Then again, there was Selene. If he hadn’t known it was her, he wouldn’t have recognized her from the morning. Without her face paint, she looked like a different person. More wholesome, for certain. She was a beauty even without paint, just as Miss Louisa had promised. She had filled out since he last saw her, though she couldn’t be called chunky. Since Miss Louisa had cautioned her to tone down her looks, no doubt Selene would soon fit in with the other respectable women in Maiden. But why wouldn’t Miss Louisa let Selene leave the house? Was that her way of encouraging Booth toward Hestia? Not that he needed encouragement. Still, if he couldn’t even escort Selene to church, she’d never make friends in Maiden. Or maybe Miss Louisa didn’t want Selene to make friends. But why? She hadn’t indicated how long Selene planned to stay, but wouldn’t they have said something if Selene also planned to leave soon?
Something smelled rotten in Denmark.
Selene was definitely interested in Booth. Why else would she bake him a pie? He couldn’t help but be flattered. No woman who looked remotely as sophisticated as Selene had ever given him a second look. Not that he’d met many worldly women. No female of his acquaintance in Maiden used hair color—at least not color he could detect. Face paint hadn’t caught on in popularity with his group of friends, although a few of the more adventurous girls of his casual acquaintance could be seen sporting a bit of red rouge and lip color now and again. A couple of young women who aspired to be on the edge of fashion wore shorter hair, but nothing as radical as Selene’s. Even without paint, Selene looked different from the women he knew well. Her style of dress and her carriage set her apart from others. He could imagine trying to go to church with her. Though no one would be rude or unkind, they would all be surprised if Booth accompanied a woman with her appearance. Surely Selene went to church, even up in New York. Did her friends worship while looking so worldly? He concluded that they must.
He was just about to cross onto his walk when he heard a hoot coming from a few doors down the street.
“Booth!” Artie called to him.
Thinking he had enough time for a quick chat, Booth responded by waving and walking toward his neighbor. A couple of years older than Booth, Artie had moved to Maiden from Raleigh three years ago after inheriting his grandmother’s home. When Artie had first moved to Maiden, Booth hadn’t known him. He vaguely remembered a handsome youth visiting from the state capital once in a while, but Artie had found little time to bother with someone younger. He’d sought out a few of the older teens in town and they’d set off on their own adventures. Even now Booth didn’t know him well enough to call him more than a pleasant enough work acquaintance. Otherwise, Artie kept his modest brick house well-tended and proved himself a good and helpful neighbor. Once or twice Booth wondered why Artie hadn’t started courting anyone. Usually a new bachelor settling in town attracted lots of attention. Booth soon came to understand that rumors of Artie’s wild past had followed him to Maiden, and many respectable families didn’t want him to court their eligible daughters. As far as Booth could see, Artie had repented of any checkered past. Then again, Booth didn’t have reason to dig deep since he had no daughter or sister to protect.
“Everything okay, Artie?” Booth asked as soon as he could address his neighbor without shouting.
He shook his head and Booth noticed the blond sun streaks in his straight brown hair caught the sunlight. “Yes. And no.”
“How’s that?”
“The jalopy’s not doing so well. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she won’t start.” With a grimace, Artie looked in the direction of his house. Booth could see the motorcar parked in the drive, looking as dejected as possible for a machine. “Good thing my church is in walking distance, or I would have missed services this morning.”
“Good thing.” Booth made a guess as to why Artie had sought him. “I’d be glad to take a look and see if I can figure out what might be the problem, but I have to tell you, I’m not mechanically inclined. Now, my dad is much better with engines than I am. We can both come over after lunch and have a look-see.”
“Thanks, but that’s not what I need. I think I know what the problem is, and I’ll try to fix it myself, but with me working at the mill and it getting dark so much earlier, I won’t have much sunlight, and it will take me longer than usual. I really hate to ask this, but I was wondering if I could catch a ride with you to and from work every day until I get my jalopy repaired.”
“Oh, is that all?” Booth hoped relief wasn’t too evident in his voice. “Sure, I’ll be glad for you to ride with me. Just come on up to the house tomorrow morning and I’ll get you there.”
