Hometown Cinderella: Hometown Cinderella\The Inn at Hope Springs (4 page)

“Yes, very nice.” He appreciated her having been so patient with Lizzie, talking to her as if she were an adult. He preferred thinking about that than about his own reaction to her.

“I wonder why she didn’t want us to bring her all the way home?”

“I ’spect she wanted to enjoy the nice fall weather.”

Lizzie jutted out her bottom lip, considering. “But she could enjoy it just as well from up here.”

“Maybe she needed some peace and quiet.”

“Did I talk too much, Pa?” came her immediate reply, her voice full of concern.

He tugged at one of her braids. “Not a bit.”

“She sure sounds like she’s led an interesting life.”

As they drew up to their barn, he halted the wagon. “Yes, indeed. You know, you have to watch your questions sometimes. Not everyone wants to tell you their life story the first time they meet you.”

“I’m sorry, Pa. I hope she doesn’t think I was being nosy.”

“I’m sure she just thought you were being friendly. But next time, slow down the questions some. Let her be the one who volunteers the information.”

“Yes, Pa. I hope we see her again.” She brightened. “Maybe she’ll be at the cider pressing.”

“Yes…” Already, he was trying to suppress the spurt of nervous anticipation at the thought—and trying to figure out why he was feeling so nervous.

As he tended the mare, he mused on the strange life Mrs. Keller had led, changing residence every year.

The one time he’d been up to Boston, he’d hated living in the cramped building wedged between the others along the street. Everything had seemed noisy and dirty.

He shook his head. Well, to each his own, he’d always heard. Walking back to the house, he wondered how the widow was going to take the quiet and solitude of Eagle’s Bay, especially once snow set in.

He looked across the rolling fields dotted with gray boulders and edged by dark fir trees. Far to the east the inky blue sea looked cold and intense against the paler sky. He couldn’t imagine a better existence, but for a city person? And living with Mrs. Blackstone? He didn’t know the older widow well, but the little contact he’d had gave him the impression of a bitter, exacting woman who never smiled.

With a final shake of his head, he turned to enter the house.

Lizzie was already in the kitchen, stirring up the fire. “I’ll have some biscuits in the oven in a jiffy. Thought I’d fry up some o’ that salt pork and have the beans from this noon.”

He walked over to the sink and pumped some water. “Sounds fine to me.” He wished Lizzie could have more time with other girls her age, but she always seemed content keeping house for him. He grabbed the cake of soap she’d made and began to lather up his hands.

“Want a cup o’ tea?”

“Sure. Take the chill off. I can make it for us both.”

“You just sit, Pa. I’ll have it steeping in a moment. The water’s almost boiled.”

While drying his hands, he watched his only child fill the teapot.

“I can’t believe a body can live so many places the way Mrs. Keller has.”

It was clear the widow had made as great an impression on his daughter as she had on him. “No. It’s hard to imagine, all right.” He remembered more of their conversation. “You wouldn’t like to take some music lessons, would you? Perhaps she’d give you some.”

Lizzie swiveled around from the counter. “What—me?” She laughed, her face suffusing with color. “Aw, no.”

“Why not?”

She just shook her head and replaced the lid on the pot.

He wished he could give her more, but she always seemed content. It had been years since Elsie had died and he wondered sometimes if Lizzie still missed her. They rarely talked of her.

“Here’s your tea.”

He took the cup with a “Thank you,” and sat at the table with the newspaper, determined to focus on the local headlines. He had no business thinking about the beautiful young widow who’d lived in so many cities as if he were a young man again.

Chapter Three

M
ara held her seat as the wagon wheels rumbled along the rutted road. Beside her, Carina held the reins. Dietrich sat on Mara’s other side, holding a string in his hands and pretending it was a pair of reins. He bounced in his seat more than the bumpy ride warranted.

As they neared the McClellan farm where the cider pressing was being held, Carina eyed the many wagons and buggies already parked along the dirt entry and yard. “I knew we should have arrived earlier. I hope we won’t have to wait out in the cold too long for our cider.”

“I can wait if you’d care to go inside.”

“I feel a chill coming on. I knew I shouldn’t have ventured out tonight.” It was still late afternoon but the sun was already sinking behind the dark horizon of fir trees.

Carina brought the wagon to a stop beside some others and allowed a local farmer to take the reins and help her down. “Thank you, Charlie.”

“Howdy, Miz Blackstone. Glad to see you out today.”

Carina turned to Mara. “I’m going inside then. You see to the bushels.”

“Yes.”

Dietrich jumped down from the wagon and Mara followed more slowly, relieved at being left alone, although not looking forward to unloading all the bushels of apples she’d just had to load.

Dietrich was already trying to unlatch the back of the wagon. “Mama, it’s stuck.”

“That’s because you can’t quite reach it.” She let down the back and began to drag one of the bushel baskets forward.

“I can help you take one of those.” The farmer named Charlie reached over and took up a bushel of small, tart apples and swung it onto his shoulder. With an effort, Mara dragged another bushel basket by its handles.

