A Hearth in Candlewood (23 page)

‘‘He’ll agree,’’ Aunt Frances said. ‘‘James, you tell him I expect him to agree.’’

James’s eyes widened. ‘‘Me?’’

‘‘No, my other son James. Of course I mean you,’’ she argued. ‘‘If you go the right way home, you’ll practically pass by Andrew’s front door. Stop and tell him. Unless you expect me to rent a carriage and ride all the way out there, old as I am, when you could much more easily—’’

‘‘I’ll do it. I’ll stop on my way home,’’ he gritted. ‘‘When would be a good time for us to come, Widow Garrett?’’

Emma hesitated and thought out loud. ‘‘I have guests coming in this afternoon and several more arriving off and on for stays lasting through this week and next. Would two weeks from tomorrow suit? I’m reluctant to ask you to wait that long.’’

‘‘Two weeks from tomorrow will suit everyone just fine,’’ Aunt Frances insisted.

James shrugged. ‘‘Agreed, then.’’

‘‘I do have a few questions I’d like to ask you about the toll road property,’’ Emma ventured. ‘‘I’ve already spoken with Andrew about it, but I’d be interested in hearing your view.’’

‘‘There’s not much I have to say,’’ he said. ‘‘Andrew wants to sell the land, along with his own. I don’t.’’

His mother gasped. ‘‘Andrew’s selling
all
his land, not just the toll road property? He wants to move away?’’

‘‘Just to town. He’s got his mind set on opening some sort of business in Candlewood.’’

Emma’s pulse quickened. ‘‘So he wants to sell everything, the land you own jointly and his own land?’’

‘‘That’s the deal he’s been offered, but it’s all or nothing—or so he claims. I stopped listening after I told him no for the second time.’’

‘‘But why would you refuse to sell the land you own jointly with your brother? It’s common knowledge the toll road is in disrepair and there’s little enough acreage to be of interest. Are your father’s wishes that important to you?’’ she asked, bringing Andrew’s claims to the forefront.

He frowned. ‘‘My father made his wishes very clear in his will, but they’re written on paper, not stone tablets. He’d be the first to tell us to do what’s smart and what’s right.’’

‘‘You’re the oldest. You have the greater responsibility to keep peace in the family. That’s what’s right,’’ his mother argued.

He squared his shoulders. ‘‘What’s smart as well as right is to keep Andrew from falling victim to some smooth-talking, eastern profit-monger. I threw the man out of my house three minutes after he got there to ask me to sell my land, too.’’

‘‘Why?’’ Emma asked.

‘‘If the land is that valuable now, it’ll be all the more valuable in a few years when all the boys are grown and I’d be tempted to think about selling out. But no. Andrew wants to sell now. He even sent that buyer of his back to see me to try to change my mind, at least on the land I own with him. There’s no way I’ll sell that land and risk having the new owner deny me access to the toll road that I use to take my produce to Candlewood. My brother claims the man just bought Stan Oliver’s land, too. I tossed him out again just yesterday.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘That man left in such a rush, his spectacles slipped right off his face and landed in a mud puddle, along with his hat. He won’t be back to see me again.’’

Emma’s heart skipped a beat. ‘‘Do you happen to recall the man’s name?’’

‘‘Langtree. Lowhorne. No, Langhorne. That’s it, Langhorne.’’

She swallowed hard. ‘‘I’ve met him. He’s very persistent. He’ll be back to see you.’’

‘‘He won’t get past the front door this time,’’ James vowed and got to his feet. ‘‘Unfortunately, I have work waiting for me at home.’’ He stooped to kiss his mother’s cheek. ‘‘I’ll see you in two weeks,’’ he promised, stood tall again, and faced Emma.

She got to her feet. ‘‘Thank you for coming.’’

‘‘I’ll let myself out the front and head around back to the wagon. Harry’s probably there waiting for me by now. When we first arrived, he brought in a couple of bushels of apples and some sweet potatoes and turnips we brought for your larder.’’

‘‘That was very kind of you. Thank you for going to all that trouble.’’

‘‘No trouble. That’s part of my father’s will, too.’’

When she cocked a brow, he shrugged. ‘‘There’s more to it, but let’s just say he kept my mother’s well-being in mind in a number of ways,’’ he offered and took his leave.

She took a few steps and sat down next to Aunt Frances. ‘‘If all goes well after James and Andrew talk, you’ll be able to go home with your sons. It appears we can look forward to having you with us for at least two more weeks, and you won’t have to worry from day to day whether one of them might come to try to get you to leave.’’

