A Hearth in Candlewood (21 page)

Emma frowned. ‘‘This isn’t the sort of tale I’d want Liesel or Ditty to overhear, either.’’

Mother Garrett urged her chair closer to Emma’s. ‘‘They’re off visiting. I told them they could have a bit of free time after working so hard all week.’’

When Emma still hesitated, Aunt Frances nudged her chair closer, too. ‘‘We’re old women, Emma. There isn’t much that can shock us. Do hurry, though. As old as we are, we don’t have time to waste.’’

Emma chuckled. ‘‘All I know is what I was able to piece together. The details might be off a bit, but from all accounts, one of the workers in the piano factory went outside to use the privy. Since there were several men ahead of him, he walked up Beckett Street and . . .’’ She lowered her voice. ‘‘He ‘made his water’ against the side of a building.’’

‘‘Near Main Street?’’ Aunt Frances asked.

Emma nodded.

‘‘That would probably be near Mr. Schindhaus’s butcher shop.’’

‘‘Exactly,’’ Emma replied. ‘‘Apparently, the factory worker wasn’t paying much attention and did it right through an open basement window. Mr. Schindhaus just happened to be in that basement under that very window grinding meat for sausages. Naturally, the whole lot of sausage was ruined.’’

Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances started laughing at the same time. ‘‘No wonder there was a disturbance. Mr. Schindhaus has a fierce temper,’’ her mother-in-law managed between laughs.

‘‘That’s only the half of it,’’ Emma countered. ‘‘Word has it that Mr. Schindhaus stormed outside and grabbed the first poor soul he found on Beckett Street by the scruff of his neck. He started yelling and screaming that the riffraff working at the factories the Candlewood Canal had brought to town were not going to turn his butcher shop into a privy.’’

‘‘And that drew such a crowd they blocked Main Street?’’ Aunt Frances asked.

‘‘No, that happened after the man broke free from Mr. Schindhaus, charged onto Main Street without bothering to look first, and ran right in front of two wagons traveling together. Somehow, both wagons managed to avoid hitting the man. One driver was able to control his wagon, but the other driver hit a pothole or something. In any event, one wagon collided with the other. They both overturned, and out spilled their loads of crated chickens that proceeded to escape from their broken crates.’’

Emma fought back a bubble of laughter. ‘‘Chickens were everywhere. Shoppers went scurrying off, terrified by the frightened, squawking creatures. Shopkeepers were shooing chickens out of their stores with shovels or brooms or anything they could think to use. I heard one woman say there were so many chickens in the bank, Mr. Meyer locked himself in his own vault to escape them. If they don’t catch all those chickens, I’m afraid they’re going to find eggs laid from one end of Main Street to the other by this time tomorrow.’’

By the time Emma reached the end of her tale, Mother Garrett had lost all control of herself, laughing so hard Emma was afraid she might fall out of her chair. Aunt Frances’s face was nearly purple, because she was laughing so hard she could barely draw a breath.

Unable to resist, Emma dissolved into a fit of laughter, too. They laughed until they cried and were too tired to laugh any more.

Plainly exhausted, Emma wiped the tears from her face. ‘‘Now you know why I didn’t want to explain what had happened at the dinner table. I was so relieved that the Sewells’ gifts provided a distraction.’’ When she looked at Mother Garrett, her eyes widened. ‘‘Oh! I almost forgot your gift.’’

She hurried up to her room, got the parcel from Mr. Atkins, took it back to the patio, and handed it to Mother Garrett. ‘‘This is for you. It’s from Mr. Atkins.’’

Mother Garrett untied the twine holding the parcel together, peeked inside the paper wrapper, and quickly closed it up again.

‘‘Wait! I didn’t get a look,’’ Emma pleaded.

‘‘Me either. Show us your gift,’’ Aunt Frances urged.

‘‘You won’t believe it,’’ Mother Garrett argued and started chuckling.

Before she had the paper half off, Emma could see what was inside and started chuckling, too. She had been right. Mr. Atkins had given Mother Garrett a kitchen utensil—one she might need soon, especially if a few of those chickens made their way to Hill House: an eggbeater!

