Hometown Cinderella: Hometown Cinderella\The Inn at Hope Springs (22 page)

Mara unfolded the calico napkin. “I have no doubt I will. I’m quite famished, I can tell you.”

Gideon removed the screen and knelt by the fire, poking it until the sparks flew and flames burned bright.

Dietrich knelt beside him. Mara smiled at how closely her son’s movements imitated the man’s.

As she took spoonfuls she listened to their conversation, the young boy’s questions, the man’s patient explanations. “What’s that?”

“It’s a chestnut roaster.”

“Are you going to roast chestnuts over the fire?”

“Yes. Here, pour some in the pot.” He allowed Dietrich to scoop the brown chestnuts from a burlap sack and place them into the brass container of the long-handled contraption with its holes around the top.

“We’re also going to roast some apples and pop some popcorn, eh, Lizzie?”

Lizzie smiled. “We always do on Christmas Eve and since you two are here, we figured this was close enough.” She sat down on the hearth beside them and the three set to work.

Mara finished her food and sat back against the cushions. How good it felt to feel warm again.

As if reading her thoughts, Gideon glanced her way. “All right?”

She smiled. “Very.”

He returned her smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. A new warmth spread through her limbs and she shivered.

“Cold?”

A flush rose from her neck to her cheeks. “No, not at all.” She hurried to ask the first thing that popped into her head. “Is Bessie all right?”

“Brushed down and fed her oats and hay, she’s safe in her stall for the night.”

“I’m glad she was able to navigate through the storm.”

“She knows the lay of the land pretty well.”

The first kernels of corn started popping. Lizzie gave an exclamation and sped up her shaking.

Dietrich turned away from the fire to Gideon. “Why aren’t my chestnuts popping?”

“You’ve just got to keep shaking them.” He gave his attention back to her son, his much larger hands covering Dietrich’s on the long handle and giving it a vigorous shake.

A while later, the three sat together, Dietrich wedged closely to her on the settee, Lizzie on his other side and Gideon in an armchair drawn up on Mara’s side of the settee, close to the fireplace. A bowl of popcorn, a dish of roasted chestnuts and another of roasted apples, and a bowl of shagbark hickory nuts were set on the low table before them.

They spent a convivial evening talking about everything from Gideon’s boyhood in the hamlet to Christmas customs all across Europe. Then Gideon brought out his fiddle and played some songs. They prevailed on Mara to sing a few Christmas songs in German and French.

Dietrich yawned beside her.

“If you yawn any harder, I’ll be able to see clear down to your belly,” Gideon told him.

Dietrich snapped his mouth shut, his eyes round.

Lizzie poked his arm. “He’s just teasing you. He used to tell me that all the time when it was my bedtime.”

“You mean when it was past your bedtime and you were making a good job of ignoring the fact.”

Dietrich giggled.

With a yawn of his own, Gideon got up and stretched. “What’d’ya say, son, time to hit the sack? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and you want to be well rested up for that.”

Dietrich jumped up. “Can I help you decorate your tree?”

Mara winced, feeling badly for her son who wouldn’t have his own tree to decorate.

“I told you you could. Otherwise, who’s going to put the star on top?”

Dietrich’s eyes grew large with wonder. “Me?”

Gideon nodded. “That’s right. Lizzie’s going to be too busy with all the other things going on tomorrow.” He winked at his daughter then took Dietrich by the hand.

As Mara made to get up, he shooed her back with a gesture. “You stay put. If you need anything, let Lizzie know. I’ll see to Dietrich.”

“Very well.” She watched them leave.

When Mara said she was fine, Lizzie excused herself to make up her bed. “Papa said we could share his bed. He’ll sleep in mine.”

Mara tried to protest but Lizzie wouldn’t hear of it. “It’ll be fun, like two sisters sharing a bed.” Her gaze grew soft. “Or like when I was real young and I’d come to Mama at night if I had a bad dream.”

Mara nodded, unable to deny the girl’s wish.

After Lizzie left the parlor, Mara sat content to watch the fire crackle. She yawned though she had no desire to get up anytime soon. The night had an element of something out of time, and she was in no hurry to end it. Reality could intrude tomorrow.

She glanced about the small parlor. It was a homey, inviting room with its dark, waxed, wide-planked floors and its low-beamed ceiling and plastered walls. A large rag rug covered the greater part of the floor and smaller ones the remaining areas. Two windows faced the front yard. One doorway led to the kitchen area, on the opposite side the other led to the bedroom, where she could see Lizzie making up the bed with clean sheets.

