Dreadful Sorry (19 page)

The doctor nodded. "I'll let you get on your way, then," he said. "It's only right that you should help out after all your uncle and aunt have done for you. I'm sure you are a great comfort to them."

Clementine gripped her hatbox tightly. She had to get to Hob! She smiled politely at Dr. Scopes. "It has been pleasant to see you again."

"Good morning, then," he said, and she turned away. As she hurried along up the street in the opposite direction from the general store, she could feel his eyes on her back.

There was the cottage with the door painted robin's egg blue. The low garden gate was also blue—a departure from the stone walls or traditional white fences of the other cottages in Hibben. A plump, fair-haired woman was sweeping the stoop as Clementine approached the blue gate. Clementine recognized her from the school picnic the day before. This was Hob's mother—or stepmother, as Sam Sawyer had said.

"Mrs. Wilkins?" Clementine untied her shawl and settled it loosely over her shoulders. She put up a hand to check that her braids were still neatly pinned.

"Yes, dear?" The woman leaned on her broom. "Oh, you're one of the Holloway girls! How are you this morning?"

"Clementine Horn," she corrected. "And I'm fine, thank you. I was in the village doing errands for my aunt—she isn't at all well, I'm afraid, with this new confinement—and I heard the frightful news about poor Hob's fall. I'm so sorry he has suffered such a terrible accident."

Mrs. Wilkins laughed, her eyes twinkling. "The villagers tend to exaggerate, I'm afraid. But it is true that Hobbie's still in bed this morning. He fell yesterday along the cliff path and bruised his leg. His pa and I thought he ought to wait till the swelling goes from his knee before letting him spend a whole day out in the boat."

"Oh, what a relief. I'm glad it's nothing very serious." Clementine lingered by the rosebushes. She was counting on traditional village hospitality, and Mrs. Wilkins did not disappoint.

The fair-haired woman reached out and placed a plump hand on Clementine's sleeve. "Since you are already here so early, perhaps you'd like to come in for a cup of coffee? The baby will be waking up soon and I'll need to feed her. You can visit with Hob while I tend her, if he is awake."

Clementine smiled with satisfaction and answered quite calmly: "Why, how very pleasant."

She followed the woman into the small house. So far, so good.

The houses in the village were much alike—frame cottages of two stories—two rooms up and two down, nestled against the rocky hillside. From the harbor it looked as if they might tumble down right into the sea. "Little mouse holes," Aunt Ethel labeled them disparagingly. Mrs. Wilkins led Clementine into the back room, which was the kitchen. It was crowded, though cheerful, with a stone fireplace set in one wall and blue-curtained windows along the back. The house was built up almost against the hill, and the kitchen windows looked out at the rise of rock dotted with wildflowers. In the center of the room was a round table covered in blue checked oilcloth. Simple crockery, pitchers, and bowls were stacked upon a shelf that ran the length of one wall. Clementine heard a whimper and noticed for the first time a wooden cradle near the large black stove that dominated one corner of the room.

"There, there, little one, just wait another second and Mama will feed you." Mrs. Wilkins clucked at the infant and reached for the blackened kettle that sat on the stove top. She poured Clementine a mug of steaming coffee and handed it to her. "I can sympathize with your aunt, my dear, having had a difficult confinement myself. We women do have a lot to bear." Then she bent over the baby and her eyes were warm with love. "Still, don't think I'm complaining! Little Grace is only two months old, but she's the light of my life." She tickled the baby under her fat chin. "Aren't you a little angel?" The baby chortled, and Mrs. Wilkins glanced up at Clementine. "Isn't she a dear?" She turned back to the baby and smoothed the blanket. "And look at those blue eyes. Aren't you Mama's sweet blueberry?"

Clementine had never seen a mother fuss over a tiny scrap of baby. Aunt Ethel always handed her new babies over to a servant girl immediately after their births. Clementine watched in fascination as Mrs. Wilkins settled herself comfortably in the rocking chair by the hearth and offered baby Grace her breast. Then she smiled at Clementine. "There's cream in the pitcher on the shelf, dear. Help yourself. Can you reach it? Pour Hob a cup, too, why don't you, with plenty of cream, and go on up. I'll join you soon as I'm finished here."

