A Hearth in Candlewood (12 page)

The Cross family was the first to emerge. Their animated reunion tugged at her heartstrings, increasing the longing to see her own children and grandchildren. To her surprise, young Mr. Cross introduced them all to one another. ‘‘Welcome to Candlewood,’’ she said. ‘‘I hope you’ll be as content living here as I have been.’’

His mother held a tight hold on her son’s arm. ‘‘I’m content just having us all together again.’’

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma caught a glimpse of her guests preparing to walk down the platform, excused herself, and edged closer to get a better look. John Sewell, a successful banker-turned-investor, wore an expensive frock coat that might have fit him well last year, and his white cambric shirt glistened in the sun. Unfortunately, the man had added to the considerable girth he already carried on his short frame.

When his wife, Abigail, emerged from the shadows, she appeared to have fared better in the past year, but Emma did not focus on the woman’s gown, though it carried enough pale yellow silk to make several gowns for Emma and at least three or four petticoats, given the fullness of the woman’s skirts. Her gaze was glued to the bonnet the woman wore: a daffodil bonnet replete with a birds’ nest filled with silk forget-me-not flowers.

Images of what Mother Garrett’s reaction would be when she saw Mrs. Sewell arrive wearing the bonnet were so alarming, Emma turned her attention to the daughters, who waddled out into the bright sunlight behind their mother. If her memory served her right, the eldest daughter, Madeline, who shared her mother’s fair coloring, was twelve now. Two years younger, Miriam favored her father’s dark looks. Both girls, dressed in pale lemon silk like their mother, were still just as rotund as their parents, and she wondered if the rivalry between them—so apparent last year—still existed.

Emma stepped forward to greet her guests once they had all reached the permanent landing. ‘‘You’re all looking as if the past year has treated you well,’’ she offered.

Mr. Sewell patted his protruding stomach. ‘‘Despite appearances, I don’t believe I’ve had an apple crisp worthy of the name since our visit last year. I trust your mother-in-law is still tending the kitchen?’’

‘‘I believe she’s there right now preparing an apple crisp for dessert this afternoon.’’

He grinned. ‘‘Then let us make haste, shall we?’’

Emma chuckled to herself, looked around, and quickly arranged for two of the workmen to carry the Sewells’ travel bags to the buggy. By the time the five of them reached the buggy and climbed aboard, all four of her guests were sweating profusely and out of breath. Squeezed alongside the two girls, who sat opposite their parents, Emma smiled, even though the girls were wearing perfume that was cloying. ‘‘I’m so sorry for the long walk, but we’ll be at Hill House soon.’’

‘‘I’m just thrilled all to pieces to be out of the city and off that boat,’’ Mrs. Sewell offered as she toyed with the ruffled flounces that trimmed the edge of her sleeves. ‘‘Once we get to Hill House and unpack, I’m not sitting inside that house for a solid week, except for meals and to sleep, of course. All I want to do is sit on the patio, smell your roses, sip some of your mother-in-law’s mulberry shrub, and maybe tuck in a bit of shopping while Mr. Sewell is off on those business adventures of his.’’

‘‘Did you get a piano yet?’’ Madeline asked as the buggy turned the corner and proceeded down Main Street.

‘‘Not yet. Maybe next year. The gazebo I told you we were planning is finished, though. If you like, I can open one of the bookcases in the library so you can select a book to take out to the gazebo to read.’’

Madeline toyed with the hem of her sleeve. ‘‘Thank you, but I’d rather not.’’

‘‘Me neither. There are too many steps to get there,’’ Miriam complained.

‘‘That’s true,’’ their mother offered, ‘‘but the gazebo will be pretty to look at. I was thinking perhaps we might have supper tonight on the patio, if it’s not too burdensome.’’

Inclined to be accommodating, Emma felt obliged to remind them of the incident last year that nearly ruined the last few days of their vacation. ‘‘It’s no trouble at all, though I am concerned about the yellow jackets this time of year.’’

Mrs. Sewell’s eyes widened. She rubbed the forearm where she had been stung last year and shivered as if reliving the memory. ‘‘We’ll dine inside. I’ll have my refreshments inside, too. There’s no use inviting disaster.’’

‘‘No sense at all,’’ her husband agreed, despite the fact he had appeared to be too preoccupied studying the businesses and homes they passed on Main Street to be aware of the conversation around him.

