Scones and Sensibility
Page 9
“Tremulous thoughts of him,” she said, raising her eyebrows up and down.
“Perish the thought, Fran. And please, never again bring up the letter or the vainly hopeful suitor who has written it.” I took her by the hand and strolled into the small dining area filled with the scents of tomato and lettuce, grilled chicken and humus. My own stomach growled at the delightful scents, for in my haste of the morning I had forgotten the nourishment of my own body.
But now was not the time. Romance was my sustenance and love my drink.
Within the small restaurant, dear Miss Lucy Penny sat straight upon her chair, delicate glasses gracing her small, perfect nose, with a hardbound book—possibly leather—before her on the table. If my suspicions of her elegance and supreme upbringing were correct, she was reading the elegant Jane Austen.
A true kindred spirit, I was sure.
“There she is, Fran,” I whispered into her ear. “Your soon-to-be mother. Isn’t she lovely?”
“Her? The one with the mouth that looks like a frog?”
I gasped, the image bringing up a dreadful remembrance of being chased by an amphibian in the hands of one Brad Baker. “Oh dear me, no, and please, Fran, you know how sensitive I am to such talk. The dazzlingly beautiful woman in the pink dress.”
“Oh, her? Yeah, she is pretty.”
“And so much more, I am sure.” I turned my bosom friend toward me, lifting the bouquet between us. “Now, my dear Fran. It is time for me to speak with her. I ache for your prayers on my behalf that I might not fail you, though my heart indeed feels eager to burst inside my chest with rapturous happiness.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You always are. But are you sure that … you know … this is okay?”
“But of course. Love has no boundaries, Fran. Once your father knows of this, he will be eternally grateful to us. Love is in the air, and I am its vessel.” I squeezed her hand once and set off for the table where the lovely Miss Lucy Penny sat.
My mind whirled with romantic visions. She would smell the flowers. Mr. Fisk’s name would ring in the air like church bells. Her cheeks would blush to a rosy pink. Their first date. Their magical wedding day. Fran and myself adorned with light-yellow dresses, releasing wild butterflies into the crisp blue air.
It would be a fairy tale come true.
“Hey, Polly!”
The voice startled me. I was reluctant to turn and see who had interrupted my reverie.
Brad Baker. He looked shorter than when last I saw him, though his nose was still rather hooked and his feathery hair gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. I nodded. “Oh hi, Brad … Bradley. I hope you are doing well this summer.”
He smiled, almost blinding me with the unsightly metallic braces on his teeth. Though time had darkened his eyes to a handsome ocean blue, I could not say the braces added much to the attractiveness of his appearance. “I’m doing all right,” he said, stuffing three Cheetos into his mouth. “I’m gonna visit my dad and his girlfriend in a few weeks, but otherwise I’m here if you ever …”
I peered over at Miss Penny with all earnestness. Really, I hadn’t much time to engage in conversation. “Well, I am sure you will have a wonderful time on your travels.”
“Yeah.” He gazed down at his cheese-covered fingers. “Well, how’s your summer going?”
“Pleasant as expected, though not without its trials and tribulations.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I forgot you like talking like those people in old books.”
I cringed. His manners and upbringing had not improved since school let out. “It was … nice to see you, but now, I really must be going.”
“Well, um … do you maybe … would you … um, yeah, hope I see you around.”
I nodded and set off once again to Lucy Penny, attempting to herd my thoughts away from cheese-filled braces and back to the luscious pastures of romance.
I strode over to the lovely Miss Penny and offered my bouquet of fragrant posies.
“Pardon me, I do not mean to interrupt your meditations on this beautiful day, but a gentleman, the father of that beautiful motherless girl, asked me to deliver this to you, Miss … Miss …”
“Miss Penny, but … you can call me Lucy.” She smiled at me and gestured graciously toward the seat across from her own, as I thought she might.
This I politely refused. “Oh, thank you, Miss Penny, you are much too kind, but really I must be going. My task was merely to deliver these flowers to you.”
