Bittersweet (35 page)

“Display books?” Rob grinned. “I’m not sure I see the logic behind that. Folks know a library is going to have books.”

Galen never made me feel stupid
.

“Displays?” Ruth chewed on her lower lip and blinked. “Oh! What a magnificent idea! I could feature something different each month. Biographies, mysteries—”

“But if you stick all of them in the window, what’s left for folks to borrow?” Rob shrugged. “I suppose you could keep a list of folks who want to borrow those books when they’re available once the display is over.”

“I’ll do that, too!”

Laney smiled at Ruth’s enthusiasm. “It would be fun to have a globe and maps—maybe a compass, too, and do a travel and geography display.”

“Ah! Now I see.” Rob nodded. “A pickax and a pan, and you could do California history.” His brows knit. “I don’t suppose that’s really history. The gold rush started only a decade ago.”

“We could expand it to do a Western theme.” Ruth beamed at Laney. “What props would we want for the display?”

“We could place a table there and use bandannas or a horse blanket as a tablecloth. We could have a variety of Western-type books and have a child’s picture book open in the center. If we added a pair of spurs and a hat to the pickax and pan, it would balance the arrangement.”

“Children’s books!” Ruth gave her a hug. “Oh, I love that idea! We’ll make a point of having books of all levels—that way, everyone will know they can find something to read.”

“So let me make sure I’m getting all of this straight.” Rob took the pencil he’d been wearing behind his ear and pressed a slip of paper against the wall. “You want six children’s chairs.” He scribbled on the paper.

“And a pint-sized table,” Ruth added.

Without turning around, he continued, “You want six adult chairs and a dining table—square or round?”

“Rectangular.” Ruth smiled. “Let’s make it ten chairs.”

His pencil came off the paper. “Just how big do you want that table?”

“I’m an absolute dolt when it comes to those things.” Ruth looked at her. “Laney knows all of those little details that make life go so much more smoothly. How much space?”

Wait a minute. I thought you understood I don’t want you to match me
up with this man
. “I don’t know about library tables. When dining, you plan for thirty inches for each place setting.”

“Speaking of which,” the carpenter said as he folded the paper and crammed it and the pencil into his shirt pocket, “why don’t you ladies do me the honor of joining me for lunch at the Copper Kettle?”

“I really don’t think—” Laney began.

“Actually, it
is
lunchtime.” Ruth smiled at her, then at the carpenter. “We’d adore having a meal with you.”

Laney brushed by Ruth and whispered, “Eat a lot. You’re not getting a single bite of the chocolate I buy at the mercantile!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

M
r. Darlden opened the door to the diner and bellowed across the room, “Ruth, Laney? I brought your guest on over. Lefty and Jeb’re loading her trunks onto your wagon.”

“Hello,” the young woman said in a velvety southern drawl once she reached their table. “I’m Miss Amanda Bradley.”

Ruth’s mouth was full, so Laney spoke. “It’s a pleasure to have you, Miss Bradley, isn’t it, Ruth?”

Ruth nodded.

“Please, though, feel free to call me Laney. Women in the West tend to become friends so rapidly, formalities are unnecessary.” Laney turned slightly to the side, where Mr. Price had come to his feet. “And this is our town’s finest carpenter, Mr. Robert Price.”

“How lovely to make your acquaintance.” Amanda accepted the seat Mr. Price pulled out for her. “Thank you, sir.”

Ruth swallowed and leaned forward. Her lips didn’t move as she whispered, “Sandwich.”

Miss Bradley glanced at their plates. All three of them were eating sandwiches, and Laney hoped her sister-in-law’s friend would take the hint.

Ethel smoothed her apron as she pattered out of the kitchen. “I heard Mr. Darlden. Where did he go? Oh dear. Well, well, Ruth. Who’s your little friend, and where is she from?”

“Miss Bradley is undoubtedly thirsty after traveling, Ethel.”

