Hometown Cinderella: Hometown CinderellaThe Inn at Hope Springs Page 3

  “That’s kind of you, Mr. Jakeman, but I haven’t far to go. Thank you all the same.” The black ribbons of her bonnet tied beneath her chin fluttered in the breeze. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her eyes bright blue.

  “You got at least a couple miles to go,” Lizzie said. “Here, you can ride beside me. There’s plenty of room for three.” She scooted over on the seat, patting the empty place beside her.

  The lady said nothing, looking from Lizzie to the seat. Why the hesitation? Was it because it was only a farm wagon? Was it too dirty a conveyance for her?

  Finally, with a small smile, she said, “Very well, that’s very kind of you.”

  “No trouble at all, ma’am.” Before he could make a move to get down to help her, the lady clutched the rim of the wagon and swung herself up.

  “I’m much obliged to you.”

  “I thought it was you from way back,” Lizzie said, satisfaction in her voice. “We were also in town taking some apples to sell and buying some supplies.” She indicated the sacks behind them in the wagon.

  “You have sharp eyes,” the lady said.

  “You live at Mrs. Blackstone’s?” Lizzie asked once they were on their way again.

  “Hush, Lizzie. I’m sure Mrs.—er…” He could feel himself flush as he struggled to remember her name. His skin grew even warmer at the thought of her first name, which he did remember. Mara. It was a pretty-sounding name.

  “Keller,” she supplied quickly as if reading his mind. Then she laughed. “I would have been very surprised indeed if you had remembered my name.”

  He shook his head with a chuckle, relieved the woman wasn’t offended. “I should have after all Reverend Grayson said about you on Sunday.”

  “Oh, my goodness, I was quite mortified with such a long introduction. I was afraid everyone would think I was a proud person too far above the likes of anyone around here to talk to.”

  “Oh, no. Reverend Grayson always likes to welcome anyone new. ’Course, there’s rarely anyone new here,” Lizzie added.

  “Well, I’m glad he didn’t put you off then.”

  They rode along in silence a few minutes.

  “Were you walking from town?” Lizzie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you have a horse and buggy?”

  “Uh—no. That is, Mrs. Blackstone does. That’s my stepmother. But I don’t take it out.”

  “Why not?”

  The widow gave what sounded like a nervous laugh. “My, aren’t you full of questions?”

  “Leave the lady be, Lizzie,” Gideon said.

  Lizzie fell silent, and Gideon felt bad to have had to admonish her like that. He knew her naturally pink cheeks were deepening in color, and she’d probably clam up the rest of the way home. But he’d sensed the lady hadn’t been comfortable with the question.

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Mrs. Keller said. “I didn’t mean to scold. I was just too embarrassed to confess I’m not a very good driver. I’ve only just been learning again since I arrived last week.”

  “You don’t know how to drive a buggy?” Lizzie’s voice rose in wonder.

  “Well,” she said with another small laugh, “I’ve been living in the city for so long, where I never had—or needed—my own carriage.”

  “Is it true you’ve traveled to all those places Reverend Grayson talked about?” Lizzie asked.

  Gideon glanced sidelong at Mrs. Keller in time to catch her nod.

  “How’d you manage that? I’ve never even been outside of Eagle’s Bay, though Pa here took the steamer to Boston once, didn’t you, Papa?”

  He merely nodded, keeping his focus on the mare, uncomfortable with the attention.

  “I used to live near Boston and then went there after leaving home,” the lady said.

  “You left home?” There was shocked awe in Lizzie’s voice.

  “Yes, to study music at the conservatory there.”

  “How did you get to Europe from Boston?”

  “I continued my studies in Vienna and there I met my future husband. He was a pianist and toured all over Europe, performing at the different concert halls.”

  “A pianist?”

  “Mmm-hmm. He played the piano. He was also studying at the conservatory.”

  “What’d you study there?”

  “Piano and violin—and voice.”

