Scones and Sensibility

by Lindsay Eland

  Fran pinched my arm, and I was quite sure a bruise was in the process of forming on my delicate skin at that very moment.

  Mr. Fisk sighed. “No thanks, Polly. That’s nice that you want to help, but I’ve already found a wonderful woman, who is visiting in just—”

  “A few days. Yes, Fran has told me about this … Ruthie Carmichael, but, since you do not know this woman, I find the situation very suspicious and possibly dangerous.”

  Mr. Fisk scratched his noble chin. “But really, you didn’t know much about that Lucy Penny either, and that nearly got us killed.”

  “That was purely a … a misunderstanding. I know it was presumptuous of me. But I have had successful experience at matchmaking.” I looked at Fran, hoping she did not bring up the fact that it was of a canine nature.

  “You have, have you?”

  “Yes, sir. And you have to admit, if Miss Penny weren’t … weren’t already spoken for, she would be someone who would have suited your heart’s desire.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, maybe not. She seems nice, but beyond that I don’t know her at all. This ‘computer woman,’ as you refer to her, is completely real and honest and, well, she’s wonderful.”

  I let out a sigh. Though the way he said these words was ever so romantic and sincere, I was still not convinced that Ruthie Carmichael was a woman to be trusted. The Fisks’ previous situation involving Internet communication gave me much reason to doubt, and I was inwardly shocked that it did not seem to trouble Mr. Fisk’s soul in the least.

  “So enough of this matchmaking, girls, okay? I’m a big boy and can take care of myself. And don’t worry,” Mr. Fisk said, placing a loving hand upon Fran’s head. “I’d never make any decisions without talking with you first, Fran. You’ll always be my number-one girl.”

  Fran smiled.

  “Now that I’ve survived that ordeal with all my limbs still in place, I’m going to go to my office and get some work done.”

  He placed a delicate kiss on top of Fran’s elegant forehead before retiring to his office.

  Fran turned to me once the door had clicked closed. “Polly, I can’t believe you didn’t know she was seeing someone else. Lucky for me, he didn’t ground me for life!”

  She was angered. I saw it in the way her chin trembled ever so slightly in a manner that was quite exquisite, while the depth of her feelings moved me to compassion. I made a mental note to practice this gesture at home.

  I reached for her hand. “Please accept my apologies, dear Fran. I did not know of this prior relationship of Miss Penny’s, and feel equally deceived that she had not been honest with me from the first.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s all right, I guess. But it’s over, okay? Ruthie’s coming in just a few days and, Polly, she’s really nice. I think you’d love her.”

  I shook my head, my curls swishing gently around my face. “This is not over in the least, dearest Fran. I cannot leave you, the dearest friend of my heart, or your father, alone in this hour. I fear that I care for you too greatly, and maybe that is where I am at fault. But forward I must proceed, and I promise that I shall find for your father a woman of impeccable manners, beauty, and elegance who will melt his heart and bring you all the happiness that you so richly deserve.”

  “But Dad told us to stop. You can’t, Polly. He’ll kill me.” Fran looked quite desperate.

  “But I must, Fran. I know you are not as familiar in the ways of love as I am, but it is for the best. Your father seems to like this Ruthie Carmichael very much. But how much, I ask, and is this love for real? That is what we must determine. By introducing him to another beautiful woman, either his love for Ruthie will falter and their connection will end, or it will cause his love for her to increase.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “So, you’re saying that we set my dad up again so that he knows for sure that he really likes Ruthie?”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  She shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. But he’ll have our heads if he finds out.”

  “We will not let him know what we are planning. The woman will arrive as a friend of ours and conveniently meet your father over a tea that we will give. Therefore your father will not suspect a thing from us.”

  “Okay, but Polly, if he doesn’t fall for this new girl, then all the matchmaking is over, okay?”

  “You have my solemn vow as your bosom friend.”

  But as I departed, I was quite sure that the woman I found would surely become Mr. Fisk’s one true love, the one who would complete him. “I will speak with you tonight, Fran!” I called back to her, waving my handkerchief in the air to bid her good-bye.

