The Blue Hummingbird’s engines shut down, and the wakes behind her paddle wheel smoothed out as the ornate white steamship coasted over the swift indigo current of the Ohio River to the broad, wooden wharf. Dock workers seized the stout ropes tossed from the vessel and secured them to the stationary landing posts, while at the wheel, silver-haired Captain John Sebastian hollered orders to his bustling crew.
Diana Montclair, her lace-gloved hands grasping the iron railing, blew wisps of honey-blond hair from her eyes while she watched the familiar activity, a mixture of resignation and anticipation flowing through her. Home again … at this place that had never truly been home.
Filling her lungs, she glanced around at the tiny hamlet nestled against a rolling scape of forest just donning the variegated greens of late spring. Changes were slight in Hickory Corners. A new doctor’s office of the same red brick as the bank now complemented the quaint white clapboard church, but the rest of the town was made of plain or rough-hewn log dwellings. The dirt streets often blew with dust, or worse yet, lay ankle deep in mud from frequent rains. Yet she had to admit the town had a certain warmth and charm. A surprising array of shops and enterprises provided just about any service needed. Even the smallest home appeared tidy and inviting, and the local inhabitants seemed cheerful and content. What a pity she had so little in common with any of them.
She would never understand why her father insisted upon maintaining a house in this rural outpost in southwestern Ohio, with Cincinnati but a few hours west. Surely prestigious Montclair Shipping Line would fare much better with the larger city as its headquarters. Not that her mother and father ever deigned to spend any more time than necessary in this provincial settlement they had helped found. “And I shan’t, either,” she declared under her breath. “There is nothing for me here. Nothing at all.”
“Diana! Over here!” a voice called from ashore.
Diana shifted her attention to the older woman waving so enthusiastically from the quay, and she smiled. Mildred Sanderson, the family’s faithful housekeeper for what seemed like forever, had been the single mainstay in Diana’s nineteen years. At least Millie always seemed happy to have her around. Drawing comfort from that, she lifted her arm and returned the welcoming gesture.
“Looks like somebody’s glad to see ya, Miss Montclair,” Ozzie Mallory teased from a few yards away.
Diana hiked her chin at the curly-haired “rooster,” as the roustabouts were commonly called. He stacked cartons of supplies brought up from the hold to be delivered to the various business establishments in town. Barely older than herself, the sandy-haired sailor had known better than to make unwelcome advances to the boss’s daughter. He had kept his distance, making only polite conversation in her presence. Nevertheless, she hadn’t missed the admiring glances the ruddy-cheeked young man and other crew members cast her way from time to time.
“Mrs. Sanderson always meets me when I come home,” Diana answered, subtly correcting her posture to that of a proper young lady.
“Guess we won’t be havin’ ya aboard much, now your schoolin’s over. I wish ya the best, Miss. Good day.” With that, the sturdily built seaman hefted a bulky crate to his muscled shoulder and headed for the gangway being lowered.
Watching after him from the shade of her bonnet’s brim, Diana drew her woolen shawl snugly about herself and tried not to think about how her travels to Hickory Corners for Christmases and summers had come to an end. There might be some things about growing up in Boston’s best boarding schools and finishing schools that she hadn’t particularly liked, but free trips on her father’s numerous ships and other sailing lines had pleasured her. Thanks to his reputation and influence, she always enjoyed the best accommodations and service. She knew the captains so well, they were almost like uncles, and every one of them took exceptional care of her.
Gathering the skirts of her stylish plum linen ensemble, Diana went to see if Mrs. Woodwright, the assistant teacher-chaperon provided by Prentiss Finishing Academy for Young Ladies, had finished repacking the trunks Diana would take ashore.
The broomstick-thin widow stood within the close confines of the tiny cabin they’d shared during this leg of the journey. The somber navy traveling suit on her slight figure only accented the darkness of the bunk-lined room as her nimble fingers fastened the buckles on the second piece of Diana’s luggage. “All set,” she announced a little too brightly. “It’s been a singular pleasure accompanying you, Diana. I trust you’ll enjoy being home with your family now.”
“Thank you.” Diana saw no point in elaborating on how little she really knew her parents. “Will you be taking tea at the boardinghouse before returning to Boston?”
The chaperon raised a pale hand to knead temples framed by tight brunette curls. “No, I think not. I’m fighting a bit of a headache just now. At times prolonged sailing does not agree with my constitution.”
“I’m sorry. Shall I request a tray for you, then, before the ship weighs anchor?”
“Thank you, no. I’ll just lie down for awhile and have something brought in later. Remember all the things you learned at the academy, Dear. You were one of our finest students, and I have every confidence you will find success in all your domestic ventures.”
For a split second, Diana expected the dark-haired woman to hug her, but the awkward moment passed without an embrace. Diana moistened her lips and smiled. “Thank you … for everything.”
The bun atop Mrs. Woodwright’s head bobbed with her nod. “God be with you, Dear.”
“And with you,” Diana whispered. Plucking her mulberry satin reticule from the built-in cabinet separating the two narrow bunks, she cast one more smile over her shoulder, then took her leave.
