A Hearth in Candlewood

by Delia Parr

She felt a blush steal up her neck to warm her cheeks. Unlike Jonas, who had never questioned Emma, Zachary Breckenwith challenged most everything she said or did, forcing her to reexamine her position or her decision, which made her strive all the more to be efficient as well as precise in her dealings with him. Unfortunately, he also seemed able to know what she was thinking, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. ‘‘There’s a fine distinction between arrogance and confidence, which perhaps I misjudged earlier,’’ she admitted.

  He smiled. ‘‘Understandably so.’’

  When he rose to leave, she urged him back into his seat. ‘‘I do have another matter I need to discuss with you.’’

  He sat back in his seat and cocked a brow.

  Briefly she explained the situation with Aunt Frances and her estrangement from her sons. By the time she finished, he was frowning. Deeply. Relieved that his concern for Aunt Frances obviously matched her own, she felt for once that he might be more ally than foe. ‘‘I was hoping you might be able to reassure me that her sons won’t be able to force her to leave, and I’m grateful you understand my position in offering her a place to stay.’’

  ‘‘On the contrary,’’ he insisted, instantly proving her perceptions of him to be wrong. ‘‘Given the circumstances that brought me to Hill House today, the worst thing you could do is embroil yourself in a family squabble, especially when you don’t know what James and Andrew Leonard are arguing about to such an extent that their mother felt compelled to run off to Hill House. Any sort of scandal or dissension that involves Hill House could undoubtedly affect the owner’s decision of whether or not to sell Hill House to you, assuming he decides to sell at all. As your lawyer, I’d advise against getting involved. In any way.’’

  She narrowed her gaze. ‘‘Then what do you suggest I do? Put Widow Leonard out on the street to fend for herself? She’s desperate and heartbroken, not to mention the fact that she’s eighty-one years old! She needs someone to help her.’’

  ‘‘I’m your lawyer,’’ he countered. ‘‘It’s my duty to look out for your interests and your interests alone. Assuming you’re serious about holding on to Hill House, there’s no other way I can suggest you proceed, except to remove yourself from this family feud as quickly and as quietly as you can.’’

  Emma tilted up her chin and stiffened her back. ‘‘Well, I’m not going to ask her to leave. I simply can’t. And I won’t. And if the owner of Hill House is any kind of man, he’ll understand that I can’t turn my back on an elderly widow when she’s come to me for help.’’

  She locked her gaze with Breckenwith’s. ‘‘I would have expected you would understand and be more supportive.’’

  His countenance softened. ‘‘Setting my role as your lawyer aside, I do understand. You’re a caring woman of deep conviction who is passionately concerned about helping others. Quite frankly, I’d be more than disappointed if you did anything less than what you’ve already done for the poor woman. Unfortunately, I don’t have the pleasure of letting my personal opinions or feelings sway my professional judgment as a lawyer or to compromise my responsibilities to you as my client. Just be careful. Be very careful not to get overly involved.’’

  Stunned, Emma barely had time to register his most provocative words before Liesel charged into the office without knocking. Tears glistened on her pale cheeks, and her words tumbled out in a rush that left no moment for her to draw a breath. ‘‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Widow Garrett, but you need to come to the parlor— the west parlor. Right away. Mr. Breckenwith needs to come, too. Mother Garrett won’t be coming home. And Aunt Frances won’t be coming home. The sheriff is here. Sheriff North is here. Oh, hurry! Please! There’s trouble. Terrible trouble.’’

  Emma bolted from her chair and ran to the girl’s side. ‘‘Calm down, child. Calm down.’’

  ‘‘I’m trying,’’ she cried, ‘‘but he’s . . . no, I mean they. They’ve been arrested—Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances have been arrested!’’

  When Emma cast a frantic look in Mr. Breckenwith’s direction, he was already on his feet. ‘‘It appears I may be late for dinner with Aunt Elizabeth after all,’’ he said and followed her out of the room.

  9

  AN HOUR LATER THE TWO ALLEGED criminals were not exactly in a jail cell, huddling together and terrified by their ordeal, as Emma had first imagined. Instead, Emma found them in the kitchen of Sheriff North’s home, where he had kindly taken them out of respect for Emma, if not for the two elderly women themselves.

