Hometown Cinderella: Hometown Cinderella\The Inn at Hope Springs (17 page)

She’d made a few inquiries at boardinghouses in town. One seemed more promising than the others. It was run by a pleasant widow and the house and its small yard seemed neat and clean.

Yet, it was still a boardinghouse. Her shoulders slumped at the thought of leaving her home for a rented room. Dietrich wouldn’t like it at all. He finally had made friends. How was he going to adjust to a new school—a larger one at that? There would be no Mr. Jakeman to smooth the way for him, explaining to the boys his foreign accent and manner.

Although he was quickly losing both in the couple of months he’d been in school—and seeing Gideon almost daily.

And what of him? How could she replace the good influence the man was in her son’s life if she moved to town? They probably wouldn’t see him much. Even if he made a point to visit Dietrich when he came to town, it would be brief encounters just to ask how he was doing.

And what of her? Would she miss seeing Gideon?

She fisted her hands in her woolen mittens. No, she wouldn’t allow herself to think on such things.

Dear Lord, You see our circumstances. I trust You to provide us with adequate housing. I’ve tried to make peace with Carina but every day she becomes more critical of Dietrich. Please, help us. Grant us a place to live, a place where Dietrich can continue to flourish.

She was so engrossed in her prayer that she didn’t hear the clip-clop of horse hooves or the creak of wheels until the horse and wagon were almost abreast of her.

Only at the masculine tone of “Whoa!” did she jump out of the way. She turned to find Gideon bringing the horse to a standstill before lifting the brim of his sealskin cap to her. “Afternoon, Mrs. Keller.”

Her hand to her chest, she gave a nervous laugh. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jakeman.”

His eyes narrowed on her face. “I didn’t startle you, did I?”

“No—I mean, perhaps a bit. It wasn’t your fault,” she assured him quickly. “I was quite lost in thought.”

“May I offer you a lift home? Was just going that way myself.”

Mara almost smiled in gratitude but then remembered Thanksgiving evening. Had it only been a week ago? She hadn’t seen Gideon since, but that moment had been in her thoughts almost constantly, popping up whenever her guard was down.

No, she must not encourage anything that might have transpired that evening, whether real or imagined.

She swallowed, to give herself a moment to formulate her reply. Above anything, she did not wish to hurt his feelings. “Thank you, Mr. Jakeman, but I’m quite fine walking.”

He looked taken aback for an instant. Then he glanced skyward. “Are you sure? Hard to tell with this weather but the clouds sure look growly.”

She followed his glance. The skies did indeed look “growly,” dark gray and lowering.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it came on to snow in a bit. You’ve still a few miles to go.”

How tempted she was to set aside her determination and climb into the wagon. And not just to get out of the cold and forbidding weather. But to be beside him for the journey home.

No, no, no! She mustn’t allow this weakness for companionship.

She straightened her shoulders. “It’s all right. I’m a fast walker and have gotten quite accustomed to this road.”

He looked as if he would say something further, but then abruptly gave a nod. “Very well.” With another touch of his hand to the brim of his cap, he turned his attention away from her and gave a flick of the reins. The wagon wheels creaked forward.

Mara stood a few seconds longer watching the wagon slowly increase its distance from her. With a shake of her head, she hunched her shoulders against the breeze, adjusted the satchel and continued on her way.

It was impossible not to continue watching the wagon recede as it made its way down the slope and up the next then out of sight over the next rise. Mr. Jakeman didn’t look back, and she wondered if he thought of her.

She certainly thought of having turned down the opportunity of arriving home a good hour earlier to a warm fire and hot cup of tea.

Gideon resisted the urge to turn and look around. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine why a person would refuse a lift back to the hamlet. It was at least three more miles and if it didn’t snow before she arrived home, he’d be mighty surprised. He hadn’t lived in this part of the world all his life, fished its water, farmed its rocky soil without learning to read the signs of the skies and sea.

He shook his head, hating to ride away from her, but sensing as he did with his animals, that he wasn’t going to be able to persuade her otherwise. She acted almost afraid of him. How could she be afraid of him?

The notion not only shocked him but hurt him to the quick. He’d never knowingly do anything to cause her harm. He’d tried since the day he’d met her and her son to let her know, if not so much by words, but by deeds, that he was there for anything they might need.

