Scones and Sensibility (15 page)

“Well, I don’t know. If he isn’t expecting anything then—”

“Oh, but I am remiss for not telling you sooner! He actually instructed me to tell you that he would be most delighted if you would rendezvous with him this very evening—that he would count it the one joy of his heart.” Surely this would not be a difficult arrangement to make.

“Like a date?”

I nodded with enthusiasm. “But of course.”

She fidgeted with the box in her hand. “Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t gone on a … date in a long, long time. This is all so … so new.”

I leaned my bicycle back down to the ground, walked over, and grasped her large hands in my own dainty ones. “Do not fret, my dearest Miss Wiskerton. He is filled with adoration for you. Let love guide you this evening, and may it find you and he locked in a forever embrace.”

And with that I left her so that she might continue to dream.

After leaving the genteel woman’s home, I went straightaway to Clint’s house and, finding the porch empty and windows still darkened, placed the note on the mat in front of the door.

I felt little guilt over my actions, knowing that what I did, I did for my dear sister’s best.

Hence, I completed the other deliveries and was fortunate indeed to find Miss Lucy Penny at the bank once again, that being her place of employment.

Dear Miss Lucy was speaking with the great bulging man I had seen just yesterday at the delicatessen. Though my ears strained to hear their conversation, I
was thwarted in my attempt by the man’s bulk, which was like a great barrier between me and the future Mrs. Lucy Fisk.

When he departed, dear Miss Penny seemed quite despondent in spirits. But I approached her just the same, sure that the croissant and the invitation from Mr. Fisk would serve to delight her and lift up any of her heart’s troubles.

“Miss Lucy Penny?” I said as I approached her. “It is I, Miss Polly Madassa, here to deliver this token of affection from the gentleman, Mr. Fisk.”

Her downcast face lit up at once with hope. “Oh, really? That’s very nice. The flowers from yesterday look beautiful on my desk.” She gestured to a dark wood desk, her name written on a small sign, and the beautiful flowers in a colorful array in a small crystal vase. And she even wore the small bracelet around her dainty wrist!

“Mr. Fisk will be delighted to know that his gift has brought joy to your heart. And now this he gives you.” I handed her the small box, which she unwrapped.

“This looks delicious. I’ve heard Madassa Bakery is one of the best in town. Please tell him I said thank you.”

“But you may tell him yourself, dear Miss Penny. For
he requests your presence at his home upon the morrow for a cordial visit of tea and other pastries catered by the aforementioned bakery, at four o’clock. Here is his address. He asks that I get your answer that he may make the proper arrangements fitting for such an elegant woman.”

Miss Lucy’s cheeks blushed. “I must confess that this is odd. I actually already have a … at least I think, though I’m not quite sure … but … but why not?” She stood up tall and lifted her perfect nose into the air. “You can tell Mr. Fisk that I accept.”

I smiled. “Really? Awesome! I mean, you have made his heart soar to the highest of heights. I will tell him at once. Good day.”

And I left her, turning but once to find her daydreaming out the window into the sunshine and taking ladylike nibbles from the pastry.

Once in the outdoors, I squealed with rapturous delight upon the prospect of their meeting.

“Hey, Polly!”

At once I was brought to reality to find Brad Baker standing beside my bicycle, a dozen wilting dandelions in his soiled hands.

Surely this could not be!

But alas, it was.

He shoved the weeds at me with little ceremony. “Here, Polly. I picked these for you. They were the biggest ones on the sidewalk.”

I picked the flowers from his hand with my thumb and forefinger. “Why, thank you, Bradley. That is … very kind of you.” Surely he was the admirer of just yesterday!

He laughed a metallic laugh and then held my bicycle out to me. “I know. Hey, you mind if I call you sometime? Maybe tonight, and we can talk about … about the olden times or something. My dad used to have an Afro when he was in college, you know. And my grandpa, he’s even older than that.”

“Indeed?” I placed the flowers inside my woven basket. My heart trembled within my breast. The unpleasant task of letting down the young lad had me much perturbed and unsettled in spirit.

“I … I am afraid I cannot commit to any telephone calls about your family genealogy at this time. Please enjoy yourself, and perhaps I may see you when school, once again, commences in the fall. Good day.” And with great grace I mounted my bicycle and pedaled down the road at a tremendous speed.

