Where Love Dwells (17 page)

“How many did she use yesterday?”

Emma sliced the potato in half, laid the pieces flat on the table, and cut each piece into quarters. “Sixteen,” she admitted and slipped a sliver of raw potato into her mouth.

“How many walls has she finished cleaning and polishing so far?”

“One and a half.”

Mother Garrett used the back of her knife blade to slide the turnip pieces out of her way before tackling another. “At that rate, she should be finished by my birthday, not yours.”

Emma grimaced and swallowed the raw potato. “Your birthday isn't until August. I don't think I'll survive living with Wryn that long.”

“If the good Lord is willing, I'll actually be here to celebrate my seventy-seventh birthday, which gives me a good twenty-five years more experience than you have. I know you haven't asked for my advice this past week, but since Mr. Atkins has run clear out of licorice root, I'm going to give it to you now. Before you do anything else, forget chewing on that licorice root.”

Emma's eyes widened. “But you said—”

“Forget what I said. It's not working for you, at least where Wryn's concerned.”

Emma set her knife down and tilted up her chin. “I'm sure I can develop a taste for it, but it's taking a little longer than I thought it would.”

Mother Garrett chuckled. “That I can see with my own eyes. You might learn to favor it eventually, but in the meantime, for every bite of licorice root you take, you've been eating other things to get rid of the taste,” she argued and nodded toward Emma's gown. “If I'm not mistaken, wasn't that a piece of raw potato you were just munching on? Must mean you've eaten your way
through both boxes of those fancy chocolates that Wryn charged to your account.”

Emma's eyes widened for a moment before she stiffened her back. “There's still half a box left.”

“I've only got one more thing to say,” Mother Garrett cautioned and covered Emma's hand with her own. “You raised three fine sons and you've been good with Liesel and Ditty, even though you've made a mistake or two. I've watched you accommodate the fussiest guests, but you've always had the upper hand and you didn't need some kind of legal paper to keep it,” she said gently.

She offered Emma a smile. “Instead of trying so hard to be patient with Wryn, you need to trust in yourself more. Regardless of what Pastor Austin preaches now and again, I've lived long enough to know patience isn't always a virtue. Sometimes it's a trap. I've tried to explain that often enough to Mr. Kirk when I tell him not to keep asking me to marry him again. But he's just bound and convinced that if he's patient enough, I'll change my mind—which I won't.”

“Poor man. He has no sense at all of how stubborn you can be when you set your mind to it,” Emma teased.

Grinning, Mother Garrett picked up her knife again and quartered a turnip with two quick slices. “No, he doesn't, but you know how stubborn Wryn can be because you've seen it with your own eyes. She still does everything her own way, and she's still defiant. Being overly patient with her hasn't done you a bit of good, but you'll notice she hasn't put as much as a toe into my kitchen unless I'm here. Not after I told her straight out that I'd see she go without a nibble of food for a good week if she did.”

Emma let out a sigh. As much as she did not want to admit it, Mother Garrett was right. “I know Wryn's just as defiant as
ever, but at least she's been less disrespectful since I got back from Bounty,” she offered.

“She's got a long road to travel yet before she'll be the kind of young woman she should be,” Mother Garrett argued. “And what about you? You haven't left the library for days and days because you insist on staying with her to make sure she doesn't slack off. You haven't been able to play with your grandsons as much as I know you want to. You haven't been to see Frances or Reverend Glenn since you and Mr. Breckenwith stopped to tell them your news about accepting his proposal, either. So who's being punished in the end, Emma? Wryn or you?”

“You're right. I do feel like I'm being punished more than she is, but you saw how upset she was when we told her I was taking over her guardianship and—”

“Upset? Did you ever worry about upsetting those three grandsons of mine when you or Jonas were disciplining them?”

Emma stiffened her back. “No, I didn't.”

“That's right. You didn't, and neither did my son, but you've let your pity for that young woman override your common sense. She's got your brain so twisted up, like those pretzels I make, that you've forgotten who you are. You're not her friend, and you're not her pastor. You're an adult, and you're supposed to be her guardian now. It's time you acted like it.”

