Scones and Sensibility (9 page)

A
s I rode my bicycle about town, stopping for but a moment at the real estate office, the library, a law firm, and a small bookstore for deliveries, I saw no one worthy of becoming my bosom friend’s stepmother, no one to become Mr. Fisk’s lifelong companion. This caused me great inward unrest, especially as I remembered my friend’s news of just this morning.

In order to save dear Mr. Fisk from the certain ruin that becoming involved with an Internet woman afforded, I needed to find his perfect match … and soon. I sighed and set off for home.

The journey took me past the toy shop, where I was met with a handsome, noble face—one I had not seen before. His dashing smile threw me so off guard that
my bicycle swerved, and moments later I found myself lame on the sidewalk.

Footsteps slapping the concrete told me he was coming to my aid, and heat rose in my cheeks. I was not sure whether this was out of embarrassment over my clumsiness or in anticipation of speaking with the young man.

“Here, let me help you,” a deep, British-accented voice spoke above me.

I looked up to find his hand reaching for mine, his face obscured by the rays of sun behind his head. I allowed myself to be lifted to my feet and winced at the stinging flesh on my knee.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, brushing off my dress and composing myself. “I am ruffled merely in the flesh. My spirit seems intact.”

He laughed, led me into the shop, and pulled out a stool for me to recline upon. “There’s a first-aid kit around here somewhere. I’ll get you a Band-Aid.”

“Oh, I’d hate to impose on you, though the offer is kind.”

“No trouble at all. Not every day that a beautiful girl falls down in front of me.” He handed me a flower
from a vase on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

I sighed. His hair was filled with light brown curls, his nose was like that of a prince, and his eyes danced like the aurora borealis. Even his strong cheekbones gave him a distinguished air. His age, however, deterred me from allowing myself to dream much further. Alas, were he but a few years younger, or I a few years older …

But Clementine!

My dearest sister was in need of a gentleman—someone to love and adore her and treat her as a lady. And surely a gentleman such as this who would take care of one younger than he was certain to treat me not as a child like Clint did, but as a young woman.

I held the delicate blossom to my nose and allowed my thoughts to drift into the near future. Dusk settling over the wild ocean. My dearest sister and I, hands locked with each other. This young man strolling beside us, his arm entwined with Clementine’s and his heart devoted to her and to all those she held dear.

“Are you okay?”

I came to the present to find the young man’s handsome face looking into mine. “Oh yeah, definitely … I was just caught up in the rapturous moment.”

He smiled. “Well, I moved here for the summer with my aunt. She owns this store.” He walked over to a small sink just like I imagined Mr. Darcy would have done with his dear Elizabeth. He returned, and in one hand he held a goblet of crystal-clear water, in the other a bandage. “So what’s your name?”

“Polly. Polly Madassa. And yours?”

“I’m Eddie.” He dabbed at my wound with a cleansing salve, then placed the Band-Aid upon my knee before helping me off the stool. “It’s very nice to meet you, Polly. I hope we meet again.”

Edward
, a noble name indeed. I smiled. “Yes. Again, thank you. I would love to return the kindness in some small way.”

“Oh no. Don’t worry about it. What was I supposed to do for a damsel in distress?”

I slipped off the stool onto a knee that was badly injured though not above repair. “You are very kind, but I must insist you allow me to do a small favor, however small it may be. Please, name your request!”

He laughed, but cradled his noble chin in his hands. “All right. Let me think.” He drew closer to me and my heart fluttered. “This is your home, then?”

I nodded.

“Do you know a girl called Tracy Michaels? She works at the bead shop across the street.”

I looked up at him. “Yes, she is a friend of my dearest, most beautiful sister. Why do you want to know?”

His defined cheekbones grew red. “Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

“No, I don’t believe so. But again, why do you inquire after her?” I was afraid I knew the answer to my own question, but asked it just the same.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. She seems … nice. I was thinking of asking her out.”

No, this would not do at all. This Edward was meant for my Clementine, not for Tracy Michaels, who had a horrible way of contorting her face whenever she was displeased. Besides, she was also known to hold up her fingers in the shape of an
L
and say “loser.”

