Scones and Sensibility

by Lindsay Eland

  Then the thought of how he had met her struck my mind. As previously mentioned, Mr. Fisk did not often leave his office, nor even his house. “Well, maybe he has met someone,” I said, proceeding cautiously. After all, she hadn’t given me any of the details. “Please, did he say anything else?”

  Fran sighed. “I swear, Polly, he had the goofiest smile on his face the entire time. At first I was happy, thinking that maybe he’d really found someone after all. But … but then he told me the worst part.”

  “Worst part? Oh gosh, what is it?” Anxiety was now overtaking me. I composed myself. “Continue, dearest Fran. What is this lady like, if indeed she is a lady?”

  “Well, her name is Lovetolaugh.”

  “Lovetolaugh? What kind of a proper name is that? Surely you meant Miss Lovetolaugh? I can’t say it is a much better improvement, but I feel it rather absurd that her father or mother would name their beloved child a noun and a ‘to be’ verb. Are you quite sure that is her name?”

  “Yes. And that’s not the worst part. He … he met her on the Internet.” Tears clung to Fran’s delicate lashes.

  The phrase came out so fast that it took me a minute to realize just exactly what my very best friend had just said. When the meaning finally hit me, I was stunned into complete silence. The leaves blowing in the gentle ocean breeze barely whispered a rustle, as if they too were in shock.

  “Polly?”

  “Well … Fran … this is just not …” Words. Where were they?

  “I know. I’m really worried. What if … what if she takes him away from me, just like my mom?” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

  Emotions tumbled inside me. “Fran,” I said, quiet and soft. I wrapped my arm around her and allowed her head to rest upon my shoulder. As a friend, I would comfort her in her hour of need, but I knew I must be honest with her also. “Fran, this is not good. I remember very well your mother’s unfortunate situation. This, my dearest friend, is the …” Words failed me. “The … exact opposite of love. We must act quickly.”

  “But—what do I do? I mean, he seems happy—really happy. And I’m—or at least I was—really happy too. It’s just been hard not having a—”

  I held up my hand. “Say no more, my friend. I know your feelings as if they were my own.”

  “But you—oh, never mind.” Fran sipped on her orange juice then spoke once more. “I’m excited, but on the other hand, I don’t know this woman at all. And after my mom left—oh Polly, what should I do?” she asked again, leaning against the trunk of the Old One. Despair was written on her features and the orange juice splashed onto her leg where it was sure to leave a sticky spot on her skin.

  “What should you do? Nothing.” I handed her a napkin, then embraced her. “I will take care of this unfortunate situation. I will find a woman who will capture your father’s heart and soul. This Internet connection will be forever broken when the bonds of true love are formed.”

  “You think?”

  “I am certain, dearest Fran. Now we know that he is indeed ready for love. In that we must rejoice. I will now look for his heart’s one true love.” I pulled out the small antique watch I kept in the pocket of my dress. Mama would be wondering why I had not started on the deliveries. I slipped my dainty feet inside my white sandals, the ones with the pretty pink rose on the side. I kissed her on the cheek, gathered up the hamper, and placed it in the basket of my bicycle, then climbed on. “Know, Fran, that my eyes are watchful. And do not lose heart, my dearest Fran. It will be all right. This dark day will pass. I shall not fail you!”

  Upon arriving at my home, I found a cloud of smoke billowing from under the bakery door and the sound of Clementine’s laments from beyond.

  I sighed with relief at the knowledge that, because of my deliveries, I would not be forced to mend whatever culinary disaster my sister had conjured up this morning.

  Mama whisked into the kitchen, her cheeks a lovely shade of rosebud with an elegant dab of flour upon one side. “You got back just in time, Polly,” she said, handing me three bags. “But you better get moving.” And then she rushed back into the bakery mumbling something about “charred to a crisp” under her breath.

  “Upon my word, Mama,” I called after her. “I am off.” And after wrapping up one of the croissants with a lovely paper doily, I set off for the elegant Miss Wiskerton.