His gaze fixed somewhere between Bessie’s two ears, he pondered what he might have done to cause her to fear him.

All he could think of was that moment in the woodshed on Thanksgiving Day. What he’d taken for perhaps a moment of awareness between them, had she taken as a reason to fear him?

The idea astounded him. Did she think he’d ever take advantage of her as a widow with no kin? He hardly reckoned Mrs. Blackstone as someone who would succor her stepdaughter willingly.

He’d tried never to let on what his true feelings might be. Except for that moment on Thanksgiving, he’d thought he’d kept them well-hidden.

Didn’t she realize he’d never express himself improperly to her, that he’d never dare presume to offer her anything? She was above him socially, culturally, in education, in everything. She was a lady and he nothing but a farmer.

Dear Lord, help me to reassure her that I won’t ever take advantage of her friendship. Help her to see it’s just friendship I’m offering. She’s been good to my Lizzie. I don’t want to hinder that. Take these feelings I have for her away. I know they’re not right. Help me forget them.

How was he to forget how she’d looked that evening…or how she’d felt in his arms when he’d held her dancing when those memories kept creeping on him unawares?

Chapter Fourteen

M
ara opened the china closet in the parlor and looked at the tea service with its deep pink and pale yellow rose pattern. Dietrich stood at her elbow, Lizzie a little behind her. “We’ll use this tea set for our tea party,” she told them, handing a cup and saucer to Lizzie.

Lizzie took them from her carefully and examined them. “They’re so pretty and delicate, like eggshells.”

“They’re French. You can see from the bottom.”

Lizzie turned over the saucer. “I can’t read it except for the word
Paris
.”

“Yes, it’s just the name of the French porcelain factory and its address. And a number. Each piece that was made was numbered, you see.”

Lizzie’s mouth rounded. “Goodness. Should we use them?”

Mara smiled. “Of course. This is a special occasion.”

Dietrich tugged on her sleeve. “Let me carry some, too, Mama.”

Mara hesitated, not wanting to risk breaking any. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and pump some water into the dishpan for me?” She glanced at Lizzie. “We’ll wash them and have them all ready for tomorrow’s tea party.”

“Mama, why can’t I carry any?” Dietrich’s lips pouted, his arms folded tightly against his chest.

“Because they’re very fragile. These were my mother’s, your grandmother’s.” To assuage his feelings, she picked up a cake dish of a solid cream porcelain from the china cupboard, a dish she knew was easily replaceable and handed it to her son. “Here, take this with you. It’s bigger than all the pieces Lizzie and I will bring in.”

He grasped each edge proudly and marched away.

Lizzie met her glance and smiled. “This was your mother’s?” she asked as the two carried a load of cups and saucers into the kitchen.

“Yes, it’s the only thing I have left of hers.” She set the cups down on the kitchen table and went for another stack. Lizzie followed her.

“My father bought it for her on their first trip to Paris.”

“They went to Paris?” she asked in a tone filled with awe.

Mara paused at the china cupboard once again. “Yes. He had just sold a painting and wanted to go to the city that attracts most painters. He bought my mother that set at an antique shop as a gift of gratitude for my mother’s willingness to go with him anywhere.”

Lizzie looked wistful. “How romantic.”

“Yes.” Her father had loved her mother deeply, which was why it had always disappointed her that he had fallen so quickly for Carina’s superficial charm. Of course, now as an adult, she better understood his loneliness.

“So, you’ve had this set all these years?”

Mara smiled. “Yes. My husband and I moved around a lot and weren’t able to take a lot of furniture with us. We usually rented furnished rooms. But I always packed this set up and took it with me. It made any new place seem like home right away.” She didn’t add that at first she’d had a lot of her own things but as money grew tight, anything of any worth had to eventually be sold.

This was the only thing she hadn’t been able to part with since it was the only thing left of her father and mother, the only reminder that true love between man and woman did exist even if she had not been privileged to experience it for herself.

“With all the moving, I never broke a piece. It’s still as complete as when my father bought it for my mother.”

Lizzie’s red eyebrows drew together. “Maybe it’s too good for our tea party. I’ll be afraid to hold it.”

