by Dorothy Love
Standing in the raw March wind as her father’s coffin was lowered into the cold earth, Ada had tried to make peace with her losses, but she still had no idea how to go about it. There was no reason for anything, as far as she could tell. Things happened the way they happened, and all anyone could do was to keep moving forward by whatever means necessary.
Lillian grasped the windowsill and turned her wheelchair around. “It’s still a heavy burden on your heart.”
Ada shrugged.
“I know it isn’t easy,” Lillian said, her voice gentle. “But when somebody needs your forgiveness, think about the One who forgives you. When you forgive those who have wronged you and let go of your grief and bitterness, your heart will heal.”
It sounded simple, this letting go, but so far she had been unable to accomplish it. Every thought of Edward, and her father, accomplices in the theft of her future, left her feeling angry and resentful.
Lillian turned back to the window. “I’m hungry now.”
Ada went to the kitchen and filled a tray with the food Hannah Fields had left. Lillian lit the lamp, filling the room with lambent light. Outside, the whip-poor-wills and cicadas sang. A squadron of fireflies buzzed in the bushes, lighting up the garden.
Lillian ate with obvious relish and finally pushed her empty plate away. “That was good. Now fetch my Bible, and let’s hear a few verses before I nod off.”
Ada opened the Bible to the place marked with a silk tassel. “Ecclesiastes?”
“My favorite, along with Proverbs and the Psalms.”
Ada began reading. “To every thing there is a season, and a purpose to everything under heaven . . .”
She had read but a few verses when Lillian’s eyes began to droop. Ada closed the Bible and stood. “Mrs. Willis, shall I help you get ready for bed?”
“I can manage.” Lillian yawned. “Clear the dishes and be sure the doors are locked. Wyatt and that wild child of Sage’s come and go with never a thought to my safety. Last week Rob brought a bucket of blackberries, which I did appreciate, but then he ran home and left the back door standing wide open. It’s a wonder I wasn’t murdered.”
Ada looked up in alarm. “Your nephew told me about the Klan.”
“The Klan,” Lillian spat. “I wasn’t talking about that bunch of ignorant cowards. Hickory Ridge is on the rail lines going every whichaway. You never know who might come blowing in here on the train.” She released the brake on her wheelchair and started down the hall. “Good night, girl.”
Ada washed the dishes, wiped the sideboard, and checked the doors. Upstairs, she undressed and slid between the sheets, intending to read for a while, but her conversation with Lillian, so freighted with loss and regret, had left her feeling too restless to concentrate. She turned her face to the window and looked up at the summer sky, listening to the old house pop and creak, settling for the night. She was sorry for having shared so much of her past with a stranger. Sorry that she had come here at all. But it was too late now.
There was no going back.
FOUR
Bright orange flames licked at her face and hair, searing her skin. Thick black smoke billowed above her, filling her lungs and stealing her breath. The stench of burning flesh overwhelmed her senses. A chorus of screams and the frantic ringing of a distant fire bell filled her ears.
Ada cried out and sat up, her heart pounding. Her nightdress was bunched about her waist and drenched in sweat. Outside her window, birdsong and the faint pealing of church bells echoed through the valley. She lay back on the bed and waited for the toofamiliar nightmare to dissipate.
She shaded her eyes from the brilliant sunlight piercing the lace curtains and released a small moan. Yesterday with Lillian had proved a pure trial that began at breakfast and lasted most of the day.
The old woman had insisted on having her morning tea and toast outdoors. It took Ada half an hour to prepare a tray and settle Lillian beneath the shade of the towering magnolia. Ten minutes later, Lillian declared the morning too hot for all but Satan himself and demanded to be taken back indoors. Then she kept Ada running all morning bringing her quilting supplies, her spectacles, her footstool. At noon, Ada struggled to prepare the potato soup Lillian requested, only to be told it was too peppery. An afternoon nap had been a full production requiring the positioning of a mosquito net, the raising and lowering of windows to catch the right amount of breeze, and finally the fetching of a glass of fresh water from the pump in the kitchen.
