Hometown Cinderella: Hometown CinderellaThe Inn at Hope Springs

by Patricia Davids

  “Is that so?” She fiddled with a jet button on her bodice. “Well, I expect you’ll be there.”

  “Yes, I ’spect so, to play the fiddle with Joe and Henry.”

  “Of course.” She chuckled. “I admit I wasn’t thinking of your fiddle playing.”

  “Oh?”

  She turned her head a fraction, giving him a coy look. “Very well, Gideon, if you want to pretend ignorance, we’ll leave it that way.”

  He stared at her until her meaning began to penetrate. Did she mean he was going courting? His cheeks felt as warm as the sides of the woodstove in the corner of the parlor.

  He jumped at the sound of footsteps. Lizzie entered with the cake platter held aloft, and Mara followed right behind her with the teapot on a tray.

  He stood to help then thought better of it. Before he could make up his mind whether to help clear off room on the table, Lizzie set down her platter and turned to take the teapot off Mrs. Keller’s tray and set it down. It also contained a small plate with lemon slices and a thick mug.

  “Thank you,” she told Lizzie. “That’s everything, I think. Now, Lizzie, you take the place of honor behind the teapot and pour for us.”

  Lizzie came around and sat next to him. He couldn’t help but be proud of her in her pretty green dress, her long hair falling in thick curls down her back, another green ribbon holding it in place away from her face.

  Mara stood on Lizzie’s other side and held a cup and saucer for her. Lizzie lifted the cozy off the pot and poured. “Cream and sugar, Mrs. Blackstone? Or lemon and sugar?”

  “Just a spoonful of sugar, dear.”

  Dietrich’s feet began to swing against the edge of the sofa. Gideon put his hand on the boy’s knee, stilling him, and bent close to his ear. “That cake looks mighty good.”

  The boy’s gaze traveled to the tall cake which dripped with white icing. He nodded. “Do you think we’ll have it soon?” he whispered.

  “I’m sure we will,” Gideon whispered back, his eyes going to Mara who walked across the room, taking Mrs. Blackstone her teacup.

  Lizzie turned to him. “Papa, do you want it the way you usually take it?”

  “Sure, sweetheart.”

  He watched her pour, his pride growing at her steady and graceful hand. She put a scant spoonful of sugar into his cup and a splash of milk, gave it a brief stir then turned to hand it to him with a smile.

  “Thank you,” he said with an answering smile, taking the cup and saucer with great care and setting them on his knee.

  “Dietrich, how about you?”

  Mrs. Keller approached the table with a smile. “Dietrich will have some milk with his cake.” She handed her son the mug she’d carried in earlier.

  Dietrich took it without a word.

  “What do you say, dear?”

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  Lizzie poured tea for Mrs. Keller, and he noted she took a slice of lemon with hers. Then she asked Dietrich to pass the plate of cookies around while she cut the cake.

  Gideon took the boy’s mug before he slid off the sofa.

  Balancing these two items, he was content to watch Lizzie cut the cake. “Mrs. Blackstone, will you have some lemon cake?”

  “Yes, I’ll try a piece. It smelled so good when it was baking yesterday.”

  Mrs. Keller took her cake to her as Dietrich offered her the platter of cookies. Gideon leaned forward and set the boy’s mug on the low table to receive the cake plate Lizzie handed to him. Dietrich came back and set the cookie plate back down on the table then sat back down beside Gideon.

  Lizzie reached across Gideon to hand the boy his slice of cake.

  “Thank you,” the boy said without prompting this time and quickly dug into his cake. His mother brought him a napkin, tucking it into his collar, and then offered one to Gideon.

  “Thank you,” he said with a smile, leaning back carefully, the cake and tea balanced on each knee.

  Mara took her cup of tea from Lizzie, glancing about the room, deciding where to sit. The logical place was on Lizzie’s other side since it was a long sofa. But she opted for another armchair near Carina.

