“Don’t forget all that wood he brought us in the fall. We never had to pay a penny to have it chopped, either.” Miss Minta raised her eyes to heaven. “Surely he’ll be rewarded. In the meantime, however, if he wants my crullers, he may have as many as he wants.”
Miss Hetty nudged her sister and said, “You must be thinking us rude as pigs, my dear. We hope you’ll be able to join us for supper too.”
Edith yanked her attention back to the aunts. She had been listening more to the bits of Paul and Jeff’s conversation rather than to the women who walked with her. She thanked them and said, “I’d enjoy that, but, you know, Sam has the children. Why not invite him? I’ll stay with the girls.”
“Oh, we spoke to Mr. Dane when he left the church,” Miss Hetty said. “He has something to do tonight.”
“He didn’t say what,” Miss Minta added.
“We’re having Miss Climson, too. Paul insisted.”
“He insisted most strongly.” The two aunts looked at each other and giggled as though they were no older than Louise and Maribel. Then they caught Edith’s eye and forced their faces to be solemn. Except that bubbles of laughter kept escaping Miss Minta.
Having heard a snippet of Paul’s conversation, Edith felt she understood. “She’s a remarkable girl,” he said. “Astonishingly well educated, too. Almost makes me an advocate of higher education for women, though I’m not sure it’s right for every girl.”
Jeff’s reply had been muffled. “Maybe,” Paul replied. “But living here I can’t blame her for being a little sharp. God knows I wouldn’t have amounted to much if I’d stayed. Richey’s no place to live if you’re ambitious.”
Edith felt reassured after she took a hard look at Paul Tyler. His face gave away his admiration and respect for the schoolteacher, but there was none of the white soul-incandescence of love immeasurable. Edith hoped this meant there was still hope for Jeff.
He shouldn’t have
all
choice taken from him. Miss Albans, to Edith’s mind, was still in the running. The seduction she had hinted at need not cast her out from the bonds of matrimony and indeed might even make her a more desirable prospect. After all, men cheerfully marry widows every day.
Edith accepted the ladies’ invitation gratefully. She tried pretending that the ride home in the dark, with Jeff beside her, was not the chief attraction of the evening ahead. He was not for her, and that was how it should be. Edith only wished that knowledge was not so deeply depressing.
“Are you making up another story?” Jeff asked as he drove the buggy to Misses Tyler’s house.
“No,” Edith said, coming out of her reverie. “I was thinking about Miss Albans.”
“Yes . . . Miss Albans . . . was she all right?”
“She really didn’t look well.”
“If you want to, we can stop by her place on the way home.”
Edith smiled at him. “You’re very thoughtful.”
“I’m being selfish. You wouldn’t want me to marry a sickly woman, would you?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’ve been thinking . . . if I’m serious about this marriage thing, I ought to do something about it, don’t you think?”
Edith placed her hands in her lap and put on her most businesslike expression. “What had you in mind?”
“Formal calls. Hair slicked, clean shirt, bouquets of flowers maybe. What kind do you like?”
“Oh, I like ... all sorts of flowers. Daisies always seem cheerful and don’t commit one to anything the way roses would.”
“Roses commit you?”
“Oh, yes, certainly red roses . . . they indicate an undying passion. Pink roses are safer, and yellow roses are a mark of warm friendship. White roses are, naturally, a token of purity.”
“I bet they’re your favorite,” Jeff grumbled under his breath. “What about violets?”
“Surely you can’t get violets at this time of year.” Edith considered deeply as they passed the houses and shops, yellow lamplight revealing and concealing their faces as they drove along. “Definitely daisies,” she said in judgment. “Especially if you are going to be courting more than one at a time. Or are you planning to begin with one and then go on to the next?”
“One at a time is less confusing,” Jeff said, as they turned into the yard. “Let’s see how Miss Climson strikes me tonight.”
As he helped Edith down, he said, “I’m glad I made you come to Richey. Imagine, I might have given red roses to Miss Minta and be committed for life. You saved me from a bad blunder.”
“My pleasure,” Edith answered. She hid her disappointment well. Jeff’s hands hadn’t tightened for even one instant as he lifted her down. Perhaps he was seeing reason. Edith stifled a wish that he’d still be blind.
Chapter 18
Edith reached for another cheese-filled roll. As she leaned closer to Jeff, she whispered, “Have you noticed Miss Climson?”
“Yes,” Jeff answered. “She looks nice. I told her so.”
“You said ‘nice’?”