  Gideon listened as Lizzie kept plying Mrs. Keller—he vowed he wouldn’t forget her name again—with question after question.

  The lady didn’t seem to mind, but he’d have to have a word with Lizzie afterward about minding her own business. But he hesitated to say anything more now. He didn’t like to shame his only child in public. She was too shy by far, something that came from having lost her mother so young, he often thought, and then felt guilty for not having remarried to provide her with a female companion. But Lizzie had been adamant that she didn’t want just any woman living with them. And Gideon had never met anyone he’d felt the way he had about Elsie.

  Besides that, he was intrigued with the newcomer and was just as curious as Lizzie. Mrs. Keller’s life sounded like something out of a storybook.

  “Where all did you live?”

  “Well, let’s see. Most recently, I have been living in Paris.”

  “Paris. Did you have to speak another language?”

  Mrs. Keller had a very pleasant laugh. Soft and low, like a summer rain on leaves. “Yes. They speak French in Paris. Let’s see, before that, we lived in Vienna awhile. There we had to speak German, which came easily for my husband, since he was originally from Germany. I had studied it in school, so it wasn’t long before I could converse easily with the people.”

  “And where else did you live?”

  “Hmm. Milan—that’s in Italy—for a while, but mostly we traveled, staying only a few weeks in the capitals. London, Frankfurt, Rome, Madrid. We were even in St. Petersburg a few times. That’s in Russia.”

  “Russia!” Lizzie’s tone was filled with awe. “How did you keep it all straight in your head?”

  Once again she gave her melodious laugh. “It was a bit daunting at times, I have to admit. But each city is so distinct in its architecture—the buildings, that is. And, in the language, of course, the food, even many times the dress, in more subtle ways.”

  “Did your little boy go with you everywhere?”

  She was silent a moment, causing Gideon to glance over at her.

  “By the time he was born,” she said slowly, “my husband had fallen ill and our traveling days were over. Dietrich has only lived in Paris.”

  “I’m sorry…about your husband, that is,” Lizzie said softly.

  “That’s all right.” Once again, Gideon glanced her way to gauge her reaction. He knew what it was to lose a spouse. She revealed little by her words or tone. Her face had a shrouded look.

  “It must be nice to have been so many places,” Lizzie said with a sigh.

  “It…has its advantages and disadvantages.”

  Gideon couldn’t help but look over a third time. Had she experienced some hardship while she’d been abroad? If her boy was now six or seven, that meant that her husband had been an invalid a good many years.

  She looked so self-possessed that it was hard to tell what she might mean. Her manner of dressing, though obviously that of a lady, was unadorned and almost severe, so that, too, gave little away.

  “Tell me, Lizzie, do you like music?”

  It sounded to Gideon that the widow wanted to change the subject. Her voice had brightened and she’d turned slightly to face his daughter. A second later, her glance rose to meet his. Feeling his face flush, he quickly faced the horse again.

  “Oh, my, yes,” Lizzie answ
ered immediately.

  “Do you play any instruments or sing?”

  “Aw, no. But I like to sing, when I’m washing the dishes or ironing the clothes, don’t I, Pa?”

  “What? Oh, yes, you certainly do.” Lizzie had a nice voice. But he didn’t say so aloud, afraid Mrs. Keller would think he was boasting about his daughter. He remembered hearing the widow’s singing voice during church. Probably no one in all Eagle’s Bay sang as good as she did, not even those in the church choir.

  “And Pa sings and plays the fiddle real good, don’t you?”

  Gideon kept his eyes fixed on his horse.

  “Does he, indeed? Well, I know he has a fine voice, so it doesn’t surprise me if he should also play a musical instrument.”

  At her first words, Gideon’s glance shot to Mrs. Keller. As if sensing his glance, she met it over his daughter’s head. “I heard it in church,” she continued, addressing Lizzie as if he wasn’t there. But the twinkle in her deep blue eyes told him otherwise.

