The two men had begun to share that admonition a number of years ago—after one of the guests had accidentally discharged a rifle and missed Harland by only inches.
“I’ll do my best to keep us all safe and show them a good time.” Although it was late in the morning to begin a hunt, the men sometimes preferred a leisurely breakfast rather than an early start. Most claimed it was their wives who caused the morning delays, but Evan knew better. Many of these men enjoyed a slow start to the day here on Bridal Veil.
Today he gathered the group of “come-latelys,” as he and Harland referred to the late arrivals, and led them toward the barn. With any luck, Garrison would have the horses saddled and Evan could provide the group with a good time—even if they didn’t bag any animals.
It mattered little to Evan what time of day they rode out so long as they enjoyed the adventure. Only when guests complained about their lack of success on a hunt did Evan become annoyed. And some of them did complain. Only last week he’d heard one of the men say, “Maybe we need a gamekeeper who can do his job and stock the island with animals to hunt. Isn’t that why we keep him here year-round?”
He’d mentioned the incident to Harland, but the older man assured Evan there was no reason for worry. “They need an excuse when they return home empty-handed. You know they won’t take the blame themselves. Don’t worry yourself, Evan. Your job is secure, and the men who make the decisions on Bridal Veil all like you. They know you’re good at what you do.”
Evan liked to think he was good at his position, for he’d always taken pride in a job well done. Whether helping muck the barn when they were short of help or hunting wild boar to eradicate them from the island, he always tried to do his very best. Today, however, his thoughts weren’t on the hunt. Instead of keeping a sharp eye out for any birds or animals that a guest might want to bring down, his thoughts wandered to Melinda.
He’d been praying his letter would help soothe the anger that had flashed in her eyes when she’d wheeled away from him on the dock.
Melinda followed Mrs. Mifflin to the glass-enclosed cabin of the launch and settled beside the older woman. Mrs. Mifflin had insisted upon leaving the boat railing once they left the dock, saying the breeze would ruin her hair. But the matron’s curls were tightly pinned and a large hat was perched atop her head, leaving little chance any curl could go astray. From the glass windows that lined the seating area in the cabin, Melinda had seen Evan standing on the dock waving his hat, but she hadn’t acknowledged him. Mrs. Mifflin would have considered such forward conduct a breach of proper behavior. She hoped her actions hadn’t hurt him. She was still chiding herself for her final comment to him. Evan loved her, and she had acted like a spoiled child.
But I wanted so much for him to propose, she thought. In fact, she had been convinced he would ride up at the last minute—just like a knight in stories of old. He would appear upon his fine horse, sweep her into his arms, and ride away with her. She smiled sadly. “But that is not what happened.”
“What did you say?” Mrs. Mifflin questioned.
Melinda shook her head. “Nothing of consequence.”
The older woman’s worrisome nature took hold before they stepped off the boat in Biscayne, and she didn’t give Melinda a minute’s peace when they boarded the train. “We have so much to accomplish before Ida’s visit. I simply don’t know how we’ll complete everything before she arrives.” Mrs. Mifflin leaned close and lowered her voice. “Until I give you permission, make certain you don’t say anything to the other servants. I don’t want word of Ida’s visit leaked through idle gossip.” On and on, her nervous mantra continued. Mr. Mifflin did his best to calm his wife, but when all his efforts failed, he retreated to the gentlemen’s car and left Melinda to deal with the woman.
The journey wasn’t giving Melinda much time to think about Evan. Instead of writing him the letter he’d requested, her time was devoted to making lists and copious notes of the many tasks to be completed the moment they arrived home.
“I purchased stationery in Biscayne, and I think you should write out invitations to the tea I’m going to host during Ida’s visit.” Mrs. Mifflin withdrew a sheaf of writing paper from a brown bag and shoved it in Melinda’s direction. “First, let’s decide upon the exact wording for the invitation, and then you may begin to write them out while I finalize the list.”
At each stop along the way, Mrs. Mifflin talked at length about all that must be done—until she fell ill at their stop in Baltimore. Melinda hated herself for feeling relief that they would be delayed. She truly didn’t want the older woman to suffer sickness, but the farther they traveled, the more hopeless Melinda felt. She needed time to think things through.
