by Delia Parr
He flopped back down on the floor.
‘‘Good enough. Just stay there, please, until I clean this up and then you’re going outside,’’ she warned and got straight to the miserable task at hand, as well as foot.
————
‘‘. . . and thank you, Lord, for an evening with no new surprises. Amen.’’
Emma finished her evening prayers, pulled down the quilt on her bed, and climbed beneath the bed sheet. The air was still but warm. There was just a bare hint of moonlight outside, and her bedroom was bathed in darkness. Surrounded by a quiet household, she felt for her keepsakes beneath the pillow under her head and wrapped her fingers around them.
With her other hand, she tugged the sheet to her shoulders. The moment she smoothed the edge flat and felt the embroidery, she paused. ‘‘My gift!’’ She had forgotten all about her gift from Aunt Frances, but apparently either Mother Garrett or Aunt Frances had not forgotten and had put the new bed linens on her bed for her.
Anxious to see the design on the top hem of the bed sheet, she eased from her bed and lit the lamp on the table next to it. Within moments, a soft glow brought the design to life. A row of hearts stretched from one side of the sheet to the other and rested below a vine of leaves and flowers. The dates stitched within each heart drew her attention and set her heart aglow. Tears blurred her vision as she traced the dates, each a precious moment in her life. The day of her birth. The day she had become Jonas’s wife. The birth dates of her children, their marriages, and the birth dates of her grandchildren.
She gave her tears free rein to fall. Amazed by Aunt Frances’s work and the thoughtfulness it represented, she now knew Mother Garrett had helped by providing the dates.
‘‘Bless you both,’’ she whispered. She doused the lamp and climbed back into her bed of memories, all the more grateful He had saved the greatest surprise of the day for the last.
18
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING before breakfast, Emma was at her desk when Mr. Sewell appeared in the doorway between the library and her office. ‘‘I’ve arranged for a carriage to pick my family up at ten o’clock for an outing, but we’ll be back for dinner, of course. I rose earlier than usual today to spend some time talking with Reverend Glenn again. Apparently, he overslept and is still dressing, so it appears I have a few extra moments. While I’m waiting, if it’s not inconvenient, now might be the only time for us to talk privately.’’
‘‘Of course. Please come in. I hadn’t heard your plans for today,’’ she offered and set aside the letter she had been writing.
Chuckling, he crossed the room and wedged himself into the chair facing her desk. ‘‘In truth, since this is our last full day here, I do believe if I hadn’t planned an outing so I could spend some time with my family, they would have gone shopping again, and I might have had to hire a separate freight barge to haul all their purchases home.’’
She smiled. ‘‘Your wife and daughters seemed pleased with all the new shops. I hope your ventures here in Candlewood have been as successful,’’ she prompted, anxious to learn how he had fared.
He nodded. ‘‘To a point, I believe they have, although the group of investors I represent will make the final judgment. My travels over the past few days have been most enlightening, and I daresay I would not have made nearly as much progress without your help.’’
‘‘I don’t know that I’ve been all that helpful,’’ she admitted. She did not consider the little information she had given him this year to be much more than common knowledge.
‘‘As uncommon as others may find it, considering your sex, your knowledge of the area and business sense have always been as solid as I could hope to find,’’ he countered. ‘‘No one in Candlewood had the foresight to see the potential in Hill House, but you did.’’
‘‘My grandmother and mother, bless their souls, would be as pleased that you’re so generous with your kind words as I am,’’ she replied, although she doubted he would have the same opinion of her if he knew about the legal troubles surrounding her ownership of Hill House.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a few moments, as if choosing his words carefully. ‘‘You may not, however, be as informed or as aware as you should be about other . . . shall we say, developments.’’
Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation of hearing his viewpoints on the future of Candlewood and the surrounding area. Mr. Sewell had been very careful not to divulge the exact details surrounding his interests in the area last year, and she did not expect him to talk to her about anything in other than general terms now. Perhaps now more than ever before she needed the benefit of his considerable experience and knowledge, which was far superior to her own, especially in light of his connections to other well-established and well-heeled investors and entrepreneurs in the East.
‘‘I fear you may be right. I am not informed as well as I’d like to be,’’ she admitted. ‘‘You were very generous in sharing your perceptions with me last year, especially about the Candlewood Canal.’’
‘‘The Erie Canal and the feeder canals, like the one in Candlewood, have been a boon to many towns and very profitable, at this point, to some investors but not all. Most towns like Candlewood have grown faster in the past five or six years than in the previous twenty-five. Some will continue to grow and prosper, while others face a much harsher future. The most difficult task, in my view, is to determine which towns offer the greatest promise of growth and how to be in a position to foster that growth to turn a profit. Not that there’s ever a way to eliminate the risk when making an investment,’’ he cautioned.
Intrigued to know his opinion about which future lay ahead for Candlewood, Emma also noted the glint of excitement in his eyes. ‘‘No, there isn’t. Yet it’s deciding which risk to take that separates the wise man from the foolish one,’’ she commented, feeling very foolish indeed for not following her lawyer’s advice and thinking through her rash decision to buy Hill House.
He cocked his head. ‘‘Quite a valuable observation.’’
She frowned. ‘‘Unfortunately, I can’t lay claim to it as mine, any more than I can say I’ve let those words guide all of my business decisions. My grandmother deserves the merit, although to quote her accurately, I would have to say that risk-taking in business ultimately separates the wise woman from the foolish one.’’
He chuckled again. ‘‘Also true.’’
‘‘To your mind, now that the Candlewood Canal is operating well, what factors will affect the town’s future most?’’ she asked, hoping he might be able to offer her advice she might need if she had to move from Hill House.
His expression grew serious. ‘‘The same as in the past. Geography. Geography. Geography.’’
When she narrowed her gaze, he laced his hands and laid them atop his stomach. ‘‘What single factor played the most significant role in determining whether or not Candlewood would grow like it has or remain simply a small anchor for area farmers?’’
‘‘The canal.’’
‘‘Perhaps, but what factor led to the building of the canal on a route that led through Candlewood?’’
She shrugged. ‘‘I suppose because the canal started south of here and ended in Bounty. Candlewood just happened to be in between.’’
‘‘At the midpoint of the route, to be precise, where the initial investors raised a greater portion of the cost of building the canal from other investors,’’ he corrected, reminding her that the initial investors had used naming the canal after the town as an important lure.
He paused for a moment and smiled. ‘‘Geography, then.’’
‘‘Yes, but—’’
‘‘The canal era is at its peak, or nearly so. Within ten years I suspect most towns along the canal will be fortunate if they can reclaim the level of success they enjoyed before the canals were ever built.’’
Her concern heightened. ‘‘But the geography won’t have changed.’’
‘‘Essentially yo
u’re correct, but progress is not static. Progress continues as technology evolves. Interests shift from one location to another, or interest heightens in specific locations, depending on—’’
‘‘Geography,’’ she murmured. She paused for a moment to let her brain sift through the articles she had read over the past year in various journals and newspapers, as well as gossip she had gleaned from area businessmen before she latched on to several ideas that seemed to have generated the most interest.
‘‘Extending the Candlewood Canal is one option,’’ she offered, choosing the one topic of most interest locally.
He shrugged. ‘‘True.’’
She tried again, suggesting something a bit more exotic. ‘‘Developing the silk industry seems to hold a great deal of promise for making substantial profits.’’
He coughed.
She proffered her final idea, although it seemed to be the riskiest of all. ‘‘The railroad?’’
He rose from his seat. ‘‘The difference between a wise investor and a foolish one goes just a bit further than deciding when or how to risk one’s capital. In truth, it is a wise investor who not only anticipates the future but prepares for it. The foolish one, on the other hand, sees the future only in terms of the present.’’
