Alice crossed her arms and planted her feet on the warped floorboards of the Magruders’ kitchen. “Don’t want to. Want to go with Merry. She doesn’t have to pick eye-sprouts from ’taters.”
Meredith gestured to FrannieBeth, who from the look of her was inches away from tanning a truculent four-year-old’s bottom. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, miss priss. Not only do I pick those sprouts, I know how to arrange the clean potatoes all exactly the same size. Used to have a contest with my sisters.” She winked at Alice. “I always won. I bet if you and I clean your mama’s potatoes, I’ll beat you as well.”
“Will not.” Diverted, the girl scuttled across the floor and climbed on the stool in front of the worktable.
FrannieBeth mouthed a thank-you, rescued Jessup before he upended the slop bucket by the sink, and carried him off for a nap while Meredith and Alice engaged in a friendly but fierce battle over the potatoes.
An hour later FrannieBeth dropped onto a chair in the sitting room and lifted her feet onto a tapestry-covered footstool. “Whew . . . oh, this feels heavenly.” She smiled blissfully at Meredith. “Thanks to you, I can enjoy thirty minutes like this. Such luxury . . . my best friend and thirty minutes of conversation without the two hooligans demanding my attention.”
“Seems to me I should leave so you can take a nap along with them.” Meredith studied her friend. She and FrannieBeth were the same age—twenty-three. Yet her friend looked more like a well-worn thirty.
“I’d rather talk. Don’t have near enough opportunities, now that you’ve moved to Winchester. I envy you, you know.”
To cover her embarrassment, Meredith picked up a pair of worsted stockings FrannieBeth had been repairing earlier in the day. “One of the reasons I needed to see you,” she confessed, “is because I wanted to talk to you about . . . things.” She worked two crooked stitches before FrannieBeth reached across and took stocking and needle away from her.
“You never could sew worth an unplucked chicken. From where I sit, your life looks mighty fine. A beautiful, independent gal working in town. Store-bought clothes, no babies tugging your skirts, whinin’ and crying when they aren’t getting into mischief. No husband tracking his muddy brogans across your freshly swept floor. Lots of people to talk to.”
“There’s a difference between having people around all the time and having someone you can open up with when you do talk.”
Meredith’s gaze wandered around the worn-looking room with its scarred furniture and faded rugs. The wainscoting still needed to be washed, but other than that the sitting room—like the rest of the house—was bandbox clean; the comfortable fragrance of cleaning soap permeated the air. Her friend had created a home, patched together with love and contentment along with the backbreaking labor. If she was honest with herself, the old farmhouse was more of a home than J. Preston Clarke’s magnificent thirty-room mansion.
“Do you know,” Meredith murmured into the silence, “for most of my life all I’ve ever wanted was a husband and a home of my own.”
FrannieBeth looked startled, and Meredith laughed to cover the bitter taste left by her confession and her friend’s reaction. “When I left Sinclair Run, I wasn’t chasing after a career. I was chasing after Lamar Aikens. I thought I was in love with him.”
“You’ve been chasing boys since you were six years old and gave Rowley Futch a black eye for stealing your apple.”
“Hmph. So I did. Well, the next day he told me he loved me and wanted me to marry him.” Meredith sighed. “Good thing I refused. Last time I saw Rowley he was the size of a cotton bale, with a mouth full of rotten teeth when he smiled. You’re blessed to have Duncan. He’s a good man.”
“I know.”
For a while they sat, Meredith watching FrannieBeth’s quick hands mend the hole in the stocking, while her mind searched for a way to mend the holes in her heart. She felt hot and full, as though she’d swallowed a beehive.
“I don’t mean to chase after men,” she finally said. “I just”—she waved her hand jerkily—“well, God did create a man and a woman, remember? He designed us so man wouldn’t be lonely. Is there anything wrong with thinking that God doesn’t want woman to be lonely either?”
“I’d worry about you if I didn’t know you better.” FrannieBeth folded the mended stocking and laid it aside. “But I do know you, and I can tell that something is vexing you, Meredith. Something painful. I believe God wants us to be married and content. I thank Him for Duncan every day, no matter how much I might complain about his muddy shoes or his snoring when he sleeps.”
