Where Love Dwells (23 page)

Reverend Glenn looked at Butter and shook his head. “Can I assume that includes the beef jerky my loyal friend managed to find?”

“No. Consider that a treat from me for being such a good companion to you,” Emma insisted. “I could have her doing chores at Hill House, of course, but I have my own work to do and Liesel and Ditty to supervise, as well.”

“So you'd like her to come here to work for us?” Aunt Frances asked.

“I would, if both of you wouldn't mind. You know she can be . . . difficult, but I think she's truly trying to change.”

“She's always been quite pleasant while she was visiting us, hasn't she, Frances?” Reverend Glenn asked.

Aunt Frances nodded. “That's true. Maybe it's because we're a bit older. We're more like grandparents than parents to her, which is where the heart of her troubles lies, I would suppose.”

“Exactly,” Emma replied. “I can't think of two people who might be able to have a better influence on her than both of you. The cottage is very small, and I know it would be an imposition to have someone here all the time, so I was hoping she could come after breakfast, do whatever chores you have for her, and then send her home in time for supper with us. But you have to promise not
to offer her anything but your guidance in return. She's doing punishment, not looking for employment.”

“How long do you think she'll be on punishment?” Reverend Glenn asked.

“A few weeks, but certainly less if Mark and Catherine decide she's changed enough to return to Albany with them. Otherwise, she'll be staying with me for a while. I suspect that will be the case, but I truthfully have no idea how long she'll be with me,” she explained, without complicating the issue by mentioning Zachary or his expectations.

Reverend Glenn turned to his wife. “I think we should try to help that poor girl. What do you think?”

Aunt Frances looked up at him and nodded before she turned to Emma, offering her a smile of gratitude. “I think Zachary Breckenwith is a very fortunate man to have discovered our Emma is as precious as we know she is. Why don't you send Wryn to see us? If we can come to an understanding about what she'd be expected to do, then we can have her start as soon as you like.”

Walking from the Glenns' cottage to Zachary's house should have taken Emma all of ten minutes, which would have put her there at ten o'clock, exactly as they had planned.

However, she did not reach his house until ten-thirty, through no fault of her own. She had not been walking out and about in town since accepting Zachary's proposal, but judging by the number of people who stopped her along the way, gossipmongers had done quite an excellent task of spreading news of the upcoming marriage between the very eligible bachelor and the proprietress of Hill House.

Quickly banishing a fleeting thought about the kind of gossip
that would be ignited if she changed her mind about marrying Zachary at all, she knocked on his door. As anxious to apologize for her tardiness as she was to escape another well-wisher, she knocked again. When he still did not answer, hope that he had not been able to send Widow Ellis on an errand by herself was quickly fading.

She decided to knock once more, and this time, he answered almost immediately.

“I hope I haven't kept you waiting. I was in my office doing some work, and I wasn't sure if that was a knock at the door I heard or not. Please, come in,” he said and stepped aside to let her enter.

“I'm sorry I'm late. I had to make a stop at the Glenns' first. They were both agreeable to having Wryn with them during the day, by the way. I thought I'd left early enough to be here on time, but I hadn't counted on so many people stopping me.”

Chuckling, he closed the door. “If you're making a list of advantages and disadvantages to living in town, I'm afraid gossip belongs in the latter column. May I take your bonnet and cape?”

“I'd rather not. I really don't have much time. The morning packet is due at eleven today, and I don't want to be late, especially if Warren and his family are arriving. Did Widow Ellis balk overmuch at being sent on an errand for you?”

He cleared his throat. “Not exactly.”

Emma chuckled. “Either she did or she didn't. Which was it?” she asked, expecting to hear yet another tale that would dignify her reputation as the most miserable woman in Candlewood.

“She didn't balk. She wasn't here when I got back from walking you home yesterday afternoon. She left this on the table in the kitchen,” he said and handed her a note scribbled on a torn piece of brown wrapping paper he had stored in his vest pocket.

