To Love and Cherish (4 page)

“So the invitations are for what? A tea? A dinner party?”

“A tea in honor of her friend.”

Sally started up the stairs and then stopped. “So when is this friend arriving? I suppose I'll need to air out the guest room.”

Melinda sighed. “No need to air out the room just yet. Mrs. Mifflin will give you orders when she wants you to do so. Her friend won't arrive for several weeks.”

“Several weeks?” Sally stopped on the stairway and leaned across the banister. “I wouldn't think she'd rush home to prepare for a friend who isn't arriving for several weeks. Heaven knows she's expected me to prepare for a huge dinner party in less time than that. And why the worry over dust and the rush to get the invitations sent out?”

“If you have other questions, you should direct them to Mrs. Mifflin, Sally. Like you, I do as I'm told.”

Sally bent so low that Melinda thought she might topple over the banister. “I think you know more than you're telling me, but I'm not one to be pushy.” She waved her index finger back and forth. “One thing for sure—it won't take long for me to find out what all this hubble-bubble is about.”

Melinda didn't doubt that remark—not in the least. Sally would be hunting down information like a bloodhound sniffing out a scent. Until she'd satisfied her curiosity, there would be no stopping the woman. “By the way, there's a letter waiting for you on the table in the kitchen. Maybe that will raise your spirits a bit.”

“A letter?”

The maid winked. “From that Evan fellow at Bridal Veil Island. He didn't waste a speck of time getting a letter off to you, now did he?” She chortled and continued up the stairs. “If you've got nothing else to share with me, I best get upstairs and help the missus unpack, or she'll be ringing that bell of hers. Go on now and see what your fellow has to say.”

Knowing Sally, she'd probably already read the contents of the letter. The woman did, after all, consider herself quite proficient at steaming open the mail.

Melinda strode into the kitchen and retrieved her letter. Sally had placed the envelope in the center of the table for all who entered to see. The sight caused Melinda a moment of irritation, but she supposed it truly didn't matter. Had Sally placed the letter somewhere out of sight, she still would have told anyone within earshot that Melinda had received mail. Anyone except their mistress, of course. Sally didn't want Mrs. Mifflin to get the idea her servants gossiped. But Melinda knew nothing was off limits with Sally. In spite of Melinda's admonitions, the maid shared every jot and tittle with anyone who would fill her ears with a few interesting tidbits of their own.

A quick examination of the seal didn't reveal any evidence of tampering, but that didn't mean Sally hadn't read the letter. It simply meant she'd done an excellent job of hiding her reprehensible handiwork.

“What's done is done,” she muttered as she ran her finger beneath the seal and removed the letter.

“You speaking to me, Miss Melinda?” Matthew stood in the doorway, his large hands shoved inside the pockets of his work pants.

Melinda slipped the pages into the envelope. “No, I was talking to myself,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I didn't hear you come down the hallway, Matthew. Are you finished carrying all those trunks upstairs so soon?”

He bobbed his head, his gaze fixed on the envelope in her hand. “Got your letter, I see. That Evan sounds like he's a nice young man. Seems he's mighty sorry you—” Eyes wide with realization of what he'd said, Matthew clapped his palm across his lips.

“Sally read my letter to you, didn't she?” When he didn't immediately respond, Melinda stepped closer. “I know you don't want to get her in trouble, but Sally oversteps far too many boundaries. Reading my mail is very disrespectful.”

“Yes, ma'am, it is. You're right about that, and I told her so, but she said you wouldn't find out.” He hung his head. “But me and my big mouth went and let it slip. She's gonna be mighty unhappy with me, and that's a fact.”

Though Matthew had apparently been a willing listener, it was Sally who'd carried out the offense. “I won't say anything to reveal you, Matthew, but I hope that you won't take part in Sally's misdeeds in the future.”

When he lifted his head, sorrow shone in his brown eyes. “Thank you. I'll do my best to keep away when Sally's spreading her tales.” He pointed his thumb toward the ceiling. “The missus said I should deliver the invitations to the post office for you.”

Melinda nodded and motioned for Matthew to follow her to the hallway, where she removed the stack of invitations from the leather traveling bag that had once been one of Mrs. Mifflin's possessions. In addition to her wages, Melinda received dresses, gowns, and other belongings Mrs. Mifflin declared unusable or out of fashion—a benefit bestowed upon most ladies' maids. Though the two women didn't share the same size or style, Melinda had a talent for sewing, and she'd soon learned to fashion the castoffs into attire that better suited her own taste.