When the buggy started up the hill to their destination, Mr. Sewell leaned back, wrapped his hands together, and rested them on his stomach before he locked his gaze with Emma’s. ‘‘I must say I’m not surprised by the growth I’ve noted in town, even in the course of the past year.’’

‘‘The Candlewood Canal continues to inspire a good deal of change.’’ Hopeful he might be willing to share his business expertise with her again, Emma smiled. ‘‘I’m looking forward to hearing your views on the development here, as well as elsewhere, if you’re so inclined.’’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘‘You may not be prepared for all that I have to say.’’

Emma frowned. When they had spoken last year, he had been very careful to guard his own interests, as well as his investors’. Rather than give her direct or specific information, he had provoked her interest with an intriguing concept or idea, and she wondered if he would do the same this year when she might very well need it. ‘‘Are you speaking about Candlewood or elsewhere?’’

‘‘Must you speak about business in front of the girls?’’ his wife whispered.

His cheeks reddened. ‘‘My apologies,’’ he mumbled. ‘‘Perhaps we can talk later, one day this coming week.’’

Although Mrs. Sewell’s rebuke had been clearly directed at her husband, it also served notice to Emma that her interest in business affairs defied conventional wisdom that relegated women to matters of home and hearth but reserved the world of commerce and business for men.

As the operator of Hill House, however temporary that might be, and a woman of substantial means, Emma stood with one foot in each of those spheres. Reminded of her more proper place, she directed the conversation to more traditional, if not practical, topics, considering they were mere minutes away from Hill House. ‘‘I’ve been admiring your bonnet, Mrs. Sewell.’’

The woman’s face glowed with pleasure. ‘‘It quite catches one’s eye, doesn’t it? I found it in a very exclusive boutique that just opened up in Utica. It’s one of a kind. A true gem. The moment I saw this bonnet, I simply had to have it,’’ she gushed.

Emma managed to keep her lips glued in a smile. The blue skies overhead held no promise of a thunderstorm, but she prayed something similar might occur; otherwise, there was no hope of preventing the fireworks either now, if Mother Garrett came out of her kitchen and saw that daffodil bonnet atop Mrs. Sewell’s head, or tomorrow morning, when they all went to services together and the two women discovered that their one-of-a-kind bonnet was not unique at all.

13

N
O FIREWORKS,
at least for today.

Without encountering Mother Garrett, Emma escorted her guests along the upstairs hallway to the same two front bedrooms they had occupied during their last visit. She opened first one door and then the other before stepping aside. ‘‘As you requested, the Blue Room is ready for you, Mr. and Mrs. Sewell, and the Green Room is for your daughters. Your bags will be brought up presently.’’

While the girls explored their room on their own, Emma joined their parents to make sure they were as pleased by the room’s accommodations as they had been last year.

‘‘It’s exactly as I remember,’’ Abigail crooned. Still wearing her gloves and bonnet, she declined Emma’s offer to store them on the hat rack downstairs where she had put her own. Instead, she helped herself to an almond cookie from the plate resting alongside a vase of white roses on top of a lady’s bureau that hugged one wall.

Emma quickly scanned the room, which was simply drenched in shades of blue. The gleaming, ornately carved headboard on the massive bed was made of solid rosewood and reached nearly from floor to ceiling. The pair of chairs upholstered in a striped fabric that complemented the pale blue coverlet sat in front of the two front windows that provided a view of the town’s business district, the Candlewood Canal, and the homesteads that lay beyond.

A slight breeze rustled the sheer lace curtains and carried the unique scent of summer that would soon give way to autumn. The wide-planked floors had been swept clean. Emma did not have to check the pitcher resting in the washbowl on the marble-top table next to a massive chest-on-chest to know Ditty had filled it with fresh water or that the cloths and towels on a shelf at the bottom of the washstand were fresh.

She smiled. Ditty had done well.

‘‘I’m sure you’d both like to rest a spell before dinner. I’ll check in on the girls and make sure they’re comfortable before I go downstairs,’’ she suggested and confirmed that dinner would be served at one o’clock before leaving and going into the adjoining room.

Madeline and Miriam had planted themselves side-by-side in the chairs facing the front windows of their room, where they each had their own smaller plate with exactly the same number of cookies. Along with their gloves, their bonnets had been tossed to the floor.

Emma glanced about the room. The soft green coverlets on the two single beds matched the background of the floral carpet, as did the pale pink roses in either of the twin crystal vases sitting on the table separating the two beds. Satisfied all was in order here, too, she retrieved the now-empty plates from each of the girls. ‘‘I’ll send up more cookies and see you both at dinner,’’ she promised and slipped from the room.

