Where Love Dwells (9 page)

Wryn tilted up her chin and, without further hesitation, posed her question. “Didn't you lie to me earlier today when you told me that Mr. Breckenwith was just your lawyer because you didn't want me to know you were being courted?”

Stunned by the audacity of Wryn's question, Emma's spine tingled with agitation, and she wondered why she had offered to let Wryn ask her any questions in the first place.

Until she realized the question was more than either clever or audacious.

Wryn's question was a test, and how Emma answered it held the key to unlocking the tollgate and allowing Emma to continue on the path God had set before her by sending Wryn to Hill House.

Unless Emma answered yes and admitted she had lied to Wryn, she would more than fail the test of wills between them. She would lose any hope of ever gaining this young woman's trust.

Emma held her gaze steady. “Yes,” she replied and said nothing more.

Wryn's determined eyes flashed not with satisfaction, but surprise, along with just a tad of respect, and Emma knew she had passed the first of likely many tests that would unfold over the course of the next few weeks.

Still, the journey had begun, inspiring visions of the host of prayers she would need to add to her days just to live through them, especially if Zachary Breckenwith had reconsidered his proposal of marriage.

8

W
EDNESDAY DAWNED AND PROMISED
to be a perfect spring day. Bright sun, anxious to warm the earth, was like a golden blossom nestled in a sky of bluebells while a wispy ribbon of clouds lay far to the west. A soft breeze invited the trees and evergreens to dance and caressed the tender buds of leaves and flowers that would soon bless the world with color.

Inside Hill House, Wednesday also showered the boarding-house with the joy Emma had anticipated by having her family home with her in Candlewood. With still more happiness to come once Warren and Benjamin arrived with their families, she refused to let Wryn Covington be more than a stubborn wrinkle in her skirts that Emma intended to iron out with patience. Lots and lots of patience.

Except for mealtimes, Wryn was still closeted in her room, where she was working on writing apologies and the list of amends she had been ordered to compile. The rest of the household had fallen into a comfortable routine, especially now that Liesel and Ditty were back.

After enjoying nearly four days at Hill House, Mark took his
family for an outing after an early dinner. Once Emma saw Mark and Catherine off, pulling the twins along in a high-sided wagon she had borrowed for them, she headed straight for the kitchen.

Winter curtains had been packed away for another year, and bright sunshine flooded into the room through two open windows. With no cooking smells—since they were having a cold supper—fresh air, lush with the scent of spring and evergreens, filled the room.

Emma was not pleased, however, to find Mother Garrett still there. “What are you doing here? You don't have to do that,” she insisted, taking the drying towel from her mother-in-law's hand and the plate she had been drying from the other and setting them both down on the counter with the rest of the dinner dishes waiting to be dried.

“Liesel and Ditty can take care of these dishes when they get back from their errands. Go. Hang up your apron, change, and freshen up. As it is, Mr. Kirk should have already been here by now,” Emma cautioned.

Mother Garrett frowned, picked up the towel, and started drying the plate again. “I don't need to freshen up, and I'm dressed perfectly fine for what we've planned to do on our outing. Besides, I'm too old and set in my ways to care overmuch about how I look for any man, most especially Anson Kirk.”

Emma decided not to mention that she had noticed the new hairpin her mother-in-law was wearing to hold the braid she had fashioned in her hair instead of the bun she usually wore.

She also did not mention that Anson Kirk was taking her mother-in-law to his brother's farm just outside of Candlewood. The very fact that Mother Garrett had agreed to help him select a pair of chickens from his brother's flock to add to Emma's made
little sense, considering Mother Garrett had often said the only chickens she liked at all were the ones in her soup pot.

Emma suspected her mother-in-law had another reason for accepting Mr. Kirk's invitation today, although what that reason might be remained a mystery.

When Emma gently tried to reclaim the towel and plate, Mother Garrett held tight. “You might consider following your own advice, assuming you're still going for your ride with Mr. Breckenwith today. How are those blisters of yours?”