Leaning down, she unclasped the satchel and removed the invitations. “Here you are. Be sure you don't drop any of them. I don't think Mrs. Mifflin would forgive either of us if an invitation went astray.”

Matthew reached for the envelopes. “I'll be careful. You can count on me.” Tucking the invitations into the crook of his arm, he shot her a smile before he departed.

Melinda returned his smile and leaned forward to clasp the travel case. Before the death of her parents, Melinda enjoyed the many luxuries granted children born into families of wealth. In the past, she'd even worn gowns that surpassed the quality of those belonging to her current mistress. However, life had changed. And so had Melinda. After her parents' death, Melinda learned that the worldly possessions she'd once thought so important no longer held the same allure. Possessions were a cold replacement for love, and she wanted to build her life on things that truly mattered—love and family.

Less than two weeks ago, she had thought that her love for Evan was going to mean marriage and a home at Bridal Veil. Now, she wasn't so sure. After making certain Sally was nowhere in sight, she returned to the kitchen, sat down at the table, and withdrew Evan's letter from the envelope.

Dear Melinda,

I am sorry we didn't have enough time to discuss our future before you returned to Cleveland. I know you were unhappy with me, and I think maybe you doubt my love. I hope that isn't true, because I meant what I said to you. I love you very much, and even though I only got up my courage to tell you this year, I have loved you since the very first winter you came to Bridal Veil. I know I will always love you.

I didn't know what to think when you said I should have asked you to stay. I still can't figure out how you thought that would work out. There aren't any jobs for women during the summer months, and there's no place where you could have lived except maybe with Garrison and Emma. Garrison is a good man, but he wouldn't welcome the idea of having another woman in his house. He already complains that Emma talks too much. Imagine what he'd think if there were two women chattering all the time.

Melinda rested the letter on the table and glanced heavenward. Men! Why was it they assumed that if two women were together they would be constantly talking? Besides, she hadn't meant that she wanted to stay and live with Garrison and Emma. She sighed, picked up the letter, and continued to read.

The women servants' quarters close down during the summer, and you couldn't have lived here at the hunting lodge with two men. So maybe you think I shouldn't have been perplexed, but I was—and I still am. You hadn't even mentioned staying here and if you had, I would have explained all the reasons why it was impossible. If you think about this a little more, maybe you can understand my confusion. I love you very much and hope that you will write and tell me that you feel the same. Please don't keep me waiting to hear from you, as I am truly worried you may be angry enough to seek the affection of another. I don't ever want that to happen. I look forward to next winter when we can discuss this in person.

With love and hope,
Evan

The letter was certainly contrite. She wanted to deny her feelings of disappointment but found it impossible at the moment. Perhaps she shouldn't have expected Evan to sweep her into his arms and carry her off to the church for a spontaneous wedding ceremony. Still, he could have done more than stand on the dock and wave his cap when they were halfway across the river.

“Reading your letter, are ya?” Sally pranced into the kitchen and gave her a wink. “What's your fellow got to say? I'll bet he's itching to marry you, isn't he?”

The thought of Sally reading Evan's letter caused Melinda to wince. Not only did she loathe the idea of her personal information becoming fodder for the gossip mill, but what if Mrs. Mifflin got wind of her desire to marry Evan? The woman would do her best to squelch any such plan. Over and over, she'd said she would never let Melinda leave her employ; she constantly declared Melinda to be the only lady's maid who possessed the deportment and ability to serve her well. Though the older woman chuckled when she said she'd never let her leave, both Melinda and Mrs. Mifflin knew there was much truth in what she said. Once Mrs. Mifflin set her mind to do something, she usually found a way. And if she couldn't, her husband could.

“How can you possibly be finished unpacking all the trunks so soon?” Melinda asked, fending off Sally's question with one of her own, a ploy she'd learned from her mother years ago.

“Oh, I'm nowhere near done, but the missus wants a cup of tea. And with any luck she'll decide upon a nap after her tea. That way I can finish without her ordering me about at every turn. From the way she sits there on her chair telling me where to put this and where to put that, you'd think I didn't know where anything belonged.”

