A Hearth in Candlewood (31 page)

‘‘Which you can’t do,’’ Opal noted, ‘‘without risking a lawsuit from Mr. Langhorne that would involve both Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances. Have you discussed this with Mr. Breckenwith?’’

‘‘No, he’d already left before I met with Mr. Langhorne and he made his threat. I’m afraid I have to handle this without his advice,’’ Emma replied, having second thoughts about not asking him for his advice when they had met to discuss Enoch Leonard’s will.

Opal sighed. ‘‘I’m not sure how much he’d be able to help anyway.’’

Emma nodded. As much as she might want his advice now, if not his support, as her lawyer he would simply remind her yet again not to get involved in the Leonards’ troubles any more than she already had done. She suspected, however, that if he set his role as her lawyer aside, he might approve of their plan.

Garnet shrugged. ‘‘Let’s get back to the problem, shall we? Even if you don’t warn James and Andrew, if it turns out they refuse to sell Mr. Langhorne the land, you think he’ll still blame you for influencing their decision, so the risk is the same. And he’ll own property, which unbeknownst to him might become even more valuable than he thinks it is now. Is that right?’’

‘‘Exactly,’’ Emma replied. ‘‘I can’t be certain, but since Andrew obviously told Mr. Langhorne of my role in helping to resolve the problem between himself and his brother, I suspect he may have also told him about our meeting tomorrow, as well.’’

‘‘We don’t have much time, then,’’ Mother Garrett noted.

Emma looked to Aunt Frances for guidance. ‘‘Whatever we do, your sons have the most to lose or gain financially, but I’m more concerned about the trouble that has divided them as brothers and sent you here to Hill House. What do you think would happen if I did go to Andrew and tell him what I know? Or would it be better to speak with James first?’’

Aunt Frances sighed. ‘‘Telling James first only proves him right and makes him the clear winner in their feud. If you tell Andrew first, he’s likely to change his mind about selling, but that wouldn’t sit well with him because James will have been proven right about not selling out. Their tug-of-war will only continue.’’

Mother Garrett looked at everyone and frowned. ‘‘There’s another dilemma. Now we have two.’’

Emma’s heart sank. Joining efforts had not solved her dilemma but doubled it.

‘‘Maybe not,’’ Garnet murmured. ‘‘Let’s see that map again.’’

‘‘I’d like to see it, too,’’ Opal added.

Once Emma unfolded the map and laid it on the desktop again, the sisters both studied the map for several moments. When they finished, they began to smile at each other. ‘‘I see only one course of action,’’ Opal offered.

Garnet nodded. ‘‘So do I.’’

Emma’s heart skipped a beat. ‘‘What? What do you see?’’

‘‘Don’t rush them,’’ Mother Garrett cautioned.

‘‘No, I think I’m ready,’’ Garnet countered and looked directly at Emma. ‘‘First, you must tell Andrew what you’ve learned. True, James will be proven right about not selling out to Mr. Langhorne, which means he wins, just as Aunt Frances said.’’

‘‘But since Andrew is the one who uncovers the future potential for profit, he wins, as well,’’ Opal continued. ‘‘Do you agree, Aunt Frances?’’

The elderly widow smiled. ‘‘Yes, I do. I hadn’t looked at it that way.’’

Emma was heartened but still troubled. ‘‘Just in case you’ve all forgotten about how far it is to Andrew’s home, let me remind you: There’s no way I could ride out to see him and return home before dark, which means I’d be forced to spend the night.’’

‘‘You could stay in my room,’’ Aunt Frances offered.

‘‘And I would, thank you,’’ Emma replied and looked around at the others. ‘‘Even if I did tell Andrew and returned to Hill House in the morning so I could be here for the meeting, there’s still the threat of the lawsuit to consider. Even though Mr. Langhorne wouldn’t prevail in the courts, the process would be lengthy and expensive, not to mention the gossip that would result.’’

‘‘But that’s only a problem if he believes you’re the one responsible for Andrew changing his mind,’’ Garnet argued. ‘‘You’ll have to make sure he doesn’t.’’

Emma rolled her eyes. ‘‘To do that, I’d probably have to be with Mr. Langhorne tomorrow while James and Andrew are here at Hill House, which is where I’m supposed to be, too. I’m afraid we’re right back where we started, simply because I can’t be in two places at once.’’

Garnet looked at her sister for a moment, smiled, removed her pin from her collar, and set it on top of the map. ‘‘No, you can’t, but we can.’’