‘‘If I’m not a bother.’’

Emma took the older woman’s hand into her own and smiled. ‘‘In truth, you haven’t been here but a few weeks, but it won’t be easy for us to see you leave. You’ve become part of our family now, too, and we’re going to miss you.’’

A muffled
thud
interrupted their conversation.

Emma hurried out to the hallway with Aunt Frances on her heels and spied a red-faced Ditty sitting at the bottom of the staircase surrounded by several cleaning rags and the furniture polish she had been using.

‘‘I’m fine. I just missed the last step or two,’’ she quipped, got to her feet, and started to pick up the cleaning rags. ‘‘Nothing broken, nothing harmed.’’

Aunt Frances nudged Emma and leaned close. ‘‘That young woman’s as clumsy as a caterpillar missing most of its legs, but she’ll turn into one fine butterfly someday, you’ll see.’’

Emma sighed. ‘‘Even if Hill House survives, I’m not sure I’ll live that long.’’

24

H
ILL
H
OUSE WAS READY
to receive her next guests, the Mitchell sisters. Whether or not Candlewood was any more prepared for this visit than for their first remained to be seen, although by now, most people accepted the ladies as darling eccentrics.

Emma slipped out to the porch, sat down on one of the chairs, and tucked her legs beneath her to wait while Mother Garrett met their guests at the landing. Hill House stood ready; the guest bedrooms were dressed with fresh linens, and in both parlors sat vases of fresh-cut roses, truly the last of the season, offering sweet allure, while the fruits of Mother Garrett’s labors crowded the sideboard, ready to fill the plates already set on the dining room table.

Grateful for a bit of time to herself, Emma leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her mind, however, would not let her rest. Even though she trusted in God’s wisdom, she still remained troubled about the future of Hill House, Reverend Glenn’s health, Liesel and Ditty’s escapade, the ongoing feud between the Leonard brothers, and Mr. Atkins’ struggles at the General Store, as well as the fear Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances might yet be matchmaking, though neither one had said much about it in the past few days.

With a shake of her head, she shoved all those worries aside and thought about the Mitchell sisters, who would be arriving within the hour. Adapting from the Sewells’ more formal stay to the very down-to-earth days ahead with the Mitchells meant more than a shift in attitude or mood. Mother Garrett’s menu changed. Ordinary crockery replaced the china at mealtimes. Emma dressed more casually, wearing gowns much like the dark gray cotton one she wore today, and let her braid hang free instead of coiling it into a bun. She also spent more time with her guests, especially outdoors.

She did need to be careful, though. When the Mitchell sisters were in residence, Emma was sorely tempted to shed her prim image, letting her urge to be spontaneous and carefree match the sisters’ daring lifestyles.

For a woman like Emma, who had spent most of her life indoors working in the General Store from dawn to dusk, rediscovering the wonders of nature with her guests, however, was one of the greatest gifts she had received since coming to Hill House.

Unfortunately, between restoring and operating the boardinghouse, she made little time for appreciating this gift unless the Mitchell sisters were here. Anticipating their arrival, she opened her eyes, scanned the view from the front porch, and realized summer had faded. The scent of autumn was heavier now, promising the crunch of crisp apples and days when the air would be heavy with the smell of farmers making fresh cider. For the first time, she noticed some of the trees were trading bonnets of deep green for crimson, persimmon, and gold, while others remained evergreen.

Beyond the rooftops of homes and businesses clustered in the center of town, the deep blue ribbon the Candlewood Canal had worn all summer had turned murky from use, but the sky itself was crisp blue, decorated with a bouquet of white clouds stretching to reach the sun before it slipped below the horizon.

Her heart filled with wonder. Her soul trembled with the awareness of His presence in all that surrounded her—a presence that eased all of her fears about the future. ‘‘Be not afraid,’’ she whispered, and the stirring of the trees carried her words back to her. She closed her eyes again, slipped her hand into her pocket, and dozed off with her keepsakes held tight.

————

‘‘There she is, looking like a lady indeed!’’

‘‘Miss Em-ma! Yoo-hoo! Miss Em-ma!’’

Startled, Emma snapped awake and blinked the sleep from her eyes. Disoriented for a moment, the instant she saw her guests approaching the gate, she bolted to her feet. She had not even heard the buggy approach or depart but spied it now heading back down the lane. ‘‘I must have really needed that catnap,’’ she muttered, then waved to her guests as she descended from the porch.

