A Hearth in Candlewood (29 page)

Using a pencil from her writing box, she drew an outline around the Oliver property she had been told Mr. Langhorne had bought. Next, she outlined the land the Leonard brothers owned individually. The portion of the toll road and surrounding acreage they owned jointly she decided to mark with a series of crisscrosses. Using dotted lines, she marked the route she suspected a railroad would most likely follow by starting north at Bounty and moving south along the toll road through the Leonard land, then farther south to the end point of the toll road where the old toll collector’s cabin, which the Cross family now owned, was located.

Finally, she outlined the parcel of land she owned on Hollaway Lane that Mr. Langhorne was no doubt coming to discuss again, even though it was too far north of the projected rail line to be of much use to him.

She leaned back, studied her work on the map again, and toyed with the pencil in her hand. Unfortunately, no matter how she tried, she could see no connection between the route she had drawn, Mr. Oliver’s land that lay farther west beyond several smaller farms that bordered the Leonard land, and her land on Hollaway Lane. She had no idea whether or not Mr. Langhorne had purchased the smaller farms or not, and it was too late to pursue the matter now. In addition, she was puzzled that Mr. Langhorne had not bought the toll collector’s cabin before the Cross family did, since the cabin was located in such a strategic location that would suit a depot for a railroad.

The grandfather clock struck the half hour.

The answers she had hoped to find on the map simply were not there. Despite all her efforts, she now had no more idea of what Mr. Langhorne intended to do with the land that he was buying than before she started drawing on the map. The only thing she had gained was the conviction that if and when the railroad did come, she knew precisely the route it would take.

Frustrated that she had wasted so much time and energy on the map, she folded it up, stored it away again, and sat quietly while waiting for Mr. Langhorne to arrive.

She counted the chimes as the clock struck the hour of ten and waited. At the quarter hour, she rose to stretch her arms and legs. At the half hour, she heard a commotion on the porch and rose to investigate. She scarcely got to her feet before the outer door flew open and Mr. Langhorne charged into her office, slamming the door behind him.

Rendered speechless, she watched him struggle to catch his breath. At the same time, he shoved several papers back into his coat pocket and fumbled with his spectacles to put them back on. Once he did, he glared at her. ‘‘In all truth, Widow Garrett, since you routinely expect callers and guests, I find it unimaginable that you wouldn’t pen up your . . . your livestock, if that’s how one defines a chicken, instead of allowing it to roost on your front porch! I’ve been trying for half an hour to get past that chicken and finally decided to charge my way, losing my hat and almost losing my papers in the process.’’

Her eyes widened, even more so when she spied the feather stuck to his sleeve, and she struggled not to smile. ‘‘I’m deeply sorry. I’ll certainly replace your hat, but the chicken isn’t mine at all. Apparently, it’s one of the chickens that escaped when the wagon overturned on Main Street a few weeks back. We’ve had more than a few problems trying to rid ourselves of that pest.’’

‘‘A good whack with a stick would suffice. Unfortunately, I couldn’t locate one or you would be rid of your problem for good and have chicken for dinner as a bonus. That’s how most of the shopkeepers solved the same problem. Don’t bother yourself about the hat. I have others. You can toss this one into the trash pit.’’

Although she had nearly the same solution in mind to rid herself of the chicken, she felt oddly protective about the animal. ‘‘Please have a seat. May I offer you some refreshments?’’

‘‘Nothing, thank you.’’ He sat down, wrinkled his nose when he saw the feather, and flicked it off, letting it fall to the floor. ‘‘What I’ve come to say won’t take long.’’

She folded her hands together and lay them on top of her desk. While meeting his hardened gaze, she braced herself and took control of their conversation. ‘‘Before you begin, let me tell you that despite what I previously told you the last time we met here about selling the land on Hollaway Lane, the sale did not proceed, for a number of reasons I won’t bother to detail. However, since then, I’ve had a change of heart. The land is not for sale, regardless of any offer you might be prepared to make.’’

His gaze grew cold. ‘‘I’m no longer interested in that land, at any price. As you suggested at our last meeting, I’ve chosen to more actively pursue a different venture—one I’ve been planning for some months now. My visit here today is for quite another purpose.’’