“After traveling, I was positively parched,” Laney chimed in as Ruth picked up her sandwich to take another bite. “Ethel, would you be so kind as to bring her a cup of coffee?”

“Of course. Of course.” Ethel didn’t leave, though. She took a sweeping look at Miss Bradley’s clothing. Though rumpled and dusty, it was made of the finest material and lace. Laney didn’t doubt for a second that the cook could probably guess within ten cents what it cost. Greed lit her eyes, and she called in a much-too-cheery voice, “Myrtle, be a dear and bring out a cup of coffee.” She turned back to Miss Bradley. “You’ll want to meet my niece. I’m sure she’ll love meeting you, too. Any friend of the McCains is certain to charm us all.”

Amanda managed a polite smile.

“It’ll be lovely to cook for a young woman of distinction. Today’s special is—”

“I’ll order for the young lady,” Mr. Price said.

“But she hasn’t heard about my stewed rabbit and prunes.”

Myrtle came out of the kitchen. She carried a cup and saucer, but the look on her face was anything but reassuring. “Did the tea and coffee get mixed up?”

“No, they didn’t.” Ethel whisked the beverage from her niece and exultantly placed it on the table. “Gourmet coffee. That’s what it is. There. Have a taste!”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had coffee with such an aroma.”

Laney grimaced. Amanda stated a fact that no one could deny. If Laney had her way, she would never again smell such coffee, either.

“Travel is ever so difficult on a gentle lady’s constitution.” Laney reached over and smoothly robbed Amanda of the cup. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when I requested the coffee. Tea. Yes, tea.” The strikingly beautiful girl nodded her head. Laney suspected the glint in her eyes was gratitude. “Plain. Unless you’d like a touch of honey, Miss Bradley?”

“How thoughtful of you. Tea would be best.” She sighed in relief, then added to Laney, “And do call me Amanda.”

Ethel squared her shoulders. “Tea and an order of stewed rabbit and prunes.”

“A sandwich, Ethel,” Mr. Price said in a firm tone.

Ethel beamed. “You’d like another sandwich?”

“No, the young lady would appreciate one.”

“Yes, she would!” Laney daintily picked up part of her own sandwich. “Do forgive me for eating in front of you, Amanda, but nobody makes sandwiches like Ethel. Every time I come here, I just have to have one!”

“Please do go ahead and eat.”

“I’ll get that sandwich.” Ethel headed for the kitchen door. Just as she reached it, she paused. “Laney, you never said how good my fricasseed chicken was. Remember taking it home when you returned from the fair?” Ethel started back toward their table.

“I couldn’t possibly forget it.”

Ruth smiled. “And your chocolate applesauce cake, too. There wasn’t a single scrap left of it that night.”

“Myrtle, make Miss Bradley a sandwich.” Ethel plopped down beside Amanda. “You must tell me all about yourself.”

“She’s so travel weary, the poor dear.” Ruth shook her head.

“Amanda, please don’t feel obliged to entertain us.”

“Indeed,” Laney agreed. “When I made the trip back here, all I wanted was a cup of tea and a comfortable bed.”

Clearly grateful for their excuses, Amanda nodded.

By unspoken agreement, Ruth and Laney took turns trying to shield her from Ethel. Ethel seemed to think she should dominate the conversation. She didn’t stay on any topic very long, but that was due to the way Laney, Ruth, and Mr. Price redirected what smacked of gossip.

Drooping with weariness, Amanda ate her sandwich when it arrived and remained quiet.

Once she finished, Mr. Price walked them to the wagon. “I’ll drive,” Ruth asserted. “Laney, you can ride in the back with Amanda.”

“Oh no. I insist upon driving. You keep her company.”

Ruth gave her an exasperated look. “Laney, your friend is wilting. She needs you.”

“My friend?” Laney’s face puckered in confusion. “She came to visit you!”

“No, I thought she was a friend of yours from school.” Ruth and Laney both turned their attention on the stranger.

