“I agree.” Aunt Louisa picked up a sepia-toned picture of Hestia’s grandmother, which was in a sterling silver frame embossed with roses and leaves. “There was a day when women prided themselves on looking as members of the fairer sex should and conducting themselves in like manner. Oh, for those days once again.”
“Yes, and even our generation never failed to uphold high standards.” Miss Olive shook her head as she studied Hestia, her expression conveying disbelief over the passage of time. “Why, you’re as beautiful as I thought you’d turn out to be. How’s that handsome father of yours? I do declare, you look just like him with a wig on. And your lovely mother? Or maybe I should ask them myself. They are here, aren’t they?” Miss Olive scoped the room with an eagle eye as though the mention of their existence would bring her parents leaping out of the dresser drawers.
“No, Miss Olive. I made the trip by myself.”
She gasped and hit her chest with her unadorned hand. “Mercy! Whatever for?”
“I told you, Olive.” Aunt Louisa’s tone was prickly. “She’s here to help me—and to recover from a broken engagement.”
Hestia felt her face flush. Did Miss Olive also know that Luther’s eye for other ladies had caused their breakup? At least Hestia had discovered the fact before, rather than after, walking down the aisle. Still, she didn’t want everyone in town to know her business. Hestia tried to dodge the subject and instead encouraged the two friends to bring her up-to-date on all the news in Maiden.
Animated by conversation, the neighbor never did state the original purpose for her visit. Hestia imagined that Miss Olive had spotted her and came over to investigate.
“So, Olive, what brings you by?” Aunt Louisa’s tone indicated she already knew.
The neighbor jumped. “Oh. Yes. Sugar. Why, I ran plumb out of sugar right in the middle of baking my famous jelly thumbprint cookies for the whist party tomorrow. I could have sworn I had an extra sack of sugar in the cabinet, but when I went to look for it, it wasn’t there.”
“That can happen,” Hestia sympathized.
“I hope not at your young age,” Aunt Louisa opined. “You should have a sharp enough mind that you don’t mislay things.”
Miss Olive didn’t wait for Hestia to respond. “So, Louisa, how much longer will it be before you can come back and play whist with us?”
Aunt Louisa shook her head. “The doctor says three more weeks at least. I wish there were something I could do for my broken pelvis, but staying propped up here in bed is about it.”
“Leave it to you to break something you can’t easily fix. I wish you’d hurry up and get well. Ethel is such a terrible player, and I get stuck being her partner for every game. Daphne ends up winning the prize every time, and you know how competitive she is. She just waves it in my face. Not that I want the prize that badly anyway. It’s the principle of the thing with me.” Miss Olive stared at Hestia. “Do you know how to play whist?” The catch in her voice indicated that she hoped the answer would be yes.
The old-fashioned card game that held the country captive with fascination in years past had never caught on as wildly with Hestia’s friends. “Uh, I might remember a few of the rules from my childhood.”
Before either of the older women could answer, someone else knocked at the back door.
“Come in!” Aunt Louisa shouted.
Hestia wondered if her aunt should ask who might be there first but then recalled that Booth Barrington was expected. Cringing, Hestia remembered his frogs.
The sound of sprightly footfalls marked the new arrival’s progress from the porch to the kitchen. In a flash, a dark-haired man entered.
“Booth, it’s good to see you again.” Aunt Louisa smiled.
To her shock and consternation, Hestia’s heart skipped a beat. Booth? This is Booth Barrington?
He smiled back. “How are you today, Miss Louisa?” He looked to the neighbor. “Miss Olive.”
As she watched him greet the ladies, Hestia observed Booth. All his baby fat had disappeared, revealing a strong jawline and chin. His voice had matured from a boy’s medium-pitched taunt to the lower tone of a confident man. Had he grown taller? It seemed so.
Carolina blue eyes locked their gaze with hers, widening. As though he were trying to conceal surprise, he hesitated. “And…Hestia? Hestia Myatt?”