“You needn’t be. You’re a careful person. Besides that, things are meant to be used and enjoyed. We can be careful, but we mustn’t give things more value than people.”

Lizzie nodded.

They took the rest of the set to the kitchen and began to wash the pieces. As Lizzie was drying and laying them back on the kitchen table, Carina entered the room. She raised an eyebrow at the stacks of cups and saucers and small dessert plates arrayed on the table. “What, are you planning to use the crown jewels?”

Mara restrained her annoyance. “We are having our tea party tomorrow afternoon. Remember, I told you about it, Carina?”

Carina held up a cup and eyed it critically. “Ah, yes, the tea party.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Entertaining the widower.”

Mara gasped. “Carina!”

Carina gave an unpleasant laugh. “Oh, you needn’t act so shocked. I’m sure Lizzie doesn’t mind my little jokes, do you, my dear?”

Lizzie’s color was high and she looked in question from Carina to Mara. “No, of course not, ma’am.”

Carina set down the cup and walked around the table toward the girl. “Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if your father remarried, would you?”

Lizzie’s eyes grew round, and Mara noticed Dietrich, too, had stopped playing with the dishpan water.

The moment of silence drew out. Then Lizzie abruptly shook her head, sending her two long braids swinging. “No, not if it’s the right woman.” Her gaze rested on Mara.

Mara felt her own color rise. With a firmness she didn’t feel, she set down the dessert plate she was drying and took up a saucer. “Carina, this is merely a tea party to teach Lizzie how to hold one of her own one day. Since her father is the logical person to invite, as well as you and Dietrich, I wouldn’t read anything into it beyond that.”

“Whatever you say, my dear.” She set down the cup and turned to leave the kitchen once more with a swish of her skirts.

When she was gone, Lizzie set down the piece she was drying but said nothing. Mara observed her a moment to see if she was going to say anything but when she didn’t, Mara continued drying.

A few moments later, Dietrich began to splash too much. “All right, that’s enough washing for you. Why don’t you put on your coat and see if Paul needs some help outside?”

He turned away from the sink and ran to get his jacket from the peg. “May I go see Mr. Jakeman? I want to visit my kitten and see Samson.”

Mara glanced at Lizzie.

“It’s all right. Pa’s home. He’ll be chopping wood in the yard.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Put your scarf and mittens on, Dietrich. It’s cold out there.” She glanced out the window. The yard was white and the bay beyond deep blue. “But be home before dark.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be sure he gets home before then,” Lizzie reassured her. “You don’t mind if I stay here a little longer, do you?”

Mara smiled at her as Dietrich left the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. “Of course not. We’ll set these dishes out of the way in the pantry and then begin baking our cake.”

As they did these things, Lizzie seemed quieter than usual.

When they returned to the kitchen with butter and eggs for the cake, Mara hesitated but finally decided to say something. “Did Mrs. Blackstone’s words bother you, dear?”

Lizzie glanced at her, her color once again deepening. “Oh, no, I mean, not the way you think.”

“I’m glad. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by them.”

Lizzie focused on the crock of butter she held in her hands. “I…I hope she’s right.”

Mara tried to remember Carina’s exact words. “What do you mean?”

Her gaze slowly rose to Mara’s. “About you and Papa. I wouldn’t mind at all if…if you and Papa were to, you know, marry.”

Mara stood still as stone. The only sound was the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel. “I…” What could she say, how to answer the girl without hurting her feelings, without giving herself away? She raised her hand and touched the girl’s arm. “Oh, Lizzie, I think Carina’s reading too much into our friendship.”

Lizzie’s lips pressed together, their corners downward as if she were keeping from crying. Mara’s heart tore in her chest, wishing she could offer her something more but knowing it wasn’t right to get her hopes up. “Your mother must have been a very special woman to win your father’s heart. I don’t think your father will find anyone to replace her. I hope for his sake that he does, but don’t be in too much of a hurry for someone to take your mother’s place.”

Lizzie set down the crock and took one of her hands in hers. “Oh, I’m not! But you’re different. I think you and Papa—”

Mara had to stop the girl. She shook her head. “No, dear.” But she couldn’t meet the girl’s eyes. “My father found someone too quickly. I know he must have been very lonely after my mother died, but it wasn’t home anymore with another woman filling it.”

