Edwina (28 page)

“We’ll be there, right Paige? Right now,
let’s take a walk. The sun is shining through blue skies and white
clouds today.” She tried to lift the spirits of the little heart
that was surely still breaking inside.

Craning their necks to view the sky, Edwina
finally decided it was time to lie in the grass, dresses or no.
“Come on. We’ll look at the sky this way.” She lay down first,
tucked her skirt beneath her and Paige scrambled to copy.

“Look there, an elephant sure enough, with
two trunks.” Edwina pointed.

“Aye, I can see it.” The child laughed. “And
a horse with two tails!”

Thus they lay until they heard Mr.
Gillespie’s loud whistle signaling them to come.

Edwina picked the grass out of Paige’s hair
and said, “Now we’re going to smile. Even if we feel sad.
Right?”

“Aye.”

“You’re just like your father, Paige.
Strong.” Edwina picked up her pace. “We’d best not dawdle.”

“
No, or Father will raise
his voice.”

“That he will.” Edwina laughed out loud.

Alexander stood watching them from his office
window laying in the grass, laughing. Something turned mushy in his
heart. He’d done the same as a lad. The closer they came to the
cottage, the harder he made his heart. This was not a trip he was
going to enjoy.

Chapter 45

T
rue to her word, Paige waved and smiled. What broke Edwina’s
heart was the fact that her mouth smiled, but the brown eyes
mourned. She wanted to pick the child up and hug her to her breast
and make everything all right. But she couldn’t—and that broke
Edwina’s heart again. It was not her love and acceptance the little
girl was seeking.

Together the foursome watched the black car
grow smaller and smaller, the dust clouds the last sign of the man
who held all of them together.

“Come lass, I have baked yer favorite. Oaty
crumbles.” Mrs. Gillespie’s eyes were skimmed with tears, but her
voice was soft and kind.

“What are those?” Edwina wiped her own eyes
with the backs of her hands as they turned. She snuck a look. Not a
tear in the little girl’s eyes.

Twice Cecelia called saying she was coming
over and twice she called to cancel. Business deals. Spencer wrote
about once a month, too busy opening his new restaurant.

In his last letter he had
enclosed a sketch of the restaurant’s sign that would hang beneath
the navy blue awning with gold lettering, Cecelia’s signature
colors. He had named the restaurant
Winnie’s.

Cecelia, he had said, liked
it much better than her own suggestion,
Ed’s.

She shook her head. They must miss her very
much if they’d named the entire second floor of the new restaurant
after her.

Her father, too busy with his wife’s career,
had elected to call instead of write and faithfully on the first
day of each month checked on his only daughter.

Everyone was about their lives, and Edwina
was about hers. There were never enough hours in the day. Once the
weather became cold, she discussed moving their classroom
inside.

“Paige, be aboot the house, and find yourself
a class- room. We will make it our own,” she stated one morning.
“It is very cold in these hills. You may choose where we will
learn, but here are the needs: the room must be big enough for two,
there must be a writing surface both for you and for me, and...,”
Edwina lay her finger at her chin, “there must be enough light for
reading and writing. Be off with ya.”

For two days Paige researched the house.
Three requests, just enough for the five-year-old to comprehend,
but that wasn’t hard. Paige was above her station when it came to
knowing things. Sadly though, Edwina thought her a bit too grown
up, just as she had been as a child. She’d tried hard to inspire
the child’s imagination with games, dreams, and pretending along
with her normal learning. Paige wanted to dance. She wanted to
learn ballet. Edwina had already checked into classes, but it would
require her to leave the premises, which she was forbidden to
do.

She added that to her ever-lengthening list
of things she would confront Mr. Dunnegin about. If there was a
perfectly good reason she could not leave the farm, because
Edwina’s practical mind knew there might well be, then he should
hire a teacher from Edinburgh to come and teach the child dance.
Heaven knows she could never teach that. She had learned to
appreciate the arts early in her childhood, but had never been
encouraged to participate.