Evergreen boughs graced the mantelpiece and windowsill, thick white candles ensconced among them. Mara felt a constriction in her throat. How nice it must be to have a home of one’s own, to be free to decorate it as one wished.

She started at the sound of someone entering. Gideon came down the narrow staircase and smiled at her. “Dietrich is all tucked in. Lizzie promised to read a story to him. She’ll stay with him till he falls asleep so he won’t feel lonely in a strange bed.”

Mara clutched the quilt around her, feeling suddenly very conscious of being alone with Gideon. “That’s nice of her.”

He went to the fireplace. Mara couldn’t help observing him. He wore a pair of heavy corduroy trousers and suspenders and a blue flannel shirt open at the collar and rolled up on his forearms, revealing the white sleeves of his union suit beneath. The garment didn’t hide the strong sinews of his forearms. As he leaned forward to put the log on the fire, the shirt stretched tight against his broad shoulders, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

He replaced the fire screen and brushed off his hands and turned to her with a shy smile. “Warm enough?”

“Oh, yes, fine.” She felt like a teenager at her first sociable, she who’d spoken to lords and ladies in Europe.

With a sigh, he sat back down on the armchair. She let out the breath she’d been holding from being afraid—or wishing?—he’d take the seat beside her on the settee. They sat watching the flames for a while. She stole a look toward him, wondering if he was feeling as tense as she felt. But he looked relaxed, his long legs stretched out, his arms resting on each side of the chair, his head against the lace doily at the back of the chair.

His wife had probably crocheted the antimacassar. Her glance encompassed the room again, as well as every sampler, rug and lace table covering in the room.

“Your late wife must have been a very special woman.”

He glanced sidelong at her. “Why do you say that?”

She gestured around her. “The coziness of your home. I know Lizzie has become a good housekeeper, but I’m sure she didn’t do all I see around me.”

He nodded against the upholstered chair back. “You’re right. Most of this was Elsie’s doing. We—” he cleared his throat “—haven’t wanted to change anything.” She caught a look that seemed apologetic.

She smoothed the quilt over her knees. “That’s understandable. You wanted to honor her and remember her.”

He didn’t answer right away but looked toward the fire, rubbing a hand across his jaw. There was a light stubble covering it, a shade lighter than his rusty-red hair.

A pocket of sap caused a pop from a log. Mara turned her eyes reluctantly from him back to the fireplace.

“Elsie was a good woman. Quiet, helpful, a fine mother. We lost a child, a baby boy. He would have been a little older than Dietrich.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It was a long time ago. Time heals all wounds.”

“Does it?”

Their glances met. She regretted her words. “It has mine,” he said softly.

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of the ticking clock on the mantel and the crackle of the fire, he said, “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be married to someone famous, traveling all over the place.”

Gideon didn’t think Mara was going to reply. After that first fixed look she’d given him that made him wonder if he’d said something wrong, she’d turned away and sat staring at the burning logs. He studied her profile. Her hair, still damp at the edges, tumbled over her shoulders, her long fingers wrapped about the teacup she’d taken up earlier. Once again, he felt badly over the broken one.

He hadn’t thought his remark too forward after she brought up the subject of his own wife. She hadn’t seemed to mind hearing about Elsie.

But her loss was more recent. He’d probably put his foot in it.

“Klaus wasn’t quiet.”

Gideon started at the sound of Mara’s low words. His brow furrowed until he remembered what he’d said about Elsie.

After another shorter silence, she continued. “When he was angry, he let me know it. He would start by shouting terrible things to me, even if I had nothing to do with what had angered him. It was as if the slightest thing would fill him with rage. Finally, he couldn’t contain himself and he would throw something, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d—” she swallowed visibly “—hit me,” she ended so softly he thought at first he’d heard wrong.

But a look at her whitened knuckles around the teacup told him he’d heard correctly. Gideon’s own fingers tightened on the armchairs as he drew his body forward on the seat. A lightning bolt couldn’t have stunned him more.

“At first I tried so hard to please him, until finally over time I came to understand he didn’t love me, or honor me the way a man should honor his wife, the way I should be honored.” She turned her gaze toward him and met his gaze full-on. His own didn’t waver. If she needed strength or affirmation, he was there to give it to her.

