Hometown Cinderella: Hometown Cinderella\The Inn at Hope Springs (12 page)

With a nod of his head, he took Samson by the collar and held out his other hand to Dietrich, who took it readily.

When they’d left, Lizzie turned to her. “I’m so glad you’re staying. The time has just flown and I feel as if we’ve still loads to talk about…”

As Lizzie chattered away, and began clearing up the table, Mara paused a moment at the kitchen window. The tall, strongly built man walked briskly down the drive with the slight, slim boy swinging him by the hand, the dog running along ahead of them. Dietrich was looking upward and saying something, his face bright with enthusiasm and something more. Admiration.

He’d never looked at his own father in that way.

Fear, awe or watchfulness were the way he’d regarded Klaus, unsure what kind of mood Klaus was in.

Would he give him a careless hello or would he yell at him, or yell at her to get the child out of his way because his nerves couldn’t take his noise and restlessness?

Mara clutched the curtain, her heart going out to Dietrich, yet at the same time fearful that he’d build up his expectations too high with Mr. Jakeman.

Her son didn’t realize that he would probably never have a father. Mara had vowed never to give her heart to another man or to subjugate herself legally through marriage. She was finally free and she must keep her freedom at whatever costs.

She’d learned a hard lesson on the loss of her freedom the day she’d married Dietrich’s father. And paid too high a price.

The only good thing to come out of that union was Dietrich. And she lived in daily dread that Dietrich would exhibit the same high-strung tendencies as his father.

She’d done everything possible to train him up in the right way. And she’d spent hours on her knees praying that Dietrich would have a stable, steady personality.

But every time she saw him exhibit excitement and enthusiasm, she felt a spasm of fear, not wanting to quench any normal boyish high spirits, but terrified that they were the first sign of his father’s instability beginning to manifest itself.

Chapter Ten

G
ideon walked along with Dietrich, finding he liked the feel of the much smaller hand in his.

“Mr. Jakeman, I saw the turkeys. They’re getting fatter and fatter. Do you know which one we’re having for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Not yet. Probably the biggest and fattest since I’ll be giving it to Mrs. McClellan and she has quite a crowd to feed on Thanksgiving. But I’ll have to butcher a few to give to some other folks who won’t have one of their own turkeys.”

Dietrich looked up at him, his brown eyes scrunched in puzzlement. “Why don’t they have one of their own?”

“Maybe they don’t have a farm. Maybe they’ve gotten too old to farm. Maybe a widow lives alone because her husband died, and she doesn’t have a yard where she can raise a turkey. Maybe someone lives in town and doesn’t have the money to buy one. Maybe the father lost his job and doesn’t have the money to buy a turkey this year.”

“Because they’re poor?”

“Some of them, yes.”

Dietrich looked down at his feet thoughtfully. After a few minutes he spoke. “Maybe if you had lived near us in Paris, you’d have had to give
us
a turkey.”

Gideon chuckled. “I don’t think you were poor.”

Dietrich puckered his lips. “I think we were. I often heard Mama tell Papa there wasn’t enough money for something he wanted her to buy. He was always in bed, sick, and he’d ask for things, and she had to tell him there wasn’t any money. Some days there was hardly any food. Lots of times Mama went to bed with no supper. She always gave me what she had and had to fix special things for Papa, since he couldn’t eat hardly anything.”

“I see.” Gideon didn’t know how accurate a six-year-old’s memory would be, but he did know that the boy had a keen eye for observation.

When they arrived at Mrs. Blackstone’s farm, Gideon greeted Paul, who was milking the cow in the barn, before walking with Dietrich through the woodshed to the kitchen. He was going to knock but Dietrich pushed open the door.

Gideon made sure to knock loudly on the doorpost and call out, “Hallo!”

Mrs. Blackstone stepped into the kitchen from another room. “Oh—” She started at the sight of him. “I didn’t expect you, Mr. Jakeman. What may I do for you?”

For some reason her simple question made him feel uncomfortable. He clutched his cap in his hands. “I just stopped by to let you know that Mrs. Keller is at my place. She—uh, is having a bite of supper with Lizzie and me. If that’s all right with you. Didn’t want you to worry…”

The widow arched a dark eyebrow. Even though he judged she was a woman in her mid-fifties, her hair and eyebrows were still dark. He sometimes wondered if she dyed them. None of his business, he chided himself.

