A Hearth in Candlewood (19 page)

He rooted through the papers to find the one he had tossed to his desk, folded it, and stored it in a desk drawer. ‘‘Second?’’

‘‘I’d like you to find out everything you can about Enoch Leonard’s will,’’ she said firmly.

He tightened his jaw. ‘‘Despite my advice otherwise, I believe you’re venturing well beyond getting overly involved.’’

She grinned, knowing full well he did not approve of her request on one level yet understood on another. ‘‘Yes, I believe I am.’’

————

Emma’s second errand, at the General Store, went nearly as well as her visit to her lawyer.

After posting her correspondence, she handed over the foodstuffs from Mother Garrett and folded up the canvas bag while Mr. Atkins quickly stored the two containers behind the counter. ‘‘I have something I set aside for your mother-in-law,’’ he whispered, keeping his gaze locked on several customers milling about the store waiting for his assistance. ‘‘Would it be a great imposition to ask you to wait a few moments until I’ve taken care of my customers?’’

‘‘Not at all. I’ll just wander about a bit and see if there’s anything I might recommend to make operating the store a bit easier.’’

‘‘I shouldn’t be long,’’ he insisted and proceeded to the customer waiting at the far end of the counter.

She chose to wait for him at a table display of bolts of fabric. By standing on the side facing the counter, she could watch him interact with the customer, a middle-aged woman Emma did not recognize, and keep watch for arriving customers by checking the small, round mirror she had re-hung for him in the corner of a shelf behind the counter.

He had a demeanor that was both attentive and respectful. Now that he had recovered from his injuries, he moved with an ease that evoked a quiet confidence. Impressed, she wandered from one table to another and noted that he had stored away most of the stock to help reduce the temptation to shoplift. Overall, the store had a neater, more organized appearance, although she wondered if he had had a chance to do anything about clearing the crates and boxes she had seen while walking back to the storage room.

In the far left corner of the store, however, he still had open barrels of coffee and tea, and he had not hung the mirrors she had suggested. She watched as a young boy standing next to a woman she assumed was his mother scooped handfuls of coffee beans and slipped them into a bag his mother had hidden beneath the cape she wore.

Emma turned just a bit and saw Mr. Atkins approach the woman, who then waved him off. ‘‘Thank you, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be back for coffee next week,’’ she murmured and ushered her son out the door.

When Mr. Atkins did not protest, she followed him back to the counter. ‘‘You do realize the boy stole coffee for his mother, don’t you?’’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘‘No, I . . . I was busy wrapping up a parcel. I couldn’t really see what they were doing,’’ he admitted, then held up one hand. ‘‘I know, I know. I need to rehang the rest of the mirrors, and I intend to do that, just as soon as I find a free moment.’’

‘‘Would that be before or after you hire someone to help out at the store? Contrary to what Mother Garrett may have in mind, I believe you might find time to hire someone before you’d have the time to find a wife.’’

He blew out a long breath. ‘‘I’m so relieved to have someone take my side. I’ve been holding off your mother-in-law and Widow Leonard as best I can. Choosing a wife is not something I can do right now. I can’t even entertain the notion until I get the General Store operating like I should. I’ve even been too busy to think beyond needing to hire someone, but I’m not certain I trust myself to know whom to hire. You wouldn’t happen to know someone needing a job, would you? Or be willing to help me find someone? I could really use your help.’’

She laughed. ‘‘You can’t be serious.’’

‘‘I’m perfectly serious,’’ he said. ‘‘If I trusted you enough to leave you in my store with the key to my cashbox, why wouldn’t I trust you with finding someone to work for me? I don’t need more than someone who is honest and willing to work hard unloading and loading shipments so I have more time for my customers.’’

‘‘And have more time to sleep and to eat?’’

He smiled. ‘‘That too.’’

She let out a sigh. ‘‘Let me think on it,’’ she said, then suddenly remembered Mr. Cross at the boat landing and meeting his family, including a younger brother who needed work. ‘‘Actually, I may know someone. I’m not sure if he’s found work yet or not—’’

‘‘He’s hired!’’

She laughed. ‘‘You’d make a poor bluffer,’’ she teased.

He cocked his head. ‘‘But a good shopkeeper?’’