When I reached the boardwalk, I stepped down
from my bicycle and fastened it to a post. Though the thought of Brad Baker as my beau was one I detested, I could not help but feel considerably saddened of heart by the obvious devastation he must now feel.

I imagined him pulling out my school portrait from within the pocket of his shirt, holding it close to his heart, and allowing but a few tears to fall down his ruddy cheeks over his unrequited love. Later, as the dark night settled over his cottage, he would sneak out of his room and place my picture within a glass bottle alongside a note that declared:

None other will I love, but this fair maiden
.

And tossing it into the retreating waves, he would call into the harsh wind, “Great sea, take my love, and my heart, into thy depths!”

Oh, I did hope that afterward, he would not toss himself into the crashing waves, though the idea sounded wildly romantic.

But I was not able to continue my thoughts, for a young boy dashed past me, nearly knocking me to the ground. The force of his insolent blow sent my straw hat flying off my head and into the sand.

“Oh, Polly girl! I’m so sorry!” It was Mr. Nightquist rushing toward me. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, thankfully he did not.” I brushed off my dress and attempted to compose my figure. “Who was that undisciplined boy?”

Melissa Anne dashed up to us, her hair in a wild nest of knots atop her head. She handed Mr. Nightquist a dish. “Here, hold this—it’s for you anyway. Now, where did he go, Dad?”

Oh, dear! It must have been Charles who attempted to assassinate me. I had insulted my dearest friend’s grandson!

Mr. Nightquist smiled at me and pointed in the last direction we had seen the boy run.

“See you later, Dad. Bye, Polly!” And off Melissa Anne darted, calling out, “Charlie! Be good for Mommy and come back! Come on, Boo-Boo Bear! I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

My faced flushed red at my poor behavior. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nightquist. I didn’t know it was Charlie … I mean Charles.”

He waved his hand in the air. “No worries. He’s a handful, but he’s also my grandson and I love ’im, so what can you do?”

“And you are the very best of grandfathers, I am sure. But again, I’m sorry—”

“No more, Polly!” he said, and picked up my hat and handed it to me. “So, where were you headed before Charlie almost knocked you over?”

“Actually, dear sir, I was on my way to call on you, my oldest and dearest of friends.”

“Well, what do you know? I’m on my way to the shop if you’d like to come along.” And he held out his arm to me, which I took, and we walked side by side into the afternoon breeze. “Why was I the lucky gent you were coming to see today?”

“Because you are the dearest and sweetest.” I ceased and lifted my head to the sky in search of words. “And I bring you tidings from Miss Wiskerton, that fair, elegant lady who abides close to my own home.”

“Oh, really?”

I snuck a small glance at his face and saw it fill with excitement. Surely, his eyes were twinkling at the very thought of her!

“Why yes. Speaking to her this morning, I have found that she longs with every fiber of her being to learn the art of letting loose a kite into the wild wind.”

“Is that so? I never would’ve thought her the type.”

“But nevertheless I speak truth. She is to be at Pier Three this very evening in hopes that you will rendezvous with her and reveal to her your secrets.”

“Hmm. Tonight, eh?”

“Yes, Mr. Nightquist. This very night.” The images of this evening’s meeting excited my spirits, and I forgot about the fact that I almost died at the hand of a six-year-old. “And she plans on cooking you something that will make your taste buds soar to the heights of the clouds. Please say that you will meet her.”

“Well, let’s see. My shop closes around eight or so. And I’m not sure if I can stomach Melissa Anne’s tuna casserole.” He held up the dish she had given him.

“But surely you can save the dish for another evening. And I know you can close just a moment or two early to meet with the fair lady. Her heart is nearly driven mad in its frustrated love.”

“Wow, I guess when you put it that way. I don’t want any frustrated love on my hands, and it’ll be nice to eat something different.” He turned to me and nodded. “I’ll be there at seven thirty.”

In my elation over the intended meeting, I pulled Mr. Nightquist’s round head down and kissed him on the forehead. Then I spun around, my dress again billowing
out around me. “Oh, you have made a young woman’s day. I must tell her at once! Adieu, Mr. Nightquist. Adieu!”

