Scones and Sensibility (13 page)

I laid my pure white towel with the pink freesia flowers lining the ruffled border on the sand and began applying my sunblock. Fran, however, in her eagerness to refresh her perspiring forehead, dropped her towel and dashed into the surf.

“Come on, Polly! It feels great!” she declared, her arms splashing pell-mell in the white-crested waves.

“Yes, in time, my dearest friend. However, one can never be too careful with one’s skin.” And I continued applying sunblock upon my young, untainted arms. Though Fran had a nice brown pigment to her own complexion, I did not seek to grow into womanhood looking as raisiny as dear Miss Wiskerton.

I set my sunglasses on the end of my nose and placed my straw hat upon my head. The tails of the bow hung down my back like an elegant waterfall, and I walked into the surf. The cool water lapped at my toes and I felt enraptured at the tiny sand clams that reburied themselves after each wave exposed them.

Fran joined me at the water’s edge. “So how’s Clementine?”

“Oh, I meant to explain it all to you last night. My dear sister is also in desperate need of my assistance.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Her situation is most urgent,” I replied.

“But I thought she was dating Clint. They’ve been together for a while, and haven’t they been in love since, like, second grade?”

“Unfortunately, what you say is true. But I have determined that Clint is not suitable for my sister.” I gazed out to the sea, letting the breeze blow my curly locks behind me. “He is boring and mundane. When I’m done, my dear sister will be clasping hands with a young gentleman named Edward, whom I met just the other day on one of my deliveries. He aided me when I had an unfortunate tumble off my bicycle.” I giggled. “He’s so cute … I mean dashing. He has an English accent and is a gentleman in every sense of the word. He is perfect for Clementine, and I know he will not treat me with scorn as Clint has done.”

“Oh, Clint’s just joking around with you, Polly. And besides, does Clementine even like the guy you met?”

I sighed. “If not by now, she will. I am sure of this.”

“But Polly, you’re not going to break her and Clint up, are you?”

I felt my face flush underneath the brim of my sunbonnet. “Indeed no … not necessarily. But their relationship is on the verge of disintegration anyway. I shall … shall merely help it along.”

“I don’t believe it. Clementine would never dump Clint, and Clint would be an idiot if he ever dumped her. I’m sorry, Polly. But I don’t think it’s going to work. And besides, you should just leave them alone.”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. I adore my sister and only yearn for her very best. But enough of this talk. Just know that it will result in something out of a fairy tale.”

“You better watch out, Polly. If Clemmy finds out, she’s going to kill you.”

“But do not worry for me, dear Fran. I am convinced of the opposite. Clementine will instead be ever grateful to me and perhaps even name her and Edward’s first daughter Polly.”

At that, we both reclined upon the sand, letting the gentle sun kiss our skin, and stayed talking with one another until most of the tourists had retired to their beach houses.

“I better go,” Fran said, flapping her towel to shake
out the sand. “I’m supposed to talk to that Ruthie woman tonight.”

“But surely this is not the phone call where you are to speak with her?”

“Yep,” she said. “I was supposed to talk to her tomorrow, but she can’t, I guess.”

“Oh, my dearest Fran. If only I had met Lucy Penny just hours earlier I might have saved you the grief of talking to this Internet vixen.”

“It’s fine, Polly. I don’t mind that much. If she’s anything like what my dad says, she’s really great.”

“Well, I will offer up prayers on your behalf. Be strong and courageous, my dearest friend. And call me when you are done.” We walked to the boardwalk and I kissed her on her cheek. “Until tomorrow, my bosom friend.”

I started for my cottage when my eyes fell upon a very handsome young man carrying a kite down the stairs and onto the beach. Tearing my eyes away from his dark, wind-tousled hair, I remembered dear Mr. Nightquist. If I hurried to his quaint shop I would be able to converse with him for a few minutes.

The time felt right for me to introduce the idea of dear Miss Wiskerton and pique Mr. Nightquist’s own interest.

“Well, if it isn’t my own Polly. How are you?” He rubbed his chin and smiled, then looked back down at the kite he had been tinkering with.

“I am very well, indeed. I just spent an afternoon at the beach with my dearest friend, enjoying the singing of the waves upon my spirit and the kisses of the wind upon my soul. Has all fared well at the kite shop?”

“Yep. It’s been good. Slow in the morning, busy in the afternoon, and then it’ll start back up in a few hours.”

“Have you had any … unexpected guests?” I tried not to look into his eyes and instead inspected a small metal keychain by the register.

“No one that stood out besides Charlie and Missy.” He held up a paper plate covered in clear saran wrapping. “She brought me some leftovers for lunch.”

“But by the appearance of the dish, you have not touched a morsel!” I declared, worried that perhaps Mr. Nightquist was unwell.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s just after you’ve had tuna casserole for the fourth time in one week, it gets a little old. You know what I mean?”

I clucked my tongue. “Indeed I do. And I find tuna to be a most unpleasant fish, especially when the meat
is removed from a small tin can that resembles cat food.”

He laughed again. “My thoughts exactly.”

I sighed. “So no other esteemed guests have stopped by this afternoon besides your daughter baring the fishy lunch casserole?”

Mr. Nightquist looked up and tapped his fingers on the wooden countertop. “Well, come to think of it. That woman, oh, what’s her name? Miss Wiskerton. She came in and said she was fascinated by kites and that she loved croissants.”