Edwina had two secret desires of her own,
besides writing a romance story. And both were simple enough. She
wished she’d learned how to dance and to play the piano.

There was one thing
she
could
do, and
that was to begin her story. She’d faithfully kept the pad she’d
started the last time she was in Scotland. It was time to write.
She could do that while the child did her lessons.

Paige chose her father’s study.

Oh boy, so much for letting her choose. The
office was locked. It wasn’t possible in the least. Edwina would
never allow herself inside the Laird’s personal chamber.

“Paige, dear, it is impossible. That room is
your father’s private space. What is your next choice?” she said
brightly.

“That
is my choice.” The little body had stood, feet together, arms
folded across her chest.

Edwina took care not to
look into the determined child’s eyes, or she would have succumbed
immediately. She stared over her shoulder deep in thought.
Impasse. What to do?

“Lass, I will consider your request, but you
need to look for another.”

“We will see.” The child ran off to the
kitchen.

Exactly one week later Rose and Edwina were
setting up the new “schoolroom.” Mrs. Gillespie was certain it
would be all right, since the Laird would not return for some
time.

Available space was minimal. As Edwina was
sizing up the situation, Paige began carrying books from the book
case to her father’s large desk.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making us two desks.” Her tone was
serious.

“
So does that mean you’re
taking over your father’s space?” Edwina was sure they should not
be moving Mr. Dunnegin’s papers about.

“Yes,” the child explained. “This is my side
and this,” she pointed, “is your side. See, there is the wall.”

Edwina looked to Rose for support.

“Aye, so it is. I’ll stack the Laird’s papers
here.” Rose carefully gathered up stacks of important looking
documents and set them safely on a side table.

She showed Edwina, should there be need to
find them if Mr. Dunnegin returned unexpectedly, which was likely,
Mrs. Gillespie said to Paige.

The desk aptly divided equally, for the child
made sure, Edwina brought her papers and pens from her room.

“I will be writing and preparing lessons
while you finish your work,” she told her student.

Edwina, back from her second trip, stood in
the doorway and watched the little girl work. Just like Cecelia,
she seemed to have the knack for decorating. She had used the books
she could reach, nearly clearing out the entire first row of her
father’s book shelves, to make her wall. Her little girl thoughts
were pretending because Edwina saw her lips moving as she worked.
For that she was happy. She had instilled at least a modicum of
imagination in the serious child.

“Now we need chairs.”

Paige looked over the situation and ran. She
came back carrying her own small chair, sat it on one side of the
desk, and began piling books on it. Then she climbed up the
precarious tower and seated herself. Edwina reached out twice to
catch her if she fell, but she did not. Triumphant, she said, “See,
I shall be tall like you. Maybe I will be a teacher too.”

“You would make a good teacher, Paige.”
Edwina patted her head, then watched nervously as the short legs
maneuvered the climb down. Successful.

“
Miss Blair, you sit there,
in my father’s chair,” she ordered.

Edwina did.

“See, you can sit there, but only until he
comes back,” she warned, hands on hips.

“Indeed.” Edwina felt small in the huge black
leather chair. It swiveled and offered the comfort of a high back.
“I could take a nap in this.” She smiled.

“It is not time for a nap. It is time for
school,” Paige insisted and climbed up on her seat.

“So it is.” Edwina checked at her watch.
“Have you brought your letter book down? We need to practice
tracing your letters.”

“Again?” Paige whined. “I want to try
something new.”

“Okay.” Edwina thought a minute. “Okay, let’s
try writing a story. I will write it while you tell it to me.”

Paige eyed her for a minute, then agreed.

“I will make the story about a mother,” she
said and looked away, the story beginning to form itself in the
young mind.

Edwina quietly took a pencil in hand and her
yellow- ruled pad and waited.

Ten minutes later the little lady was still
talking, her teacher writing as fast as she could.

“Should I end it now?”