“Indeed? Well, I must thank you, Mr. Jakeman, for being so thoughtful as to come all the way here to let me know. I would have waited for her for supper.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wondering how soon he could excuse himself, but her words for some reason made him feel guilty, as if he were taking Mrs. Keller away from where she belonged. That was nonsense. She’d only just moved here barely a month ago. “That’s all right, ma’am. We only live a stone’s throw from each other.” He tried to smile. “Gave me an excuse to get out of the kitchen.”

Mrs. Blackstone placed her hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and smiled. “Is our premier widower finally going to succumb to the allure of a lady’s out-of-town charm?”

Gideon felt his face grow hot. “Mrs. Keller is just helping Lizzie sew her new frock. You heard them the other night.”

She wagged a finger at him. “All right, you may play the innocent and ignore the little machinations we females go to to attract an eligible bachelor. You know she’s not so young anymore—thirty, I believe, if not more. You can’t blame her if she sets her cap at you.”

The longer he stood there, the more troubled he felt. It was as if Mrs. Blackstone were insinuating things about Mrs. Keller that he couldn’t imagine. “You have it all wrong, Mrs. Blackstone. She’s just helping out my Lizzie.”

“Ah, well, you may believe what you want. I only warn you so you may realize what an eligible bachelor you are and be on your guard!” She ended with a titter.

“I’d better be off. Come along, Dietrich. She won’t be back late,” he threw over his shoulder before closing the kitchen door, feeling as if he was escaping a viper’s nest.

“Was she mad?”

“What?” He was so lost in thought he was surprised at Dietrich’s voice when they were back outside. “No, I don’t think so.”

Dietrich shrugged. “She always sounds mad to me.”

Gideon chuckled.

“She’s usually mad at me.”

Gideon patted the boy’s shoulder. “Oh, I wouldn’t pay too much attention. Some people are angry all the time and take it out on those around them. Maybe that’s what’s happened with Mrs. Blackstone.”

He knew his words were small comfort, but he had a hard time trying to figure things out for the boy when he was having enough trouble figuring them out for himself.

It didn’t sound as if Mrs. Keller had had it too easy in the past nor did she have it so well with the Widow Blackstone. Gideon shook off the woman’s insinuations. He had no designs on Mrs. Keller nor did he believe she had any on him, but the widow’s words made it seem as if they were doing something wrong. They were helping each other out with their only children. He was more grateful than he could express in words to Mrs. Keller for taking time from her busy schedule to help his Lizzie.

He would never believe the lady was doing it for some ulterior, selfish motive.

“You’re walking awfully fast, Mr. Jakeman. I’m going to have to run to keep up with you!”

He looked down at his young companion, not having realized how his irritation had quickened his pace. It was as if he’d wanted to run away from the taint Mrs. Blackstone had put on his daughter’s friendship with Mrs. Keller.

Once they reentered his own kitchen, he could dismiss the odious insinuations. Mrs. Keller and Lizzie were talking and laughing and seemed to be getting along as if they had known each other all their lives.

He smiled at the picture they made. Mrs. Keller smiled at him from the table where she was finishing with the place settings.

“Good, there you are, Papa. We’re ready to eat.” Lizzie waved a spatula at him from the stove.

He sniffed deeply. “My, it smells good in here.”

“The sooner you two wash up, the sooner we’ll eat.”

He winked at Dietrich. “Hear that, young fellow?”

The boy nodded vigorously. “I’m starving!”

Gideon helped him off with his jacket and hung it on a peg with his cap and followed suit with his own things. “Come along then. Let’s wash up.”

When they were seated around the table, he bowed his head and led them in grace. As everyone echoed his “Amen,” he looked around the table, unfolding his napkin.

Lizzie sat at her accustomed place at his right. She’d never wanted to occupy her mother’s place at the end of the long oval table. Mrs. Keller had seated herself at the far left before either he or Lizzie could indicate a place for her. Dietrich sat at her side between the two of them.

If Mrs. Blackstone thought Mrs. Keller a conniving widow, she didn’t know much about her. Mrs. Keller had hardly spoken to him or met his eyes, addressing most of her quiet remarks to either Lizzie or her son. He frowned, bending his head to cut a piece of his golden fish cake and spear it onto his fork. He hoped she wasn’t afraid of him or put off by him. She’d seemed much more at ease when he’d entered.

He wanted to reassure her he meant her no disrespect or had no designs on her.

But he was intrigued by what Dietrich had told him and he did want to find out more about her.

“Mmm. These are delicious,” he told his daughter, sitting back after easing his first hunger pangs.

“Mrs. Keller showed me how to add a little red pepper.”

