Hearts

by Stef Ann Holm

  Chapter

  7

  E dwina sat in the parlor rocker, baby Elizabeth cradled in her arms as the infant slept. Using a slow and soothing rhythm, she moved the chair back and forth with the tip of her slipper-clad foot. For having given birth six days ago, she looked serene and content in her Chinese wrapper with her long hair plaited in a loose braid.

  Dr. Porter had paid a call an hour earlier, given Edwina an exam, and proclaimed she was doing amazingly well. But he said she should limit her company and get plenty of bed rest for at least twelve days so she could devote all her energies to the task of recovering as speedily as possible—both on her own account and for the sake of Elizabeth.

  Yesterday, Truvy had floundered her way through a cookbook’s instructions and figured out how to make a vegetable broth for Edwina, although the end result wasn’t a chef d’oeuvre. This morning, Truvy washed diapers and hung them on the indoor clothes rack to dry by the kitchen stove. And a little while ago, she and Edwina drew a bath for the baby, then, after she was clean, rubbed nursery powder on her behind and dressed her in a flannel sacque.

  Elizabeth was the only baby Truvy had ever held. Her sweet skin was so delicate, it seemed translucent. Truvy touched a fingertip to the baby’s arm, the skin there as soft as soft could be. Her facial features consisted of deep blue eyes, a little turned-up nose, a heart-shaped mouth, rosy cheeks, and pale blond hair.

  Truvy thought her the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen.

  “I’m so glad you came to visit, Truvy.” Edwina tucked the pink bundle next to her breast. Elizabeth’s plump cheek rested against the swell, her eyes closed, her rosebud mouth tightly pursed.

  A genuine satisfaction settled into Truvy. “Me, too.”

  “Christmas will be extra special this year.”

  “I think so.”

  Elizabeth’s fist clenched. She slowly lifted her eyelids, then they drifted closed again.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you, Edwina?” Truvy stood waiting, having just come back from putting away a dirty plate and cup. She’d served jellied toast and weak tea to Edwina.

  “Heavens, no. Please sit down. You’ve been so helpful.” She shifted in the rocker, keeping its rocking in perfect rhythm with her toe. “I want you to tell me about your girls at St. Francis.”

  Truvy settled into the divan and acquainted Edwina with each student she had. She talked about the term and how her instructions had been going thus far, about the dual job of coaching and teaching economics classes, and her various duties for both. She avoided the benefactress incident. However, the sincere look of interest on Edwina’s face did have her admitting, “There was a slight problem last year”—a rather large problem—“when the girls gave a performance of the play The Cherry Blossom. I took on the roll of Miss Cherry Blossom and had the students dress up like geishas and sing, ‘I Am a Little Geisha.’ Mind you, I hadn’t told the committee what play we would choose, never dreaming it would be a problem. The curtain dropped in the middle of the first act, on the dictum of Miss Pond—who explained to me geisha were women of ill repute. I had no idea.”

  Edwina’s laughter was soft and compassionate. “I’ve had such problems myself when I taught finishing school. It’s all part of our efforts to help our girls develop into women.”

  Develop into women.

  That was exactly Truvy’s aim when she’d been reading The Science of Life to her students—preparing the girls for many life experiences. “Have you ever heard of a book called The Science of Life?”

  “No.”

  Maintaining a serious expression, Truvy confided, “I’ve been reading it and the advice is very apropos of girls developing into women. Of—well . . . sex in general.”

  “Truvy.” Edwina smiled with a lifted brow. “Sex?”

  “Nothing vulgar,” Truvy hastily replied. “But anatomically enough not to leave things to the imagination. Actually, the doctor delves into some of the technical anatomical names.” But Truvy didn’t elaborate. “It’s quite specific on how to find the right true love. Very scientific, and I’ve found it to be most helpful. To me. Um, for me. For my girls. That is to say . . .”

  Oh, she should just confess! Get the whole truth out in the open. She was fascinated by that book and its words had gotten her into severe trouble with Miss Pond and the benefactress. But revealing her failings always left Truvy feeling . . . like a failure.

  Dear Edwina would never think worse of her, and yet the right words of explanation lodged in her throat.

