Scent of Magnolia

by Frances Devine

  She sighed. She needed to snap out of this melancholy before she started feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t regret the years she’d spent teaching. She loved her work and the students. Still, she had to admit, sometimes her heart longed for a family of her own. A sudden picture of Molly’s deep blue eyes and Patrick’s sea green ones smiling at her in much the same way appeared in her mind.

  She jumped up. “Yes, that’s a wonderful idea, Hannah. And now, if we’re finished, I have some essays to grade before I go to bed.”

  A loud boom reverberated through the room followed by a rolling of thunder that lasted several minutes. Helen placed her hand on her chest and gave a shaky laugh. “Whew! That was close.”

  “It sure was,” Hannah said between gasps of breath.

  Charles laughed. “Well, we need rain to cool things off a bit. Don’t let a little thunder scare you, ladies.”

  P.J. frowned. “That first one sounded like something was hit.”

  Someone pounded on the door and Albert burst in. “Miz Wellington. The live oak tree by the gate been hit. It split plumb in two.”

  Within moments, they followed Albert down the lane. Half the tree lay across the lane, its shiny green leaves scattered everywhere. The bench she’d sat on with Patrick the day before was hidden beneath, more than likely shattered.

  “Oh dear!” P.J. slapped her palm against one cheek. “What a mess.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Albert stood shaking his head. “It is that. Reckon I best be gittin’ the mules hitched up and yank that thing off the road.”

  “You need help, Albert,” P.J. said. “And don’t tell me you don’t. Get a couple of the Hedley boys to give you a hand. They can cut the trunk into firewood. When they’re finished, send them to my office and I’ll pay them for their work.”

  “Yes’m. If you say so.” Albert’s face reflected his displeasure and he walked away mumbling. “Could do it myself, though.”

  Helen grinned at P.J. “I think you’ve insulted him.”

  Charles chuckled. “The man thinks he’s still a spring chicken. I wonder how old he is, anyway.” When no one answered, he gave a wave. “I have some things to do before supper. And I think I smelled apple cobbler when we came through the foyer. I’m famished.”

  Hannah nodded and followed.

  P.J. glanced at Helen. “Do you have any idea how old Albert is?”

  Helen thought for a moment, doing some mental calculations. “I’m not sure, but he’s older than Virgie and she was an adult when old Mrs. Quincy freed the slaves. I’d say Albert is at least in his sixties. Maybe older.”

  P.J. nodded. “Ten years older than me or more. That settles it. I’m going to talk to Dr. Quincy about hiring another hand to help Albert with the work around here.”

  “I’m sure Dr. Trent will agree, but Albert’s going to throw a fit,” Helen said. “Is Margaret to have her supper with the other children tonight? Or should I take her a tray?”

  “I think a tray tonight. I need to speak to Felicity and Howard before having her join them again. Also the girls who help out during the supper hour will need to know the rules concerning her discipline.”

  Another clap of thunder pealed through the air. Helen nearly jumped out of her skin and noticed that P.J. had started as well. Lightning flashed across the darkened sky. Helen grabbed her skirt as the wind whipped it around. Large drops of rain splattered on Helen’s skin and on the lane leading to the house.

  “Here it comes,” P.J. yelled over the noise and took off running to the house.

  Helen lifted her skirts and hurried after the director. Maybe the rain would cool things off, either that or make it more hot and humid. Either way, she didn’t want to get caught in a downpour.

  ❧

  Patrick sank into his seat just as the storm broke. He’d missed the earlier train, but it had given him a chance to meet with the man who was handling Tom Mill’s property and make an appointment to see the building on Saturday.

  He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Why would he want to move a business that had just begun to prosper? Not to mention the fact that he owned a home in Atlanta. Molly might not want to leave the only home she’d known. Although, now that he thought of it, she was the one who’d put the idea of moving to Mimosa Junction into his head.

  Well, it wouldn’t hurt anything to look at the former hardware store. Just to satisfy his curiosity. Even though he had no real intention of moving from Atlanta, the memory of Helen’s small hand on his arm the day before mocked his resolution.