  But as dusk fell like dew upon the grass, I had yet to find a woman for Mr. Fisk.

  I had met an elegant lady sitting in Fran’s and my spot beneath the Old One in the Haven of Heaven. I approached her as she sat underneath the boughs, book in hand, whilst the sun glinted off her golden hair. But after a minute or two I found that she had only just begun college, and was therefore not suitable for Mr. Fisk (who himself could have been her father).

  Another woman I found walking along the beach. Her hair was speckled with strands of silvery gray, though her face bore no wrinkles of the aged. I followed her for a ways, and then was dismayed to find five children running toward her and calling her “Mommy!” Though I knew that Mr. Fisk adored the young, to once again be burdened with the trials of toddlerhood is a fate that I wish upon no one who has already escaped it. Especially after seeing the unpredictable behavior of Mr. Nightquist’s grandson, Charles.

  And so I retreated home, defeated in spirits, though attempting to be hopeful. After supper I retired to my bedroom to contemplate a bit more where I might find such a lady as would be suitable.

  Once in my bedroom, I collapsed onto my satin comforter and pulled out Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables, letting the words soak into my being, something that always aided me in times of trial.

  A knock on my door awoke me from romantic dreams of Mr. Fisk and the woman who would fulfill his heart’s longing as Elizabeth Bennet had fulfilled Mr. Darcy’s.

  “You may enter.”

  My dearest sister swept inside, a sly smile upon her lips. Oh, dear! I still had not determined how I was to keep Clint and Clementine from meeting with one another. But though instantly troubled, I composed myself with grace. “Yes, Clementine?”

  “There’s someone at the door for you.”

  “Heavens, I did not even hear the ring of the doorbell, so consumed was I in my own pensive thoughts.”

  “It’s a boy,” she said, causing my heart to tremble in my breast.

  “Oh, no! It must be Brad!” I grasped my sister’s hand in mine. “Dearest Clementine, you must save me from having to speak with him. I fear he will not be dissuaded from pursuing me.”

  She laughed. “You don’t like him? He seems like a nice guy.”

  “I can vouch for his character, though I abhor the thought of him as a suitor for myself. Please, Clementine, tell him—” My mind was empty of thoughts. “Tell him … tell him that I am in the throes of sickness and that … that I am not expected to recover for quite some time. That should convince him to leave me be, and perhaps he will pursue another girl.”

  She laughed again. “All right. But only this time. If he comes back, you need to say it to him yourself, okay?”

  I nodded and fell upon my knees. “My dearest sister, I thank you from the depths of my being for this favor that you do me. You are indeed—”

  “Save it, Polly,” she said, and shut my door.

  But I feared to move from this spot, even though my eyes longed to see his reaction to such news about my health. It was only when the door shut below that I heard Clementine walk lightly up the stairs and knock once more on my door. “He left this for you,” she said, and handed me a box that was wrapped in such bright pink paper that I feared for my eyesight.

  She left me alone and I unwrapped the gift
to find a delicate golden clock. The sight was breathtaking as I drank in the elegant curves of the miniature timepiece. I brought the face to my ear and smiled at the rhythmic tick tock, tick tock that pulsed inside it.

  It was a grand gift indeed, and one that I was tempted to accept. But alas, I knew I could not. Accepting his gift would be accepting him, and I would not give him false hope.

  I could not.

  But the time was drawing late, so I set the beautiful clock upon my nightstand and turned off the light, allowing myself one night of enjoyment of the gift before I returned it to Mr. Baker.

  And indeed, I slept well under its watchful, golden eye.

  chapter eighteen

  In Which I Find Another Suitable Woman for

  My Bosom Friend and Devise a Plan

  to Save My Dearest Sister

  Upon finishing breakfast the next morn, I departed with a basket laden with pastries for empty stomachs, and plans of love for yearning hearts.

