A Hearth in Candlewood (9 page)

‘‘We were so busy chatting, I plumb forgot,’’ Widow Leonard offered and made a clucking sound with her mouth. ‘‘I can’t believe the same thing hasn’t happened before to other women. Everything is so different these days. With the town growing so fast, there are new shops everywhere. Main Street has changed each time I make it to town, which I suppose isn’t odd since I only come to town every few years. The shopkeepers aren’t the same, either. When you owned the General Store, you’d never have had a pair of old ladies like us arrested.’’

Mother Garrett stopped rocking the baby for a moment and cocked her head. ‘‘In truth, I seem to recall when Emma did do just that. Jonas was still alive, remember, Emma? To all appearances, we thought the folks who had come into the store were good people heading west who had come in for supplies. Instead, they were just a passel of thieves. The whole lot of them!’’

‘‘That may well be,’’ Widow Leonard countered before Emma could comment. ‘‘But I’m no thief and neither are you. And I don’t believe what you said about being guilty of disturbing the peace, either. That young Mr. Atkins deserved every reprimand and every smack he got from you. Some shopkeeper he’s turning out to be.’’

Emma stared at her mother-in-law and wondered if this was the same woman she had known for nearly thirty years. ‘‘You hit the man? You actually hit him?’’

‘‘On his hand. Twice. What was I supposed to do? He had such a tight hold on Frances, I was afraid he’d crush her arm.’’ She snorted. ‘‘From the way he described it to the sheriff, you would have thought I hit him with a shovel or a hammer instead of my reticule. He wouldn’t have been hit at all if he had let go of her like I told him.’’

A band of frustration tightened around Emma’s head so hard, the front of her head actually hurt more than the lump she still carried on the back. Even if the legal owner of Hill House might find it hard to accept Emma’s involvement in the Leonard feud, she doubted he would be willing to overlook the fact that not one but two residents of Hill House had been arrested for shoplifting.

She leaned an elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. ‘‘Mr. Breckenwith is in the parlor. He’s agreed to represent both of you if we can’t get Mr. Atkins to withdraw his complaints against you.’’

Widow Leonard’s hand stilled against the baby’s back. For the first time, her gaze grew very troubled. ‘‘He was mighty angry. I doubt he’d be willing to do that,’’ she murmured as her bottom lip began to tremble. ‘‘When my sons hear news of this, they’ll be convinced I’ve gone simple and need a keeper. They might even let me spend a day or two in jail.’’

‘‘That’s nonsense. You don’t need a keeper any more than I do,’’ Mother Garrett argued.

For the moment Emma was sorely tempted to beg to differ, but her mother-in-law gave her no opportunity to voice her opinion. ‘‘Neither one of us is going to spend any time in jail, and we don’t need a lawyer, either. Emma will see that everything is put right again, won’t you, Emma?’’

Emma pressed her fingertips against her temple to ease the pounding in her head. ‘‘I can try. I’d rather not involve Mr. Breckenwith unless it’s absolutely necessary.’’ She looked from one woman to the other. She was willing to intervene on their behalf, but she did not want to approach Mr. Atkins unless she was assured she knew the full story. ‘‘Before I go to see Mr. Atkins, is there anything else I should know about your . . . encounter? Something you may have left out or perhaps merely overlooked?’’

Mother Garrett stiffened her hold on the baby in her arms. ‘‘Certainly not.’’

‘‘I can’t think of a thing,’’ Widow Leonard insisted.

Emma nodded, rose, and turned her attention to the sheriff ’s wife. ‘‘I hate to impose on your hospitality any further, but would it be possible for me to leave and come back later to pick up my mother-in-law and Widow Leonard?’’

‘‘In truth, they’ve both been such a help with the babies, I was hoping they could stay awhile longer. If you like, I can hold dinner until you return,’’ Joy suggested.

‘‘No, thank you. You all go ahead and eat. I’ll send Mr. Breckenwith home, too, so he can have dinner with his aunt. I think I’ll have more of an appetite after I’ve resolved this matter with Mr. Atkins.’’

She had gotten halfway across the kitchen when Widow Leonard’s voice rang out. ‘‘Wait! I have thought of one thing.’’

