Where Love Dwells (7 page)

The blush on Wryn's cheeks flamed red. “But I wasn't too busy to stop and introduce myself to Reverend and Mrs. Glenn,” she countered, addressing her uncle before turning her attention back to her hosts. “Uncle Mark and Aunt Catherine told me so much about the two of you while we traveled here. I could hardly wait to meet you both.”

“We're very, very pleased that you did,” Reverend Glenn noted, pausing for a moment from rubbing his left arm, which had been weakened by his stroke. “You shouldn't have come bearing so many gifts,” he added, looking down at his contented dog. “Butter here hasn't had a hunk of beef jerky like you brought for him
without being chased out of Mercy Garrett's kitchen for a good, long spell.”

“I put the rest of the jerky away and hid it right behind the crock of butter where it'll be safe,” Wryn said without looking at either Emma or Mark.

Emma smiled and saw Reverend Glenn and Aunt Frances do the same. Unless Aunt Frances had had the butter stored high, the beef jerky might have disappeared already, courtesy of an old dog who had a peculiar fondness for butter, hence the inspiration for his name.

With the lace shawl and beef jerky accounted for, Emma suspected Wryn had given the knife she had bought to Reverend Glenn for his whittling. Wryn's generosity, however, did not change the fact that she had purchased her gifts for the Glenns under false pretenses.

Reluctant to settle the matter of Wryn's outlandish behavior here and now in front of the others, Emma turned her attention to Zachary. “What brought you back out into this awful weather again today?”

“Widow Ellis made a pot of soup for the Glenns. Rather than venture out into this weather, she decided I should deliver it for her, which I was only too happy to do,” he explained. “And you?”

“Just to visit,” Emma replied carefully to avoid telling an outright lie.

Aunt Frances got to her feet. “Wryn set some water to boil for tea. Come along, Emma. You can help me in the kitchen.”

“I'll help, too,” Wryn suggested and stood up.

Aunt Frances urged her back into her seat again. “You've already done enough. You stay right here with the menfolk and keep the conversation going until we get back.”

Emma noticed the frown on Wryn's face before the young
woman caught herself and smiled. Following Aunt Frances through an open doorway into the kitchen, she shut the door behind her. The kitchen was twice the size of the cozy parlor, but she did not expect to see how much the room had changed in the course of the week since she had last visited.

Aunt Frances' kitchen now had a corner cupboard and a pantry sitting on either side of the original larder built against the outer wall. Although both were obviously quite old, they appeared to be sturdy and serviceable. The two rocking chairs now rested side by side atop a braided rug instead of bare floorboards in front of the fireplace, along with Aunt Frances' sewing basket.

Three mismatched chairs, similar to the two Mark had carried into the living room, kept company around a square table. The pot of soup from Widow Ellis was simmering on the cookstove, along with the kettle of water Wryn had set to boil. The sink now had two narrow tables on either side which served as counters.

“What a difference a week makes,” Emma noted with surprise.

“Faith and friends make all the difference in the world,” Aunt Frances replied. “There's a blue teapot in the corner cupboard. If you get that out for me while I get the tea ready, then you can pour the water for me.”

She opened the door to the larder to get the tea while Emma headed for the corner cupboard. “Between James and Andrew, we'll never want for foodstuffs.”

“I shouldn't think you would,” Emma said as she lifted the well-used but attractive teapot out of the cupboard. Both of Aunt Frances' sons farmed together now on the old family homestead they had inherited from their father. They had been very generous while their mother had been living at Hill House and more
recently when Emma had provided so many with a place to live after the tragic explosion and fire.

“Widow Ellis' soup smells awfully good,” Emma murmured, hoping Aunt Frances could not hear her stomach growl.

“She's a fair cook, but not as good as Mercy,” Aunt Frances commented. “Would you like a little soup to tide you over till supper?”

“No, thank you. The tea will be enough for now.”

“I haven't had to cook much myself until now. People kept sending something over when we first moved in, but not so much anymore,” she said as she filled a tea ball before adding it to the teapot Emma had set onto the table. “Members of the congregation have been so generous in other ways, too. I brought this teapot from home, but the kettle came from Addie Atkins just the day before yesterday. She said she had an extra one after setting up housekeeping with Mr. Atkins.”

