Where Love Dwells (26 page)

When fresh tears welled, Emma blinked them back, surprised she had any tears left. “He's so very angry with me.”

“He's angry at himself, not you.”

“He doesn't see it that way,” Emma murmured, still reeling with the memory of her son's verbal attack.

Her mother-in-law sniffed. “He does now that I've had a chat with him, but to be fair, he always did listen to me as a boy.”

“That's true, but he's not a little boy anymore,” Emma said.

“No. He's a thirty-year-old man with family responsibilities, no business, no position, no home, and scarcely a coin to put into his pocket. As far as the world is concerned and as far as Warren can see, he's a failure.”

“He's not a failure!” Emma argued instinctively. “I know he made mistakes. Serious mistakes. But it was his business that failed, not—”

“Put yourself in his place,” Mother Garrett said. “He's embarrassed. He's ashamed. He comes home for a family reunion, not as the successful man he's become, but a ruined one. He knows he has to face you, but he also has to face his younger brothers and admit he's lost everything. He's praying he can wait until after the celebration of your birthday to tell you his news, only to find that you're about to begin a new life with a new husband. He's gripped with the fear there's no room in your life for him now, and he lets his fear override his common sense. He attacks the one person in his life he could always rely on—his mother—because deep in his heart he knows she's the only one who might ever forgive him.”

Emma's heart thudded in her chest.

“He wants to talk to you, Emma. That's why I'm here. He wants to apologize, but I couldn't convince him that you'd want to see him or hear much of anything he had to say.”

Emma looked down at her late husband's marker. “I loved Jonas with all my heart. Did he ever come to you for advice because . . . because he was unhappy as my . . . my husband?”

“Never,” Mother Garrett replied. “Despite whatever little squabbles the two of you had now and again like most married folks do, he loved you. And I know he loved you because I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at you or those three boys you had together. As short as his life was, I know Jonas was happy with the life he shared with you until the day he died. Don't let Warren's anger fill your head with doubts about that or anything else.”

Emma pressed her lips together until she could trust her voice not to break. “I'm afraid it's too late. I keep hearing the echo of
Warren's accusations that I didn't treat Jonas as my equal, that I treated him as a . . . a lackey.”

Mother Garrett walked along the side of her son's gravesite to stand directly across from Emma. “There is a thread of truth in what Warren said, but only a thread. You and Jonas were well matched, Emma, but my Jonas wasn't your equal.”

“Mother Garrett!”

“Well, he wasn't. He didn't have your drive or your business sense. In many ways, I believe he relied on you because you had the very strengths he didn't have, but he also gave you his total devotion and support. In return, you gave him the respect and love he deserved as your spouse and the father of your children. That's just how your marriage worked.”

Emma's heart swelled, even though she could admit to herself that she did not always succeed in her marriage as well as her mother-in-law implied.

“Not all marriages are like the one you shared with my son. I dare to think most of them aren't, but there isn't a single mold that guarantees success. In some, spouses combine the strengths they have in common to forge a good marriage together, like I suspect you and Mr. Breckenwith will do.”

Tempted to share her misgivings about marrying Zachary, Emma held her thoughts to herself. Handling one problem at a time was about all she could muster up the strength to do at the moment.

“No one has the right to say which type of marriage works best because it all depends on the two people who pledge their vows to one another. No one,” Mother Garrett continued. “Which is what I told Warren, by the way. Will you talk with him?”

“Yes,” Emma murmured, fearful that this conversation with
her son would probably be as difficult as their first. “Of course I will.”

Mother Garrett slapped her thigh. “Good. I smell rain coming, so pick up those precious keepsakes of yours and stuff them back into your pocket where they belong and help me get back to the house before we both get soaked. I have a few words to say to that young lady before she leaves to work at the Glenns'.”