‘‘I believe you will,’’ she murmured, and she meant it. ‘‘I believe I have the time right now to see if the young man I have in mind is still looking for work. Unless you have more questions.’’

He ushered her to the door.

Emma made it half a block down the planked sidewalk before he caught up with her and pressed a small package into her hands. ‘‘Tell your mother-in-law this is for her. She mentioned needing one. Oh, and tell Reverend Glenn that if he needs help with the vise to let me know. I can stop by after services on Sunday to lend a hand,’’ he offered and left her standing there on Main Street with two nagging questions.

She could probably guess what was in the parcel for Mother Garrett. From the feel of it, the parcel probably contained some sort of kitchen tool or utensil, and she quickly stored it inside Mother Garrett’s canvas bag. The answer to the second question was far more elusive. What possible use would Reverend Glenn have for a vise?

20

E
MMA WALKED ALONG A DIRT ROADWAY
on the outskirts of town past a string of small wooden structures, home to a growing number of factory workers and their families. Women were setting out clothes to dry in the sun, while children raced about. A light breeze carried the aroma of dinners simmering inside the tiny homes and the sound of workmen hammering on more new construction somewhere nearby.

In the far distance, mountaintops stretched high into the clouds huddled together across miles of gorgeous blue sky where a brilliant sun hung high, bathing the forests and farmlands with warmth.

As she left the town behind her, she considered how much the landscape of her life had changed. The General Store. Her courtship and marriage. Birthing and raising three children. All were mountains that rested securely on love and her faith in God, which washed the deep valleys of life’s troubles with hope.

In all but a whisper of time, each of those mountains had disappeared into the mists of yesterday, leaving but a path she thought had led her to Hill House, a place where she still hoped she could build the mountains of her future.

With that future now in doubt, she concentrated on the present. Change had also altered the land she passed by to such an extent she had a hard time remembering exactly where Mr. Stengel’s apple orchard had once stood, stretched along this roadway for miles. In her mind’s eye, she could once again see the endless parade of apple trees, their branches bent low this time of year with luscious red fruit.

Whether from goodness of heart or necessity, Mr. Stengel used to tie a ribbon of burlap to the trees closest to the roadway to signal that those trees were open for passersby to plunder at will. She and Jonas used to bring their three boys here every autumn to pick apples, but the boys invariably spent more time climbing and chasing one another from tree to tree than actually picking apples. The rest of the orchard was reserved for Mr. Stengel, and he fiercely protected his bounty each fall from folks too greedy to be satisfied with what he had set aside for them.

She sighed and plodded forward. Mr. Stengel was long gone now. When he finally passed, some years after his wife, his sons had sold out and moved west, but this was well before the Candlewood Canal had been built.

When she heard an empty wagon approach from behind, she stepped back to avoid being engulfed in road dust and turned toward the wagon. With her eyes shaded by her bonnet, she studied the driver, smiled, and waved when he drew near.

A longtime customer at the General Store, Paul March was a bit older than Emma, and his trim beard was as white as the hair on his head. He had bought his farm some years ago and still lived there with his second wife and their several young children. ‘‘Mr. March! Hello!’’

He slowed the wagon as he approached. ‘‘Greetings to you, as well, Widow Garrett. May I offer you a ride?’’

She hesitated, thought about the time it would take to cover the mile or two to the Cross cabin and back again to return to Hill House in time for dinner, and nodded eagerly. ‘‘Thank you, yes.’’

Once the wagon had completely stopped, she waved for him to remain seated. After putting her reticule and the canvas bag containing the parcel for Mother Garrett on the seat, she turned just a bit for modesty’s sake, hitched up her skirts with one hand, and managed to climb aboard with her dignity still intact. She got herself situated on the plank seat, braced her feet, and held on to it with both hands. ‘‘I’m ready.’’

He chuckled and flicked the reins. ‘‘You’re as spry as you were years back.’’

She laughed. ‘‘Only on a good day. You’re also looking well,’’ she offered.

‘‘Raising three boys, all under the age of ten, will do that for a person. You did the same once.’’

‘‘That was also years back,’’ she teased and held tight as he maneuvered through several deep ruts in the roadway. ‘‘How are Sally and the boys? All well, I hope.’’

