A Hearth in Candlewood (3 page)

Liesel Schneider, a sixteen-year-old from town who had been hired several months ago, primarily to help Mother Garrett in the kitchen, was sitting at the far end of the table shelling boiled eggs. There was no sign of Ditty Morgan, the other young woman she had hired at the same time, although she assumed Ditty was busy upstairs changing bed linens.

Grinning, Emma snatched a sausage from the platter, took a nibble of the spicy link, kissed her mother-in-law’s cheek, and waved her fingers at Liesel. ‘‘Good morning, good morning!’’

Mother Garrett chuckled. ‘‘Feeling a bit touched by the sun, are you?’’

Emma nibbled away the rest of the sausage, wiped the grease from her hands, and donned a heavy muslin apron, much like the ones she wore when tending the store. ‘‘I’m touched by pure joy. I think if the rain hadn’t stopped and the sun hadn’t come out today, I really would have started to build an ark,’’ she teased and started filling a tray with crocks of butter, jams, and preserves. ‘‘As it is, I’d venture our guests will be just as pleased, and they’ll guarantee that the packet boat will have a full complement of passengers today.’’

‘‘They’ll leave with full bellies,’’ Mother Garrett noted as she lifted crisp slices of scrapple from the pan to the platter.

‘‘They’ll take lots of memories with them, too,’’ Liesel noted and paused to scratch an itch on the tip of her freckled nose with the crook of her elbow. ‘‘Aunt Frances said she wouldn’t be surprised if the stories about the storm and the ruined fireworks survived to be told at the centennial in 1891. Not that she’d be alive then, of course, but I’ll be there. I told her I’d remember to tell everyone about the storm and being cooped up inside for three whole days because of the rain, too.’’

Emma cocked a brow. ‘‘Aunt Frances?’’

Liesel’s full round face blushed pink, and her eyes grew wide. ‘‘Widow Leonard said to call her Aunt Frances. She claims adding another widow to the two widows already living here, along with Reverend Glenn who’s a widower, might make guests uneasy, although I’m not sure why anyone would really care. She thought Ditty and I might want to call her Aunt Frances since there’s no limit to the number of aunts we can have.’’

‘‘Really? Just when did you all discuss this?’’ Emma asked.

‘‘Last night. She came up to the garret and brought me and Ditty the last of the sugar cookies and some milk to thank us for being so nice to her.’’ She shrugged her shoulders as she plopped another peeled egg into the bowl. ‘‘I think she’s easy to be nice to. So does Ditty. She’s even offered to teach us to embroider like she does.’’

Mother Garrett cleared her throat, no doubt covering the same chuckle threatening to erupt in Emma’s throat. Liesel was so sweet and unaffected, the idea she might be guilty of gossiping or telling tales out of turn was simply not in her nature.

Emma caught the sparkle in her mother-in-law’s eyes. ‘‘I don’t believe I’ve given the matter of having so many widows living together much thought before now. As long as she suggested it, I suppose both of you may call her Aunt Frances,’’ she murmured and mulled the idea over in her mind.

Perhaps it took an outsider like Widow Leonard to notice that the permanent residents at Hill House had all outlived their respective spouses. Despite the deep friendship they all shared with one another, Emma could not help but wonder if any of the others ever ached for the companionship of a spouse from time to time like she did. Except for Liesel and Ditty, of course. The two young women were too young to be married, but they were not really permanent residents. They only lived at Hill House during the week and returned to their families for most of each weekend.

‘‘I must admit, it does get confusing at times for me and Ditty, having two Widow Garretts,’’ Liesel said while peeling another egg. ‘‘Even though I mostly work here in the kitchen with Widow Garrett, and Ditty usually helps you with the cleaning and such, since you’re Widow Garrett, too . . . We tried not referring to you as Old Widow Garrett and Young Widow Garrett, at least not in front of anyone else, but Aunt Frances overheard us and told us not to worry overmuch about it. She said she’d overheard some of the guests talking about it, and they do the same thing. She’d have the same problem, except she’s older than either one of you and she gets to call you both by your given names.’’ With a sigh, she added yet another egg to the bowl and wiped her hands on a cloth.

‘‘She’s older than I am by five years, that’s true enough,’’ Mother Garrett noted as she stirred the pan of sizzling sausages.

