The Widow of Larkspur Inn (19 page)

He followed her into the kitchen and went over to the hamper on the table. “Had to fix it, did you?” he asked, surveying the twine.

“At the last minute, I’m afraid.”

“A basket weaver lives down Worton Lane, past the old mill. Keegan’s his name.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Irish?” She’d thought herself the only Irish person in Gresham.

“He could fix it up right fine for you.” Luke’s face brightened. “Why, I’ll be happy to bring it over to him after the picnic.”

“Oh no … thank you. I believe I would like to meet him anyway.”

Panic flickered across Luke’s expression, and perhaps a fair amount of jealousy. “He’s got a wife and family too, he has.”

“All the better,” Fiona said. “I don’t often have the opportunity to visit with other Irish folk.”

He was obviously relieved to hear her intentions stated in the matter. Lifting the basket, he walked ahead of her to hold open the courtyard door, then accompanied her down the carriage drive. It was too late when Fiona saw the Worthy sisters in their usual places in the sun. Had she known they weren’t going to join the festivities, she would have taken Luke out the front door. She sent a reluctant wave at the sisters and steeled herself, knowing what was coming.

“Why, don’t you two look smart!” Iris beamed.

“Thank you,” Fiona returned in a flat voice.

Jewel nodded, her smile just as enraptured as her sister’s. “Just like a prince and princess, don’t they, Iris?”

“They do indeed! A prince and princess!”

Thanking them again, Fiona waited until they were out of earshot to turn to Luke. The compliments had obviously embarrassed him as well, for his clean-shaven cheeks flamed red.

“I’m sorry about that. They do mean well.”

He ducked his head and laughed. “Well, they was half right.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Now the look he gave her was plainly adoring. “You do look like a princess, Miss O’Shea.”

Fiona’s heart sank, and she thought,
You can’t keep giving him hope
. Her steps halted. “Mr. Smith.”

“Huh?” He had taken another step but turned back to look at her. “Miss O’Shea?”

Fiona glanced up at the sky, powder blue and almost cloudless.

Birds trilled choruses in branches overhead, and a timid breeze fraught with green and growing things bathed her face.
Why does it have to be such a perfect day?
She drew in a fortifying breath. “I think you’re a good and decent person, Mr. Smith.”

“Yes?” he said, raising his eyebrows anxiously.

“But we can never be anything but friends.”

Luke’s face fell. “We can’t?”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shifted the hamper to his other arm. “You don’t care for me?”

“I care for you very much. You’ve been very kind to us.”

“Maybe if I came to call more often? We could go for rides, even—the vicar would lend me the—”

Putting a hand on his arm to stop him, Fiona said, “I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be a good idea. Visiting and taking rides would only lead to courting. And there’s no use in courting when I can never marry.”

“You can’t ever …?” He could not go on, but opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish on land. Finally, she finished for him.

“I can’t marry, Luke. You or anybody.”

The children returned slightly bedraggled from their long trek, but most with glowing faces. They scattered to their parents and helped roll out quilts for the picnic. Fiona appeared with the hamper just as the small brass band hired from nearby Ellesmere began to perform on the steps of the town hall.

“Are you all right?” Julia asked, eyeing her drawn expression.

The housekeeper glanced at the children nearby and answered, “Fine, missus. Just a bit tired.”

“I should have stayed and helped you. I didn’t realize the basket would be so heavy.”

“Not at all, missus. I’ll be fine, truly.”

“Well, you just sit there,” Julia ordered. “I’ll serve the sandwiches.” She was surprised that Luke Smith did not join them. And even more surprised when he passed close by the quilt some quarter of an hour later, holding hands with one of the greengrocer’s daughters. Julia looked over at Fiona to see if she’d seen, and Fiona gave her a strange half smile and shook her head slightly, as if to say, “It doesn’t matter.”

When the festivities were over, the children continued to play upon the green, squeezing the last remaining drops of sunlight from the day. Boys fielded cricket balls, girls constructed jewelry from clover flowers, and small children, under the watchful eyes of parents or older siblings, caught minnows with jars at the river’s edge. Grace was the first to feel the strain from all the day’s activities and came back over to the quilt.

“When are we going home?”

“I’ll walk her home if you’d like to stay,” Fiona told Julia. “I’m a bit worn out myself.”

Julia thanked her, but remembering Mrs. Rhodes’ invitation, she accompanied the two as far as the
Larkspur.
She sent a wave to the Worthy sisters, then walked on alone up Walnut Tree Lane. The cottage that housed Dr. Rhodes and his wife was a quaint mixture of stone and cob, the whole snugly thatched.

“Come inside, dear,” Mrs. Rhodes said, answering her own door. “The servants are still at the picnic—I told them to stay as long as they wished.”

“Are you sure you can take time away from Lucy now?”

“Dr. Rhodes is taking a turn with her. Please, come on in.” She led Julia into a parlor filled with a comfortable but chaotic mixture of old furniture and scattered medical books for ailments of both man and beast.