Clementine poured a cup of coffee for Hob, added cream to her own cup and his, and listened to Mrs. Wilkins croon and chatter to baby Grace. She felt a pang in her heart and for the space of a second missed her own mother fiercely. She left her basket and hatbox by the door to the garden and hurried up the narrow stairs, sloshing coffee over the rims of the cups she carried.

At the top of the stairs were two rooms. The one at the back of the house was small, with a sloped ceiling dropping low to meet the outside wall. Hob lay in this room in an iron frame bed, his head turned to the window. Like the kitchen windows, the windows in this room looked out to the rocky hill.

"Hello, Hob," she said in a low voice.

"What—oh,
Clementine!
My word, it's
you!
" He struggled to sit up. "I've been lying here daydreaming about you—and here you come right though the door! I must be a magician."

She handed him a cup of coffee, wondering how to begin. "I heard you were hurt. I was so worried, I came as fast as I could."

"I thought I heard voices downstairs," he said, gazing at her wonderingly, "but I never thought—It boggles the mind, my darlin'. Fairly boggles the mind." He was grinning at her now, blue eyes twinkling.

How thick should she lay it on? What would he believe? She gave him her sunniest smile. "I felt just awful at the thought of you lying injured in bed," she said. "And I realized—well, I realized that I'd been a fool."

"A fool? How?"

"A fool for trying to push you away from me. A fool because I—I really
do
care for you."

He stared at her. "You do?"

She nodded, eyes cast down shyly, and glanced at him from under her lashes. He was lapping up every word!

"Clementine Horn, really? You do?" When she nodded again, he laughed. "Pull over that chair there, girl, and come talk to me!"

She carried a ladder-back chair over from the wall and set it near his bedside. She sat down and took a deep breath, raising her eyes and gazing directly into his. "Yes," she said. "I
need
to talk to you. I've been thinking we really ought to spend more time together, now that we're out of school."

Hob brushed back his fair hair. "You must be heaven sent, my darlin' Clementine."

She didn't need Jilly Peters to tell her Hob Wilkins was sweet on her. And Uncle Wallace had unknowingly set her plan to escape in action when he said last night that he'd cast out anyone who married a villager. Cast out! She would marry Hob Wilkins if that's what it took to be rid of her uncle forever. But she hoped it wouldn't actually come to marriage. Clementine thought briefly of the atlas down in her hatbox at the foot of the stairs. She had vowed to herself long ago that she would one day travel to the very places shown on those maps. Her father would have wanted that for her. And if Miss Kent wouldn't let her stay here to earn money as an assistant teacher, there were other teachers at other schools who might. Benson, for instance, was only a few miles across the cove and a far more bustling town than Hibben.

But Benson was too close. Hob would find her in Benson. As her husband, he could take her back to Hibben with him. No, she would have to go farther away. Out of Maine entirely. The new big buses that ran from Boston to Bangor now drove up the coast, passing right by Hibben, to the new depot in Benson. So Benson was the escape route, the point of departure for a better life, and all Clementine had to do was get there.

She smiled archly. "So come on! Get up!"

He reached for her hand. "You know this is music to my ears, darlin', don't you?" His voice was husky. "How about this for a first date? How about you and me going berrying?"

Berrying was not what she had in mind.

She would make Hob take her across the cove today. The road along the headland led to Benson, but the journey by land was much longer than by water. There was more chance that Uncle Wallace could find her if she walked. No, she must get Hob to take her in a boat. And then Clementine would go by bus down to Bangor, then on to Boston and New York. Somewhere, someplace out in the wide world there would be work—work that paid—and money to be saved for college. In her determination she had come to this plan: she must get to Benson today and move on to a new life.

"It's a gorgeous day," he continued, "and I'm sure I can hobble around now. The blueberries are just busting off the bushes. Ma will make us a pie."

"Oh, I don't know," she demurred. "You mustn't strain your leg. I was thinking, well, I was hoping you'd take me out in a boat. For a picnic. I've got one packed, just downstairs."

"Clementine, you take my breath away." He set his coffee on the chest of drawers, then lay back on his pillows and grinned at her.

This was going to be a snap. "So you'll do it? Take me out in a boat—and sail right over to Benson?"

"All that way? We can have a picnic closer to home, my darlin'." He reached for her hand and held it. "Picking berries isn't going to hurt my leg any more than hiking all the way down the hill to the wharf will."