Her pulse quickened, but she held very still and kept a smile on her face, more determined than ever not to give him any inkling she even considered he might know she did not hold legal title to Hill House. Further, although she had a very good idea the railroad had something to do with the venture he claimed he had chosen to pursue, she did not want to broach the subject until she clearly understood it. ‘‘Frankly, I don’t believe there’s anything more for us to discuss,’’ she insisted, prepared to hear the worst— his threat to take Hill House from her.

He squared his shoulders. ‘‘I disagree. Out of respect for your gender, I have come to tell you in person and in the privacy of your own office. Be forewarned, madam: Stay out of my business affairs. Should you continue to speak to either James or Andrew Leonard or anyone else about my business affairs, I shall file a lawsuit to stop you. Immediately.’’

He did not know. He did not know. He did not know!

Her heart pounded with relief that surged through her veins. He truly did not know she did not have title to Hill House!

Her relief was short-lived. ‘‘A lawsuit? On what basis?’’ she managed.

He offered her a sardonic smile. ‘‘On any basis my very expensive, very talented, and very experienced team of lawyers might suggest.’’

Her heart pounded in her ears. Even though he was unaware of the legal quagmire she was in, the absolute last thing she needed was a lawsuit. ‘‘There’s no basis for a lawsuit against me. Whether or not I speak to someone with whom you’re doing business or counsel someone for or against doing so is perfectly legal. It’s not a matter for the courts. You can’t sue me.’’

‘‘Of course I can. I may not win the suit,’’ he admitted, ‘‘but I can file it. In fact, I can instruct my lawyers to drag the lawsuit from one court to another, opening every one of your substantial holdings to the scrutiny of the courts, I might add. The process could take years, which would provide more than enough gossip about the esteemed Widow Garrett to keep gossipmongers’ tongues wagging and to convince guests planning to come to Hill House to choose a more suitable place to stay. I might also be tempted to file a lawsuit against your mother-in-law or perhaps Widow Leonard, as well,’’ he added.

Horrified as well as outraged, Emma leaped to her feet to protest, but he held up his hand to silence her objections. ‘‘Don’t bother to argue. You’ve been warned, which is what I came to do. I can show myself out . . . by the front door,’’ he snapped and left by way of the connecting door to the library.

Trembling with fear and anger, she dropped back down into her seat and cradled her face in her hands. Though troubled by his intention to involve both Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances, she was completely demoralized by his threat to file a lawsuit against her. Once his lawyers filed a lawsuit and began investigating her affairs, they would invariably discover that she did not hold legal title to Hill House. In point of fact, she was rather surprised they had not discovered just that when he had presented his offer of a title to her only last month and could only assume his claim to know all of her affairs had been more bluff than substance.

Nevertheless, once he did learn the truth he could blackmail her into selling him the parcel of land he wanted in return for keeping silent about her not owning Hill House. Far worse, he might contact Mr. Meyers in Philadelphia in an effort to convince the legal owner to sell Hill House out from under her, giving Mr. Langhorne the right to evict her at will.

Additionally, because of his threat, she would not be able to tell Andrew and James Leonard that if they did settle their argument by selling any or all of their land to Mr. Langhorne, they could be giving up land that was going to explode in value in the coming years. If she did not tell them, she would always know she could have prevented the sale but did not do so.

Overwhelmed with despair, she wept uncontrollably until her tears were spent, her body was exhausted, and her heart ached. With brutal honesty, she looked back over the past four years and admitted she had no one to blame but herself.

As much as she had believed that God had led her here to Hill House, she now understood that she had bought this property to escape her growing loneliness, surrounded at the General Store by memories that reminded her every moment of the husband she had lost and their three sons who had married and moved far away.

While her own selfish needs had prompted her to look at Hill House as an opportunity to change her life, it was pride in her ability to turn the abandoned property into a viable, thriving enterprise that had led her to ignore her lawyer’s advice. Without having legal title to Hill House in her possession, not only had she sold the General Store but she had moved into Hill House and restored it, severing all ties to the past and possibly putting her future at risk.

