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Maisie watched Jonathan Bridger chew slowly, seeming to relish every bite of pumpkin pie. He stopped now and then and smiled at her, his mouth too full to compliment her baking, but she understood him well enough.
Her chest swelled with pride. As much as she loved cooking, she hadn’t baked a pie in months, too busy doing laundry and taking in mending to manage it. But when Mama refused to eat earlier that day, she thought she could tempt her. It didn’t work – Mama wanted nothing to do the pies, saying it reminded her too much of holidays and autumns back East when Papa was still alive. But at least someone appreciated her work.
“Maisie, this is wonderful!” Jonathan said between mouthfuls.
She blushed deep red, not so much over his praise but due to the use of her Christian name. “Thank you.”
He stopped chewing, thought better of it and swallowed hard. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
He studied her a moment. “No, it’s something. What?”
She let her eyes flick around the room. “It’s just that ... we should be calling each other by our proper names.”
He sat straighter at that. “Isn’t Maisie your name?”
She smiled sadly. She should enjoy hearing him call her that while she could, not complain about it. Maybe hearing a few more times would make it easy for her to pretend they were courting. “It’s Miss Woodhouse. That’s proper decorum.”
He sat back in his chair. “Oh, that. I don’t know ... around here folks get to speaking on a first-name basis faster than most places. On account it’s so small.” He winked and took another bite.
She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I see.”
“I thought you might.”
She forced a frown to keep from smiling again. She was enjoying herself, even as she knew she needed to get upstairs and help Mama get ready for bed. Though really, what was there to do – the woman never got properly dressed that morning in the first place. She was still in her nightclothes.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
She started and looked up, belatedly realizing she’d let her gaze fall to the table. Good heavens, what was he talking about? “What look?”
“Like a little kid looks when they get caught doing something they shouldn’t.”
“A child?” she asked, then sighed heavily. Guilt was not her friend. “I have to go.”
His face fell. “I’m sorry – did I offend you?”
“No, no, not at all,” she said quickly. “It’s just ... my mother ...”
Now he sighed. “I understand.”
Maisie stared at him, disappointed. They were both happy, and she’d ruined it. What did it matter if Mama waited a few more minutes? But it was too late – she’d already told him she needed to leave. “I’m sorry, but I have to take care of her.”
“Aw, that’s all right, I understand,” he said with a lopsided smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she asked in surprise then remembered. “Oh yes – our walk.”
“What time do you leave for work?”
“Around one-thirty.”
“Good, I’ll wait for you on the front porch,” he said with a smile and a light in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. What could that be?
Maisie nodded. “When do you start at the mill?”
“Monday. That means I get to escort you for two whole days – three if you work Saturdays too.”
“Sometimes I do,” she said as her heart sank. He was looking forward to walking her to work, she could see the light in his eyes. She just hoped she didn’t disappoint him too much when she had to put it out.
* * *
THURSDAY DAWNED CRISP and cold. Maisie awoke with a start, unsure of where she was for a moment. She’d had the most wonderful dream and didn’t want it to end – she’d been sweeping a kitchen floor in a lovely house, two or three children playing nearby and asking her to bake cookies. A pot roast was on the stove, and her husband ...
“Maisie!”
Well, now she knew where she was. “Yes, Mama?”
“Why aren’t you downstairs?”
Maisie sat up to find her mother already in her chair, though still in her nightclothes. She’d have to do something about that this morning. “Because I’m still in bed, as you can see.”
Her mother peered at her in disbelief. “What are you doing there?”
“Sleeping, Mama. Isn’t that what most people do?”
Her mother looked taken aback. “Oh, yes, well,” she replied more softly.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes, please.”
That got Maisie’s attention. Her mother’s lack of manners of late had gotten on her nerves. Maybe the woman would have a good day. “Would you like to get dressed?” she asked hopefully.
Her mother looked down at her nightclothes and fingered the lace around one sleeve. “Yes, I should do that, shouldn’t I?”
Maisie quickly got out of bed. “Yes, Mama, I think it would be a good thing. Would you like to bathe?”
“Bathe?” she asked, as if it were a foreign word.
“Yes, I can prepare a bath for you.”
Her mother look confused for a moment. “No, not today. I had a bath earlier, didn’t I?”
Maisie pulled on a robe. “A few days ago, yes.”
“Then I’m fine.” She gazed out the window as she unbraided her hair. “I’m hungry.”
Maisie took a chance. “Would you like to have breakfast downstairs?”
Mama slowly looked at Maisie, then at her hands in her lap. “Downstairs?”
“Yes, with Mrs. Whitehall.” She knew that the other boarders would be gone by the time they went down for breakfast.
To her amazement, her mother nodded. “Yes ... Mrs. Whitehall. I want to speak with her.”
Uh-oh, Maisie thought. But she’d deal with that later. Her mother wanting to leave their room was a major accomplishment, and she wasn’t going to argue over why she wanted to speak to their landlady. Who knew, maybe she just wanted to talk – or by the time they went downstairs, she’d have forgotten why. “I’ll help you dress,” she told her mother and went to fetch some clothes. To her surprise, Mama didn’t balk nor complain – a miracle!
The dressing also went well, and Maisie’s hopes soared. Was Mama finally coming out of her dark pit of despair, the one she’d on occasion tried to drag her into? She opened the door to their room and motioned her mother to join her in the hall. The woman approached the door slowly and peeked out as if worried about an ambush, then tentatively stepped over the threshold to stand precariously in the middle of the hall.
“Mama, are you all right?”