Emma brushed off her keepsakes and held them in her hand while she walked around to join arms with her mother-in-law. Although she had missed having Reverend Glenn at Hill House, she realized she had grown even closer to Mother Garrett since he had married Aunt Frances and moved into town. “She has a name. You could call her Wryn, you know.”

“I could, but I'm holding off,” Mother Garrett insisted as they crossed the cemetery and headed for home.

“Why?”

“Because I still don't trust her, and I'm not going to trust her until . . . until Sunday night. By then I'll know if she's being good to Frances and Reverend Glenn, and I'll also see how she leaves my kitchen.”

Emma chuckled. “What about breakfast this morning? Will you have time to get that ready for everyone and still have time to talk to her?”

“I left Ditty to help Liesel, which could make a person wonder if I have half a brain left, but Anna was up early, so I put her in charge while I was gone,” she replied and patted Emma's arm. “Anna's feeling a bit awkward about what happened between you and Warren, so you might want to talk with her, too.”

“You've been awfully busy keeping peace in this family of ours,” Emma noted. “I don't suppose you've had the time to give any thought to how I might help Warren, have you?”

Mother Garrett stopped, looked up at the threatening skies, and frowned. “Since you asked, I do have an idea or two, but I'll have to tell you later. We need to get climbing up that hill just ahead before it starts to pour, and I'm going to need every bit of breath in me to get to the top. Just let me ask you to do one thing before we start.”

Emma cocked a brow.

“When we get home, get straight up to your room, climb into bed, and stay there. I'll take the little ones out to collect eggs today and send Anna up with a good cold cloth you can lay across those puffy, red eyes of yours. That way, you'll have a moment to talk with her, too.”

24

W
ITH NEITHER
Z
ACHARY
nor Warren making an appearance at the dining room table, which surprised everyone, breakfast that same morning was the usual mix of hearty food, loud chatter, and good humor, despite the steady rain that spoiled any outdoor plans for the day.

Emotionally drained, Emma did not object when Anna offered to take charge of organizing the day's housework after the table had been cleared and Emma's two younger sons had decided to brave the elements to go into town to order what they needed for the new pen for the goats.

“You play with your grandchildren. Catherine and Betsy and I will take care of everything else today.”

When Emma smiled, Betsy laughed. “Don't look so pleased. You have all seven of them to keep happy and there's no patio and no grassy yard for them to run off their energy.”

“I have a few rainy-day memories that might help. Just watch the children for me for a few minutes. I need to make a quick change and get a few blankets from the garret,” she said.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back in the dining room wearing
a pair of men's trousers a previous guest had left behind and carrying eight blankets she had taken out of storage. “What happened to the little ones?” she asked.

Betsy took some of the blankets from Emma. “Jonas and Paul are a bit grumpy. Catherine thinks they're each cutting a tooth, so she took them out to the kitchen with her to keep them from ruining your fun. She took Winnie and Grace with her, too. We thought you might have more fun with the older children that way.”

With Teddy and Sally staring wide-eyed at their grandmother's costume, Deborah merely frowned. “Ladies wear dresses. Why are you wearing trousers?”

“I can't very well crawl around in my skirts,” Emma replied.

“How come you're gonna crawl?” Deborah asked.

“Watch. You'll see.” With Betsy's help, she opened the blankets and draped them across the table so they fell to the floor, transforming the table into a tent.

“If we hear you crying out for help, don't worry. We'll rescue you,” Betsy teased as she left.

“Our tent is ready now,” Emma announced, and then she got down on all fours and lifted the corner of one of the blankets. “Let's get inside,” she suggested, crawling beneath the table and turning around again to hold up the blanket for her three eldest grandchildren.

Sally lifted her skirts and crawled in right before her brother scooted in behind her. Instead of crawling underneath the table, Deborah scrunched down and held herself low by clutching her knees and worked her way inside.

To keep enough light inside the makeshift tent for everyone to be able to see, Emma rolled up the end of the blanket she had been holding and rested it on the top of one of the chairs. “There.
We've just enough light so you won't be afraid,” she announced and sat cross-legged with the children.