  He slid down in the seat and pulled his hat forward to cover his eyes. Maybe he could sleep on the way to Atlanta. Maybe he could escape the sight and scent of Helen while he slept.

  ❧

  The storm raged outside Helen’s window. Clap after clap of thunder shattered the air and rain poured down in torrents. Between the storm and thoughts of Patrick, she’d tossed and turned for the past two hours. Just as she began to drop off to sleep, a flash of lightning lit up her room and she sat straight up. With a sigh of exasperation, she got up. Who could sleep with all this going on?

  She poured a glass of water and drank the contents, but it barely made a dent in her thirst. What she really needed was a glass of Selma’s lemonade. She knew a pitcher of lemonade was most likely on the kitchen counter.

  She slipped her feet into her slippers and threw on her robe, buttoning it up to her neck. Lighting a lamp, she then adjusted the wick. She eased her door open carefully so it wouldn’t squeak and tiptoed down the stairs. Was that a light in the parlor?

  Helen tiptoed to the half-open door.

  Virgie sat with her feet up on a small stool. Blue velvet fabric from one of the old gowns overflowed her lap as she sewed. She glanced up as Helen slipped through the door. “Come right on in here, Miss Helen. Looks like you can’t sleep either.”

  “I don’t see how anyone can sleep with all the flashing and noise going on. You don’t think we have a tornado in the vicinity, do you?” She set her lamp on the side table, sat on the settee, and leaned back.

  “Don’t think so.” The elderly housekeeper slipped the needle and thread smoothly through the thick fabric. “Just a spring storm. Nothin’ to worry your head about.”

  Helen gave a little shiver, remembering the close call they’d had the year before. Thanks to their former director, they’d all made it safely to the storm cellar. The only damage had been to the house, and Dr. Trent made sure repairs were made posthaste. “I’m sure you’re right. Hope so.”

  “Got lots on your mind, don’t you, honey girl?” Her soft cadence was almost enough to put Helen to sleep right there in her chair.

  “No. Just the storm.” She lowered her eyes at the half lie.

  “Ummm hummm. Just the storm.” Virgie rocked and sewed.

  “Well, if you must know, I do have thoughts of Mr. Flannigan running through my head.” She flashed a look at Virgie, half hoping for advice, half dreading it. When none was forthcoming, she stood. “I’m going to see if there’s any lemonade. Would you like a glass?”

  “Don’t think you goin’ to find any. Wasn’t any left after supper.” She rethreaded her needle and knotted the thread. “Now, I could sure use a cup of tea, though.”

  “Won’t it just heat you up more?”

  “Never too hot for tea. It always soothes.”

  “You’re right. That’s what I need, too. I’ll put the kettle on.” Helen picked up her lamp and went to the kitchen.

  The large homey room enveloped her with scents of cinnamon and clove. Even the faint smell of lye soap couldn’t detract from it.

  Helen set the full kettle on the stove and stirred the still-hot coals. It wouldn’t take long. She removed a tin of tea leaves from the pantry and put them in a brown porcelain teapot then prepared a tray with cups, saucers, and sugar. Within a few minutes the water was boiling and she poured it over the leaves. By the time she’d strained the tea into the cups and carried the tray to the parlor, her eye
lids were getting heavy.

  She handed Virgie a cup of the hot brew then sat back on the settee. She sipped and then yawned.

  Virgie chuckled. “I think maybe you goin’ sleep after all.”

  Helen smiled. “And I think you knew preparing the tea would make me sleepy.”

  “I told you tea always soothes. Sometimes before you even get it to your mouth.”

  “Thank you, Virgie.” She took another sip. “I’ll just take the cups back to the kitchen then I’m going to go back upstairs.”

  “No, you’re not. You leave that cup right on the tray,” Virgie said. “I’ll put them away. Go on to sleep now. You got classes to teach in the morning.”

  Helen rose and stepping over to Virgie, she pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Virgie. And thank you.”

  But as sleepy as she was, once she lay on her bed and closed her eyes, dark red curls, sea green eyes, and a tilted smile haunted her thoughts and on into her dreams.