“Come, Dietrich, you take one handle, and I’ll take the other just the way we did at home this afternoon.”

He did as she asked, and the two carried the heavy basket which swung awkwardly between them. They walked slowly toward the barn, where she saw others gathered. The load was heavy. Her arms ached from the afternoon’s hauling.

“Here, let me take that.” Before she could protest, a strong pair of arms reached for the basket.

Dietrich relinquished his side immediately. “Watch out, Dietrich—” Before she could say anything more, he’d run off. Mr. Jakeman, however, grabbed the basket before it could fall.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Jakeman.” The tall farmer had appeared behind her as if out of nowhere. Mara brushed back a wisp of her hair, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Telling herself it was due to Carina’s awful insinuations about setting her cap for him, she took a step away from him.

Mr. Jakeman only nodded and in a few long strides was at the barn, setting the basket beside some others on the straw-covered barn floor.

Mara went to fetch another basket. When she turned, Mr. Jakeman was at her side. With only a mumbled “Excuse me,” he took the basket from her.

She tried to protest. “That’s quite all right, I’ve got this one.”

“These are too heavy for a lady.”

She couldn’t help a short laugh. “You’d be surprised the things I’ve carried.” If he could have seen her picking the apples and loading them onto the wagon this afternoon!

He gave her a quick look and said no more but took the basket from her, nevertheless. She looked after his broad back with a bemused smile at having found gallantry in the most unexpected quarter. Her smile faded. She hardly remembered what gallantry was like—nor did she trust it.

Remembering her son, she scanned the barnyard. Where had he gone? Several children were running around. With a sigh of relief she spotted Dietrich among them. The next second her breath caught as she watched him tag along after some older boys. She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t get hurt. Would he fit in? He wasn’t accustomed to being around other boys. But it would be so nice for him to have some companions.

“Mrs. Keller! You came!”

With a smile Mara turned to the excited girl skipping toward her from the house. “You look pretty this evening.”

Lizzie’s two red braids were tied with dark blue ribbons. Her flowered dress was a becoming shade of navy blue against her pale skin.

“Aw, you don’t have to say that.”

“Of course I don’t, except that it’s true.”

The girl twisted her hands in her skirt and Mara said no more, realizing the gawky girl was truly embarrassed. “Would you like to show me where I ought to go, since it seems your father is not allowing me to carry any of the baskets?”

Lizzie gave a careless wave. “Oh, he’s used to heavy work. Come on, I’ll show you the cider press and then we can go indoors where the ladies are. They’re setting out the food.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I brought a cake. I hope it’s all right.” Suddenly, she felt unsure of herself. Would they like a
Sacher torte?

Lizzie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’m sure everyone will like it. May I see?”

Mara led her to the wagon seat and retrieved the cake basket she’d stowed underneath.

“It looks delicious. Such dark chocolate. Let’s set it in the kitchen first and then I’ll show you around.”

With a deep breath, Mara followed the girl who seemed so at home. This would be her first social foray into the world of Eagle’s Bay, a small community her father had chosen to get away from city life and paint its physical wonders of rocky coast and turbulent sea.

Would they receive a woman who knew little of country life and felt bruised and battered by life’s circumstances?

Gideon chewed on a piece of hay as he stood in a semicircle in the roomy barn. The apples had been pressed and the men had loaded the various barrels and jugs into the appropriate wagons.

As more of the guests moved toward the house, he heard laughter and music spill out from the doorway. When he entered the warm parlor, he glanced around, looking for Lizzie but didn’t see her anywhere. With a shrug, he headed toward the heavily laden tables set against one wall.

“Hello there, Gideon. Come, let me fix you a plate.” Sarah, the hostess and his first cousin, beamed at him. She took an edge of her ruffled apron and wiped her perspiring forehead.

“Thank you, don’t mind if you do. Everything sure looks good.”

“Everyone’s brought her best dish, I’m sure.” She took a plate and began heaping up food for him.

He thanked her again and took the plate to a corner of the room where he stood alongside a fellow farmer from the neighborhood. Soon he saw Lizzie entering from the kitchen area with a large tray of cookies. Behind her followed Mrs. Keller, carrying a cake.

The two smiled and spoke to one another as they set down their platters. Lizzie, instead of coming over to him, hurried after the widow when she returned to the kitchen.

Another man nodded to him. “Evenin’, Gideon.”

“Evenin’, Mike.” The men continued eating, standing and watching the crowd in the room.

He spied Mrs. Keller’s young son darting in and among the adults with some other boys.

“Here, take a mug of this fresh cider.” One woman handed each of the men a cup of the frothy amber drink. “Let me take that empty plate from you,” she told one of them, “unless you’d like to fill it up again?”

The other man patted his belly. “I couldn’t fit another swallow. Delicious, though.”

Gideon handed the woman his plate with a smile and took a sip of the tangy, sweet cider. Though some would prefer it a few weeks from now when it had a chance to ferment, for him there was nothing like fresh-pressed cider.