A shudder wracked Amanda as she stared at them. “My cousin, Yancy Bradley, made the arrangements. I’m supposed to be a companion to Miss Elaine. I have the letter from Mr. Joshua McCain in my valise.”

Mr. Price muffled his laughter with a cough. “I thought only the aged or the infirmed required companions. Miss Laney, which are you?”

Amanda’s voice shook as she half whispered, “You’re Miss Elaine.”

“Yes, I am. There seems to be a misunderstanding. My brother sent out an inquiry regarding a companion for me almost two years ago.”

What little color Amanda had left seeped away. “Two years ago.” She’d echoed the words in a hopeless tone.

Ruth and Laney exchanged looks. Ruth slipped her hand into Amanda’s. Laney took the other side.

“Do you enjoy reading?”

Amanda looked at Ruth. She didn’t know Ruth’s predilection for concocting schemes, so Laney was sure Amanda considered the question completely out of place. Manners demanded she reply, so she murmured, “I
adore
books.”

“Isn’t that just like the Lord?” Laney squeezed Amanda’s hand. “He knew we needed a librarian.”

“Bye!” Ivy stood on the porch and waved. The McCains had been in town the day before and were kind enough to pick up a few necessities and the mail for them.

“We’ll see you on Friday,” Mrs. O’Sullivan added. After the women from the Broken P drove off, Mrs. O’Sullivan sighed.

“Yore ankle naggin’ at you?”

“Only a little. I’m not complaining, though.” She leaned on the cane and walked back into the house. “The good Lord above surely blessed me with fine neighbors.”

“Them vittles they brung—’twas nice of ’em.”

“Laney and Ruth were concerned Sunday. I shouldn’t be surprised that they came over today. They’re very thoughtful young ladies.”

Ivy grimaced. “Wisht I woulda done sommat with the laundry. Hated havin’ ’em see how my new weddin’ towels and the shirts got spoilt.”

“We cannot dwell on that. What’s done is done.” Mrs. O’Sullivan sank into the rocking chair and propped up her foot.

Ivy started a fresh pot of coffee. “That ’Manda gal said sommat sorta like that. Didja know her cousin’s a low-down polecat? He showed up on her doorstep, sayin’ he would holp her with the plantation since her daddy up and died. Didn’t take long afore he was runnin’ the place and acting all biggety. Robbed her of ever’thang that her daddy left her, then sent her here to work. If ’n my kin sent me off on a wild goose chase, I’d go back and get even.”

“Vengeance belongs to the Lord. It’s not for us to seek retribution.” Mrs. O’Sullivan picked up her Bible.

“D’ya mind if ’n I go stretch my legs?”

“Not at all.” Mrs. O’Sullivan looked up. “Ivy, ’tis okay when we’re alone, but you’ll need to be mindful when others are about us—the words
ankles
and
legs
aren’t used. ’Tisn’t proper for a woman to refer to her body.”

“I’ll try to remember me that.” Ivy left. As she walked along, she mumbled, “Don’t know what the fuss is all ’bout. Ever’body gots ankles and knees and legs. Pretendin’ they ain’t thar’s jist silly.”

Wandering along, Ivy thought about the afternoon. Miss Ruth … well, she was a hoot. The woman didn’t mind laughing out loud, and she didn’t seem in the least bit worried over how clumsy she was. Everybody liked her just fine. But she was rich.

Laney and Amanda—they were two peas in a pod. Ivy had watched them all afternoon. They smiled a lot, but their teeth didn’t show when they did. When they laughed, they raised a hand in front of their mouth. Their voices were as soft as their hands.

They used dainty manners and never once struggled to handle all those yards of skirts they wore.

Reckon they’re ’shamed of me. Betcha Galen and his ma wisht he woulda
married someone like them. ’Manda wasn’t here yet, but they woulda been
thrilled to pieces for Laney to have their name and live beneath their roof. Galen
said he loved a gal. Was it Laney? No. Cain’t be. She woulda tole me. We’re
friends
.