A Hearth in Candlewood (17 page)

Rather than stand to do her chore, she took a seat at the table after removing the lid from the tin of doughnuts. Dismayed to find only two crullers sitting in a thick bed of crumbs, she quickly scanned the items she had brought to the table and did the best she could to improvise.

With scarcely any room to work, she started with the crullers. After slicing the fried dough lengthwise, she layered a thick coating of apple butter on top and cut them into bite-sized pieces she arranged in the center of each oval plate. She set the tin onto the floor to give herself more room, then lined up rows of wafer-thin crackers. She topped half of them with mulberry jam, then set the crock of jam on the seat of the chair next to her. She spread creamy butter on the other half and drizzled honey on top. Inspired, she got up to retrieve a stick of cinnamon and a scraper, dusted cinnamon on top of the butter, too, and stored the scraper in the sink for the time being.

After setting the cracker tin down next to the empty doughnut tin and the crock of butter next to the jam, she alternated each type of cracker in rows encircling the crullers.

‘‘Pretty,’’ she murmured and wiped the sticky residue from her fingertips. There was still room on the plate for more, but she had run clear out of ideas, if not ingredients.

Inspired yet again, she returned to the dining room and carried the vase of roses back to the kitchen. She managed to remove enough leaves from the stems to encircle the tidbits she had prepared without pricking herself on the thorns more than once or twice. After snipping off four of the smallest but fullest roses, all white, she placed two at the widest point of each oval and added a pale pink rosebud at the top.

‘‘Beautiful!’’

With a tray in each hand, she left the kitchen to take her efforts to her guests. By the time she had delivered the snacks and headed back down the center staircase to return to the kitchen, she was floating. Despite the challenge, she had outdone herself, and the Sewells’ glowing compliments had lifted her from being self-satisfied to being overjoyed, even though she faced cleaning up the awful mess she had made of Mother Garrett’s kitchen.

She took but a single step into the kitchen before she rocked to a halt and gasped. What mess she had made was nothing compared to the disaster in front of her.

‘‘Butter! Butter, no!’’ she cried. ‘‘Scoot, dog.’’

He pulled his nose from the crock of mulberry jam sitting on the seat of the chair and plopped down on the floor, upending the doughnut tin, which spewed crumbs as it rolled across the room.

Sidestepping the crumbs, she picked up the now-empty butter crock from the floor near the cupboard and carried it along with her as she approached the dog. ‘‘Mangy mongrel! Look what you’ve done to Mother Garrett’s kitchen,’’ she grumbled.

He belched and closed his eyes.

She glared at him. ‘‘I hope you enjoyed your snack.’’

He opened his eyes and struggled to his feet.

When he nudged at her skirts, he touched the one tender spot her annoyance had not reached. ‘‘Poor fella. You must have felt like a puppy again, and here I am yelling at you. I guess I’m not blameless. I left everything where you could reach it.’’

She glanced around the room and rolled up her sleeves. ‘‘I don’t suppose there’s any real harm done, provided I can clean this up before Mother Garrett gets back. I gather you’re going to be mum about where she is and where Aunt Frances and Reverend Glenn might have disappeared to?’’

He flopped back down on the floor.

‘‘Good enough. Just stay there, please, until I clean this up and then you’re going outside,’’ she warned and got straight to the miserable task at hand, as well as foot.

————

‘‘. . . and thank you, Lord, for an evening with no new surprises. Amen.’’

Emma finished her evening prayers, pulled down the quilt on her bed, and climbed beneath the bed sheet. The air was still but warm. There was just a bare hint of moonlight outside, and her bedroom was bathed in darkness. Surrounded by a quiet household, she felt for her keepsakes beneath the pillow under her head and wrapped her fingers around them.

With her other hand, she tugged the sheet to her shoulders. The moment she smoothed the edge flat and felt the embroidery, she paused. ‘‘My gift!’’ She had forgotten all about her gift from Aunt Frances, but apparently either Mother Garrett or Aunt Frances had not forgotten and had put the new bed linens on her bed for her.