Mr. Mifflin fetched a doctor, who came to the hotel room and decided Mrs. Mifflin likely was suffering from a mild case of food poisoning—the doctor blamed the oysters she’d eaten the night before. He chided her for not having more sense than to partake of such a dish in a month without an r, prescribed a very watered down dose of laudanum, and suggested rest. Mr. Mifflin privately explained away the illness as a case of nerves. Either way, the delay did nothing to ease Melinda’s worries. And Mrs. Mifflin, in her sickbed, was more demanding than ever.
By the time they finally arrived in Cleveland, Melinda’s nerves were frayed, but the invitations had been written, and there were more lists than she cared to think about. Thankfully, Mr. Mifflin had wired ahead to inform Sally and Matthew, two of the servants, of their return.
Mrs. Mifflin waved Sally aside as she strode toward the stairway. “I do hope you’ve been tending to the necessary cleaning, Sally. We have an important guest arriving, and if I find any dust or dirt in this house, you can expect to see a decrease in your wages.” Without waiting for a response, she ordered Matthew to fetch her trunks. “And see that those invitations are delivered, Melinda.”
Sally looked at Melinda and clucked her tongue. A sprite of a woman, the maid had been with the Mifflins for more than ten years. “Doesn’t appear that her time of rest on the island has helped Mrs. Mifflin’s disposition any, has it?”
Melinda shook her head. “Nor mine.”
The maid chuckled. “No wonder those sons of theirs never come home to visit. I wouldn’t be here, either, if I didn’t need the money.”
Melinda ignored the remark. Sally loved to gossip, especially about her employers. There was no denying the Mifflins’ sons, Cyrus, and his brother, Malcolm, seldom visited their parents, but both had attended boarding schools from an early age. Currently, both were enrolled at Oxford University, and visits home were expected to be rare. Still, it gave Sally something to chatter about when there was little other gossip.
On several occasions Melinda had taken Sally aside and gently spoken of the damage gossip could inflict upon others. When her early attempts failed, Melinda had pointed out Scriptures against the practice. Sally had patiently listened, but Melinda knew her words had fallen on deaf ears. It seemed nothing would bridle the maid’s tongue.
“So who’s this important guest the missus mentioned, and what kind of invitations were she speaking of?” Sally stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Ever since that telegram arrived from the mister, I’ve been wondering myself silly what could be so important that the missus would hurry home two weeks ahead of schedule. I know she likes to mix with those other rich folks on that island.”
Sally’s questions could lead Melinda down a path she didn’t care to tread. If word of Mrs. McKinley’s arrival became common knowledge among the servants of Cleveland society before their mistresses knew, Mrs. Mifflin would claim complete and utter embarrassment. And Melinda would be the one held responsible for the social gaffe.
“A dear friend of Mrs. Mifflin—one with whom she attended school many years ago—is going to be in the city. They haven’t seen each other for a number of years.”
The excitement in Sally’s eyes faded and her lips drooped. “Oh, is that all? And here I was expecting to learn a good
piece of . . .” She stopped before actually saying she had hoped for a bit of gossip to pass along to her friends. Not that Sally needed to make such an admission. Long ago, Melinda had learned Sally couldn’t be trusted to keep a secret. The woman might be an excellent housekeeper, but she failed miserably at maintaining a confidence.
“So the invitations are for what? A tea? A dinner party?”
“A tea in honor of her friend.”
Sally started up the stairs and then stopped. “So when is this friend arriving? I suppose I’ll need to air out the guest room.”
Melinda sighed. “No need to air out the room just yet. Mrs. Mifflin will give you orders when she wants you to do so. Her friend won’t arrive for several weeks.”
“Several weeks?” Sally stopped on the stairway and leaned across the banister. “I wouldn’t think she’d rush home to prepare for a friend who isn’t arriving for several weeks. Heaven knows she’s expected me to prepare for a huge dinner party in less time than that. And why the worry over dust and the rush to get the invitations sent out?”