She drew in a shuddering breath as if to cleanse herself after the confession. For confession he suspected it was. He would bet she hadn’t told another soul.

“That’s when I realized there was nothing I could ever do.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he tried to tell her with his eyes that he honored her, that he would never treat her in that way.

She shook her head, as if angry with herself. “Everyone envied me, married to such a handsome, talented, famous musician. He was a rising star, rivaling the best musicians on the European stage. What they didn’t see was how he squandered away every penny he’d earned, gambling it away, giving it away to those he admired, until we had nothing left and he fell ill.

“No one visited him then,” she ended softly.

How he wished he could gather her in his arms. But he still felt the few feet between them like a great divide.

They sat silent for a good while. He was surprised when she spoke again, her voice low, her focus on the fire before her. “A few years ago he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. At first, we thought he would recover. He went to the finest sanatoriums in the Alps and spas in Germany and Switzerland. But, when he was better, he continued to live a life of dissipation. His body grew weaker and weaker and less able to fight the disease when it hit again, which only made him angrier at everything and everyone around him.”

She stared into the fire. “When he finally died, I was glad—relieved.” Bringing a fist up to her mouth, she shook her head. “What kind of horrible person wishes for the death of her own husband? What kind of Christian was I? Yet, it was my only escape. I had nursed him night and day to the end. And death, when it finally came, left me only feeling empty. There was no grief then or later, standing by his grave, a great family mausoleum in Germany.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “His family which had provided no support during his life, because they were almost as impoverished as he was, gave him all the trappings and pretensions of their great aristocratic name when he departed this earth.

“There we stood, his mother and sisters sobbing, and me in my widow’s weeds, feeling nothing. It was as if he’d used up my last emotion in life.”

Gideon wanted to assure her she was not to blame. But she seemed far away from him, staring into the past.

Would he ever be able to comfort her? Or were the scars of the past too deep to ever allow another man’s love to erase them?

Chapter Eighteen

M
ara awoke to find herself alone in the large four-poster bed. She looked to the other side where the bedding had been thrown back. Lizzie must have been up awhile. She squinted toward the window, trying to determine how late it was. She had slept like a log as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She stretched now, becoming conscious as her head sank into the feather pillow that she was lying in Gideon’s bed. The bed he’d shared with Elsie. She remembered the tender note in his voice when he’d spoken of her. He hadn’t said much, but what he said was full of respect, admiration and love.

The kind of love she’d once yearned for from a man. Had Klaus ever loved her like that? She’d asked herself so often in the earlier years of her marriage, finally coming to the conclusion that he’d
wanted
her. And since marriage had been the only way to obtain her, he’d proposed to her.

But once he’d married her, he’d quickly lost interest. His sole focus in life had been his music. It was his first love and outside of it, there was little room for anything else. Everything else, including the people in his life, his own wife and child, were mere pastimes to be used for amusement until he turned his attention back to his music.

She put those thoughts aside, burrowing for a moment in the pillow and sheets, inhaling the clean fragrance of balsam fir sachets. She opened her eyes, looking at the pillow beside hers, picturing Gideon’s head lying there, his eyes opening upon awakening, their gray-blue depths gradually coming to awareness. Awareness of her. His rusty-red hair would be tousled, his face ruddy with sleep.

She turned away. What was she thinking? Abruptly she sat up, throwing the bedding off, shame washing over her at the thought of all she had told him on the previous night. What had possessed her? She could only blame the harrowing experience she’d had in the snowstorm for weakening her reserve.

Quickly she went to the table holding ewer and bowl. Lizzie had thoughtfully filled it with warm water. How soundly Mara must have slept not to have heard her.

As she washed and dressed—finding her clothing neatly laid out, even pressed—her mind kept remembering snatches of her late-night conversation with Gideon. Her face grew warm now, as she hid it behind a towel to dry it.

She’d never spoken of these things to anyone. How could she have now, to him?

But he’d proven such an easy person to open up to. She’d sensed only compassion and understanding—and strength—coming from him.

She went to the window and pushed back the gingham curtain. After last night’s storm, the sun shone brightly, stinging her eyes, against the new fallen snow. The bare trees of the elms and the heavy, dark boughs of the evergreens were bent with snow.

She had to get back. Carina would be wondering what had happened to her. Would she care?