The Misses Mitchell were leading the other guests—no surprise there. The two sisters never walked when they could ride nor stopped talking until they were asleep.

Unless they were gardening.

Indeed, they were chattering with one another as one sister unlatched the gate and stepped aside for the other to hold it open for the Cross family.

Their straw bonnets, as plain as their homespun beige gowns, and the burlap bags, which they carried instead of reticules, represented the only bow to conventional attire the spinsters allowed—and only while traveling beyond the confines of the home they still shared with their parents in New York City. Once they reached Hill House, the gowns they wore would be packed away, except for Sunday services, until they were ready to travel back home.

Only a year or two shy of turning forty years old, Opal and Garnet Mitchell were identical twins who preferred to wear their curly brown hair cropped short, just covering their ears, men’s trousers, suspenders, soft flannel shirts, and boots. Since they were both built exceedingly thick through the middle, they might easily have passed for brothers, not sisters, when they were dressed like men, at least from a distance. Up close, their flawless complexions, gentle blue eyes, and outrageously long eyelashes made them decidedly female, if the dainty pins each of them wore faithfully on their collars did not give them away.

As Emma approached the group of people in the front yard, she greeted Diane Cross and her husband, who seemed to be having trouble breathing, and their son Steven. Out of concern for Mr. Cross, Emma directed them into the house before welcoming her newest resident guests. She glanced at the two women standing side-by-side, took note of the pins they wore, and gave the woman standing on the left a hug first and then the other. ‘‘Miss Opal, it’s good to see you again. And you, too, Miss Garnet. Welcome back to Hill House.’’

Opal pouted. ‘‘You’re just no fun anymore.’’

‘‘She knows to look for the pins to tell us apart,’’ Garnet quipped.

Emma grinned.

Opal’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘What if we switched pins?’’

‘‘No! You promised you wouldn’t! I’d never be able to tell you apart.’’

‘‘We won’t. My sister’s just teasing, aren’t you, Opal?’’

‘‘Of course I am. I had enough fun on the packet boat. Not a single passenger between New York City and here thought to tell us apart by our pins. Of course, Father did make them for us so he and Mother could tell us apart,’’ Garnet offered, as if Emma had not heard the same tale every time the sisters came for a visit.

To hear the sisters tell it, Mr. Mitchell was a jeweler by vocation, and he had fashioned the pins for his twin daughters with his own hands within days of their birth. By avocation he was a gardener and operated a small nursery next to their home, where Opal and Garnet developed a love for gardening and honed their skills.

Each of the sisters hooked an arm with Emma and started toward the house, but Emma quickly braced to a halt and looked back over her shoulder. ‘‘Mother Garrett! I almost forgot. She should be with you.’’

‘‘We let her off at the General Store,’’ Opal offered.

Garnet patted Emma’s arm. ‘‘She won’t be long. We told her not to hurry on our account. We’ll keep ourselves busy until supper.’’

‘‘Diane Cross is lovely. Just so sweet. She loves gardening, too, so we thought we’d all take a peek at those rose gardens of yours before supper. And we want to see how the mulberry trees did over the summer this year, too,’’ Opal said. ‘‘We’ve brought something special to add this time.’’

Her sister scanned the front porch and smiled. ‘‘The hydrangeas we planted in the spring look like they’re doing well. We’ve brought some tulip bulbs to plant for you.’’

‘‘There’s no time to waste, you know,’’ Opal added. ‘‘The almanac calls for an early frost this year.’’

‘‘You know you don’t have to bring something new for the gardens every time you come, but I’m not going to complain because you’ve made Hill House look so beautiful. You’ll want to change first, won’t you?’’ Emma asked.

‘‘We’re like the militia,’’ Opal noted. ‘‘Always ready.’’

Her sister grinned. ‘‘And always prepared.’’

Simultaneously, Opal and Garnet lifted the hem of their skirts and poked out a leg.

Emma laughed out loud.

The two sisters were wearing their trousers and boots under their gowns.

————

By five o’clock, Reverend Glenn, Mr. Cross, and both of his sons were sitting together on the patio. Butter was resting on the stone floor in between the two older men, while both Matthew and Steven Cross attempted to lure Liesel and Ditty into prolonged conversations as they served refreshments. Opal and Garnet, dressed in their trousers and shirts, along with Diane and Aunt Frances, were wandering about the terraced rose gardens. Each sister pointed or gestured occasionally to indicate which rose bushes were in need of a final pruning before the first frost or to describe how to prepare the gardens for winter.