Her mother was white as a sheet as she stared at the staircase at the end of the hall. She swallowed hard. “Yes. Fine.”
Maisie took her mother’s arm and wrapped it around her own. “Let’s go see what Mrs. Whitehall has whipped up this morning, hm?” She did her best to sound cheerful and not panicked. Sweat had popped out on her mother’s brow and she looked ready to faint. But why?
“All right. Just ... give me a moment,” her mother requested.
Maisie tensed. Maybe she would faint – then what? She took a deep breath and forced a smile. At least Mrs. Whitehall was in the house to help her if need be.
“Okay, I think I’m ready.”
Maisie stopped trying to hide her worry. “Are you ill?”
“No, but ... never mind, let’s go.”
Maisie tightened her hold on her mother’s arm and led her to the staircase. “Why don’t you take a moment to steady yourself,” she suggested.
Her mother nodded and swallowed again, as if she was about to walk a tightrope. She took a fortifying breath, and managed the first step down.
* * *
JONATHAN FINISHED SHAVING, washed his face, put on a clean shirt and combed his hair, then studied his reflection in the mirror. “Not bad, Bridger.”
He went to the bed, sat and pulled on his boots. He’d had breakfast with the other boarders and decided to clean up a bit before settling into his day. Or that’s what he told himself. But it was his second shave that morning, granted that he’d missed a few spots before. Maybe he should see about a new razor, or start going to the local barbershop. Did Cutter’s Creek have a barbershop? There wasn’t one back when he’d lived here before, but maybe there was now. He made a mental note to look after escorting Maisie to work ...
To his surprise, his heart leaped at the very thought of Maisie Woodhouse. He glanced at his chest out of curiosity and noticed his hand over his heart. Gads, he didn’t remember putting it there! He removed it and cleared his throat, as if that would help.
“I ain’t sweet on her, am I?” he asked himself. Because really, how could he be? He barely knew her. But she was the only marriageable woman in town around his age, and Aggie had suggested to him twenty or thirty times that Maisie was a nice girl ...
Jonathan shook his head. “Nah, couldn’t be.” Besides, that’s why he’d asked her to take a stroll with him in the first place – so he could get to know her better. Escorting her to work was ideal – no one would think anything of them walking to the mercantile together. No rumors of courting would get started over it, would they?
Courting ... the word ricocheted around in his head like a stray bullet. Would he court Maisie if he got to know her better? Could he? Shouldn’t he wait until he was more settled into his new job at the mill, and started saving money for a place of his own? No woman wanted to live in a boarding house, did they? He’d have to have his own place before he wed.
He wandered downstairs and stopped dead in his tracks. A woman he’d never seen before sat at the dining room table, glaring at him. Frowning, she took a deep breath and yelled, “Maisie!”
Maisie Woodhouse burst in, a spoon in her hand. “Mama, what is it?”
Jonathan didn’t move as the woman pointed an accusing finger at him.
Maisie took one look at him and blushed. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry – I didn’t think anyone else was in the house.”
His eyes bounced between the two women a few times. “No, uh, still here.” He nodded at Maisie, then did the same to her mother, who looked ready to skin him alive.
Maisie caught the venomous look on the woman’s face, went to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Mama, may I introduce Mr. Jonathan Bridger?”
“You may not.”
Maisie flushed red with embarrassment. She gulped, looking helpless, and he moved toward her in response.
“That’s close enough, young man,” Mrs. Woodhouse snapped.
Maisie’s shoulders slumped as disappointment clouded her features. For a moment he hardly recognized her – defeat didn’t look good on Maisie Woodhouse. Not at all. “I thought I’d come down and get myself a cup of coffee, if there’s any left,” he tried, hoping to bring some normality to the conflict.
“Yes, there is,” Maisie said in relief. “I’ll get you some.”
“You will not,” her mother said through clenched teeth.
Maisie, still behind her mother, rubbed her face a few times, then put her hands on her hips. “Mama, I was only being polite.”
“I don’t care. He’s a stranger.”
“He’s our neighbor.”
“He’s a man!”
Maisie’s mouth dropped open. “What ... what has that got to do with anything?”
“Everything,” Mrs. Woodhouse grumbled.
Maisie shook her head in dismay. “I’m getting Mr. Bridger a cup of coffee, Mama. Stop being so rude.” She headed for the kitchen before her mother could protest, leaving Jonathan to face Mrs. Woodhouse alone. The woman continued glaring at him.
He noticed a bowl of oatmeal sitting in front of her. “Mrs. Whitehall’s oatmeal is quite good, isn’t it?” he said, nodding at her breakfast. “She put raisins in it this morning. Hard to come by around here sometimes, raisins.”
“Yes, I know.”
Jonathan fought the urge to fidget. He was reminded of times he’d faced off with his mother as a boy, times when she was highly displeased or inconvenienced by something, whether it had to do with him or not. Mrs. Woodhouse had that same look on her face ...
“Tell me,” she said as Maisie came back from the kitchen, a cup and saucer in her hands. “What interest do you have in my daughter?”
Jonathan blinked in surprise, glanced at Maisie and back, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. What to say? “Well ... that remains to be seen, ma’am.” Might as well be honest. He wanted to get to know her first before releasing his heart. He chanced a look at Maisie, who didn’t seem thrilled by his statement. Her face was trembling like an aspen in a sharp wind.
“Hmph.” Mrs. Woodhouse picked up her spoon.
Maisie set his coffee on the table and, without looking at him, fled back to the kitchen.
Jonathan stood there, knowing that while he wasn’t sure how he’d blown it, he most certainly had.