Beyond All Measure (6 page)

“She can’t cook worth a plugged nickel.”

He glanced at Ada, hoping she wasn’t offended. “Aunt Lil, that’s impolite.”

“But it’s true,” Ada said. “I’m not much use in the kitchen. I said as much in my letter to Miss Fields.”

Lillian frowned. “Are we going to stand here jawing all morning, or are we going to church?”

Wyatt’s heart kicked in his chest as Ada stopped before the hallway mirror and deftly tucked her hair into a neat knot. He was fascinated at the graceful way she lifted her arms to secure her hat with its pins, with the way her dress hugged her curves.

“There.” She retrieved Lillian’s Bible and picked up her prayer book. “All set.”

“It’s about time,” Lillian said.

Ada smiled then, lighting up the room. Wyatt felt suddenly shy, like a callow youth discovering women for the first time.

He and Ada each offered an arm to Lillian. They moved slowly along the porch and crossed the yard to the buggy. Wyatt helped Lillian and Ada onto the seat. He settled himself beside them and flicked the reins. “Sorry it’s a bit crowded, but the buggy’s more comfortable than the buckboard, and it’ll keep the sun off your face.”

They set off, his knee bumping hers as the buggy rolled down the road. In the distance a train whistle sounded.

“That’ll be the ten o’clock bound for Nashville,” he told Ada. “It doesn’t stop here on Sundays, but I sure do like the sound of it.” He pointed to his left. “You can just about see the trestle through that stand of trees.”

“How many trains come through here?” Ada asked.

“Ten a week. Not bad for a little town.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. His mill was one of the reasons Hickory Ridge was on the move. “The way Hickory Ridge is growing, it won’t be little for long.”

“Too crowded, that’s what it is,” Lillian grumbled. “There was a time when I knew every family who lived here. Now when I go shopping, all I see is a passel of strangers.” She waved her hand. “When I was a girl you could get anything you needed, from nails to molasses, at the mercantile. Now we’ve got those fancy stores selling lace and writing paper and such. Who needs all that highfalutin’ stuff is what I’d like to know.”

“Progress isn’t all bad,” Wyatt said. “I, for one, am glad to have the bookshop right here in town instead of having to go forty miles to Knoxville for the latest Mark Twain.” He slowed the buggy for a curve in the road. In the distance, the church steeple protruded above the trees. He glanced at Ada, who had seemed preoccupied during most of the trip. “Miss Wentworth, have you by any chance read
Innocents Abroad
?”

Her sudden smile touched his heart. “Yes. My father sent me to Europe with my Aunt Kate the summer I turned eighteen. I enjoyed Mr. Twain’s articles about some of the places we visited.”

“I’ve always wanted to see Europe. Maybe you’ll give me an account of your travels and save me the trip.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t do it jus—oh, we’re here.”

Wyatt drove the buggy into the shaded lot beside the church and set the brake. He helped Lillian and Ada from the rig and tipped his Stetson. “Enjoy the sermon, ladies.”

FIVE

Ada looked around the bustling churchyard. Young couples, older folks, and nearly-grown youths chatted quietly, awaiting the start of the service while the younger children chased one another and played hide-and-seek among the buckboards and buggies lined up beneath the trees.

Spotting his mill foreman arriving with his family, Wyatt touched one finger to the brim of his Stetson. “Excuse me, ladies. I need a word with Sage.”

“Oh, Wyatt.” Lillian frowned. “Talking business on the Lord’s Day?”

He grinned. “I’ll see you later.”

He loped across the yard, dodging a group of noisy children tossing a ball. Lillian tucked her Bible under her arm. “Here comes Queen Bea,” she murmured to Ada. “The schoolteacher I told you about.”

Miss Goldston was much younger than Ada had imagined. She was tall and angular, her features too uneven to be conventionally beautiful, but the thick, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and her regal bearing certainly commanded attention. A handsome woman, Ada’s father would have said. The teacher glanced over at Lillian and Ada, smiled, and nodded.

“She seems nice enough,” Ada remarked.

