Carol Ritten Smith (8 page)

“Yah, I vood like dat.”

• • •

Tom sat with his back against the old maple in the schoolyard and watched with amusement as Miss Patterson ran back and forth between her place and the school. Sometimes she seemed more like one of her students than the teacher. But what could one expect considering she was so young.

He peered up at the branches and studied the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy of coppery autumn leaves. He closed his eyelids, happily remembering the day he caught her trying to retrieve that fool hat. Hmm, all those ruffles under her skirt
.
They sort of reminded him of a huge bouquet of carnations.

“I’ve been looking for you,” a soft feminine voice said.

Tom opened his eyes. He scowled as Miranda Parsons settled herself beside him.

“Brrr, it’s chilly today.” She hugged herself tightly and in doing so, squeezed her breasts together to enhance her already abundant cleavage. “I should have worn my cardigan.”

A gentleman would have offered the lady his jacket, but Tom didn’t consider Miranda a lady so he felt no need to be a gentleman. Let her go inside if she was so cold.

“Momma didn’t want me to come today. She says box socials are nonsense.” Miranda twirled her hair around her finger and brushed the ends against her cheek. “She’s so old fashioned. I think she was born in the wrong century. I mean, Papa died three years ago and she still wears black. Well, not me. I didn’t die. Don’t you think my crimson dress is pretty?”

Tom said nothing, hoping she’d leave if he ignored her.

She spread the flounces of her dress around her in a wide circle. “It would be tragic if some old pig farmer bought my lunch. He’d probably stink to high heaven and my delicious lunch would be ruined!” She pouted. “And I baked all my specialties. Why, even Widow Craig’s cooking won’t be as fine as mine this year.”

Tom gritted his teeth.

“Wouldn’t it be amazing if you bought my lunch? I wrapped it in a red checkered tablecloth so we could spread it under this tree and — oh my, I’ve let you know which one is mine. Shame on me!”

Tom could see if anyone was going to leave, it would have to be him. As he stood, he said, “Actually, it is a shame you let that information slip, Miss Parsons. I wouldn’t feel right about bidding on your lunch now. Besides, I’m sure you’d rather share your food with some youngster closer to your own age.”

• • •

Inside, Beth set the Pickard lunch behind the curtained area and rubbed the feeling back into her arms. She whisked off the blanket just as Earl Betner, this year’s auctioneer, declared it was time to start the bidding. The adults were called in from outside, and the curtain opened.

The men crowded forward, and the women moved to the back. Beth immediately spotted Tom among the men. He was taller and broader in the shoulders. She noted his dark hair had been freshly trimmed, all except for a small ducktail that curled over his starched white collar. He was likely the best-looking man here today.

She gave herself a shake. What on earth was she doing, comparing him to other men? He could be the best-looking man on earth for all she cared. She reminded herself that she despised Tom Carver. He was a scoundrel, an arrogant rogue who thought nothing … ”

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” welcomed Earl, interrupting her scathing critique of the blacksmith. An expectant hush fell over the school. “It’s great to see everyone here today. I hope we have some men with empty stomachs and full billfolds.” Everyone politely laughed. “As you can see, there are many pretty lunches to bid on, so let’s not waste any time. Mrs. Pickard, I believe you volunteered to be my assistant this year?”

With one child in her arms and another tangled in her skirt, Mrs. Pickard made her way to the front. She handed the first lunch to Earl.

He cleared his throat and began. “Gentlemen, the social is now open for bidding. What am I bid for this delightful box?”

Immediately an arm shot high into the air. “I bid five cents.” It was Lewie Hanks. His underarm was stained with sweat and all those near him withdrew slightly.

Earl acknowledged Lewie’s bid. “Thank you, I have five cents. Now who will give me a dime? Ten pennies then … come gentlemen … a pretty little package like this should be worth twice that.”

“Fifty cents!” Orville Cook called out. With such a jump in the bid, everyone assumed he was bidding on his wife’s lunch. Someone raised it to fifty-five and Orville counter bid with sixty cents.

“Orville knows a good lunch when he sees one. Now, who’ll bid sixty-five? Sixty-three then? Going … going … gone. Sold! Orville Cook for sixty cents! Thank you, Orville. Come pick up your lunch. Just drop your money in the can there. That’s right. Remember, gentlemen, no peeking until all the lunches are sold.”