  While Sheriff North and her lawyer waited in the parlor, Emma stood unobserved in the doorway to the kitchen. There Joy North tended to a pot on the cookstove emitting tantalizing aromas. Emma shook her head in disbelief. Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard were sitting side-by-side at the kitchen table, and each held one of the North girls. Widow Leonard held four-month-old Pamela, while Patricia, ten months older, was in Mother Garrett’s arms. For a moment, Emma almost envisioned herself sitting with them, with her two-year-old granddaughter, Grace, cradled on her lap. But Grace, as well as her big sister, Deborah, was far away, living in New York City, where Emma’s oldest son, Warren, operated a dry goods store with his wife, Anna.

  Unlike the two alleged criminals, however, Emma had neither the time nor the inclination to relax within the womb of female domesticity that prevailed here or to dream about holding any of her grandchildren on her lap. ‘‘I see you’re both quite recovered from your ordeal,’’ she noted as she made her presence known and entered the kitchen.

  Mother Garrett looked up from the baby in her arms for a brief moment to catch Emma’s gaze and frowned. ‘‘Shoplifting and disturbing the peace are crimes better suited for a pair of young rascals, not two elderly widows. Anyone with a lick of sense would recognize what happened for what it was—an oversight and a bit of a display of temper,’’ she crooned, so intent on rocking the sleeping baby in her arms she did not bother to look up at Emma again. ‘‘I told you my daughter-in-law would come and straighten out this misunderstanding, didn’t I, my precious little dumpling?’’

  Joy caught Emma’s gaze, rolled her eyes, and held up one hand, obviously content to stay out of the conversation.

  Mother Garrett’s compatriot, however, shifted the baby she was holding to rest upon her shoulder. While Widow Leonard patted Pamela’s back, she returned Emma’s gaze with a troubled one of her own. ‘‘You can’t know how terrible I feel about having to ask you to get up from your sickbed to help me.’’

  ‘‘Us. Help us,’’ Mother Garrett corrected.

  Emma crossed the room and sat down at the table with her back to Joy North, but across from Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard.

  ‘‘There’s no sense pretending I’m not guilty of doing something wrong, but Frances is completely innocent. She did not deliberately take those two spools of thread and walk out of the General Store without paying for them,’’ Mother Garrett insisted.

  ‘‘We were so busy chatting, I plumb forgot,’’ Widow Leonard offered and made a clucking sound with her mouth. ‘‘I can’t believe the same thing hasn’t happened before to other women. Everything is so different these days. With the town growing so fast, there are new shops everywhere. Main Street has changed each time I make it to town, which I suppose isn’t odd since I only come to town every few years. The shopkeepers aren’t the same, either. When you owned the General Store, you’d never have had a pair of old ladies like us arrested.’’

  Mother Garrett stopped rocking the baby for a moment and cocked her head. ‘‘In truth, I seem to recall when Emma did do just that. Jonas was still alive, remember, Emma? To all appearances, we thought the folks who had come into the store were good people heading west who had come in for supplies. Instead, they were just a passel of thieves. The whole lot of them!’’

  ‘‘That may well be,’’ Widow Leonard countered before Emma could comment. ‘‘But I’m no thief and neither are you. And I don’t believe what you said about being guilty of disturbing the
peace, either. That young Mr. Atkins deserved every reprimand and every smack he got from you. Some shopkeeper he’s turning out to be.’’

  Emma stared at her mother-in-law and wondered if this was the same woman she had known for nearly thirty years. ‘‘You hit the man? You actually hit him?’’

  ‘‘On his hand. Twice. What was I supposed to do? He had such a tight hold on Frances, I was afraid he’d crush her arm.’’ She snorted. ‘‘From the way he described it to the sheriff, you would have thought I hit him with a shovel or a hammer instead of my reticule. He wouldn’t have been hit at all if he had let go of her like I told him.’’