Emma wriggled her toes inside her shoes and grinned. “Much better now, thank you. And he won't be here for at least another half an hour,” she countered. Anxious to distract her mother-in-law from revisiting the topic of how she had let Zachary's secret slip out again, as well as her own fears that Zachary might have had second thoughts about his proposal, Emma quickly altered the course of their conversation. “I have my riding skirt and my boots set out in my room, which reminds me that I don't believe I thanked you properly for getting rid of all that mud and those stains for me.”

Mother Garrett chuckled. “You should thank Liesel and Ditty for that. They took turns scrubbing out those stains in your skirt. I'm not certain what was more entertaining for them, gossiping about how you got so muddy in the first place or how long it would be before you finally accepted that man's proposal. Frances and I are wondering the same thing, so don't get yourself into a snit.”

When Emma's cheeks warmed, she snatched up another towel and started drying a plate of her own. Being pressured by nearly everyone at Hill House to accept the man's proposal was proving to be very difficult, especially now that Emma suspected he might be on the verge of rescinding it. “I'm not in a snit,” she
insisted and concentrated on drying the dish to avoid looking at her mother-in-law.

“Yes you are. You've got your jaw latched tight again,” she said nonchalantly as she laid her dish on the table and starting drying a bowl.

Emma grew still, looked up at her mother-in-law, and narrowed her gaze. “Again?”

“Again. Not that you've had this habit of yours for long. Only since that little surprise landed on your doorstep. Have you decided what to do with all the purchases she made?”

“No. Not yet. Mark and Catherine still want me to return them, but—”

“But what? I can't see what all the fuss is about. Take them back.”

“But this isn't Albany. This is Candlewood, and I'm not some nameless patron returning a purchase. Thank you, but I'd rather not inspire gossip between the shop owners.”

“Careful. You're doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“You're clenching that jaw of yours all tight. Now that I think on it, I do believe there've been a few moments you might have done that while you were watching Mark and Catherine with those little ones, too.”

Deliberately relaxing her jaw, as well as the rest of her body, Emma let out a sigh. Holding silent while watching Mark and Catherine gain experience as parents had not been nearly as frustrating as watching them with Wryn. As usual, however, Mother Garrett had known exactly how Emma was feeling. “I'm trying not to interfere, especially where little Jonas and Paul are concerned, but watching Mark and Catherine handle Wryn over the past few days has been harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted.

She cocked her head, struck by the idea that her situation was not unlike the situation Mother Garrett had found herself in when she had joined her son's household years ago. If Mother Garrett had felt just as frustrated watching her son and Emma as they raised their three sons, she had never shown any indication. “In all the years we were together while the boys were growing up, I never had the sense you might have found it difficult at times,” she ventured.

“Then I did right,” Mother Garrett replied. “I knew my place wasn't to take over or to step in when it came to raising my grandsons, even though I'd had the experience of raising my own sons and my own ideas about what needed to be done when Warren or Benjamin or Mark stepped out of line. That's not to say it was always easy, especially since I didn't want you to put me out like Allan did,” she murmured.

Mother Garrett rarely mentioned her firstborn son, Jonas' brother, who lived in New York City. He had sent his widowed mother from his household to live with his brother here in Candlewood after a dispute of some kind. Unfortunately, their estrangement continued, particularly after he had come to Candlewood trying to entice his mother to return to live with him when he needed to hire a cook for his household.

Emma cupped her mother-in-law's cheek. “Jonas and I would never, ever have done that.”

The elderly woman patted Emma's hand. “Bless you both, I always knew you wouldn't, but I always held my counsel until you asked for it because it was the right thing to do,” she said and smiled. “After my grandsons were grown and gone, I felt less compelled to hold my counsel with you,” she admitted.

“True,” Emma teased, although she would not have changed a
single thing about her mother-in-law except to ask that she might be wrong at least once or twice in Emma's lifetime.