  “Really?” Edwina continued to rock in the chair. “Oh well. It’s too late for me. I’ll never know if Tom is my scientific true love. I’m already madly in love with him, so I wouldn’t care what the book said.” She cuddled the baby in her arms. “What kind of man is your scientific match?”

  Slightly flustered, Truvy toyed with the lace cuff on her sleeve. It really didn’t matter. She wasn’t seeking a mate.

  She wasn’t seeking marriage.

  Without consideration, she remarked, “I can tell you who he’s not. Any man with a liking for athletic sports. Any man who’s tall. Any man of strong facial contour.” Hearing herself, she left the description at that. To say more, she might as well spell it out: any man named Jake Brewster. “I would have to choose my complete opposite or suffer the consequences.”

  “Oh, Truvy, you can’t believe that.”

  “I most certainly do. I believe in it so much that that’s why I—” She quit in the middle of the sentence, then shook her head. No. She must own up to the fact she’d muddled things. “Oh, Edwina, I may be dismissed from St. Francis because I read a chapter in the book to my students!”

  Truvy proceeded to unburden her conscience about her darkest hour at St. Francis, Miss Pond’s reprimand, and the conditions for her coming back to the classroom. “Several days ago, I wrote Miss Pond a letter asking to return as planned. On the twenty-seventh. I can only hope she’ll say yes. If not, what am I to do? I’ll have to make new arrangements. Maybe I should just go home and stay at the Idanha Hotel while Miss Pond and Mrs. Mumford decide my fate. If they could see my sincerity, they—”

  “Truvy, this is nothing to fret about,” Edwina insisted firmly. “You’re a marvelous teacher. That much is apparent in the way you talk about your students. I won’t let you put yourself in a position of weakness by waiting around in a hotel for word.”

  While she shifted Elizabeth’s position, the tiny baby whimpered in her sleep. “It’s a good thing you’ve come here. To me. Everything will work out entirely for you.” Edwina stood and went to Truvy, Elizabeth still snugly in her arms. She slowly lowered herself onto the divan and took one of Truvy’s hands in her own. “You’ll stay in Harmony as long as you need to. I’d be happy to speak to Mrs. Plunkett about the arrangements, and if there’s any conflict, you’ll come here with Tom and me.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.”

  Truvy would take a room at the Brooks House before she did that. The carpenters had already been notified not to work on the renovation of the baby’s room for one week while Edwina recuperated. Truvy wouldn’t feel right as a guest in the Wolcotts’ home while the upstairs was torn apart.

  “Don’t be silly,” Edwina said. “Of course you could.”

  Truvy fought back tears while affectionately squeezing Edwina’s hand. “I would never impose on you with things such as they are for you and Tom right now.”

  “It wouldn’t be an imposition.”

  “I wouldn’t feel right about it. Please don’t worry about me. I can ask Mrs. Plunkett if it would be all right to stay on.”

  “But I know how she can be. I feel responsible for you. I wish Marvel-Anne had an extra room. She’s such a dear.”

  Marvel-Anne was Edwina’s hired woman. Any day now, she’d be returning from a visit to her sisters. The woman was advancing in years, but she’d been employed by the Huntingtons, Edwina’s parents, forever, and though she didn’t live with Edwina and Tom, she came o
ver and helped out Monday through Friday.

  “It would probably be easiest if I speak with Mrs. Plunkett.”

  “If worst comes to worst—and it doesn’t have to because we can work out something here, but it if does—Tom has an apartment with Mr. Hess he doesn’t use, but I’d hate for you to have to do that. It wouldn’t be ideal.”

  “Well, the worst may happen after today,” Truvy said. “When I left to come over here, Mrs. Plunkett had a houseful of ladies.” Women buzzed like worker bees around their queen, Prudence Plunkett. “I hope the Ladies Aid Snowflake Ball committee has adjourned. I felt out of place when they took over the house. Especially after I explained about the beer. I knew I must.”

  “The beer?”

  “That Mr. Bruiser’s beer.” She gave no thought to inadvertently calling him by his boxing name. It suited him. “He made me carry a bottle of lager beer for him from the depot when he came and got me, and like a ninny, I did it without thinking.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. And the very same ladies in Mrs. Plunkett’s parlor are the ones who saw me on the street with that bottle of Heinrich’s. They looked at me as if I were a heathen and I had to tell them it hadn’t been my idea. I did rectify the situation when I poured the beer out in a planter. Mr. Bruiser was none to happy about that.”