  A band of frustration tightened around Emma’s head so hard, the front of her head actually hurt more than the lump she still carried on the back. Even if the legal owner of Hill House might find it hard to accept Emma’s involvement in the Leonard feud, she doubted he would be willing to overlook the fact that not one but two residents of Hill House had been arrested for shoplifting.

  She leaned an elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. ‘‘Mr. Breckenwith is in the parlor. He’s agreed to represent both of you if we can’t get Mr. Atkins to withdraw his complaints against you.’’

  Widow Leonard’s hand stilled against the baby’s back. For the first time, her gaze grew very troubled. ‘‘He was mighty angry. I doubt he’d be willing to do that,’’ she murmured as her bottom lip began to tremble. ‘‘When my sons hear news of this, they’ll be convinced I’ve gone simple and need a keeper. They might even let me spend a day or two in jail.’’

  ‘‘That’s nonsense. You don’t need a keeper any more than I do,’’ Mother Garrett argued.

  For the moment Emma was sorely tempted to beg to differ, but her mother-in-law gave her no opportunity to voice her opinion. ‘‘Neither one of us is going to spend any time in jail, and we don’t need a lawyer, either. Emma will see that everything is put right again, won’t you, Emma?’’

  Emma pressed her fingertips against her temple to ease the pounding in her head. ‘‘I can try. I’d rather not involve Mr. Breckenwith unless it’s absolutely necessary.’’ She looked from one woman to the other. She was willing to intervene on their behalf, but she did not want to approach Mr. Atkins unless she was assured she knew the full story. ‘‘Before I go to see Mr. Atkins, is there anything else I should know about your . . . encounter? Something you may have left out or perhaps merely overlooked?’’

  Mother Garrett stiffened her hold on the baby in her arms. ‘‘Certainly not.’’

  ‘‘I can’t think of a thing,’’ Widow Leonard insisted.

  Emma nodded, rose, and turned her attention to the sheriff ’s wife. ‘‘I hate to impose on your hospitality any further, but would it be possible for me to leave and come back later to pick up my mother-in-law and Widow Leonard?’’

  ‘‘In truth, they’ve both been such a help with the babies, I was hoping they could stay awhile longer. If you like, I can hold dinner until you return,’’ Joy suggested.

  ‘‘No, thank you. You all go ahead and eat. I’ll send Mr. Breckenwith home, too, so he can have dinner with his aunt. I think I’ll have more of an appetite after I’ve resolved this matter with Mr. Atkins.’’

  She had gotten halfway across the kitchen when Widow Leonard’s voice rang out. ‘‘Wait! I have thought of one thing.’’

  When Emma turned around, the woman had stretched out one of her arms. Two spools of white thread rested in the center of her palm. ‘‘I . . . I just reached into my pocket for my handkerchief and found these,’’ she insisted. Her eyes misted with tears. ‘‘I . . . I suppose in all the uproar, I never did give them back to Mr. Atkins.’’

  Emma retraced her steps, retrieved the two spools of thread, and looked from one woman to the other again. ‘‘There’s nothing more, I hope.’’

  When both women shook their heads, Emma returned to the parlor, where Mr. Breckenwith and Sheriff North were still waiting. She addressed the sheriff first, since she was in his home. ‘‘I believe your wife has dinner ready now. In the meantime, I’m off to the General Store in search of Mr. Atkins to see if I can’t convince him to drop the complaints.’’

  The sheriff shook his head. ‘‘I tried. I can only hope you might fare better than I did. I’m not taking Mr. Atkins’ side, but to be fair, the man’s had a rough go of it, especially this past week when he got involved in a bit of a brawl trying to protect his store. With the crowds of people here for all the Founders’ Day celebrations, he’s lost a fair bit of stock to shoplifters. Not that he hasn’t had his hands full with the men who work on the packet boats and freight barges. Those men just hit town and leave within an hour or two, so he has little chance to recoup his losses.’’

  Zachary Breckenwith took a step forward. ‘‘I can’t see what harm it would do to try asking him to drop the charges. I’ll come along,’’ he offered, locking his gaze with hers. ‘‘The quicker we resolve the problem, the better it will be for all concerned.’’