The next lunch was a tidy package wrapped with bright green paper and gold ribbon. Beth watched Bill’s shoulders straighten when Earl held it up for bid. Lewie Hanks opened with a nickel again, and Bill countered with a dime.

Beth glanced sideways at the women. Annaleese Hewn was nervously biting her lip and Beth could see that, hidden partially in the folds of her skirt, her fingers were crossed. She smiled. Annaleese had been the answer to Beth’s prayers. Ever since Bill and Annaleese had started seeing each other, Bill’s obsession with having a horse had been completely forgotten. Annaleese had a positive influence on Bill, and Beth was forever grateful. Today she prayed he would have enough money to buy the young lady’s lunch.

The bidding went up slowly, and in the end, Bill bought the lunch for two bits. Both he and Annaleese seemed delighted.

Mrs. Pickard slid a large lunch forward to the table ledge.

“Looks like whoever made this lunch packed enough for all of us,” Earl joked. Beth recognized it as Mrs. Pickard’s. By now everyone expected Lewie to open the bidding, but to their surprise this time a different voice boldly called out, “Ten cents!”

“Lars Anderstom opens with a dime!”

“Fifteen,” Mr. Pickard returned and Mrs. Pickard smiled ever so slightly.

“Tew-bits!” Lars jumped the bid.

“Thirty,” countered Pickard.

The two men bid back and forth until the bid reached the astronomical price of seventy-eight cents. It seemed obvious to everyone it was Mrs. Pickard’s lunch the two men were bidding on, obvious to everyone except Lars. And Beth knew why. When the bidding finally stopped, Lars had bought the lunch, all ninety-six cents worth.

Lars toted the enormous lunch back and set it on the floor beside him. He stole a quick glance at Beth and she gave him a gracious smile. It was the least she could do. Had he glanced at Mrs. Pickard, he would have seen her bubbling with excitement at having brought the highest bid thus far, and from a handsome bachelor to boot.

Beth hoped he was fond of children.

From the far side of the classroom, Tom saw Earl lift Abigail’s lunch, a somewhat large box wrapped in pink paper splattered with tiny white polka dots.

Tom’s bid of two-bits alerted all the men Abigail Craig’s lunch was up for bid and the bidding began again in earnest. Even Lewie Hanks excitedly reached down deep in his pocket and, pulling it inside out, dumped its contents into his hand: washers, coins, chaff and all.

Always a prankster, Ernie Brown palmed some money to Lewie, just to add a little excitement to the bidding. With the added money, Lewie, who had never gone past twenty-three cents, excitedly raised the bid to thirty-five.

“The bid is thirty-five cents. Do I hear more?”

Lewie caught up in bidding fever, raised his own bid. “Thirty-seven!” he hollered.

“Now just a minute. You’re getting ahead of yourself, young fellow,” Earl said.

Tom could feel Abigail burning a hole in his back with her glare. He had no idea where Lewie’s new-found wealth came from, but he did know, no matter what, he’d better out bid him.

“One dollar!” Tom called out and the room buzzed at the exorbitant price.

Lewie’s hopes shriveled like a popped balloon.

“Going once … twice … sold!”

Tom dropped the money into the can on the table and picked up Abigail’s lunch. Suddenly a sick feeling washed over him. Sitting farther back on the table, almost hidden from view by other lunches, was a larger box wrapped in pink paper with white polka dots. And he knew without a doubt that one was Abigail’s. The lunch he had just purchased was not covered with polka dots at all, but with small white flowers. He stared at it thoughtfully before picking it up. Nothing he could do now but pray Lewie Hanks didn’t buy Abby’s lunch.

Tom avoided looking in Abigail’s direction as he carried his box back with him. And he didn’t breathe easy until Mr. Pickard dropped the money in the can for Abby’s lunch.

Finally, when all the boxes were auctioned off, Earl announced, “All right, gents, open your boxes and pair off.”

When Tom read Beth’s name on the slip of paper, he shook his head.
Is there no justice?

An excited yelp brought everyone’s attention around. Lewie was jumping up and down, unable to control his excitement. “I got Miranda Parson’s!”

Miranda was so enraged, she marched right past Lewie and out the door. Lewie bounded after her like a dog after a ham bone.

All right
, Tom conceded,
maybe there is justice.