The downstairs pendulum clock chimed the hour. Ada groaned. Wyatt Caldwell would be here soon to drive his aunt to church. She rose, poured water into the basin, and checked her reflection in the cheval glass beside the door. Creation! Her fevered dream had left her looking as limp and pale as a plucked chicken. She pinched some color into her cheeks, donned a dove-gray silk dress, and went downstairs, the vestiges of her nightmare still clinging like cobwebs in the corners of her mind.
Lillian appeared in the hallway, a frown creasing her forehead. Determined to remain pleasant, Ada summoned a smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not so’s you’d notice it. The ham you fixed for supper was too salty. I practically died of thirst in the night.”
Ada silently counted to ten. “I’m sorry, but the meat has been cured. There isn’t much I can do to take the salt out of it.”
“Hannah managed.”
“Then we must write to her at once and find out her secret.”
“Not likely. She’s probably halfway to Argentina by now—the little redheaded ingrate.”
“What happened?” Ada opened the curtains, letting in the morning light. “I understood that Miss Fields was to meet my train, but Mr. Caldwell said she had left unexpectedly.”
“Unexpected to him maybe. Not to me. She wasn’t about to go to her aunt’s in Missouri, not after she met that drummer from Denver. I watched her making eyes at him every time he passed through town.” Lillian fixed Ada with a stare. “Traveling salesmen are no good. She’ll be sorry soon enough.”
“Perhaps.” Hannah Fields had thrown caution to the wind and grabbed onto a chance for happiness. Ada admired the woman’s courage. She glanced at the clock. “We’ve time for breakfast before your nephew arrives. What would you like?”
“Not ham—I’ll tell you that much. And just to be clear, you will be coming with us this morning.”
“Oh, no thank you. That’s very thoughtful, but—” But I don’t know how to talk to the one who denied me the only man I ever loved, let my father fall into financial ruin, and forced me into servitude to a difficult old woman living in the middle of nowhere.
“I’m not giving you a choice, Ada. Hannah always went with me. I expect no less from you.”
“But your nephew will be there, in case you need anything.”
“Everybody needs the Lord, girl, even you. I’m finished with this discussion. Now, I’ll have biscuits and a fried egg. Don’t leave the yolk runny. I hate runny yolks.”
Ada spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen. She set the skillet on the stove and broke an egg into it.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Lillian’s voice echoed down the hallway.
Ada hurried down the hall to the open doorway of Lillian’s bedroom. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“No, Miss Wentworth, I am not all right.” She handed Ada a leghorn straw hat with a ragged hole in the brim. “My best summer hat, and it’s ruined. What am I to do? I can’t go to church without a proper hat. What will people think?”
Ada poked a finger through the coin-sized hole. “What about another hat? Shall I look in your wardrobe?”
“Certainly not. I don’t want you pawing through my things! Besides, this hat goes with my dress. I can well imagine what Bea Goldston will say if I show up in the wrong hat. She’s the meanest woman in Hickory Ridge.”
Ada blinked. There was someone in town meaner than Lillian Willis? Heaven help them all. Then, to her surprise, she heard herself say, “I can fix it.”
Lillian sniffed like a child at the end of a tantrum. “Really?”
“After I’ve finished making your breakfast, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Forget breakfast.” Lillian flapped one hand in dismissal. “I’m not hungry anyway.”
“Surely you’d like a bite of something before church.”
Lillian glared at her.
“All right then.” Ada took the hat upstairs and retrieved a wooden box from the bottom of her trunk. Even after so many years, her eyes welled at the sight of it. Scratched and worn with age, it was the only tangible reminder of her mother.
Ada opened it, releasing the faint scent of cedar and lavender, and ran her fingers along the edges of the box. She smoothed the petals of a single silk rose her mother had bought in Paris, feeling a connection across time and space. Though Elizabeth never opened the hat shop she often dreamed about, fashionable Boston ladies had found their way to the Wentworths home, where her mother crafted hats of her own design or copied from the latest European styles.
Ada took out her scissors and snipped away the ragged edges of the hole in Lillian’s hat. She found a length of yellow ribbon and a pearl-tipped hatpin and quickly looped the ribbon around the pin to form a flower with the pearl at its center. She added a bit of lace around the brim to make the repair less obvious. Then she gave the hat a gentle brushing and took it back to Lillian.