“She’s nice when it suits her.” Lillian swatted at a bee buzzing around their heads. “But mark my words—Bea and her friend Betsy Terwilliger would rather create a scandal than eat.” She leaned closer to Ada. “I know it isn’t right to gossip, but you’re new here and it must be said: Bea Goldston is mean as a snake. She takes pleasure in stirring up trouble for no good reason.”

Ada fanned her face with her prayer book. “There must be some reason for her bitterness.”

“Well, she was born on the wrong side of the blanket, and she took a lot of ridicule when she was a girl because of it—even got into fights, I’ve heard. There were rumors that her daddy was a big bug around here.” Lillian lowered her voice. “A married man. It’s still a mystery. But that’s no cause to be mean to people. Then she shows up here every week, pious as a nun and smiling like she’s everybody’s friend.”

Ada watched Miss Goldston mingle with the other churchgoers. A couple of burly boys rushed past the schoolteacher, trampling the hem of her skirt. Both arms shot out and stopped the two boys in their tracks. One of them tried to slip from her grasp. She hauled him around so hard that his feet practically dangled above the ground.

Ada shook her head. The woman was strong as an ox. Still, there was no sense making up her mind about her before they’d even met.

“That’s the sheriff over there.” Lillian nodded to a lanky, craggy-faced man who had stopped to talk to the boys. “Eli lost his wife a couple of years back.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her forehead. “Lawsa, it’s hot.”

“Shall we go inside?”

“Let’s wait. The preacher hasn’t showed up yet, and there’s no sense in roasting for any longer than—Jacob Hargrove, watch where you’re going.”

A couple of young men raced past, jostling them. One of them turned and called, “Sorry, Mrs. Willis.”

Lillian frowned at the boys’ good-natured teasing. “Since his mother passed, that boy’s gone a little wild. Wyatt gave him a job, thinking that might settle him some, but he didn’t last more than a few weeks.”

Ada knew just how the boy felt. She hoped he still had an adult to turn to.

Jacob detached himself from a group of boys and ambled over to a pretty blond girl in a bright blue calico dress standing apart from the others.

“That’s Sabrina Gilman, the banker’s daughter,” Lillian supplied. “Her folks go to that fancy church in town, but Sabrina comes here to see Jacob.” She made a
tsk-tsk
sound. “Young love. Too bad it’s doomed.”

“How so?”

“Sabrina’s daddy is one of the richest men in Hickory Ridge. It isn’t likely he’ll allow his only daughter to settle on a poor farmer. No doubt he has other suitors in mind.”

Ada felt a hot surge of anger toward the meddling banker. Why couldn’t fathers get out of the way and let love take its course?

A buckboard rattled into the yard and found its place among the other wagons. A woman in a yellow bonnet climbed down and waved to Lillian before hurrying across the yard to greet a woman dressed in mourning clothes. The widow stood apart from the others, cooling her face with a dull black fan. A single reddish-blond curl had escaped the limp lace brim of the black bonnet she wore tightly tied beneath her chin.

“Carrie Daly lost her husband at Shiloh, went into mourning, and never came out.” Lillian shook her head. “It’s a pity—she’s still a young woman. Lives with her brother, Henry Bell. He works with Wyatt down at the mill. Come on. Let me introduce you. That way you’ll know everyone when our quilting circle meets next week.”

“Quilting circle? I . . . I hadn’t really planned on—”

“Nonsense. What would you do with yourself every Wednesday afternoon while I’m down here?”

Ada had the sense of being drawn into an ever-tightening web from which there was no escape. The prospect of becoming part of Hickory Ridge society, even for a short time, made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

“We make quilts for everyone,” Lillian went on. “New brides, war orphans, the missionaries overseas. And we make all the costumes for the church’s Christmas pageant every year. The whole town turns out for that.”

She started across the yard. Ada couldn’t get over how much Lillian knew about everyone. Now she was sorrier than ever that she’d told the older woman about her broken engagement. How soon would it be before
her
life was an open book too?

Midway across the yard, Lillian stopped. “Well, Ada, are you coming?”

