Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) (12 page)

Sarah placed her bag behind the offered chair and took a seat. “That’s quite a garden you have outside,” she said, smiling at Gracie. “Jimmy tells me that he helps with the weeding.”

Gracie nodded nervously. What was she supposed to say? As long as she could remember, she’d never had anyone in the house except the kids and their father. Was she supposed to offer something from the garden?

“Jimmy’s a good boy,” she said finally, “when he’s not getting himself into trouble.”

Sarah accepted the wooden cup the young girl offered and took a deep drink of the tart cider. “This is delicious. Thank you, Catherine.” The girl blushed and immediately returned to her churning. “Do you make this yourself?” Sarah asked, taking another drink.

Gracie nodded her head and her hands began to twist in her lap. “We have our own trees down in the far pasture.”

“They’re not really ours,” Jimmy piped in. “Mr. Blanchard really owns them, but we like to pretend they’re ours.”

“We rent this place and the land from Mr. Blanchard,” Gracie added quickly, lest the woman think they were not better than common thieves who stole apples from other folks.

“Well, I think your recipe is delicious,” Sarah said firmly, setting her cup on the rickety table that stood to her left.

“Jessie, no!” Jimmy screamed. Both women turned to find the baby sitting at their feet completely tangled in yarn.

“Oh, my God,” Gracie gasped, falling to her knees and trying to save the threads from the destructive hands of her daughter.

Sarah, too, went to her knees. “I don’t think she’s hurt.” She lifted the child, who immediately wailed at being separated from her new colorful toy.

“Jessie’s fine,” Gracie gulped, close to tears. “But look, the yarn is so tangled.”

Sarah exchanged the screaming child for the tangled skeins of yarn. “I’m sure they can be salvaged. Besides, 'twas my fault for setting my bag on the floor where she could get at it.”

“May I help?”

Sarah turned at the soft-spoken words to find Catherine standing just behind her. The girl stared at the tangled yarns as if Sarah held a mound of jewels in her hands. “Are you handy with a needle, Catherine?” she asked.

Gracie handed Jessie to her son. “Jimmy, take her outside for a few minutes so we can hear ourselves think.” She prayed desperately that Sarah would not demand restitution for the damage.

Catherine took the threads from Sarah and returned to her churning stool. Placing the strands on her lap, she carefully began to untangle Jessie’s creation.

“I’m sure Catherine will be able to put them to rights again,” Gracie stammered, cursing herself for inviting Sarah inside. “And if some are damaged,” she took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her stomach, “I’ll pay for them somehow.”

Sarah shook her head. “They look fine. And if Catherine does not mind the chore of untangling them, then I shall be forever grateful. But now I’m afraid I must leave you.”

Anxiously, Catherine looked up from her task. “It will take me more than a few minutes.”

“Take whatever time you need,” Sarah smiled. “Would you bring them to me at Mr. Beaumont’s house when you’re finished?”

Gracie’s hand flew to her heart. “You’re a guest of Mr. Beaumont?”

Sarah gathered the linen squares back into her bag. “I work for Mr. Beaumont,” she said gently. “Do you know him?”

Color flared in Gracie’s pale face. “Everyone in Middle Plantation knows Mr. Beaumont and his grandmother.”

“Why, those threads were Mrs. Beaumont’s,” Sarah said brightly.

Gracie paled even more. “Then Mrs. Beaumont will be the one to collect for the damages.”

Sarah shook her head. “No, Mrs. Beaumont gave the threads to me to do with what I wished. And I seek no damages. You gave me a delicious cup of cider, and for that I am grateful. But now I must be off.”

“I’ll have these untangled by sunup tomorrow,” Catherine called softly.

Sarah waved from the doorway. “That will be lovely. And Grace, may I call again?”

Before her better judgment could take over, Grace found herself nodding yes, and then Sarah was out the door. Grace turned to her daughter on shaking legs. “Are many damaged?”

Catherine looked up her mother with concern. “I can probably save most of them, but look at these.” She held up a clump, hopelessly knotted.

Gracie reached for the vivid threads and shook her head. “No wonder Jessie went right to these. I’ve never seen such pretty colors before, not even in Mr. Jacobs’s shop.”

Catherine let her fingers run lovingly through the bright strands. “Ma,” she said with sudden excitement, “what if I was to take some of the pieces that are too knotted to use and make a gift for Miss Townsend? She could hardly be mad if we gave her a present.”

Gracie felt a ray of hope. “I don’t know, Catherine. She might not like you using her threads no matter what.”

Catherine shook her head, the pattern already forming in her mind. “I don’t think she was mad when she left, and she doesn’t seem like the others.” Her fingers deftly untangled several more strands. “I’m going to do it, Ma,” she said with growing excitement. “I’m going to take these ruined threads and make her a gift.”

Gracie pressed her hands against the back rungs of their only chair. “Oh, Catherine, what will your father say if he finds out what happened?”

“Ma,” Catherine said, looking up from her work. “Pa hasn’t been home in more than two months. You don’t know where he is or even if he’s coming home this time.”

Gracie flopped down on the chair and tried to keep the tears of hopelessness from her eyes. “He’s got to come home, Catherine. I don’t know what will become of us if he don’t.”

“You did what?”

Agatha cringed from the anger in Nick’s voice, but held her ground. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man,” she snapped. “Disagree with me if you must, but I will be respected in my own home or you’ll be out searching for a hickory switch.”

“Gran, what were you thinking of?” Nick sat at the foot of her bed and leaned back against the tester.

Agatha folded her arms across her chest.
My grandchild
, she thought. “Sarah’s reputation,” she answered. “Nicky, have you given one minute of thought as to what people will say when they learn that Sarah, a young, beautiful, unmarried woman is living as a guest in your home?”

