The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  He clenched his lips into a white line, as if withholding another negative response. But he couldn’t very well tell her not to cook him a meal since he had to eat or starve to death. Eyeing his lean frame, she wondered if he had tried doing that.

  Biting off words she knew would not be appreciated, she marched off his porch and crossed the yard to Thea’s. Inside the cheery yellow kitchen Clemmie let her facade drop—not that Joel could have seen her distress in any case, but he sensed things so strongly he might have felt it.

  “Things not go so well, I take it?” Thea greeted, glancing at her and tapping the spoon against a bowl she used to mix batter.

  “I wasn’t expecting it to.” Clemmie set the cleaning basket on the floor with a sigh.

  “And I received my full expectation.”

  Thea tsked and went back to her chore.

  “I appreciate you letting me use your things.”

  Thea waved aside her thanks. “I’d never expect you to bring your own supplies on your walk here every afternoon. Just leave them there. I’ll put them away.”

  “I’d like to help with the meals. I feel bad about infringing on your generosity.”

  “Are you kidding?” Thea looked at her in shock. “You’ve been such a big help to me! The least I can do is to provide you with lunch every day. I’ve cooked for all of us for so long, I don’t mind. It’s become a habit. Hope you don’t mind pancakes?” Thea looked up from dropping a dollop of batter onto the hot pan.

  “I’ve never had them for anything but breakfast, but I do like them. And I wouldn’t mind contributing in the kitchen some days. I’m a very good cook, and that’s not bragging. Darcy taught me everything I know.”

  “High praise indeed!” Thea smiled. “In that case I’ll take you up on your offer. And that makes me think of something.” Her expression became contrite. “I’m sorry our car isn’t in working order for Herbert to give you a lift home. It’s a blessing his job is only a fifteen-minute walk from here and that he’s kept it. So many are out of work right now. But I guess where there is life, there is always news, and the public wants to stay informed.”

  Clemmie had to smile. As a boy at the Refuge, Herbert sometimes squealed on his pals and got them in trouble. She was glad his tendency to broadcast events had matured to an acceptable position as a reporter for The Cedarbrook Herald. Joel had been the ringleader of the close-knit bunch of boys, his chums always looking to him for answers. Now he’d closed himself off from the entire world, except from his best buddy, Herbert.

  “At least Joel turned to someone,” she aired her thoughts aloud, only just realizing they had nothing to do with the present conversation.

  Thea looked at her closely. “Hmm.” She flipped a pancake. “Well, Herbert gave him no choice. Once Joel lost his sight, he was a fish out of water and had to rely heavily on Herbert, hating every second of it.” She shook her head. “Men and their pride. I understand that during their childhood, Herbert had his eyes bandaged for weeks after Joel got whitewash in them during one of their spats. The two forgave each other, and Herbert then relied on Joel. That’s the sole reason Joel agreed to let us help him, I think. Herbert brought the incident up and told him he wanted to pay him back—even though Joel was the one who painted Herbert’s face with the whitewash.”

  Clemmie hadn’t yet been born during that time, though over the years she’d heard about the alarming results of Darcy’s first whitewash contest.

  At the sound of the front door opening, both women turned their heads.

  “Thea? I’m home.”

  Her face bright with pleasure, Thea set down the spoon and hurried to greet her husband. Soon she returned, Herbert behind her.

  “Well now, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? You’re quite the grown-up lady!” He held out his arms to Clemmie, and she grinned as they exchanged hugs. Clemmie stepped back to do her own survey. Still of medium height and build, still a little on the stout side, his hair the same shade of russet, Herbert was easily recognizable.

  “I see you haven’t changed,” Clemmie returned.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. We’ve all changed. But look at you! Last I saw, you were just a squirt with bright orange braids.”

  “Hmph.” She crossed her arms. “Not that bright.”

  “Should you two be talking so loudly?” Thea interrupted with a glance toward the open kitchen window.

  “It wouldn’t matter.” Herbert shook his head. “He rarely steps foot off that porch, and we’re not exactly shouting for our words to carry that far. How’s he doing today?”

  “The same.”

  Herbert and Thea exchanged a long, telling look. Clemmie didn’t add her own opinion of Joel’s irascible behavior. Herbert looked at her.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out.”

  “Yes. And no, I don’t want to back out.”

  She didn’t hesitate with her answer, and Herbert chuckled wryly. “I should have known you’d say that. I’m still not comfortable with the idea of keeping the truth of who you are from him though.”

  “If I tell him, I’ll never get through to him.” She unwittingly aired her core reason for going through with her ruse.

  He peered at her sharply, making her want to squirm. “Tell me again that you’re over your girlhood infatuation, that this desire to help is all in friendship.”

  “It is.” She laughed. “Like you said, we’ve all grown up and changed, Herbert. I know the way I used to behave was quite silly. I’m beyond that.”

  “Good.” He gave a pleased nod. “I wouldn’t want you hurt. And, Clemmie, keeping the truth from him could wind up putting you in quite a pickle.”