  He couldn’t help a quirk of his own lips upward.

  “Well, you certainly seem to be a busy girl,” Mrs. Keller said, bringing the conversation back to Lizzie, for which Gideon could only be thankful. “Do you attend school?”

  “Yes’m. When it’s in session. Papa insists on that.”

  “School is important. What other things do you do?”

  “Well, I keep house for Pa, o’ course. And then there’re sociables now that winter is coming. There’s singing at those, and dancing,” continued Lizzie. “I like to watch from the sidelines. Are you going to be at the cider pressing on Saturday? There’ll be some fiddling and dancing for sure. You can hear Pa play then.”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t heard anything about it. I wonder if Mrs. Blackstone will be attending.”

  “She generally hires someone to pick her apples and gets some of them pressed into cider for the winter,” Gideon said.

  Both females turned to him as if surprised to hear him speak. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I reckon she’ll be by.”

  “Where is this cider pressing held?”

  “At the McClellans’,” Lizzie answered before Gideon could say anything. “They’re real nice folks with a big farm and orchard. They’re kin. Sarah McClellan is Papa’s cousin on his father’s side, ain’t she?”

  “Yes, that’s so.”

  “They set up the cider press and everyone brings their jugs or barrels. It’s always such fun.”

  “Well, perhaps I shall see you there.”

  “I hope so.”

  About a half mile from the Blackstone place, as they were approaching their own place, Mrs. Keller turned to him. “Please, Mr. Jakeman, could you drop me off here?”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s no trouble for me to turn into your place.”

  “I…” She hesitated and he wondered at her sudden discomfort. “It would be best if I…if I came in alone.”

  He frowned then slowly nodded, realizing it probably had something to do with Mrs. Blackstone. Without a word, he pulled over along the side of the road and brought the wagon to a stop. This time, he quickly handed the reins to Lizzie and jumped down.

  Mrs. Keller was already descending the wagon when he reached her side. But he took her elbow and helped her the remaining way.

  “Thank you,” she said, sounding breathless, her free hand going to her bonnet.

  He let her arm go and stepped back. Feeling as tongue-tied as a boy, he watched her grip her satchel in one hand and turn to Lizzie. “It was very nice conversing with you. I hope we may do it again sometime.”

  “Oh, sure. Come over to the farm anytime.” Lizzie looked over at him. “We can always bring you to town if you’d like, can’t we, Pa?”

  He gave a quick nod. “Certainly, anytime.”

  “Thank you,” she repeated. “That does remind me, Dietrich, my son, has been wanting to visit, and I promised I’d bring him by as soon as I had a moment.”

  “Bring him by anytime,” Gideon said before Lizzie could respond.

  Mrs. Keller smiled at him, a smile that warmed him to the depths of his heart. Before he could examine his reaction, she addressed them both. “Well, I’d better be on my way. Mrs. Blackstone will wonder where I am. Good day to you, Mr. Jakeman. Thank you for the lift.”

  Gideon touched the brim of his hat as she walked by him.

  He returned to his seat and turned into their gate. Lizzie waved to Mrs. Keller. “Be seein’ ya.”

  “I hope so.”

  When they were beyond her hearing, Lizzie said, “She is such a nice lady, don’t you think so, Pa?”

  “Yes, very nice.” He appreciated her having been so patient with Lizzie, talking to her as if she were an adult. He preferred thinking about that than about his own reaction to her.

  “I wonder why she didn’t want us to bring her all the way home?”

  “I ’spect she wanted to enjoy the nice fall weather.”

  Lizzie jutted out her bottom lip, considering. “But she could enjoy it just as well from up here.”

  “Maybe she needed some peace and quiet.”

  “Did I talk too much, Pa?” came her immediate reply, her voice full of concern.

  He tugged at one of her braids. “Not a bit.”

  “She sure sounds like she’s led an interesting life.”