Opal removed her pin, as well, and laid it next to her sister’s. ‘‘Yes, we can, which means you won’t have to tell Andrew, and Mr. Langhorne won’t even think to bother with a lawsuit against anyone. Now let’s start from there.’’

For the next hour and all through dinner, the five women hashed out a number of possible scenarios. By dessert, they had settled on one and relegated different responsibilities to one another to assure its success.

When they had finished, Aunt Frances looked around the dining room table. ‘‘I’ve lived all my life on a farm with the closest neighbor miles away. Until I came to Hill House, I never knew what it was to have friends, truly good friends. Thank you for helping me and my sons. I just knew you’d all think of something to do to help.’’

Emma swallowed hard. Although the plan they had settled upon had a good chance of succeeding, there was an equal possibility of failure. Aunt Frances’s faith in all of them now was as strong as her faith in God had been during her stay at Hill House, a lesson Emma would not soon forget. She rose from the table, resigned to the limited role she would play. ‘‘There’s not much time. We should get started.’’

The others rose, too, and scattered off into different directions. Aunt Frances took both sisters to the garret to rifle through the trunk of left-behinds to find the costumes one of the two sisters would need. Mother Garrett headed to the kitchen to make up a parcel of foodstuffs for Mr. Atkins at the General Store.

Liesel and Ditty were cleaning up the dishes from dinner before leaving to deliver the notes Emma would write for the livery and the hotel. She did not like involving the two young women any more than she was happy about rescinding their punishment, but she realized how anxious they were to earn back the trust they had squandered and to help their aunt-by-affection.

Emma walked to her office to write her notes first. Then she was off to the trash pit to find Mr. Langhorne’s hat. She could only hope and pray the hat would be somewhere close to the top and not buried too far beneath other items tossed away. Otherwise, she would need a good bath before she went anywhere.

33

A
S PLANNED,
O
PAL LEFT ALMOST
immediately after dinner to ride out to Andrew Leonard’s farm using back roads to avoid being seen, just as the sisters had done when they had ridden back to Hill House to make sure their arrival would be a surprise.

Armed with Emma’s map and a note from Aunt Frances, her role was to explain Emma’s thoughts about the railroad to him, as well as to inform him of Mr. Langhorne’s threatened lawsuit. If anyone could talk Andrew out of a temper, Opal or her sister could. She would spend the night in Aunt Frances’s room and return the following day with him.

While Liesel and Ditty were off delivering Emma’s notes, and Mother Garrett changed into another gown, Emma worked in the kitchen on Mr. Langhorne’s hat to restore it to some semblance of its former appearance. Removing the stains left behind by the chicken droppings proved irksome, but paled when she considered she had found not one but six or seven chickens roosting together near the trash pit. She had not told anyone yet about her discovery or her plans to resolve it.

She was wondering how poor Garnet was faring, when Aunt Frances poked her head into the kitchen. ‘‘She’s ready. Come see. It’s almost time for her to leave.’’

Emma set the hat down and followed Aunt Frances to the east parlor, with her skirts rustling as she walked.

Aunt Frances looked back over her shoulder and smiled. ‘‘You were right. You do swoosh as you walk. Don’t go too quickly, though, or you’ll tear open those temporary stitches holding the split in the skirts closed.’’

Emma forced a smile. If parading on horseback down Main Street wearing these skirts had not appealed to her before, walking down Main Street wearing them now appealed to her even less. For once, she was even glad her sons did not live nearby so they would not see her, but at this moment, she cared little if the legal owner of Hill House eventually heard of the tale. Keeping Hill House meant nothing when compared to helping Aunt Frances and her sons to resolve their differences. ‘‘I’ll try,’’ she said, but the moment she stepped into the parlor and saw Garnet, she rushed forward to get a closer look.

Emma cupped her hand to her mouth. The transformation was miraculous. Wide-eyed, she stared at the woman standing in front of her. The dove-gray damask gown and matching gloves and bonnet made her look as elegant as the woman who had left them behind. If the many ribbons decorating the thinly veiled bonnet did not draw one’s attention to the bonnet itself, rather than her features, then the overpowering perfume she wore would force people to turn away to avoid the odor.

‘‘Garnet? Is that really you?’’ she managed, nearly choking on the smell of the perfume.

