Hometown Cinderella: Hometown Cinderella\The Inn at Hope Springs (6 page)

Thankfully, her stepmother had taken the buggy into town today to visit some lady friends, so Mara felt safe in playing, for a few hours at any rate. She’d finished the morning’s chores. Time enough in the afternoon to begin the preparations for winter. Dried beans to be shucked, the flower heads and herbs to be gathered for drying, more windfall apples to be picked up, leaves to be raked for banking the sides of the house.

But after her foray into town a few days ago, in a vain attempt to find work at the various stores and hostelries, a woman at the local dry goods store had suggested she offer music lessons. She’d been present in church, Mara had found out, so she knew of Mara’s musical abilities.

When Mara had mentioned deportment lessons, she’d given Mara a good up-and-down, nodding. “Plenty of mamas would pay to have their daughters acquire a bit o’ that refinement you have along with music lessons. Make’m more marriageable when they get that age.”

Mara had wondered aloud if there would really be such a demand in this remote, rural area of the country.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” the woman had added, “since the railroad come to town, we’ve been getting more and more visitors. Rusticators in the summer months—some from as far as New York, imagine that. And, o’ course, we got plenty of well-off folk of our own, the mill owners, the bankers and shopkeepers, some lawyers and doctors. Oh, I think there’d be plenty of work for you, if you’re of a mind. You can put up a few advertisements around town.”

She indicated a board near the counter. “Right there for starters. And I’ll tell those I know with daughters o’ the right age about you and your abilities. I could tell right off when I saw you in church that you had some real ladylike qualities.”

So, after returning home, Mara had thought over her words and decided she had little choice. If she wanted to begin to earn her keep—and a way to leave her stepmother’s residence—she had better exert herself to let people know she was available to teach music and deportment. She couldn’t help a smile at that last, grandiose term.

She certainly didn’t consider herself any more ladylike or refined than any other woman. When she’d first arrived in Europe she’d been intimidated by the fine ladies and gentlemen she’d met as Klaus’s star had risen.

But in the latter years, as he’d squandered his money, and their lodging houses had grown meaner and meaner until the final one where he’d lived his last days, she’d seen how little all the fine manners meant. He’d received no help from the important people who’d flocked to him in years past and who’d been so eager to lead him astray to the gaming houses and other, worse places.

She shook her head. No use revisiting those memories. They were over and she had more pressing needs now—Dietrich’s future. Taking a deep breath, she began to go through some scales to warm up her fingers before turning to the music on her stand.

Gideon set down the bushel basket of cranberries in front of Mrs. Blackstone’s woodshed and opened the door. Paul, his cousin’s oldest son, who worked as a handyman here, wasn’t around, so Gideon hefted the basket up again and walked through the shed to the kitchen door. If no one was home, he’d leave the basket and go.

He knocked on the door. Hearing the muffled sound of piano music through the panels, he knocked louder. After waiting a few minutes and knocking a few more times, he hesitated then opened the door to the kitchen.

It was empty. He left the basket in the woodshed, where it would stay cool, and entered the kitchen, drawn by the music coming to him more clearly now. It was beautiful and sounded much more complicated than anything he’d ever heard since a long-ago chamber concert in town.

His thoughts going at once to Mrs. Keller, he was hardly aware of his boots on the floor as he made his way across the kitchen and into the hallway and finally to the threshold of the front parlor.

The room was dim, its windows shaded by a roofed verandah that wrapped around the house. Gideon’s gaze went immediately to the piano at the end of the room.

Mrs. Keller sat straight on the wide bench, her fingers moving over the keys, her head bent slightly down and to the side as if she could hear which key was to be played next. Her fingers seemed to fly across the keyboard at times and at others linger as if caressing the keys.

She had not heard him and he dared not move, too captivated by the music created by her mere fingertips.

Then the music slowed and her fingers came to rest on the last keys. As the final notes reverberated in the room, she slowly lifted her fingertips.

Gideon made a slight sound—hardly aware that he did so and she whirled around on the piano bench, bumping her knees against the piano. She winced but recovered immediately.

He moved into the room, an apology already on his lips.

Her hand on her chest, she said, “I didn’t know anyone was there.”

He cleared his throat, his hat in his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked on the kitchen door but no one answered. Y-you probably didn’t hear me over the sound of the piano. Mrs. Blackstone’s not in?” He finally stopped to draw breath.

Mrs. Keller stood, smoothing down her skirt as she did so. “No, she’s not. She drove into town this morning.” She advanced toward him, her calm, dignified manner clearly restored, but a smile dissipating any notion that she might be standoffish. “I took advantage of her absence to practice a little. I’m quite rusty as you probably noticed.”

“Rusty? I’d hardly say so. You play…beautifully,” he said for lack of a better word to describe the sublime sounds coming from the piano.

A pretty color suffused her cheeks. “It’s kind of you to say so, but I—I haven’t played in some months, so my fingers needed some limbering up.”

He nodded. “Yes, I know how that is.” He could have bitten his tongue, at the audacity of comparing his fiddling with her virtuosity.

“Of course. The violin is even more tricky.”

“Oh, no, I just fiddle a few old tunes.”

Her smile deepened. “I admire anyone who can entertain people with music.”

A silence fell between them. To fill it, he asked, “Reverend Grayson said your husband was a piano player?”

“Yes.” She touched a wisp of hair at her nape, and he couldn’t help notice its graceful curve. “We both played until, that is, until Dietrich was born, and…and then I gave it up, except for giving lessons when I was able.”

“That’s a shame.”

She stared at him as if not understanding his simple statement.

“I mean,” he hastened, “seeing as you play so well.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone missed my playing.” She gave a short laugh. “I made enough mistakes this morning.”