The old woman’s face lit up, making her seem younger than her years. “Oh! Oh my! How positively beautiful!” She flapped both hands. “Quick! Help me put it on.”
Relieved at having finally done something that met with Lillian’s approval, Ada pinned the hat to Lillian’s fine hair and handed her the silver-backed mirror from the dressing table.
Lillian turned her head, admiring her reflection. “Why, Ada, I had no idea you were so clever. Wherever did you learn such a skill?”
Before Ada could respond, Lillian caught her hand. “You must forgive my behavior yesterday. I’m sure it must be difficult for you, without any parents to rely on. I’m sorry you’ve lost them both.”
Ada felt tears burn her eyes. Lillian’s sympathy was harder to endure than her constant demands. “So am I,” she managed. “If there’s nothing else you need—”
“Actually”—Lillian smiled at her reflection—“I find that I am quite hungry after all.”
Ada returned to the kitchen to make breakfast. She filled a tray, and the two women ate in the parlor beneath an open window. Between bites, Lillian described the women in her church quilting circle.
“There’s Bea Goldston, of course. Thinks she has to run everything. I suppose we can’t blame her. The town hired her to teach school three years ago, and she’s accustomed to being in charge.”
Ada spread her biscuit with marmalade. “It must be difficult to keep a room full of rowdy children in line. Is there a Mr. Goldston?”
Lillian laughed. “Oh my lands, no. When you meet her you’ll see why.” She took a bite of her poached egg. “Mariah Whiting, on the other hand, is the sweetest little thing you’d ever hope to meet.”
“Whiting? Isn’t he the foreman at the mill?”
“Sage, yes. He and Wyatt served together in the war. Sage and Mariah make a fine pair. They dote on their boy.”
“Robbie seems to idolize your nephew.”
“When Robbie was just a baby, Sage regaled him with stories of Wyatt’s exploits during the war.” She reached for the marmalade. “The Texas Brigade was quite famous. General Lee favored them most highly.”
Ada sipped her tea. “Did Mr. Caldwell serve with the general?”
Lillian was quiet for so long, Ada thought the older woman had drifted off to sleep. But finally Lillian said, “Perhaps he should tell you about that himself.” She brushed crumbs from her fingers. “He should be here any minute.”
Ada cleared the table and went back to her room to find her own hat, a gray silk toque adorned with a single curved peacock feather. She sighed. Her restless night had left her gritty-eyed and exhausted. She wasn’t in the mood to sit all morning in a hot, crowded church surrounded by people she didn’t know—people who had no use for a Boston Yankee. But she couldn’t afford to incur Lillian’s wrath either. She needed this job until she could save enough to move on.
“Ada?” Lillian called. “Hurry up! Here comes Wyatt!”
Wyatt looked up as Ada descended the staircase carrying a prayer book and her Sunday hat. He couldn’t help noticing her paleness and the faint circles beneath her extraordinary eyes. Her plain gray dress was clean and pressed, but the somber color made her seem older than her years. If he had his way about it, she’d be wearing something with plenty of ruffles and lace. In pink, maybe, or sky blue.
“Good morning.” He inclined his head. “How have you and Lil been getting on?”
His aunt tottered to the doorway. “Are you gossiping about me, Wyatt Caldwell?”
“Of course not.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “You’re looking fine this morning. New hat?”
“After a fashion. Ada repaired a hole in the brim. I told you I was wise to hire her.”
He couldn’t stop the laugh that started deep in his chest. “Oh, yes. And you were eagerly anticipating her arrival, eh?”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I can’t help it, given the conniption fit you threw when I told you she was coming. Now that she’s made you a new hat to show off, all of a sudden the whole thing was your idea.”
“She can’t cook worth a plugged nickel.”
He glanced at Ada, hoping she wasn’t offended. “Aunt Lil, that’s impolite.”
“But it’s true,” Ada said. “I’m not much use in the kitchen. I said as much in my letter to Miss Fields.”
