Scones and Sensibility (20 page)

I must.

“Polly?”

I awoke from my vision to find Mrs. Miller, Fran’s former piano teacher, standing before me. Recently divorced, I had thought she was hoping to spend time traveling the world this summer. “Why, Mrs. Miller.
I thought you were taking leave of our town for a month or two. I hope you are well.” I offered up a small curtsy.

“Yeah, I thought about it, but decided to stay. And I’m doing really good. Yourself?”

“Very well, thank you. I am reluctant to admit to you that Fran aches for her piano lessons ever so much. I hope your summer thus far has been refreshing to your soul and that you will return to instructing once more.”

“Yep, you can tell her that I’ll be starting up lessons in the fall and would love to have her. I’m taking the summer off to enjoy myself a bit and, you know, get myself fixed up here and there.”

The eyes of my heart were opened at once, and I knew that fate had intervened!

An elegant divorcée with a voice like an angel and fingertips that sang the songs of heaven itself! Love was working its delicate hands to weave a romance the likes of which the world had never seen.

It was she, Mrs. Miller, who would capture Mr. Fisk’s heart. Yes, I was certain.

The lovely lady began to walk away, but she stopped when I called to her. “Yes, Polly?”

Words flowed through my soul. “Would you
perhaps—” I hesitated only briefly; my words had to be given lightly, for I did not want to frighten the dear woman. “As you know, Fran’s father, Mr. George Fisk, a man of unspeakable character and kindness, is divorced as well. Would you consider joining Mr. Fisk, his daughter, and myself for an elegant dessert tomorrow evening? You can discuss Fran’s future as a pianist as well as become better acquainted with one another.”

Mrs. Miller wrung her small, dimpled hands, though her eyes betrayed her excitement. “Well, I don’t know. I feel like I should be asked by Mr. Fisk or by Fran. Are you sure?”

“Why yes, I am sure. As his daughter’s bosom friend, I am like family to Mr. Fisk. Please say that you will do us the honor?”

“I … I guess so. Yes, yes I’ll go. Thank you very much.” Her face glowed with the hope of love.

“Really? That’s awesome … I am so pleased to hear that, and I will go straightaway to let Fran and her father know of the arrangements. You may join us at seven o’clock.”

“I’ll see you then.”

And we parted ways, Mrs. Miller filled with the
promise of tomorrow, and myself filled with visions of the union of her and Mr. Fisk.

I made my path home, considerably more hopeful in spirit upon the anticipation of the next evening’s events. Yet I knew it was most urgent that I also discover when Clementine and Clint were meeting, that I might be prepared to stop their rendezvous.

Mama and Papa were just closing up the bakery when I entered.

“Hey, Polly!” Papa said. “How did the deliveries go?”

“Considerably well,” I replied. “Is Clementine about?”

Mama nodded. “I think so. She went out this morning to get a new outfit for her and Clint’s ‘talk,’ but I think she’s home now.”

Indeed, she was at home, as I found out upon reaching her room. She giggled on the phone and I pressed my ear against the wood, praying that it was not Clint she conversed so happily with.

“Yeah, we’re going to talk tomorrow night around eight, I guess. He wants to meet at Macko’s, and then I think we’ll take the pizza down to the pier, where we can sit and dangle our legs into the water like we did
on our first date. I think I’m going to make him some brownies or something, since those are his favorite.”

There was a slight pause, and I waited eagerly for her to continue.

“So does he really seem sad? Good. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll call you and let you know. Thanks, Tracy.”

Eight o’clock! I smiled and shut myself in my bedroom. That was enough time in which to put an end to their meeting. Yet how? She had not yet fallen madly in love with Edward, and that gentleman made no great declarations of his love to her. Still, I was convinced that if Clementine could but see Edward as the prince he was, surely her heart and devotion would be his.

Oh, that was it!