When Emma turned around, the woman had stretched out one of her arms. Two spools of white thread rested in the center of her palm. ‘‘I . . . I just reached into my pocket for my handkerchief and found these,’’ she insisted. Her eyes misted with tears. ‘‘I . . . I suppose in all the uproar, I never did give them back to Mr. Atkins.’’

Emma retraced her steps, retrieved the two spools of thread, and looked from one woman to the other again. ‘‘There’s nothing more, I hope.’’

When both women shook their heads, Emma returned to the parlor, where Mr. Breckenwith and Sheriff North were still waiting. She addressed the sheriff first, since she was in his home. ‘‘I believe your wife has dinner ready now. In the meantime, I’m off to the General Store in search of Mr. Atkins to see if I can’t convince him to drop the complaints.’’

The sheriff shook his head. ‘‘I tried. I can only hope you might fare better than I did. I’m not taking Mr. Atkins’ side, but to be fair, the man’s had a rough go of it, especially this past week when he got involved in a bit of a brawl trying to protect his store. With the crowds of people here for all the Founders’ Day celebrations, he’s lost a fair bit of stock to shoplifters. Not that he hasn’t had his hands full with the men who work on the packet boats and freight barges. Those men just hit town and leave within an hour or two, so he has little chance to recoup his losses.’’

Zachary Breckenwith took a step forward. ‘‘I can’t see what harm it would do to try asking him to drop the charges. I’ll come along,’’ he offered, locking his gaze with hers. ‘‘The quicker we resolve the problem, the better it will be for all concerned.’’

Unnerved by the protective concern simmering in his dark eyes, Emma swallowed hard but held his gaze. ‘‘I’d prefer to try speaking to him alone first. I think he’d feel less threatened and more inclined to let the complaint drop. If not, I won’t hesitate to have you intervene. If you hurry, you’ll still be home in time to have dinner with your aunt.’’

She noted the look of disappointment in his gaze but turned her attention back to the sheriff. ‘‘In either case, Sheriff, will I be able to take both Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard home with me when I return?’’

The sheriff held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘‘I’m running for election again next year. I’m not locking up these elderly women in my jail.’’

Emma let out a sigh. ‘‘Maybe not, but I’m sorely tempted to keep them both under lock and key at Hill House,’’ she muttered under her breath, then took her leave to try to unravel today’s misunderstanding.

The distance between the sheriff ’s home and the General Store was a matter of less than half a mile, at most, but it took her a good while to reach Main Street because she still was not feeling fully recovered from her fall. The air was laced with the scent of dinners bubbling on cookstoves in nearby homes, yet the wagon traffic was heavy and mostly headed, she noticed, for the warehouses built along the canal.

She had easy going on the planked sidewalk, for foot traffic was light. The closer she got to the General Store, however, the more she worried about whether or not her attempt to settle this misunderstanding could be resolved. Rather than dissolve into a panic, which she could ill afford, she kept calm by focusing on the changes at the southern end of Main Street, where the General Store had once stood alone. The First Bank of Candlewood, which had opened some three years back, was a solid brick building, almost as impressive as the Emerson Hotel or Town Hall. A host of new wooden storefronts lined both sides of the street now and offered a variety of eastern and foreign goods carried to the heart of Candlewood from New York City by way of the Erie Canal. She wondered how soon it would be before the town of Candlewood evolved into a city.

It had been four short years since she had sold the General Store, but she passed by shops now specializing in goods that ranged from French tableware to the finest in ladies’ continental fashions, a confectionary with a sign announcing the arrival of a new shipment of Belgian chocolates, and a millinery that offered the latest rage in women’s headgear imported directly from England.

Given the international flavor of the competition now facing the General Store, Mr. Langhorne’s assumption she would be tempted to sell her land in exchange for an English title did not seem outlandish at all. Emma noted he would be very pleased to discover she did not actually own Hill House, but pushed away the thought to remain focused on the task at hand.

In truth, if he had bothered to study her likes and dislikes, he would not have been surprised to find her yearning for the very American, very practical staples still available within the walls of the building her grandparents had built.

