in love with a pair of shoes.

"I ordered these for Miss Arrington," Mr. Fox said with a grimace, "but when they arrived she took one look at them and said she'd changed her mind."

Matilda couldn't imagine anyone, not even Vanessa Arrington, refusing such a beautiful pair of shoes. "Do you think they'll fit me?"

Mr. Fox offered Matilda the shoes, which she very carefully slipped onto her stockinged feet. She stood and put her weight on them, took a few tentative steps to test the feel of them on her feet. "They're very comfortable." She felt light as air, as if she could dance after all. She gave a little twirl right there in the general store. When she looked up, Mr. Fox smiled.

"I believe those shoes were made for you." He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "I can offer you a special deal."

She could imagine, too well, dancing with Declan Harper in these shoes, she could imagine they would catch the light, sunlight or moonlight or candlelight, as her feet flickered from beneath a silk skirt that twirled around her legs. She'd never had such dreams before; she'd never before wanted to be beautiful.

She did now.

"I'll take them."

As Mr. Fox wrapped her new shoes in brown paper, he smiled contentedly. "If all my customers were as agreeable as you, Miss Matilda, I'd truly love my profession."

"You don't?" She'd always found Charles Fox to be a perfectly agreeable man who enjoyed his business. He seemed happy, at least.

He glanced around the store to see if anyone else was listening. "This is a good business, and most days I'm perfectly happy with my life. But I sometimes wish I could make something, the way you do. Something lasting, something beautiful."

"Would you like me to teach you to make candy?" she teased.

His eyes widened, and he grinned. "Now there's something that doesn't last long." His smile faded, his eyes sparkled. "Actually, I would love to be a carpenter." His eyes lit up, softened, and glowed. "I should like to build furniture that would last a hundred years or more, things of beauty and usefulness."

"Then why don't you?"

She shrugged his shoulders as if it didn't matter. "Tanglewood needs this store, and it is a profitable business." He nodded briefly. "Besides, Mrs. Fox would be quite peeved with me if I gave up my profession to dabble in carpentry."

"Perhaps you could hire someone to help you about the store," she suggested, "and dabble in carpentry in your spare time. Why, I would dearly love a new cupboard for my kitchen."

"Would you?" his eyes lit up again.

"And perhaps a new bookcase. I'm quite outgrowing the ones I have."

"Really?"

"I would certainly be willing to pay well for something of quality and beauty." She took her shoes from a wide-eyed Charles Fox.

"That's not a bad idea," he said softly. "Someone to help out around the place. Miss Matilda," he added as she turned to leave, "you are a treasure."

She clutched the bronze shoes as if they were a treasure, a discovery to be protected and cherished. If they were magic shoes, perhaps she'd even find herself able to dance.

Chapter 11

Matilda frowned as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Why had she been so foolish as to think she could become someone she was not?

Stella's dress hung on her, the difference in their shapes made obvious by the baggy fabric in the bosom and the hem that trailed on the floor. The ruffles were too large and overpowering, the bows ridiculous and somehow all positioned awkwardly. No matter how beautiful the gowns looked on Stella, or even spread across the bed, it was obvious that they were not beautiful on Matilda.

Why had she waited until Friday evening to try them on? Perhaps if she'd seen the faults on Tuesday or Wednesday she might've altered one of the gowns. She'd gotten so caught up in making extra sweets for Mr. Fox, delivering them this morning, looking in vain for Declan while she was in town, she hadn't had time to even think about her garments. If only she'd thought of this earlier. If only...

Who was she kidding? She was not a good enough seamstress to remake a fancy gown in a matter of days! Even in a matter of weeks, given the amount of time she had to devote to such a project. She looked down and stuck one foot out, admiring the bronze shoe that adorned it. Well, at least her feet looked good.

She removed the blue gown and tossed it onto the bed, where it landed atop the peach one. For a few minutes she paced the small room in her chemise, white stockings, and bronze shoes.

As she paced her anxiety faded, the pressure to be beautiful and charming and alluring for the Founders' Day Celebration was gone.

It would be best if she stayed home, as she'd originally planned, if she gave up her silly dreams of Declan Harper. She was now and always would be Tanglewood's witch, no matter what she did, no matter how many pretty dresses she wore.

Yes, this was the easy way out. The gowns didn't suit her, she had nothing to wear, she would simply have to stay home. But something inside her didn't want to give up, not yet, not so easily. Her eyes fell on her grandmother's cedar chest, where a few old belongings were stored. She hadn't looked in that chest for years, and she tried to remember what was there: a few pieces of jewelry, an elaborate wedding dress, her father's baby clothes. Was there another dress or two there as well? Gowns so hopelessly out of date as to be ridiculous?