He glanced her way. She immediately averted her gaze and he found his face flushing, and he could have cursed Mrs. Blackstone for putting thoughts into his head that wouldn’t normally have been there.

Or, would they? A little voice asked him, as he remembered holding her in his arms in that waltz in the dark. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. “Tell me how the sewing is coming.”

“Oh, Papa, Mrs. Keller is so good at making patterns. We already decided what kind of dress to make. She took all the measurements and drew the pattern and we finished cutting out all the pieces right when you came in.”

“Goodness, it sounds like you’re a seamstress.” He deliberately looked at Mrs. Keller, resolving to find out more about her past.

She laid down her fork and patted the napkin to her lips—nicely shaped lips against smooth pale skin. “I’ve sewn my own garments since I was a girl. My mother taught me, and when she died, I just continued. I used to make my father’s shirts.” She addressed this last remark to Lizzie.

“I do, too,” his daughter answered eagerly, “but maybe you can show me how I can do better.”

Mrs. Keller glanced his way—or rather at his shirt, and he lifted his hand self-consciously to his collar, realizing he wasn’t wearing one. Usually he only did so when he went to church on Sundays. Her husband had probably always worn one. He imagined a man dressed in starched linen and tailcoat as he walked onstage to perform before crowds.

“You seem to be doing a fine job on your own,” Mrs. Keller said. “You’ve probably had lots of practice by now.”

“Yes’m, that’s so.”

“Mama, Mr. Jakeman says he’s going to bring the biggest turkey to their Thanksgiving dinner at the McClellans’. Are we going to go there, too?”

Seeing she was at a loss to answer, Gideon replied for her. “Mrs. Blackstone usually spends Thanksgiving there. I’m sure my cousin means to include the two of you in her invitation.”

“We’ll see.” Mrs. Keller’s slim, long-fingered hand rested on the table, clutching her napkin.

“Oh, I do hope you’ll go,” Lizzie said at once. “I was hoping I could stop by on our way and you can tell me how the dress looks.”

“Why, of course. Please stop in.” She looked at him. “Do you think if I spoke to Mrs. McClellan, she would let me know what we could contribute to the feast?”

“I’m sure Mrs. Blackstone will let you know. She usually brings something—a jar of preserves or something—but Sarah has such a tableful of food that nothing is really necessary.”

“Very well.”

As the dinner progressed, Lizzie drew Mrs. Keller out with questions about her life in Europe. Gideon tried not to appear to be listening as closely as he was.

Mrs. Keller obliged his daughter with a few amusing anecdotes of life as the wife of a pianist touring the famous capitals, but then added in a more serious tone, “But then he grew ill. At first we were hopeful that he would overcome it. He had some of the best doctors. But once he resumed the…the strenuous life of giving concerts, the consumption returned.”

“That’s too bad,” Lizzie said in a quiet voice.

“He finally had to give up his playing. That was very difficult for him. The last few years were spent quietly. I was nursing him and taking care of Dietrich, of course.”

Gideon got the impression that there was much more to her brief narrative. Between her words and Dietrich’s earlier, Gideon began to form a picture of hardship once the late Mr. Keller had had to give up his concert playing. Was that when the financial hardships had begun?

Before he could decide whether to change the subject, Mrs. Keller looked at him with a soft smile. “But we’ve heard enough about Europe this evening. I would much prefer to hear about Eagle’s Bay. What was it like in your childhood, Mr. Jakeman?”

He felt his face flush under her kind regard. “Well, I don’t know, not much has changed in these parts since I was a boy.”

“Papa, tell them about the time you fell in the ice pond.”

His lips curved upward at his daughter. Thank goodness for his Lizzie, who always knew how to get things back on a more comfortable footing.

Dietrich’s eyes rounded. “You fell through the ice? Did you freeze?”

“Just about. Let’s see, I must have been about your age, maybe a year or two older. My older brothers and I had gone to check the ice on the pond to see if it was thick enough for skating.”

“Where did you live then?” Mrs. Keller asked.

“Right here.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “In this house?”

He nodded. “It’s my homestead. My father’s and grandfather’s before me. My granddaddy built the original structure—what we’re sitting in right now—with the first people who settled in this hamlet.” He gestured around the low-beamed room with his hand.

Mrs. Keller and her son looked around them. “It seems very snug and cozy.”

“It is. It was built from logs split right here on the property—oak, chestnut, pine. My daddy added on the shed and, along with my brothers and me, we pulled down the original barn and put up the one we have now.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Three, and a sister,” he said proudly. “We’re scattered around the hamlet all the way to the next village down the coast.”