Tom wove his way through the crowded classroom toward Beth. She didn’t look pleased. Too bad. Upsets like this happened all the time at box socials. It was part of the fun. She would just have to put up with him. He had to chuckle to himself. When he thought about it, the entire mix-up was rather humorous. But a glimpse at Abby told him she thought otherwise.

“I believe I have the honor of sharing your lunch, Miss Patterson.”

“Yes, I see,” she replied curtly, as if it pained her to even be that civil.

Tom handed her the box and then lifted down a set of desks joined in tandem by two planks at the foot of the legs. “How’s this?”

“We’ll need a chair for Davy.”

“Oh good,” Tom said, blurting it out almost in relief. At least the boy could act as a buffer between them. “I didn’t know he was here.”

“He’s outside playing. Mrs. Pickard went to call in the children.”

Tom brought a chair in from the cloakroom just as Davy appeared.

“Whose lunch did you get, Tom?”

“Your sister’s.”

“Really? Oh boy! This is going to be fun!”

Tom glanced at Beth’s scowl.
Yup. Like a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
“Are you as hungry as I am?” he asked Davy as they arranged the desks and chair.

“More than.”

“I’m hungrier than an elephant.”

They volleyed back and forth about their ridiculously large appetites until Beth had all she could stand. She set the plates on the desktop with a clatter, before serving them both an icy glare. “If you’re
that
hungry, you should have bought Mrs. Pickard’s lunch!”

Tom and Davy exchanged raised eyebrows. Tom stood. “I’m going to get some coffee. Can I bring you anything to drink?”

She glanced up, as if surprised he’d ask. “I can get my own, thank you.” When Tom gave her an exasperated look, she relented. “All right, some tea please. No sugar.”

“I’ll have some coffee.” Davy piped up.

Tom dropped his gaze to his pint-sized friend. “Listen, squirt, coffee can stunt your growth. Look what it did to me.” He glanced to see if his humor had any reaction on Beth, but he could see she was determined to snub him.

He turned to her little brother instead. “Come with me. I’ll pour you some juice.”

Tom returned just as Beth had everything ready to dish up. Davy followed with his glass filled to the brim, carefully placing one foot in front of the other like a tightrope walker.

The blacksmith lowered his tall body into the front seat, sitting sideways so his back wouldn’t be turned to Beth.

“This looks delicious, Miss Patterson.”

“Beth’s been fussin’ over it all day!” For his comment, Davy received yet another scathing glare from his sister. “I helped her though.”

Had it not been for the ongoing conversation between Tom and Davy, the meal would have been eaten in complete silence. Tom had given up on trying to engage Beth in conversation.

While she daintily picked away at her food, Tom cleaned his plate and had seconds. Finished and thoroughly satisfied, he leaned back in the desk. “That was worth every penny. Thank you.”

“I don’t suppose you saved any room for dessert?”

“Let me guess! Vanilla cookies!”

Beth felt her ears heat as if the extract dabbed behind them was burning through. “No, it’s rhubarb pie.”

“Huh, could have sworn I smelled vanilla.” Tom held out his plate. “But that’s okay. I like rhubarb.”

She cut him a generous portion and hoped he would bloat on it.

“I’ve got room for pie, too, please.” Davy thrust his plate across the desktop and the rim caught the handle of Tom’s coffee cup, spilling freshly brewed coffee over the desktop and onto Tom’s lap.

Stifling an oath, he jumped to his feet and held the steaming front of his pants away from his body. Davy, horrified by what he had done, ran from the school, while everyone looked on with concern.

Beth, accustomed to many spills, automatically grabbed her napkin to soak up the liquid, then remembering where the coffee had spilled, thrust the napkin into Tom’s hand. He cleaned himself up as best he could and then looked around behind him.

“Where’d Davy go?”

“He ran out.”

“I guess I’d better go get him.”

Beth followed on his heels. In the cloakroom, he stopped short and turned around. She slammed straight into his chest.

“Miss Patterson, I am quite capable of finding the boy. Go finish your meal. There’s no need for you to come.”

“Well, I happen to think there is a need, the mood you’re in.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re agitated.”

“Because my trousers are soaked.”

“I don’t want you taking your anger out on Davy.”

Tom quietly closed the door between the classroom and the cloakroom. He deliberately kept his voice quiet and in control, but his clenched jaw revealed his mounting frustration. “Miss Patterson, what is your problem?”