I would beseech Edward to save Clementine from Clint tomorrow evening. What lady of quality does not wish her suitor to fight for her honor and attentions? And I had already mentioned to Edward that Clint was a brute, and as a proper English gentleman he would not fail to try and rescue Clementine. Especially if the pizza and drink they were to partake of was said to be … poisoned. Yes, that would be the right course. Edward would, very gallantly, rid them of their dinner,
challenge Clint to a duel, and free Clementine from Clint forever. Then Clementine, seeing the love Edward has for her—his willingness to lay down his life for her and treat her as she deserves—would certainly fall into his arms for all eternity.

It was perfect!

I would deliver a pastry to Edward in the morning and ask him this favor, which I was confident he would grant. With my course in this matter determined, I telephoned Fran to let her know of the joyous news of Mrs. Miller.

“Mrs. Miller?” Fran asked. “But she’s so … so … I don’t know. She’s my piano teacher.”

“But Fran, you have always adored her. She is pleasant, with a nice smile and an elegant demeanor. And if your father would not fall madly in love with her, which I find hard to believe, it will serve as a test of your father’s love for this Ruthie Carmichael.”

She sighed. “All right, Polly. I guess it should work. My dad’ll think that she’s over to talk about piano lessons.”

“Yes, it will be most pleasant, I am sure. Mrs. Miller is an elegant beauty to be sure and the music she plays will trill a song in his heart. Well, I must go, dear Fran.
But I promise to be by your side during the evening’s first eye contact between your father and the fair Mrs. Miller.”

“All right, Polly. See you tomorrow.”

I lay upon my bed and sighed. “Ah, me. Love is in the air.”

And after reading my most favorite passages in my most beloved books, I fell into a light sleep.

I
was awakened hours later by a light tapping on my windowpane and a low voice whispering on the wind. “Polly? Polly?”

Had I perished in my sleep and become a spirit?

I opened my eyes and searched the darkness only to find the silhouette of a young man outside my window.

I jumped from my bed and reached for an antique candlestick I had acquired on my eighth birthday. “Who are you and why do you haunt me?” I whispered in earnest.

“Polly, it’s only me, Brad. Brad Baker.”

I rushed to my bedside and pulled the string on my lamp. Indeed it was he, my suitor. Unable to sleep, his soul had brought him to my bedroom window. The
thought was romantic enough to cause me to swoon, so I leaned on my dressing table that I might remain grounded. “Why have you come? The hour is late.”

“It’s not that late,” he said, clutching a branch. His hair, tousled in the wind, blew off of his forehead in a manner that was most becoming to him. “I don’t even think it’s nine yet. I rang the doorbell and your sister told me I should climb this tree if I wanted to talk to you.”

Dearest Clementine?! She knew of romance then! I sighed. Yes, surely Edward would win her heart tomorrow night. I gazed at Bradley, perched outside my bedroom window, looking dashing in the moonlight, and my senses at once were lost.

I turned to my persistent suitor. “My dear Bradley, though I am most flattered and overcome by this declaration of love, it is not proper for a young man to be in a lady’s bedroom, especially at this hour of night.”

“You’re going to confess your love? Really? Well, gosh.” A smile spread wide across his face, and his braces glinted like silver in the moonlight. Then he grunted and struggled with his hold. “Do you think I could come in for just a second? My arms … are getting … really tired. I’ll just go out the front door … if you don’t mind.”

I sighed. Though I could not imagine such a thing being allowed in Elizabeth Bennet’s time, I figured it would be much better than having him fall to the ground to his ultimate demise. “If you must.”

And though I was fully clothed, I pulled on my dressing gown as was proper. And as I turned around, I witnessed Bradley jump from the tree to my window and land on my floor with a deafening thud. “Ouch!”

“Oh my gosh! I mean … dear me, are you all right? You are not killed, are you?”

Bradley groaned and sat up. His ruddy cheeks were scraped raw, as were his hands from clutching the tree. “No, I think … I think I’m fine.” He gazed down at his hands. “Do you have a Band-Aid or something?”