Emma plucked a heavy cloth from a peg, picked up the kettle, and poured the boiling water into the teapot. “Are you feeling any better about Addie now?”

“I never thought poorly of the woman in the first place. If you're referring to whether or not I've had my feelings hurt because Mr. Atkins chose to marry her instead of listening to my suggestions or Mercy's, then there isn't a doubt in this old head of mine that he made a better choice. And a kinder one,” she added thoughtfully. “As we both know, it isn't always easy for widows as they grow older, or for single women, for that matter. Orralynne Burke had that cookstove sent over. She's sold the house she inherited from her brother, you know.”

“No, I hadn't heard,” Emma replied. “Then I take it she's going to live with the Masseys permanently,” she suggested. She was pleased to think the friendship between the lifelong spinster,
some ten years younger than Emma, and the young couple who had celebrated the birth of their son at Hill House, had deepened—yet another blessing that had come after the tragedy this past January.

“She seemed to think so,” Aunt Frances replied. “She's been a great help to them, and they're being very good to her, too. I believe she said young Matthew Cross and his brother bought the house. Now that their father has passed on, there's no need to stay in that old place where they'd been living. Besides, it's too far from town for them to keep an eye out for their mother while they're working.”

“Matthew and Steven are good, solid young men. They'll make good husbands one day,” Emma suggested, hoping the two young men she had met shortly after they had moved to Candlewood would not be tempted to court either Liesel or Ditty away from Hill House anytime soon.

Aunt Frances peeked into the teapot and frowned. “Needs another few minutes. You know, Emma, I was very blessed to have a good man like Reverend Glenn welcome me into his life. What about you? Have you decided to marry Mr. Breckenwith yet, or are you following in Mercy's footsteps and simply enjoying the chase?” she teased.

Emma chuckled as she left to remove seven mugs from the cupboard to a tray Aunt Frances had set on the table, along with a crock of honey and a pitcher of cream. “Poor Mr. Kirk. No matter how hard he tries, he just can't seem to get Mother Garrett to accept his proposal.”

Aunt Frances countered with a grin. “Heaven knows that woman is as likely to accept a proposal from him as she is to let someone commandeer her kitchen, although she does seem agitated now that she has a serious rival. Widow Cates has given up, but
Widow Franklin is still vying for Mr. Kirk's attention, you know, but I wasn't asking about Mercy. I was asking about you and Mr. Breckenwith.”

Emma let out a sigh. “I thought I'd decided to accept his proposal, but with the boys coming home and now with Mark arriving several weeks early, my life's a bit too complicated at the moment to sort through all the issues that need to be resolved before I can agree to marry him.”

Aunt Frances placed her hand on top of Emma's. “One of those complications wouldn't happen to be named Wryn, would it?”

Emma sighed again. “I only met that young woman a few hours ago, but calling her a complication is probably the kindest way to think of her at the moment. When I first met her this morning, she was sitting on top of the kitchen table gobbling down one cruller after another and being rude. At the time I thought she was an irreverent little snip. But you wouldn't believe me if I told you half of what she's managed to do since then,” Emma grumbled, still reluctant to spoil the pleasure Aunt Frances and Reverend Glenn had received from the gifts Wyrn had given to them.

“On the contrary,” Aunt Frances said. “I think I might. That young woman's got a heart full of hurt tucked deep inside of her and acting out is just her way of trying to bear it. I suspect you already know that, don't you?”

“Yes, I suppose I do, but—”

“But you're not the one who has to heal that girl's broken heart. Only God can do that, Emma. Be His instrument. Nothing more. He's brought Wryn into your life for a purpose, but you have to trust Him to guide both of you along the path He's set out. Don't let her complicate your life to the point you forget that He's happiest when we accept all the gifts He's brought to our doorstep—including
the love and companionship of a caring spouse, which I think Mr. Breckenwith is offering to you.”

