“Only ’cause he had to repeat the eighth grade three times.”
“I’m sure that is not true.”
Paul’s cheeks were about as ruddy as Lizzie’s had been a moment ago. “Yes, it is. I’m seventeen now, but didn’t graduate till this past year. I hated school.”
“So do I,” put in Dietrich. “And Miss Higgins is so mean.”
Mara frowned at her son. “I’m certain she’s not. She probably has her hands full trying to teach so many children so many things before she launches you all into the world.”
The children seemed to have nothing to say to that, concentrating instead on their cookies and milk.
“Would you like to continue your studies, Lizzie?”
“Papa wants me to.” Lizzie wrinkled her freckled nose. “I would if it didn’t mean having to go to the academy.”
“You mean the high school in town?”
She nodded. “I’d have to board with someone during the week.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad.”
“I don’t want to leave home…and Papa.”
Mara understood. Lizzie was her father’s housekeeper. A pity the girl was so tied down, though she understood perfectly. “I used to take care of my father, like you.”
Lizzie’s grayish-green eyes rounded. “Did you really?”
“Yes. I lost my mother quite young, the way I imagine you did. So, it was just my father and me. I enjoyed cooking and keeping house for him.”
Lizzie looked as if she were hanging on to every word. “Yes,” she breathed out. “Did you live in this house?”
Mara shook her head. “We lived in a town near Boston. It wasn’t until I was your age, Paul—” she turned to him to include him in the conversation “—that my father decided to move up here. He wanted to live by the coast, to paint it.”
“He was an artist, wasn’t he?” the boy asked. “I seen his paintings on the walls.”
“Yes, we still have a few of his paintings in the parlor. Most were sold, though,” she added sadly.
“Was he famous?” Lizzie asked.
“He became quite popular, but that was after years of struggling. For many years no one wanted to buy his paintings. But then came the day that it seemed he sold his paintings almost as soon as he put the last brushstroke on them.”
All three children were looking at her as if she were telling them a fairy story. She smiled and stood. “Well, I’ll let you finish your snack. I need to get to work boiling up these cranberries before they go bad.”
Lizzie stood immediately. “I’ll help you, ma’am. That’s why I came over.”
“Well, finish your milk and cookies. I’ll begin washing the berries.”
Paul stood and pushed his chair in. “Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. Keller. I’ll go back out and finish my work.” When he was at the door, he turned back. “My mother wanted to ask you if you’re coming over to our sociable on Friday evening. You’re welcome, she said to tell you.”
“I…I don’t know. But please give her my thanks. I’ll…I’ll see what Mrs. Blackstone plans.”
He bobbed his head and left the kitchen.
When Mara turned back to the bushel of cranberries, she found Lizzie staring at the kitchen door. So, it was that way, was it?
“Come, help me lift these into the sink.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
“Dietrich, why don’t you help Paul with his chores?”
“All right, Mama.” Wiping his mouth, he slipped from his chair and left the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
“We’ll have some quiet now,” Mara said, lifting the pump handle to get the water, glad once again that Carina was out for the afternoon.
As they washed and picked over the cranberries, she ventured, “What’s this sociable like?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Just the near neighbors getting together after supper at Cliff and Sarah McClellan’s, Pa’s cousins.”
“I imagine a lot of people are related to each other around here.”
Lizzie laughed. “Oh, yes. Most folks have kin in every household.”
They filled a large iron pot with berries and some water and put it on the stove. Mara checked the fire and added some sticks of wood. “I’ll get the sugar then we’ll let that simmer a bit. I think we can fill another pot as well.”
When the pots were on the cookstove, she returned to the subject. “So, what happens at the sociable?”
“Oh, people talk and maybe sing a little. Papa usually goes ’cause he plays the fiddle for dancing for the young folks.”
Mara smiled at her. “Are you going to try your hand at dancing this time?”
Lizzie turned away, hiding her face. “No…I don’t think so.”
“You’re young yet.”
“I’m almost fifteen!”
Mara chuckled. “That’s very young, though not too young to enjoy some jigs and reels.”
Lizzie stirred the pot with vigor. “Nobody’s going to want to dance with me anyway.”
Mara set out the jars for the sauce. “I don’t know about that. You’re a pretty girl and because you’re tall, you look older than fourteen.”
Lizzie’s wooden spoon stopped. “Do I really?”
“Yes. With your hair up, you’ll look sixteen.”
A look of expectancy lit her face. “Oh, Mrs. Keller, would you put my hair up for the sociable?”
Mara thought about how Paul’s presence had affected her. “You know what would be much nicer?”
She shook her head, sending her two braids swinging.
Mara touched an end of one of the red braids. “If you wore it loose, brushed out, with a ribbon tying the front ends back, like so.” As she spoke she illustrated with her hands. “Your hair has a natural curl to it which would look lovely.”
Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “Wear it down? Wouldn’t that be too childish?”
“Not at all. You are a girl, yet, so don’t be in such a hurry to become a woman. The Bible says that a woman’s hair is her glory. When you get older it won’t be seemly to wear it loose. So, you should enjoy it now. It’s a beautiful color, rich and deep.”
