A Hearth in Candlewood (5 page)

First, though, Emma stopped in the kitchen where she found Mother Garrett sitting at the kitchen table breaking up yesterday’s bread. ‘‘Is that bread pudding for supper?’’

‘‘That and some beef saved from dinner. I’m keeping it simple tonight, because the way you’ve all been working, I doubt a single one of you will have the energy left to eat. Except for Liesel,’’ she added. ‘‘I’ve set some succotash aside for her, and I just sent her upstairs to help, in case you’re wondering where she is.’’

Mother Garrett paused to mop her brow. ‘‘I don’t know how you feel about it, but I almost wish we’d get the rain back, or at least a cooler day. Why is it nature invariably makes up for a few days of rain with more sun than we need?’’

Emma wrinkled her nose. ‘‘More rain? Please! Let us dry out first.’’ She loosened her collar and rubbed away the sweat at the base of her neck. ‘‘It does feel overly warm today, but that’s probably because we’ve all been working so hard. The sun today is really a blessing. We’re able to open all the windows downstairs and air out the rooms.’’

‘‘And use the patio. Liesel took out something cool to drink for Frances and Reverend Glenn a while ago. There’s a pitcher of raspberry shrub sitting in the sink. Be a dear, won’t you, and see if they’d care for more? Just be careful when you go out to the patio. The mongrel is out there, too. Don’t trip over him. And you might think about sitting down for a few minutes to have a glass yourself. You’re looking flushed,’’ she noted and took a sip from her own glass.

Emma retrieved the pitcher filled with the refreshing drink and took a glass from the cupboard, but Mother Garrett caught her elbow for a moment as she passed by her. ‘‘We haven’t had any time alone together since earlier today, but I wanted to tell you that you did right fine this morning with the Leonard boys.’’

Emma paused and chuckled. ‘‘They’re hardly boys, Mother Garrett. They’re as old as I am. But thank you.’’

‘‘You only managed to get Frances a little more time. You know that, don’t you?’’

‘‘I do. Today was much too hectic, but I thought I’d go to see Zachary Breckenwith tomorrow.’’

A cocked brow. ‘‘You’re expecting enough trouble you need to see your lawyer?’’

‘‘I expect to be prepared, just in case,’’ Emma replied before she continued on her way. She was not as confident or as prepared to meet with her lawyer as she had led Mother Garrett to believe. In truth, she had much preferred dealing with the late Alexander Breckenwith rather than his nephew, who had come to Candlewood to assist his dying uncle with his law practice some five years ago. He had remained after his uncle’s death because his newly widowed aunt, Elizabeth, simply refused to move to New York City with him.

In addition to providing legal assistance, the late Alexander Breckenwith had been a trusted friend and advisor to Emma’s mother and later to Emma. Unfortunately, his nephew was far more likely to challenge Emma than abide by her instructions. She had locked horns with him more than once but never quite as forcefully as when she had insisted on buying Hill House.

A gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach told her that he would not be supportive when he discovered she had planted herself square in the middle of an argument between Widow Leonard and her sons, but she would simply have to stand her ground against his advice. Again.

The moment she stepped through the double doors in the dining room and out onto the stone patio, however, a warm but refreshing breeze still carrying the fading sweet smells of summer greeted her and blew away her concerns about meeting with her lawyer. A stone wall surrounding the patio blocked any view of the surrounding landscape, while overhead, a network of vines laced the lattice-style roof to obscure the direct glare of the sun.

By day the small outdoor room appeared to be suspended high within the trees. By night the moon and stars that shone through the lattice seemed almost close enough to touch.

The half-dozen outdoor chairs huddled in pairs about the patio, however, were empty. No Reverend Glenn. No Widow Leonard. No Butter, the mongrel dog who was the retired minister’s loyal companion and a constant source of irritation to Mother Garrett. Two empty glasses sat on a small table in front of the two chairs closest to the massive fireplace in the far corner.

When Emma first purchased Hill House, she had wondered why the original owner had built a fireplace for an outdoor patio. Now she longed for the chill nights of autumn and even the occasional winter evening when she could sit outside in the moonlight, warmed by the fire at her feet and the glory of God’s universe overhead. With seven grandchildren all under the age of six, she hoped she might even have the opportunity to snuggle out here in front of the fire with one or all of them one night to count the stars overhead or just share the joy of being together as a family.