Her hand felt small in his, and she turned it so their fingers could twine together. "But you're such a"—she glanced at his muscled arms—"an able-bodied seaman. It would be so
romantic
out on the water together. Oh,
Hob.
Think of it.
Alone.
"

"Clementine Horn, you're a girl full of surprises." His eyes looked puzzled, but she sensed his eagerness.

She leaned toward the bed. "Come on, Hobbie. You don't want to waste a beautiful day indoors. I'll go down and see if your stepmother objects. I'll tell her I'll take splendid care of you."

Hob flung back the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wore loose red-and-white-striped pajamas, with the left trouser leg folded up and pinned above the knee. Thick linen bandages were tied around the ankle and knee on his left leg. "Don't even bother to ask her. I'm going! If you're that ready to be out in a boat with me—well, Clementine, there's no man or woman alive who can stop me! We'll have to take the rowboat. It's flat-bottomed and will do for a picnic. I don't think we'll get across to Benson in it, but we'll eat in the boat, though, and have a nice long chat."

"But I want to go to Benson! Right now!" She smiled to take the sharpness out of her tone. But desperation crept in anyway. "
Please!
"

"What's in Benson anyway?"

She had to go
today.
What would make him ready to sail? She thought fast, a fixed smile still on her lips. She widened the smile and leaned toward him. She placed one hand on his arm, then boldly reached the other up to brush the fair hair off his forehead. She was surprised his hair was so soft, as silky as little Abner's. Beneath her hand, she felt his arm tremble. And then she knew what to say next.

"We have to go today," she whispered. "It's our best chance. My uncle will be looking for me soon, if we don't start off now."

"What are you saying?" he asked in that husky voice. "Clementine,
why
do we need to go over to Benson?"

She drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly, never taking her eyes from his. If this didn't work, she would leave here now and start walking. It would take her all day to hike the road to Benson. She made her voice light and stroked his long fingers. "Hob-bie, we can't marry here, you know—the Reverend Beasley wouldn't perform the ceremony without my uncle's permission. But over in Benson, no one knows us. We could find another minister, or a justice of the peace, or somebody—"

"Clementine Horn, are you saying you want to
marry
me today?" Hob's voice broke with a squeak of surprise. "Are you having me on, or what?" He glanced around the room as if he thought he might find Jilly Peters hiding to share Clementine's joke. "Have I died and gone to heaven? What is this?"

"This is just my clumsy way of trying to tell you how much I care for you! It's taken me ages to get up the courage to tell you. I've felt this way a long time, but I've just never been able to show it before. Not until this morning, when I heard you were injured. That was when I, well, I realized my true feelings." She said this all in a rush, hoping it sounded plausible. Had she gone too far? But maybe she could ditch Hob at the Benson wharf—send him off to look for a minister—while she raced off to the bus depot. If she couldn't shake him off, she'd go ahead and marry him—at least that would get Uncle Wallace off her back. Then she'd run off from Hob, her new husband, the first chance she got.

"Right now? Today?" When she nodded, smiling, he said in a voice choked with emotion: "Clementine, I don't understand you at all. But I'm not going to pass up the chance to marry you. Just hang on a second while I dress, and we'll be on our way.
Whoopee!
"

Clementine glanced in consternation at the closed bedroom door. Mrs. Wilkins would be up any moment. What would she say if Hob told her the plan?

"We'll get there somehow," he was saying now as he started unbuttoning his pajama shirt. "Even if I have to steal a sailboat! And tomorrow we'll come back home, man and wife. Your uncle won't be able to do a thing about it, and my pa will be so pleased. We'll live here, of course, to start. You can help my ma with baby Grace—and soon we'll be starting our own little family!"

He threw his shirt down on the bed and grabbed her hands again and pulled her up from the chair. She stared at his bare chest, her cheeks growing redder than ever. His big hands reached up to cup her chin and tilt her face to his. His hands were warm and gentle, and she closed her eyes as he drew her to him and held her snugly against his chest. He seemed so simple and good—she really didn't mean to hurt him. But it was the only way. And soon she'd be gone from here—and he would find some other girl in the village to marry and have babies with. Maybe that orphan, Abby Chandler. She had seen Abby looking enviously at her whenever Hob teased her in school.