She swallowed hard. In hindsight, and in all honesty, she realized she may have foolishly rushed to buy Hill House not just as a way to create a new future for herself but more to escape the lonely reality of her life at the General Store without giving God the opportunity to show her the way He had planned for her.
‘‘Reverend Glenn and I see eye to eye in that regard,’’ he continued, ‘‘which is something we were going to discuss further this morning.’’
When she narrowed her gaze, he smiled. ‘‘Obviously I’m very interested in financial matters and being successful in this life, but the good minister reminded me only yesterday that perhaps I should be equally concerned about anticipating and preparing for eternal life.’’ He then left her alone to ponder his final words while he went to see Reverend Glenn.
Emma sat at her desk for nearly half an hour, deep in thought about their conversation. Ultimately, she decided Mr. Sewell would not have returned to Candlewood and spent the past three days touring property in the area unless he seriously thought the area offered the opportunity to profit from wise investments, possibly related to the construction of a railroad at some point in Candlewood’s future.
Given that assumption, she rifled through the clutter in her desk drawers, found a map of the area that included most of the eastern part of the state, and spread it out on top of the papers on her desk. She found Candlewood on the map easily enough, studied the area immediately surrounding the town, then put Candlewood in context with the outlying areas along the length of the Candlewood Canal.
If indeed Mr. Sewell’s belief that a railroad system would one day replace the canal system was correct, Candlewood should fare well. Although the canal ran north and east, the better route for a railroad would be north.
Due north.
Directly through Bounty, like the canal.
Directly along the toll road on the Leonard property.
Still deep in thought, she refolded the map and stored it away again. Long before the canal had become a reality, a number of local businessmen had formed committees that made joint investments and reaped huge profits. She was not aware of any committees formed to do the same in anticipation of a railroad. That did not mean they did not exist; only that, as a woman, she had not been included. Again.
If indeed there might be a railroad in Candlewood’s future, the value of land in and around the town of Candlewood would soar even higher, especially land suitable for business development. A wise investor would hold on to what land he or she already owned. If the legal owner of Hill House was wise, he might very well keep Hill House as an investment or raise the selling price substantially above the sum she had already paid.
Other investors, working quietly and efficiently, would acquire as much open land as possible for as little cost as possible. Land such as the parcel of land she had sold to Mother Garrett, which had disappointed one very determined investor: Mr. Langhorne.
Suddenly the man’s dogged interest in Emma’s land made sense. Her stipulation to protect that land from development for the next twenty years may have been prompted by her desire to hold on to a piece of Candlewood’s past yet also appeared to have been very wise in light of its potential value, particularly if she had to actually ask Mother Garrett to sell her parcel of land so Emma could buy Hill House again.
Connecting Mr. Langhorne’s interests to the Leonard brothers’ property containing a portion of the toll road also made sense. Given Mr. Langhorne’s very vocal desire to be part of Candlewood’s future, it was not as much of a stretch as it might have been only yesterday to think he was pursuing a new venture or that he might actually be the buyer pushing Andrew Leonard to sell.
From experience, she knew how persistent Mr. Langhorne could be, which might explain why Andrew Leonard appeared to be so anxious to sell the land, even if it meant forfeiting his relationship with his brother. She also knew that Mr. Langhorne would let nothing stand in his way. Should he discover that Emma did not own legal title to Hill House, she should be prepared to expect him to use that as leverage, if only to force her to stop intervening in the Leonards’ squabble. Buying Hill House out from under her might also be a very sweet prize of revenge.
If she was right that there was a railroad in Candlewood’s future, the property at the center of the dissension within the Leonard family was potentially far more valuable than either brother assumed. Reaping a significant profit, however, was many years in the future.
If she was wrong, she might very well stir up a hornet’s nest of problems—and being stung by embarrassment would be the very least of them, especially if Zachary Breckenwith had anything to say about it.