  Passing by Miss Wiskerton’s home, I was reminded of the romantic evening she and Mr. Nightquist surely had had the night before. In all that had happened at Fran’s home, I had forgotten that I had wanted to be at the beach to ensure that all would go well with them. I would just have to trust that love had entwined them to each other. For though my heart ached to hear of their blossoming romance, time would not permit me. I had but one day to find the woman that would forever nourish Mr. Fisk’s body, mind, and soul.

  If a moment allowed, I would call upon the dear lady to hear her thoughts on the previous evening and to accept her gracious thanks for bringing she and dear Mr. Nightquist together.

  But the morning did not bode well. Nary a woman I saw was suitable for Mr. Fisk. Many were much too old, others much too young, such that by the early afternoon, as the sun beat down upon my back, I began to despair.

  Could it be that I had failed my dearest friend? Would she remain motherless for all eternity, with only her father and her bosom friend as companions?

  I imagined my dearest Fran growing older, age lining her delicate face. (All the more likely since she refused to protect her skin with a bonnet.) And because she never had a mother to call her own, vowing her soul into the humble service of the great Virgin Mother. And though it was indeed a romantic destiny, it was not one that I would choose for my bosom friend. And it was that vision that awakened my heart anew. I would continue to search on Fran’s behalf.

  I must.

  “Polly?”

  I awoke from my vision to find Mrs. Miller, Fran’s former piano teacher, standing before me. Recently divorced, I had thought she was hoping to spend time traveling the world this summer. “Why, Mrs. Miller. I thought you were taking leave of our town for a month or two. I hope you are well.” I offered up a small curtsy.

  “Yeah, I thought about it, but decided to stay. And I’m doing really good. Yourself?”

  “Very well, thank you. I am reluctant to admit to you that Fran aches for her piano lessons ever so much. I hope your summer thus far has been refreshing to your soul and that you will return to instructing once more.”

  “Yep, you can tell her that I’ll be starting up lessons in the fall and would love to have her. I’m taking the summer off to enjoy myself a bit and, you know, get myself fixed up here and there.”

  The eyes of my heart were opened at once, and I knew that fate had intervened!

  An elegant divorcée with a voice like an angel and fingertips that sang the songs of heaven itself! Love was working its delicate hands to weave a romance the likes of which the world had never seen.

  It was she, Mrs. Miller, who would capture Mr. Fisk’s heart. Yes, I was certain.

  The lovely lady began to walk away, but she stopped when I called to her. “Yes, Polly?”

  Words flowed through my soul. “Would you perhaps—” I hesitated only briefly; my words had to be given lightly, for I did not want to frighten the dear woman. “As you know, Fran’s father, Mr. George Fisk, a man of unspeakable character and kindness, is divorced as well. Would you consider joining Mr. Fisk, his daughter, and myself for an elegant dessert tomorrow evening? You can discuss Fran’s future as a pianist as well as become better acquainted with one another.”

  Mrs. Miller wrung her small, dimpled hands, though her eyes betrayed her excitement. “Well, I don’t know. I feel like I should be asked by Mr. Fisk or by Fran. Are you sure?”

  “Why yes, I am sure. As his daughter’s bosom friend, I am like family to Mr. Fisk. Please say that you will do us the honor?”

  “I … I guess so. Yes, yes I’ll go. Thank you very much.” Her face glowed with the hope of love.

  “Really? That’s awesome … I am so pleased to hear that, and I will go straightaway to let Fran and her father know of the arrangements. You may join us at seven o’clock.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  And we parted ways, Mrs. Miller filled with the promise of tomorrow, and myself filled with visions of the union of her and Mr. Fisk.

  I made my path home, considerably more hopeful in spirit upon the anticipation of the next evening’s events. Yet I knew it was most urgent that I also discover when Clementine and Clint were meeting, that I might be prepared to stop their rendezvous.

  Mama and Papa were just closing up the bakery when I entered.

  “Hey, Polly!” Papa said. “How did the deliveries go?”

  “Considerably well,” I replied. “Is Clementine about?”

  Mama nodded. “I think so. She went out this morning to get a new outfit for her and Clint’s ‘talk,’ but I think she’s home now.”