“If you have other questions, you should direct them to Mrs. Mifflin, Sally. Like you, I do as I’m told.”
Sally bent so low that Melinda thought she might topple over the banister. “I think you know more than you’re telling me, but I’m not one to be pushy.” She waved her index finger back and forth. “One thing for sure—it won’t take long for me to find out what all this hubble-bubble is about.”
Melinda didn’t doubt that remark—not in the least. Sally would be hunting down information like a bloodhound sniffing out a scent. Until she’d satisfied her curiosity, there would be no stopping the woman. “By the way, there’s a letter waiting for you on the table in the kitchen. Maybe that will raise your spirits a bit.”
“A letter?”
The maid winked. “From that Evan fellow at Bridal Veil Island. He didn’t waste a speck of time getting a letter off to you, now did he?” She chortled and continued up the stairs. “If you’ve got nothing else to share with me, I best get upstairs and help the missus unpack, or she’ll be ringing that bell of hers. Go on now and see what your fellow has to say.”
Knowing Sally, she’d probably already read the contents of the letter. The woman did, after all, consider herself quite proficient at steaming open the mail.
CHAPTER 4
Melinda strode into the kitchen and retrieved her letter. Sally had placed the envelope in the center of the table for all who entered to see. The sight caused Melinda a moment of irritation, but she supposed it truly didn’t matter. Had Sally placed the letter somewhere out of sight, she still would have told anyone within earshot that Melinda had received mail. Anyone except their mistress, of course. Sally didn’t want Mrs. Mifflin to get the idea her servants gossiped. But Melinda knew nothing was off limits with Sally. In spite of Melinda’s admonitions, the maid shared every jot and tittle with anyone who would fill her ears with a few interesting tidbits of their own.
A quick examination of the seal didn’t reveal any evidence of tampering, but that didn’t mean Sally hadn’t read the letter. It simply meant she’d done an excellent job of hiding her reprehensible handiwork.
“What’s done is done,” she muttered as she ran her finger beneath the seal and removed the letter.
“You speaking to me, Miss Melinda?” Matthew stood in the doorway, his large hands shoved inside the pockets of his work pants.
Melinda slipped the pages into the envelope. “No, I was talking to myself,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t hear you come down the hallway, Matthew. Are you finished carrying all those trunks upstairs so soon?”
He bobbed his head, his gaze fixed on the envelope in her hand. “Got your letter, I see. That Evan sounds like he’s a nice young man. Seems he’s mighty sorry you—” Eyes wide with realization of what he’d said, Matthew clapped his palm across his lips.
“Sally read my letter to you, didn’t she?” When he didn’t immediately respond, Melinda stepped closer. “I know you don’t want to get her in trouble, but Sally oversteps far too many boundaries. Reading my mail is very disrespectful.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. You’re right about that, and I told her so, but she said you wouldn’t find out.” He hung his head. “But me and my big mouth went and let it slip. She’s gonna be mighty unhappy with me, and that’s a fact.”
Though Matthew had apparently been a willing listener, it was Sally who’d carried out the offense. “I won’t say anything to reveal you, Matthew, but I hope that you won’t take part in Sally’s misdeeds in the future.”
When he lifted his head, sorrow shone in his brown eyes. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to keep away when Sally’s spreading her tales.” He pointed his thumb toward the ceiling. “The missus said I should deliver the invitations to the post office for you.”
Melinda nodded and motioned for Matthew to follow her to the hallway, where she removed the stack of invitations from the leather traveling bag that had once been one of Mrs. Mifflin’s possessions. In addition to her wages, Melinda received dresses, gowns, and other belongings Mrs. Mifflin declared unusable or out of fashion—a benefit bestowed upon most ladies’ maids. Though the two women didn’t share the same size or style, Melinda had a talent for sewing, and she’d soon learned to fashion the castoffs into attire that better suited her own taste.
Leaning down, she unclasped the satchel and removed the invitations. “Here you are. Be sure you don’t drop any of them. I don’t think Mrs. Mifflin would forgive either of us if an invitation went astray.”
