Hearts Unfold (22 page)

Her allowance,
she assured him, was more than adequate.
 
“I opened a savings account at the bank there, too.
 
I've been putting away what was left each
month, so it could draw interest.
 
I hope
that was all right?”

Jack
snorted.
 
“That's J.D.'s daughter for
you, gentlemen.
 
'A penny saved is a
penny I won't have to earn again.'
 
But
seriously, Em, you don't have to pinch every penny.
 
A girl your age should be buying clothes and
stuff.
 
If I'm not mistaken, that coat is
the one you left for college with.”

She
blushed.
 
“I wasn't sure how much I could
spend without finding out I was broke.
 
You should have told me, Jack, that I'm practically an heiress.”

All three men
chuckled and her blush deepened.
 
Tom
Jeffers spoke up.
 
“Emily, if there's one
thing your parents were set on, it was raising you to appreciate the value of
what you have.
 
I guess they just never
gave you that value in dollars and cents.
 
Now you'll learn that a place like yours is worth a lot, but at the same
time costs a good bit to own.
 
Being an
heiress in your case means you've inherited a lot of responsibility.”

Later she
thought about what had been said, as she walked the blocks around the
courthouse.
 
Her parents had already
provided so much for her, a home, land and money.
 
While the idea of taking on the management of
all that was daunting, it was also exciting.
 
Passing the hardware store window, she eyed her reflection in the
glass.
 
Emily Haynes, she told herself,
you look like a girl with a future.
 
Going inside beneath the tinkling bell above the door, she greeted the
welcoming face behind the counter.
 
“Good
morning, Mr. Gibbons.
 
I need some
paint.
 
That sign by my gate is in
serious need of some attention.”

By the time
Emily was due to meet Jack at the Town Square Cafe, she had walked the four
blocks of shops and offices surrounding the white brick courthouse.
 
From the hardware store she went to the
drugstore, buying a roll of her favorite mints from one of her former high
school classmates.
 
Was she home for
Christmas?
 
Oh, yes, but she'd be back
again this summer for good.
 
Had she
finished school already?
 
No, but she was
planning to transfer to the University next fall, so she could come home more
often until she finished.
 
The look of
mild envy in the girl's eyes surprised her.
 
Did her life sound as promising to this old friend as it did to her?

Her next stop
was the new flower shop, opened only recently by a returning native—a middle-aged
widow who had run a successful business in Richmond, before deciding to come
back to small-town life.
 
Emily
introduced herself, explaining that she was away at school but would eventually
be returning for good.
 
She admired the
gift selection, higher-end merchandise than had previously been sold anywhere
in town, and the lady seemed pleased that here was someone who appreciated her taste.
 
When Emily left, selecting a small enameled
box to take back to Penny as a way of saying she was sorry for lying to her,
the shopkeeper wished her a happy new year and said she looked forward to
seeing her in the spring.

With an
increasingly light step, she went into the post office.
 
Just telling Myrtice Green, the postmistress,
that she planned to come home again would ensure that all her neighbors and
indeed the entire community would soon be informed of her return.
 
Myrtice didn't gossip, Emily's mother had
always pointed out, she merely shared.
 
It was her civic duty to pass on any news along with the stamps and the
mail.
 
After enjoying a nice long chat
through the metal window grate, Emily left feeling pleasantly confident that
the details would have spread before she left to return to Williamsburg.

Her final stop
was Martha Jean's Boutique, where the welcome was enthusiastic.
 
Martha Jean Clark, a transplant from
Asheville, North Carolina, was a vivacious, talkative little woman with springy
graying curls and a sharp mind.
 
It was
said in the ladies church circles that if a thing needed doing, just let Martha
Jean know.
 
She would see that it got
done, not necessarily with her own hands, but done none the less.
 
The merchandise in her shop had brought new
fashion sense to the sleepy little village. She religiously took buying trips
to New York each season, riding the train from Washington and coming back with
a taste of the outside world and a supply of amusing stories to entertain her
customers as she sold them on styles their husbands might consider extravagant,
but never dared question, since every other wife in the village was equally
well turned out.

“Emily, I have
a pile of things here for you to try on.
 
Jack told me he was bringing you into town.
 
I've missed having you here to dress,
honey.
 
Nobody can wear clothes like you
can.
 
But have you lost weight?
 
You look a tad boney to me.”
 
As she rattled on, she went to a dressing
room, where Emily could see the hooks were already loaded with garments.

“Maybe just a
little.
 
But don't worry, there's nothing
wrong with my appetite.
 
Oh, Martha Jean,
these are beautiful.
 
All my favorite
colors.
 
But where on earth would I wear
all this?
 
My uniform seems to be jeans
and sweaters these days.”
 
She peered at
the skirts, dresses and even lingerie, feeling suddenly very tempted to play
dress-up.

“Shame on
you.
 
Oh, you look great in jeans, but
with those legs, you ought to be showing them off.
 
Did you like the dress we picked out for
Christmas Eve?”

“Loved it!
 
And those boots are wonderful, even though
they make me tower over everybody.”
 
Setting down her parcel, she shrugged out of her coat.
 