He grinned. ‘‘The boys are growing faster than summer hay, and Sally’s teeming again. Come spring, I’m hoping we’ll have that girl she wants.’’

‘‘And if she has a boy?’’

‘‘Then Matthew, Mark, and Luke will have a new brother, John, and we’ll be finished with the Gospels,’’ he teased. ‘‘Where are you headed?’’

‘‘Not far. You remember the old toll collector’s cabin?’’

‘‘Pass it every time I come into town. It’s just ahead, around the bend. There are new folks living there now,’’ he offered.

‘‘The Cross family. I met them a week or two back. They seem to be good people. I thought I’d stop in to see how they were faring.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘The new factories are drawing so many workers, I don’t know half the folks in Candlewood anymore.’’

‘‘Makes me glad there are a good ten miles between me and the town. Any less, and I’d be tempted to sell out like Stan Oliver and move west.’’

She blinked hard. ‘‘Mr. Oliver sold his farm? I hadn’t heard.’’

‘‘He came by yesterday to see if I wanted to buy his livestock, which I did.’’

‘‘Do you know who bought the farm?’’

He shrugged. ‘‘I can’t recall the name. According to Oliver, the buyer is one of those fancy types from back east. Claims he wants a country estate for himself.’’ He laughed. ‘‘Can’t quite say I’d describe that farm as a country estate, any more than I’d say that about my own.’’

She nodded, silently attempting to place the Oliver property within the context of the Leonards’ properties but failing. She needed her map, but that was back in her office. When Emma turned her attention back to the roadway, they were rounding the bend. Once they did, the Cross cabin came into full view. The thought suddenly occurred to her that there might not be anyone at home, until she remembered that Mrs. Cross was probably there to care for her ailing husband.

Minutes later, she was out of the wagon and back down on the ground again. ‘‘Thank you. Please tell everyone at home I send my regards.’’

He tipped his hat. ‘‘And the same to everyone at Hill House.’’

‘‘You’re not . . . you’re not thinking of selling out, are you?’’

He laughed. ‘‘Not until roosters lay eggs, chickens crow, and wolves lie down in the hen house to sleep,’’ he teased, flicked the reins, and headed for home.

Filled with the contentment that comes from seeing an old friend, Emma approached the cabin with little anxiety about meeting again with a new acquaintance. The narrow path to the front door was so overgrown with bushes and prickly vines she had to stop several times to unsnag her skirts.

The front door, like the rest of the old log cabin, was dry and battered by the elements. The one window to her right, however, glistened clean, and the once-white curtain blocking any view inside appeared yellowed with age rather than dust and grime.

Realizing she had come to call empty-handed, she quickly decided an invitation to supper or dinner at Hill House would be an appropriate substitute, even more so if they could come within the next few days, especially considering the guests arriving tomorrow afternoon.

She knocked at the door, waited, then knocked again before the door finally opened.

Mrs. Cross held Emma’s gaze while she wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron. ‘‘It’s Widow Garrett, isn’t it? I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I was making bread while Mr. Cross was resting abed for a bit. I heard your first knock, but I was so surprised at the sound, I didn’t recognize it for what it was until you knocked again.’’

‘‘Please call me Emma. I hope I’m not intruding, but I—’’

‘‘Come in out of that sun before you ruin that fair complexion. And Diane will suit me just fine,’’ she urged and swung the door wide open.

When Emma stepped from bright sunlight into the cabin, it took several moments before she could see the interior clearly. To her left, two side-by-side doors provided entry to rooms she assumed were bedrooms. The single room she stood in served as both kitchen and living space. The dirt-packed floor beneath her feet had been swept clean, and there was not a cobweb in sight on any of the log walls. The massive stone fireplace sat cold, waiting to be called into use when autumn chilled the air a bit more, but a fairly modern cookstove held a huge pot of simmering soup or stew of some sort that filled the interior of the cabin with delicious aromas. Save for the benches at the table littered with flour and several cloths covering dough at rest, however, there were no other chairs or furniture of any kind.

‘‘I was out on errands and thought I might stop to see how you were faring now that you’ve had a chance to settle in,’’ she offered.