“Make it darker,” Teddy insisted.

Sally yanked the edge of the blanket off the chair. “That's better. Now no one can see us.”

“Nobody can hear us, either, if we don't talk too loud. We're inbibbibble,” Teddy stated.

Emma caught a chuckle. “I think you mean we're invisible,” she corrected gently.

“But I can't see,” Deborah whispered.

Emma reached out to take Deborah's hand. “I'm right here, and there are little cracks of light coming between some of the blankets. Your eyes will adjust in a moment, all right?”

Deborah squeezed her hand. “All right.”

“Now what do we do?” Teddy asked.

“Tell us more stories, Little Grams,” Sally whispered.

Emma smiled to herself as her own eyes adjusted to the dim light. Although she could distinguish between each of her grandchildren, the expressions on their faces were shadowed in the dim light. “I think it's your turn to tell stories to me. You go first, Teddy.”

“I don't have any stories.”

“I do,” Sally whispered. “One day, my mama wanted to make jam, and me and Teddy helped her pick berries, but Teddy . . . he dropped a pail and all the berries fell into the dirt and ruined 'em. Mama made him pick 'em up to feed to the pigs, but he ate 'em instead.”

“You ate some, too,” Teddy argued. “I got a story now. Sally tried to climbed a tree once and Papa had to get her down 'cause she got scared. That's 'cause she's a girl.”

Emma chuckled, in spite of herself. “Do you have a story for us, Deborah?”

“Sh-h-h. I hear someone coming,” Teddy whispered, and everyone held silent until the footsteps that entered the dining room faded in the direction of the center hallway.

“I'm too sad to tell a story,” Deborah whispered.

“Why are you sad?” Sally asked.

“I don't have my dollies.”

“Dollies aren't any fun anyway,” Teddy announced.

“Where'd they go?” Sally asked.

“I don't know. I think they got lost. Papa said they'd come back someday when we were living with Little Grams, but . . . but I don't think they know how to get here.”

Emma held tight to her little granddaughter's hand and knew Warren must have been desperate if he had been forced to sell his little girl's doll collection. “You still have the dolly you brought with you, don't you?”

“She's lonely. She misses her friends,” Deborah replied. “Do you think my dollies are lost, Little Grams?”

Emma struggled hard to find an answer that a five-year-old might accept. She could not give Deborah false hope that she would ever be reunited with her dollies any more than she could admit that they had all been sold. “I think dollies need lots of love,” she began. “Sometimes, if dollies do get lost, I think they find their way to little girls who don't have any dollies of their own to love. I'd like to think that's where your dollies are now, wouldn't you?”

“But she loved them a whole bunch, didn't you, Deborah?” Sally asked.

Deborah sniffled. “Lots and lots.”

“I know you did, but sometimes, we have to think about other people. We have to share what we love with them, even if that
means we must give up something we really, really care about,” Emma replied.

Sally let out a long sigh. “I had to share my apple pie once. I think I like apple pie better than molasses cookies, but I had to share mine with Winnie. Then she got sick and heaved it up and made an awful mess. I don't think I have to share it with her again.”

“I shared my worms with Billy when we went fishin' once. He caught two fish, but he didn't share none of them with me,” Teddy said. “I don't like sharin' much.”

Deborah edged closer to Emma. “Do you mean I should share something special, like my dollies?” Deborah asked.

“Yes, like your dollies,” Emma whispered, and wondered if she ought to take her own advice where Hill House was concerned. She loved this house. She loved sharing it with her guests and with her family. Now that she had been blessed with the opportunity to marry again and build a new life with Zachary, did she also have the courage to give up something she really cared about by letting someone else discover the love that dwelled here, just as she was asking Deborah to do with her dollies?

Deborah sniffled again. “But I only have one dolly, and she's lonely.”

“You can get a new dolly to be her friend. Then she won't be lonely,” Sally suggested.