“Asking her out? I am afraid that is most unwise. Tracy is from a very strict family. They … they do not allow courting of any kind. Besides, they … they still harbor a grudge against England. You know … because of the war.”

“The Revolutionary War?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s the one.” I quickly sought to change the subject. “But enough of that. I have thought of
an excellent way to repay you. If you could stop by Madassa Bakery on the corner of Seventh Street tomorrow morning, my beautiful sister Clementine will have just pulled out a fresh pan of the most delectable chocolate chip muffins you can imagine.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Hmm. Never heard of anyone still caring about that war,” he said. “Oh well. All right, Polly Madassa. I’ll be there.” He led me outside, grabbing the door for me. Then he held out my bike. “Do you need help home, then?”

This young gentleman was like something from out of a leather-bound book! “I think I can manage.”

And with that, I hobbled down the sidewalk, my lips spreading into a wide smile. I could hardly wait to let my dearest Clementine know.

Once at home, I leaned my bicycle against the house and plucked one small posey from among the garden flowers before entering the house. Though roses smelled the most delightful, the word
posey
was one that seemed to melt on my tongue like a very fine dark chocolate.

“Hey Polly, where’ve you been?” Papa was behind the register, wiping off the counters with a white rag. The bakery had closed just minutes ago, and I feared
being enlisted in the unwelcome task of cleaning if I did not make a quick exit.

“Hello, Papa,” I said, moving briskly past. “I have been delivering, of course.”

“Here, catch!”

I turned around just in time to find a white towel hurtling toward me. It landed, damp with bits of crumbs and stains, on my shoulder. I promptly removed it and held it by my thumb and index finger.

“Wipe down those tables. And don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

I sighed and succumbed to my fate for the next few minutes. “Where’s Mama?”

“Oh, I think she’s reading. We’re going on a date tonight, so you and Clementine are on your own for dinner, okay?” Papa continued cleaning in a manner that was quite vigorous. And I feared that if I imitated him, my own delicate hands would surely blister.

I looked up. “Speaking of my beloved sister, is she here?”

He smiled. “I think she went out with Clint a little bit ago. She’ll be back for dinner, though.”

I sighed. “That is what I feared.”

“What? You don’t like Clint?”

“Papa, you jest, I presume? Clint is not suitable for
my sister. He leaves much to be desired, not the least of which is a tenderness toward my sister. She was crying once more last night. And I believe that is the second time this month.”

“Oh, Clint’s a good guy. And … well, all couples have lovers’ spats.”

“But not you and Mama. You two are a fairy tale come true.”

He looked up and a smile graced his face. A faraway, dreamy look overcame him, and I knew at once he was thinking of Mama … his dearest Judith, his one true love.

“Oh, we had plenty of fights, believe me, especially while we were dating. There was this guy that almost broke us—”

I held up my hand, for I did not wish to hear of my own parents’ turmoil in their younger years. “I apologize, dearest Papa, but I do not believe it. You and Mama are indeed a fairy tale.”

He smiled. “Well, you are right about that, Polly girl. But why don’t you give Clint a chance. Who knows, he might surprise you.”

If only he would, was my first thought, but I did not speak it aloud. Instead, I handed Papa the soiled white
cloth. “I think I will take a small constitutional, Papa. Is that acceptable?”

“You mean a walk?” He laughed. “Go ahead. Remember, your mom and I will be back later on tonight.”

I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. The wildness of the ocean—the salty breeze, the crashing waves, the rising tide—beckoned me, and I followed its call.

Once I reached the beach, I slipped out of my sandals and let my toes drink in the warm grains of sand. The wild fury of the wilderness excited my heart, and I giggled at the matches I would make for those I loved. I walked to the lapping waves and let my dress drag in the salty ocean water, for nothing is as romantic as a walk on the beach with the surf drenching your ankles and the bottom of your clothing. I lifted my face to the sun, catching the afternoon’s rays, and imagined I was on Prince Edward Island, the breeze blowing my natural curls around my face.

“Ah, me,” I whispered into the breeze.

“Polly?”