Caught off guard by the notion her guests found it necessary to differentiate between her and her mother-in-law by referring to their age, Emma pursed her lips and tapped the tips of her fingertips against the edge of the tray while she thought about the dilemma. Mother Garrett had first come to live with Emma and her husband when they lived and worked at the General Store. There had been no confict. Since Jonas was alive, there was only one Widow Garrett—his mother.

As a rule back then, Mother Garrett did not venture downstairs from the living quarters they shared to tend to matters in the store. Her contact with the customers remained limited even after Jonas’s death, so although she and Emma continued to live together, there had been no conflict with customers getting confused about dealing with two Widow Garretts.

Ever since Emma had opened Hill House to guests two years ago, however, she and Mother Garrett had interacted with guests on an equal basis, save for Emma’s role as proprietress.

Sighing, Emma picked up the tray, caught her mother-in-law’s gaze, and held it. ‘‘This may be our second full season welcoming guests and only our first with hired help, but we still have much to learn about making sure they’re comfortable and at ease. It never occurred to me they might find our similar names confusing.’’

‘‘Mother Garrett would suit me fine, although there’s no one else in the world whom I’d rather call me mother than you,’’ she murmured in reply.

‘‘I’m honored to share you with our guests. In all ways,’’ Emma whispered. She looked over at Liesel, who had completely stopped working to observe their conversation, and smiled. ‘‘From now on, you can call my mother-in-law Mother Garrett. I can tell Ditty, or you can—’’

‘‘Tell me what?’’ Ditty asked as she descended the last few steps on the back staircase. ‘‘Did I hear someone . . . oops!’’

Emma turned around just in time to see the young woman miss the last step and pitch forward. The mound of soiled bed linens she carried in her arms quickly tangled with the young woman’s skirts, and she only managed to keep on her feet and avoid falling into the back of Liesel’s chair by taking a series of awkward steps.

Clutching the tray tightly, Emma gasped. ‘‘Careful, child! Are you all right?’’

Breathing hard, her cheeks flaming, Ditty disentangled her skirts before she managed to stand up straight to her full height of nearly six feet. ‘‘No harm done,’’ she managed. ‘‘I thought I would change the bed linens in my room and Liesel’s room while I was waiting for the guests to get up. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to carry them all down at the same time, but I wanted to get downstairs to help everyone. All the guests are going to be leaving early today, I’d imagine.’’

Emma held her tongue. Over the past few months, she had come to learn that Ditty was as prone to accidents as she was anxious to prove how hard she could work. She was, in point of fact, the clumsiest young woman Emma had ever met. Asking her to work alongside Mother Garrett in the kitchen instead of Liesel on a regular basis would have been an invitation to disaster. Instead, the pleasant young woman, whose family lived on an outlying farm, worked with Emma cleaning the boardinghouse.

Unfortunately, with the number of guests they had had for the Founders’ Day Celebration, she had had no choice but to use Ditty, as sparingly as possible, to help both Mother Garrett and Liesel. ‘‘As long as you didn’t get hurt, why don’t you pile the soiled bed linens in the corner for now,’’ Emma suggested. ‘‘I think you’re right. Most of the guests will be leaving early, and they’ll all want breakfast earlier than usual so they can be at the landing for the packet boat at ten.’’

She set the tray of condiments down. ‘‘Why don’t you take this tray and set out the condiments on the sideboard in the dining room and put out the dishes and silverware, too. Carefully,’’ she cautioned before turning to Liesel. ‘‘If you’re about finished, the eggs can be set out, and once the breakfast meats are ready, take those platters, as well. In the meantime, I’ll fill the pitchers with warm water. You and Ditty can help me take them to the guests’ rooms while Mother Garrett finishes up at the stove.’’

Without further prompting, Liesel got up from the table and took the condiment tray from Emma. ‘‘I’ll take this. Ditty, bring the eggs and hold the door open for me, will you?’’ She lowered her voice. ‘‘When we finish in the dining room, I’ll carry the pitchers upstairs. Let Ditty help you down here.’’

Emma nodded, caught another twinkle in her mother-in-law’s eyes, and took several heavy cloths out of the drawer as the young women left the kitchen to carry out their tasks.

‘‘At sixteen, Ditty’s already grown taller than most men. She just needs time to grow into her own feet. She means well,’’ Mother Garrett said as she stepped aside to give Emma access to a pot of hot water.