Lizzie still looked doubtful. “But they call me carrottop at school.”
Mara smiled. “They just haven’t seen it all brushed out and hanging down to your waist with a pretty colored ribbon. Do you have a green gown?”
“I have a light green checked gingham.”
“Why don’t you wear that? And with a matching green ribbon tied at the back of your hair, you must stand straight and walk in unashamed, knowing the Lord gave you this beautiful shade of hair.”
The cranberries began to pop as they heated up. Lizzie stirred the pot again. “I don’t know, Mrs. Keller…”
Mara laughed. “Trust me. Now let me stir the other pot before it burns. How long should we let the berries cook?”
“A little bit longer. Once they’ve all popped then we’ll see if they’re sweet enough.”
Mara laughed. “I’m glad your father suggested you come by this afternoon. You’re the one who’s teaching me to make cranberry sauce.”
Lizzie tilted her head at her as Mara brought over the crock of sugar. “Haven’t you ever made any?”
“Not since I was about your age. I never had any in Europe, so I don’t know if they have cranberries over there. I never really had a kitchen of my own anyway.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”
“No.” She poured out the sugar into a bowl and brought it to the stove. “How much shall we put in?”
“Oh, a few cups to each pot. We can taste it to make sure it’s sweet enough.”
Mara followed the girl’s
instructions then stirred her own pot.
“What kind of houses did you live in over there?” Lizzie asked a few minutes later.
Mara recalled the various ones over her years touring the Continent with Klaus. “All kinds, but in the latter years, it was mainly boardinghouses. That’s what I meant by not having a kitchen of my own. We’d take our meals with the lady who ran the boardinghouse. Usually she was a widow who rented out rooms.”
“Did you like that?”
Mara considered her answer. It wouldn’t do to paint too dismal a portrait for this young girl. “Some were quite nice, others not so nice.” She turned away from the stove. “Tell me more about your life here. I lived here only briefly when I was eighteen and my father had just purchased this house. Do you find it lonely with just you and your father?”
“Not so much now. At first it was hard, having Mama gone, but now we’re so used to it, I guess we don’t think much about it.”
They worked in silence a while, stirring their bubbling pots.
Lizzie gave her a sidelong look. “C-could you show me how to walk, all graceful-like? So, that, you know…” her face turned a deep shade of pink once again “…young men will take a second look at me—and not just because they think I look funny.”
Mara touched her lightly on the elbow. “Of course, dear. Why don’t you come over a half hour or so earlier on the night of the sociable, and I’ll help you with your hair? Perhaps your father can fetch you on his way to the McClellans’?”
Lizzie’s generous mouth broke into a wide smile. “That would be wonderful. Oh, thank you, Mrs. Keller! And he can take you and Dietrich, too.”
Before Mara had a chance to reply, Carina came into the kitchen.
“Hello, Carina,” Mara said, taking the pot off the stove and placing it on a folded towel atop the table.
Carina looked in surprise at Lizzie and surveyed everything arrayed on the table and countertop. “Hello, Lizzie. I didn’t know you were coming over this afternoon.”
Lizzie nodded to her. “Hello, Mrs. Blackstone. Pa offered to have me help Mrs. Keller with putting up the cranberries.”
“Oh.” It was hard to interpret the single syllable. “How thoughtful of him. My, you seem to have a lot going on here.”
Lizzie smiled. “Yes, you’ll have enough jars to last you all winter.”
Carina smiled at the girl, leaving Mara amazed as always at how charming she could be with outsiders. “How nice of you to think of me.” She removed her hat and gloves. “Is it chilly out there! I think I shall fix myself a cup of tea before I offer to help you.”
Lizzie took her pot off the stove. “That’s all right, ma’am. You go ahead and have your tea. We’re almost finished here.”
Mara took up the teakettle. “The water is hot.”
After Carina took her teacup and left the kitchen, Mara breathed easier.
As they strained the cranberry sauce and poured it into jars, they couldn’t speak much, but after sealing the jars with paraffin, Mara stood back and wiped the perspiration from her brow. “They look beautiful, don’t they?” They admired the dozens of jars containing a ruby-red sauce.
“Yes, they do that.”
“Why don’t you and I have a cup of tea to celebrate?”
“That’d be fine, ma’am, and then I’d best get home and fix Papa’s supper.”
“Yes, indeed.”
As they sat allowing their tea to cool, Lizzie asked, “Mrs. Blackstone’s going with us to the sociable, isn’t she?”
“I expect so.”
“Do you think she’d mind if I came over early?”
In truth, Mara wasn’t sure. But she smiled in reassurance. “I’m sure she wouldn’t. As long as your father has no objection.”
“He won’t. He says you’re a good influence for me.”
Before Mara could react to that comment, Lizzie continued. “He can pick us up in the carryall like I said. He usually takes Mrs. Blackstone anyway, if she decides to go out in the evenings.”
“That’s very nice of him.”
Lizzie looked toward the hallway, as if she wanted to say something more, but decided against it.
“The McClellans always invite Mrs. Blackstone for Thanksgiving dinner and frequently on a Sunday after church,” was what she finally said.