“How is Lucy bearing up?” Julia asked as she sank into the cushions of a rust-colored horsehair divan.

“Like a soldier, thank you.” Mrs. Rhodes then excused herself, promising to be back in a minute. She returned with a flat wooden box in her arms and a enigmatic smile on her face and sat down next to Julia. Opening the lid, she said, “This was passed down to my husband from his grandmother. She loved to entertain, so there is service for sixteen here. It would give me great pleasure if you would use it at the
Larkspur
.”

Julia’s breath caught in her throat at the tarnished but beautiful cutlery that lay cushioned in scarlet velvet in the box. “I can’t possibly borrow something so valuable, Mrs. Rhodes.”

“Oh, but you must. This set has been in a drawer for twelve years now. It’s a shame to keep something so lovely under a stack of table linens, when it could be put to good use. I don’t want to be like that fellow in Scripture who buried his talent.”

“But why aren’t you using it?” Julia picked up a dessert spoon and studied the intricate rosebud pattern. It would indeed look lovely after an application of silver polish. A chill caught her shoulders. Could this possibly be a coincidence, Mrs. Rhodes offering silver cutlery just two weeks after she and Fiona agreed to pray for it?
This is no coincidence,
she admonished herself right away.
You didn’t expect spoons and forks to drop from the sky, did you?

“We have the set my husband’s mother passed down to him,” Mrs. Rhodes went on, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “His family had some wealth, you see. Mine had only tin cutlery and crockery dishes, but when there was food to be had, we cared little about the plain trappings.”

“I would be anxious about losing a piece,” Julia told her.

“I surely wouldn’t grieve over a missing spoon or two. But if it would make you feel better, Royal Sterling is still conducting business in Sheffield. Just order replacements if that happens.”

An overwhelming sense of calm enveloped Julia, accompanied with the knowledge that this was indeed the way God chose to answer her prayer. The spoon in her hand, cool and smooth, was a tangible reminder of His benevolence. “I would be honored to use this silver,” she said, reaching with both arms to embrace the woman beside her. “And your thoughtfulness means more to me than I can say.”

She left then, so that her hostess could see about Lucy. “Please remind Fiona to come around in a day or two so we can name the colt,” Mrs. Rhodes called to her from the door as she unlatched the front gate.

“I will,” Julia called back. All the way down Walnut Tree Lane she hugged the box to her chest, barely noticing if her feet touched the ground. She thought about how God had used people, like Fiona and Mrs. Rhodes and Jensen, to answer some of her most urgent prayers. What if one or another had declined to follow His prompting? Mankind had been allowed free will ever since Adam in the garden. Would God have found another aqueduct for His blessings, or would that particular prayer have gone unanswered?

While her mind mulled over the subject, she tried to think of a time when God had used
her
to answer the prayer of another person. She was disheartened to find herself unable to recall even one instance, but then she remembered the day Fiona was hired. Surely it had been no coincidence that she’d been in the kitchen garden that day. What if rain had prevented her from leaving the house?

And my life was changed for the better that day as well,
she thought. Just like the widow who fed Elijah and found herself with perpetual food during a famine, she had been blessed while allowing God to use her to bless another.

Oh, Father, thank you that Mrs. Rhodes and others were submissive to your will
, she prayed, hugging the box more tightly.
And please help me to keep my heart open to know whenever you wish to use me in other people’s lives.

“What have you there, dearie?” Jewel Worthy called out when Julia came in sight.

“Why, it’s an answer to prayer.”

“Do tell?” Iris smiled, her deft fingers never slowing at their delicate spinning. “May we see it?”

“Of course.” Julia paused so that the two could admire the silver, then bade them good-day and started for the carriage drive.

But the sisters were reluctant to let go of an opportunity to chat. “Miss O’Shea and Luke Smith looked so nice together, didn’t they?” Jewel called from behind.

Julia turned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Just as if they’d stepped out of a picture,” Iris gushed. “He was carrying the hamper for her.”

Jewel nodded. “Just like a proper gentleman.”

Fiona was just easing shut the door to the girls’ bedroom when Julia walked into the family corridor. “I just looked in on her, missus. She’s fast asleep.”

“Thank you, Fiona.” Julia held out the wooden box. “Would you like to guess what’s in here?”

A hand went up to Fiona’s chest. “Why, that’s a cutlery box!”

“Indeed it is. Mrs. Rhodes says we may use it for as long as we like. Let’s find a place to sit and I’ll show it to you.”

They decided on the tiny parlor in the housekeeper’s quarters. It was simply but comfortably furnished with a small stove, two overstuffed chairs that took up most of the floor space, and a tea table. Julia set the box upon the table and opened the lid for Fiona’s inspection.

“God is so good,” Fiona breathed, picking up one piece and then another.

“So good,” Julia echoed. But then she noticed a tightness about Fiona’s lips, as if she were struggling to keep her composure.

“Fiona? Is something wrong?”