Lillian frowned. “Are we going to stand here jawing all morning, or are we going to church?”
Wyatt’s heart kicked in his chest as Ada stopped before the hallway mirror and deftly tucked her hair into a neat knot. He was fascinated at the graceful way she lifted her arms to secure her hat with its pins, with the way her dress hugged her curves.
“There.” She retrieved Lillian’s Bible and picked up her prayer book. “All set.”
“It’s about time,” Lillian said.
Ada smiled then, lighting up the room. Wyatt felt suddenly shy, like a callow youth discovering women for the first time.
He and Ada each offered an arm to Lillian. They moved slowly along the porch and crossed the yard to the buggy. Wyatt helped Lillian and Ada onto the seat. He settled himself beside them and flicked the reins. “Sorry it’s a bit crowded, but the buggy’s more comfortable than the buckboard, and it’ll keep the sun off your face.”
They set off, his knee bumping hers as the buggy rolled down the road. In the distance a train whistle sounded.
“That’ll be the ten o’clock bound for Nashville,” he told Ada. “It doesn’t stop here on Sundays, but I sure do like the sound of it.” He pointed to his left. “You can just about see the trestle through that stand of trees.”
“How many trains come through here?” Ada asked.
“Ten a week. Not bad for a little town.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. His mill was one of the reasons Hickory Ridge was on the move. “The way Hickory Ridge is growing, it won’t be little for long.”
“Too crowded, that’s what it is,” Lillian grumbled. “There was a time when I knew every family who lived here. Now when I go shopping, all I see is a passel of strangers.” She waved her hand. “When I was a girl you could get anything you needed, from nails to molasses, at the mercantile. Now we’ve got those fancy stores selling lace and writing paper and such. Who needs all that highfalutin’ stuff is what I’d like to know.”
“Progress isn’t all bad,” Wyatt said. “I, for one, am glad to have the bookshop right here in town instead of having to go forty miles to Knoxville for the latest Mark Twain.” He slowed the buggy for a curve in the road. In the distance, the church steeple protruded abo
ve the trees. He glanced at Ada, who had seemed preoccupied during most of the trip. “Miss Wentworth, have you by any chance read Innocents Abroad?”
Her sudden smile touched his heart. “Yes. My father sent me to Europe with my Aunt Kate the summer I turned eighteen. I enjoyed Mr. Twain’s articles about some of the places we visited.”
“I’ve always wanted to see Europe. Maybe you’ll give me an account of your travels and save me the trip.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t do it jus—oh, we’re here.”
Wyatt drove the buggy into the shaded lot beside the church and set the brake. He helped Lillian and Ada from the rig and tipped his Stetson. “Enjoy the sermon, ladies.”
FIVE
Ada looked around the bustling churchyard. Young couples, older folks, and nearly-grown youths chatted quietly, awaiting the start of the service while the younger children chased one another and played hide-and-seek among the buckboards and buggies lined up beneath the trees.
Spotting his mill foreman arriving with his family, Wyatt touched one finger to the brim of his Stetson. “Excuse me, ladies. I need a word with Sage.”
“Oh, Wyatt.” Lillian frowned. “Talking business on the Lord’s Day?”
He grinned. “I’ll see you later.”
He loped across the yard, dodging a group of noisy children tossing a ball. Lillian tucked her Bible under her arm. “Here comes Queen Bea,” she murmured to Ada. “The schoolteacher I told you about.”
Miss Goldston was much younger than Ada had imagined. She was tall and angular, her features too uneven to be conventionally beautiful, but the thick, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and her regal bearing certainly commanded attention. A handsome woman, Ada’s father would have said. The teacher glanced over at Lillian and Ada, smiled, and nodded.
“She seems nice enough,” Ada remarked.
“She’s nice when it suits her.” Lillian swatted at a bee buzzing around their heads. “But mark my words—Bea and her friend Betsy Terwilliger would rather create a scandal than eat.” She leaned closer to Ada. “I know it isn’t right to gossip, but you’re new here and it must be said: Bea Goldston is mean as a snake. She takes pleasure in stirring up trouble for no good reason.”