She brought the bouquet to her face, and I was pleased to see that I had chosen the flowers well. “Yes, they are beautiful. Lily of the valley is my favorite. Who did you say sent them?”
“A Mr. George Fisk. Isn’t that a handsome name? He is a very distinguished gentleman who has the highest regard for you. And his daughter handmade that beautiful bracelet just for you.”
“Oh, it’s lovely.” She looked around the deli. “Is Mr. Fisk here?”
“No, Miss, unfortunately he is not. Being of a shy nature, he wanted your first encounter with him to be based solely on his admiration for your beauty and demeanor. In my opinion, it would be so mysterious and romantic to have an admirer like him. But do not fear, he has assured me that if you receive his gesture with favor, he will make further arrangements to meet you.”
She smiled. “Well, that is very mysterious and … I have to say, romantic too.” She giggled. “You can tell him that—how did you say it? His gesture was met with favor.”
I allowed myself a small smile, though I tried to contain my elation within propriety. “I will tell him, Miss Penny. And his happiness will be beyond words. Good day.”
“You too,” she called after me.
I dashed up to my dear Fran, narrowly missing a great bear of a man who stalked through the deli.
“My dearest Fran! She accepts your father’s gift with favor and is anxious to make his acquaintance.”
Fran’s lips spread into a wide smile. “Wow, really?”
“But of course. So, what say you to this situation?”
She locked her arm in mine and we strolled from the deli to the cobbled street. “Well, I think … I think it’s great, Polly. I can’t wait to meet her. But what do you think we should tell my dad?”
“Do not fear, I have thought on this as well, though I must ponder but a little longer. Be assured, however, that by the end of the week, you, my beloved friend, will have secured for yourself a most wonderful stepmother.”
chapter twelve
In Which Mr. Nightquist Is
Burdened by an Unappetizing
Tuna Fish Casserole
The sun beat down upon our shoulders as we strolled along the sidewalk. Delicious happiness seeped from my skin like lavender perfume over such a wonderful meeting with Miss Lucy Penny. Love was indeed invigorating to the spirit, mind, and body. Right then, I sought to further refresh myself and my dearest friend. “Fran, wouldn’t you adore an afternoon at the beach together? Shall we go and bask in the success of your father’s future wife, and relish how lovely she is?”
Fran smiled and nodded. “All right! That does sound good. It’s getting hotter by the minute.”
After changing into our swimming attire (my bathing suit a delicate pink and trimmed with ruffles), we retired to the sand beside the jetty, the spot I now called the Faithful Stone Pathway, for it was far from the clustered crowds and close to the spraying water that hit the jagged rocks with much determination and flourish.
I laid my pure white towel with the pink freesia flowers lining the ruffled border on the sand and began applying my sunblock. Fran, however, in her eagerness to refresh her perspiring forehead, dropped her towel and dashed into the surf.
“Come on, Polly! It feels great!” she declared, her arms splashing pell-mell in the white-crested waves.
“Yes, in time, my dearest friend. However, one can never be too careful with one’s skin.” And I continued applying sunblock upon my young, untainted arms. Though Fran had a ni
ce brown pigment to her own complexion, I did not seek to grow into womanhood looking as raisiny as dear Miss Wiskerton.
I set my sunglasses on the end of my nose and placed my straw hat upon my head. The tails of the bow hung down my back like an elegant waterfall, and I walked into the surf. The cool water lapped at my toes and I felt enraptured at the tiny sand clams that reburied themselves after each wave exposed them.
Fran joined me at the water’s edge. “So how’s Clementine?”
“Oh, I meant to explain it all to you last night. My dear sister is also in desperate need of my assistance.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Her situation is most urgent,” I replied.
“But I thought she was dating Clint. They’ve been together for a while, and haven’t they been in love since, like, second grade?”