  Said lady was just flipping over to her other side when I leaned my bicycle against her white picket fence and stepped through the gate into her yard. She had exquisite taste in flowers, and I breathed deep the scent of gerbera, lilac, hydrangea, and roses.

  “Polly Madassa? Is that you?” She lifted up her large white sunglasses, then put them back down and readjusted her straw hat on her head. “You know the smoke from your house fills the entire neighborhood? Me and my Jack almost choked to death right in our beds.”

  Jack the Nipper frantically tugged at the leash that held him fast to Miss Wiskerton’s chair. I was thankful for this restraint.

  “Please accept my sincerest apologies, Miss Wiskerton. It seems that Clementine was once more baking this morning.”

  “As I said before, she’s going to burn down the house if you’re not careful.”

  I ignored the comment and stepped closer, though still far enough away from Jack that my dainty ankles were protected against his bite. His little lips curled up around his pointed teeth. I hoped Mr. Nightquist and Jack would become fast friends, though Jack was not known to be a kindred spirit with anyone. “I hope you are enjoying your book, Miss Wiskerton?” I asked.

  “I am, thank you. And are you starting another Austen novel?”

  I sighed. “I plan on reading Emma quite soon, but can’t seem to stop rereading Pride and Prejudice. Truly, each time I read it, it’s just as fresh and brimming with romance as the first time I picked it up.”

  Miss Wiskerton smiled. “Well, I have to say, it’s nice talking with someone about novels.”

  “It is indeed,” I said, and then held out the doily-wrapped croissant. “And I am here on additional business as well. I’m here, Miss Wiskerton, on a delivery.”

  “Delivery?” She sat up and took off her sunglasses. “I didn’t order anything from you all.”

  “Oh, I know you didn’t order it, but I’m afraid someone ordered it for you. It was a man and he called early this morning and said specifically to hand-deliver this delicious pastry to one Miss Wiskerton, the Beauty of the Sea.”

  Her interest was piqued and she smiled. “A man, you say? Are you certain?”

  “Indeed, I am quite certain. He phoned just this morning and had me select the most plump and browned croissant in our bakery. I assure you he was most insistent upon the matter. Sounds just like something Mr. Darcy would do, doesn’t it?” I asked.

  Her cheeks blushed in an elegant manner, and she attempted to hide a shy smile. “Yes, it is. Or Captain Wentworth … he’s from the book Persuasion. Well … did he tell you his name?”

  I shook my head. “The man did not say. He only hoped that you would accept this token of his great esteem for you and he would reveal himself if it was accepted with favor.” Indeed, though I did not enjoy causing her agitation, I thought it best to add a dash of romantic mystery to this first delivery.

  And it seemed to have worked quite well. For Miss Wiskerton accepted the small wrapped pastry from my hands, her fingers trembling with anticipation. She removed the doily and placed a hand on her heart. “Oh, my. It is quite a beautiful-looking croissant, isn’t it?” she said.

  “If I do say so myself, it is the most perfect one I have ever laid eyes upon.”

  The lady lifted the pastry to her lips and nibbled the end. “Well, you may tell him thank you and that I accept this token of … what was it?”

  “His esteem.”

  “Ah yes,” she said. “Thank you very much, Polly.”

  I performed an elegant curtsy. “You are most welcome, Miss Wiskerton, though I am only the bearer of these romantic tid
ings. Now, I will leave you to your morning. Good day.”

  And then I departed her home for the rest of my deliveries, the sweet fragrance of blooming romance pushing me forward.

  chapter eight

  In Which I Meet Clementine’s

  One True Love

  As I rode my bicycle about town, stopping for but a moment at the real estate office, the library, a law firm, and a small bookstore for deliveries, I saw no one worthy of becoming my bosom friend’s stepmother, no one to become Mr. Fisk’s lifelong companion. This caused me great inward unrest, especially as I remembered my friend’s news of just this morning.

  In order to save dear Mr. Fisk from the certain ruin that becoming involved with an Internet woman afforded, I needed to find his perfect match … and soon. I sighed and set off for home.