  Truvy hadn’t expected Edwina’s laughter, gay and amused.

  Elizabeth squirmed and gave a soft cry. “Mama’s sorry, darling.” Then to Truvy, she said, “Oh, I can just imagine Jake’s reaction.”

  “He wasn’t pleased. And neither are those ladies. I’m not sure if they believed me. They had a collective look of distrust.”

  Edwina patted the baby’s back, quieting and settling her into a lulling sleep. “Those ladies do that. But they really are sweet. And once they get to know you, they’ll adore you.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be cozy with them. I don’t think in their same way. They spent an eternity debating which would be best—Chinese bucket-shaped lanterns or Japanese ball-shaped lanterns.”

  “They do every year. And I’m sure they settled on Japanese. Like they do every year.” Edwina put a finger to her lips. “Now, enough of that.” Her mouth curved in a half smile. “Tell me more about Jake Brewster. What do you think of him?”

  Truvy thought he’d been a gentleman at the ice pond.

  Thanks to his ingenuity and knowledge of Harmony’s side streets, she’d been saved from a disgraceful predicament.

  When Truvy went down for breakfast that morning, Mrs. Plunkett was in a fit of agitation. Seeing Truvy, she immediately went into a tirade against that man, Jacob Brewster, and his bad deportment. She listed the faults of men—and of him in particular, a man who called on ladies at eight twenty-two in the morning.

  “Well?” Edwina’s query broke into Truvy’s thoughts. “What do you think of him?”

  Truvy spoke the first thought that came to her head. “He’s tall.”

  “So are you.”

  “I’m not fond of athletes.”

  “He’s not an athlete. He’s a former boxer.”

  “In that case, I believe I’d prefer an athlete.”

  “You goose, now he’s a businessman. Very successful. And he’s quite handsome, don’t you think?”

  The nape of Truvy’s neck, at the sensitive place where her hair began at the base of her head, tingled in recollection of when the knit of Jake’s gloves had brushed her skin. His breath had nearly touched her cheek, warm and misted from the cold air. The leap in her heart had almost been a fast jolt. He’d held onto the thickness of her hair in his hand as if he had a desire to kiss the side of her neck. It had been a most . . . stimulating thing.

  “I think The Science of Life is correct in its observations,” Truvy said as she softly touched Elizabeth’s downy hair with her knuckles. “Mr. Bruiser and I have nothing to gain by an association.”

  And yet, he’d called her Tru.

  Nobody had ever called her that before. She had always been Truvy or Miss Valentine. She wasn’t the type of woman people gave a nickname to. It must be her demeanor, her appearance. She didn’t dress in vogue and wasn’t in the know. She had schoolmarm written all over her. A new suit of clothes did not change the person inside—nor her mannerisms.

  But when he’d pretended to pay a call on her—she’d heard him as she’d crept up the Plunketts’ stairs, mindful of the creaky ones—there had been a flicker of anticipation in her breast, a disarming thrum in her heartbeat. She hadn’t been prepared for that. She assumed he would have asked to speak to Mrs. Plunkett on a fabricated personal matter. Although she knew his reasons, the thought of his coming over to ask about her . . . to ask if he could see her . . .

  “I think that book is nonsense,” Edwina said. “He’s a very nice man.” As if on cue, Elizabeth smiled in her sleep. “Ah! There you see, my daughter agrees with me.”

  Gazing at Elizabeth, a foreign tightening welled in Truvy’s chest. She wished she could quell the feeling, make it go away. She’d been so content at St. Francis, so used to her routine and her life and her girls. But not even a week in Harmony and here she sat with a melancholy she couldn’t put a finger on.

  “It really doesn’t matter what the book says,” Truvy pointed out. “I’m only in Harmony on a vacation trip, not to live here. My life is with my girls at St. Francis. I’m a teacher. I’ll always be a teacher. Never a wife.”

  “Oh, Truvy, don’t say such a thing. I never thought I’d marry, and here I am blissfully happy with a husband.” Brushing a light kiss over the top of Elizabeth’s head, Edwina said, “When she’s like this, with her eyes closed, she looks like Tom.”