“Most certainly. Many words do not
necessarily make a good story.” Edwina rested her writing hand.

It was time to begin the work she’d thought
of doing so long ago and decided at that moment that she too would
begin her story. A romance... sweet... about a handsome Scot and
the beautiful lady he met walking over the Scottish hills, her
gauzy dress whipping in the wind.

Chapter 46

A
lex Dunnegin called the first Monday of every month to talk
to the Gillespies, to Paige, and once to her. In November he had
called as usual, then asked for her. New instructions. Winter was
coming, and Edwina was to be sure Paige learned to ice skate and
sled.

What a strange
request
, she thought. And a difficult one,
she decided, since she had done neither. She and Paige found Mr.
Gillespie in the barn.

“Well, we shall learn to skate. And we’re
going sled- ding.” Her announcement caused Paige to jump up and
down while screaming at the same time.

Edwina asked, “Where can we learn to ice
skate?” This to Mr.Gillespie, who had covered his ears and motioned
for Edwina to follow him.

“Lass, ye have not seen the grounds. There is
a pond in the woods. The child has never seen it. Her father feared
she might . . .” He couldn’t even say the words.

Well, swim she knew how to do. Her parents
had been members of the local community center. Every Saturday they
swam, played basketball, played all sorts of board games, and ate
pizza.

“
Are you sure we ought to
show her now?” Edwina winced. “Is the pond frozen over
hard?”

“Aye, tis, for I have been walking upon it
meself,” the older man said and winked.

“Then, with the laird’s permission, we shall
try it out. Have we skates aboot the place?” Edwina sighed, the
Scottish accent more present.

“We have.”

“Tomorrow we will go,” she announced to her
charge. It was late December. Christmas had come and gone. Edwina
remembered the day well. Gifts piled high were sent from America.
Paige had received everything she could ever want, except the thing
she wanted most—her father.

And for the Gillespies, Mr. Dunnegin had sent
two tickets to Boston to see their son. And two weeks off to make
the trip. Rose had cried like a baby. She thought never to go to
America again.

“Ye know it was Laird Dunnegin that brought
us to Chicago early, else we couldna have come,” she said through
tears.

“I didn’t know that, Rose.”

“Aye, tis the truth of it. He paid the extra
funds and came right along with us. We were scared as little
children.” She caught her husband’s eye.

“That was nice,” Edwina said, and meant it.
Mr. Dunnegin was not all bluff and bother after all.

“Now open ye’re gift.” Rose had handed her a
package.

Edwina had eyed her name on the small package
the first day the gifts arrived by post. And she had wondered every
night what the Scot could possibly know about her to send a gift.
Then she struck her head with the heel of her hand. “Of course, he
would ask Cecelia.”

It was a book. She turned
the heavy volume over in her hand and read the gold writing on the
front of the burgundy hard back.
Pride and
Prejudice
by Jane Austen. She already
owned
Emma
and
Sense and
Sensibility
. Indeed, he must have talked
to her sister. Otherwise how could he possibly have known she was
collecting the works of her favorite author?

Edwina wanted to cry. The gift was more
personal than she cared to admit.

“Can I see?” Paige had snuggled up next to
her, still in her red flannel pajamas.

“I will read it to you on your tenth
birthday,” Edwina said happily.

“You will be here then?” Paige studied her
face.

Did her eyes flinch? She
hoped to be here. She did want to see the little girl grow up. How
foolish, though, to have made such a statement.
Always talking before you think, Edwina
. She could promise nothing to the child. It was not in her
hands.

She had changed. Her practical nature still
existed, but the caterpillar had turned into a butterfly and above
all things it wished to skip from place to place. These thoughts
were born from somewhere deep inside. Edwina knew not where.

She made an announcement that Christmas
morning. “I want to go to Edinburgh.”

“And ye shall, lass. Ye’ve waited long
enough. Laird Dunnegin said ye were to go,” Rose said nodding.