Matthew reached for the envelopes. “I’ll be careful. You can count on me.” Tucking the invitations into the crook of his arm, he shot her a smile before he departed.
Melinda returned his smile and leaned forward to clasp the travel case. Before the death of her parents, Melinda enjoyed the many luxuries granted children born into families of wealth. In the past, she’d even worn gowns that surpassed the quality of those belonging to her current mistress. However, life had changed. And so had Melinda. After her parents’ death, Melinda learned that the worldly possessions she’d once thought so important no longer held the same allure. Possessions were a cold replacement for love, and she wanted to build her life on things that truly mattered—love and family.
Less than two weeks ago, she had thought that her love for Evan was going to mean marriage and a home at Bridal Veil. Now, she wasn’t so sure. After making certain Sally was nowhere in sight, she returned to the kitchen, sat down at the table, and withdrew Evan’s letter from the envelope.
Dear Melinda,
I am sorry we didn’t have enough time to discuss our future before you returned to Cleveland. I know you were unhappy with me, and I think maybe you doubt my love. I hope that isn’t true, because I meant what I said to you. I love you very much, and even though I only got up my courage to tell you this year, I have loved you since the very first winter you came to Bridal Veil. I know I will always love you.
I didn’t know what to think when you said I should have asked you to stay. I still can’t figure out how you thought that would work out. There aren’t any jobs for women during the summer months, and there’s no place where you could have lived except maybe with Garrison and Emma. Garrison is a good man, but he wouldn’t welcome the idea of having another woman in his house. He already complains that Emma talks too much. Imagine what he’d think if there were two women chattering all the time.
Melinda rested the letter on the table and glanced heavenward. Men! Why was it they assumed that if two women were together they would be constantly talking? Besides, she hadn’t meant that she wanted to stay and live with Garrison and Emma. She sighed, picked up the letter, and continued to read.
The women servants’ quarters close down during the summer, and you couldn’t have lived here at the hunting lodge with two men. So maybe you think I shouldn’t have been perplexed, but I was—and I still am. You hadn’t even mentioned staying here and if you had, I
would have explained all the reasons why it was impossible. If you think about this a little more, maybe you can understand my confusion. I love you very much and hope that you will write and tell me that you feel the same. Please don’t keep me waiting to hear from you, as I am truly worried you may be angry enough to seek the affection of another. I don’t ever want that to happen. I look forward to next winter when we can discuss this in person.
With love and hope,
Evan
The letter was certainly contrite. She wanted to deny her feelings of disappointment but found it impossible at the moment. Perhaps she shouldn’t have expected Evan to sweep her into his arms and carry her off to the church for a spontaneous wedding ceremony. Still, he could have done more than stand on the dock and wave his cap when they were halfway across the river.
“Reading your letter, are ya?” Sally pranced into the kitchen and gave her a wink. “What’s your fellow got to say? I’ll bet he’s itching to marry you, isn’t he?”
The thought of Sally reading Evan’s letter caused Melinda to wince. Not only did she loathe the idea of her personal information becoming fodder for the gossip mill, but what if Mrs. Mifflin got wind of her desire to marry Evan? The woman would do her best to squelch any such plan. Over and over, she’d said she would never let Melinda leave her employ; she constantly declared Melinda to be the only lady’s maid who possessed the deportment and ability to serve her well. Though the older woman chuckled when she said she’d never let her leave, both Melinda and Mrs. Mifflin knew there was much truth in what she said. Once Mrs. Mifflin set her mind to do something, she usually found a way. And if she couldn’t, her husband could.
“How can you possibly be finished unpacking all the trunks so soon?” Melinda asked, fending off Sally’s question with one of her own, a ploy she’d learned from her mother years ago.
“Oh, I’m nowhere near done, but the missus wants a cup of tea. And with any luck she’ll decide upon a nap after her tea. That way I can finish without her ordering me about at every turn. From the way she sits there on her chair telling me where to put this and where to put that, you’d think I didn’t know where anything belonged.”
To Love and Cherish Page 3