  She set her cup and saucer on a small table at her side and smiled as first Dietrich offered her the plate of cookies and then Lizzie brought her a piece of cake.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, taking each, not because she had any desire to eat, but as an encouragement to the children. She noticed Gideon had not tasted any of his food or tea yet. Was his stomach experiencing as many flutters as hers was?

  “How do you like the cake, Papa?” Lizzie looked at her father’s plate. “Why, you haven’t even tasted it yet!”

  “No, I haven’t had a chance. It looks mighty good, though.” As he spoke, he managed to take up the small fork and spear a piece of cake from the plate on his knees, all the while holding the cup and saucer with his other hand on his other knee. Mara’s hands clutched each other, wishing she could tell him to set his cup on the low table in front of him, but not wanting to distract him further.

  “It’s yummy!” Dietrich said around a mouthful of cake.

  Gideon swallowed before speaking. “Yes, it certainly is. Did you bake it yourself?”

  “Uh-huh,” Lizzie answered promptly. “Mrs. Keller told me what to put in but I did it all myself.”

  Gideon nodded and took another forkful.

  Mara followed suit, in order to be able to compliment the girl herself, since Carina remained silent, sipping her tea, her cake half-consumed.

  “It’s very good, Lizzie,” she said when she had swallowed. “Light and moist at the same time. A nice hint of lemon in both the icing and the cake.”

  Carina eyed Mara steadily. “Lemons are certainly dear this time of year. It’s not quite the season.” She addressed Gideon. “By Christmastime they’ll be coming into season.”

  Mara set her cake plate down and took up her teacup, squeezing the lemon slice with her fork and stirring the cup. Carina never failed to fault Mara for some household or food expense even when Mara bought them out of her own earnings.

  “Well, it sure tastes good,” Gideon said.

  They fell silent. Mara could hear Dietrich chewing then gulping his milk, but she stopped herself from saying anything. Today was not the time or place.

  “Are these your father’s paintings?” Gideon asked, motioning with his fork at the seascapes adorning the walls.

  Before Mara could answer, Carina spoke up. “Yes, they were my late husband’s work after he moved up here.”

  Gideon studied them a few moments as if he’d never noticed them before. “They’re real pretty,” he said finally.

  Carina asked him about someone from the hamlet who was sick and they began to speak of the man’s condition.

  Mara allowed herself to sit back a fraction and sip her tea. In truth, it had been stressful to plan this tea party, not only because she hadn’t wanted it to seem as if she were singling out Gideon to entertain him, but because she had been forced to include Carina as well. She hadn’t invited anyone else, because she hadn’t wanted to create even more speculation among her neighbors.

  She had gone through with the party, though, for Lizzie’s sake. The poor girl so wanted to learn how to behave properly as a young lady in social situations.

  Mara was so occupied with her thoughts that she didn’t notice how restless Dietrich was growing. He was swinging his legs against the sofa, the heels of his shoes hitting its carved mahogany base.

  Before Carina could reprimand him for scuffing it, Dietrich suddenly leaned forward, reaching for his mug of milk. Gideon reached out, rising a fraction from his seat, as if to grab the boy’s plate from his knee. Instead, his own cup fell from its saucer and hit the edge of the table.
Mara watched in horror, extending a hand as if she could stop the fall, but instead, hearing the shatter of porcelain.

  She rose and rushed to the sofa, seeing the puddle of tea against the floorboards and three large pieces of porcelain scattered about.

  Not hearing the sounds of voices around her—“I’m sorry,” “Mama, Mr. Jakeman broke your cup—” “I’ll get a rag—” Mara knelt down, crowded between Dietrich’s legs and the edge of the table. She picked up the largest piece of broken cup. It was true what Lizzie had said, it was like an eggshell.

  The next moment, she felt the table being moved away from the sofa and Gideon crouched down opposite her. “I’m awfully sorry, ma’am.”

  Before she could think what to say, Carina stood behind him, craning to see what had broken. She broke out into a cackle. “One of the crown jewels! Serves you right!” She addressed Gideon. “She was so proud of that set, carting it around everywhere, packing it up so carefully.” She sniffed. “Pride goeth before a fall!”