  The journey took me past the toy shop, where I was met with a handsome, noble face—one I had not seen before. His dashing smile threw me so off guard that my bicycle swerved, and moments later I found myself lame on the sidewalk.

  Footsteps slapping the concrete told me he was coming to my aid, and heat rose in my cheeks. I was not sure whether this was out of embarrassment over my clumsiness or in anticipation of speaking with the young man.

  “Here, let me help you,” a deep, British-accented voice spoke above me.

  I looked up to find his hand reaching for mine, his face obscured by the rays of sun behind his head. I allowed myself to be lifted to my feet and winced at the stinging flesh on my knee.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said, brushing off my dress and composing myself. “I am ruffled merely in the flesh. My spirit seems intact.”

  He laughed, led me into the shop, and pulled out a stool for me to recline upon. “There’s a first-aid kit around here somewhere. I’ll get you a Band-Aid.”

  “Oh, I’d hate to impose on you, though the offer is kind.”

  “No trouble at all. Not every day that a beautiful girl falls down in front of me.” He handed me a flower from a vase on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

  I sighed. His hair was filled with light brown curls, his nose was like that of a prince, and his eyes danced like the aurora borealis. Even his strong cheekbones gave him a distinguished air. His age, however, deterred me from allowing myself to dream much further. Alas, were he but a few years younger, or I a few years older …

  But Clementine!

  My dearest sister was in need of a gentleman—someone to love and adore her and treat her as a lady. And surely a gentleman such as this who would take care of one younger than he was certain to treat me not as a child like Clint did, but as a young woman.

  I held the delicate blossom to my nose and allowed my thoughts to drift into the near future. Dusk settling over the wild ocean. My dearest sister and I, hands locked with each other. This young man strolling beside us, his arm entwined with Clementine’s and his heart devoted to her and to all those she held dear.

  “Are you okay?”

  I came to the present to find the young man’s handsome face looking into mine. “Oh yeah, definitely … I was just caught up in the rapturous moment.”

  He smiled. “Well, I moved here for the summer with my aunt. She owns this store.” He walked over to a small sink just like I imagined Mr. Darcy would have done with his dear Elizabeth. He returned, and in one hand he held a goblet of crystal-clear water, in the other a bandage. “So what’s your name?”

  “Polly. Polly Madassa. And yours?”

  “I’m Eddie.” He dabbed at my wound with a cleansing salve, then placed the Band-Aid upon my knee before helping me off the stool. “It’s very nice to meet you, Polly. I hope we meet again.”

  Edward, a noble name indeed. I smiled. “Yes. Again, thank you. I would love to return the kindness in some small way.”

  “Oh no. Don’t worry about it. What was I supposed to do for a damsel in distress?”

  I slipped off the stool onto a knee that was badly injured though not above repair. “You are very kind, but I must insist you allow me to do a small favor, however small it may be. Please, name your request!”

  He laughed, but cradled his noble chin in his hands. “All right. Let me think.” He drew closer to me and my heart fluttered. “This is your home, then?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you know a girl called Tracy Michaels? She works at the bead shop across the street.”

  I looked up at him. “Yes, she is a friend of my dearest, most beautiful sister. Why do you want to know?”

  His defined cheekbones grew red. “Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. But again, why do you inquire after her?” I was afraid I knew the answer to my own question, but asked it just the same.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. She seems … nice. I was thinking of asking her out.”

  No, this would not do at all. This Edward was meant for my Clementine, not for Tracy Michaels, who had a horrible way of contorting her face whenever she was displeased. Besides, she was also known to hold up her fingers in the shape of an L and say “loser.”

  “Asking her out? I am afraid that is most unwise. Tracy is from a very strict family. They … they do not allow courting of any kind. Besides, they … they still harbor a grudge against England. You know … because of the war.”

