Lilly released a soft sigh. Rob’s home was always neat and cozy, and so much more welcoming than the rooms behind the boot shop where she had lived with her father and brother until she went into service at Morningside. Lilly’s mother had passed away when she was six, and all those special touches a woman brought to a home vanished with her. Lilly hadn’t even realized what was missing until she began spending time with the Carters.
Rose Carter, Rob’s mother, came down the stairs, and her eyes brightened when she spotted Lilly waiting in the kitchen. Eleven-year-old MaryAnn sent Lilly a shy smile as she followed her mother into the room. MaryAnn was a sweet, quiet girl who wore her long golden-brown hair in two braids that hung to her waist.
“Lilly, it’s so nice of you to come.” Mrs. Carter crossed the kitchen toward her. “With Rob working today, I didn’t know if we’d see you.”
Lilly smiled. “I wanted to stop by and see how Mr. Carter is doing and bring you these gifts from your neighbors and friends.” Lilly held up the basket.
Mrs. Carter’s face flushed, and she shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know what to say.” She gazed at the basket, soft longing in her eyes.
“There’s no need to say anything. Everyone was happy to share what they could, and they all send their love and prayers for you and Mr. Carter.” Lilly stepped closer, holding out the basket and praying she would accept their gifts. “Edith Miller sent the cherry preserves and the flour. She said she remembers how friends helped them when her husband was sick.”
Rob’s mother finally accepted the basket. “It’s very kind. We’re grateful. You must tell me who contributed so I can thank them.” She set the basket on the kitchen table, and Jane and MaryAnn gathered around.
“Look, Mother, there’s cheese and ham and carrots and peas.” Jane grinned and took out the cherry preserves. “Sarah Miller says her mother’s preserves are the best in the village.”
MaryAnn looked up at her mother. “May we have some with our tea?”
Mrs. Carter smiled and nodded. “Slice some bread and toast it, then you can take a tray up to your father while I visit with Lilly.”
The girls bustled around the kitchen, preparing the tea tray for their father while Rob’s mother told Lilly about the doctor’s visit and her husband’s slow recovery. When the girls carried the tray upstairs, Mrs. Carter and Lilly sat at the table, then Mrs. Carter poured her a cup of tea.
“How is Rob?” Lilly asked. “I had a letter from him a few days ago, but I’m worried about him working so much.”
Mrs. Carter’s brow creased, and she brushed a bread crumb from the table. “He’s tired by evening. In fact, sometimes he falls straight into bed after dinner. I hate to see him give up his only day of rest.”
“I wish there was more I could do to help.”
“You’ve done more than enough, bringing us that basket and cheering me with your company.” Mrs. Carter’s blue eyes softened. “Rob is a strong young man with a good heart. I couldn’t ask for a finer son.”
Lilly’s own heart warmed, hearing Rob’s mother speak so highly of him.
Mrs. Carter offered Lilly more tea and refilled her own cup. “I’ve been thinking of ways I might be able to bring in some extra money.”
Lilly straightened. “What did you have in mind?”
Rob’s mother gazed at the flowers on the table. “I’m creative and skilled with a needle. I could take in sewing or mending, but you know what I’d really like to do?”
“What?”
“Make hats.” Mrs. Carter glanced away, but a smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “I’d love to try my hand at that.”
“Making hats sounds like a lovely idea.” Lilly had always admired Maggie’s millinery skills. It was a blessing she had a grandmother who had trained her, and one day Mrs. Hayes would pass on the shop to Maggie. That would give her an income and security. What would Lilly’s life be like if she’d learned to fashion hats rather than going into service?
Mrs. Carter took a sip of tea. “I doubt there’d be enough business for another millinery shop in Heatherton, and I wouldn’t want to take business from Mrs. Hayes and her granddaughter.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Well, enough of that dream. I need to be practical, which probably means taking in mending or ironing.”
“What about dressmaking or sewing curtains?”
Mrs. Carter nodded, her smile returning. “I could do that.”
“I’m sure you could.”
Jane came down the stairs, and MaryAnn followed behind, carrying the tray. “Father says it’s time for his medicine.”
“I need to go up.” Rob’s mother stood. “You’re welcome to stay and visit with the girls, if you’d like.”
Lilly glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “I wish I could, but I need to start back to Morningside.”
Mrs. Carter reached for her hand. “Thank you for coming, Lilly.”
“Please tell Rob I stopped by.” Lilly reached into her skirt pocket. “And would you give him this letter?”
“I’d be glad to.” She laid it on the kitchen table. “Take care, Lilly.” She turned and started up the steps.
Lilly said good-bye to Jane and MaryAnn, then slipped out the door and took the lane past the old mill on her way back to Morningside.
Maggie poured her grandmother a cup of tea and placed the pot on the table. Flames leaped and crackled in the fireplace, spreading welcome warmth throughout their small kitchen. She took a seat opposite her grandmother and looked across the table. Lines creased her grandmother’s forehead, and the woman’s shoulders sagged. Was she weary from their busy day at the shop, or were other concerns weighing her down?