She leaned forward a little, a curious expression in the tired face. “So why are you up in Winchester, hitched to a job instead of Lamar?”
Meredith stood and wandered across to the window, peering out through the panes to the dreary afternoon. The snow the previous week had melted, leaving behind an earth still colored by winter’s chilly fingers, gray and brown and black. Even the evergreens seemed to have lost their rich green luster.
“Because the job offer I received was at least an honorable one,” she said without turning around.
“What do you mean, Merry? You were so convinced that Lamar Aikens was the one. Even your father gave up trying to persuade you otherwise. Are you telling me that Lamar . . . that he . . .” She fumbled to a halt.
“Let’s just say that Mr. Aikens’s idea of commitment didn’t include a wedding ring.”
She spied a wagon turning onto the lane just before the hill hid it from view. She turned back around. “Duncan’s home.” Her discomfort eased at the outrage darkening FrannieBeth’s face. “Don’t waste your energy on Lamar. I got over him long ago. The thing is . . . I discovered that I do enjoy working. I enjoy the challenge, the satisfaction of accomplishing a difficult task, like coordinating excursions for hotel guests. Or reorganizing Mr. Walker’s files. He promoted me to his manager after that one—I’d finally convinced Mrs. Biggs that lumping every piece of correspondence into drawers until the cabinet was full was not the most efficient—”
She broke off, finally noticing FrannieBeth’s blank look. Frustrated, she tried to explain. “I enjoy being . . . stretched, I suppose describes it best. I’m not sure even now what I’m capable of. Certainly I’ve enjoyed my job as an office manager. Yet . . .” She hesitated, then confessed on a small laugh, “Sometimes I almost panic. I want to run home and crawl into Papa’s arms like I was Alice’s age. And now,” she hesitated, “now I might have met someone. A man.”
FrannieBeth leaped up and gave her a hug. “I knew you’d been holding back something all day. Hurry up and tell me before Duncan arrives. Who is it? Your boss—that good-looking Mr. Walker that Garnet told me about?”
“Benjamin Walker? Heavens, no.” For some reason a flush crawled over her face. “In the first place, I work for him. In the second . . . he doesn’t look at me that way. I don’t even know if he’s aware that I’m a woman.”
The words caught in her throat as the memory surfaced. “Most every man who meets you finds you attractive,” he’d told her. “Most every man” plainly did not include Benjamin Walker. Not that she cared two pins about it one way or the other. “I’m not talking about my employer,” she repeated firmly. “I’m talking about a Mr. Clarke. J. Preston Clarke. He’s a widower, but he’s only thirty—”
“The Clarkes? The family who practically owns the northern half of the Valley and east all the way to Front Royal?”
“Yes, but—”
“Meredith, you’ve gotten hold of some wild notions before, but this piece of foolishness is the wildest! People like you and me don’t get noticed by people like the Clarkes. He’s not just rich, he’s . . . you may as well set your cap for one of them Vanderbilts as cast your eye on Mr. Clarke.”
“He cast his eye on me first.” Meredith pinned a bright smile on her face and marched past FrannieBeth toward the hall. “Mercysake, here I’ve been rattling on when I need to be going. Duncan’s home. It’s getting late, and I promi
sed Papa I’d help with supper.”
“Merry, I’m sorry. Please don’t be hurt. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know you didn’t.” She grabbed her hat, indifferent to the crushed brim and limp velvet bow, hurriedly pinning it in place. “Besides, you’re probably right. I’ve mistaken the situation. I do that a lot.”
“Whooee, gal! Where’d you get to? I’m home! Sure does smell good in here.” Duncan’s head poked through the kitchen doorway. “Hey, there, Meredith. Thought that looked like Jacob’s rig. You leaving? Too bad. You’re a sight to behold, you are.” He wrapped a lanky arm around FrannieBeth. “So’s my missus. Brought you something from Cooper’s.” He grinned at her. “He was unloading bolts of cloth. I helped. ’Member that Simpson calico you told me you like so much? He sold me six yards at wholesale price, as a thank-you.”
FrannieBeth’s face lit up. Duncan’s grin deepened. He doffed his cap toward Meredith, kissed his wife, then disappeared to clean up.