Ada gathered her skirts and followed. But before Lillian could make the introductions, the rosy-cheeked woman in the yellow bonnet clutched Ada’s arm. “I know who you are! My husband met you on Friday. I’m Mariah Whiting.”

“Ada? I’m Carrie,” said the widow. “Hannah Fields told us all about you. She said you seemed very pleasant from the tone of your letters.”

“That was kind of her. I’ll try to live up to her good opinion.”

“Oh, we have no doubt you will!” Mariah spied Lillian’s hat and went stock still, one hand over her heart. “Lillian, is that a new hat?”

“Do you like it?” Lillian turned her head from side to side.

“I adore it. I know it didn’t come from Norah’s. If you wouldn’t mind, would you say where you bought it?”

“Ada made it. Or rather, she remodeled it.”

Mariah peered more closely. “Of course, I recognize it now. But truly, it looks even better than new.”

She turned to Ada. “Could you possibly make one for me? Not an exact duplicate, of course, but something similar, with some of that ribbon trim? This old spoon bonnet is ten years old and bedraggled as a wet hen. I’d love something stylish to wear for the harvest festival.”

Ada hesitated. She hadn’t counted on starting her millinery business so soon. And until she received her first pay from Lillian, she was down to her last few dollars, not enough to purchase supplies. She glanced at Lillian. The older woman hadn’t uttered a word, but Ada could feel disapproval coming off her in waves. She felt a lurch of fear in her chest. What if Lillian got angry enough to dismiss her?

“Perhaps later on,” she told the foreman’s wife. “I’ve only just arrived.”

“But the festival isn’t until October,” Mariah persisted. “There’s plenty of time.” She opened her bag and pressed a couple of bills into Ada’s hand. “I’ll pay in advance. Please say you’ll do it. We’ve had so few luxuries since the war.”

Lillian frowned. “Ada works for
me
, Mariah. She doesn’t have time for such distractions.” The church bells rang. “The reverend is here. Let’s go in.”

Ada looked around for Wyatt, but he was nowhere in sight. She tucked the bills into her bag and followed Lillian and the others across the dusty yard. As they reached the open doorway, Mariah looped her arm through Ada’s. “Don’t pay Lillian any mind. She just doesn’t want to share you with anybody.”

Mariah joined her husband and son in a pew near the door. Lillian made her way to the front and motioned for Ada to join her. The young pastor took his place behind the carved wooden lectern and, after the opening hymn, announced his text for the morning: the parable of the talents from the book of Luke.

Lillian nodded off during the reading, her hands clutching her hymnal, her head listing to one side. Listening to the story of the man who had given his servants ten pounds to invest in his absence, Ada wondered whether the message was somehow meant for her. She thought of the money Mariah Whiting had given her. Could she use it to seed the new start she so desperately needed? But how could she use her talent at all without Lillian’s blessing?

She glanced at the older woman. In repose, Lillian looked positively ancient, so fragile that she might at any moment meet her Maker. Ada fanned her face and tried to quell the jumpiness in her stomach. What would happen to her once Lillian passed on?

The last hymn had ended some minutes ago, the final sweet notes drifting and dissipating into the still morning. Now the only sound was the occasional birdsong and the low buzz of insects skittering across the shimmering river. Wyatt shed his shirt, shoes, and socks. Leaving them in a heap on the riverbank, he rolled the legs of his trousers and waded out to his favorite spot, a large, flat rock in the middle of the stream. He stretched out and closed his eyes, the dappled sunlight warming his face.

This was the highlight of his week, when the frantic pace at the mill stopped and a man could be alone with nature to sort out his thoughts. He rubbed one hand across his face. Since last Friday, too many of his thoughts had been centered on a certain young Bostonian with soft gray eyes and a stubborn streak a mile wide. He found himself thinking of her at the oddest times, imagining her making tea for Lillian or gathering flowers in the garden. He wondered what she’d look like dressed in a riding skirt and a Stetson, cantering with him across a rolling Texas grassland.

A fish flopped in the river, and Wyatt opened one eye. A ridiculous thought, Ada Wentworth in Texas. She was a city girl, accustomed to fancy stores, theaters, libraries, and such. Ranch life was a whole other world.