“Yes. What else should I have said?”
He filled his eyes with Edith. She wore a blue suit embroidered with white, a kind of a drapery effect hanging from her waist to about where he figured her knees would be. She’d done something different to her hair—it was softer, giving her the gentle appearance that suited her nature.
Jeff would have liked to see her in red, about the color of the sofa they sat on. Red silk for instance, tight enough to show off her body, with her hair falling richly over her shoulders and the half-revealed curves of her breasts.
He moved restlessly on the sofa, trying to remember what they’d been talking about. Miss Climson . . . that was it.
“Nice isn’t something I should have said, I guess.”
“Well, it isn’t very emphatic. And you want to charm her, don’t you? You should say something more . . .”
“Are you enjoying those, Miss Parker?” Miss Hetty bustled into the room, balancing a tray with a dark blue bottle and some glasses. “Be careful not to spoil your dinner, dear.”
“They’re wonderful.” It was obvious that neither aunt considered any of their guests to be older than about fifteen.
As she set the tray down on the piano. Miss Hetty said, “We’ll give you the recipe for the filling. It’s the sort of thing every young girl should know how to make. Husbands do entertain their friends and expect their wives to be prepared.”
She looked around archly. “Where have Miss Climson and Paul gotten to?”
“They went out to look at the stars,” Edith explained. “He seems to know all the constellations.”
“Oh, yes. He was always interested in things like that. He’s come back to us full of cleverness, hasn’t he, Jefferson?”
“Yes, ma’am. He always was smart as a whip.” He watched the lady pour out a bright red liquid from the glasses. “Don’t tell me you’re giving us your famous strawberry cordial, ma’am!”
“Oh, just a taste, just a taste. Even Mr. Armstrong doesn’t disdain to take a glass when he calls.”
“What beautiful glasses,” Edith said. They matched the decanter, a dark cobalt blue that was cut with white glass showing through in a pattern of flowers.
“Our grandmother brought them from Europe.” Miss Hetty took a healthy nip from her glass. “I’ll go call Paul and Miss Climson in. It’s nearly time for supper and Minta gets so cross if we’re late.”
As Edith lifted her own glass to her lips, Jeff said, “Be careful with that stuff. It’s lethal.”
“Lethal?” Edith sipped cautiously. It was sweet as the ripe fruit of which it was made and it filled her mouth with the taste and fragrance of summer. “It’s delicious.”
As she raised her glass again, Jeff pressed her hand gently down. “I’m telling you that raw whiskey would be less dangerous. This cordial doesn’t taste like it but it’s pure alcohol. I don’t know how they do it . . . there’s not another woman in town that makes it the same way. Last year that cordial put Mr. Armstrong’s district superior right under the table. But before that, he was laughing and singing off-color songs. And he’s supposed to be one of the toughest birds in these parts.”
“That’s dreadful! They’re teetotalers, aren’t they? Didn’t Mr. Armstrong get into trouble?”
“No. Seems this Mr. McCauley just thought he was extra tired from his trip. He never connected it with what he’d been drinking. But I’m telling you . . . watch out. ...”
Miss Hetty came back, a frown between her thick brows. She looked pointedly at Jeff and then at the burl-wood clock on the crowded mantel.
He stood up, putting his glass on the table. “If supper’s about ready, I guess I’d better get washed up.”
“How grown-up of you to remember without being told, Jefferson. You remember where the pump is?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at Edith, half-turning so he wouldn’t hurt Miss Hetty’s feelings.
Miss Hetty took his place. Sitting down she sighed heavily.
“Is something the matter?”
“How kind of you to ask. Not really. It’s just that time flies so.” She lowered her voice and said, “I couldn’t mention this in front of Jefferson. Some things you just can’t talk about in front of boys. They will laugh and make silly jokes.”
“Jokes about what?” Edith took another tiny sip of the cordial. It really was very good.
“You know. Boy and girl romances. You won’t believe it, dear, but Paul had his arm about Miss Climson’s waist just now. Oh, he pretended it was to show her a star or a planet or some such, but I think it was . . .” She coughed. “Hanky-panky.”
Edith couldn’t help being tickled by Miss Hetty’s tone of darkest disapproval. However, she was concerned. Paul Tyler had made it clear that his visit to Richey would be fleeting at best. Edith hoped he didn’t mean to amuse himself with Miss Climson.
