Beyond All Measure (10 page)

“Forget tea. My feet are wet and cold as a wagon tire. A day like this calls for spirits.” Lillian gestured toward the sideboard. “Pour us a brandy, girl—purely for medicinal purposes, of course. Then we’ve got to get supper started.”

Half an hour later, dressed in dry clothes and warmed by the brandy, Ada spread her wet clothes on the porch rail beneath the overhang and went to the kitchen to start supper. Lillian snuggled into a blue dressing gown and sat in her wheelchair near the cookstove, directing Ada as she mixed the dough for biscuits and sliced apples for dumplings. While the biscuits baked, Ada set the table and started a pot of coffee.

Wyatt arrived a short time later and went straight to the barn to see after Smoky, then opened the front door and stepped into the parlor.

“Take that rain gear off, Wyatt Caldwell!” his aunt called. “Don’t you drip water on my floor.”

“No ma’am, I won’t.”

He stepped into the kitchen holding a wrinkled wad of soggy white linen, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth, his eyes full of merriment. “Did one of you ladies lose your unmentionables?”

Ada stopped dead still, a laden platter in each hand. Her cheeks flamed. “I . . . I put it out to dry.”

“Must have blown off the porch. I didn’t want it to get muddy.” He pulled a chair close to the cookstove and carefully spread her soggy chemise over it. “There. It’ll be dry in no time.”

Ada watched his hands smoothing the thin fabric. He smiled a slow smile that made her insides go soft, seeming not to notice her acute discomfort. He seated his aunt and took his place between the two women. “Something sure smells good.”

“Shall we pray?” Lillian peered at her nephew, her gold-rimmed spectacles flashing in the lamplight.

Considering what he had told her at the river, Ada wondered if he would object to praying. But he enveloped Ada’s hand in a warm and gentle grip as he asked the Lord to bless the house, the food, and the company. He thanked God for the rain and asked his blessing on the mill and his workers. “Amen and pass the biscuits.”

Ada picked up her fork and studied Wyatt beneath lowered lashes. Despite her earlier irritation over having to drive the buggy, she felt something sparking between them, a connection, an energy that was both exhilarating and unsettling.

“Ada?” He smiled at her across the candlelit table. “I have to go into town on Friday to oversee a shipment and talk to some people at the bank. I thought you and Aunt Lil might like to come along. She hasn’t been to town in quite a while, and you haven’t really had a chance to see the place.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

The rain had stopped. Outside the kitchen window, water dripped from the eaves into the rain barrel beside the door. He nodded and concentrated on his meal.

Ada found herself studying the planes of his face, the way his eyes shone with pleasure when he tucked into the apple dumplings she’d made. She quickly dropped her gaze. It would be much too easy to fall in love with Wyatt Caldwell, to trust her future to someone else. She knew better than that now. It was safer to rely upon herself.

Besides, Wyatt had dreams of his own. When Lillian was gone, they’d go their separate ways. As appealing as Wyatt Caldwell was, giving her heart to him didn’t make a lick of sense.

Even if she decided that he was worthy of her trust, why start something they couldn’t finish?

EIGHT

The next morning, while Lillian slept, Ada sat at the kitchen table making a hat pattern. Bright sunshine slanted across the whitewashed table, painting the kitchen in a golden glow. Outside the open window, a cardinal took up his morning song,
pretty-pretty-pretty
.

Earlier Libby Dawson, the young colored girl from Two Creeks, had come to collect the week’s laundry. After Libby bundled their sheets, chemises, and dressing gowns onto the wagon, Ada gave the girl a scrap of ribbon. Libby pinned the ribbon into her hair and climbed, agile as a gazelle, onto her buckboard. It seemed to Ada that the girl sat a bit straighter as she drove away.

“Miss Ada!”

Ada dropped her scissors and spun around. “Robbie Whiting! You scared the life out of me!”

The boy stood before her holding a tin bucket. “I knocked on the door, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Well, you mustn’t walk into people’s houses uninvited. I’m certain that your mother has taught you better manners than that.”

“Yes ma’am, but Miss Lillian don’t care. She knows me. I come here all the time.” He handed her the bucket. “I brought you some blackberries. There’s tons of them down by the river. I could bring you some every day if you want.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m not sure Miss Lillian and I could eat so many berries every day.”