“You remember me?” Her heart beating faster, she didn’t bother to conceal her shock even though that meant her mouth hung open in a most unladylike manner. She never would have recognized Booth had she not been told it was he. Not even his dark, wavy hair would have given him away. Not entirely. “Oh, I know. Aunt Louisa must have told you about my impending visit.”
“As a matter of fact, I did mention it.”
“Yes.” A look of remembrance flickered on his face. “But of course I remember you, Pi—I—I mean, Miss Hestia.”
She held back a grimace at the almost-mention of the childhood nickname he had saddled her with in honor of her plaited hair, which he called “pigtails.” Piglet. The name still made her wince.
She wondered what he must think of her. Had she changed as much as he had? Suddenly she felt self-conscious. Many young women had given themselves over to the flapper look—short skirts, bobbed hair, lips brushed with scarlet paint. With full parental approval, she had kept her hair flowing—though confined in the daylight hours—her skirts long, her face unknown to paint. Had her former fiancé been right? Was she out-of-date, out of step with the times? For a brief moment she wished she had given in to fashion dictates so she would seem more modern to the new Booth.
Just as quickly, she chastised herself for such shameful thoughts.
What’s the matter with you? The man God has planned for you to marry will love you for yourself.
Marriage? She had seen Booth for less than a minute, and the thought of marriage had entered her mind? Her thoughts muddled with confusion. She felt faint. Maybe she should ask Aunt Louisa where she kept the smelling salts.
Chapter Two
“Um, is there anything you need from me today, Miss Louisa?” Though he spoke to the invalid woman, Booth couldn’t keep his gaze off her niece. Was this Hestia the skinny waif who’d screamed bloody murder at the mildest prank, who’d worn gingham dresses and long pigtails? He thanked the Lord he’d stopped himself in the nick of time before calling her by her old nickname.
Such a derogatory name didn’t apply to Hestia now. When had she grown into a blond angel—far beyond the most beautiful model for Pears’ complexion soap? He noticed her modest attire. Surely she must go to church, unlike some of the painted flappers in town. Few pristine beauties were left in this new day and age. He hoped she planned to stay awhile.
“Are you planning to stay awhile, Miss Hestia?” he blurted.
She nodded. “Until Aunt Louisa is feeling better. And, please, don’t call me Miss Hestia. We’ve known each other far too long for such formalities.” She tilted her head to her aunt. “If I may be so bold, by your leave, Aunt Louisa.”
Miss Olive sniffed. “Young people today are much too fast and forward, I say. Why, in our day, Louisa—”
“I agree heartily, but it’s no longer our day, Olive.” Aunt Louisa regarded her niece with unblinking, bespectacled eyes. “Of course what you call each other is between the two of you, as long as you keep it respectable.”
Booth thought he’d better change the topic. “So Miss Tillie left already?”
Aunt Louisa answered. “Yes, she left late this morning.”
The nurse Miss Louisa has now is certainly much prettier, he thought.
“Staying here with my aunt for a couple of weeks will give me an idea as to whether I might want to pursue a career in medicine,” Hestia spoke up.
“You mean to say as a midwife, of course.” Miss Olive nodded once as though the motion would close the discussion.
“Not necessarily. Perhaps a nurse—or even a doctor.”
“Mercy!” Gasping, Miss Olive seemed
offended by the notion. “Whyever would you want to become a doctor? Shouldn’t we women leave those difficult areas of life to the menfolk?”
“That concept seems to be up for debate.” Hestia turned to Booth. “What do you think?”
What did he think? How should he respond? Standing before two generations of women in the same room owning diametrically opposing viewpoints, they could find fault no matter what he said. But with them staring at him, he had to respond. “I—I don’t know any other woman who wants to be a doctor. So I guess I’d have to say I haven’t given it much thought.”
Miss Louisa swished her hand in Hestia’s direction. “See there? That’s exactly why Luther left you.”
Luther? So Hestia was recovering from a broken romance. A shattered heart had brought her to Maiden, at least in part. Clearly, the man who let her go was suffering from a bad case of foolishness.
Hestia’s cheeks blushed scarlet, and she looked anywhere but at him. “I am certainly not perfect, but Luther had some faults I don’t care to discuss, thank you.”