“Well, I couldn’t hear any. I just watched your fingers go across those keys as if the very hounds were after you.”

She laughed as if she genuinely enjoyed his clumsy compliment. “Thank you. I shall remember that image the next time my fingers do not want to obey what my brain is commanding them.”

Another awkward pause fell between them, and he wished he was easy at making small talk. For some reason he wanted to prolong these moments with this woman, whom he’d normally never think to approach.

She drew herself up a fraction and began to speak just as he did. “Would you care—”

“I just stopped—”

They both fell silent just as quickly, each smiling slightly. He remained silent, determined to allow her to speak first.

“I was just going to ask you if you cared for a cup of tea or some refreshment.”

He could feel his color deepen. He hoped she didn’t think he’d been expecting her to offer him something. “Oh, no. I—uh—just stopped by with a bushel of cranberries Lizzie and I picked.”

“How lovely.”

“I left them in the shed. I don’t know if that’s where you want them.” He began backing out of the parlor.

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m sure. Let me have a look.” She preceded him and led him back to the kitchen. He hastened to open the kitchen door for her and she stepped into the woodshed. The morning sun streamed into the rough-hewn wood interior through the two windows facing east.

She bent over the basket which was full to the brim with the bright crimson berries. “Oh, my, I haven’t enjoyed some good cranberry sauce since I left New England.” She put her hand into the berries and let them fall through her fingers, smiling up at him.

He swallowed, mesmerized by her grace. There was an air of sadness about her until she smiled and then she looked so young and carefree.

Before he could think what to say, he heard running footsteps and the next second her son pulled open the door and rushed into the shed. He stopped short at the sight of Gideon. “Oh—you’re here. Hello.”

Mrs. Keller straightened. “Dietrich, where are your manners? Say a proper hello to Mr. Jakeman.”

The boy bobbed his head. “Hello, sir.”

He smiled in encouragement. “Hello, Dietrich. How are you today?”

“Fine.” His gaze landed on the bushel basket. “What are those?”

“Cranberries. Haven’t you ever seen cranberries?”

He shook his head then approached the basket and took one between his fingers.

“They’re too sour to eat raw,” Gideon warned before the boy could put it in his mouth, “but your mother can cook them up into a nice, sweet sauce. You’ll probably have some with your turkey for Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving?” Dietrich looked from Gideon to his mother.

Gideon blinked at the boy’s question. Didn’t the boy have a notion about Thanksgiving?

His mother smoothed back his hair from his forehead. “Yes, dear. It’s an important holiday here in America. We shall celebrate it in a few weeks. Now, where have you been? You’ve been gone all morning.”

Dietrich tossed the berry back into the basket and scuffed his toe against the rough floor. “Oh, just around. I went to the pond and climbed one of the apple trees.”

“Well, be careful climbing trees.”

Gideon cleared his throat. “Have you seen any of the boys from the cider pressing?”

“Only at school.”

Mrs. Keller added, “We don’t know where they live. I’m sure most live down at the harbor or on the other side of the hamlet.”

There were only a few farms down on their peninsula so Gideon sympathized with the boy and found himself offering, “Would you like to help Lizzie and me pick some more berries next time we go?” He turned to his mother. “They’re in a bog about a mile down the road.”

“May I, Mama?”

Gideon marveled at how foreign the boy sounded to him. Even the way he said “mama” was different, with the stress on the second syllable. He pictured the lad dressed in velvet in a fancy drawing room in England like a story out of
St. Nicholas Magazine.

“Well, I don’t know…” Clearly, she was at a loss. “We don’t want to impose on Mr. Jakeman’s time.”

“No imposition at all, ma’am. I can take him along with me now, if you’d like. We have a new litter of kittens you can see,” he told Dietrich.

The boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve, jumping up and down. “May I see the kittens? Please, Mama!”

She put a hand on his shoulders. “If you settle down and let me think.” She turned her attention to Gideon. “Are you sure you don’t mind? We can plan it for another day—”

“Not at all, ma’am.” Before she could change her mind, he lifted his chin at Dietrich. “Why don’t you hop into the wagon and we’ll be off.” As the boy ran back outside, Gideon turned to Mrs. Keller. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be all right. There are plenty of things to keep him busy on the farm.”

“I don’t know… He can be very active, and I know you’re a busy man. I don’t want him to get into any mischief.”

He chuckled, glad he could do something for her. “Set your mind at rest. I was his age once and know all about mischief.”

She smiled back but he could tell it was with an effort. Suddenly, his throat constricted, sensing how difficult it must be for her to be facing life alone with a boy to raise. He had faced the same situation in reverse—the prospect of raising a daughter to a fine young woman had filled him with fear and worry. And he hadn’t finished the job yet, not by a long shot.

He placed his hat back on his head. “Well, I’ll be off then. You can tell Mrs. Blackstone I’ll bring her more berries if she needs. Just let me know.”

Mrs. Keller followed him outside. The day was chilly although the morning sun against the house made it seem warmer than it was. “You’d best get indoors,” he said gently before turning to his horse and buckboard.

She wrapped her arms around herself and walked instead to where her son had climbed up on the seat. “Be good now, do you hear me, Dietrich?”

“Yes, Mama, I promise.”

She nodded, giving his arm a quick pat before stepping back from the wagon. “Very well, I’ll see you later. I can come for him, Mr. Jakeman. You needn’t make another special trip here to bring him back.”

“It’s no problem. We’re only half a mile down the road. Lizzie would like to see you.” Then he turned to the reins, thinking what a stupid thing he’d said. “I mean, if you’re here, just to say hello.”

“That would be lovely. I look forward to seeing your daughter again.”