“You could make blackberry cobbler. Mr. Wyatt, he likes it a lot. I guess it’s just about his favorite dessert in the whole world.”

Ada smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Robbie leaned over the table. “Whatcha doing?”

“Making a pattern for your mother’s new hat.”

“Yeah, Mama’s been talking about that hat ever since you got here. She told Pa she needs a new dress to go with it.”

He was such an appealing child that Ada couldn’t resist ruffling his hair.

He grinned up at her. “Guess what I found down by the river.”

He dug through his pockets for a white, coin-sized object and set it on the table between them. “It’s a real mouse skull, and there’s hardly any of it missing.”

“That’s quite a find.”

“Yes ma’am. And guess what else?” He produced a ridged, triangular stone and slid it across the table. “It’s a genuine Indian arrowhead. You can keep it if you want.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I couldn’t take such a valuable treasure.”

“Oh, I’ve got buckets of ’em. Mr. Wyatt says it’s prob’ly from the Cherokees. They lived around here in prehistoric times.”

Ada smiled. The child’s concept of time was more than a little skewed; Wyatt had mentioned that most of the Cherokees had been moved west only fifty years before. “Well, if you’re sure, I’d be delighted to have it.” She set it on the windowsill.

“My mama says Miss Hannah told her that your ma and pa are dead. Are they?”

“I’m afraid so.” Ada smoothed the hat pattern and swallowed a pang of grief.

“How come?”

“My mother died of a disease called consumption when I was not much older than you are now.”

Robbie nodded soberly. “Tuberculosis. It’s a disease of the lungs.”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“Sophie at the orphanage told me. I play with her when Mama and I go there. Her mama died of tuberculosis when Sophie was not even two years old.” He stuffed the mouse skull back into his pocket. “Her daddy might be dead. Or alive. We’re not for sure. He ran away when Sophie was born because she’s partly white and partly colored.”

“I see.”

“That’s why nobody wants to play with her. But I like her. She’s smart. And she’s pretty too. Like a drawin’ in a storybook.”

“I’m sure she appreciates having a good friend like you.”

He shrugged. “What happened to your pa? Did he get tuberculosis too?”

“You know, Robbie, it’s such a beautiful day, I don’t think I want to talk about sad things.”

“No ma’am.” To her complete surprise, Robbie wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his cheek against her apron. He smelled of sunshine, river water, and sun-warmed blackberries. Ada’s eyes filled.

“I’m sorry about your ma and pa. And I’m sorry I made you sad.”

It was easy to see why Wyatt set such store by this boy. He was a treasure. She held him by the shoulders and smiled into his bright blue eyes. “You are a wonderful boy, Robbie Whiting, and I can never be sad when you’re around.”

He smiled, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’d better get back to work before Miss Lillian wakes up wanting her breakfast.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you for the blackberries. I’m sure we’ll enjoy them.”

“You should make a cobbler. Because it’s Mr.—”

“Yes, I know. Mr. Caldwell’s favorite.”

He headed for the door. “Pa says Mr. Wyatt is taking you to town tomorrow.”

“My goodness, you don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“Mama says little pitchers have big ears.”

“Indeed.” She made a shooing motion. “Run along now. I have work to do.”

She settled herself at the table just as Lillian appeared, still dazed from sleep, her hair sticking up, stockings bunched at her ankles. She propelled her wheelchair to the table and set the brake.

“Did you sleep well?” Ada started clearing away her work. “What would you like to eat?”

“Hardly slept at all, if you want the truth of it. It’s one of the aggravations of getting old.” Spying the berries she said, “Robbie’s been here.”

“Yes. Would you like some berries?”

Lillian nodded. “And a biscuit, if there are any left.”

Ada bustled about, filling a plate. “Are you sure you won’t have some bacon? A poached egg? This doesn’t seem like much food.”

Lillian buttered her biscuit. “Another hazard of being almost eighty. Appetite comes and goes.” She picked up her spoon. “Mostly it goes.”

Ada felt an unexpected surge of affection for the older woman. Lillian had managed to hold on to her faith despite her private sorrows and to face up to the inevitable indignities of old age—even as she complained about them.

She waved Ada into a chair. “Sit. Keep me company. I hate eating alone.”