“Oh, so Luther is the fiancé your aunt told me about?” Miss Olive guessed.
Still blushing mightily and prettily, Hestia nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Mercy. If you were going on and on about being a career woman, then it’s not a wonder he broke it off with you.” Miss Olive’s expression told everyone in the room that she believed Hestia had gotten everything she deserved. Booth didn’t seek out a career woman for himself, but he didn’t agree that Hestia’s sentiments justified her unhappiness.
“Truth be told, I broke it off.”
Miss Olive didn’t seem to hear Hestia. “Now, everyone knows I worked for my father before he passed on, God rest his soul, but I never had any desire to marry. I suppose you can call me a maiden, the same as the spinster ladies who used to live by Maiden Creek.”
Booth held back a smile. Miss Olive had to reach far back to remember her youth.
Miss Louisa chuckled. “Olive is right, Hestia. It’s fine and good for you to help your father in his doctor’s office as a diversion before marriage, but a woman of your stature should be thinking about making a good match and leave the breadwinning to the man of the house. That’s what I say. Isn’t that what you say, Booth?”
Why did these women insist on grilling him? He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted by Miss Louisa’s willingness to talk about such matters with him, even asking his opinion. Clearly she had no thought that he would consider courting Hestia. Or perhaps more to the point, that Hestia would never consider him as a suitor. The women seemed to think she was much too career-minded to marry. What type of man could change Hestia’s mind?
He cleared his throat and shot his gaze to Hestia for a flicker of an instant, long enough to see her shift her slight weight from one hip to the other and take a sudden interest in a specific plank in the pine floor. Miss Olive studied him as though she planned to memorize every word of his response. What could he say that wouldn’t embarrass Hestia?
He swallowed. “I think that as long as a person seeks the Lord’s guidance every day and stays in His will, life will be all it’s meant to be.”
Miss Louisa sighed. “Such wise words. Reminds me of the kind of answer my dear departed Orvis would have given to such a question. If only he were still here among us.”
“Now, now,” Miss Olive consoled her friend, patting her shoulder. “He did his part, what with working such a good job at the mill. You’re one of the most well-fixed widows in town, if not the most well-fixed.”
“Yes, he was successful, but frugal living and saving your pennies does the trick every time.” Pride filled her voice.
“Yes, ma’am.” The sentiment reminded him of his father’s wise words about money.
“Oh, Booth, we’re keeping you from going home to your own dinner.” Miss Louisa looked at the clock as though she had suddenly remembered Booth’s presence and been tasked to remind him to go home. “I do have something I need you to do for me. Could you set a mousetrap in the cellar? Maybe Hestia can fetch a piece of cheese for you.”
“We have mice?” Hestia shuddered.
Miss Louisa waved her hand at Hestia. “Honest to goodness, girl, don’t tell me you’ve never had a mouse.”
“Well, yes, I suppose, but I can’t say I’m too fond of the little pests.”
“I’m not either. That’s why I plan to get rid of them.”
“You don’t need to ask Booth to set a trap. I can do that for you.” Hestia stood tall and confident, as though the thought didn’t bother her. He wondered if she was putting on a front for him, considering her stated aversion to mice. Did she even know how to set a trap?
“Let a girl set a mousetrap? Not under my watch.” Booth couldn’t imagine someone as genteel and fine as Hestia involving herself in the pursuit of rodents. “What are you trying to do, make me completely useless around here?” He didn’t want to admit even to himself that that thought seemed dismal. Checking on his neighbor hadn’t been an awful chore, but with Hestia’s arrival, the prospect of daily visits seemed more interesting.
“You could never be useless anywhere, my boy.” The way Miss Louisa smiled made her appear wise. “Now that I do have such wonderful help in Hestia, I don’t want to impose on your time.”
“I don’t mind stopping by as long as you’ll have me.” Booth glimpsed at Hestia. Was that a pleased look on her face? Or did hope make him imagine it?