The next day Selene fluttered about the kitchen, opening drawers. Where did her aunt hide the measuring spoons? She groaned. What had she been thinking when she told Booth she’d bake a pie?
Bringing in Aunt Louisa’s lunch tray, Hestia furrowed her brow. “What’s going on in here?”
“I’m trying to bake a pie, of course. I promised Booth.” She sighed. “It says to soften the lard in winter but not in summer. But it’s autumn. What do you think?” She handed a coffee cup full of lard, the amount for which the recipe called, to Hestia. “Is that soft enough?”
Hestia held the cup and looked at the lard. “How should I know?”
“Because you come from the country and you know how to cook, that’s why, cousin dear.”
Hestia glared at Selene.
Selene looked for an out. “I mean, you don’t have a cook at your house, do you?”
“My parents do employ a cook, as a matter of fact. And a laundress and a housekeeper.”
“Oh. So you can’t help me, then.” Selene knew disappointment colored her voice, and she hoped her raw emotion would soften Hestia’s heart.
“Why should I help you? You got in this mess yourself, promising to bake a pie to impress Booth. You’ve never baked a pie, have you?”
Ashamed, she shook her head. “I didn’t think it would be hard at all. Our cook makes it look so easy. She just cuts up the apples, rolls out the dough, throws in a few spices, and she’s done.” Selene tilted her head toward a basket of red apples. “I can cut apples and throw in spices, but I’m not sure about the crust. This is the third time I’ve tried to make it work. I just can’t seem to roll out the crust and make it presentable.”
Hestia glanced at a lowering sun outside the window. “And you don’t have time to recover, either. The pie will need at least an hour to bake. You’d be lucky to have it ready in time for dessert after dinner, much less this afternoon.”
“What will I do?” Selene wailed.
Hestia shrugged. “Just serve him a slice tomorrow afternoon instead.”
“But I said it would be done today.”
“I wish I could be more sympathetic, but you should have thought of that before you made such a big promise.”
“Aunt Louisa would help me with it if she didn’t still have to be in bed.”
“Yes, she probably would, and with her help you would already have a delicious pie ready to serve. But you don’t, and I can’t do much without enough time. I’m sorry. You’ll have to confess to Booth.”
“I didn’t know you’d be so mad about my little efforts in the kitchen. You must have it bad for Booth, O cousin of mine.”
“I never said that.” Hestia sniffed with indignation, an emotion Selene thought she must be feigning.
“You’re leaving soon. Would you deprive me of company once you’re gone?”
Hestia pursed her lips. “I don’t suppose I have the right.”
Selene tried to use the glint of guilt in Hestia’s eyes to her advantage. She snapped her fingers. “I have an idea. Can you run out and buy me an apple pie? I’ll give you the money.”
Hestia gasped. “I wouldn’t consider such a dishonest trick. Absolutely not!”
“Don’t you know, my dear cousin, that desperate times call for desperate measures?”
“I do believe that expression applies t
o a truly desperate situation, not baking an apple pie. No. I won’t consider it. And even if I were so inclined, I don’t know where to find a bakery short of Hickory.”
“Some friend you are.”
“I’m a better friend to you than whatever friends you have in New York, apparently, because I won’t let you be a deceiver. I can promise you, Booth would not look kindly on such a thing if he found out the truth.”
Selene sighed. “You’re right.”
“Good. I promise you, Booth will easily overlook the fact the pie isn’t ready yet, and he’ll be back tomorrow for a slice.”
“Well, will you help me bake it now?”
Hestia shook her head. “No. I don’t mean to be harsh, but it’s for your own good. You’re on your own.”
Selene was just about to tell her how mean she was when they heard a knock on the door.
“That’s him now.” Hestia sent her a sweet smile. “I’ll greet him.”
Selene wished she could strangle her cousin even though Hestia spoke the truth; she had gotten herself into this mess when she tried to take on a project she couldn’t handle. She wondered how her cook in New York made everything look so easy.