Ada sat. Lillian ate the berries with obvious relish. “Nothing as good as fresh picked berries. You should make a cobbler.”

Ada rose to clear the table. “That seems to be the consensus around here.”

“Come walk with me in the garden.” Lillian struggled to her feet. “Before it gets too hot.”

Ada glanced out at the sun-filled garden. Nothing stirred. It was already too hot, but she found her hat and Lillian’s, and they went through the back door into the garden. Roses and hollyhocks bloomed in profusion next to bright-orange daylilies and a row of shrubs covered with a cascade of white blooms.

Lillian stretched out a hand to caress the delicate flowers. “The bridal veil is blooming. I carried a bouquet of these when I married the doctor.” She picked a cluster of the creamy-white blooms. “People said we were a perfect couple. But I’ll tell you something, Ada, the only ones who really know what goes on in a marriage are the two people who are in it.”

Ada knew this to be true. People had thought Elizabeth and Cornelius Wentworth’s union was perfect too. No one knew about Cornelius’s jealousy of his wife’s talents, the disparaging remarks he made about the work that meant so much to her, or of their worsening financial situation as, one after the other, her father’s ventures failed. Ada was never allowed to talk about any of it. In her social circle, scandal was still far worse than death.

Lillian and Ada walked farther into the garden. Lillian was in an expansive mood, and Ada let her talk. “I’m not saying the doctor was a bad man. You ask anybody, they’ll tell you he did a lot of good in this town. But he was an indifferent husband.” Lillian pinched a couple of spent blooms from a rosebush and gathered a bouquet of daylilies. “I suppose he used up his tenderness on his patients, and there wasn’t much left for me. Even when he was alive I lived in a kind of empty stillness.” She regarded Ada with the saddest expression in her watery blue eyes. “Many a day there was only God to fill it.”

Ada felt sorry for her. To be trapped in a loveless marriage would be far worse than living alone. To distract Lillian from her memories, Ada asked questions about the various plants in the garden. Leaning on Ada’s arm, Lillian pointed out the pale pink heirloom roses that had been growing in the same spot for almost a hundred years. It seemed that every plant had a story, and Lillian relished recounting each one.

The morning was nearly gone by the time they went inside. The clock chimed. Lillian set her bouquet on the sideboard and cocked her head like a small bird, listening. “Noontime,” she said. “The doctor will be here any minute. I must get his meal ready. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Ada placed a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “Miss Lillian, the doctor has passed on. Remember?”

“What?” Lillian blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Just now,” Ada said gently. “You said your husband was coming home.”

“I said no such thing! What nonsense.” Lillian burst into tears. “You just wait till I tell Wyatt that you’re telling lies on me. He’ll send you packing soon enough.”

Ada blew out a long breath. Why had no one warned her that Lillian was unstable? Wishing she’d accepted the calming elixir from the salesman on the train, she poured a glass of water and handed it to Lillian. “Please don’t cry. It was a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“I’m not crazy!” Lillian’s hand trembled as she brought the glass to her lips.

“I know that. You’re tired, and you’ve had too much sun. Why don’t I freshen your bed and let you rest for a while. Would you like me to read to you until you fall asleep?”

“You
can’t
read to me because somebody stole my Bible!”

Perhaps it was better to humor the older woman than to argue. Ada took Lillian’s arm. “Who do you suppose took it?”

“How should I know? People steal from me all the time. Maybe you took it, Yankee girl. Yankees steal everything that isn’t nailed down.”

They went down the hall to Lillian’s bedroom. Ada straightened the bed and opened the window and helped Lillian to bed. “There, that’s better. And look, there’s your Bible on the dresser. Whoever stole it must have thought better of it and brought it back.”

She seated herself in the rocking chair beside the bed and read aloud from Psalms until the older woman fell asleep and began snoring softly. Outside the open window, a dove cooed, a mournful sound that brought her nearly to tears. What a pickle she was in! She could learn to cook and drive the rig. She could put up with Lillian’s unpredictable moods. But looking after someone with a mental condition was more than she could handle.

Every day in this house brought another unwelcome revelation. Why hadn’t Wyatt told her about this? Despite his charm, she was tempted to pack up her bags and light out for parts unknown, money or no. It would serve him right.