Still smiling, FrannieBeth walked Meredith to the front door. “Now that I think on it,” she said, “I reckon I wouldn’t trade places with you after all. Job might be nice—the income sure enough would make me feel like I was worth more than I do here, ofttimes. But I can’t imagine not having a man to depend on. Who protects me, provides for me and the young uns, who”—she blushed, giggling—“keeps me warm at night. He’s a lot of work, for sure. But we take care of each other.”
“I can see that.” Meredith hugged her tight and managed to keep the smile on her face and her eyes dry until she was safe inside the buggy.
I want that too, Lord. Oh, I want that too.
God had blessed FrannieBeth. He’d brought Sloan and Garnet together. What was wrong with her, that God denied her the deepest desire of her heart?
Jacob fitted the tenon into the mortise, tapped the pieces firmly into place with a cloth-covered mallet, then clamped the joints of the three-legged table together until the glue dried. “You’ve been home the better part of two days, Merry-girl. Don’t you think ’tis about time you told your father what’s burning a hole in your soul?”
“I’m fine. Just tired from helping FrannieBeth all day. And I’ve been helping you since I returned. I’ve done more work on my off days than a week’s work at the hotel.”
She’d been sanding the board Jacob gave her an hour ago when she wandered into his workshop, restless, moody as a badger. He’d asked if she minded helping him out a spell, showed her what to do, and left her to it. Now Jacob walked over to his oldest daughter, plucked the sandpaper and board away, then took her sawdust-coated hands.
“Who’s hurt you, lass?”
“Nobody.” But she ducked her head. “I—it’s been almost a month since I was home last. I missed you, is all. And Garnet. The train stopped for only a few moments in Tom’s Brook, and I didn’t have time to go out to their place. But I left word at the mercantile for them to come visit if they could. I’m just disappointed because it doesn’t look as though they’ll make it.”
“Miss you girls myself.” Jacob hung his work apron on a peg, then methodically began putting away tools, keeping his back to Meredith. “Leah writes every week, bless her, but ’tis not the same as a real conversation. She—”
“I’m sorry I don’t write like I should.”
Jacob flung a look over his shoulder. “Don’t be putting meaning in my words that was never intended.” He lifted his wooden tool chest, carried it to the shelf in the back corner. “What I was telling you is that Leah’s at a time in her life where being home isn’t near as important as becoming the woman God intended her to be. She might not have a clear vision of that yet, but we both know it won’t include Sinclair Run.”
“Papa . . .” She flung her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades.
“Now don’t cloud up on me, there’s a good girl.” Jacob turned and held her until she drew in a shaky breath. “I’m making a point, Merry-go-round. Let me finish it, hmm?”
“Yes, Papa.” She kissed his cheek and stepped back. “You’ve made it just fine. You’re trying to tell me that life is full of changes, and that some of those are painful. But no matter where we go or what we do, this will always be home. And a place to come back to when we don’t have any other place to go.”
“Imp. ’Tis God’s truth, though, so how about if you stop fretting because you might not see either sister this trip and let’s go see what Clara left for our supper.”
His Meredith was bright as a silver dollar, all right. But like Garnet, she couldn’t be pushed into sharing her troubles. If Jacob played it light, didn’t fret over her, likely she’d get around to telling him what had prompted her unannounced appearance in the entry of his workshop a little before noon the previous day. This morning, after fussing over him like an overzealous nurse, she’d flitted off to the Magruders’.
Jacob ushered her outside, then slid the heavy doors to his workshop closed. It was one of those capricious March days, a spring teaser, he called them. Morning had been mild, with a pastel blue sky and benevolent sunshine that beckoned buds on trees and the pink azaleas Garnet had planted on either side of the porch steps. By afternoon the sky had turned the color of hoarfrost. Likely a winter storm would blow over the mountains tomorrow, like the one that dumped three inches of wet snow the previous week.
More than either of his other daughters, Meredith reminded Jacob of the weather.
“Papa, listen!” Meredith grabbed his arm. “Do you hear? Hoofbeats, I hear hoofbeats! Maybe it’s Garnet—yes. It is! Hope they brought Phineas . . .”
Like a yearling filly she scampered down the lane, heavy skirts hiked in her hands. Shaking his head Jacob continued toward the porch.