Lizzie’s hand squeezed hers before letting go. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Mara only nodded. “It’s all right. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“I could never be disappointed in you.”

Mara bit her lip, not knowing what else to say. That she could never remarry because her first marriage had been such a nightmare? Of course, she could never share that with anyone, least of all a girl who had dreams of her own still.

Gideon wiped his feet on the doormat before Mrs. Blackstone’s kitchen door, feeling as nervous as a young man on his first courtship. He removed his low bowler and put a hand to his hair which had been combed back with pomade.

“Well, am I presentable?” he quipped to Lizzie. They stood in the dim woodshed, breathing in the cedar scent around them.

Lizzie gave him a shy smile “You look very handsome, Papa.”

He readjusted the Windsor knot of his blue silk tie. The starched linen collar bit into his jaws but Lizzie had insisted he must wear his Sunday best, a woolen sack suit of dark charcoal-gray.

He didn’t know why he felt so unsure of himself. He’d been inside this place plenty of times, but only once to dine with Mrs. Keller. That, an informal, impromptu supper, had been uncomfortable enough.

This was a handwritten invitation—written by Lizzie, but coming from Mara. It sounded very formal—too formal for the likes of him. Lizzie had also dressed in her best, her new green dress. He tried to smile at her. “You look pretty, too.” The narrow brim of her hat was turned upward, and a wide green silk ribbon was tied around the base of its low crown.

“Thank you, Papa. Now, why don’t you knock so we can get indoors? I don’t want to keep Mrs. Keller waiting.”

“No, of course not.” He turned, his hand jerking toward the door. He tapped on the panels.

Hardly a second passed and the door swung inward. “Mr. Jakeman, you’re here!” Dietrich met him with a wide smile. He was dressed in a pair of navy blue knickerbockers and a matching jacket with a lighter blue bow tie and snowy white shirt.

“My, aren’t you looking handsome this afternoon,” Gideon responded, stretching his lips in a smile, despite feeling the increasing rate of his heartbeat at the glimpse of Mara standing at the far end of the kitchen.

“Tell our guests to come in, Dietrich,” she said softly.

Dietrich opened the door wider and waved his hand in a flourish. “Come in, Mr. Jakeman, Miss Jakeman.” The words sounded as if the boy had rehearsed them.

Gideon stood while Lizzie entered and then followed after her. Dietrich closed the door behind them.

Clutching his hat in his fingertips, he braced himself to greet Mara, as if this wasn’t any unusual occasion. He hadn’t seen her since the day she’d refused his offer of a lift.

His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her. She stood by the woodstove in a dress he hadn’t seen before. It was a deep shade of blue, only a shade lighter than her son’s suit. She wore an ivory cameo at the high neck. The three-quarter sleeves revealed pale, slim arms and wrists. She wore a frilly apron, which she proceeded to untie now. Her dark hair was swept up behind her head and tiny earrings decorated her earlobes.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Keller.”

She removed the apron and came forward. He thought for a moment that she would extend her hand, but she ended up clasping them loosely in front of her. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jakeman. I’m so glad you could come to our tea party.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you for having me.”

She glanced at Lizzie. “Why don’t you take your father’s hat and overcoat and show him into the parlor? Most everything is in there. I just need to bring the teapot and you can bring in the cake.”

“All right.”

Mara returned to the stove and Gideon unbuttoned his coat. “I can see to it,” he told his daughter, holding out his hand for hers.

“No, Papa. You’re the guest, and Mrs. Keller already showed me where I could put our coats. Come along, Dietrich.”

She left the kitchen before he could say anything more, leaving him alone with Mara. He cleared his throat, wishing he still had his hat to clutch. “Did you make it home all right the other day?”

She turned from the woodstove, the teakettle in one hand, a pot holder in the other. “What? Oh, yes, yes, thank you.”

Did she seem as flustered as he or was she just distracted as any hostess getting ready to serve something? Soft pink color suffused her cheeks but that was probably due to standing by the warm stove.

He stood quietly, watching as she approached the table, lifted the lid of the round china teapot and poured in the steaming water. He didn’t dare saying anything—not that he could think of anything to say—lest she burn herself.

She righted the kettle and plopped the china top onto the pot. “There.” She straightened, giving him a quick smile before returning to the stove.