“Sure.” I ran into the washroom across the hall and came back with a clean basin of water, bandages, and ointment. “Here, let me aid you,” I said, imagining myself a nurse, bandaging the wounds of a fallen soldier. He would gaze in my eyes, memorizing my face in his mind. After the war, he would find me, the benefactress of his health. And bending down on one knee he would vow to love me always.

I sighed.

“You all right? I think that’s good enough.”

I looked up to find I had bandaged Bradley’s hand
as well as his arm and shoulder. I felt my cheeks flush under his thankful gaze. “Why yes, I am quite fine. Now let me walk you to the door.”

Neither Clementine nor my parents were in sight as I opened the front door and bid him farewell.

“So do you want to go to Macko’s sometime?” Bradley asked.

My resolve began to disintegrate at his romantic persistence. “Perhaps, though I fear I cannot answer you this night. There is much that I must do before I might give myself over to your attentive courtship.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “All right, Polly. I’ll ask you again tomorrow, I guess.” And with those parting words, he stepped onto a small scooter and pushed off down the street into the darkness.

Back up in my bedroom I contemplated what had just taken place. Had my heart begun to soften toward the young man? But he was not what I truly desired in a suitor, and I feared that he would never be. Though his gestures were most romantic, surely a bond between us was not meant to be.

But as I lay upon my bed, dreams came in softness and beauty. The prince I often dreamt about was by my bedside. I lay ailing from a fever I had acquired
after nursing a sick child back to health, and when the gentleman kissed my alabaster hand, he looked up, and his face was Bradley’s.

I found upon the morn my spirit lightened, the dreams of the night having been nourishment for my soul. Mere hours remained before Mrs. Miller would arrive at Fran’s home to make all right again and dearest Clementine would be united with Edward.

After selecting a chocolate croissant for Edward and another for Miss Wiskerton, I set upon my duties with a hopeful heart.

When I came to within a short distance of that genteel woman’s home, I spied her and came to a halt. Was not that Mr. Nightquist delivering a bouquet of flowers to Miss Wiskerton as she sat reclining on her chair? Was that not Mr. Nightquist petting Jack the Nipper on his tender, furry head?

I hid myself behind foliage and listened.

Miss Wiskerton blushed and smiled, bringing the flowers to her face. “Thank you, Peter. They’re beautiful.”

“Sure thing.” Mr. Nightquist shuffled his feet. He was, indeed, the dearest man. “Do you need anything,
Eugenia May? My shop doesn’t open for another hour and I can … I can help you out with something around the house if you need.”

She touched the flowers with her fingertips. “Oh, I think I’m all right. But why don’t you come on in and I’ll show you around. Maybe you could come for lunch too?”

Mr. Nightquist assisted her out of the lounge chair. “I can’t today. My daughter, Missy, and my grandboy, Charlie, are supposed to meet me for lunch. Maybe—”

“Well, why don’t you invite them along? I’d love to get to know them.”

I cringed. The visions of Miss Wiskerton meeting the obstinate Charles were not welcome. But I supposed if Mr. Nightquist was to be united in matrimony to Miss Wiskerton, they were bound to meet up eventually.

I offered a prayer up to heaven beseeching any help for Charles to become, at least for an hour, a well-behaved young lad, rather than what he was.

Mr. Nightquist and Miss Wiskerton entered her domain, and I stood. I was thankful that the two lovers did not notice my presence, for I was convinced that interrupting love’s work would be a sin most unforgivable.

Knowing that love was blossoming, I set off on the
rest of my deliveries with a heart that was brimming over with delight.

I made my way to the toy shop and found Edward outside.

The sun glinted off the bike he polished like silver armor. I crossed the street, shrouded by a small crowd of people, and stopped at the window of a small bookstore, pretending to gaze at the selections in the window. He could not see me, for his broad, handsome shoulders were toward me. I did not want to seem too eager to see him, or for him to know of my intentions.

I coughed loud enough for him to hear me.