“You never had reason to envy her.” Hestia was glad he didn’t insist that she answer, as he launched into another topic. “Since you’ll be staying for another week, you can go with our friends from church tomorrow night.”
Hestia tried to remember the announcements that had been made in church before formal worship started. When social issues arose, she only half listened since she never thought she’d be there long enough to be included. “Oh. The hayride at the Carpenter farm.”
“Yes. And if you want to leave early enough to go to the pumpkin patch and choose a few pumpkins, we can take a picnic supper. I can raid the icebox and find something for us, I imagine. Would you like that?”
“I think Aunt Louisa will allow it. And if we go early enough for a supper, I’ll prepare the food. No need to disfurnish your mother.” She couldn’t resist making an observation. “Do you like pumpkins, or are you just hoping for pumpkin pie?”
“A little of both.” He grinned and fiddled with the change in his trousers pocket as he asked the next question. “So will you let me come along about five to pick you up for the hayride? That should give us time for pumpkin picking.”
“Sure. We could choose several. I have a great recipe for pumpkin soup that makes quite a nice lunch on a fall morning.” Hestia sighed. “I wish Selene could go. She and Artie make a nice couple.”
“Aren’t you rushing to make a match?”
“Maybe, but you have to admit they’re cute together.”
“Yeah. But I think Selene can forget about getting out of the house anytime soon.”
“I know. I wish she’d been more protected before. Uncle Ralph shouldn’t have trusted her beau. I think he would have put a stop to the relationship if he’d been home more. But truth be told, she could have been stronger in her resistance to Ned. I, for one, wouldn’t allow a beau of mine to take advantage of me like that.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
Hestia leaned toward him and lowered the volume of her voice. “Do you really think Artie likes Selene?”
“Didn’t you see the way he hung on her every word—and how he couldn’t keep his eyes off her? Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s got a crush on her.”
“Even with her being in the condition she’s in? That can’t be easy.”
“I’ve talked to him, and I think he’s more worried about her spiritual condition than her physical condition. I can’t help but wonder—is she a Christian?”
“Of course.” Hestia hoped her quick answer didn’t seem as if she protested too much. “I mean, I know they’re members of a church in New York. Not sure which one.”
“Pretty much everybody is a member of a church. You can be on the roll for fifty years and still not be going to heaven.”
“True. I know she believes in God, though I have to say, her actions of late don’t reflect well. But I’m not her judge.”
“No, and neither am I. But if anyone can convince her to change her ways, Artie can.” Booth’s expression softened and he looked into her eyes. Those blue eyes that Hestia had grown to care for concentrated on her face, making her feel…loved. Shyness overtook her. Why did she think such thoughts? His next question brought her out of her daydream. “So since Selene’s here, you’ll be helping with her?”
“As long as I’m in town, yes.” She was glad he cared enough to ask, but she didn’t want to be forward enough to admit it.
“When is the baby supposed to arrive?”
“We think it’s supposed to be in the spring. Late March or early April. Then one of Aunt Louisa’s distant relatives is supposed to take the baby.” Hestia prayed they would treat the baby well.
“Oh. That must be sad for Selene. But at least maybe she’ll get to see the baby sometimes.”
“Maybe. But they’re in Georgia, and I doubt they’ll encourage visits.”
“Selene’s time here will be difficult for her with just your aunt. I know Miss Louisa is strict.”
Hestia remembered Selene’s having to break her habits of smoking cigarettes and wearing face paint. “Much more strict than the adults she knows in New York. Maybe being with Aunt Louisa for a spell will do her some good. She may be able to slow her down and ground her in solid values.”
Meanwhile, Selene tried not to shake as she and Artie went into the kitchen. Why did she feel this way? Surely it wasn’t Artie.
Happy to have a distracting task beckon, she piled dirty dishes into the sink and allowed water to loosen the few remaining crumbs. By this time she knew where Aunt Louisa kept the dish towels. She withdrew a white cotton one embroidered with hummingbirds and handed it to Artie. “Sure you don’t mind doing women’s work?”