Curious, Emma read the brief note:

Mr. Breckenwith:

I refuse to face the humiliation of being let go in favor of Mercy Garrett, despite my superior abilities in the kitchen, when you marry Widow Garrett. I have left Candlewood to secure suitable employment elsewhere. Use the wages I am due to settle my account at the General Store.

A. V. Ellis

Emma gasped. “She quit!”

“That she did,” he admitted.

“She didn't even discuss it with you?”

“Not a whisper.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, knowing full well he could not practice law and tend to the kitchen and housework by himself, even if he were so inclined.

He shrugged. “I suppose I'll have to try to find another housekeeper, hopefully one who can cook better than she did, although I'm not sure how long I can promise the position will last. Not until I know when we're going to get married and your mother-in-law takes over the kitchen,” he added.

Piqued by his confidence in a decision she had yet to make, she handed him back the note. “If I hadn't just made arrangements for Wryn with the Glenns', I could have had her work here.”

He cleared his throat again. “I'm not sure how suitable that would have been. Even if she returned to Hill House at night, her young age and the fact that she would be here alone all day with a man who isn't her relative would be enough to invite gossip.”

Emma blushed. “Oh, you're right, of course,” she said and began thinking out loud. “Well, then, if you can't use Wryn and you can't
hire someone at the moment, you could take your meals at the hotel or carry them home with you like you do in Bounty—but I know Mother Garrett well enough to be able to say she wouldn't stand for that. I'm afraid you have no choice but to come to Hill House for your meals.”

He nodded. “I'd rather have your mother-in-law side with me, rather than against me, so I'll accept your offer.”

Enjoying the upper hand, however briefly, she smiled. “May I expect you at one for dinner?”

“You may,” he replied. “As I recall, supper is at six o'clock each evening. Breakfast is at what time?”

“Eight o'clock. Now, as far as housekeeping chores are concerned,” she continued, “I could certainly bring Ditty or Liesel here with me for a few hours each day to keep the house tidy enough.”

“I suppose that might work, although I'd rather you didn't do more than supervise the girl.”

She ignored his comment and held silent.

“It does seem a shame to waste all that time going back and forth for meals and having your staff do the same to keep this place tidy when there's a simpler solution.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Dare I ask what that might be?”

“I was hoping you would. Given my current situation and considering your entire family is here, or soon will be, I should think the solution is very clear. We could save everyone involved a lot of trouble if you agreed to marry me on your birthday so you could move into my home with your mother-in-law,” he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

“But that's . . . that's next week!”

“Which means I'll only have the inconvenience of traveling back and forth between my office and Hill House for my meals
for a very short time, and you'll be saved the trouble of bringing your staff into town on my behalf, as well.”

She huffed. “You did plan this!”

“Only after I found Widow Ellis' note.”

“You should have come to tell me about it last night.”

He cocked a brow. “As I recall, you had very specific plans to talk to Wryn last night. Will you at least consider getting married on your birthday?”

“Yes, I'll consider it, but not right now. If being delayed by well-wishers while walking here is any indication of how long it will take, I have to leave to get to the landing. Warren might be arriving, and I don't want to be late,” she insisted, slipping past him and out the door.

Mumbling to herself, she rushed down the steps. Widow Ellis' departure was one part of His plan she had not anticipated, but she was reluctant to question God's wisdom or His timing for fear of losing whatever grace she had been given during her prayers. She was, however, growing more and more agitated by Zachary's assumption she would accept his demands. “I'd much prefer a little time between answers to my prayers, or a gentle nudge instead of a shove,” she murmured and hurried on her way.

21

W
ITH SCARCELY MINUTES
to spare, Emma was a square away from Canal Street when yet another well-wisher came hurrying toward her.