  “Carina!” She shot her stepmother a look of mortification.

  “That’s a shame,” Gideon said softly. “I was clumsy.”

  “Please think nothing of it. It wasn’t your fault.” She focused on the pieces on the floor. Gideon’s large hands began to pick up the remaining pieces, making more evident how fragile they were.

  “That’s all right, I can do that.”

  “It didn’t break in too many pieces. Maybe you can glue it back together.”

  She met his sorrow-filled eyes, not having the heart to disagree. Instead she smiled, trying to put a good face on things. “Yes. I can do that and use it as an ornament on my shelf.”

  He nodded. “That’s a good idea.” He looked so hopeful her irritation and disappointment melted.

  Lizzie returned from the kitchen with a rag. “Here, Mrs. Keller, let me get in there and wipe up the mess.”

  “Let me just get the smaller pieces.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll pick them up.”

  “I can get them,” Gideon added. Without giving the others a chance, he began to collect them. Mara marveled at how he was able to pick up the tiniest shards between his blunt fingertips and place them gently into his palm. She had a sudden contrasting vision of Klaus’s pale, long-fingered hands, which could slap her in a blink of an eye when he lost his temper or claw into her upper arms and shake her, leaving her skin bruised for days.

  But worse than the physical marks were the verbal shafts, sharp, stinging, snide barbs perfectly aimed where he knew they’d hurt her the most.

  Best leave the piano playing to me, dear. Your performance may have pleased your papa, but European audiences are more discerning than an American ear. Change that gown, it makes you look sallow. You’ll be outshone by the countesses and duchesses we’ll be seeing this evening…

  “Mrs. Keller, are you all right?”

  She started at the look of concern in Gideon’s eyes. “What?”

  “Here, let me take those—”

  She drew her palm back, unwilling to relinquish the broken pieces she carried. “That’s all right, I’ve got them.” She rose from her knees, hardly knowing what she was doing. “I’ll put them away.”

  In the kitchen, she stared at the broken pieces, the last thing she had of her mother’s and father’s, the only thing she had to call home. She sighed. Perhaps Carina was right. She had been putting too much stock in a pile of crockery. Forgive me, Lord, she whispered. Forgive me for idolatry. She drew in a shuddering breath and shoved the pieces into a cupboard drawer. Despite what she’d told Gideon, there was no point in trying to glue the pieces together.

  She straightened her shoulders and turned her footsteps back to the parlor, determined not to let the incident ruin the tea party. She didn’t want to spoil Lizzie’s day nor did she want to make Gideon feel worse than he did. He’d been trying to help Dietrich.

  She pasted a bright smile on her face as she pushed open the parlor door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gideon rode home in silence, Lizzie at his side. Despite Mara’s cheerfulness the rest of the afternoon, he hadn’t been fooled. He knew that cup had meant a lot to her. Lizzie told him when they’d first gotten into their wagon that it had been a gift of her father’s to her mother and the only thing she’d kept of home from all her years of travel.

  “She didn’t bring anything back from Europe but their clothes and that tea set.”

  He felt awful inside, even though he, too, had done his best to act as if nothing terrible had happened. He’d even forced himself to stay a good half hour more, when all he’d wanted was to get out of his Sunday best and spend the rest of the afternoon in his barn among his cows and horse. He was more fit company for livestock than fine ladies in a parlor.

  But he’d not wanted Dietrich to feel badly, nor ruin Lizzie’s day—not that he hadn’t already. Nor did he want Mara to think he took their words or the stricken look in her eyes to heart.

  But he had.

  Mrs. Blackstone might be a cruel, unfeeling woman, but her words had probably contained a grain of truth in how valuable the tea set was to Mara.

  He drew in a long breath now as they approached their house. “I was thinking maybe I could replace that cup of Mrs. Keller’s.”