In moments she descended the gangway, one of a scant few arrivals. But then, who would come to Hickory Corners on purpose, she wondered caustically.
Diana’s black kid traveling boots scarcely touched the dock’s wooden planks before Millie Sanderson hastened over and enveloped her in loving arms. The housekeeper’s plump frame and braided gray coronet emitted the spicy smell of apples and cinnamon, evidence that today was baking day. How strange to see her without her ever-present bib apron.
“Oh, my little darling,” the older woman gushed, leaning back, her creased face absolutely beaming, her smile adding even more squinty lines at the corners of her small blue eyes. “So lovely to have you home. Did you have a good trip?”
“Oh, yes. Very. Except for two rainy days, the weather was ever so mild and lovely.”
“Well, even so, I expect you’re tired. We’ll let the menfolk deal with your trunks. I’ll draw you a hot bath, and you can have a nice soak while I whip up some supper.” Sliding an arm around Diana, she waved to the brawny Bunk brothers working at the wharf as usual. “Tote her belongings up to the house, when you’ve a minute, and I thank you kindly.”
“Will do, Ma’am,” the stringy-haired pair chorused, then jabbed one another in the ribs and grinned before resuming their duties.
“I’ve been counting the days, little one, till you got here,” Millie confessed, her button nose as rosy as her cheeks. She escorted Diana along the nearly straight route up Main Street toward the big two-story Montclair house occupying a sizable chunk of Birch Street.
“Will Mother and Daddy be coming to visit soon?” Diana hadn’t meant to ask, but the words popped out seemingly of their own accord.
“Well, now, they know you were expected to arrive today, so mayhap they’ll arrange their travels in a way that’ll bring them our way one of these days.”
I won’t hold my breath waiting, Diana affirmed inwardly. Her unwelcome birth late in life to parents still grieving the loss of the son who’d been the light of their world had never quite been forgiven.
Catching a glimpse of Elsa Gerhard sweeping down the front steps of her father’s newly renovated hotel, Diana ventured a small smile at the buxom brunette she knew from the stitchery group that gathered weekly at Edna Tidewell’s home.
“Good afternoon, Diana,” the blue-eyed girl said, resting a hand on the top of the broom handle. “Home to stay now?”
“So it would seem,” she answered casually.
“Well, perhaps we’ll be seeing you at the sewing circle, then. Oh, I think I hear little Georg waking up. I’d better run.” And with that, she turned in a swirl of tan calico and dashed inside.
“Such a sweet new mama Elsa makes,” Millie said.
Diana nodded politely, keeping pace with the older woman’s slower stride.
“And doesn’t the old boardinghouse look grand, now that all the improvements are completed?” Millie went on. “Elsa’s husband worked night and day to turn the place into a real hotel, with Brady Forbes lending a hand whenever needed.” She paused. “You remember Brady, don’t you? The Tidewells’ nephew.”
“Quite,” Diana muttered. Recollections of the bold young man who possessed an uncanny ability to rankle her on every visit home filled her with chagrin. Whenever she left to return to school, it would take weeks to dismiss him from her thoughts … which also vexed her to no end.
“Good day, ladies.” As if hearing his name being mentioned, the person in question hailed them cheerily on his way out of the mercantile across the street.
Diana gave the lanky, square-jawed carpenter a casual nod as they went by. With that glossy brown-black hair and deep blue eyes, he was far too handsome for his own good. She sensed his gaze following them as they continued walking, but resisted the impulse to glance back and find out for certain. No sense in giving him the idea she was interested. Besides, this was the last place on earth she’d look for a mate, handsome or not. He probably had his cap set for some local girl himself.
Her gaze flitted over the simple but stylish dress displayed in the single window of the dress shop as they strolled by. Suitable for the town’s special occasions, it was considerably less elegant than even the simplest frock Diana owned. Most of her wardrobe arrived at school in parcels shipped from New York, Philadelphia, or Paris, compliments of her mother. In truth, however, though always lovely and the latest fashion, not one of them had been Diana’s personal choice.
By the time they passed the bank and her father’s shipping office and crossed Birch Street, the peacefulness contrasted pleasantly with the noise and bustle so prevalent at the docks. Diana felt a measure of pride at the sight of the neatly kept grounds surrounding her parents’ stately residence. She loved the fresh dove-gray-paint and black shutters, the broad front door in gleaming federal blue, the wrought iron eagle weather vane atop the cupola. This was one of the few buildings in town sporting anything other than a weathered log or whitewashed exterior.
Millie had even made new cushions for the settees on the front porch, Diana noticed. Mounting the steps, she easily imagined herself curled up in the pillowy softness on sunny afternoons, reading James Fenimore Cooper or Keats or Shelley. Thank heaven, her father had a decent library of books here.
When the door latched behind them, Diana inhaled deeply, smiling with pleasure. The interior of the house bore sweet scents of baking. When had she last eaten? Before she finished calculating, her stomach growled audibly.
“Oh, you poor dear,” the housekeeper crooned, taking their shawls and bonnets and draping them over a hook on the hall tree in the wide entry. “Let me fix you a bite to eat while the water heats for your bath.”