Emma chuckled. ‘‘I know she does,’’ she admitted as she wrapped the cloths around the handle and hoisted up the pot of water. ‘‘I’m not sure how understanding you’d be if she worked in the kitchen every day.’’

Her mother-in-law sobered. ‘‘About as understanding as I’d be if a tornado took roost in my kitchen,’’ she quipped. ‘‘Not that you’d favor the idea of burnt meals or replacing the many more dishes she’d break. Or hiring someone else to actually run the kitchen since I wouldn’t have lasted past her first day. Just what were you thinking when you asked the girl to carry that tray just a moment ago?’’

With a shrug, Emma ignored the question and carried the pot of water over to the pitchers lined up on a worktable. ‘‘We’ve all got our special gifts,’’ she noted as she started to add the hot water to the cold water already in the pitchers. ‘‘I’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who works as hard as Ditty does.’’

‘‘And Liesel suits me just fine in the kitchen, even if she does tend to eat twice at every meal—once when she’s helping to prepare the food and again when she’s at the table,’’ Mother Garrett countered, although her heavy girth silently testified to the fact that she herself had the same habit, while Liesel remained uncommonly thin.

Emma looked down at her own waistline and noted that despite her love of breads of any type, she managed to keep a trim figure. She sighed, and the sounds of the young women’s chatter as they worked together in the dining room, as well as her own friendly banter with Mother Garrett, only added to Emma’s sense of contentment. She had never had hired help before, and she again offered a prayer of gratitude for being guided to hire both Liesel and Ditty.

With the last of the breakfast meats now added to the platters on the kitchen table, Mother Garrett added a bowl of sliced potatoes to the drippings in both frying pans. ‘‘Speaking of gifts, are you really going to have Frances live here indefinitely?’’

Emma nodded, finished filling the last pitcher, and set the empty pot aside. ‘‘There’s more than enough mending that needs to be done, and she does beautiful handiwork. I think having the bed linens embroidered will add a nice touch our guests will appreciate, don’t you?’’

‘‘That depends,’’ Mother Garrett said as she stirred the sizzling potatoes.

Emma cocked a brow.

‘‘When one of her sons shows up, you’re going to be hard-pressed to explain why you’re harboring a . . . a runaway, as she puts it. She’ll be back on the farm before she makes many of those fancy stitches of hers.’’

‘‘Nonsense,’’ Emma countered. ‘‘Widow Leonard has a right to live wherever she chooses, assuming she can provide for herself. I can see to it that she can do just that. What other choice do I have? I couldn’t turn her out now any more than I could turn her away the night she came here.’’

Since she and Mother Garrett had had no time to discuss the matter until now, she was anxious to explain her reasoning, although it was not like her mother-in-law to oppose her on anything she set her mind to doing.

Mother Garrett, however, had not finished voicing her concerns. ‘‘I’m not sure what it is that her sons are so angry about that they haven’t talked to each other for the past few months, but causing their mother such heartache by keeping her in the middle of their argument is almost unforgivable. I assume Frances will tell us the tale in her own time. That’s well and good with me. In the meantime,’’ she cautioned, waving her spatula, ‘‘I’m not resting easy, waiting for one of those boys to show up on your doorstep to challenge you. From all I’ve heard—which isn’t much, I admit—one of those sons of hers has more temper than common sense.’’

Emma walked over to the cookstove and put her arm around Mother Garrett’s shoulders. ‘‘Please don’t be uneasy. If you recall, I’ve had plenty of experience protecting people from men far bigger and a whole lot more powerful than the likes of James and Andrew Leonard,’’ she said. Not long after Jonas died, Emma had stood her ground against his brother, Allan, an influential politician in New York City. She had not hesitated to support her mother-in-law’s decision to remain in Candlewood instead of returning to New York City to the home she had once shared with her oldest son, and Emma did not hesitate to do the same for Widow Leonard now.

‘‘If Frances needs a champion, the good Lord sent her to the right woman when He sent her to you. But I can’t condone keeping her whereabouts a secret from them, even though she seems certain they don’t even realize she’s gone.’’

‘‘I’ll speak to her about it later today, after all the guests leave,’’ Emma promised. ‘‘Maybe she’ll agree to send James and Andrew a brief note so they’ll know where she is. That way they won’t worry. If not, I’ll speak to each of them at Sunday services. In any case, we have a few days before we have to worry about that,’’ she said before the sound of an approaching wagon drew her gaze to the kitchen window.