A pang of guilt struck Maggie’s heart. Grandmother had not mentioned Maggie’s refusal to accept the money from Nate since their last painful conversation three days ago, but she had mentioned the need to pay the bill for Violet’s hospital stay and her frustration with their leaky roof.
Maggie sighed. They both worked long hours, Grandmother doing what she could and Maggie styling hats until her back ached and her fingers were sore. But their income barely covered their regular expenses, and extra bills caused a great strain.
Maggie shifted her gaze away and took a sip of tea, the weight of her grandmother’s concern tugging on her heart.
“I hope word about that money you’ve turned down doesn’t make its way to the village.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“I suppose you’re right. I doubt Nathaniel would speak of it to anyone, and no one else knows about it.” Grandmother sent her a cautious glance. “Unless you mentioned it to someone.”
Maggie looked down and wrapped her hand around her teacup. “The only person I told is Lilly.”
Grandmother clicked her tongue. “Well, now the whole staff at Morningside will hear about it before the day is out.”
It had been almost two weeks since she’d spoken to Lilly about Nate’s offer, but she didn’t want to tell Grandmother that. “I don’t think Lilly will talk about our private affairs up at the manor.”
“Really?” Grandmother looked at Maggie over the top of her spectacles. “Remember how she used to delight in telling us her brother had been scolded for some misbehavior, or report her father’s conversations with a difficult customer?”
“That was when she was much younger. She’s not like that now.” At least Maggie hoped she wasn’t. She shifted in her chair, wishing she’d asked Lilly to keep their conversation private. Perhaps she should send her a note and make sure she knew the information should not be shared with anyone.
“It’s too bad you’re set against taking the money.” Grandmother gazed toward the fire. “Think of all you could do, maybe even take a holiday.”
Maggie huffed. “Why does everyone think I ought to take a holiday?”
Grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Everyone?”
Heat infused Maggie’s cheeks. “It’s just that…Nate suggested the s
ame thing.”
“He did?” A soft, dimpled smile creased Grandmother’s cheeks.
“Yes, but it was only a suggestion, and a silly one at that. Imagine me taking a holiday when there’s so much to do here.”
“Well, whether you want to go or not, it was very sweet of Nate to suggest it.”
Maggie had to squelch the desire to roll her eyes. “Sweet is not the word I would use to describe Nathaniel Harcourt.”
Grandmother tipped her head. “How would you describe him, then?”
Dashing, clever…handsome. Those thoughts rode through her mind before she could rein them in. She straightened in her chair. “He’s the master of Morningside Manor and the new business partner at Clifton.”
“Those are his positions, not who he truly is on the inside. I’m talking about his character and convictions and how he lives those out.”
“Whatever those may be, his position is what’s most important to him and everyone else.” But Maggie’s own words sounded hollow to her as she took another sip of tea and stared at the fire, remembering Nate’s visit to the shop and the way he’d helped Violet the day of the accident. Each time, he’d treated them with respect and consideration. And when she’d expressed her hurt and anger toward him and his family for their lack of concern in the past, he’d shown restraint rather than answering in the same way.
She bit her lip, recalling all she’d said and the way she’d stormed off—twice.
Nate didn’t deserve that.
Their friendship had begun when she was twelve years old, and she’d always admired him—his eagerness to learn from her father, his admiration for her family, and his willingness to include her in his adventures around the estate. But he’d also been proud of his position as future heir of Morningside and didn’t hesitate to remind her of that.
But she had to admit he seemed different since he’d returned, more thoughtful and caring. Was it his time in the Navy and his involvement in the war that brought about those changes? One would think going off to war might harden a man and make him less caring toward others…but the opposite seemed to be true of Nate.
And those changes made him even more attractive to her.
Maggie blew out a breath and gave her head a shake. What was she thinking? She had refused the money, and when he’d tried to broach the subject again, she’d remained silent. She’d done it on principle to emphasize her point, but she was beginning to wonder if it had more to do with her pride.
Perhaps someday she might be able to forgive Nate and his family, but she wasn’t going to put her heart on the line or allow herself to hope for what could never be. There was too much that separated her from Nate Harcourt. Even an ongoing friendship was unlikely, let alone anything more.
That thought took hold, and a painful ache swelled in her chest.
Enough! She would not think about Nate anymore.
She pushed to her feet. “I’ll check on Violet, then I’m going up to bed. Is there anything I can get for you?”
Grandmother searched Maggie’s face. “Trials and suffering come into everyone’s life, Maggie. Don’t let the pain of the past cloud your view of the future. Keep your heart open to what God wants to do.”
Maggie pressed her lips together and tried to ignore her grandmother’s convicting words, but they sank in deep and hit her heart.
She bent and kissed her grandmother’s cheek and caught a whiff of lavender, Grandmother’s favorite scent. She pulled in a deep breath, and it soothed the ache in her chest a bit. “Good night, Grandmother.”
“Good night, dear. God bless you with sweet dreams and restful sleep.”
Those were the same words she said every night, but for some reason they made Maggie’s eyes sting tonight. She blinked and tried to shake it off. She was just worn out from the long day.