  Unnerved by the protective concern simmering in his dark eyes, Emma swallowed hard but held his gaze. ‘‘I’d prefer to try speaking to him alone first. I think he’d feel less threatened and more inclined to let the complaint drop. If not, I won’t hesitate to have you intervene. If you hurry, you’ll still be home in time to have dinner with your aunt.’’

  She noted the look of disappointment in his gaze but turned her attention back to the sheriff. ‘‘In either case, Sheriff, will I be able to take both Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard home with me when I return?’’

  The sheriff held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘‘I’m running for election again next year. I’m not locking up these elderly women in my jail.’’

  Emma let out a sigh. ‘‘Maybe not, but I’m sorely tempted to keep them both under lock and key at Hill House,’’ she muttered under her breath, then took her leave to try to unravel today’s misunderstanding.

  The distance between the sheriff ’s home and the General Store was a matter of less than half a mile, at most, but it took her a good while to reach Main Street because she still was not feeling fully recovered from her fall. The air was laced with the scent of dinners bubbling on cookstoves in nearby homes, yet the wagon traffic was heavy and mostly headed, she noticed, for the warehouses built along the canal.

  She had easy going on the planked sidewalk, for foot traffic was light. The closer she got to the General Store, however, the more she worried about whether or not her attempt to settle this misunderstanding could be resolved. Rather than dissolve into a panic, which she could ill afford, she kept calm by focusing on the changes at the southern end of Main Street, where the General Store had once stood alone. The First Bank of Candlewood, which had opened some three years back, was a solid brick building, almost as impressive as the Emerson Hotel or Town Hall. A host of new wooden storefronts lined both sides of the street now and offered a variety of eastern and foreign goods carried to the heart of Candlewood from New York City by way of the Erie Canal. She wondered how soon it would be before the town of Candlewood evolved into a city.

  It had been four short years since she had sold the General Store, but she passed by shops now specializing in goods that ranged from French tableware to the finest in ladies’ continental fashions, a confectionary with a sign announcing the arrival of a new shipment of Belgian chocolates, and a millinery that offered the latest rage in women’s headgear imported directly from England.

  Given the international flavor of the competition now facing the General Store, Mr. Langhorne’s assumption she would be tempted to sell her land in exchange for an English title did not seem outlandish at all. Emma noted he would be very pleased to discover she did not actually own Hill House, but pushed away the thought to remain focused on the task at hand.

  In truth, if he had bothered to study her likes and dislikes, he would not have been surprised to find her yearning for the very American, very practical staples still available within the walls of the buildi
ng her grandparents had built.

  When she finally reached the General Store, she stood just outside the door for a moment to gather her thoughts and her wits. She was wary about the reception she would receive, since Mr. Atkins had not been very polite to her previously, but she was quite certain her arrival would not go unnoticed by either the shoppers or the proprietor of the store. She only hoped no one would discover that her heart was racing, her legs felt as wobbly as a toddler’s, and her stomach was doing flip-flops because she was still undecided about what approach she should take with him.

  Based on her previous encounters with Mr. Atkins, being coy was out of the question. Whether or not she should be forceful or more conciliatory, she decided, would be entirely up to him. In either case, she prayed God would touch Mr. Atkins’ heart and make him receptive to her pleas to withdraw his complaints so Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard could return to Hill House.

  Emma had not been to the General Store for some time, although Mother Garrett had been here often to order supplies. More than a little anxious, she slipped one hand into her pocket, held tight to her keepsakes, and let the memories of all the years she had spent here in this store ease the tremblings within her. Faced with the realization that she might have made a terrible mistake by selling the General Store, should she ultimately lose Hill House, Emma opened the door and walked inside.

  10

  EMMA TOOK TWO STEPS into the store and rocked back on her heels. While the sound of the front bell faded, she stared wide-eyed around the store. Although the smell of old wood mingled with the odors coming from the barrels of pickles and salted fish were all too familiar, the once always orderly store was now a virtual mishmash of disorder and chaos. Wooden shelves and tables once neatly stocked with dry goods were now cluttered and jumbled. Glass in most of the display cases had been removed, leaving the fragile contents vulnerable to pilfering or damage by careless shoppers.