The Widow of Larkspur Inn (58 page)

The thought hadn’t occurred to Andrew, and while it pained him that their lots in life had to be so hard, he couldn’t help but be comforted.

“Perhaps you should rest a while too,” he told Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head and tucked a strand of blond hair back over her ear. “I’m not tired, Papa. I plan to write a letter while they’re asleep.”

“Oh? To anyone in particular?”

She actually blushed now. “Perhaps.”

He patted her shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve a call to make at the
Larkspur
.”

“Oh? To see anyone in particular?”

Andrew turned back to face her. “Why, to see Mr. Clay.”

“I
see
,” she replied. “And there’s no one else you’d be interested in seeing?”

Andrew knew exactly of whom she was referring, and he wondered if his cheeks were reddening now. Thank heaven for the beard. “Ministers are obligated to make calls, you know,” he told her flatly. That only brought on a maddening smile from her, so he gave up and bade her farewell.

So I’m that obvious!
he thought on his way down the staircase. Did anyone else suspect the feelings he had for Mrs. Hollis—feelings that he’d prided himself on keeping well hidden? He could definitely feel his cheeks burning now. How absurd it suddenly seemed to him—a vicar past his prime, harboring romantic thoughts again!
There is no fool like an old fool!
his father had been fond of saying, perhaps as a warning to his sons not to make themselves look ridiculous in their later years.

You’re only forty-five!
some part of him that didn’t want to give up cried in protest. He fastened the buttons to his wool greatcoat and sighed.
And still as plain as an old shoe.
It was time to stop acting like a schoolboy, he sadly decided while searching his pockets for his gloves. If men of the cloth could not conduct themselves with dignity, how could they ask the same of their parishioners?

He gave up and walked down to the kitchen to ask Dora and Mrs. Paget if they’d seen his gloves. He couldn’t help but wish that he would at least have the opportunity of a minute or two in the company of Mrs. Hollis when he reached the
Larkspur.
If one had to settle for crumbs, one should at least be allowed to savor them.

“Too much ice out there,
Frau
Hollis,” Karl Herrick warned Julia in the kitchen while Mrs. Herrick, Mrs. Beemish, and Mildred bobbed heads in agreement.

“You’ll catch cold, missus,” Mildred added.

“And you’ve little enough flesh on your bones to fight it off,” was Mrs. Herrick’s admonition.

“I’ll bundle up,” Julia said, determined not to give in. The first clear skies in over a week were out there waiting, and she was weary of wood fires and lantern light. Besides, if her three children could walk to school and back, she should be able to make it to
Trumbles
without the whole household worrying that a blizzard would come along and snatch her away. “Now, just tell me what we need.”

“I’ve a list in my parlor,” the housekeeper said resignedly and went to fetch it.

Mr. Herrick disappeared at the same time but came back seconds later with a huge pair of Wellington boots that were almost as long as his short legs.

“I find these over the stables some time ago,” he said. “Your feet they vill keep varm und dry.”

“But they’re too big, Mr. Herrick.”

“So your shoes you keep on inside them,
ja
?”

Reluctantly she took them. They were heavy as flatirons, but she had to admit to herself that even her heaviest leather slippers wouldn’t do for sloshing through the ice that had accumulated in the lanes. It hadn’t occurred to her when she’d ordered the children’s boots from Mr. Derby, the cobbler, that she would need some for herself.
I still forget that the city ways won’t do here,
she thought.

“You’ll wear them?” Mrs. Herrick asked, as Mrs. Beemish returned with her list.

Julia smiled at all four faces and thought that it was rather nice to be fussed over once in a while. “I’ll slip them on at the front door, thank you. I want to see if the lodgers need anything.” She went to her room for her cloak and gloves, then on to the hall. All the lodgers but Mr. Clay, who had been in a dark mood since yesterday, were on sofas and chairs pushed a little closer to the cavernous fireplace.

“Would any of you care for something from
Trumbles
?” Julia asked, pulling on her gloves.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Mrs. Kingston said from one of the sofas.

From a chair, Mrs. Hyatt lowered her reading spectacles. “Do you think it wise to be going out in the cold, dear?”

“I’ll be quite toasty, thank you,” Julia said, lifting the boots to prove her point. She made a mental note to speak with Mrs. Hyatt privately later. The dear lady seemed preoccupied lately, and Julia just wanted to make sure there was nothing serious troubling her.

“If you’re determined to go, would you see if Mr. Trumble has a skein of wool in either heliotrope or pistachio?” asked Mrs. Dearing.

Purple or green wool,
Julia thought, adding that to the mental note about Mrs. Hyatt. She did not want to take off her gloves to write on the list.

“And a ream of paper?” Miss Rawlins said apologetically.

Ream of paper
.

“ … and a stove brush,” Julia read to Mr. Trumble.

“What style?” the shopkeeper asked.

Julia looked up from Mrs. Beemish’s list. “Style?”

“Yes’m.” Turning his back to her, he stepped up on the stool and reached up to the top shelf. He brought down two black wire brushes and set them on the counter before her.

“I’ve sold this here oval-shaped one for years, but I’m told this new convex style is better for scrubbing.”

