“Thank you.” Hestia didn’t take the egg but introduced Selene.
“My, but you are a pretty one, even with that white hair of yours.” Miss Olive regarded her with the scrutiny of a doctor. “Mercy, you do look as though someone scared you out of your wits and your hair turned color.”
Hestia used all her willpower to keep from laughing.
Meanwhile, Selene didn’t bother to hold back a grimace even though she kept her tone sweet. “No, ma’am. As I was just saying to my dear cousin, this is the style where I come from, at least with girls in the fashionable set.”
“New York, is it?” Miss Olive’s tone didn’t hide her derision.
“Yes, ma’am.” Pride filled her voice.
“I hope your aunt informed you that such dramatic hair is not the fashion with women here. I can’t name a one who dyes her hair. Although I can tell you which women take a bit of colored wax to their grays.” A mischievous smile revealed that she would be only too happy to tell.
“Oh, Olive!” Aunt Louisa called from her sickroom. “Is that you I hear out there in the kitchen?”
“Yes, it is!”
The threesome went to see her and found her looking droopy as she lay back on her pillow.
“Mercy, you look a sight,” Miss Olive observed. “Did I wake you?”
“Yes, you did, but I have a feeling it’s for the best. Did I hear you say something about some of our local ladies covering their grays?”
For the first time, Miss Olive seemed chagrined. “Oh, I might have made a little mention of it in relation to Selene’s hair. You don’t approve of her hair, do you?”
“No, but she understands she’ll be growing it back to its natural color while she’s here. Not that Selene’s hair is any of your concern. Or anyone’s grays, for that matter.” She sent Miss Olive a chastening look. “I can’t have you encouraging the girls to gossip.”
“Gossip? Why, I never! Everything I say is true.” She sniffed.
“True or not, the girls have no business knowing who covers what. Maybe you’re just a little bit jealous that you don’t have the nerve to cover yours.”
“Well!” She harrumphed
“Honestly, Olive, some days I wish I had the courage to use a bit of black wax on my hair.”
“Louisa! I’m shocked! And to say such a scandalous thing in front of the girls, too.” Miss Olive looked at them sideways. “Speaking of girls, clearly you have gained a visitor since I last stopped by.”
Aunt Louisa looked down her nose at her neighbor. “Need a cup of sugar?”
“No, I returned an egg. I put it in the icebox for you, after Hestia didn’t take it for one reason or another. So do tell, Selene, what brings you to our humble town?”
“She’s here for a visit,” Aunt Louisa snapped. “Can’t I have visitors without everyone going into an uproar?”
“Will you be with us long, my dear?” Miss Olive cocked her head at Selene.
Aunt Louisa didn’t let her respond. “She’ll be here indefinitely. She’s overtired from the stresses of city life and must have her rest. I do hope you won’t spread news of Selene’s arrival all over town. She is suffering from exhaustion and must not be overly excited. Will you promise me that?”
Miss Olive’s shoulders pulled back almost indiscernibly in surprise. “Of course I will, my dear Louisa. I would never dare break a confidence. Such a shame the poor little thing doesn’t have anyone to turn to in New York.” Her gaze scoped Selene’s luxurious style of dress. Hestia could see the neighbor thought no such thing.
“Don’t you remember? Selene is the child of my brother who lives in New York. Very successful, you know.” Aunt Louisa’s tone took on a boastful tone.
Hestia found such a statement surprising from her usually modest aunt but declined to chime in with an opinion.
“Oh, yes.”
“Selene is the apple of his eye, so of course she has all the material goods any girl could want,” Aunt Louisa explained. “But you might also recall I told you he’s a widower.”
“Oh, yes. Very sad.” Miss Olive tsked. “Young girls do need their mothers.”
“So you see, she’ll be with us awhile.” Aunt Louisa’s gaze traveled from Selene to Hestia and back to Miss Olive.
The neighbor looked at Hestia. “And Selene will help you care for your aunt?”