  Lizzie turned to him with a hopeful look in her eye. “That’s a wonderful idea, Papa. I know how sad she must be even though she didn’t let on. But she’s like that. She never shows how she truly feels about something if it’s something bad.”

  “That so? What kind of bad things are you thinking about?” He maneuvered the mare up the snowy drive toward the barn.

  “Well, I think things Mrs. Blackstone says. Wasn’t it awful what she said today?” Lizzie shook her head before hopping down from the wagon to open the barn door.

  When they were both in the barn, unhitching the horse, he probed her further. “Does Mrs. Blackstone say those kinds of things often to Mrs. Keller?”

  Lizzie stroked the mare’s forehead. “Not as bad as this afternoon’s, but little things, you know, when it’s hard to tell if they’re unpleasant or not, but they have a kind of edge to them. I look at Mrs. Keller and she gets real quiet. It’s gotten so’s I notice a tightness around her mouth, or her hands curl up, and I know she doesn’t like what Mrs. Blackstone’s saying, but she doesn’t let on. It makes me think of a tightly wound spring, you know. You’re afraid it might spring loose.”

  Gideon led Bessie to her stall and started rubbing her down with an old blanket, considering what Lizzie had told him. He hadn’t seen Mara around Mrs. Blackstone as much as Lizzie had, but he’d come to suspect the same things Lizzie had.

  Mara kept a lot bottled up.

  Dear Lord, he prayed, his strokes rhythmic as he took up a brush to the mare’s coat, show me how I can help Mara. Grant me the ability to replace that cup for her. I feel terrible, Lord. I suspect she’s known a lot of loss in her life. I don’t want to add to her loss.

  Lizzie gave the horse her oats. “But other than the cup breaking, it was a nice party, wasn’t it?”

  He looked over at his daughter and forced a smile to his lips. “It certainly was. You did me proud. You’ll make a fine lady.”

  Her tentative smile widened. “Well, I’ll go in and see to the fire. You won’t be long, will you, Papa?”

  He shook his head.

  But the time alone in the barn helped sooth his troubled feelings. He always needed that time after being out in company. Time to pray, to allow the silence of the barn or the outdoors to settle him again. But an afternoon among ladies was particularly trying.

  And to be the one to hurt the last person he wanted to hurt.

  He stared out at the twilight sky before securing the barn door for the night. Dear Lord, why’
d it have to be me?

  Gideon entered the last shop on his list. The small bell above the door tinkled as he drew it open for Lizzie to precede him.

  “Good afternoon, sir. How may I assist you?” a middle-aged clerk asked him from behind a glass counter whose case was filled with china dishes.

  He approached the counter, feeling more adept at what to say now that he had visited a number of stores in the large city. “I’m wondering if you have any teacups in this pattern.” As he spoke he withdrew his handkerchief from a coat pocket and placed it on the counter. Unwrapping it, he held up the large shard of porcelain from Mara’s broken cup.

  “May I?”

  Gideon handed it to him.

  The man took it from him silently and held it up then turned it over before handing it back to Gideon with a shake of his head. “A beautiful piece. It has the name of a Parisian firm on the bottom. I only carry British and American. We don’t have much call for anything else European. How did you happen to come by it?”

  “It’s from a neighbor of ours. From what I understand from my daughter here, it’s an old French pattern.”

  “It certainly looks like a fine piece of porcelain. Have you checked any of the other stores in town?”

  “Yes. This is the last one.” His heart felt heavy, knowing he’d have to return home tomorrow without a replacement cup for Mara. He’d taken off a couple of days, asking Paul and his father to stop in and check on his livestock while he was away with Lizzie, and they’d taken the steamer from town to Bangor.

  “I’m so sorry I can’t help you.”

  Feeling it was his last hope, Gideon ventured, “Do you have anything similar in looks?”

  The man took the piece from him again and studied what was visible of the pattern. Luckily it was large enough to show a bit of both painted roses.

  Lizzie spoke up. “It only has the two roses on either side of the cup. And we wouldn’t need the saucer.”