Smoothing her hair, she realized she felt tired. It was just as well Hestia wouldn’t help her bake a pie. Energy eluded her. She took in a deep breath to gird herself. Despite being without a pie, she could at least greet Booth and keep Hestia from monopolizing him.
She put a smile on her face and entered the modest parlor as though she were making an entrance at the year’s biggest gala. Then she stopped short. There was someone else present. A man she didn’t know. He wasn’t the dapper type she knew back home. Dark brown hair streaked blond looked stylish but not overly fashionable, and he appeared to be dressed for a good job at the cotton mill where Booth worked. He looked at her, and their gazes locked. Green eyes conveyed kindness. Eyes such as those never went out of style. And while he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd in New York, he possessed a presence she hadn’t seen—an air not of sophistication, but of assurance that didn’t seem to be connected to the world. She wanted to learn more.
The threesome stopped talking.
She stumbled. “I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The stranger spoke for the first time. “You didn’t interrupt.”
Hestia made introductions, and Selene discovered that the new man was Artie Rowland. As conversation ensued, she learned more about him. She had guessed correctly that Artie worked with Booth. She wasn’t sure about the pecking order at the mill, but judging from their conservative and tidy manner of dress and their easy camaraderie, they seemed to have similar jobs in the office. She wondered what type of car he drove. Probably a Model T.
“I hope you don’t care that I brought Artie with me, Selene.” Booth looked over at his friend, who nodded. “I thought he’d also enjoy some pie.”
“Oh.” Selene set a quick gaze on Hestia, who gave her a cautious look. Selene wished Hestia had broken the news to Booth and Artie. Clearly, she wasn’t planning to help her out of this one. “I’m sorry. It’s not ready yet. I’m such a dumb Dora, I couldn’t figure out how to make it, and Hestia here wouldn’t help me.” Hestia sent Selene a glare, which she ignored. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Oh.” A look of disappointment registered on Booth’s face, but he recovered with aplomb. “Looks as though we’ll have to stop by tomorrow, too, Artie.” He grinned at his friend.
“That’s fine by me.” Artie smiled at Selene, and for her, the rest of the group disappeared.
Chapter Seven
“Louisa!” Miss Olive’s shrill voice whipped through the air later that evening.
Hestia paused in the middle of wiping the table. She was in no mood to see Miss Olive, but the older woman deserved the consideration and respect due a longtime neighbor.
“In here, Miss Olive,” Hestia called as cheerfully as she could.
The older woman entered, carrying a circular reed basket with a lid. “I baked you a cake.” She lifted the lid and tilted her chin forward to prompt Hestia to look.
Hestia observed a dessert that would have done a bakery window proud. “Oh, my, that looks wonderful! Let’s show Aunt Louisa.”
Miss Olive shut the lid and followed Hestia into the bedroom.
Aunt Louisa set down the novel she was reading. “Did I hear someone say ‘cake’?”
Miss Olive beamed. “Indeed you did.” She took off the cover and showed Aunt Louisa the prize—a lovely three-layer cake with coconut orange icing. “Robert E. Lee cake.”
Aunt Louisa feasted on the cake with her eyes and inhaled its sweet aroma. “Mmm. One of my favorites. Thank you.”
“I was in the mood to bake, and I hope the cake can be part of the celebration of your release from your bedridden state.” Miss Olive took the cake out of the basket and set it on the vanity table.
“That would be fine indeed. I do hope the doctor gives me release tomorrow.”
Hestia tried not to swallow. She wanted her aunt to get well and stay well, but Aunt Louisa’s release meant she’d have to return home. Judging from the letter she’d received, she didn’t have much reason to return.
“I do hope no one is overtaxing you.” Miss Olive focused on the liniment sitting on Aunt Louisa’s night table. “You know, when I was tending to my yard this afternoon, I couldn’t help but notice lots of commotion. Mercy! Lots of coming and going. You have more company, Louisa? I’m not sure allowing so many people to stay is a wise decision, considering your state.”
“No, there’s no one else. But I do appreciate the cake. Hestia, will you take it out to the kitchen? Put it in the metal cake box. You’ll find it in the bottom drawer on the left-hand side of the sink.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hestia made haste to obey. When she returned to the sickroom moments later, the women were still talking.