Emma glanced around the room to make sure they were alone. “But I'm not her guardian. Not legally,” she argued in a hushed voice. “You know I drew up the papers we showed to her that named me as her guardian, but I could never file them with the court. They're not legal,” Emma countered defensively, shoving aside all thoughts about what Zachary would say when he found out what she had done.

Mother Garrett narrowed her gaze. “Wryn doesn't know that now, does she?”

“No, but—”

“Stop dillydallying around. Do what needs to be done with that little snip. Stop giving in to her all the time in the name of patience. Stand up to her, before Mr. Breckenwith gets back from his trip to find out the woman he plans to marry lost her backbone while he was gone.”

Stung by her mother-in-law's final criticism, Emma felt the blood drain from her face. She was tempted to defend herself again, but Mother Garrett's plainspoken words sliced right through her excuses as deftly as her knife had cut through those turnips.

Unwilling to share her concerns about marrying Zachary at all, given his obvious belief she had far too much backbone for her own good already, she felt a wide band of tension tighten across her forehead. She tried to rub it away with the tips of her fingers, to no avail. “You're right. I've been wrong. Using patience to wear down Wryn's behavior instead of confronting it head-on has been foolish. I just thought . . .”

“You just thought that with Mark and Catherine and those little ones here, you didn't want to cause a commotion, and with Warren and Benjamin due here any day, now that the canal is open again, you don't want anything to spoil their visit. Am I right?” her mother-in-law asked gently.

She let out a sigh and nodded her head. Although Wryn's presence at Hill House might very well be only one of the reasons her plans to remarry might change, she had not realized that she was even more concerned about having her there once her other sons arrived with their families. Not until Mother Garrett forced those thoughts from the back of her mind. “Yes, of course you are. I've waited so long for the boys to all be home for my birthday, I
just don't want anything to ruin it,” she admitted. “You're always so . . . right. Will I ever see the day when you might possibly be wrong about something as important as this?”

Mother Garrett chuckled. “You've missed a few times over the years, but I imagine I have a few good mistakes left to me, including my assumption, I'm afraid, that Ditty will ever grow into her own feet.”

Emma brightened. “Wait. I've thought of one. I could remind you that you were wrong about the woman Mr. Atkins eventually married.”

Mother Garrett scowled. “Or you could go outside and let Wryn know that her time to rule this roost is over.”

15

O
UTSIDE IN THE BACKYARD,
Emma found bright sun, the heavy scent of woodsy pine, a flock of chickens sunning themselves, and Mark's wagon, which he had parked at the far end of the side drive. Six cleaning rags flapped side by side on the wash line next to the chemise Emma had spent days looking for.

Irritated that Wryn had actually gone into her room to take the chemise, Emma cupped her hand at her brow and scanned the rear of her property. There! She saw a flash of white before Wryn's aproned skirts disappeared into the thick woods. She grinned. “I think I know exactly where you're headed,” she murmured and immediately retraced her steps.

When she reentered the kitchen alone, Mother Garrett looked up. “Is she gone again?”

“She's slipping down to the back woods to get to the gazebo, but I can be there before she is if I cut through the house to get to the patio,” Emma answered on the run. She hurried through the kitchen to the double doors in the dining room and slipped outside. She stopped at the high stone wall and waited until she caught sight of Wryn climbing down the steep hill at the rear of
her property. She had a good climb and a decent walk through the woods ahead of her to reach the gazebo sitting on the small plateau where Mark had tied up the three nanny goats.

With time to spare, Emma glanced above the tree canopy to glimpse the canal. Once again, the land wore a ribbon of blue water that carried freight and travelers to and from Candlewood, including her son Warren and his family. Rays of sunshine reflected on the distant water and danced on the bronze roof of the gazebo just below her. The bright sunshine, however, did little to ease the guilt that shadowed her heart, and she bowed her head.