Aunt Louisa flitted her hand at Miss Olive. “Oh, I imagine Hestia will help us in any way she can. All the more practice if she wants to go into the medical field.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Miss Olive eyed Selene before turning to Hestia. “I daresay you’ll have plenty of practice in caretaking with these two.”
Chapter Five
Early Saturday morning, as he did once a month, Hugh Drum delivered firewood to his customers on Booth’s street. The panel truck rumbled to a halt at their house at nine o’clock sharp. With care, Mr. Drum drove his truck over the grass in between the Barringtons’ and Miss Louisa’s so the wood could be left beside their respective back sheds. Booth wondered how the jalopy could hold so much wood. How Mr. Drum kept from blowing a tire, Booth didn’t know.
As soon as Mr. Drum arrived, Booth and his father would help unload their order then assist with Miss Louisa’s order, as well. Booth was expected to chop the wood for their family. The chore had been his since his thirteenth birthday. Then, after Miss Louisa’s husband passed, Booth chopped her wood, too. Depending on his mood and the weather, Booth either anticipated or dreaded the occasion. Steamy summer days were no time to chop wood, but the stove had to be heated no matter what the weather. In the fall, Booth didn’t mind chopping logs. Exercise in the brisk air made him feel alive. Physical movement gave him a challenge that no amount of office work could provide.
“Need some help, son?” Daddy asked today after Mr. Drum had been paid and was on his way.
“No, thanks. I’ll get started on ours then chop enough for Miss Louisa to make it through this week.”
His father’s smile of gratitude was Booth’s reward. Daddy hadn’t been the same since arthritis struck him, and he avoided hard physical tasks as much as he could.
Booth had swung only a few strokes of the ax before he heard Eric approach. “What’s the story, sport? Seems as though I came at just the wrong time. I’ve got my own wood to chop at home.”
Booth suspended his task for a moment. “Then what are you doing out wandering the streets, old man?”
“Just getting stuff at the store.” Eric withdrew a small sack from his coat pocket as though he needed to prove where he’d been. “I almost kept walking by. You didn’t answer after I called you three times. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention.” Booth couldn’t deny it. He’d been thinking about Hestia all week, barely managing to get a passable amount of work in his office completed. He couldn’t remember when any woman affected him as Hestia had. She embodied everything he wanted in a wife, but she couldn’t be his. Once the doctor released Miss Louisa from her invalid status, Hestia would depart and Booth might not see her again. If only she would give him some indication that she’d like to stay longer in Maiden. Then they’d have more time to get to know each other better. Strong as his feelings were, he didn’t think it wise to beg her to stay in town based on such a short courtship, childhood friendship notwithstanding.
For the first time in his life, Booth wished he were married. Gazing at the bungalow he had always called home, he saw his mother standing by the kitchen window, cleaning up after breakfast. She prepared delicious meals and the place would always hold a place in his heart, but with Hestia’s arrival, he found he longed for a home of his own.
“I’ve never seen you as preoccupied as you’ve been lately.”
“You’ve noticed at work?”
“Not so much that anybody’s saying your work is suffering, but I can tell you’re not yourself.” He grinned. “It can only be one thing. You’re stuck on a girl
. You know, I’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself since that girl came to stay with Miss Louisa.”
Booth glanced at the Victorian next door. Should he tell Eric? He wanted to keep his secret to himself, but Eric’s knowing look told him concealment wasn’t possible. No one stood outside at Miss Louisa’s, so he figured he was out of earshot. “You’re right. It’s Hestia Myatt.”
“The Pears’ Soap girl. That’s what I thought. She does sound keen.”
Embarrassed, Booth didn’t realize he’d been babbling so much about her. He must have been more besotted than he knew. “She’s going back to Haw River before too long. How I feel one way or the other doesn’t matter.”
“You’ve got it bad, sport. You’d better find a way to keep her here.”
Booth had to agree. But how?
Though the end of her stay in Maiden was near, a letter arrived for Hestia. She opened the envelope and saw June’s signature. Eager for news from her friend, Hestia read:
Dear Hestia:
I hope this letter finds you well and that you are enjoying your stay in Maiden. I can’t wait for you to come home. We all miss you so much. Of course, you must put your aunt first and stay as long as need be....