  Indeed, she was at home, as I found out upon reaching her room. She giggled on the phone and I pressed my ear against the wood, praying that it was not Clint she conversed so happily with.

  “Yeah, we’re going to talk tomorrow night around eight, I guess. He wants to meet at Macko’s, and then I think we’ll take the pizza down to the pier, where we can sit and dangle our legs into the water like we did on our first date. I think I’m going to make him some brownies or something, since those are his favorite.”

  There was a slight pause, and I waited eagerly for her to continue.

  “So does he really seem sad? Good. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll call you and let you know. Thanks, Tracy.”

  Eight o’clock! I smiled and shut myself in my bedroom. That was enough time in which to put an end to their meeting. Yet how? She had not yet fallen madly in love with Edward, and that gentleman made no great declarations of his love to her. Still, I was convinced that if Clementine could but see Edward as the prince he was, surely her heart and devotion would be his.

  Oh, that was it!

  I would beseech Edward to save Clementine from Clint tomorrow evening. What lady of quality does not wish her suitor to fight for her honor and attentions? And I had already mentioned to Edward that Clint was a brute, and as a proper English gentleman he would not fail to try and rescue Clementine. Especially if the pizza and drink they were to partake of was said to be … poisoned. Yes, that would be the right course. Edward would, very gallantly, rid them of their dinner, challenge Clint to a duel, and free Clementine from Clint forever. Then Clementine, seeing the love Edward has for her—his willingness to lay down his life for her and treat her as she deserves—would certainly fall into his arms for all eternity.

  It was perfect!

  I would deliver a pastry to Edward in the morning and ask him this favor, which I was confident he would grant. With my course in this matter determined, I telephoned Fran to let her know of the joyous news of Mrs. Miller.

  “Mrs. Miller?” Fran asked. “But she’s so … so … I don’t know. She’s my piano teacher.”

  “But Fran, you have always adored her. She is pleasant, with a nice smile and an elegant demeanor. And if your father would not fall madly in love with her, which I find hard to believe, it will serve as a test of your father’s love for this Ruthie Carmichael.”

  She sighed. “All right, Polly. I gues
s it should work. My dad’ll think that she’s over to talk about piano lessons.”

  “Yes, it will be most pleasant, I am sure. Mrs. Miller is an elegant beauty to be sure and the music she plays will trill a song in his heart. Well, I must go, dear Fran. But I promise to be by your side during the evening’s first eye contact between your father and the fair Mrs. Miller.”

  “All right, Polly. See you tomorrow.”

  I lay upon my bed and sighed. “Ah, me. Love is in the air.”

  And after reading my most favorite passages in my most beloved books, I fell into a light sleep.

  chapter nineteen

  In Which Bradley Continues to Court Me

  and I Acquire Edward’s Help

  I was awakened hours later by a light tapping on my windowpane and a low voice whispering on the wind. “Polly? Polly?”

  Had I perished in my sleep and become a spirit?

  I opened my eyes and searched the darkness only to find the silhouette of a young man outside my window.

  I jumped from my bed and reached for an antique candlestick I had acquired on my eighth birthday. “Who are you and why do you haunt me?” I whispered in earnest.

  “Polly, it’s only me, Brad. Brad Baker.”

  I rushed to my bedside and pulled the string on my lamp. Indeed it was he, my suitor. Unable to sleep, his soul had brought him to my bedroom window. The thought was romantic enough to cause me to swoon, so I leaned on my dressing table that I might remain grounded. “Why have you come? The hour is late.”

  “It’s not that late,” he said, clutching a branch. His hair, tousled in the wind, blew off of his forehead in a manner that was most becoming to him. “I don’t even think it’s nine yet. I rang the doorbell and your sister told me I should climb this tree if I wanted to talk to you.”

  Dearest Clementine?! She knew of romance then! I sighed. Yes, surely Edward would win her heart tomorrow night. I gazed at Bradley, perched outside my bedroom window, looking dashing in the moonlight, and my senses at once were lost.