When she finally reached the General Store, she stood just outside the door for a moment to gather her thoughts and her wits. She was wary about the reception she would receive, since Mr. Atkins had not been very polite to her previously, but she was quite certain her arrival would not go unnoticed by either the shoppers or the proprietor of the store. She only hoped no one would discover that her heart was racing, her legs felt as wobbly as a toddler’s, and her stomach was doing flip-flops because she was still undecided about what approach she should take with him.

Based on her previous encounters with Mr. Atkins, being coy was out of the question. Whether or not she should be forceful or more conciliatory, she decided, would be entirely up to him. In either case, she prayed God would touch Mr. Atkins’ heart and make him receptive to her pleas to withdraw his complaints so Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard could return to Hill House.

Emma had not been to the General Store for some time, although Mother Garrett had been here often to order supplies. More than a little anxious, she slipped one hand into her pocket, held tight to her keepsakes, and let the memories of all the years she had spent here in this store ease the tremblings within her. Faced with the realization that she might have made a terrible mistake by selling the General Store, should she ultimately lose Hill House, Emma opened the door and walked inside.

10

E
MMA TOOK TWO STEPS
into the store and rocked back on her heels. While the sound of the front bell faded, she stared wide-eyed around the store. Although the smell of old wood mingled with the odors coming from the barrels of pickles and salted fish were all too familiar, the once always orderly store was now a virtual mishmash of disorder and chaos. Wooden shelves and tables once neatly stocked with dry goods were now cluttered and jumbled. Glass in most of the display cases had been removed, leaving the fragile contents vulnerable to pilfering or damage by careless shoppers.

Shocked—yet helpless to restore the sense of order she had fought to maintain in this store for so many years—she managed her way to the counter, where she anchored herself with her back to the other shoppers. Ignoring their hushed whispers, she glanced at the numerous trinkets that littered the top of the counter, resisted the urge to sweep them away so the counter would be as neat as she had once kept it, and waited for Mr. Atkins to appear.

When he emerged from behind the very same curtain she had hung to separate the front of the store from a storage area and a staircase that led to the living quarters on the second and third floors, she nearly gasped. The young man, barely thirty and still single, could no longer boast the good looks that had inspired many a young woman in Candlewood to set her cap for the handsome newcomer. A bruise marred his right cheek. A row of black stitches held a cut on his forehead closed, and a white cotton sling held his left arm against his body. He walked with the slow gait of a man three times his age.

From what she could see, he looked like a man who bore the brunt of a nasty fight, rather than a disagreement with a pair of elderly matrons. As he approached her carrying a small box, she saw the bruises on his face had already started to yellow and the skin around the stitches was puckered to the point the stitches would have to be removed soon.

Emma then remembered what the sheriff had said about the trouble Mr. Atkins had had last week with shoplifters. She was relieved that his most troubling injuries had been inflicted long before this morning and fought hard to meet his gaze instead of focusing on his wounds or the sling he wore.

He acknowledged her presence with a curt nod and set the box he had been carrying onto the counter.

‘‘I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment of your time?’’ she ventured.

He swallowed hard. ‘‘I rather expected you would come. No, that’s not true. In point of fact, I expected your lawyer,’’ he said before turning his attention to one of his customers. ‘‘I found the hairbrush you wanted, Mrs. Simmons. I’ll leave it here until you finish shopping,’’ he suggested before turning back to meet Emma’s gaze.

The whispers stopped and the shop grew very still. She moistened her lips and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘‘I wonder if I might impose on your goodwill and suggest we meet privately, as a courtesy?’’

‘‘I’m not sure I want to tackle the stairs again to go back up to my quarters. If you wouldn’t mind, I can talk with you in the barter room in the back, but only for a few moments. As you might consider, I don’t like leaving the store unattended for very long.’’ A man of average stature, he motioned with his good arm for her to join him behind the counter.

Relieved, she rounded the end of the counter and followed him down well-worn floorboards behind the counter, beyond the curtain, and past wooden crates and barrels that lined either side of the passageway that led to the barter room. Each step, each familiar sight and smell, evoked one memory after another but also stirred not a single urge to turn back time so she could reclaim the life she had once known as owner of the General Store, despite her recent troubles. She also had no regret she had had three sons but no daughter to continue the tradition of passing down the store from mother to daughter.