“Unfortunately, what you say is true. But I have determined that Clint is not suitable for my sister.” I gazed out to the sea, letting the breeze blow my curly locks behind me. “He is boring and mundane. When I’m done, my dear sister will be clasping hands with a young gentleman named Edward, whom I met just the other day on one of my deliveries. He aided me when I had an unfortunate tumble off my bicycle.” I giggled. “He’s so cute … I mean dashing. He has an English accent and is a gentleman in every sense of the word. He is perfect for Clementine, and I know he will not treat me with scorn as Clint has done.”
“Oh, Clint’s just joking around with you, Polly. And besides, does Clementine even like the guy you met?”
I sighed. “If not by now, she will. I am sure of this.”
“But Polly, you’re not going to break her and Clint up, are you?”
I felt my face flush underneath the brim of my sunbonnet. “Indeed no … not necessarily. But their relationship is on the verge of disintegration anyway. I shall … shall merely help it along.”
“I don’t believe it. Clementine would never dump Clint, and Clint would be an idiot if he ever dumped her. I’m sorry, Polly. But I don’t think it’s going to work. And besides, you should just leave them alone.”
“Oh, they’ll be fine. I adore my sister and only yearn for her very best. But enough of this talk. Just know that it will result in something out of a fairy tale.”
“You better watch out, Polly. If Clemmy finds out, she’s going to kill you.”
“But do not worry for me, dear Fran. I am convinced of the opposite. Clementine will instead be ever grateful to me and perhaps even name her and Edward’s first daughter Polly.”
At that, we both reclined upon the sand, letting the gentle sun kiss our skin, and stayed talking with one another until most of the tourists had retired to their beach houses.
“I better go,” Fran said, flapping her towel to shake out the sand. “I’m supposed to talk to that Ruthie woman tonight.”
“But surely this is not the phone call where you are to speak with her?”
“Yep,” she said. “I was supposed to talk to her tomorrow, but she can’t, I guess.”
“Oh, my dearest Fran. If only I had met Lucy Penny just hours earlier I might have saved you the grief of talking to this Internet vixen.”
“It’s fine, Polly. I don’t mind that much. If she’s anything like what my dad says, she’s really great.”
“Well, I will offer up prayers on your behalf. Be strong and courageous, my dearest friend. And call me when you are done.” We walked to the boardwalk and I kissed her on her cheek. “Until tomorrow, my bosom friend.”
I started for my cottage when my eyes fell upon a very handsome young man carrying a kite down the stairs and onto the beach. Tearing my eyes away from his dark, wind-tousled hair, I remembered dear Mr. Nightquist. If I hurried to his quaint shop I would be able to converse with him for a few minutes.
The time felt right for me to introduce the idea of dear Miss Wiskerton and pique Mr. Nightquist’s own interest.
“Well, if it isn’t my own Polly. How are you?” He rubbed his chin and smiled, then looked back down at the kite he had been tinkering with.
“I am very well, indeed. I just spent an afternoon at the beach with my dearest friend, enjoying the singing of the waves upon my spirit and the kisses of the wind upon my soul. Has all fared well at the kite shop?”
“Yep. It’s been good. Slow in the morning, busy in the afternoon, and then it’ll start back up in a few hours.”
“Have you had any … unexpected guests?” I tried not to look into his eyes and instead inspected a small metal keychain by the register.
“No one that stood out besides Charlie and Missy.” He held up a paper plate covered in clear saran wrapping. “She brought me some leftovers for lunch.”
“But by the appearance of the dish, you have not touched a morsel!” I declared, worried that perhaps Mr. Nightquist was unwell.
He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s just after you’ve had tuna casserole for the fourth time in one week, it gets a little old. You know what I mean?”
I clucked my tongue. “Indeed I do. And I find tuna to be a most unpleasant fish, especially when the meat is removed from a small tin can that resembles cat food.”
He laughed again. “My thoughts exactly.”
I sighed. “So no other esteemed guests have stopped by this afternoon besides your daughter baring the fishy lunch casserole?”