The pain struck suddenly, as was its habit, only this time the severity stopped him in his tracks. He pressed a hand against his side and breathed heavily through his nose to dispel the uprush of nausea. By the time Sloan’s new rockaway rolled to a stop at the hitching post, Jacob managed to greet them with a smile.
Meredith jumped down from the long step, where she’d precariously perched with her hands clinging over the door. She waved to Jacob and laughed.
“You look about ten, instead of a respectable young woman with an important job,” Jacob said. “One of these years, you’ll pull that stunt and Sloan will be setting a broken limb or two run over by a buggy wheel.”
“Better Sloan than old Doc Porter.”
“Thanks, I think.” Sloan winked at Jacob, then turned to lift Garnet down.
The utter devotion evident on his face when he looked at his new wife brought a lump to Jacob’s throat. Och, Lord, but ’tis such a rare gift You’ve blessed me with, to be able to see the lass glowing with the pure sweet light of love.
He watched the two sisters embrace, both of them laughing and exclaiming. There was a faint note of desperation to Meredith’s gaiety, more obvious to Jacob, juxtaposed as it was against Garnet’s deeper joy.
“Yes, of course Phineas came along for the ride,” she was assuring Meredith now. “But you’ll have to give him a little while. He’s shy with strangers, and he only met you a couple of times, remember. Here . . .” Indifferent to the dirt, she crouched on the floor of the buggy, stretching out one arm. “It’s all right, baby. If you’d just look, you’d see that everything is familiar. You’ll even remember Meredith, if you’ll just poke your pointy little nose out here, quit hiding under the seat.”
“Sweetheart, let him come at his own pace.” Sloan wrapped an arm around his wife and tugged her toward the porch. “Sometimes, it’s better not to force it.”
Humor danced through Garnet’s eyes. “Can’t resist an object lesson, can you?” She glanced over his shoulder to Jacob. “No wonder the two of you hit it off from the beginning.” Her hand lifted to rest against Sloan’s cheek. “And I thank God for it every day.”
Never a man to abide by societal rules, Sloan turned his head and pressed a kiss to Garnet’s palm. �
�I’ll fetch our supper. That might be the primary reason Phineas is hanging back.”
“Supper?” Jacob stepped closer. “You brought along a meal, did you? Don’t trust the cook you hired for me?”
“From what I saw when I rummaged in the kitchen earlier, I for one am not going to complain,” Meredith said. She gave Garnet a shove. “I’ll help Sloan. Go on, go talk to Papa. I’ve had him all afternoon. Are you staying the night?”
“Not this trip,” Sloan answered. “Got a couple of ladies due to begin their labor any moment, and a case of influenza I promised to check in on, first thing in the morning.”
Meredith’s jaw set. “Oh. Well, I’m glad someone brought you my note, so I can at least enjoy an evening with you.”
Sloan met Jacob’s gaze. “We didn’t receive a note,” he said after a moment’s pause. “We just . . . knew we needed to come. Jacob, are you feeling all right?”
Both girls froze, and Jacob wanted to kick his too-observant son-in-law. “Right as rain,” he promised and made a show of clasping Garnet’s shoulders and rubbing noses.
“Papa?” Meredith’s anxious face appeared next to Garnet’s. “Are you hiding something?” She turned to her brother-in-law. “Sloan, why did you ask how he felt?”
“Quit your fretting,” Jacob said. “I’ve got all but one of my family around me, we’re going to have a bonny evening, and I’ll hear no more queries as to my health.” He started up the steps. “Come along then,” he ordered Garnet, “tell me about your drawings while I clean up. We’ll let those two take care of dinner preparations.”
He opened the door for Garnet and stood back to let her enter the darkened hallway first. Only after a surreptitious backward peek toward Meredith and Sloan did Jacob hurriedly mop the perspiration from his brow. He popped a tablet into his mouth before following Garnet inside.
Thirty-Three
Can I ask you something, before we go inside?” Meredith ventured after she helped Sloan carry two picnic baskets and a smaller cloth-covered basket of mouth-watering yeast rolls up onto the porch.
Shenandoah Home (Sinclair Legacy Book 1) Page 27