Soon, a group of men took out their fiddles and headed for a corner of the room. “Come on, Gid, did you bring your fiddle?”

“Yep. It’s in the wagon. I’ll fetch it in a bit.”

Young people formed lines down the middle of the room. Tapping his foot to the lively beat of “Turkey in the Straw,” he glanced around once again, expecting to see Lizzie reappear at last. She always liked to listen to the music.

Sure enough, she soon emerged from down the kitchen way. She turned her head, laughing at what someone had said to her. Mrs. Keller appeared behind her again, this time with her son at her side.

When she smiled, she looked so appealingly lovely. He shook his head as if to clear it of such a notion. He hadn’t looked at a woman in that way since Elsie had died. To have such a thought about a lady like Mrs. Keller was unseemly.

The room with its press of people and woodstove going in one corner felt too warm.

Lizzie came over with a small plate. “Pa, have you tried some of Mrs. Keller’s cake?”

He shook his head.

“Good. I brought you some. It’s delicious. I asked her for the recipe.”

He took the plate and fork offered to him. The cake was a rich dark chocolate with a dollop of whipped cream on top. A burst of sweet jam surprised him as he chewed the bittersweet chocolate. “It’s good,” he said slowly, savoring the intense flavors. His glance drifted across the room until he spotted the widow.

Lee Sanderson, the handsome, dark-haired blacksmith, approached her. Lee had been widowed only a year. A wisp of distaste curled in Gideon’s belly at the thought that the widower was already looking for a replacement. He chided himself immediately. He of all men knew how lonely that first year was.

Although she seemed friendly enough, Mrs. Keller gave a small shake of her head and what appeared a regretful smile, and the man wandered off.

Had she turned down an offer to dance? Of course, she was still in mourning. Gideon continued looking at the widow, his taste buds once again assaulted by the sweet mix of apricot and chocolate.

He felt a surge of compassion for the still-young lady. Despite her severe black gown and kindly air, she shone like a queen in the crowded parlor. What could she possibly find in common with the plain folk of Eagle’s Bay?

He remembered her father, an artist of some renown who had settled in this area from Boston. He had kept pretty much to himself. Everyone had been surprised when in a short time, Mrs. Blackstone—Mrs. Flynn then, who’d only been widowed a short time—had married the famous painter.

Funny how Gideon didn’t recall Mrs. Keller then. Well, he’d been in his early twenties, married and busy starting out, so he hadn’t paid much attention to his neighbor “from away.”

How long would such a sophisticated lady like Mrs. Keller stay this time, if she had hardly made her presence known the last time?

Mara stifled a yawn as she watched the dancers. Her feet were tired from standing against the wall, her muscles ached from carrying the bushels earlier. She’d been up since dawn, baking the cake and picking apples.

For a while she amused herself listening to the fiddle players. As his daughter had said, Mr. Jakeman did indeed play. Even though they were simple tunes, she admired the way he gave his heart and soul to the music as his bow skipped along the strings.

Lizzie gave her father a smile and quick wave and moved to stand beside her again. “He liked your cake. What did you call it again?”

“Sacher torte,”
she said with an effort to appear lighthearted. But the truth was she felt more alone in the crowded room than she did at home with one of the books off her father’s shelf. For a while she’d made friendly conversation with the ladies as they set out the dishes on the table, each woman commenting on each other’s specialties.

Dietrich tugged at her hand. “Mama, may I go outside?”

“I think it’s too cold and dark.” She motioned to some children across the room. “Why don’t you go and play with those children?”

He looked to where she pointed then bent his head, shaking it.

“I sure love to watch people dancing.”

Mara looked at Lizzie in surprise. “Why don’t you dance?”

The girl’s cheeks reddened. “I couldn’t dance.”

“Why ever not? How old are you now?”

“Fifteen in a few months.”

Mara said nothing but continued watching the girl.

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you like to have this dance?”

She turned to a gentleman addressing her. “Oh, thank you, but I’m not dancing this evening. Thank you just the same.” She’d never expected to have anyone ask her to dance tonight. It had been years since she’d danced. So far, three gentlemen had approached.

The dancers finished the set and started forming another.

As Mara divided her time watching the dancers and talking with Lizzie, she noticed the longing in the girl’s eyes. “Would you like to learn how to dance?” she asked on an impulse.

Lizzie turned her head slowly and stared wide-eyed at her. “Me?”

“Yes. Everyone has to learn sometime. I was about your age when I had my first dancing lesson. Our instructor was an old lady, who scared me half to death she was so strict.” She smiled in recollection. “But she taught me to waltz. Wouldn’t you rather I taught you than someone like that?”

Lizzie laughed. “Well, I guess so. Could you really teach me?” Her voice sounded wistful. “I’m real clumsy.”

“I’m sure that’s nonsense.” She considered the crowded dance floor. “I have an idea. Why don’t we go outside? I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air. It’s grown quite stuffy in here.”