Mr. Nightquist looked up and tapped his fingers on the wooden countertop. “Well, come to think of it. That woman, oh, what’s her name? Miss Wiskerton. She came in and said she was fascinated by kites and that she loved croissants.”
“You don’t say? I know her well, and I have come to find that she is quite an exceptional woman of propriety as well as excellent in the culinary arts. Quite a kindred spirit, I assure you.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Were those his cheeks blushing rosy red at the thought of her?
Indeed, it was evident from the way his fingers fumbled with the delicate fabric of the kite that his feelings for Miss Wiskerton had surprised even him.
I continued. “She lives very near to my own home and has a canine named Jack. He’s very … tolerable.” I could not immediately reveal that Jack was not of the most affectionate nature. “I also believe that Miss Wiskerton has never married, which I find hard to grasp, since she is of such a wonderful disposition.”
“Is that so? You know, I went to school with that woman. She was nosy and harsh when we were young. That’s why I hardly recognized her when she came in with a smile on her face. But when my wife was alive she liked her all right. That was enough for me. I remember she came to the funeral, but since then I haven’t seen much of her.”
“Is that so?” I sighed. “I often wish that I had known your dearest wife, for she sounds wonderful.”
He took up a small, framed picture of her that he kept by the cash register. “She was wonderful all right.”
“And you miss her still?” My spirits temporarily deflated. I had not thought of this possibility—the fact that Mr. Nightquist might not be ready yet for an attachment.
“Oh, I’ll always miss her. I know that. But life goes on, and she wouldn’t want me thinking and being sad all the time.”
I nodded. “Indeed, I think not. In fact, I’m sure she would want you to be happy in life and in love.”
He seemed to smile. “Maybe. Yeah, Miss Wiskerton seemed real interested in kites.”
I beamed. How proud I was of dear Miss Wiskerton. “You know, she mentioned the desire to experience the thrill of flying a kite just this morning when I called upon her. Perhaps you would be the person to teach her.”
He gazed up at me over the rim of his glasses and smiled, then looked back down. “You mean a date?”
“No, not necessarily. Just a mere meeting wherein the two of you can converse, get to know each other, fly beautiful kites. Then perhaps—”
“Fall in love, huh?” He laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve been out of that game for a long time. Getting back in now is a little daunting.”
He blushed. “And it seems like you’ve been reading her books, haven’t you?”
I nodded. “Her taste in books was exquisite.”
“Well, I can’t say that I understand everything you’ve been saying, but it suits you.”
“I am glad you approve.” I glanced at my watch in my pocket and realized it was time to depart. I walked behind the counter and kissed him on his balding forehead. “I must go now. But I will see you soon. And please consider the possibility of Miss Wiskerton. I attest to her character.”
He nodded and smiled his lopsided grin. “All right, Polly. See you soon.”
Back in the open sea air, I breathed deeply and fully, my heart throbbing over the romance blossoming in the kite shop.
Miss Wiskerton and Mr. Nightquist betrothed to one another. The scene was a vision in front of me. White flowers cascading around the twisted branches of an arch. Miss Wiskerton barefoot upon the sand, her long white dress trailing behind her. Mr. Nightquist awaiting her at the end of an aisle lined with rocks and shells from the depth of the ocean’s heart. And there I was, walking in front of his future wife, tossing pure white flowers into the breeze, an ivory dress adorning my frame, a pale pink ribbon around my waist, a garland of wildflowers festooning my wind-tousled auburn curls. And wearing Clementine’s Amulet of Love around my neck.
I sighed and pedaled toward home, letting love propel me from behind like a summer’s kiss.
chapter thirteen
In Which Dearest Clementine Is
Filled with Sorrow, I Am Threatened, and I
Take Matters into My Own Delicate Hands
Upon entering the threshold of my home I was met with intense wailing and moaning. Mama and Papa sat side by side at the table, hands clasped and conversing in whispered tones.