She rubbed her forehead to ease away a dull headache. Today was turning out no better than yesterday, and she had not even had breakfast yet.
19
THE SEWELLS DEPARTED FOR A RIDE in the countryside, although with the girls’ bickering, Emma was not sure how pleasant the trip would be. Ditty was upstairs preparing rooms for guests arriving on tomorrow’s afternoon packet. Liesel was in the kitchen helping Mother Garrett with preparations for dinner. Aunt Frances was upstairs busy finishing some sort of parting gift for the Sewell family. Reverend Glenn was on the side porch with Butter doing the same, although Emma had been given strict orders not to venture outside and spoil his surprise.
With everyone else accounted for, Emma popped into the kitchen to let Mother Garrett know her plans. To her surprise, Mother Garrett was alone at the table snapping beans. ‘‘Where’s Liesel?’’
‘‘Down rooting in the cellar again. I know I have more beans, but the girl’s been gone so long, either she can’t find them, I’ve misjudged what I had, or she’s planted some beans and decided to wait for them to grow.’’
Emma burst out laughing, but she sobered when her mother-in-law gave her a dark look. ‘‘I just wanted to let you know I’m going out to do some errands.’’
‘‘Would that include a stop at the General Store?’’
‘‘Yes, I have my correspondence to post. Why? Did you need something?’’
Mother Garrett stopped to wipe her hands, went to the larder, and took out a small tin and a large covered dish. ‘‘You can save me some steps and take something with you for Mr. Atkins. It’s not much. Just a few pretzels.’’ She held out the tin to Emma, who took it with the same hand holding her reticule. ‘‘We made a double batch yesterday. Even with sending some with the Sewells to enjoy for their journey home and setting some aside for the guests who are arriving tomorrow, there’s more than enough left to send him a few,’’ she explained.
‘‘I see. What else have you got there?’’
Mother Garrett handed her the covered dish. ‘‘Just a bit left from this a
nd that. Some slices of ham. The sausages and potatoes left from breakfast. I guess I made too much. Then there’s two slices of pound cake from yesterday, some apple butter . . .’’
‘‘You’re in charge of the kitchen. You don’t have to account for every morsel,’’ Emma insisted. Suddenly she realized why the larder had recently been so bare and where Mother Garrett’s recent errands had taken her. She also suspected her mother-in-law would be sending foodstuffs to each of her three grandsons if they lived nearby. ‘‘I’m just surprised you’ve taken such an interest in Mr. Atkins.’’
Blushing, her mother-in-law shrugged. ‘‘Somebody needs to look out for him. He’s mended just fine, but the poor man still can’t cook for himself and operate the store. I’ve been stopping in every now and then to take him what’s been left behind at meals after our guests have had their fill. He’s very grateful for all the help you gave him,’’ she said, then turned to retrieve the canvas bag she used when she went shopping.
‘‘I didn’t do all that much,’’ Emma countered.
Mother Garrett took the items Emma was holding, stored them in the bag, and handed it to Emma. ‘‘There. I think you’ll find it easier going if you borrow my bag.’’
‘‘That’s much better. Thank you,’’ Emma said, adding her correspondence, as well. She pecked the older woman’s cheek. ‘‘Just limit yourself to feeding the man. I’m certain he’s quite capable of finding a wife on his own.’’
This time, Mother Garrett’s cheeks flamed scarlet. ‘‘I’m certain I have not the slightest inkling—’’
‘‘Yes, you do, and I wouldn’t doubt for a moment that you’ve recruited Aunt Frances to help you. Not that I’m suggesting you shouldn’t help him, even if your last attempt at matchmaking was a disaster,’’ she teased and held up one hand to silence her mother-in-law’s objections. ‘‘I’m not going to remind you about what happened when you tried to match Mark up with the Olsen girl when Catherine was much more suitable, which she’s proven ten times over since they married.’’