Anxious to see the design on the top hem of the bed sheet, she eased from her bed and lit the lamp on the table next to it. Within moments, a soft glow brought the design to life. A row of hearts stretched from one side of the sheet to the other and rested below a vine of leaves and flowers. The dates stitched within each heart drew her attention and set her heart aglow. Tears blurred her vision as she traced the dates, each a precious moment in her life. The day of her birth. The day she had become Jonas’s wife. The birth dates of her children, their marriages, and the birth dates of her grandchildren.

She gave her tears free rein to fall. Amazed by Aunt Frances’s work and the thoughtfulness it represented, she now knew Mother Garrett had helped by providing the dates.

‘‘Bless you both,’’ she whispered. She doused the lamp and climbed back into her bed of memories, all the more grateful He had saved the greatest surprise of the day for the last.

18

E
ARLY THE NEXT MORNING
before breakfast, Emma was at her desk when Mr. Sewell appeared in the doorway between the library and her office. ‘‘I’ve arranged for a carriage to pick my family up at ten o’clock for an outing, but we’ll be back for dinner, of course. I rose earlier than usual today to spend some time talking with Reverend Glenn again. Apparently, he overslept and is still dressing, so it appears I have a few extra moments. While I’m waiting, if it’s not inconvenient, now might be the only time for us to talk privately.’’

‘‘Of course. Please come in. I hadn’t heard your plans for today,’’ she offered and set aside the letter she had been writing.

Chuckling, he crossed the room and wedged himself into the chair facing her desk. ‘‘In truth, since this is our last full day here, I do believe if I hadn’t planned an outing so I could spend some time with my family, they would have gone shopping again, and I might have had to hire a separate freight barge to haul all their purchases home.’’

She smiled. ‘‘Your wife and daughters seemed pleased with all the new shops. I hope your ventures here in Candlewood have been as successful,’’ she prompted, anxious to learn how he had fared.

He nodded. ‘‘To a point, I believe they have, although the group of investors I represent will make the final judgment. My travels over the past few days have been most enlightening, and I daresay I would not have made nearly as much progress without your help.’’

‘‘I don’t know that I’ve been all that helpful,’’ she admitted. She did not consider the little information she had given him this year to be much more than common knowledge.

‘‘As uncommon as others may find it, considering your sex, your knowledge of the area and business sense have always been as solid as I could hope to find,’’ he countered. ‘‘No one in Candlewood had the foresight to see the potential in Hill House, but you did.’’

‘‘My grandmother and mother, bless their souls, would be as pleased that you’re so generous with your kind words as I am,’’ she replied, although she doubted he would have the same opinion of her if he knew about the legal troubles surrounding her ownership of Hill House.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a few moments, as if choosing his words carefully. ‘‘You may not, however, be as informed or as aware as you should be about other . . . shall we say, developments.’’

Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation of hearing his viewpoints on the future of Candlewood and the surrounding area. Mr. Sewell had been very careful not to divulge the exact details surrounding his interests in the area last year, and she did not expect him to talk to her about anything in other than general terms now. Perhaps now more than ever before she needed the benefit of his considerable experience and knowledge, which was far superior to her own, especially in light of his connections to other well-established and well-heeled investors and entrepreneurs in the East.

‘‘I fear you may be right. I am not informed as well as I’d like to be,’’ she admitted. ‘‘You were very generous in sharing your perceptions with me last year, especially about the Candlewood Canal.’’

‘‘The Erie Canal and the feeder canals, like the one in Candlewood, have been a boon to many towns and very profitable, at this point, to some investors but not all. Most towns like Candlewood have grown faster in the past five or six years than in the previous twenty-five. Some will continue to grow and prosper, while others face a much harsher future. The most difficult task, in my view, is to determine which towns offer the greatest promise of growth and how to be in a position to foster that growth to turn a profit. Not that there’s ever a way to eliminate the risk when making an investment,’’ he cautioned.

Intrigued to know his opinion about which future lay ahead for Candlewood, Emma also noted the glint of excitement in his eyes. ‘‘No, there isn’t. Yet it’s deciding which risk to take that separates the wise man from the foolish one,’’ she commented, feeling very foolish indeed for not following her lawyer’s advice and thinking through her rash decision to buy Hill House.