  “The Revolutionary War?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s the one.” I quickly sought to change the subject. “But enough of that. I have thought of an excellent way to repay you. If you could stop by Madassa Bakery on the corner of Seventh Street tomorrow morning, my beautiful sister Clementine will have just pulled out a fresh pan of the most delectable chocolate chip muffins you can imagine.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Hmm. Never heard of anyone still caring about that war,” he said. “Oh well. All right, Polly Madassa. I’ll be there.” He led me outside, grabbing the door for me. Then he held out my bike. “Do you need help home, then?”

  This young gentleman was like something from out of a leather-bound book! “I think I can manage.”

  And with that, I hobbled down the sidewalk, my lips spreading into a wide smile. I could hardly wait to let my dearest Clementine know.

  Once at home, I leaned my bicycle against the house and plucked one small posey from among the garden flowers before entering the house. Though roses smelled the most delightful, the word posey was one that seemed to melt on my tongue like a very fine dark chocolate.

  “Hey Polly, where’ve you been?” Papa was behind the register, wiping off the counters with a white rag. The bakery had closed just minutes ago, and I feared being enlisted in the unwelcome task of cleaning if I did not make a quick exit.

  “Hello, Papa,” I said, moving briskly past. “I have been delivering, of course.”

  “Here, catch!”

  I turned around just in time to find a white towel hurtling toward me. It landed, damp with bits of crumbs and stains, on my shoulder. I promptly removed it and held it by my thumb and index finger.

  “Wipe down those tables. And don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

  I sighed and succumbed to my fate for the next few minutes. “Where’s Mama?”

  “Oh, I think she’s reading. We’re going on a date tonight, so you and Clementine are on your own for dinner, okay?” Papa continued cleaning in a manner that was quite vigorous. And I feared that if I imitated him, my own delicate hands would surely blister.

  I looked up. “Speaking of my beloved sister, is she here?”

  He smiled. “I think she went out with Clint a little bit ago. She’ll be back for dinner, though.”

  I sighed. “That is what I feared.”

  “What? You don’t like Clint?”

  “Papa, you jest, I presume? Clint is not suitable for my sister. He leaves much to be desired, not the least of which is a tenderness toward my sister. She was crying once more last night. And I believe that is the second time this month.”


  “Oh, Clint’s a good guy. And … well, all couples have lovers’ spats.”

  “But not you and Mama. You two are a fairy tale come true.”

  He looked up and a smile graced his face. A faraway, dreamy look overcame him, and I knew at once he was thinking of Mama … his dearest Judith, his one true love.

  “Oh, we had plenty of fights, believe me, especially while we were dating. There was this guy that almost broke us—”

  I held up my hand, for I did not wish to hear of my own parents’ turmoil in their younger years. “I apologize, dearest Papa, but I do not believe it. You and Mama are indeed a fairy tale.”

  He smiled. “Well, you are right about that, Polly girl. But why don’t you give Clint a chance. Who knows, he might surprise you.”

  If only he would, was my first thought, but I did not speak it aloud. Instead, I handed Papa the soiled white cloth. “I think I will take a small constitutional, Papa. Is that acceptable?”

  “You mean a walk?” He laughed. “Go ahead. Remember, your mom and I will be back later on tonight.”

  I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. The wildness of the ocean—the salty breeze, the crashing waves, the rising tide—beckoned me, and I followed its call.

  Once I reached the beach, I slipped out of my sandals and let my toes drink in the warm grains of sand. The wild fury of the wilderness excited my heart, and I giggled at the matches I would make for those I loved. I walked to the lapping waves and let my dress drag in the salty ocean water, for nothing is as romantic as a walk on the beach with the surf drenching your ankles and the bottom of your clothing. I lifted my face to the sun, catching the afternoon’s rays, and imagined I was on Prince Edward Island, the breeze blowing my natural curls around my face.

  “Ah, me,” I whispered into the breeze.

  “Polly?”

  “Huh?!” I whirled around to find Fran before me. Her hair was in a tangled heap around her, and she wore a brand-new multicolored friendship bracelet around her wrist, but still with her cheeks flushed a rosy hue. She was the picture of beauty.

  “Polly, what on earth are you doing?”