“Of course,” Miss Hetty went on, “Miss Climson is as nice a young lady as one could hope to find, and if they were each just a
leetle
bit older . . . well, Minta and I have always hoped that one day Paul would settle down again in Richey. It is a terrible sad thing to have no relations near you.”
“I know,” Edith said. “I’m an orphan myself.”
“Are you! My sister and I are orphans too. Our dear father died only last year. We felt lost for so long. Fortunately, we always had dear Paul’s letters, though it isn’t quite the same. Oh, listen to me running on. A young thing like you doesn’t want to hear an old woman’s maunderings. Let me just refresh your glass, dear.”
Miss Hetty rose and went to the piano. She came back with the decanter, but was a dash too liberal. “Oooh, sip it! Sip it or it’ll will overflow!”
Almost before Edith had put her glass down, Miss Hetty had refilled it a second time. “It will put roses in your cheeks.”
Paul entered with Miss Climson. “Now, Aunt Hetty,” he said. “Be good. Miss Parker may not like your cordial.”
“Oh, no! It’s delicious, really.” To prove it, she took another gulp.
Edith never knew she was such a wit before. She kept the table in one long roar of laughter as she described little incidents of keeping up appearances on a poverty-pinched budget. None of the incidents she related had been amusing at the time, but she could make funny stories out of them now. Only the thought of Jeff’s probable reaction kept her from telling about Mr. Maginn’s continual pursuit of her in lieu of rent.
As Miss Minta brought in the roast, she said, “I do hope this won’t be tough. Mr. Huneker didn’t seem to hear a word I said today, not a word. And he is usually so polite.”
“Arnie Sloan said . . .” Miss Hetty began.
All the hearers leaned forward.
“But then, I shouldn’t pass along gossip, should I? More potato salad, Jefferson?”
“Oh, how can you be so provoking, Henrietta?” her sister asked. “Don’t start a sentence and not finish it. Arnie Sloan said what?”
“Just a little something about Mr. Huneker and a lady . . . I’ll tell you later.” She glanced around the table as though to say, “not in front of the children.” Immediately, all their guests tried to look as though they were interested in anything but the latest gossip from the station master.
“And I hear the Uffizi Gallery in Florence is not to be missed, Mr. Tyler.”
“What works are there, Miss Climson?”
“Botticelli’s finest works. The Adoration of the Magi’ for one. I have a good etching of it in my room. I have collected quite a few etchings. Perhaps you’d like to see them later?”
“I’d like nothing better,” Paul said eagerly.
Miss Climson colored ever so slightly under his pleased respect. Edith noticed it and frowned.
“Oh, very well,” Miss Hetty said, “if you must know . . .”
“Get on with it, dear. ...”
“It’s about Mr. Huneker and Mrs. Green. Arnie Sloan said she was at his house until long past midnight last night. And that he came calling this afternoon . . . closed his shop and he was dressed
very
nicely for a widower.”
“Did he bring her flowers?” Jeff asked.
“He did. An enormous bouquet of pinks.”
“I heard it was tiger lilies,” Miss Minta said. Coughing, she covered her slip by saying brightly, “More roast, anyone?”
Jeff whispered to Edith, “What do tiger lilies mean? Animal passion?”
She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Instead of reproving him with a gentle look, she giggled lamentably and even growled. Then she hiccoughed. Covering her mouth on the second try, she said, “ ‘Scuse me.”
During dessert, he poured her out a cup of coffee. “I think you’d better drink this,” he said while the aunts were in the kitchen and Mr. Tyler was discussing ancient architecture with Miss Climson.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Edith said. “My aunt . . . my aunt warned me about coffee. Something . . . oh, yes, it stirs unhealthy cravings in young ladies.”
“Then I insist you drink some.” He grinned at her and her insides tilted. Very quietly he said, “Edith, my dear one, you’re a little bit drunk. I told you that cordial was deceptively mild.”
Aghast that he should even for a moment believe her to be drunk, she sipped the coffee and held it out for a refill. Better to take chances with coffee than to have him believe the worst of her. Though the brew bit at her throat and she came close to gagging, she found that she rather liked the taste after her second cup, especially when he added cream.
Her head cleared for a moment. She glanced at Jeff sitting beside her and knew it was not entirely what she’d been drinking that gave her this funny feeling. It was Jeff himself. He seemed to give off torrid waves that buffeted her body, lifting her off her feel. She met his eyes and his wonderful smile was gone. A light seemed to burn in his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her mouth. Edith knew what he was thinking. Her own eyes closed slightly and she felt warmth spreading from her center.