18

Joy and happiness had virtually transformed Aunt Hilda’s cottage from a shrine devoted to the past into a living, breathing home again.

A fire blazed in the sitting room that for years had sat cold and abandoned. Delicate lace doilies, long relegated to a trunk, once again decorated the faded upholstery on three chairs in the center of the room. The stew bubbling in the kitchen added tantalizing aromas, but they were not quite strong enough to keep Martha from detecting the subtle scent of lavender when Aunt Hilda came close and took Martha’s cape.

“I’ll just hang this up with mine and tell Richard you’re here. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

Martha had scarcely sat down when Aunt Hilda accompanied her long-gone husband, hand in hand, into the room. If Aunt Hilda glowed any brighter, Martha suspected the woman’s face might burst into flames.

“Here she is, Richard. You probably don’t recognize Martha,” Aunt Hilda said. “She was so young when you left, but you should remember her mother, Rena Fleming. She favors her, don’t you think?”

He winked at Martha. “I most certainly do. Fact is, I already told her so myself.”

Aunt Hilda looked up at her husband, then at Martha. The confusion in her gaze quickly gave way to understanding. “You knew! That’s why you got young Lucy to replace me. It wasn’t Victoria you brought me back to see at all!”

Martha looked to Richard for help. “Well, I—”

“And you!” Aunt Hilda elbowed her husband’s stomach playfully. “You didn’t tell me you’d seen Martha! Of all the things you had to tell me, how could you forget—”

He grinned and silenced her protests by smooching her lips. Eyes twinkling, he finally set her back before she swooned from lack of air. “Forgiven?” he asked.

She blushed and swatted his arm. “Forgiven.” She turned to face Martha and shook her finger, at her feigning disappointment, which did not match the merriment in her eyes. “As for you, young lady . . .”

Martha surrendered by raising both hands. “I apologize. I had only come to check on the cottage and to get some honey wine when I accidentally discovered he was here waiting for you to come home. He made me promise I wouldn’t spoil his surprise.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” he admitted. “Now that that’s settled, suppose we all have a seat. I’m still tuckered out. . . . Long journey,” he explained.

“Thirty years long, but I’m not complaining. Not one bit. Especially now that I know. . . . Well, you tell it, dear. It’s your tale, not mine,” his wife suggested before they all sat down together.

The couple, Martha noted, still held hands.

Richard Seymour toyed with his wife’s fingers and rubbed the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. “Before I do, there’s something I should say to you, girl. Hilda tells me you’ve been very good to her all these years, as good as our Charity would have been if she had lived past girlhood. I thank you for that.”

Martha swallowed the lump in her throat. “Aunt Hilda is easy to love.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to the back of his wife’s hand. Aunt Hilda’s blush deepened, and Martha began to fear the stain might become permanent.

He sobered and let go of his wife’s hand to rub his left arm a bit before entwining his fingers with hers again. He met Martha’s gaze and held it. “I want you to know that I expect folks will be mighty surprised come Sunday when I show up at meeting.”

When Martha opened her mouth to agree, he raised his other hand. “Let me speak.”

She nodded.

“I’ve made my peace with my Shepherd and He led me back home. Now that I’ve made my peace with Hilda and she’s forgiven me for what kept me from her side for so long, the only one who deserves to know the truth is you. Since that’s what Hilda wants, that’s what she’ll get. Everyone else can wag their tongues till they fall off, but they don’t have a right to know nothin’. I can’t change what happened, but I won’t have this good woman sufferin’ from gossip for a single moment for somethin’ she didn’t do herself.”

Moved by his honesty and devotion to Aunt Hilda and touched by his willingness to share an obviously painful tale with her and trust her to keep their confidence, Martha blinked back tears. She was curious beyond measure, and even though she would have no trouble keeping the secret he was about to reveal, she loved and respected Aunt Hilda too much to question her decision to welcome this man back into her life.

She leaned forward and gazed at them both. “I’m so happy you’re finally home. Wherever you’ve been and whatever you’ve done all these years concern only the two of you and have no bearing on my thoughts. Just seeing you together, seeing how happy Aunt Hilda is, well, that’s good enough for me.”

His eyes widened. He cocked his head and tugged on his beard. “You’re sure?”

She smiled. “As sure as I’ve ever been.”