‘‘No, thank heavens. Garnet Mitchell wouldn’t be caught dead or alive dressed like this. Everybody knows that.’’ She bobbed her head as if mentally changing identities. ‘‘Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wilhelmina Stokes. Widow Stokes, if you will, late of Albany and about to register at the Emerson Hotel,’’ she said in a cultured voice.

Emma lifted up the veil to lock her gaze with Garnet’s. When beautiful, long-lashed blue eyes stared back at her, she frowned and dropped the veil back into place. ‘‘As ugly as it is to you, don’t take that bonnet off. You’ll be recognized for certain.’’

‘‘I’ll be fine. People see what they want to see. No one will be the wiser,’’ Garnet insisted before sliding quickly back into her role when the front doorbell rang. ‘‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe my carriage has arrived. Don’t bother to see me out. Perhaps if you had a more properly run boardinghouse without livestock overrunning it, I wouldn’t be forced to leave wearing this hideous bonnet.’’ With a haughty shake of her head, she paraded to the hallway and out the front door.

Aunt Frances chuckled. ‘‘Mr. Langhorne has no idea what he’s up against, does he?’’

‘‘Let’s hope not,’’ Emma replied. ‘‘Are you sure you’re up to another walk into town?’’

‘‘I wouldn’t miss this for all the world. I just need a moment to get my reticule and a sweater.’’

‘‘I’ll get mine, fetch Mother Garrett, and meet you back here,’’ Emma suggested and tried not to hurry on her way.

————

Within ten minutes, the three of them were headed down the lane. They turned at the end down Main Street and walked along the roadway past the homes gathered at the north end. They did pass Liesel and Ditty, who were on their way back to Hill House after delivering Emma’s notes, which gave Emma some relief from worry.

Once they reached the planked sidewalk in front of the shops and businesses, they crossed from one side to the other, frequently retracing their steps. At the confectionery, Emma told an unfortunate tale about Widow Stokes’s departure from Hill House while she selected the largest box of chocolates they carried. After penning a note to Widow Stokes, she paid extra to see the chocolates and her note would be delivered immediately to the woman at the hotel. At the millinery, Emma repeated the same tale and left more than enough so that Widow Stokes could pick out a suitable replacement for the bonnet that had fallen victim to the same renegade chicken that had cost Mr. Langhorne his hat.

As they had all hoped, by the time the three women had stopped in at several other stores, as well as the bank, gossip about Emma’s garish skirts, if not the tale she had been telling, preceded them as they neared the General Store.

Mother Garrett leaned close to Emma and whispered, ‘‘If Mr. Langhorne doesn’t hear that you spent the better part of this afternoon in town trying to make amends to Widow Stokes, and not at Andrew Leonard’s, then he’d have to be deaf.’’

Aunt Frances grinned. ‘‘Let’s hope the poor, irate Widow Stokes made enough noise when she registered at the hotel so it isn’t the first time he heard the tale.’’

‘‘Whether he was there or not, I’m sure the smell of her perfume she left behind will prompt him to inquire about the awful odor,’’ Emma quipped.

‘‘I could tell you how I made it,’’ Mother Garrett offered.

‘‘I don’t think I want to know, but I wouldn’t worry about him finding out what we’re doing. I truly believe Mr. Langhorne lives at the hotel precisely because he hopes to gather up all the gossip he can. He’ll know what allegedly happened,’’ Emma said as they arrived at the General Store.

She led them inside, garnering more than a few surprised looks from the women shopping, and they walked directly to the counter.

To his credit, Mr. Atkins accepted Mother Garrett’s offering, but he did not comment on Emma’s attire when he turned his attention to her. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he handed her three letters. ‘‘These all came with this morning’s post.’’

Her hands trembled the moment she recognized the different handwriting and pressed the letters from her sons to her heart. ‘‘They’re from Warren and Benjamin and Mark,’’ she exclaimed, earning broad smiles from both Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances.

Although she was anxious to read the letters, she was resigned to reading them later and stored them in her reticule. ‘‘I’ll read them when we get home,’’ she explained.

‘‘Nonsense,’’ Mother Garrett insisted. ‘‘I’m as anxious as you are to know if and when my grandsons are coming for a visit.’’

‘‘We don’t mind waiting. Read them now,’’ Aunt Frances urged.

Mr. Atkins cleared his throat. ‘‘I believe I have an order to pack. I’ll be right back,’’ he said and quickly disappeared behind the curtain and into the hallway that led to the back room.