It was also her pride that had kept her from seeking Zachary Breckenwith’s advice before he left on his month-long trip . . . along with her suspicions that he had developed more than a professional interest in her.

She dried her tears and bowed her head. Buying Hill House had clearly been her will, not God’s, and not an act of true faith. Humbly, she bowed her very soul before Him, asking for forgiveness, as well as His guidance now. ‘‘Thy will be done,’’ she whispered, convinced that only with God’s help would she be able to wait for His plan for her future to unfold . . . and then accept His plan, even if it meant leaving Hill House forever.

With her spirit refreshed, she focused on one problem she might be able to solve on her own: helping Aunt Frances. She rose, went to the window, and pulled back the curtain to glance back and forth along the side porch. The chicken was nowhere to be seen, but she did spy Mr. Langhorne’s hat and enough droppings to erase the fleeting thought she had had about protecting that chicken.

She went out to the porch and tiptoed around the droppings to retrieve the hat. When she picked it up and turned it over, she found a paper wedged inside. It appeared to be some sort of correspondence, but it was badly smeared and stained, as if it had been dropped into a mud puddle. Her eyes widened when she recalled James Leonard’s tale of tossing Mr. Langhorne out and the man dropping both his spectacles and his hat in the mud.

She hesitated but decided any man who would threaten to sue two elderly women like Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances did not deserve privacy. ‘‘Besides, it’s on my porch, and he told me to put his hat in the trash pit, which means the letter is trash, as well,’’ she rationalized.

She set the hat on the railing and attempted to make sense of the few legible words the letter contained. The phrases ‘‘expected to ship’’ and ‘‘in prime condition,’’ along with a signature, ‘‘David Barkley, Proprietor,’’ indicated the correspondence was some sort of reply to an order Mr. Langhorne had placed or was considering placing.

‘‘Maybe the man ordered a new pair of spectacles, ones that won’t keep falling off his face,’’ she said and shoved the paper into his hat. Since he had said not to bother returning the hat, she set it upside down on one of the porch chairs. If there was any justice at all, that chicken would decide the hat made for an attractive nesting place—just once before the hat found its way to the trash pit and that chicken wound up in Mother Garrett’s soup pot.

31

O
N
F
RIDAY MORNING, WITH ONLY A DAY
left before James and Andrew Leonard were scheduled to appear, Emma was as exhausted as she was desperate.

She stood at the front door and watched the buggy carry away the three guests who had arrived unexpectedly on Tuesday. After closing the door, she went into the east parlor and collapsed on the sofa. The very idea of going upstairs to clean and change the bed linens in the three guest rooms kept her prone and lit the notion that since no new guests were expected for another week, she might simply close those rooms off, wait until Monday to tackle them, and pray no guests arrived unexpectedly in the meantime.

When she heard Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances coming down the center hallway, she did not bother to sit up. When they entered the parlor, dressed for an outing wearing their fall capes and their silly bonnets, she closed her eyes and prayed she was dreaming.

‘‘Good, you’re resting,’’ Mother Garrett said. ‘‘Liesel’s in the kitchen with enough work to keep her busy until she turns eighteen. We’re off for a bit of shopping. Do you need anything from the General Store?’’

Emma opened one eye. ‘‘No. Not unless you want to bring back some sort of net to catch that chicken. Are you sure you need to go shopping, or are you just using that as an excuse to take Aunt Frances around to meet someone else who might be a suitable match for Mr. Atkins?’’

Mother Garrett sniffed. ‘‘In point of fact, we’re planning to do a little of both.’’

‘‘I’m hoping to meet Polly Shepherd today, so we’re going to stop at the dressmaker’s,’’ Aunt Frances offered. ‘‘But I really do need to stop at the General Store. Between doing the mending and making handkerchiefs for all your guests, I’ve run low on thread already, and I wanted to pick out something special for Reverend Glenn while I’m there. He’s been so very kind to me,’’ she added and her cheeks turned pinkly. ‘‘But don’t worry. If I forget to pay for anything, Mr. Atkins will simply put it on my account.’’

Emma opened the other eye. ‘‘You have an account at the General Store now?’’