Aunt Hilda tugged on her husband’s hand. “I told you she was special,” she murmured. “Just wait till you meet Victoria on Sunday. She’s mighty special, too.”

Before Martha could say a word, Aunt Hilda rose and nodded toward the kitchen. “I have to check that stew. While I’m gone, you can tell him all about Victoria and where she’s been and what she’s got planned for herself now that she’s home.”

Martha barely got to describe what Victoria looked like when Aunt Hilda returned. “Stew’s fine. Just needed a little more salt. Go ahead. I don’t mind hearing again about how that girl of yours landed after she ran off.”

Martha held nothing back. She detailed Victoria’s adventure exactly as she had told Aunt Hilda yesterday, as well as her daughter’s plans for the immediate future. When she concluded, Aunt Hilda smiled. “You’ve learned some hard lessons along the way, but you’re still amazing. I’m proud of you. I know I already told you that, but I am. I’m proud of Victoria, too. She’s proven what I knew all along,” she suggested.

Martha cocked her head.

Aunt Hilda chuckled. “After all is said and done, Victoria truly is her mother’s daughter, isn’t she?” When Martha could not find her voice to protest, Aunt Hilda scowled at her. “Don’t look at me like you’re all confused. Just think about it. You’ll see it for yourself. I don’t suppose you’d like to stay to supper?”

“No,” Martha said absently. “I promised Victoria I’d be home for supper.” With her aunt’s words still begging for an explanation, Martha made her way home, wondering if this time Aunt Hilda had gone too far.

Martha could not imagine a mother and daughter who were more different than she and Victoria were. Or had Martha yet more lessons to learn about her daughter as well as herself?

More joy awaited Martha at the confectionery.

Supper was just about to begin, and they had saved a place for her at the table. No easy task, not with June Morgan, Dr. McMillan, and Thomas there, too. With Nancy resting upstairs, Victoria had come down. Fern and Ivy had even stored away their weapons.

Supper was delicious and the desserts too tempting, as usual. Conversation had been interrupted by laughter more than a few times. Whether by chance or choice, the topic of Russell Clifford and his wife had never surfaced. The mood around the table was as festive and gay as any Martha could recall, and she accepted this supper as a blessing indeed.

While Fern and Ivy took June on a tour of the shop, with Dr. McMillan tagging along to snag a few goodies for himself, and with Victoria upstairs to see if Nancy was awake and willing to try a little supper, Martha and Thomas had a moment alone. “How long will you be staying before you leave?” she asked.

“I’m set to leave sometime tomorrow afternoon. I spoke to the sheriff and Reverend Welsh. They seem to have everything under control. Actually, I have to admit I was as surprised by Russell Clifford’s admission as I was relieved you won’t have to get involved. The issue is pretty much settled, from what I’ve been told.”

Rather than protest and admit her continued interest in the situation or attempt a well-intentioned lie, which he would sense immediately, she dropped her gaze and toyed with the frayed hem on the tablecloth.

“I’m not sure what’s so fascinating about the tablecloth. Would you care to enlighten me?”

When she ignored him, he sighed and tilted up her chin. “Tell me you’re not getting involved. No, don’t bother. You are getting involved. I can see it in your eyes.”

She huffed and moved her chin far enough away that he was forced to drop his hand. Thomas had known her intentions simply by looking at her, and she bristled. “Of course I’m involved. Nancy is my patient. Are you suggesting she’d be better tended by . . . by Dr. McMillan?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

She met his gaze and held it. “Exactly what did you mean? That I should simply patch her up and send her back to that man and simply accept his promise he’ll never beat her again? Or bow to Sheriff Myer, who hasn’t yet ever held a man accountable on charges like this when I suspect he should have? Or maybe you think I should have the same faith as Reverend Welsh and just trust Russell Clifford to follow the Word and act like a responsible husband instead of a brute. Do I look that naïve? Doesn’t my experience count for anything? Do you honestly think I would endanger any of my patients, just to keep the town officials happy? I thought you knew me. I thought you were different from how you were twenty-five years ago. Kinder. More supportive.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean to be unkind or to imply that I’m questioning your judgment. I’m concerned about you, that’s all. I know you’ll do what’s right.”

Indeed, he had changed. She barely caught a grin before it escaped, as her heart well knew. Now if she could only get him to agree to stay for just a few more days. . . .