She set the pitcher down on the table next to the glasses, swatted away a pair of yellow jackets, poured a drink for herself, and looked at her surroundings.

As it stood, Hill House literally sat between two worlds—the world of commerce and industry quickly overtaking the town to the south, and the patchwork of small farms to the north on the fertile land that had lured the original settlers to the area, including Emma’s grandparents. Located high on a hill on the north side of town at the end of a winding brick lane, Hill House offered a commanding view of the town itself and of the Candlewood Canal that snaked its way north, running parallel to Main Street.

But there was a lovely view from the rear of the house, as well. After taking a few sips of her drink, she set the glass down and walked over to the wall facing the back of the property, where she had a breathtaking panorama of pastoral splendor.

A gate in the stone wall provided access to the terraced steps bordered by gardens that cascaded down the hill to a small plateau. A stand of natural forest that included pines common to the area, cedar trees, and several mulberry trees planted last year provided a lush backdrop for the new gazebo she’d had built there. Above the treetops, the Candlewood Canal flowed in the distance as it continued north and east toward Bounty and beyond, connecting Candlewood, ultimately, with the Erie Canal and the eastern markets.

Warmed by the sun overhead, Emma studied the gardens where Mother Garrett’s herbs, still full and green, filled the first terrace. Everblooming summer roses—in shades of red and white and every hue of pink in between—filled the other gardens and gently scented the air. The roses were a beautiful reminder of the two women who had worked so hard to bring the formerly abandoned gardens back to their full beauty and who still returned twice a year to maintain them, more friends now than guests. She inhaled deeply and savored the heavenly scent, even as her gaze traveled down the curving steps that cut through the terraces to the gazebo.

She cupped one hand at her brow to reduce the glare of the sun now hanging low in the sky and reflecting off the gazebo’s bronze roof. The latticed sides of the gazebo extended only halfway between the floor and the roof and were topped with an ornate railing. Emma smiled the moment she spied the silhouettes of Reverend Glenn and Widow Leonard, as well as Butter’s tail hanging out between pieces of lattice on the near side.

She thought about going back to the kitchen to get a tray to carry the pitcher and glasses down to the gazebo, but she cast the idea aside when Reverend Glenn and Widow Leonard suddenly emerged. Butter’s tail promptly disappeared from view, as well, and before the retired minister attempted the single step down from the gazebo, the dog was at his side.

She watched in awe as the aged dog hedged himself close to his master’s weaker left side. When the man stepped down to ground level, the dog stayed with him, ever loyal, ever patient, as the minister turned slightly and offered his hand to help Widow Leonard from the gazebo.

Emma held on to the rough stone wall with one hand and studied the trio as they made their way along the gravel path that skirted the edge of the pond. Once a solid, robust man, Reverend Glenn was now frail and weak. At seventy-one years old, he had hair that had turned lily white and thinned so that his overlarge, gnarly ears dominated his pinched features.

Having the mite-sized Widow Leonard at his side, however, made the minister appear almost tall. His gait remained slow and unsteady, but Butter ambled close enough to prevent a fall should the man truly stumble.

Emma shook her head when she eyed the dog closely. Mother Garrett was right. Butter was indeed an ungainly mongrel. Splotches of gray now blotched his short, sandy-colored hair, but age could not alter the size of the animal’s massive head that nature had mismatched to his small, squat body or the long-haired tail that carried in as much dirt or mud as his four paws. Fortunately the animal’s penchant for climbing up onto the cupboard to rob the entire contents of the butter crock, however, remained as nothing more than tales the minister loved to tell and retell.

Although the trio’s progress was slow, Emma was more than pleased to see them together. She could not remember a time when Reverend Glenn had felt strong enough to even attempt the challenge of the steps that led down to the gazebo. Apparently Widow Leonard’s presence here carried unexpected blessings, perhaps some yet to be discovered.

Inspired by the mystery of God’s work in this world, Emma recommitted herself to using all of her resources to make sure Widow Leonard was able to stay at Hill House for as long as she wanted. She also prayed for patience that she might let God’s plans for reconciling the problems that had brought the elderly widow here unfold according to His will.