When Martha Jean took it from her, she
clicked her tongue in dismay.

“Emily
Haynes.
 
You're not leaving in this old
thing.
 
What did you do, roll around in
the snow in it?
 
Let me see what I have
out here on the rack.”
 
Eying her
reflection, Emily smiled.
 
Not exactly
rolling in the snow; but if Martha Jean could only have seen her dragging Stani
Moss across the yard, she'd understand the sad state of her coat.

Jack was just
crossing the street from his office at the rear of the courthouse when Emily
reached the entrance to the cafe.
 
Standing in the warmth of the winter sunlight, she watched him coming toward
her, feeling her face stretch into a smile.
 
It was so good to be home, to see all the old familiar places and faces,
and most of all to see Jack grinning at her again.

Pointing to her
little bag from the flower shop, he asked, “Is that all you could find to spend
your money on?
 
I expected you to buy out
the town after Harris gave you
carte
blanche.
”

Emily’s smile
turned sheepish.
 
“There's more, at the
hardware store and at Martha Jean's.
 
I
hoped we could pick it up on the way out.”

Holding the
door for her, he chuckled.
 
“Will it all
fit in one load?”

After they’d
ordered, he asked about her morning.

“I hit all the
shops, just to say hello.
 
Even the post
office.”

“Ah, so the
word is out.
 
Emily Haynes is back in
town.”

“Right.
 
Pop used to say Myrtice was better than any
newspaper.
 
I stopped in at the church,
too, but Pastor Mike was out.”

“He's over at
the hospital seeing Horace Bradley.
 
He
had a stroke last week.
 
Pretty bad, from
what I hear.”
 
Emily flinched at the
news.
 
Stroke, that silent, merciless
thief, had taken another of the church's most faithful members.
 
Mr. Bradley had been a deacon for as long as
she could remember, a kind, soft-spoken man who kept careful watch over the
needs of his neighbors.
 
He had been a
regular visitor to the farm after her mother's death, talking with her father
as one widower to another.

Jack took a
deep breath, and she knew he had something more to tell her, something he would
rather not have to say.
 
“Em, I need to
warn you,” he began, “there've been some newspaper types snooping around,
asking questions about the accident.
 
They seem to be mostly interested in the man who died.
 
Turns out his father's a politician of some
kind.
 
Pretty high profile.
 
If anyone shows up at the farm, you call me.”

“Jack, how
would they know where to look?”
 
Instantly, her heart began to race.

“It would be a
stretch.
 
I doubt they'll give you any
trouble.
 
But just the same, don't open
your door to any strangers.
 
I'll take
care of it.
 
Now don't look so
worried.
 
I'd much rather see that big
smile you had on your face earlier.
 
Tell
me about all this shopping.
 
You didn't
let Martha Jean talk you into anything too fancy, did you?”

Squaring her
shoulders, Emily tossed her head, throwing off the threat of anything spoiling
her day.
 
“A new coat.
 
She wanted me to wear it now, but I managed
to get out the door with this one.
 
I
think she would have thrown it away by the time I got back.
 
Martha Jean could convince a duck to buy an
umbrella, you know.”

“Ha!
 
You've got that right.
 
Still she has a good heart.
 
That charity clothes closet project has
really taken off.
 
She's got it set up
like a regular store now, so when folks go in they don't have to rummage
through boxes of stuff anymore.
 
She's really
good at organizing things, takes charge at the drop of a hat.”

Emily gave him
a long look.
 
That was the first time she
could remember Jack talking about a woman in that particular tone of
voice.
 
A confirmed bachelor, as far as
she knew Jack had never even dated, although there had been plenty of
matchmaking attempts.
 
Still a handsome
man, tall and lean with light brown hair and bright blue eyes, Emily had always
seen him as a sort of knight in armor, even if it was brown twill rather than
shining.

They talked as
they ate their fried chicken specials, discussing Emily's idea to apply to the
University nursing school.
 
She would
have to live in Charlottesville, the commute being too long to be practical,
but that had the advantage of putting her closer to Angela and to J.D.
 
“I guess I'll have to let Angela know what
I've decided.
 
I just hope she doesn't
try to change my mind.
 
She can be pretty
forceful.”

Jack
grinned.
 
“I think you can hold your
own.
 
You're pretty forceful
yourself.
 
When did you get to be so
stubborn?”

“Stubborn?”
 
Her expressive brows flew up.

“Well, maybe
determined is a better word.
 
I always
thought you were more easy-going, like your Pop, but now I'm beginning to see a
little more of your mother, more spirit, maybe?”

Again, she gave
him a searching look.
 
Something in his
voice, a tenderness, reminded her of his devotion to her mother.
 
Close friends, they had shared a warm, often
laughing relationship.
 
It was Jack her
mother had turned to, entrusting the care of her husband and daughter at the
end of her life.
 
Jack had been her
father's boyhood friend, but her mother had made him part of the family.

“I'll take that
as a compliment, although I hope I'm not as volatile as Mother was.
 
She could go from sunny to stormy pretty
fast.
 
And I know I don't cry the way she
did.
 
It seemed to me she could be
reduced to tears at the drop of a hat.”