He cocked his head. ‘‘Quite a valuable observation.’’

She frowned. ‘‘Unfortunately, I can’t lay claim to it as mine, any more than I can say I’ve let those words guide all of my business decisions. My grandmother deserves the merit, although to quote her accurately, I would have to say that risk-taking in business ultimately separates the wise
woman
from the foolish one.’’

He chuckled again. ‘‘Also true.’’

‘‘To your mind, now that the Candlewood Canal is operating well, what factors will affect the town’s future most?’’ she asked, hoping he might be able to offer her advice she might need if she had to move from Hill House.

His expression grew serious. ‘‘The same as in the past. Geography. Geography. Geography.’’

When she narrowed her gaze, he laced his hands and laid them atop his stomach. ‘‘What single factor played the most significant role in determining whether or not Candlewood would grow like it has or remain simply a small anchor for area farmers?’’

‘‘The canal.’’

‘‘Perhaps, but what factor led to the building of the canal on a route that led through Candlewood?’’

She shrugged. ‘‘I suppose because the canal started south of here and ended in Bounty. Candlewood just happened to be in between.’’

‘‘At the midpoint of the route, to be precise, where the initial investors raised a greater portion of the cost of building the canal from other investors,’’ he corrected, reminding her that the initial investors had used naming the canal after the town as an important lure.

He paused for a moment and smiled. ‘‘Geography, then.’’

‘‘Yes, but—’’

‘‘The canal era is at its peak, or nearly so. Within ten years I suspect most towns along the canal will be fortunate if they can reclaim the level of success they enjoyed before the canals were ever built.’’

Her concern heightened. ‘‘But the geography won’t have changed.’’

‘‘Essentially you’re correct, but progress is not static. Progress continues as technology evolves. Interests shift from one location to another, or interest heightens in specific locations, depending on—’’

‘‘Geography,’’ she murmured. She paused for a moment to let her brain sift through the articles she had read over the past year in various journals and newspapers, as well as gossip she had gleaned from area businessmen before she latched on to several ideas that seemed to have generated the most interest.

‘‘Extending the Candlewood Canal is one option,’’ she offered, choosing the one topic of most interest locally.

He shrugged. ‘‘True.’’

She tried again, suggesting something a bit more exotic. ‘‘Developing the silk industry seems to hold a great deal of promise for making substantial profits.’’

He coughed.

She proffered her final idea, although it seemed to be the riskiest of all. ‘‘The railroad?’’

He rose from his seat. ‘‘The difference between a wise investor and a foolish one goes just a bit further than deciding when or how to risk one’s capital. In truth, it is a wise investor who not only anticipates the future but prepares for it. The foolish one, on the other hand, sees the future only in terms of the present.’’

She swallowed hard. In hindsight, and in all honesty, she realized she may have foolishly rushed to buy Hill House not just as a way to create a new future for herself but more to escape the lonely reality of her life at the General Store without giving God the opportunity to show her the way He had planned for her.

‘‘Reverend Glenn and I see eye to eye in that regard,’’ he continued, ‘‘which is something we were going to discuss further this morning.’’

When she narrowed her gaze, he smiled. ‘‘Obviously I’m very interested in financial matters and being successful in this life, but the good minister reminded me only yesterday that perhaps I should be equally concerned about anticipating and preparing for eternal life.’’ He then left her alone to ponder his final words while he went to see Reverend Glenn.

Emma sat at her desk for nearly half an hour, deep in thought about their conversation. Ultimately, she decided Mr. Sewell would not have returned to Candlewood and spent the past three days touring property in the area unless he seriously thought the area offered the opportunity to profit from wise investments, possibly related to the construction of a railroad at some point in Candlewood’s future.

Given that assumption, she rifled through the clutter in her desk drawers, found a map of the area that included most of the eastern part of the state, and spread it out on top of the papers on her desk. She found Candlewood on the map easily enough, studied the area immediately surrounding the town, then put Candlewood in context with the outlying areas along the length of the Candlewood Canal.