And with that I fluttered back to my bicycle, with love as my wings.

I relayed the news of the evening’s events to Miss Wiskerton, who was quite pleased, as I knew she would be.

“I already have chicken Marsala cooking in the oven. Do you think that’s a good dish?”

My own mouth watered at the sound of the delicious chicken-and-mushroom concoction. “Dear Miss Wiskerton, it is beyond perfection. The chicken is a very elegant fowl, and much preferable to its ocean counterpart: tuna, the chicken of the sea.”

“Um … very good. Now what should I wear?” she asked, her full cheeks blushing in anticipation.

“I would suggest an elegant, antique-pink dress,” I said. “Though I am convinced that Mr. Nightquist will be enchanted by your beauty in whatever you decide.”

She offered a pleasant smile and disappeared inside her house.

My own home was silent upon my return, except for the quiet sobbing of my dear sister in her bedroom.

My spirit ached at her distress, but I composed myself. Her disappointment was something I had expected. “Yet this is for her greater good,” I whispered to my own heart.

After smoothing my dress and rehearsing an initial air of shock, I knocked gently on her door and entered. Clementine lay upon her stomach, her eyes lined with red and fresh tears spilling upon her cheeks. A rather unsightly display of soiled tissues surrounded her.

“Dearest Clementine, whatever is wrong?” My heart wrenched in my chest. Indeed, it was I who had brought about such intense sorrow.

Had I done right?

I shook my head. My course had been set, and I must stay upon it. If I revealed what I had done at this moment, I was sure to not make it out of the house with my heart still beating. No, I was sure. Clint was not for my Clementine. Edward was the love of her heart.

She sniffled and blew her dainty nose on what appeared to be her bedsheet, then fell into a despairing sob that shook her shoulders and cut me to the quick.

I sat beside her, careful not to sit upon the tissues, and stroked her tangled mess of hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s Clint. He broke up with me! Can you believe it? And after you told him that the thing with that Edward kid wasn’t really true.”

I paused in remembrance of that expectation and was relieved when she did not question me about whether I had actually performed that task.

“I know that this is heartbreaking for you indeed. But know that I am here for you during this hour of grief, and Edward, that gentleman, has passed along these sentiments as well.”

“But how does he know about me and Clint?” Clementine asked.

“Um … well, he does not know, of course, but I’m sure he
would
say that if he knew. Indeed, he states that he will wait till the end of the world for you. And indeed, I know he speaks the truth only from his heart.”

“Just leave me alone, Polly.”

But I yearned to linger a little longer beside my sister’s bed of mourning. “Maybe,” I said, “you and I could order some pizza and eat it by the ocean. We could go shopping for ribbons, then collect shells or something, just like we used to do.” I was getting
quite taken away by my own plans. “Perhaps, dear Clementine, that would soothe your tortured soul?”

She looked up at me, a clear stream of mucus pouring out of one nostril in a highly disgusting manner. “Well,” she said. “Maybe. At least it’ll take my mind off of Clint. But I can’t tomorrow just in case he calls, and the next night Tracy and I are going out. And if Clint calls, I’ll cancel anything!”

And at the mention of his name, she once more fell in a wailing heap upon her pillow.

I stood, quite pleased that at least she and I would be close sisters once more. “I will leave you now, dear sister. Two evenings hence, I will make sure that you have such a pleasant time that you will forget Clint’s name forever.”

And I departed.

Outside my good sister’s door, I smiled and realized that two nights from now was the perfect time to ask if dear, handsome Edward would join us.

The vision was clear in my mind: The three of us laughing by the ocean waves. My sister confiding in me of her love for Edward. Edward confiding in me of his feelings for Clementine. Their hands reaching for the same perfect seashell. Eyes locked, love ignited.

“Ahh,” I sighed aloud.

I would have allowed my thoughts to linger on these shores if I had not been in desperate need of speaking with Edward. His well-bred sentiments would surely lift Clementine’s spirits and ease her heart’s pain. And I hoped he would accept the invitation.

I found the gentleman at the toy store, employed in restocking puzzles of all sorts.

“Hey there, Polly!” he said in the dashing British accent that made my heart melt inside of me. “Good to see you! You know, I loved those muffins the other day. Two thumbs up from me.”