“I wash and dry my own dishes at home. Why not here?”
She poured Purex soap flakes into the water. “I can’t imagine my father saying that. My, but you are an unusual man.” She laughed. It felt good.
His lopsided grin made her feel good, too. “I can’t say I love doing the dishes, but I’ll bet Hestia and Booth appreciate the time to talk.”
“I think they do. I’m amazed that Hestia can breeze into town and find an eligible bachelor right away.” She hadn’t meant to blurt such a jealous comment.
Artie took a dish from her. “Hestia does have her charms, but so does my present company, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Maybe it’s the glow of motherhood.” She’d never been so glad to be occupied with dishes, not wanting to look at him as she reminded him of her shame.
“Maybe. But I have a feeling you have always been lovely.”
“Tell it to Sweeney.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry. I mean, you don’t need to flatter me.”
“I am not being kind,” Artie protested. “I’m being truthful. I have a feeling you could use a friend and a little conversation once in a while. Am I right?”
The conversation she had with Artie hardly qualified as the type of quick-witted banter she was accustomed to with her New York friends, but conversation with a man offered a refreshing perspective she hadn’t experienced in recent memory. For the first time, she realized she’d never been friends with a man, any man. The men she knew either paired off with her friends and were so off-limits she barely greeted them, or they were interested in her as a girlfriend.
She remembered one of the many times she and her New York friends had talked about men. Bessie had insisted that men and women could never be just friends. But Artie, with his unaffected magnetism and easy manner, made her wonder if Bessie, for all her sophistication, could have been mistaken.
Artie stopped drying in mid-swipe. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested you’d want to see me as a friend or anything else. I didn’t mean to overstep.” His soft tone betrayed hurt, not malice. “I won’t stop by again.”
“No!” Her answer spewed from her mouth so quickly she embarrassed herself, but the way he relaxed his posture an inch told her he felt relieved by her answer. “I was just thinking about New York and how different it is from here. How different the people are.”
“I imagine I don’t compare favorably. You think I’m a country bumpkin, I bet.”
“No, I don’t.” Still, she swallowed.
Artie, with his plain but strong looks and straightforward ways, would have fallen under that label for her not so long ago. But away from her crowd, when she could look at people without her city lenses, she could see them differently. She remembered long-ago visits to this very place and how Mother had complained all the way on the train as Father insisted they visit. Mother would pout and grouse, but Selene tried to look forward to the trip as part of a big adventure. She could always relax in Maiden, something impossible to do in the social whirl of New York. Eventually they returned home, too soon for Selene and Father but not a moment prematurely for Mother. The instant Mother returned she’d telephone the beauty salon for one appointment, then the fashion salon for another, and then she’d telephone her friends to schedule lunch at the Algonqu
in. A gift of jewelry from Father would follow, usually involving diamonds, and Mother was happy again.
She couldn’t imagine Artie even considering consoling anyone with jewelry, regardless of whether he could afford to do so. She wasn’t sure whether or not he could, but she had a definite feeling he could never buy anything as large as the stones in her mother’s jewelry box, the box she had inherited. She would have much rather had her mother in her life.
“Are you sure you don’t think I’m a country bumpkin? I’m not certain I’d pass muster with your New York friends.”
“You wouldn’t fit in there, but you fit in here just fine. And for now, I’m planning to fit in here, too.”
Chapter Ten
Hestia couldn’t have wished for a better day for the hayride. Brisk air smelled of musty leaves and smoke from burning fireplaces. Late afternoon sun shone for all it was worth, but it was descending into the tree tops. Evening would soon befall them.
Standing on its edge, Hestia surveyed the large pumpkin patch. Booth had brought her to a farm a few miles out of town. An abundance of healthy, round pumpkins awaited her. Each seemed to call to her.