“Huh?!” I whirled around to find Fran before me. Her hair was in a tangled heap around her, and she
wore a brand-new multicolored friendship bracelet around her wrist, but still with her cheeks flushed a rosy hue. She was the picture of beauty.

“Polly, what on earth are you doing?”

I lifted my eyes back up to the heavens. “Just drinking in the late-afternoon sun like raindrops on a lily.” I locked my arm in hers. “Join me, my dearest friend.”

She tugged at my arm, breaking me free from my blissful trance. “Your dad said I’d find you down here.”

“Do not worry. I have not neglected my bosom friend and her father. I have been hard at work. Even this”—I gestured to the ocean and my footprints behind me—“is part of the work of love.”

She laughed and picked up a shell from the pulling tide. “I’m not worried. I really don’t think this will be anything at all. But he did tell me he’s going to talk to her on the phone for the first time tonight.”

I turned toward her. “And you must listen to their conversation, dearest Fran.”

“Really? Why?”

“We must know to what extent your father has attached himself to this woman.”

Fran arched her eyebrows. “But Polly, he can’t be
that attached to her if this is the first time he’s even talked to her on the phone.”

I clucked my tongue. “But you must not underestimate the powers of Internet communication, which you are all too familiar with. Indeed, I do find myself worrying about his attachment with this woman.” I linked my arm in hers. “Yet despite this unfortunate connection your father has formed, do not lose the dream of having a stepmother and confidante whom you love and who loves you deeply.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, gazing out into the deep blue ocean. She shrugged her shoulders. “All right. But do you think … do you really think that maybe he’ll find someone?”

“Indeed, my heart does not doubt it. And though today my efforts were fruitless, tomorrow is another one filled up to the brim with so much possibility.”

Fran did not speak more, and after gathering my belongings together we strolled to my house under the cool breeze of dusk.

We stood in front of my home. A small bell tinkled its music on the wind, and I knew supper was about to be served. I’d given my family the dainty crystal bell so that they could call me into the house without
shouting like barbarians throughout the neighborhood. Mostly they remembered to comply with my request, and I was pleased Clementine did so now. Shouting would only agitate my peaceful spirit.

“Will you join me and my sister for dinner, Fran? Though it is sure to bear the blackened scars of Clementine’s cooking, it will not be the chicken cordon bleu that has become the thorn in your side.”

“No thanks, Polly,” Fran said. “I better get back. Dad’s supposed to talk to the lady tonight, but I don’t know when.”

“Oh gosh! Yeah, you gotta get home! I mean … you must hasten home. Write down everything that is spoken.” I squeezed her hands. “And I offer up my thoughts and prayers on your behalf during this hour of trial.”

She nodded. “I’ll call you tonight.”

I entered the kitchen and found my innocent sister Clementine sitting uncomfortably close to Clint. I groaned inwardly. “Hello,” I said through clenched teeth, for a lady always keeps her manners, even in the presence of one who does not deserve it. “How good to see you, Clint. You’re looking very … large today.” I swept past and retrieved a kettle of water to boil on the stove for a cup of tea.

He laughed and emptied brown liquid I assumed was some species of cola down his gullet. “And you, my dearest Pol, are as small as a gnat.” He was clearly making fun of me, and I was not amused. On the contrary, I seethed.

But I refrained from comment, though the words formed on my tongue and itched to get out.

Clint grabbed a bagel from the basket on the table without even asking if he may. “Well, I’d better go, Clemmy. Call me later and maybe we’ll go on a walk to the pier or something.”

I straightened, finding a small chance for him to slowly redeem himself in my eyes. “I would love to join you both, if that would be acceptable. It has been much too long since I have been able to spend time with my dearest sister. I promise I will be no trouble.”

He looked over at Clementine and laughed, which unfortunately brought an unattractive vein to his forehead. “Is she serious?” he asked. And when Clementine did not answer he reached down and pecked her on the cheek with as much love and passion as if she were a couch cushion and left.

Tears welled in my eyes at the thought of my dearest
Clementine chained to a life with a man such as this. She would die of sheer boredom and monotony. And surely I would perish at the loss of my dear sister forever.