She looked in on Violet and found her fast asleep in Grandmother’s bed, her casted leg sticking out of the blankets. Her sister looked completely at peace, with her wavy brown hair spread out across the pillow and her long, dark eyelashes falling against her creamy pink cheeks.
Maggie stepped closer, pulled the blanket up to her sister’s chin, and gently brushed a strand of hair from her sister’s face. “Good night, Vi,” she whispered, then leaned down and kissed her sister’s forehead.
Grandmother’s parting comments resurfaced in her mind as she climbed the stairs to her room. Why did she struggle so with letting go of hurt and disappointment? She was just trying to be sensible and realistic, but were her painful memories of the past truly clouding her view of the future?
She huffed out a breath and dismissed the thought. It was time to put those questions away for the night. She lifted the lid of her trunk and took out her father’s journal. Perhaps if she spent a few minutes reading his entries, it would give her some comfort and direction.
Opening the journal, she carefully turned the pages and stopped at an entry in early May that featured a drawing of bluebells outlined in ink and painted in watercolor. The lovely, detailed drawing stirred pleasant memories, and a smile touched Maggie lips.
Closing her eyes, she recalled their walks through the woods and the carpets of bluebells that covered the shady forest floor. What a delight they were after the long, cold winter. She turned to where she’d left off reading last time.
20 August
Today I came upon Mrs. H. and a man quite unexpectedly on the path by Tumbledon Lake. As soon as the man saw me he broke off his conversation and hurried off down the path, away from us. I turned and started back in the direction I’d come, but I’d only gone a few steps when Mrs. H. called out to me. I didn’t want to stop and speak to her, but I felt I must.
She was coy at first, smiling and trying to make light of the encounter, but I’d seen their startled looks and the guilt on both their faces when I came upon them. It is not the first time I’ve seen them together. She questioned me, trying to discover my intention. I felt I owed her an honest reply, and I urged her to speak to her husband, so I would not feel the need to.
She tried to look unruffled, but I could tell the opposite was true. “Why would you want to embarrass and upset Mr. Harcourt? There’s no need to say anything to him or anyone else.” Her hands fluttered like a nervous bird all the time she was speaking, and I could see her true feeling of anxiety behind her words.
I gave her my answer. “I’ve seen you with that man before, and if it means nothing, then you won’t be hesitant to tell Mr. Harcourt about it.”
Her coy expression faded and hardened. “If you take it upon yourself to interfere in my private life, you’ll be risking your position and reputation.”
I stared at her for a moment, stunned that she would say such a thing to me, when she was the one walking down such a troubled path.
“You will promise me your silence,” she continued, “or I will go to my husband and tell him you’ve been making advances toward me, then you’ll be the one paying the price for what you think you saw today.”
A wave of shock jolted through me, then anger that she would threaten me with that lie. I made my decision then and told her what to expect. “I will give you three days to speak to your husband and settle this matter or I will go to him myself.”
Her face flushed, and her eyes snapped with fire. “You will regret the way you’ve spoken to me today!” With that, she spun away and marched off.
I stood my ground for several seconds, shaken by her foolish, angry words, but I have no choice. Mr. H. is my employer and friend. I cannot keep what I’ve seen a secret. I hope and pray Mrs. H. will stop meeting that man and confess her misdeeds to her husband, but if not, my loyalty demands I speak to Mr. H. and give him the opportunity to deal with it as he sees fit.
My heart is very heavy, thinking of the pain and suffering that comes when marriage vows are not honored and trust is broken. But there is always hope if all parties are willing to be honest, forgive, and rebuild trust. I pray that will be the case for Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt.
>
Maggie stared at the page. How terrible that Nate’s stepmother had been so desperate to hide her misdeeds that she threatened Maggie’s father. She turned the page to read on, but the next page was blank.
She quickly flipped through the rest of the journal, but there were no more entries. She glanced back at the date of the last entry, and dizziness swept through her.
Two days later they’d taken the boat out on Tumbledon Lake and…
She closed the journal and squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want to think about that day. What good would it do now? Nothing could change what had happened or bring her family back.
She set aside the journal, climbed onto her bed, and lay back on her pillow. Questions tumbled through her mind as she stared at the ceiling.
Had Mrs. Harcourt confessed to her husband about her meetings with the man in the woods? How had Mr. Harcourt responded? What if she had accused Maggie’s father instead? Did Mr. Harcourt believe her?
She tried to recall her family’s conversations at home before the accident, but as far as she could remember, her father had given no hint that he was caught in the middle of a conflict between Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt. Had he told her mother about it? She had seemed lighthearted the day of the picnic. Maggie hadn’t sensed any trouble brewing when they’d first set out across the lake that day.
But she had been only seventeen, and looking back now, she realized how little she’d understood about the real world and what was going on in the hearts and lives of those around her.
A sudden thought jolted her, and she sat up.
What if Mrs. Harcourt wanted to stop Maggie’s father from speaking to her husband? Could she have learned of their plans to take the boat out that day? If she had, could she have arranged for the boat’s hull to be damaged so it would sink?
No, that was ridiculous!
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