“Of course, when the boys were all still at home, whenever I was tempted to step in, I had my licorice root. That helped a lot.”

“Licorice root?” Emma exclaimed, curious how Mother Garrett's favorite treat fit into this conversation at all.

“I know you don't favor it. To be honest, I didn't care for licorice root all that much at first, either, but you might want to give it a try. If you're ever tempted to say something you shouldn't, which I wouldn't be surprised would happen fairly often during the course of the next few weeks, pop a good piece of licorice into your mouth. You'll be too busy chewing to be able to say much. Frances said it worked for her, too, when she had to move in with James and Andrew.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “I suppose it's an idea.”

“If nothing else, developing a taste for licorice root might save you from clenching and unclenching your jaw. Sooner or later, you're going to crack a couple of teeth, which might make Mr. Breckenwith think twice about his proposal,” she teased as she dried her bowl and started on another.

Fortified with a good dose of Mother Garrett's common sense and wisdom, if not her sense of humor, Emma smiled. “I'll see if Mr. Breckenwith would mind stopping at the General Store on our way out of town.”

The sound of horses approaching the house made Emma smile. “That must be Mr. Kirk. Time to go,” she insisted and snatched the towel and bowl out of Mother Garrett's hand.

Mother Garrett walked over to the window overlooking the side drive, which was used for wagons and deliveries, and poked
out her head. “No, I do believe that's Mr. Breckenwith I see, and he's headed straight for the kitchen with your mounts.”

Emma dropped both towels and nearly lost hold of the bowl, which she quickly set on the table. “It is? He's early!” she blurted. Encouraged that he apparently intended for the two of them to have their planned outing, she grew hopeful of his intentions for their future together. “Whatever possessed him to ride up the hill to the house instead of waiting for me down by the gazebo? Never mind. It doesn't matter. Keep him busy for me, will you? I need to change!” Without waiting for an answer, Emma rushed up the kitchen service steps to her room on the second floor.

By the time she changed into her riding skirt, laced up her boots, and rebraided her hair, she was out of breath. She took a quick peek into the mirror and sighed. There was nothing she could do about the streaks of white entwined in her blond braid or the years that had added wrinkles at the corners of her blue eyes, but she did not have to worry about pinching a bit of color into her cheeks. They were as pink as the roses that would bloom this summer in the terraced gardens on either side of the patio steps.

“At least something good came from rushing,” she admitted, heading downstairs scarcely fifteen minutes after getting to her room.

She entered the upstairs hallway at the back of the house and glanced to her left and stopped abruptly. She was tempted to go to Wryn's room to remind her that even though she was going to be alone in the house for a while, she was still under punishment and was not allowed to leave her room.

When she found herself clenching her jaw again, she hurried straight to the center staircase, but only after she had made a mental note to buy several tins of licorice root—one for each floor of the house.

When she entered the kitchen, however, the room was empty. Lured outside by the open kitchen door, she took only three steps out of the house before rocking back on her heels. Zachary Breckenwith was standing just a few feet away with a look of pure joy on his face—a joy that erased every fear she'd had that he might have changed his mind about wanting to marry her. Mother Garrett was sitting next to Anson Kirk in his wagon, which he had parked just behind the horses Zachary had brought with him.

But Zachary was not holding the reins to two horses.

There were three horses behind him.

Momentarily confounded, Emma glanced from his usual mount, a black gelding, to the other two horses. The closest one to him was a bay mare, but the chestnut mare with a blaze on her forehead was so distinctive Emma was drawn to her immediately.

As her brain started to sort through the images in front of her, she realized the two horses Zachary had brought with him were not from the livery, which meant they had to be the horses Mother Garrett had told her about.

The shock of seeing the horses right here and right now was so real she did not have to feign surprise at all. In point of fact, seeing him here now with his surprise for her in hand could only mean one thing: he still meant to marry her. “Wh-what are you, I mean, why did you . . . B-but how did you . . .” she stammered, glancing from Zachary to Mother Garrett to Anson Kirk and back again.