Nick folded his arms and stared back at her, unwilling to admit his grandmother’s scheme had once been his own. “She’s my housekeeper,” he said defiantly.

“And pigs can fly,” Agatha snorted. “She’s your mistress.”

Nick jerked to his feet and began to pace. “She’s as pure as new-fallen snow, Gran, and I’d challenge any man or woman who said differently.”

Agatha gave her grandson a patient smile. “And how long before you wear down her virtue, Nick?” she asked quietly.

“Whom I bed is not your concern, Gran.” He scowled. “It never has been and it never will be.”

“It is when it concerns Sarah. Nick, that girl has been gently raised. For the sake of her reputation alone, you must allow her to come and live here.” Agatha watched Nick’s frown grow deeper and pressed her advantage. “What good is it to return her to her home if you’ve taken her virtue? No man would take her to wife knowing she’d been used and discarded. And how can you, a ripe-blooded man, look at a creature as beautiful as Sarah and not want to bed her?”

Nick moved to the dresser and poured himself a brandy. The liquid burned a path down his throat but did little to melt the knot that was forming in his stomach. Gran was right, as usual. It was only a matter of time before someone realized Sarah lived beneath his roof. And once that fact was out, the damage would be done.

Reluctantly, he turned back to his grandmother. “What makes you think that Sarah has a reputation worth saving?” he challenged stubbornly.

Agatha held back her smile. She was winning but it would be best not to take any changes. “Nick,” she said patiently. “Can you really believe that her story is false?” She shook her head. “If Sarah Townsend is not a puritan from Massachusetts, then I’ll give my best kid slippers to the first person I meet on the street.”

Nick settled back on the foot of the bed. “You’re probably right,” he said with resignation. “I’ll tell Sarah when I get home and we’ll have her move over in the morning.”

“Why not tonight?” Agatha tried to contain her excitement. “I’ve already had a room made ready so it would be no trouble.”

Nick stood and looked own at the slight form of his grandmother. “In the morning. Now, what about this invitation?”

“I just thought that Sarah’s reputation would be better protected if I was to say that she was the granddaughter of a dear friend from the North.”

Nick shook his head and rubbed at his jaw. “Gran, you don’t even know where the North is, let alone have a friend there.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get fresh with me, young man. Every fool knows that north is up there somewhere.” Her arm gestured widely. “And for the sake of little Sarah’s reputation, I don’t mind claiming a distant friend. It seems the least I can do under the circumstances.”

“And Sarah agreed to this?”

Agatha shifted uncomfortably on her pillows. “I don’t think that I quite explained everything . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It would probably be best for you to tell her the plan.”

“In other words, you started to tell her and she got upset?”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Well, Nicky, you know how puritanical those Puritans are.”

Nick took a deep breath. After spending the afternoon with Captain Jenkins, he had all too clear an idea. “Damn boring, those Puritans,” the man had declared. “Don’t believe in a friendly game of cards, never even heard of bowling. Hell, those people think that a harpsichord is an instrument of the devil.” But what bothered Nick most was that, despite knowing what he did, he still wanted her. He had only to think of her violet eyes sparkling up at him and his pulse began to race.

“Why not take her for a nice stroll in the garden and explain the situation to her?” Agatha offered.

“I know what needs to be done, Gran.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’ll bring Sarah tomorrow after we break the fast.”

As Agatha watched Nick leave, she clapped her gnarled fingers together. “Thank you, God,” she breathed a prayer. “I’m one step closer to my grandson.”

Nick waited until Wadsworth had served the first course of their supper before broaching the subject. As he watched Sarah’s violet eyes fill with confusion he knew he had not done well with it.

“How have I displeased you?” she questioned anxiously. Sarah’s mind scattered in all directions searching for a clue. But it couldn’t have been Agatha she had wronged, she thought, for it was to Agatha that he wanted to give her.
What have I done wrong
? She screamed silently.
Tell me so I might right it.

You please me too well
, Nick thought as his grandmother’s warning played through his mind. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Sarah,” he stated firmly. “But I think you would fare better at my grandmother’s house until my agent has returned from Salem.”

“But why?” She watched his dark eyes grow stormy and knew this wasn’t a man used to explaining himself. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I should not question your decisions. You’ve been nothing but kind.”

Nick tried to be patient. “Trust me when I say that this decision does not come lightly, Sarah. I simply feel you would fare better at Gran’s.”

Sarah stared at her hands, folded primly in her lap. His words might declare her innocent, but she had not missed the irritation in his voice or the anger that glittered in his dark eyes.
He has no use for me
, she thought miserably.
He knows I spent my time idly, visiting with his grandmother
. Her stomach clenched tighter and her own eyes felt hot and prickly. “I would do whatever you wish.”

Nick watched her chin start to tremble and his anger grew. He didn’t want her to leave; their parting would come soon enough. But as he watched her bowed head, the thoughts of scandal being heaped on her delicate shoulders was more than he could bear. “Then it’s settled. I’ll take you to Agatha’s in the morning.”

Sarah felt her words of protest choke in her throat. I’ll try harder to find some useful task, she cried silently. But to Nick she only nodded her head in compliance.

The note arrived before they had finished the evening meal, and for Sarah it was a godsend. After Nick made his declaration, her food had tasted like sawdust, and each swallow had become a major chore. Nick read the ivory-colored paper, then tossed it onto the table face up. Sarah immediately recognized the scratchy hand as Agatha’s.

“Your grandmother?”

Nick nodded as he closed his eyes in frustration and rubbed a hand across his face.

Sarah was out of her chair in an instant. “Just let me fetch my shawl and I’ll be ready.”

Nick braced his hands on the table’s edge and gave her a searching look. “Luther told me that when you left Gran this afternoon, you were upset. What did she say to you?”