“I doubt she thinks any such thing. We're all aware that you're well acquainted with every item in this house and every bit of business, as well.” Melinda pushed her chair away from the table and stood.

“Now, what's that supposed to mean? You think I have my nose in places where it don't belong, is that what you're saying?”

“I think you already know the answer to that question, Sally.” Melinda turned and walked out of the kitchen.

She needed to write to Evan, but first she needed to give some thought and prayer to the content of her missive. Better to take her time so she wouldn't later regret her words.

Evan's footsteps pounded along the hard dirt path as he approached the hunting lodge. He greeted Harland as he lifted his hat and swiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Hot for May, don't you think?”

Harland sat in a rocking chair, ready to walk to the dining hall for the noonday meal. “Come morning, it'll be June first. The heat shouldn't surprise you too much.” Delilah, the cat they'd inherited from the Morley family when they'd begun their renovations of Bridal Fair, rested on Harland's lap. “Looks like you worked up a sweat.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he gave the rocking chair a backward push with the tip of his boot.

Delilah jumped down and sauntered toward Evan. He reached down and scratched the cat's ears. He'd been told the cat possessed different abilities than her sire, Samson. While Samson had detected bad-tempered guests, Delilah's talents were founded in her ability to sense bad weather. Harland said Delilah could sense a storm moving in before the weatherman over in Biscayne could. Evan had seen the cat become restless, arch, and scream high-pitched meows before a storm would hit, so he didn't dispute her aptitude.

Evan stopped at the bottom of the wooden steps and looked up at the older man. “Sometimes it's a waste of good time taking those fancy folks out to hunt. They're more interested in talking about their finances than listening to what I tell them.” He clomped up the steps. “And then they complain 'cause they don't have anything to show off when they get done.”

Harland gave him a sideways glance. “Sounds like you got something more than a bunch of halfhearted hunters stuck in your craw. What's eating at you, boy?”

“Nothing. I'm just tired of guests who can't be satisfied.” He stepped toward the door. “I better get washed up or we'll be late for dinner. Give me a couple minutes.” He didn't wait for a reply. Even if the dinner bell rang, he knew Harland would wait for him. The cooks at the large cabin that had been converted into a dining hall might give Evan a hard time if he was late—might even refuse to feed him. But they'd never say a word to Harland. He'd been there longer than any of them, and they respected him both for his knowledge and for his kind nature.

A person always knew where he stood with Harland. He spoke the truth, but always with kindness. When Evan had asked him how he managed to remain so even tempered when things went wrong, he'd laughed and said, “I'm a man of reason. There's a reason why things happen. If I stay calm, it's easier to figure out that reason.”

Evan yanked off his sweaty shirt and stared in the mirror as he washed his face and neck. Was he ever going to hear from Melinda? A launch from Biscayne delivered the mail and newspapers each day, and each day he held his breath as he riffled through the workers' mail that was dumped on a long table at the back of the dining room.

Years ago the mail had been delivered less often, but when the guests complained, the change was made to daily deliveries. Of course, the bag of mail first went to the clubhouse, where it was sorted. Any mail for workers was bagged and then sent to the dining room, where it could be picked up.

Evan buttoned his clean work shirt, slicked back his wet hair, and hurried down the narrow stairway before the bell clanged in the distance. “I'm ready. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No need to be sorry. Been using the time to converse with the Lord.” Harland pushed up from his chair. “How 'bout you, Evan? You been talking to the Lord lately?”

“Not much.” Evan kept his gaze fixed on the path.

It had been Harland who had led Evan to the Lord years ago. Evan hadn't been working on Bridal Veil for long when he realized Harland was different from most of the men in his life. Harland possessed a silent kind of strength that kept him going no matter the circumstances—and not just dragging along, but moving forward with a positive attitude and a smile on his face. When Evan attempted to praise him for being a good example, Harland shook off the compliment like a dog drying wet fur. “Don't set your sights on me for an example,” he'd said, pointing toward heaven. “You need to strive to be like Jesus, not like me.”

From that time forward, Harland had willingly pointed Evan to Scriptures that had helped him understand he needed Jesus in his life. For too many years, he'd dwelled on the pain of a father who had withheld his love and the loss of his mother when he was twelve. Instead of fond memories of his family, Evan's were of late-night arguments over money and broken promises, his father's anger when his mother became ill, and shouted blame placed on everyone except Evan's brother, James.