Other church members and their guests joined them, arriving in clusters. Hestia spied Judith. She had arrived looking a bit like a third wheel to her sister and beau. Hestia waved. She was glad to see Judith. The other woman had confided earlier to Hestia that she hoped Peter Drum would look her way. Hestia noticed that Judith had taken special care with her appearance. Like Hestia, she had chosen to keep her hair longer, and her auburn hair framed her face in a lovely manner. She looked casual but collected in a cheerful but modest green dress. Surely she wouldn’t escape Peter’s notice.
Hestia turned to Booth. “I’m glad you talked me into coming early.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t point this out, but I didn’t have to do too much convincing.”
“True.” She laughed. “Maybe next time I’ll put up more of a fight.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not a thrill-of-the-hunt kind of man.”
His statement gave her pause. She thought of Selene and her terrible situation. Apparently her beau, Ned, had been an adventure seeker. Not that Hestia had fared better. Luther’s immediate attraction to a flapper as soon as Hestia left town showed him to be one to seek excitement, as well. Funny how Selene had lost her beau for being too exciting, and part of the reason Hestia had lost hers was because she’d been perceived as not exciting enough. Could a woman really read a man? How could any man be understood?
Hank Beasley waved to Booth. “Got a knife with you? Like a dunce, I forgot mine.”
“Sure!” Booth touched Hestia’s arm briefly. “Guess he ran into a tough vine. Sorry. I’ll be right back.”
Judith slid beside Hestia. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself. Ready to pick out a pumpkin?”
“Not yet.” Judith tugged on her arm. “Look. There’s Peter. He must have come with Bob. They’ve been friends forever.”
Hestia spotted a rugged-looking blond. “I think he’s looking your way.”
He approached, and Judith seemed suddenly shy.
“Hello, Judith.”
“Hello.” She blushed and looked at the ground.
Peter made a stab at pleasantries but got to his point without delay. “Care to introduce me to your friend?”
“Oh. Of course. Wh–where are my manners?” Judith stammered and made the introductions. Seeing her friend’s distress, Hestia brought Peter up-to-date on where she was living and why...and the fact she would only be in Maiden a short time.
“That’s too bad.” Peter’s slight downturn of lips showed her he meant what he said. The fact made Hestia nervous. “Maybe we will come to know each other before you leave anyway.”
“Maybe.” Hestia couldn’t bring herself to sound cordial. She didn’t want to disappoint Judith. How could he look through Judith and keep his attention focused on herself, when she wasn’t the least bit interested? True, she had donned a flattering skirt and blouse, plus taken extra care with her toilette, but those measures were meant to impress Booth, not Peter. Hestia had made a point not to send an encouraging look Peter’s way.
“Excuse me, but I just realized I need to ask Booth something.” She touched Judith’s arm. “You and Peter can sit by us on the hayride, can’t you?”
“Oh, that would be fine.” Judith’s voice brightened.
Hestia made haste toward Booth in the pumpkin patch. He held up his knife. “Good thing I brought this. Some of the vines are right tough. I’ve had to help with more than one pumpkin today.” He returned the knife to the brown leather sheath hanging from a belt loop on his sport trousers and patted it as though it were a trusty hound dog.
“Good. You’re always prepared, it seems. So when is the hayride?”
“Soon. Why, are you anxious?”
“Not really. I was just wondering. I hope this evening never ends.” She regarded the autumn sky. Twilight would be falling soon.
“Me, either. So are you ready to choose pumpkins for us?”
“Yes.” Together, they strode through the immense pumpkin patch, being careful not to trip on vines or twist their ankles in the occasional spot of uneven soil. Hestia’s favorite type of pumpkin was small and deep orange, because she thought those to be the most flavorful for pies, soups, and breads.
Booth picked up a pumpkin so large he could barely hold it. “How about this one?”
“Oh my, but that’s impressive. Just how many pies do you plan to eat?” she teased.
“As many as I can get. But judging from the expression you’re wearing, this one is too large?”