Shaking aside her worries about her stepmother, Mara hurried out of the room, embarrassed to have slept so late when everyone else was up. She paused at the threshold to the kitchen, hearing Dietrich’s voice around a mouthful of food, Lizzie’s laughter and Gideon’s lower tone. She clutched the doorpost, feeling terribly self-conscious. How was she to face him this morning? What would he think of her?

As if sensing her presence, they all turned to her at once, Dietrich sitting at the table with Gideon, Lizzie bringing the iron skillet from the cookstove, a spatula in her other hand.

Lizzie’s mouth broke into a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Keller. How’re you feeling?”

Mara returned the smile, forcing her feet to take a few steps forward. She looked at Dietrich. “Good morning. I’m sorry, I seem to have overslept.”

Gideon rose and pulled out a chair for her. “You must have been some tuckered out. Come, have a seat. Lizzie’s made some pancakes and sausages.”

She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, though she felt their gaze on her. She took the proffered seat, aware of his large frame towering over her as he tucked her chair in. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Lizzie served the pancakes on the plate before her. “Here you go. I’ll bring you some sausages.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Gideon asked.

“Yes, please.” Then remembering herself, she began to rise. “But I can help myself. You needn’t wait on me.”

He laid his large hand on her arm, staying her motion. “Sit still. You’re our guest this morning.”

Her eyes rose up his arm to his chest and shoulders, taking in the small V where his shirt opened at the neck, the strong, slightly cleft chin and lips, tipped up at one corner, until finally meeting his eyes twinkling down into hers.

She couldn’t return his smile, her inner turmoil too great.

Gradually the amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by a question, one eyebrow lifted a fraction.

She looked down at her plate, whispering, “Thank you.”

He removed his hand from her arm, allowing her to breathe again and moved away from the table.

Dietrich began speaking to her and she smiled and looked at her son, making replies without even knowing what she was saying. Gideon returned and poured coffee into her cup. She heard the sound without looking, though every cell on that side of her body was aware of him, the very hairs on her arm tingling. Finally, he moved away with “There’s cream and sugar on the table.” She nodded, still not looking his way, her gaze determinedly on her son, thankful for his chatter.

By noon, Gideon had the horse and sleigh hitched up once more since Mara had grown anxious to return home.

“I wish we could stay here.”

He glanced down at Dietrich, bundled up in coat and scarf and hat. “Yes, I do, too.”

The boy smiled, reaching up to pat Bessie. “But I’m coming back today to help you decorate your tree, aren’t I?”

Gideon nodded, but Mara said only, “We’ll see.”

Before he could say anything to persuade her, she squared her shoulders. “Shall we go?”

At his nod, she headed for her side of the sleigh. He’d felt a barrier between them this morning and helpless to do anything about it. He had an inkling of what had brought it about. Her openness from last night.

Her shocking revelations had kept him awake much of the night. But the overwhelming feeling for him was humbleness that she’d trusted him enough to share her deepest secrets with him.

He sighed, knowing well what the light of day did to a person. She probably regretted her openness of the night before. He didn’t know how to put her worries to rest.

He helped Dietrich into the sleigh and draped the fur rug around their legs.

He climbed aboard himself, noting that Dietrich had squeezed himself between his mother and him. The sleigh was really only meant for two, so they felt snug against each other. “All set?”

“All set!” Dietrich called out, drowning out his mother’s quieter “Yes.”

Gideon flicked the reins and set the bells jingling. He turned to wave to Lizzie who stood at the window and waved back.

When they arrived at Mrs. Blackstone’s, he got down, ignoring Mara’s protests that he needn’t alight. He wanted to escort them all the way to the door, but she held him back then, with a light touch of her hand to his forearm. “Thank you, Mr. Jakeman.” Her blue eyes, more intensely blue against the white background, beseeched him. “Thank you for everything last night.”

He shuffled his feet in the snow, feeling uncomfortable with the praise. “There’s no need to thank me. And—” Before he lost his nerve, he said, “Please, call me Gideon.”

She looked down, hiding her lovely eyes, her lashes inky black against her pale skin. A pretty color tinted her cheeks from the ride in the cold air. She made no reply, neither a denial nor agreement. Instead of pressing her, he continued. “And no more of these lone walks from town. You let me know when you need to go in for your lessons, and I’ll take you there and back, you hear?”

At that, her gaze rose to his. She pressed her lips together and finally spoke. “I can’t do that.” The words were low, almost as if wrenched from her.

He swallowed. “Can’t or
won’t?
”

Saying nothing more, she turned away, calling behind her shoulder, “Come along, Dietrich.”