  ❧

  Patrick stared out his bedroom window as rain pelted the hedges around his house. The storm had followed him all the way to Atlanta and showed little sign of stopping anytime soon. If this continued much longer, the rivers could overflow their banks. He only hoped and prayed the deluge had slackened back at Quincy School. Thoughts of the river that flowed across the Quincy property filled him with dread. As far as he knew, the area hadn’t flooded in years. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

  Patrick had seen firsthand how fast river water could rise when he’d traveled to Rome, Georgia, on a business trip a few years earlier. As he’d watched out the window of his third floor hotel room that day, he’d thought he was dreaming as a steamboat floated down Broad Street. Of course Rome was situated between three rivers, but each river had done its own damage.

  Perhaps he should have stayed in Mimosa Junction. What would happen there if flooding should occur? Would they be able to evacuate the school in time? He determined to be on the first train to Mimosa Junction in the morning.

  After a few hours of fitful sleep, Patrick awoke to sun shining through the window. He breathed a sigh of relief. One day of rain, even a hard rain, shouldn’t be enough to bring a river’s water levels up.

  Patrick began his week finishing up the work on a handmade saddle and shipping off some orders to mail-order customers. Then he turned to checking through his books to calculate how much of his business was mail order. Mail order business shouldn’t be affected by a move. If he moved. He left instructions with his assistant and told him he’d be back Monday night.

  Saturday, he arrived in Mimosa Junction in time for a leisurely lunch in the hotel dining room before his appointment at the hardware store.

  An hour later, he walked out the door, a bill of sale and a ring of keys in his hand. And a curious mix of anxiety and excitement in his heart.

  fourteen

  Patrick flinched as rain pelted him from all sides. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when he’d left town ten minutes ago. He urged his rented horse to a run, shielding his face as well as he could with his hat brim.

  By the time he arrived at the school and turned the horse over to Albert, he was drenched from head to toe.

  The squishing of his soaked boots as he entered the foyer caused him to cringe. Especially when Virgie walked out of the room to the left with a dusting cloth and stared at him.

  With a sheepish, apologetic smile in her direction, he sighed. “I’m sorry about the floor.”

  A soft chuckle left her lips. “It’s all right, Mr. Flannigan. Don’t think anythin’ about it. Can’t be helped in this weather. Wait right there a minute, though.”

  Dutifully he stood, trying not to move and shake more water onto the floor, until she returned with a thick braided rug, which she threw down on the floor by his feet.

  “You slip off those boots and that hat and throw them on the rug. Then you can go into the infirmary and change into some dry clothes.” She motioned to the room she’d just left.

  “I have no dry clothes with me, Virgie.” Patrick stared down at the water puddling around his feet.

  “Don’t you worry none. Dr. Trent always keep extras here for when he has to stay over with sick young’uns.” She ran an eye over his form. “Just about the same size, I’d say.”

  A pattering of feet from the stairway drew Patrick’s attention and horror filled him as Helen stopped on the first step and gaped at him.

  “Looks like you got caught in the downpour.” She pressed her lips together but not in time to hide the amused smile on her face.

  He must look a sight.

  Virgie scowled in her direction. “Don’t you worry about it, now. Just run along. I’m goin’ to take care of Mr. Flannigan.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry to have stared.” Her eyes danced and she didn’t look very sorry. “I’ll run up and tell Molly you’re here. I don’t believe she’s expecting you and I know she’ll be ecstatic.” She spun and hurried up the stairs without another word.

  “Don’t pay her any mind, Mr. Flannigan.” Virgie patted him on the arm. “I don’t expect she’d look any better if she got caught in a downpour. Not that you look bad or anythin’, of course. Because you don’t.”

  “All right, Virgie. I get the idea. You don’t need to worry about my feelings.” Patrick slipped out of his boots and tossed his hat on the rug then headed for the infirmary door with the sweet, elderly retainer following behind.