“You’re too kind,” Diana said, a touch embarrassed. “I know you’ve been busy this whole day, then that long walk down to the wharf …”
“Nonsense. What’s a body to do, if not keep busy? You go have a seat in the parlor, and I’ll holler when the food’s ready.”
The offer was far too tempting to resist. Still smiling, Diana crossed the gleaming wood floor and entered the arched doorway to her right, where matching settees in striped silver damask caught the light pouring through white lace undercurtains and satiny burgundy drapes. Choosing an upholstered wing chair near the fireplace, she set her reticule on a marble-topped side table and kicked off her boots to rest her feet on the padded footstool. Home. She leaned her head back and closed her eyelids.
In what seemed the briefest of moments, Millie’s light touch on her shoulder awakened Diana. Much to her surprise, she’d dozed off.
Upon entering the cheery kitchen with its shiny walls and yellow curtains, she took the proffered seat at the pine trestle table where a dainty feast of coddled eggs, raisin scones, cinnamon applesauce, and hot tea awaited her. “It looks delicious.”
The housekeeper glowed. “Well, you just take your time and eat, little one. I’ll start filling the tub. And after your bath, you just go on up to your room and have a snooze. There’s church tonight, if you’ve a mind to go anyplace after you’ve rested up a bit. If not, there’s always Sunday.”
“I’ll think about it,” Diana promised as the older woman carried the first kettle to the round wooden tub kept in a small side room off the kitchen.
Later, however, bathed and changed and snuggled in the comfort of the feather bed in her rose-and-white room, Diana didn’t know if she could bring herself to appear in public just yet. She’d only been in Hickory Corners in snatches and bits since she was old enough to be sent off to live with her Aunt Eunice, then to school. Everybody in town knew everybody else, and all of them lifelong friends.
And at nineteen, she didn’t have the slightest notion how to make friends … with anybody. Never had. None of the girls at school had cared a whit about her. Only the teachers. And Millie. The dear, sweet housekeeper whom Diana wished for the thousandth time had been her mother.
At least in Boston there were theaters and museums, social soirees and activities to keep herself occupied, to say nothing of her studies. She hadn’t counted on her school years coming to end just yet, before she’d decided what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. A sigh of depression came from deep inside at the bleak future now looming ahead. Her teachers expected the domestic skills they’d taught her at school would be put to use in a fine marriage, but Diana saw no hope of finding a suitable mate in this tiny place. How in the world was she supposed to endure being stuck here … perhaps for good?
That does it, Brady Forbes thought, pounding the last nail into the steps he’d replaced on the porch of his aunt and uncle’s parsonage. He picked up the tools scattered about him and placed them inside the toolbox he’d borrowed from his employer, Nathaniel Harmon, the cabinetmaker. The man had taught him more than he’d imagined there was to know about working with wood. Thanks to the skills he’d picked up through Nate’s tutelage, these new steps would probably outlast the rest of the house, no matter how many feet traipsed up and down them in their comings and goings.
For a hamlet small as Hickory Corners, the parsonage saw much more than its share of visitors, Brady conceded, heading back to the shop. Aunt Edna’s gracious spirit seemed to blossom when surrounded by ladies. Older ones attended a new prayer circle every Thursday, and the younger ones made up a sewing circle on Tuesdays. But far be it from him to find fault with those weekly gatherings. Truth be told, he held parsonage repairs in reserve for those very occasions. That way he could get in on all the delicious goodies served to the guests.
Brady’s mouth watered as he recalled the peach tarts the banker’s wife provided for today’s prayer circle. Fit for a king, they were, and the ladies had persuaded him to have more than one … not that he’d put up much of a fight.
The sewing circle, though, was where the really good stuff was. Sometimes one of the gals would whip up some fudge or bake gingersnap cookies, two of his favorites. Those and the melt-in-the-mouth currant scones of Mildred Sanderson’s.
Now that his thoughts had meandered in that direction, he wondered if little Miss Montclair ever deigned to soil her soft pink hands with floury dough. The golden-haired beauty dressed like a plate in a fashion catalog at Thomasohn’s Mercantile. He chuckled, envisioning her in the voluminous apron she’d have to don to protect those fancy gowns of hers.
Then Brady’s smile flattened. Of course, a guy would have to be blind not to recognize true beauty when he saw it. Glorious curls the color of warm honey—and likely as silky. Eyes of misty gray. The first time he’d lost himself in those silvery depths, his ability to speak coherently vanished. Took considerable joking around before he regained strength in his knees. To this day he didn’t even remember all the asinine remarks he made to that ever-so-proper girl. But a few too many must have hit their mark, because she scarcely gave him the time of day now.
Funny thing, but he didn’t see her as snobbish or haughty, the way some of the other young women in town did. He never had. Yet he did view Diana Montclair on an entirely different plane from the rest … and not merely because of her money and grand house. Not even because of her outward beauty. Something else about her called to his spirit, made him want to find out who she truly was inside. That intense loneliness in her eyes, maybe. Or the droop of those fragile shoulders when she neglected that rigid posture. The sad wilt to the corners of her rosy, upturned lips.
Whatever the elusive quality, he would try harder to be her friend, now that she’d come home to stay. Perhaps this time he’d get it right.