They all dissolved in laughter again. When Emma caught the sound of the front bell, she urged her companions to remain seated and went to the front door. She paused for a moment to compose herself and opened the door, only to find Sheriff North standing there. He had Liesel on one side of him and Ditty on the other. Both girls, however, kept their heads bowed and their gazes glued to the porch floor.

‘‘I believe these two young ladies belong here at Hill House,’’ he stated. Though his voice was as stern as his demeanor, he had just a brief glint of amusement in his eyes, as if to remind her of the last time he had come to Hill House with news of Mother Garrett’s and Aunt Frances’s arrests. While he briefly detailed the reason he had escorted them home, his gaze turned serious. ‘‘I stopped by Liesel’s home, but her parents weren’t there, so I thought it was better to bring her here for now.’’

Both surprised and deeply disappointed by his tale, Emma shook her head. ‘‘I’m sorry you were troubled to bring both of them all the way to Hill House. I’ll see they’re both properly disciplined,’’ she promised and held the door open until the girls shuffled inside while the sheriff took his leave.

When she shut the door, she sent both young women to their rooms, closed her eyes for a moment, drew in a deep breath, and prayed she would not find Sheriff North on her front porch again for a very, very long time . . . if ever.

22

S
EVERAL HOURS AFTER SUPPER,
Emma sat at her desk and wished she had just a spoonful of the laughter from this afternoon to stir into the caldron of her troubled emotions.

Whether she was more annoyed or disappointed or frustrated was irrelevant. She had a blinding headache all the same.

She folded up the area map, the font of her frustration, and stored it away again. She was not sure if she was too upset with Liesel and Ditty to concentrate, too upset by the prospect of losing Hill House, or too dulled by her headache, but locating the Oliver property on the map posed far too many questions instead of the answers she thought she would find.

In either case, at least she had learned one thing: the Oliver farm did not border the Leonard land at any point but sat some miles due west, not east between the Leonards’ property and the Candlewood Canal, as she had suspected. Any notion the Oliver farm would tie in to the possible coming of the railroad was now severed.

Confounded, she set aside all of her concerns about the future to handle the more immediate problems of the present.

Liesel, the source of Emma’s annoyance, was in her bedroom with orders not to talk to Ditty, the source of Emma’s disappointment, who had likewise been sent upstairs to her bedroom in the garret.

Unfortunately, from the young women’s perspective, both Liesel and Ditty had been caught with a number of other young men and women, all of whom had been congregated together along the canal in a secluded area that had apparently been a secret gathering place for some time, at least over the past summer.

The young people had been smart enough not to choose a spot along or near the towpath, where they would easily have been discovered. Instead, they had crossed over the canal to the berm side and gone out of sight beyond a copse of native pine trees. For some unexplained reason, they had built a campfire this afternoon. They had not been smart enough to realize the smoke would be noticed.

Although neither Liesel nor Ditty appeared to have partaken, at least this time, there was evidence at the site that the young people had been drinking. Sneaking off to a secluded place without being properly chaperoned posed many dangers to young women, the very least of which was the damage they would do to their reputations. Emma shivered just considering what more might have happened to them, but Sheriff North had assured her that from all he could learn, neither of the young women had ventured beyond engaging in the mild flirtations typical for young women just discovering a fascination with the opposite sex.

Burdened by the responsibility she carried for the welfare of these two young women and the promises she had made to each of their parents to provide their daughters with proper guidance as well as employment, Emma closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her heart. The mere thought that the girls might very well be sent back home, forced to search for new positions if she lost Hill House, only heightened her concern for them now.

She had discussed the girls’ escapade with Mother Garrett, who suffered from her own guilt for giving the young women permission to go visiting this afternoon, and Aunt Frances, too. Each of the women had provided insight into what might be the proper punishment. Reverend Glenn had even offered to intervene, but Emma had asked him to wait, in hopes he would be someone Liesel and Ditty could turn to—after they had received their punishment.

Emma briefly closed her eyes and turned to the Source of all love and wisdom and prayed. For forgiveness for herself for failing in her role as the young women’s guardian and employer, and for putting their futures in jeopardy should the owner of Hill House refuse to let Emma purchase it again. For Liesel and Ditty, that they might realize the mistake they had made. And for wisdom, to know how to punish the young women so they might learn from their mistakes, and to learn from the mistakes she had made, as well.