  She motioned him to a door in the side wall and he slipped through. She handed him a thick towel then retrieved clothing, including socks and underwear, from a chest in the corner. “Leave them wet clothes on the floor. I’ll have one of the maids fetch them and hang them to dry behind the stove in the kitchen. Might take some time. Hope you planned on stayin’ awhile.” With a smile, she left him alone.

  When he was dry and dressed, he ran a comb through his unruly curls, which would be more unruly as soon as they thoroughly dried. No wonder Helen had been amused. He probably looked like a redheaded sheepdog. Still, his heart hammered at the thought of the covert smile. It was quite attractive, even if her humor was directed at him. He headed for the door and went into the foyer again.

  Molly ran into his arms with a scream of delight. “Papa! I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “You didn’t?” He pulled back and gave her a look of mock surprise. “I would have thought you’d have heard my heart beating with joy all the way here.”

  She giggled. “Don’t be silly, Papa.”

  He laughed and glanced around. “Where did Miss Edwards run off to?”

  “I think she went to the parlor to sew costumes. I think some of them are for the Easter cantata, you know.”

  “Oh yes, that’s not very far off. I can’t wait to see it. And to hear you sing.” He tweaked her cheek and she ducked away.

  “I only have two lines to sing solo. But I sing them after every verse.” She smiled and glanced toward the stairs. “Margaret is to be allowed to sing in the choir, too. But Lily Ann has the lead.”

  “That’s very nice. And I’m happy they are letting Margaret take part.” He peered at his daughter. “No more threats?”

  She shook her head. “Margaret is very nice, really. We’re becoming quite good friends.”

  “That’s good news to hear.” He planted a kiss on her forehead.” And you’re a very good girl, Molly. I’m very pleased with you. And I know Jesus is, too.”

  She blushed. “Thank you, Papa. Did you wish to speak with Miss Edwards? I can go get her.”

  “No. I don’t want to intrude on her work. It was nothing. I just wanted to greet her.”

  “I knew it. You like her.” She grinned. “You really like her.”

  He grinned and tugged at one of her braids. “Stop that, little rascal. What would you like to do this afternoon? I’d planned to take you for a ride on the horse, but the rain put a stop to that.”

  “Hmmm. It’s almost dinnertime. Aft
er that we have our practice, although Mrs. Quincy probably won’t be here unless it stops raining.” She put her finger on her cheek and thought. “We could help Sissy and Flora set the table.”

  “Will they let us?”

  “Sure. That’s less work for them.”

  A laugh erupted from his throat. “All right with me. Lead the way.”

  ❧

  Silver clinked against china as Sissy and Flora served the chicken soup. Helen thanked Flora and focused on her bowl and spoon. What she’d really been craving lately was chilled cucumber soup. But cucumbers wouldn’t be up for a while or any other fresh vegetables, for that matter, although the hot Georgia climate made it possible to have them earlier than the northern states.

  Why in the world was she thinking about garden vegetables? She dipped her spoon in the bowl a bit too forcefully, causing a drop to splash onto the tablecloth. Because she didn’t want to think about the handsome Patrick Flannigan sitting across from her. That was why.

  She lifted her head and glanced at him. His curls were still damp from the rain and one of them had curled over his forehead in a perfectly adorable way. She shouldn’t have laughed at him. Well, she hadn’t really laughed. But she almost had.

  Sissy cleared her throat and Helen looked up. Oh dear, she hadn’t even noticed when the girl had removed her soup plate. She leaned back slightly so Sissy could serve the main course.

  She glanced across the table and met Patrick’s eyes. He smiled a lazy smile then turned to his food.

  Now why had he smiled like that? As though he had a secret and it involved her. The very idea.

  He looked up again and this time she couldn’t help return his smile. Her heart sped up. She wondered if she’d have a chance to speak with him today. About Molly’s progress, of course. The girl was a delight and always did so well. None of the teachers had complaints about her. Patrick must be very proud of her. It was sad that Molly had no mother to gush over her about her grades. Men seemed to take it for granted their children would do well. She sighed. If she had a child like Molly, she’d be about to burst her buttons with pride.