Miss Olive spoke. “I have news. I saw Dr. Lattimore yesterday.”
“Dear, is everything all right?” Aunt Louisa’s pained expression showed genuine concern.
“Yes, for me, considering I’m no spring chicken. I wanted to consult with him about the possibility of my going to Hot Springs for my rheumatism. Remember how Ethel went and said it helped her?”
“Yes, but I believe relief is temporary at best. You might enjoy the trip, though.”
“Maybe when you feel better, you can join me.” Miss Olive peered out the window.
“I won’t be going anywhere for quite some time. Not until after spring.” Aunt Louisa patted the quilt that covered her legs.
Miss Olive sniffed. “Suit yourself. But I do see a remarkable improvement in your condition as of late, so I’d think we could get away before then.”
“I wouldn’t plan on it.”
“Are you sure you don’t have more company?” Miss Olive looked around the room.
“No one else but my two nieces. Artie came over this afternoon,” Aunt Louisa answered. “Booth is taking him back and forth to work until he fixes his car.”
“Does Artie have eyes for you, Hestia?” Miss Olive’s inquisitive look made Hestia squirm even though she had nothing to hide.
Still, she considered the inquiry. Artie seemed to be a fine man, but he didn’t elicit sparks for Hestia, and, judging from his polite coolness, she had no romantic effect on him.
Not so with Booth. Just being near him in any way brought her happiness, more happiness than she had known with her former fiancé even at the height of their courtship. But she couldn’t let on about her feelings. In the meantime, she didn’t want to debate with the neighbor, especially since, indeed, she could do worse than Artie. “No, ma’am.”
“She has no time for romantic inclinations for Artie or anyone else,” Aunt Louisa reminded her friend. “She’ll be returning to Haw River soon—I’d say in a week at most.”
“Did someone mention Artie?” To Hestia’s surprise, Selene emerged.
“I thought you were taking a nap.
You need your rest, you know.” Reprimand touched Aunt Louisa’s voice.
“I was, but I’m feeling better now, so I got up. I think I might be up to making that pie now, if someone will help me.” She eyed Hestia.
“Pie!” Miss Olive waved both hands. “Mercy! Why do you need a pie? I just brought you a beautiful cake.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure it is beautiful, but I still need to bake a pie.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another. “I promised Artie.”
“Oh, so it’s Artie now. You certainly set your sights from one man to another quickly.” Aunt Louisa’s voice sounded a warning.
“And Artie Rowland at that!” Shock colored Miss Olive’s voice. “Louisa, I wouldn’t let either of your nieces near him.”
“Why not?” Selene’s disappointment registered in her voice.
Miss Olive sniffed. “Because he has a questionable past.”
“Is that so? But he seems so nice.” Selene crossed her arms.
“He may seem nice now, but I knew his grandmother. Callie Rowland.” Miss Olive leaned toward them. “That woman cried herself to sleep more than one night over her wayward grandson, I’ll tell you. I still can’t believe she left her house to him.”
“Now, now, Olive,” Aunt Louisa chastised her friend, “must we gossip?”
“The girls have to understand why certain men are off limits. Or at least, they should be.”
“But he doesn’t live a fast life now, does he?” Hestia hoped not.
“No, I see no evidence of it,” Aunt Louisa admitted. “He goes to church, and I know from Penny Sidwell and Ellie Quicke that he is well-regarded there.”
Miss Olive harrumphed. “I’d be mighty afraid he’d slip back into his old ways. Drinking and gambling, you know.”
“You seem awfully judgmental, Miss Olive,” Selene blurted.
“Well!” Miss Olive objected.
“Selene!” Aunt Louisa gasped. “Apologize this instant.”
“I’m sorry, Auntie dear.” Selene pouted.
Aunt Louisa wasn’t finished. “Selene, I think it’s high time you started to take it easy. It won’t be long before your condition will be apparent for all to see, and this is no time to encourage Artie or anyone else. You’ll be leaving in a few months, and nothing can come of any love affair.”
Love Finds You in Maiden, North Carolina Page 8