When Emma lifted her head, the pain that had wrapped around her head like a tight band was gone. Fortified with faith, she started up the back staircase. She was winded by the time she reached the garret on the third floor and paused to glance around the large storage room at the top of the stairs.

With twilight quickly approaching, the unadorned windows that faced the back of the house provided just enough light for her to walk between the still-unexplored trunks and crates left behind by the original owner. Another trunk held clothing and unclaimed personal possessions previous guests had left behind. Cobwebs decorated the cloths covering an assortment of unused furniture, and while Liesel and Ditty kept the wooden floor swept clean to avoid tracking dust down to the other floors, there was little to be done about the musty odor here.

Three smaller rooms, each with separate doors and dormer windows, stretched across the front of the house. Liesel claimed the room at one end, while Ditty’s room was at the opposite corner of the house. The larger room in between had once served as a dormitory of sorts, with five or six cots wedged inside, but now served as a sitting room the young women shared for those moments at night when their chores were finished and they had time to be together to laugh and giggle the way young women do.

Tonight, however, Emma claimed the sitting room for her own purposes. After placing a chair in front of the old settee, she lit a lamp to chase away the shadows of evening that were quickly approaching. Satisfied that the stage had been set, she knocked on each of the young women’s doors and summoned them to appear. Emma had no set plans or dialogue prepared, but she prayed the Lord would guide her as the drama of confession and punishment unfolded.

Emma was seated in her chair when Liesel and Ditty arrived and sat down side-by-side on the settee, but she took no joy in their distraught appearances. Liesel seemed smaller, even frail, and the freckles that sprinkled across her cheeks looked darker than usual against the pallor of her skin. Her blue eyes were swollen from crying and streaked with red, and her skirts were badly wrinkled. She sat wringing her hands together and, all in all, looked fairly pitiful.

Ditty was faring no better. Her hands trembled. Her fingers worried at a piece of her muslin skirts so hard, Emma feared the young woman would work a rather large hole in her gown. She was as limp as a wet cloth. Her lips drooped. Her brows drooped. Her shoulders drooped. Even her eyelids drooped. When fresh tears glistened on her cheeks, she weakly wiped them away.

‘‘I’m not certain how to begin,’’ Emma admitted. She kept her voice firm but low. She had never been one to yell, even with her boys, and she had learned long ago that children of good conscience tended to be much more unforgiving of their own transgressions than the adults in their lives. Still, providing proper guidance for these two young women was proving much harder than it had been with her three sons. ‘‘Perhaps one of you might like to try.’’

Liesel’s bottom lip trembled. ‘‘I’m sorry, Widow Garrett. It’s all my fault. I made Ditty go with me because I was too . . . too scared to go alone. Please don’t be mad at Ditty. We . . . we really didn’t do much more than talk with our friends,’’ she offered by way of explanation.

‘‘I’m just as much at fault as Liesel,’’ Ditty argued, keeping her tearful gaze on Emma. ‘‘I’m sorry, too. Terribly sorry.’’

Emma let the echo of the young women’s apologies slip away before she spoke again. ‘‘You’re both sorry. I could see that before either one of you said a word. But in truth, I’m not sure if you’re sorry for what you’ve done or sorry because you’ve gotten yourselves caught. May I assume you’ll both admit it’s a bit of both?’’

Liesel’s eyes flashed with surprise. ‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’

‘‘Me too,’’ Ditty whispered.

Nodding, Emma steepled her fingers. ‘‘Let’s start with being sorry about being caught, shall we?’’

Ditty’s eyes widened and filled with fresh tears that spilled down her cheeks. ‘‘I’ll do anything. Anything. I don’t care what my punishment will be, but please don’t fire me. Please,’’ she cried. ‘‘My parents need most of what I earn. If I’m let go and I . . . I don’t have this position—’’

‘‘I have no intention of firing you. You’re not going to lose your position,’’ Emma insisted. She was only too aware that as the eldest of eight, Ditty’s contribution to her family, who eked out their existence on a worn-out farm, made a great difference in their struggle to survive. ‘‘At least, not this time,’’ she added.

More tears. More sniffles. ‘‘There won’t be a next time,’’ Ditty promised.