“How thoughtful of them, knowing Mrs. Blackstone is alone now.”
“Yes, before she was widowed, we didn’t see too much of her. She and your father kept to themselves a lot, or enjoyed the society of town.”
Mara nodded, imagining it so. Her father had grown more and more reclusive after her mother died, and Mara had heard enough remarks from Carina to realize that she did prefer the ladies of the town.
Lizzie stood. “Let me clean up some of these things while our tea cools.”
“I’ll help you.”
Lizzie didn’t let Mara do any of the heavy washing up. Mara marveled, grateful for her help, and vowed to assist the girl for the sociable.
When they’d drunk their tea, Lizzie put on her cloak and wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck. At the door, she stood a moment before opening it. “Did you really mean that about fixing my hair and all for the sociable?”
“Of course.”
She cleared her throat, fiddling with the fringes on her scarf ends. “And how to act like a lady. I mean, how to walk and move? I always feel like my hands are in the way and my feet are ready to trip over anything…” Her voice trailed away.
Mara took her hands in hers. “My dear, we all feel that way at your age.”
The girl gave her another wide smile. “Thank you, oh, thank you, ma’am!”
Without another word, she turned around and opened the door.
When Lizzie had gone, Mara stood staring at the closed door a few seconds. Then, with a sigh of satisfaction for an afternoon well spent, she took her shawl off the hook, and went in search of her son.
Perhaps her life was taking a turn for the better.
Gideon scraped most of his shaving soap off his chin and washed off the remnants. Patting his face dry, he stared at himself in the square mirror. Well, at least he hadn’t nicked himself.
The house was silent. Usually, about now Lizzie would be inspecting his shirt and tie and brushing off his frock coat. He smiled, remembering how Elsie had done the same. Well, hopefully, his tie wasn’t crooked. He’d donned a clean shirt and collar.
He brushed his hair one last time, his thoughts going to Mrs. Keller. Silly to think of her and what she might think of his appearance. He was merely collecting them to go to the sociable. What he did for Mrs. Blackstone all the time. Nothing more. Period.
He set down the brush, a mite too hard that it clattered off the washstand and fell to the floor. He bent to pick it up then hit his head on the edge of the table as he rose. Stifling an exclamation, he willed his nerves to still, before setting the hairbrush down.
He adjusted the knot of his black four-in-hand tie then turned from the mirror with a gesture of impatience. He was going only to play the fiddle, not to catch some lady’s eye.
As he rode toward the Blackstone place, his thoughts couldn’t help but return to Mrs. Keller. Lizzie had seemed so excited to be going there early. He wondered what Mrs. Keller planned with her, hoping the lady wouldn’t get his daughter’s hopes up too high.
Lights shone from the kitchen window as he drove up. He didn’t even have time to get down from the carryall when Lizzie and Dietrich came out the door. “There you are, Papa. I was on the watch for you!”
He scrutinized his daughter in the half-light. The first thing he noticed was her long mane of hair. But it didn’t look wild. It was held back neatly away from her face. She wore her knee-length cloak so he couldn’t
see anything else. “Hop aboard. Hello, Dietrich.”
“Hello, Mr. Jakeman,” the boy said as he scrambled into the backseat after Lizzie.
By then the ladies emerged from the house. Mrs. Blackstone secured the door and turned to him. “Good evening, Mr. Jakeman. Do you have enough room for all of us?”
“Sure thing.” He asked Lizzie to hold the reins while he hopped down and came around to help the two onto the front seat, wondering if Mrs. Keller was going to be in the middle next to him.
But Mrs. Blackstone came up to him first as he was nodding to Mrs. Keller. He took her arm and helped her up then turned to Mrs. Keller.
“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze for only an instant before turning her attention to the carryall.
He held her by the elbow but she grasped the carriage with her other hand and hiked herself up to the seat, disengaging herself from his light hold almost as soon as he had touched her.
Mrs. Blackstone made conversation as they rode the short way to the McClellans’. Lizzie chattered away with Dietrich, leaning forward often to address a remark to Mrs. Keller though Gideon couldn’t catch Mrs. Keller’s replies.
When they arrived, he helped them down at the door to the large, sprawling farmhouse before going to the barn to see to the carryall.
When he entered the house, Sarah came up to him with a smile. “Hello, Gideon. I’m so glad you brought Mrs. Keller—and Mrs. Blackstone, of course. My, but doesn’t Lizzie look pretty?” As she spoke, she took him by the arm and propelled him toward the sitting room, which was already full of people, mostly members of her own large family and the few neighbors who lived on this stretch of road. People smiled, lifting a hand and smiling at him.
Sarah stood with him near the doorway a few moments. “I haven’t seen you in over a week, so you’re not going to go off to the menfolk so fast. Just set your fiddle down here.” She indicated a side table. “You must be proud of Lizzie. I’ve never seen her look so elegant. My, my, she’s going to be a young lady soon.” She shook her head.
Gideon scanned the room for his daughter, drawing in a breath at the sight of her. She was standing alongside Mrs. Keller, greeting those already seated in chairs ranged along the walls.
Hometown Cinderella: Hometown CinderellaThe Inn at Hope Springs Page 8