Reminded yet again of how precious this woman was and touched by the wisdom she was sharing, Emma blinked back tears. “I've missed having you and Reverend Glenn with me at Hill House so much,” she whispered.

“We've missed you, too, but this is where we want to be and where we need to be. Reverend Glenn and I aren't very far away from you at all, and we're always here to help you.” Aunt Frances caressed the back of Emma's hand.

“Thank you,” Emma replied, glancing at the lace shawl lying across the back of Aunt Frances' rocking chair.

Aunt Frances followed her gaze and let out a sigh. “But right now, you're troubled by something a bit more immediate. Maybe it would help if I told you that I've been terribly careful handling the shawl. I don't think you'll have much trouble returning it to Mrs. Delaney's Boutique.”

Emma's eyes widened. “Why would you suggest . . . ? But how could you know . . . ?”

“I'm eighty-one years old, Emma. I may have only been stitching on cotton and linen with these old hands of mine for most of those years, but I can surely recognize expensive imported lace when I see it. I also know Wryn couldn't possibly afford to buy that shawl for me, along with the rest of the gifts she had for us, as soon as I laid eyes on it. I'm not certain how she managed to get her hands on those things, but I do know that even if she saved every coin she could earn for herself for the next fifteen years, she still wouldn't have enough to pay for them.”

“Unfortunately, you're not the first person today to reach that conclusion,” Emma said.

“Maybe not, but I can make it easier all around if I just return
everything to you. I don't want to hurt Wryn's feelings, so once you all leave, I'll wrap up everything she gave us real good so it'll be ready for you to take back whenever you decide. Except for the beef jerky. I'm afraid Butter found it and devoured it, along with half a crock of my butter, which is why he's fast asleep on the floor right now. He's so full he can't move.”

Emma laughed out loud, picked up the tray, and nodded toward the kitchen door. “If and when I decide what to do with Wryn's purchases, I'll let you know. In the meantime, maybe you could open that door for me so I could carry the tea into the parlor.”

When Emma followed Aunt Frances into the other room, however, Butter was the only one still in the same spot. Reverend Glenn and Zachary had both donned coats, hats, and gloves and stood by the door, about ready to leave. Mark and Wryn, however, were not there at all.

“Where are Mark and Wryn?” Emma asked.

“Where are you going with Mr. Breckenwith?” Aunt Frances asked her husband, almost simultaneously.

Reverend Glenn smiled. “While you two ladies were busy in the kitchen, Mark grew worried about leaving Catherine alone with the babies for too long, and he didn't want her to worry about Wryn. So he decided they should head back to Hill House. On their way out, they met Mr. Hooper, who stopped on his way to fetch the doctor. It appears Mrs. Hooper has taken a turn for the worse. I promised to meet him back at his house since Mr. Breckenwith offered to see me there and back again,” he explained, answering both women's questions.

“What about your tea?” Emma asked as she set it on a side table.

“I'm sorry you both went to all that trouble, but I really shouldn't dawdle, especially since I don't walk so fast anymore.
The two of you can likely finish off that pot of tea by yourselves,” he teased.

Aunt Frances took the cape Emma had worn from a peg near the door and handed the garment to her. “Don't worry about the tea. I know how anxious you are to go home and spend time with Mark and his family. We'll visit together again soon.”

“Don't you want me to stay to keep you company?”

“No, Emma dear. Reverend Glenn could be gone for hours. I have my stitching to keep me busy,” she said and caught Zachary's gaze. “If Emma walks along with you now to the Hoopers' to make sure Reverend Glenn arrives safe and sound, will you walk her to Hill House, as well? You'd still be back to the Hoopers' again long before Reverend Glenn is ready to come home again.”

“Even if I'm ready sooner than we expect, I'll simply wait for you,” her husband added.

“Then I can't see any reason why I shouldn't take Mrs. Glenn's suggestion, can you?” Zachary asked, gazing directly at Emma.

Hard pressed to think of a single logical reason why she should not leave now and let Zachary escort her home, she smiled in response and slipped into the oversized cape. Avoiding Zachary's questions about Wryn was unavoidable.