“You don’t say? I know her well, and I have come to find that she is quite an exceptional woman of propriety as well as excellent in the culinary arts. Quite a kindred spirit, I assure you.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Were those his cheeks blushing rosy red at the thought of her?

Indeed, it was evident from the way his fingers fumbled with the delicate fabric of the kite that his feelings for Miss Wiskerton had surprised even him.

I continued. “She lives very near to my own home and has a canine named Jack. He’s very … tolerable.” I could not immediately reveal that Jack was not of the most affectionate nature. “I also believe that Miss Wiskerton has never married, which I find hard to
grasp, since she is of such a wonderful disposition.”

“Is that so? You know, I went to school with that woman. She was nosy and harsh when we were young. That’s why I hardly recognized her when she came in with a smile on her face. But when my wife was alive she liked her all right. That was enough for me. I remember she came to the funeral, but since then I haven’t seen much of her.”

“Is that so?” I sighed. “I often wish that I had known your dearest wife, for she sounds wonderful.”

He took up a small, framed picture of her that he kept by the cash register. “She was wonderful all right.”

“And you miss her still?” My spirits temporarily deflated. I had not thought of this possibility—the fact that Mr. Nightquist might not be ready yet for an attachment.

“Oh, I’ll always miss her. I know that. But life goes on, and she wouldn’t want me thinking and being sad all the time.”

I nodded. “Indeed, I think not. In fact, I’m sure she would want you to be happy in life and in love.”

He seemed to smile. “Maybe. Yeah, Miss Wiskerton seemed real interested in kites.”

I beamed. How proud I was of dear Miss Wiskerton. “You know, she mentioned the desire to experience
the thrill of flying a kite just this morning when I called upon her. Perhaps you would be the person to teach her.”

He gazed up at me over the rim of his glasses and smiled, then looked back down. “You mean a date?”

“No, not necessarily. Just a mere meeting wherein the two of you can converse, get to know each other, fly beautiful kites. Then perhaps—”

“Fall in love, huh?” He laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve been out of that game for a long time. Getting back in now is a little daunting.”

The longing for love filled the air like the wind beneath a kite, and I grasped at its tendrils. “I can only imagine. But you are so dear, and the very greatest of men. What woman would not want to be on your arm, and the object of your esteemed affection? And from your own lips you told me that your dear late wife wanted your happiness after she was gone from this earth.”

He blushed. “And it seems like you’ve been reading her books, haven’t you?”

I nodded. “Her taste in books was exquisite.”

“Well, I can’t say that I understand everything you’ve been saying, but it suits you.”

“I am glad you approve.” I glanced at my watch in
my pocket and realized it was time to depart. I walked behind the counter and kissed him on his balding forehead. “I must go now. But I will see you soon. And please consider the possibility of Miss Wiskerton. I attest to her character.”

He nodded and smiled his lopsided grin. “All right, Polly. See you soon.”

Back in the open sea air, I breathed deeply and fully, my heart throbbing over the romance blossoming in the kite shop.

Miss Wiskerton and Mr. Nightquist betrothed to one another. The scene was a vision in front of me. White flowers cascading around the twisted branches of an arch. Miss Wiskerton barefoot upon the sand, her long white dress trailing behind her. Mr. Nightquist awaiting her at the end of an aisle lined with rocks and shells from the depth of the ocean’s heart. And there I was, walking in front of his future wife, tossing pure white flowers into the breeze, an ivory dress adorning my frame, a pale pink ribbon around my waist, a garland of wildflowers festooning my wind-tousled auburn curls. And wearing Clementine’s Amulet of Love around my neck.

I sighed and pedaled toward home, letting love propel me from behind like a summer’s kiss.

U
pon entering the threshold of my home I was met with intense wailing and moaning. Mama and Papa sat side by side at the table, hands clasped and conversing in whispered tones.

My heart jumped inside my chest. “What’s wrong?” I asked, rushing to their sides. “Did something happen?”

Mama smiled. “Clementine and Clint are in another fight, that’s all. They’ll be all right, I’m sure. Clementine’s just … emotional right now.”

I sighed, thankful that it was nothing of greater concern. It was probably due to the fact that Clementine broke up with Clint to be with Edward and was now feeling sorry for Clint’s broken heart. “Is this because of Edward?” I asked.

Mama’s eyes crinkled. “Edward? Who’s he?”

“Why, the gentleman who called on Clementine just this morning. I was sure of their match from the start.”

“No, it has nothing to do with that. At least not that I know of,” Mama said.

Papa shrugged his shoulders. “That boy came and went. He did say he loved the muffins, though. What were you trying to do, Polly, get them together?”

“Well, perhaps. But he is quite a nice gentleman and so much more suited for Clementine than Clint is.”

Papa turned toward me. “Just let them be, Polly. If they’re supposed to break up, they will. If not, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop it.”

“Very well,” I said, pushing his words from my thoughts. Indeed I would not let my sister chain herself to a man that would forever burden and bore her heart. Yes, I would be the one to stop it.

And the sorrowful fact that Clementine did not entertain Edward as I had instructed her to was more of my concern at the moment. I felt my face flush red. “So what in the world is Clementine wailing about up there?”

“They got in a fight, that’s all I know.”

Treating Edward, a gentleman suitor, in such a fashion! He must think she was ever so rude. I twirled on
my heels to the door. “Excuse me, Mama and Papa. I need to speak with my sister.”