Widow Franklin, the sixty-something rival for Mr. Kirk's attentions, waved her handkerchief as she approached. “Widow Garrett! I'm so pleased to see you. What wonderful news I've heard about you and Mr. Breckenwith!” she said in her distinctive childlike voice.

Reminded of how she had used the same voice and made a handkerchief into a puppet for little Jonas, Emma managed not to grin. “Thank you,” Emma said as she greeted the woman and prayed the packet boat would be a little late, which was not all that unusual.

“Have you set a date yet?” she asked, mopping her brow before she tucked the handkerchief into her reticule.

“No, we haven't. I was just on my way to meet Warren. I'm hoping he's arriving on the morning packet,” she said.

“I was just in the confectionary and overheard someone say the packet arrived early today, perhaps twenty minutes ago. Did you say you expect to marry soon?”

“We haven't really decided on a date,” Emma reiterated, now doubly anxious to end the conversation. Of all her sons, Warren was the one who would not be forgiving if she was not at the landing to meet him as he arrived with his family. “I really must go. If you'll excuse me—”

“Of course. You must be anxious to see your son and his family. I must be off, too. Mr. Kirk is coming for dinner today, but I wonder if I might stop to see you soon,” she said and stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I hope it's not too presumptive of me, but once you and Mr. Breckenwith are married, I was hoping you'd be able to help me with a legal question or two.”

“I'm sure Mr. Breckenwith would be delighted to assist you, but I wouldn't be qualified,” Emma argued, reminded she had yet to hear from Morning Drummond about her situation.

Widow Franklin shook her head. “There are some things a woman just prefers to discuss with another woman, especially one as bright and capable as you are. I'm certain you'd be able to look something up in the law books as good as any man.”

“I probably could, but—”

“Thank you,” the elderly woman gushed. “Mildred Perkins was convinced you'd turn me away because of my growing friendship with Mr. Kirk, which is probably very upsetting to your mother-in-law, but please don't say I mentioned her name. Mildred's planning to see you herself. We'll be waiting to hear that you've chosen a date to be married,” she said sweetly and continued on her way.

Worried that more than two women in Candlewood viewed Emma's marriage as an opportunity to seek legal advice through her, especially when Zachary was so opposed to the idea, Emma rushed to the corner. After crossing the street to avoid the wagons lined up to load their cargo on the packet boat, she hurried down to the landing, where her worst fears were confirmed.

The packet had arrived early, just as Widow Franklin had suggested, and there was no sign of either Warren or his family. Hoping now that he would not reach Candlewood until tomorrow, Emma retraced her steps and headed toward home. She was halfway down Main Street when she saw Warren struggling with several large travel bags, his family in tow, just ahead on the other side of the street.

As she hurried to catch up with them, memories tugged at her heartstrings. Of all her sons, he looked the most like his father. He was also the most successful of her sons. Warren had parlayed the money Emma had given him into a dry goods business in New York City that was so successful he had built a remarkable new home for his own family just last year.

Warren had always been just as steady and reliable as his father, too, although he had a streak of impatience that was decidedly his own and often accused Emma of favoring his brothers over him. He was also more confident of himself, even as a child, than his father had ever been. He was neither tall nor short, but his body had thickened and his face was rounder than the last time she had seen him, some three years ago. His handsome suit of clothes testified to his accomplishments in business.

His wife, Anna, was walking next to him. Tall and angular as a younger woman, she had filled out a bit, which softened her appearance, but she carried herself with the same gracious demeanor Emma remembered.

Emma's attention, however, was riveted on the two little girls, each holding one of Anna's hands. Deborah, age five, had Emma's blond hair and blue eyes. She had grown so much in the past three years, and Emma could imagine that her own daughter, if she had had one, would have looked just like her. As Emma recalled,
Deborah had one focus in her life—the massive collection of dolls she had managed to acquire in her five short years.

Little Grace, now two years old, was the very image of her older sister at that age. Chubby cheeks. Wispy blond hair. Overwhelming blue eyes.