  Smiling, Truvy wondered what it would be like to see Jake sleeping. Er, rather, a man. Any man. Not him. Oh, botheration. Why had she thought of him in particular? Because the image of Coach Moose Thompson sleeping left her feeling like a cold fish.

  Edwina rose and left the tailored sofa with the baby, putting her in the infant basket close to the parlor stove. Elizabeth began to fuss. “There, there, baby,” Edwina cooed as she laid her down. “I have to get something for your Auntie Truvy.”

  Auntie Truvy. An unwelcome flush crept up Truvy’s neck. A blanket of heat stole onto her cheeks. She hated the image that the pet name conjured up—an ancient spinster.

  Truvy stood, putting aside her ridiculous sensitivity. “What is it?”

  Edwina came toward her, a hastily grabbed book in her hand. “I meant to loan this to Jake the other day, but I forgot. He’s eager to read it. I’m sure he’d appreciate your bringing the book by the gymnasium.”

  Without looking at the book, Truvy exclaimed, “Edwina, I don’t want to face him! I couldn’t possibly.” She wrung her hands. “Two days ago, he had to come to my rescue when I was in my athletic costume. I was embarrassed and he . . . he . . . he really was nice about it, but I just can’t see him again.”

  “Truvy, you’re not making any sense.”

  Truvy quickly explained what had happened.

  “Why, that’s wonderful, what he did to help you. He certainly won’t be thinking differently of you because of it.” Edwina shrugged in good humor. “I never told you this, but I fell out of a tree and landed right on Tom while I was wearing my underwear. You see, I’d climbed up an oak tree after Honey Tiger and the branch broke and—oh, never mind! I’ll tell you the whole story later. Now, really, do be a dear and bring this book to Jake.”

  Reluctantly, Truvy gazed at the cover, a dark plum leather with a gold-embossed title. She arched a skeptical brow while reading, “Our Deportment: Manners, Conduct, and Dress for Refined Society.”

  “Oh! Oh, dear, not that one.” Edwina snatched back Our Deportment and returned to the bookcase and selected another edition. “I meant to get this book.”

  Truvy took the second book, but with as much suspicion. “Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky. Forgive me, Edwina, but for a man who claims he reads only sporting magazines, and probably reads, if
I were to venture a guess, the Police Gazette, I believe he’d get more enjoyment out of the deportment book.”

  Edwina laughed. Nervously. “Truvy, you are too funny.” She all but backed her into the vestibule. “Take it over to him right now.”

  Dread worked through Truvy. “Right now?”

  “Absolutely.” Truvy’s handbag was thrust into her grasp, as was her hat and cape. “Now you hurry along. You do know where Bruiser’s is, don’t you?”

  Truvy didn’t have a keen sense of direction, but Bruiser’s Gymnasium was the one place in town whose location she’d remembered.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Thank you, Truvy.”

  The door clicked into place. Closed.

  Truvy walked slowly down the veranda steps with mixed feelings. She knew an obviously fictitious errand when she was handed one. Edwina wanted her to give Jake Brewster another look. She didn’t need to see him again. He was a big lug. An empty-headed smart aleck.

  Unlatching the gate, she paused.

  Then again, he had come up with a very enterprising plan to outsmart Mrs. Plunkett. He’d been quite the gentleman to offer her his coat. And she couldn’t forget how kind he’d been, waiting with her when Edwina’s time had come. The way he’d held her, comforted her. Oh, she was being ridiculous.

  Jake Brewster epitomized everything she didn’t want in a man. Surely her instincts about him weren’t erroneous. Then again . . . there would be absolutely no harm in being civil to him while she was in town.

  Perhaps she’d misjudged him. Maybe he wasn’t the brutish muscle clod she thought him to be. Picking up her pace, she decided that it wouldn’t hurt to have another look before making her final determination.

  Jake flipped through the dictionary, finding the word he wanted—which was no easy thing, given that he couldn’t wear his glasses. The exercise room of the gym was crowded with men honing up for the Mr. Physique contest. His office door remained open, leaving him available for training questions and the call for when the contestants had on their posing costumes. He didn’t know what they’d ordered through Muscle Builder, because Milton Burditt had wanted to be in charge.