Gideon watched them enter the woodshed, deciding to say nothing more about decorating the tree. He’d come back this afternoon and hope to persuade her to come along with Dietrich to celebrate Christmas Eve with Lizzie and him.

A movement at the kitchen window caught his eye. Mrs. Blackstone stood behind the lacy curtain. With a touch of his hand to his cap, he turned with a sigh back to his sleigh.

Mara’s feet felt heavy as she neared the kitchen door, though her ankle hardly pained her, thanks to Gideon’s care. After the concern in his eyes and tone, returning to Carina’s felt like stepping from light into darkness, she thought bitterly as she opened the door. Mara stopped short at the sight of Carina, standing at the window, her arms folded across her chest, her mouth an unsmiling line as she stared accusingly at the two of them.

“Good morning, Carina.”

Carina only gave a short nod but remained silent.

Mara helped Dietrich off with his things and then proceeded with her own. “Why don’t you go and play in the parlor, dear?”

With a nod he ran off.

As Mara hung up their things, she could feel Carina stare holes into her back. Finally, smoothing her skirt down, she braced her shoulders and stood to face her stepmother.

“Where have you been all night, or need I bother to ask?”

Every nerve bristled but Mara forced herself to answer civilly, “Mr. Jakeman found me along the road halfway between here and town and took me to his house. He didn’t want to force his horse any farther to bring me all the way here. Besides which, Dietrich was already at his house.”

Carina’s nostrils flared. “I will not have this kind of lewd behavior under my roof.”

Mara stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Staying at a man’s house. Brazen! I don’t know what kind of morals you’ve picked up in Europe, but that kind of behavior is not tolerated here in Down East Maine, I’ll have you know!”

Mara gasped. “I was half-frozen. Believe me, even if it had occurred to me to behave immorally, I doubt if I would have been capable of it!” Her voice rose, and remembering Dietrich in the next room, she reined in her temper with an effort. She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.

Carina’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ve put up with you since you arrived with your son, only for your father’s sake, but this is too much. I live hardly a quarter mile from Gideon’s. You had no reason to stay there last night. Unless you are trying to catch him, shameless hussy!” She hissed the last words.

Mara’s mouth opened but she couldn’t get the words out, her anger was so great. She took in deep breaths to bring her anger under control. Then she stepped before Carina, jabbing her forefinger in her face, causing her to flinch backward. “You haven’t wanted me here since the moment I arrived. I’ll remind you, this is my house as much as it is yours.” She drew back. “But I have no desire to share it with someone as poisonous as you. I shall be out of your way today.”

Before Carina could say anything more, Mara left her, swishing her skirts away from her, and marched out of the kitchen. Saying nothing to her son yet, she went to her room and began packing her portmanteau. She hadn’t brought much with her and would be leaving with even less. But she could not bear being under the same roof with Carina a day longer.

Forgive me, Father,
she prayed,
but I spent enough years with someone who didn’t want me or love me. I can’t do it anymore
.

Snapping her bag shut, she headed for her son’s room and packed a small bag for him. She picked up his stuffed dog and laid it atop his clothes, her eyes tearing up, remembering when she had sewed it during the last months of Klaus’s life, rocking in the chair beside his bed, which she hardly left in those days.

And, now, once again, she would be a nomad. Swiping the tears away, she snapped the bag shut and took it out into the hall to join the other. She squared her shoulders to face the most difficult part. How to break the news to Dietrich?

At first he was excited. “Are we going back to the Jakemans’? Yippee!” He began to jump up and down.

She sat down on the settee, her hands hanging limply in her lap. This was going to be harder than she’d anticipated.

“No, dear, we’re not going back to the Jakemans’.”

That afternoon Gideon looked across his snow-covered yard and the laden tree branches of the thick maples to the sparkling blue ocean beyond. Sunlight danced on the inky blue sea. A barquetine sailed by, on its way to Eastport no doubt.

Lizzie came to stand beside him, giving him a gentle push. “You’d best get going.”

He smiled down at her, knowing she was anxious for him to return home with Dietrich—and, hopefully, Mara—so they could begin decorating the tree. “All right. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She nodded. “I’ve got to start the baking and a few other things for tomorrow’s dinner.” A brief shadow clouded her gray eyes. “You don’t think she’ll say no?”

He looked down at his gloves, pulling them on. “Well, let’s not borrow trouble.”