She had been so busy trying to match wits with a fifteen-year-old, she had forgotten that Wryn was not an adult but merely a girl on the verge of womanhood. Indeed, Emma had been so consumed with winning, she had been able to convince Mark and Catherine to go along with her plan. And she had been so determined to hold on to her dream of having all of her family together in Candlewood for her birthday and so worried about how Wryn might somehow ruin everything or interfere with her plans to be married, she had forgotten what Hill House had been meant to be—a place of hope and contentment for all who dwelt there.

The truth was not pleasant to see, but she did not turn away from it. She had been very wrong, and she had been selfish by not doing what she should have done in the first place: accept Wryn as part of her family. Worse, she had not even treated Wryn as well as she always treated her guests, however finicky or demanding they might be.

Why or how she had stepped off the path she believed He had set before her mattered little now, and she prayed for His forgiveness, as well as His guidance.

Refreshed and renewed in spirit, she picked up her skirts with one hand, let herself through the gate, and secured it behind her
in case Mark and Catherine allowed the boys to wander about the patio. She reached the gazebo moments later and sat down on one of the side benches built along the railings to wait for Wryn to arrive. Although the air here in the shade was chilly, she warmed herself with the hope she was about to start a new relationship with Wryn.

When she saw Wryn finally leave the woods and head to the gazebo, her heart skipped a beat.

Halfway there, Wryn stopped in midstride and glared at Emma. “You're here.”

“Yes, I am. We need to talk,” Emma said gently and patted the seat beside her. “Come and sit with me.”

Wryn tossed her head and marched slowly toward Emma as if approaching the gallows. The dazzling sun lent rays of highlights to her dark hair that made her appear fragile, an image Wryn dispelled when she clomped up the two steps into the gazebo, plopped down on the seat across from Emma, and set her lips into a pout. “I was hoping for a moment's peace, but you've ruined it.”

“Members of my family, as well as my staff, never speak disrespectfully to me or to anyone else. I suggest you keep that in mind, young lady.”

“Or what? You'll call the sheriff?” She paused to slap her forehead. “Oh no. How could I forget? Lady Garrett has a judge at her beck and call. What will you do if I don't? Have him put me up for bid to another family or send me off into some asylum for the criminally unwanted?”

Emma swallowed hard, quite deserving of this young woman's disdain. “You're here at Hill House because I want you to be here . . . because you're part of my family,” she said with bated breath.

“That's not what you said before, and Mr. Breckenwith agreed with you. He said—”

“We were both wrong. I was wrong. Very wrong, and I'm sorry.”

“What about those legal papers that made you my guardian?”

“They're worthless,” Emma admitted. “If you'd looked closely enough, you would have seen that your mother hadn't actually signed them. Neither did the judge, because he couldn't sign them. Not without her signature. But more importantly,” she added, “they're not legal papers at all. Mr. Breckenwith didn't draw them up as you assumed. I did. In all truth, Mr. Breckenwith has no idea those papers even exist.”

Wryn's gaze darkened. “You lied to me! You all lied to me,” she charged and leaped to her feet. “Uncle Mark lied and Aunt Catherine lied and—”

“Yes. We lied. At the time, I thought—”

“I hate you!” Wryn screamed and covered her ears with her hands to block out anything Emma might say. “I hate you! I hate you all! I hate you! I don't want to hear any more. You're a liar! A liar!” she cried and stomped her feet with each exclamation, tears falling.

When Wryn finally collapsed onto the bench, she turned away, laid one of her arms along the top of the railing, and presented her back to Emma. “Go away. Leave me alone,” she rasped.

Stunned by Wryn's outburst, Emma had not expected to feel as hurt as she did, but she held steady to her purpose and moistened her lips. “I can't change the fact that you and your mother are estranged. I can't change the fact that she sent you from your home to live with your aunt Catherine and uncle Mark, either, any more than I can change the fact that your impossible behavior
disrupted their lives to the extent they found it equally impossible to live with you,” she murmured gently.