  As they drew up to their barn, he halted the wagon. “Yes, indeed. You know, you have to watch your questions sometimes. Not everyone wants to tell you their life story the first time they meet you.”

  “I’m sorry, Pa. I hope she doesn’t think I was being nosy.”

  “I’m sure she just thought you were being friendly. But next time, slow down the questions some. Let her be the one who volunteers the information.”

  “Yes, Pa. I hope we see her again.” She brightened. “Maybe she’ll be at the cider pressing.”

  “Yes…” Already, he was trying to suppress the spurt of nervous anticipation at the thought—and trying to figure out why he was feeling so nervous.

  As he tended the mare, he mused on the strange life Mrs. Keller had led, changing residence every year.

  The one time he’d been up to Boston, he’d hated living in the cramped building wedged between the others along the street. Everything had seemed noisy and dirty.

  He shook his head. Well, to each his own, he’d always heard. Walking back to the house, he wondered how the widow was going to take the quiet and solitude of Eagle’s Bay, especially once snow set in.

  He looked across the rolling fields dotted with gray boulders and edged by dark fir trees. Far to the east the inky blue sea looked cold and intense against the paler sky. He couldn’t imagine a better existence, but for a city person? And living with Mrs. Blackstone? He didn’t know the older widow well, but the little contact he’d had gave him the impression of a bitter, exacting woman who never smiled.

  With a final shake of his head, he turned to enter the house.

  Lizzie was already in the kitchen, stirring up the fire. “I’ll have some biscuits in the oven in a jiffy. Thought I’d fry up some o’ that salt pork and have the beans from this noon.”

  He walked over to the sink and pumped some water. “Sounds fine to me.” He wished Lizzie could have more time with other girls her age, but she always seemed content keeping house for him. He grabbed the cake of soap she’d made and began to lather up his hands.

  “Want a cup o’ tea?”

  “Sure. Take the chill off. I can make it for us both.”

  “You just sit, Pa. I’ll have it steeping in a moment. The water’s almost boiled.”

  While drying his hands, he watched his only child fill the teapot.

 
“I can’t believe a body can live so many places the way Mrs. Keller has.”

  It was clear the widow had made as great an impression on his daughter as she had on him. “No. It’s hard to imagine, all right.” He remembered more of their conversation. “You wouldn’t like to take some music lessons, would you? Perhaps she’d give you some.”

  Lizzie swiveled around from the counter. “What—me?” She laughed, her face suffusing with color. “Aw, no.”

  “Why not?”

  She just shook her head and replaced the lid on the pot.

  He wished he could give her more, but she always seemed content. It had been years since Elsie had died and he wondered sometimes if Lizzie still missed her. They rarely talked of her.

  “Here’s your tea.”

  He took the cup with a “Thank you,” and sat at the table with the newspaper, determined to focus on the local headlines. He had no business thinking about the beautiful young widow who’d lived in so many cities as if he were a young man again.

  Chapter Three

  Mara held her seat as the wagon wheels rumbled along the rutted road. Beside her, Carina held the reins. Dietrich sat on Mara’s other side, holding a string in his hands and pretending it was a pair of reins. He bounced in his seat more than the bumpy ride warranted.

  As they neared the McClellan farm where the cider pressing was being held, Carina eyed the many wagons and buggies already parked along the dirt entry and yard. “I knew we should have arrived earlier. I hope we won’t have to wait out in the cold too long for our cider.”

  “I can wait if you’d care to go inside.”

  “I feel a chill coming on. I knew I shouldn’t have ventured out tonight.” It was still late afternoon but the sun was already sinking behind the dark horizon of fir trees.

  Carina brought the wagon to a stop beside some others and allowed a local farmer to take the reins and help her down. “Thank you, Charlie.”

  “Howdy, Miz Blackstone. Glad to see you out today.”

  Carina turned to Mara. “I’m going inside then. You see to the bushels.”

  “Yes.”