As Hestia read news about their mutual friends, how much money they raised for the needy at the church dinner, and how the quilt she helped to sew brought in a record-winning bid, she missed her home. She kept reading:
The following portion of this letter is very hard for me to write. I wish I didn’t have to convey this news, but I’m your pal and I don’t think any other women in Haw River enjoy a friendship as close as ours. Please forgive me for the need to write such distressing news, but I must. If you’re not sitting down, sit down now.
Are you ready? Luther is courting a new girl in town—Lizzie Newton. Can you believe he started seeing her so soon? Why, the smoke from your departing train had hardly cleared before he started chasing her. Gertie and I spotted him and that floozy, wearing enough face paint to cover the side of a barn, on the streetcar during our last trip to Graham. Scandalous!
I’m so very sorry. I wish I could strangle him for you. Don’t be envious of Lizzie. I don’t find her the least bit impressive, and neither does Gertie. I can’t say I’m surprised by Luther’s poor judgment. His treatment of you displayed a lack of character. You deserve better.
Hestia stopped reading. Though thankful to God for giving her such an understanding friend, she still couldn’t read the rest of the letter. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized she’d harbored just the tiniest bit of hope that Luther would beg her to take him back. But he had been too close with other women during their engagement, and even if he had asked, she knew for her own good she couldn’t return to him. He had broken their sacred trust. If they were to marry, she would never be sure he was happy with her and not always looking out the corner of one eye for someone he thought would be better. She wondered if such distrust would be Lizzie Newton’s fate.
She thought back to Nat’s birthday party, where she and Lizzie had met. How could she not remember the brunette with bobbed hair? She appeared just as her friend described. Why should Hestia be surprised that Luther would be attracted to a flapper? Part of his dissatisfaction with Hestia stemmed from her refusal to change her traditional look. He’d told her so himself.
She couldn’t help but visualize Selene. Why did the flappers always win?
In spite of her best efforts, Hestia couldn’t stop her tears.
The next morning before church, sliced grapefruit peels in hand, Hestia ventured outside to place them around the azaleas even though they wouldn’t bloom again until spring. Aunt Louisa swore by such feeding, saying that adding acid to the ground near their roots nourished the bushes. Hestia had to admit that her aunt could always brag on beautiful pink azaleas with bountiful blooms every spring. Lacking enough peels for every plant in the yard, Hestia decided to treat the flowers in the rear of the house. She ventured to the back stoop. To her shock, she found Selene sitting in a wrought-iron chair, smoking a cigarette.
Hestia gasped. “Selene! What do you think you’re doing?”
The girl jumped and clutched her chest then relaxed when she saw Hestia. “Oh, good, it’s you, dear cousin. For a moment I thought you might be Aunt Louisa. I keep forgetting the old bat’s bedridden.” As if to calm her vexation, Selene took a drag from her cigarette and blew smoke high into the air.
Seeing a female smoke, especially someone who held such an esteemed position in her family, unnerved Hestia. “I hate to sound more like your mother than your cousin, but you really need to give Aunt Louisa more respect. After all, you are a guest in her home, and she asked you not to use tobacco.”
“Shh! Not so loud,” Selene whispered. “Do you want Aunt Lou to get wise?”
“I don’t mean to be spiteful, but for your sake, I hope she does. Common sense should tell you that inhaling so much smoke can’t be healthy for you.”
“That’s debatable, cousin dear.” Selene shrugged.
“Do you think you can hide this habit from her? Since we don’t smoke, we can smell tobacco a mile away. When you go back inside, you’ll carry it with you on your clothes and stink up the whole house. She’ll be wise whether she hears us or not.”
“You’ve got a point.” She stubbed the cigarette butt on the arm of the chair and then wiped off the black mark it left. Then, seeming to regret her quick action, she crossed her arms and looked at Hestia. Her wide eyes and pouty lips set themselves in an affectation that Hestia imagined as one that worked well on Selene’s father and beaux. “Can’t you defend me? Please? Smoking gives me something to look forward to during the day.”