She met young Will Adams at the top of the staircase, directed him to carry the travel bags to the appropriate rooms, and encountered Ditty while descending the stairs. She noted the three plates of cookies on the tray the young woman was carrying, smiled, and held up the two empty plates she had removed. ‘‘I was just taking these to the kitchen to ask you to take more cookies up to our guests. I see Mother Garrett has already thought of it.’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am, she did.’’

Emma had descended two steps before she stopped, turned around, and called out to Ditty, who looked back over her shoulder.

‘‘Yes, ma’am?’’

‘‘I wanted to tell you what a fine job you did getting the rooms ready for the Sewells.’’

Ditty grinned. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’’

‘‘There’s one more thing,’’ Emma cautioned. ‘‘You’ll no doubt notice Mrs. Sewell is wearing a daffodil bonnet identical to Mother Garrett’s. It’s highly unlikely our guest will be wearing her bonnet to dinner, but I wouldn’t mention anything to Mother Garrett about it. Not just yet.’’

When Ditty’s eyes sparkled, Emma realized the young woman had indeed heard the tale about the bird’s nest on Mother Garrett’s bonnet landing in Reverend Glenn’s soup.

‘‘It’s identical, you say?’’

‘‘Down to the forget-me-nots in the nest, although I suspect Mrs. Sewell’s flowers don’t smell of vegetable soup. You might warn Liesel, as well.’’

Ditty’s grin widened, but she turned and resumed her task without comment.

Emma took a deep breath, smelled the aroma of apple crisp baking in the oven, and descended the rest of the stairs. She waited by the front door for Will to come downstairs, paid him for carrying the bags, and sent him on his way before she ventured into the east parlor to steal a few moments to collect her thoughts. She simply needed to find a way to resolve the dilemma of the daffodil bonnets.

‘‘As if there’s an easy way,’’ she grumbled while inspecting the floorboards to make sure Ditty had not overlooked any dust or dirt.

‘‘The easy way isn’t usually the right way.’’

She clapped her hand to her heart and looked up. ‘‘Reverend Glenn!’’

He sat on the settee just ahead of her, with Butter lying alongside at his feet. He smiled. ‘‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’’ ‘‘I didn’t realize anyone was in here,’’ she admitted as her racing heartbeat gentled into a more normal rhythm. She crossed the room, dropped into the chair facing him, and rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

He leaned down and scratched the dog’s head. ‘‘I’ve been here a spell. I saw you return with your guests, but I didn’t want to interrupt.’’

‘‘In truth, I’m pleased you didn’t. I needed to get Mrs. Sewell up to her room as quickly as possible.’’ When he chuckled, she dropped her hands and leaned against the back of her chair. ‘‘I take it you noticed Mrs. Sewell’s bonnet?’’

He chuckled again and patted the front of his shirt. ‘‘I’m not a man who usually takes notice of fashion, but I daresay I will take notice of that particular bonnet for the rest of my days.’’

She let out a sigh. ‘‘So I can imagine. Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to resolve this problem. I don’t want to upset Mrs. Sewell. She thinks the bonnet is an original, which leaves me no choice but to tell Mother Garrett that there’s more than one daffodil bonnet in Candlewood these days. And I don’t have much time. We’ll all be going to services together in the morning, assuming, of course, Mrs. Sewell doesn’t decide to wear her bonnet to dinner.’’

She sighed again and cast him a sorrowful gaze. ‘‘I don’t suppose you could give me any advice on the matter, could you?’’

He pushed himself to his feet and held on to the arm of the settee to steady himself. ‘‘I have but one thing to suggest.’’

She cocked a brow.

‘‘You might want to make sure Mother Garrett doesn’t serve soup this afternoon.’’

————

Dinner was the largest and most formal meal at Hill House, especially when guests like the Sewells were in residence. Mother Garrett enlisted both Liesel and Ditty’s help in preparing and serving the three-course meal, which meant there had been no opportunity to speak with her mother-in-law before dinner. Widow Leonard was feeling a bit poorly and taking her dinner in her room upstairs, although Emma suspected the source of the elderly woman’s distress might be the prospect of encountering one or both of her sons at services in the morning. Mother Garrett was too busy in the kitchen to join them at the table, which made Emma all the more grateful to have Reverend Glenn present.