  She smiled upon hearing the echo of Darcy’s admonishments when doling out advice to wayward young hooligans. It was amazing how, no matter their differences, children picked up sayings from the adults by whom they’d been taught. She even found herself speaking some of Uncle Brent’s professorial words now and then.

  “I promise I’ll tell him. When the time is right.”

  Herbert twisted his mouth in uncertainty, mulling over the prospect. “Well, nothing else has worked. If you really think you can reach him, then you have my support. But I have to warn you, Clemmie—”

  “You’d better start calling me by my middle name—Marielle.”

  He sighed. “Once Joel finds out, he’s not going to be one bit happy to learn he was hoodwinked.”

  “That’s why he can’t find out. Not until I tell him.”

  Clemmie didn’t want to think about that disturbing day to come.

  Chapter 4

  If you’ve come to offer advice, Herbert, you can just stop right there, turn around, and go back the way you came.”

  The rustling in the grass reached a sudden halt.

  “How’d you know …”

  “That it was you?” Joel laughed bitterly at the surprise in Herbert’s voice. “That you should even need to ask such a question by now baffles me. I smelled you.”

  “I took a bath.”

  Joel grunted in disdain. “Good to know.”

  “Unlike some people I could mention.”

  “The odor of ink from the printing press gives you away. It sticks to your clothes.”

  “Are you planning to adopt the Bohemian look, ole pal? You could do with a haircut, too. And a shave.”

  “And your steps are faster. Brisker than the women’s.”

  “Ah, the women. Speaking of, how’s the new girl working out for you? I’ll bet she’d give you a shave if you asked.”

  “There’s also a trace of odor from those cheap cigars your boss smokes. It seeps into your clothes, and all of it carries to me on the breeze.”

  “Are we going to dance around this subject all night?”

  “Is that a question that requires an answer?”

  Herbert snorted in exasperation. “The new girl. Marielle. What do you think of her?”

  Joel fidgeted, uneasy to be put on
the spot. “She annoys me.”

  Annoy wasn’t exactly the word to describe the emotion he felt with regard to the woman. His notice of her fell somewhere between irritation and intrigue. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since she stepped foot on the property a few days before and challenged him. Now that she worked for him and they had shared in more lengthy conversations than Joel’s usual—”Get out!”—something about her niggled at the back of his mind. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, which put him in an even grouchier mood, since feeling clueless about a situation made him feel more vulnerable.

  It was bad enough he’d lost his sight. He wouldn’t let her scramble his mind.

  “Not thinking happy thoughts, I take it.” Herbert’s referral to his daughter’s trite saying carried an undercurrent of amusement and triggered Joel’s defensive response.

  “Tell me just what I have to be happy about? That the sun never gets in my eyes? That I’m spared having to stare at my drab walls? Or that I don’t have to see your ugly mug every day?” He shifted in his chair in mock deliberation. “Come to think of it, that is cause for celebration.”

  “You can be happy you have a roof over your head and three meals a day. Entire families are starving, what with the state of things in our nation. You aren’t the only one suffering.”

  “Spare me the lectures.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t bother. It’s useless anyway. All you can think about is yourself.”

  Joel clutched his hands around his thighs, rubbing them to his knees in aggravated silence. Uncomfortable to have his behavior criticized, whether he deserved it or not, he offered no reply. His old friend had been nothing but helpful, offering him room and board, and Joel was helpless to repay him. That stung worse than anything—having to be a useless sponge that soaked up others’ generosity. Finding work these days for a sighted man was near impossible; for a blind man it was laughable. He hated being dependent on others and often found himself taking out his frustrations on the ones who made him feel that way.

  “It’s been over a year, and you still act as if it were yesterday,” Herbert said.

  “I wonder if you’d be half as glib if the roles were switched,” Joel shot back darkly. “It’s easy to tell me how to behave when you’re not the one who was once living life, happy as a clam, and in the blink of an eye—pardon the expression—had everything ripped away from him.”

  “You haven’t lost everything,” Herbert responded with weary patience.

  “I might as well have! I can’t do anything but sit here day after lousy, stinking day—and for what? Why did I survive? Tell me! Did God decide I needed some special punishment because things were going so right for me during that all-too-brief period in my life?”

  “Right for you? You were out of a job before the accident.”

  “So is at least a quarter of the nation as you pointed out. But at least I was a whole man before I got struck down from on high.”

  “God’s not like that. You know it.”

  “No I don’t. Didn’t Saul get struck blind on the road to Damascus?”

  “I’m surprised you remember anything from our studies at the Refuge.”

  Joel scoffed, but Herbert continued. “Anyway, that was different. It was temporary and for a reason. If you remember, Jesus healed the blind. He didn’t make them that way.”

  “Well, He did a fine job with me! But you’re right. I’m being punished for thinking only of myself. I deserve this.”

  Herbert blew out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t mean any such thing, and I’m not going to stand here and listen to you wallow in self-pity. It’s a handicap, Joel. Not the end of the world. Learn to make the most of it, since you chose to live with it. It’s about time you did.”

  “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” Joel’s voice was deceptively polite. “Doling out advice like you’ve actually lived through the situation.”

  “I have.”

  “Not the same. You got your sight back.”

  “But at the time I didn’t know if I ever would.”