They looked almost the same to Julia. After picking up and studying one and then the other, she asked, “Which do you recommend, Mr. Trumble?”

A smile widened the handlebar mustache. “I lean toward progress meself, Mrs. Hollis. We’d still be cooking over open fires if it wasn’t for invocations.”

“Then I’ll take the newer one.”

“Will that be all?”

“Not quite.” She ordered the wool and paper for Mrs. Dearing and Miss Rawlins, then pulled back up the hood of her clock. “Good afternoon, Mr. Trumble.”

“And a good afternoon to you, Mrs. Hollis. I’ll send it all round before close o’day.”

After leaving the shop, Julia slogged up Market Lane in the heavy boots, swinging her arms for ballast, trying to avoid puddles of ice in the cobblestones. Fortunately, few people were outside to notice her swaggering like the captain of the Queen’s Guard. Even the Worthy sisters had consigned their lace-making operation to the indoors weeks ago. She found herself thinking about Mrs. Hyatt again as she labored along.
I haven’t noticed her spending time with Mr. Durwin for the past couple of days,
she realized.
Have they parted company?
She hoped not. Mrs. Hyatt was a gentle soul and didn’t deserve to be hurt.

The next thing she knew, one of her encumbered feet hit a patch of ice at the crossroads and slid out from under her. She performed an awkward little dance, windmilling her arms at the same time, but the ground rushed up to claim her before she could balance herself. On her backside she landed with a jarring
thud
. Fortunately, her thick outer clothes absorbed most of the impact, but uprighting herself proved more difficult than she had imagined. The patch of ice seemed to be directly under her now, and her unyielding boot refused to take hold.

“MRS. HOLLIS!” A male voice off to her right pierced the snownumbed air. Wincing at this proof that her performance had indeed had an audience, she turned her head and squinted at the figure hurrying down Church Lane in her direction. Vicar Phelps it was.

“BACON MADE THE WELL BLUE!” he called, waving an arm.

Bacon made the …?
On second thought, Julia realized he was saying, “Wait and let me help you!” That sounded like good advice, no matter how embarrassed she was. He was still several yards away—too far away for her to be screeching back an answer, so she swallowed her pride and occupied herself with pulling her gloves away from the sticky ice.

She’d managed to get to her knees when he was about twenty feet away and closing in, puffing white vapor like a locomotive. “You should slow down,” Julia warned, but he continued to quicken his pace.

“You just have to avoid those icy—” he began. Suddenly both legs flew up into the air and sent him crashing to the frozen ground. He did not stop there, but kept sliding until coming within inches of Julia. In fact, she was able to catch his bowler hat as it attempted to fly past her.

For a second or two he simply sat there gaping up at her, for she was still upon her knees and therefore taller than him by several inches.

“Vicar?” Julia said, resisting with Herculean effort the impulse to burst into laughter.

He blinked, then sighed as he pulled one of his gloved hands from the ice. “I cannot begin to tell you how completely mortified I am.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t your fault. Are you injured?”

“Only my dignity.” Narrowing his eyes to study her for a moment, he said, “Why, Mrs. Hollis, you’re struggling to keep from laughing, aren’t you?”

“Certainly not!”

He was attempting to get to his feet now, first rising slowly to a crouched position. “It isn’t healthy to suppress a laugh, Mrs. Hollis. Unless you’re in church, of course.”

“That wouldn’t be fair, Vicar. You didn’t laugh when I fell.”

A mischievous glint came to his eyes. “Well, actually …”

“You
laughed
at me?”

Finally on his feet, he leaned down toward her. “Now, I’m going to take your arms.”

“But your hat.”

“Yes, thank you.” Vicar Phelps took it from her hands and set it back on his blond head. He then caught her arms just below the elbows to brace her while he pulled. “I may have chuckled a bit,” he admitted when she was finally vertical again. “And laughter is good medicine, the Scripture says.”

Julia pretended to scowl. “Then I suppose I should have broken an arm so you could have even stronger medicine.”

“Oh, come now,” he teased. “You aren’t angry, are you, Mrs. Hollis?”

She couldn’t resist the humor in his eyes and found herself laughing. He joined in, chuckling so hard that he almost lost his balance again. Which made them both laugh even harder. Finally Julia remembered that they were standing at the village crossroads, then looked around and brushed some snow from her cloak. “At least no one was around to witness our performances.”

A bell chimed, and both she and the vicar automatically turned their heads to look at the school building in the distance. He turned to her again and, after what appeared to be some hesitation on his part, said, “That won’t be the case if either of us slips again. Why don’t you allow me to escort you the rest of the way? We can keep each other from falling.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the arm he offered. For several minutes the only sounds were those made by boots crunching against the frozen lane—Julia’s louder than the vicar’s. Julia listened to the distant cries of children escaping academic captivity for the day and thought about how pleasant it was to be able to banter with Vicar Phelps … or just to be quiet with him. She had never had a male friend before—not even her husband had assumed that role. And having been raised an only child, she’d also missed out on the opportunity to have a brother. It seemed she had both now, and in the same person.