“Take up knitting, then.”
“Knitting! You are a Mrs. Grundy. Almost worse than Aunt Lou.”
“Let me remind you—I don’t think Aunt Louisa likes being called Lou. And if I’m worse than she is, that’s a compliment. You’ve got to give up smoking. I’ll find something for you to do. Something worthwhile.” She realized she still held the grapefruit rinds. “Here. You can start by feeding the azaleas.”
Booth arrived later that morning to escort Hestia to church. He’d always enjoyed church, but with Hestia, attendance had become the highlight of his week. He straightened his tie and bounded onto the veranda then knocked on the door.
“Come in, Booth,” Hestia called from inside the house. “I’m running late.”
He hoped she wouldn’t delay too long, but since it was the last Sunday he’d take her to church, he didn’t want to complain.
“In here, in the sickroom,” she called.
Booth followed the scent of menthol to the sickroom. “Good morning, Miss Louisa. Hi, Hestia.” As always, Hestia looked beyond lovely. He wasn’t sure if her Sunday frock was especially flattering or if the prospect of worship made her radiant, but whatever it was, it was good for her. And for him. He relished sharing a pew with such an angelic being.
Hestia’s smile lit his world. “Good morning, Booth. A fine Sunday, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and Mother was hoping you might stop by for dinner after church. If you do, it promises to be an even better afternoon.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, I wish I could. I remember your mother’s fried chicken to be out of this world and the company of your family even better. But I promised Aunt Louisa I would eat lunch with Selene and her.”
“It’s true.” Aunt Louisa nodded from her perch in the bed.
“That’s right.” Booth wished he didn’t have to recall. “I do seem to remember you saying something about her visiting. Swell timing, huh, so you two can see each other a few days before you have to—to leave.”
“Yes.” Did he catch a wistful look on Hestia’s face? “It’s Selene’s first Sunday with us, you know, and my last here in Maiden. I’m sure you’ll meet again soon. She was tired from her trip and napping when you stopped by on Friday afternoon.”
“That’s right, but I’m not asleep now.” The sound of a
cheerful voice floated toward them, accompanied by a strong floral scent of some sort of exotic perfume he’d never smelled. A platinum blond vision slipped beside Hestia, easing Hestia to the side so Selene could stand out in her radiant glory. “Booth? Is this Booth Barrington? It can’t possibly be!”
“Uh, yes.” Why did he suddenly feel shy?
Booth couldn’t help but take in Selene’s appearance. It was obvious even to his untrained eye that she had applied hair dye, but it lent her an air of sophistication. She wore lots of face paint—too much to pass muster at church, but she looked beautiful with it. Yet seeing her was somehow a disappointment. She appeared much too world-weary for such a young member of the fairer sex, in comparison to the fresh-faced women of his acquaintance.
Since the two females stood side by side, he couldn’t help but compare Selene to Hestia. Hestia’s beauty looked classic. She didn’t need face paint to appear lovely. Soft, white skin spoke for itself. He was glad she hadn’t chopped off all her dark blond hair. Splendid waves were too lovely to sacrifice to fashion. He wondered what Selene would have looked like had she kept Hestia’s style. Somehow, he imagined that if she had, Selene’s group in New York wouldn’t have liked her.
Hestia gave her cousin a stare, showing her unhappiness at Selene’s appearance. “Why aren’t you in bed? I thought you were feeling poorly.”
“Oh, we don’t need to discuss my little stomach ailments. Not when we have company. But I will say the food on the train was not up to my standards. I’m still feeling the effects.”
Booth thought her statement to be a bit haughty, but he decided not to comment.
Selene looked him up and down in a fashion much bolder than most women dared. “I still don’t believe it. You can’t possibly be Booth. He’s a pudgy little boy with frogs in his pocket.”
He cringed at the reference to the boy who no longer existed. “Not anymore.”
“I can see that, Handsome. You put Ivor Novello to shame.”
Love Finds You in Maiden, North Carolina Page 6