  “And as I recall, you were a titanic pest, ordering everyone at the Refuge to wait on you hand and foot and manipulating Darcy into reading all of that blasted pirate book to you in under a week’s time.”

  Herbert chuckled. “True. But the fact remains, I know what it’s like to suddenly be without sight and have to rely on others for just about everything. I know what you’re going through.”

  “You were eleven when it happened. You had no life.”

  “You think age has anything to do with feeling scared or helpless?”

  Joel gripped his knees more tightly, not wanting to continue with the conversation.

  “Tell Thea to find someone else.”

  “What?”

  “That girl—Marilou. I have a sneaking suspicion she won’t work out.”

  “Her name’s Marielle. And you promised her a week’s trial.”

  “She told you?” Joel groused, wondering if the woman was trying to manipulate Herbert behind Joel’s back in order to keep her position.

  “Just why don’t you think she’ll work out? She seems efficient, skilled, willing to do whatever is asked. Just the type of help you need.”

  “She’s too bossy, too nosy, and speaks her mind without being asked.”

  “Like I said,” Herbert drawled. “Just what you need.”

  Joel didn’t miss the laughter in Herbert’s voice.

  “And speaking of the wise lady, she’s headed this way.”

  Joel straightened his back in irritation. Following Herbert’s lighthearted declaration, he heard the whisper of footsteps rustle across the yard, steadily growing louder, accompanied by the rich scent of meat loaf and potatoes.

  “Hello.” Her voice came cheery. “I brought supper.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Joel replied petulantly, angry at his stomach for its eager lurch at the aroma of delicious food.

  “Well, that’s just too bad, because you’re going to eat.”

  “No. I’m not.” His reply came just as obstinate.

  “Yes. You are. I just spent the past two hours helping Thea and slaving over a hot stove, and you most certainly will eat every morsel I brought you, Mr. Joel Litton.”

  Before he could counter her verbal attack, he heard her swift footsteps march with determination inside his house. He turned to where Herbert quietly chuckled.

  “You see what I mean? She’s impossible! There’s no way I’m putting up with her insolence for one solid week.”

  “What I think I see is Thea at the window. Yup, there she is. It’s my suppertime, too. And that meat loaf smells absolutely scrumptious.”

  “You’re going to just go and leave things like they are?”

  “Leave things like what?”

  “Her,” he growled between clenched teeth. “This situation. I was hoping you might side with me in getting her to leave me alone for good and go back to wherever it is she came from.”

  “Aren’t you the one always telling me you can do fine on your own and don’t need any mollycoddling? After all, you’re bigger than she is. And she’s a girl.”

  “Aw, go chase yourself,” Joel snapped, in no mood to put up with his tormentor’s jests.

  “I’ll drop by after supper.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  Joel grimaced when his so-called friend laughed again as he headed for his house.

  “Mr. Litton?” came his new tormentor’s voice from inside.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Joel determined to ignore her presence and never give in to the intrusive dame.

  Clemmie threw open the door to her room and flung her purse on the bed.

  “Imbecile!”

  Her hat followed.

  “Ignoramus!”

  She ripped apart the buttons of her cardigan and tore it from one side, flinging her arm and flapping it around to rid herself of the rest of her sweater. “Mule-headed … pigheaded … dimwitted
… obstinate!” She muttered each insult with each flap of her arm. Her cardigan at last gave way and with one final wave shot to the bed.

  “I didn’t know you could be a mule and a pig at the same time.” Hannah’s amused voice came from the doorway.

  Clemmie swung around to face her. “When your name is Joel Litton, you can! He is such a, such a …” She sought for appropriate words.

  “Cantankerous idiot?”

  “Exactly!”

  Clemmie whirled around again, falling to a sitting position on the bed. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling as if she could spit nails.

  “So I take it working for the ‘master of mischief’ wasn’t smooth sailing today?”

  “Ha!” Clemmie grunted the exclamation in disdain. “Not only would he not eat the perfectly lovely meal I brought him at the end of the day, but he threw the plate at the wall when I insisted he eat it, and he missed me by bare inches!”

  “He didn’t!” Hannah’s eyes grew wide as she drew closer. She worked not to smile.

  “He did. And it’s not funny, Hannah. They eat meat only twice a week. And just look at my skirt.” She groaned, lifting the brown cotton splotched with smears from the flying mashed potatoes and gravy.

  “It’ll wash.”

  “Oh, I know that.” Clemmie sighed, thinking of the hardened food she would have to scrub from the wall, baseboards, and floor tomorrow. Joel had cursed her, ordering her out and yelling the directive in cruel, shocking words that she would never tell Hannah, much less say aloud to anyone, and she hadn’t dared stay longer and clean up the mess.

  “Are you going back?”

  “Of course.”

  At Clemmie’s emphatic and quick reply, Hannah couldn’t hold back the laughter any longer. She wrapped her arms around herself, her enthusiasm growing as she toppled to her side on the counterpane.

  “Stop it. It’s not funny.” Clemmie felt her lips turn up at the corners. “Stop it, I said, or you’re likely to cast a kitten!” Her smile grew.