She stood on tiptoe, ready to call out to them, but realized she might startle them and cause the minister to misstep. Instead Emma dropped back down to the soles of her feet and turned away from the wall. She had barely started back to the house when Mother Garrett came out onto the patio.

‘‘You have a guest. I’ve asked him to wait for you in your office.’’

Emma stopped and narrowed her gaze. ‘‘A guest? I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t hear the bell.’’

Chuckling, Mother Garrett shook her head. ‘‘You can’t hear the bell out here. That’s one of the reasons I suspect the patio is one of your favorite places.’’

Emma shrugged, removed her apron, and smoothed her hair. ‘‘I was hoping for a day or two of peace and quiet,’’ she admitted.

‘‘You have a guest. You. Yourself. It’s not someone who wants a room at Hill House.’’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘‘I have a guest?’’ Operating the General Store, like her mother and grandmother before her, and now Hill House, had left little time for her to develop close friendships with anyone, and her personal life was invariably intertwined with her business dealings. The men and women at church were her brothers and sisters in faith, but they were more acquaintances than friends. It would be too much of a coincidence to think the caller might be Zachary Breckenwith, which left her in a state of mild confusion about who her caller might be.

‘‘If I have a guest, why did you ask him to wait in my office instead of the parlor?’’

‘‘Don’t get all huffy. And don’t get as mad as a March hen at me,’’ Mother Garrett cautioned. ‘‘Your guest is Mr. Langhorne. That’s why I put him in your office and not the parlor.’’

Emma blew out a breath of annoyance as echoes of her last meeting with the man rang in her ears. ‘‘He’s back again? I thought I made it very clear the last time he came to call that I wasn’t interested. Not then. Not ever. I suppose you had no choice but to tell him I was home?’’

‘‘Don’t ask me how, but he claims he spied you on the patio.’’

‘‘Wonderful,’’ Emma grumbled and quickly tied her apron back into place. What little vanity she possessed kept her from mussing up her hair a bit to make the man feel guilty for interrupting her. ‘‘Please tell the pesky Mr. Langhorne that I’ve a bit of cleaning to finish before I’ll have time to see him,’’ she suggested.

‘‘I already did. He said he’d wait, poor man,’’ Mother Garrett countered with a definite twinkle in her eyes.

‘‘Of course he did. How that irritating man had the gall to call me stubborn . . . Well, there’s no sense putting off what needs to be done, and this time I’ll make myself perfectly clear, even if that means I must be far more blunt than I like to be.’’ She sighed. ‘‘I suppose the sooner I see him, the quicker he’ll leave. For good,’’ Emma offered, walking past her mother-in-law and back into the house.

She was in such a state she did not bother to slow down to allow her eyes to adjust from the bright light outside to the dim light in the dining room. The result: she stubbed her toes on the leg of one of the dining room chairs and again on the bottom edge of the sideboard.

Tears welled and nearly overflowed before she blinked them back. Leaning against the sideboard for support, she rubbed her foot until her toes stopped stinging. ‘‘Stubborn? You want stubborn? I’m going to introduce you to stubborn, Mr. Aloysius Lancaster Langhorne III,’’ she muttered.

When her mind latched onto a sudden inspiration, she opened the side drawer of the sideboard and rifled through the clutter of old correspondence, newspapers, and journals that she kept hidden there behind the tins of doughnuts. When she found a letter dated a year ago that she had received from one of her first guests, State Senator Tobias Green, she checked the back of the oversized paper to make sure it was blank. After storing the letter in her apron pocket, she grinned all the way back to the kitchen, where Mother Garrett was wiping down the kitchen table.

‘‘You keep a pencil out here somewhere, don’t you?’’ Emma asked as she started rooting through one of the cupboard drawers.

‘‘There’s no need to make a mess. Here,’’ Mother Garrett said and retrieved a stub of a pencil from her apron pocket. ‘‘I was planning to make a list of supplies we need from the General Store.’’

‘‘Thank you.’’ Emma shut the drawer. ‘‘I’ll hand this back in just a moment,’’ she promised as she took the pencil. She hesitated for a moment and glanced at her mother-in-law. ‘‘With your permission, I’d like to try something. It means you’ll be involved a bit, but . . .’’