“Yes, and it has yellowed and become encrusted with too much dirt on one side for my taste. Here, let me show you how to select pumpkins for pies and soup.”
“And bread, I hope. Pumpkin bread is one of my favorites.”
She made a mental note to recall this trivia about Booth. “I’ll be sure to make several loaves for you.”
“Okay.” She expected him to set the pumpkin back, but he didn’t. “I’m taking this one for our front porch. Mother likes to decorate for fall.”
“Suit yourself. For a decoration, I’m sure that one will be wonderful. It’ll show up very well on the porch.”
“People should be able to see it from the road.” His pleased expression made him seem more like a little boy than a grown man. Hestia found his enthusiasm endearing.
“Is your mother planning to use pumpkins for pies, too? If so, we’d better bring her at least a couple of smaller ones.”
He agreed and walked through the patch to inspect more pumpkins. Hestia took time to find several that suited her for her own needs and for Mrs. Barrington.
He watched her reject one pumpkin after another. “You’re really picky.”
“That’s right. I am. It’s worth taking the effort to find just the right ones.” She noticed Peter and Judith walking through the patch as a pair. Since they were well out of earshot of the couple and other prying ears, she shared her feelings with Booth. “Will you take a look at that? Maybe she got his attention after all.”
Booth looked in their direction. “Oh, Judith? Everyone knows she has a crush on Peter. Even Peter.”
Suddenly Hestia felt foolish for pushing Judith in Peter’s direction. She hoped she hadn’t helped her friend make a fool of herself. “Oh. Do you think he’s interested?”
Booth shrugged. “Maybe a little more than usual.”
“Do you think they’d be a good match?”
He thought a moment. “I guess there could be worse.”
“Let’s invite them to sit with us for the picnic.”
Booth’s expression took on a conspiratorial look. “I see. You’re playing the matchmaker, aren’t you?”
“Maybe just a little. If I can make someone happy before I have to go back, I’d say my trip was a success.”
“You’ve already made a lot of people happy. You jus
t don’t know it.”
Hestia had a feeling he meant himself, but she wasn’t vain enough to give herself credit. She resolved instead to enjoy this evening with Booth as though it would be her last.
During a picnic dinner of fried chicken, potato salad, and rolls, the two couples sat on the large dark brown horse blanket and chatted. Hestia couldn’t read Peter’s feelings for Judith, but they seemed to get along well. She couldn’t help but root for Judith. A nice beau would make her life better.
Sharing time with Booth, even though they weren’t a couple, made her realize how much she missed having a beau. At the same time, she realized she didn’t miss Luther in particular, just the idea of a man’s company in the romantic sense—sharing hopes and dreams and plans for the future. When had Luther decided they had no future? Was it the day she said she wouldn’t bob her hair? The day she said she wouldn’t don a linear-cut short dress? She felt more confident helping Papa with his patients with her hair pinned back, out of her face and looking neat. Hair flopping forward and swinging backward didn’t seem professional to her. And a short dress hardly seemed practical for her needs. Why couldn’t Luther understand?
She was just glad Booth didn’t seem to mind her appearance. In fact, he seemed to appreciate her. At least, that’s what he told her in a friendly way when they met for an outing.
At that moment, Booth leaned near her on the blanket, near enough that she could smell the pleasing scent of the Bay Rum shaving lotion he wore. She had grown comfortable with the scent since he wore it exclusively and always when he escorted her anywhere. She had come to associate it with him and appreciated its familiarity. She would miss the scent—and him—when she returned to Haw River.
She wondered if he knew his effect on her. If he did, he acted oblivious. Men! They were so lucky to be strong.
Soon most of the group gathered for the hayride, leaving only a few sitting by a bonfire to sing camp songs. A mule team was set to pull the wagon. Night had fallen, bringing brisk air filled with falling leaves that rustled as they swirled in the wind, hitting the wagon and landing on the ground.
Love Finds You in Maiden, North Carolina Page 12