He didn’t care. He wished he could find a better excuse to linger than setting a mousetrap, but at least he could look forward to seeing Hestia every day. He’d make sure he did.
Chapter Three
“Breakfast is ready, Aunt Louisa.” Hestia brought a tray to her aunt the following day.
The older woman sat up in bed. Though she wore a long-sleeved nightgown, she took the pink bed jacket embroidered with a pattern of lilies of the valley from the headboard and slipped it over herself. She buttoned it to the top. “Bacon?”
“Yes, with toast, eggs, and coffee.”
“I hope you didn’t burn the bacon.”
“No, ma’am.”
Aunt Louisa put on her spectacles, which were rimmed in golden wire, and regarded the wooden tray Hestia was holding. She peered at the two plates. “You’re eating with me?”
“Of course. Why would you want to eat alone?”
Aunt Louisa shrugged. “I don’t. It’s just that Tillie thought it was too hard for both of us to manage in here.”
Hestia could understand why. The room’s generous proportions disappeared, crowded as it was by Aunt Louisa’s many mementos, each a testimony to a long, well-lived life. Most of the surfaces held portraits of their family. Hestia knew each one—if not by personal acquaintance, then by stories told by older relatives.
“Well, I’ll eat on the vanity table, if that suits you.” The vanity offered one of the few fairly clear surfaces, enough on which to hold a plate and cup of coffee. Hestia set one plate and her cup on the vanity and set the tray beside her aunt in bed.
Aunt Louisa stared at Hestia’s plate on the vanity. “As long as you don’t ruin it. That vanity was my sixteenth-birthday present, I’ll have you know.”
Hestia already knew but kept her tone as sunny as the day outside. “I’ll do my best. Let’s share grace, shall we?”
Aunt Louisa nodded.
Hestia took her aged hands in hers. Veiny and covered with liver spots, they were nevertheless soft to touch. After she and Aunt Louisa had prayed, Hestia had a question. “I’ve been meaning to ask what you plan to do with the bucket of cucumbers in the corner of the kitchen.”
“Oh, those. Hugh Drum brought those. They were part of the late harvest from his garden.”
“That’s awfully nice of him. You two aren’t sweet on each other, are you?” Hestia couldn’t resist teasing as she took her seat at the vanity table.
A train whistled, and Aunt Louisa waited for it to pass before answering. “Oh, no. I’m pas
t being sweet on anybody. Us old people just look out for each other, that’s all.”
“I hope God lets me live long enough to understand.” Hestia wondered what life would be like living as an elder. Slower, for certain. She wanted to live in such a way that her memories would comfort her, much as Aunt Louisa treasured the memories of her life. Hestia’s musings returned to present tasks. “That’s a mighty heap of produce you’ve got out there.”
“Yes, and Tillie didn’t have time to pickle them before she left. She did get a few tomatoes and string beans canned.”
“That’s wonderful of her, but what about her family?” Hestia consumed a bite of egg.
“Oh, her daughters took care of her.”
Hestia could only imagine having to preserve the substantial crops from two family gardens along with neighbors’ bounty, but it couldn’t be helped.
Aunt Louisa lifted a forkful of egg. “So, are you planning on making pickles for me? We sure can’t eat all those fresh cucumbers by ourselves before they go bad.”
Pickling cucumbers took effort, but in good conscience they couldn’t waste food. “Of course I’ll pickle them for you.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say. You’ll find my recipe box on the counter. It’s not so very hard. It’s the same one your mother uses.”
“Oh, the sweet pickle recipe?”
“That’s the one. You need to make a batch to get in practice for your own home someday, you know.”
Hestia wondered if during her entire visit her aunt would keep reminding her that she should be seeking a suitor. She nodded out of respect.
“And you need to pick the October beans in the garden. I’m sure they’re ready. I was going to have Booth pick them for me and take some to his mother, but I think you’re quite capable. We can still send some to them.”
“Of course.” Hestia spread grape jelly on her toast, being careful not to spill crumbs.
“Oh, and there’s some fall cabbage on the back stoop.”
Love Finds You in Maiden, North Carolina Page 2