Ruth’s customers started picking up their cakes and pies after breakfast the next day. She would never be able to deliver all the orders. She hadn’t had a buggy since she’d sold Peter’s pony after the cholera epidemic. Everything they needed in Springfield was within walking distance, although a buggy at times would be nice.
When Adria was ten, she had wished and wished for a horse. Or a dog. Ruth smiled, remembering how Matilda told Adria if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. And then she showed up the next day with a kitten Adria had named Gulliver. He was a good cat except that, like his namesake, he did take travels from time to time, but he periodically showed up again to catch the mice in the shed out back and let Adria pet him for a while.
Ruth missed Matilda. She had filled a void in Adria’s life that Ruth couldn’t. Ruth had tried. She just didn’t know how to be the family Adria needed when she was a little girl. Ruth could teach Adria. She could read to her. But she had trouble hugging her when the pain was leaking out of the sad places inside the child. Perhaps she had too many of her own sad places.
She should have cried with Adria, but instead Ruth locked away her own grief to keep it from overwhelming her. It was an ongoing grief. Not only the loss of Peter but the chance to be a mother. A natural mother and not merely one arranged out of need and accepted because it was her Christian duty. A duty she had fulfilled. She’d taken care of Adria and not regretted her acceptance of the child into her life. But Adria had never been her baby.
Just yesterday Adria had pointed out that Ruth wasn’t too old for babies, but at thirty-two she felt too old. Yet, when she looked at it squarely, she realized Adria was right. She was not past childbearing years. Perhaps what she was past was opening her heart up to love. And to loss.
Best not to stumble into love and have it stolen away from her again. She was content with her single life as a schoolteacher. She had no necessity to consider a marriage for convenience. She and Adria managed without having a man in their lives, but now Adria was of age to consider marriage herself.
Poor Carlton. Ruth liked the boy, but he had no idea how to properly court an independent girl like Adria. He thought every woman was merely waiting for a man to rescue her from spinsterhood. Plus there was the problem of his family’s slaves. If Springfield had an abolitionist group, Adria would be right in the middle of it. Sometimes Ruth worried that Adria would attempt to start such a group.
Ruth sighed as she packed her delivery basket with a pie and a loaf of bread for Leoda Gregory, who claimed she had no way to come pick up her order. Ruth put in another pie for the new pastor. He had preached his first sermon last Sunday, and a pie would be a nice way to welcome him to the community. Perhaps he would become a customer. Not that such was her intent. Generosity was its own reward, a lesson she tried to get across to her students. One should not always be looking for a return when a gift was given.
It could be she should have let Adria take the pie to Reverend Robertson. Ruth wouldn’t want him or anyone in Springfield getting the wrong idea about her gift. After all, he looked to be about Ruth’s age and a widower. Tongues did have a way of wagging in Springfield. Over the years, she had been matched up with various eligible men by the town gossips.
Ruth sighed. She tried not to let being the subject of gossip concern her when she knew she had done nothing to incite the talk, but a schoolteacher needed to be above reproach. So yes, she should have asked Adria to take the pie to Reverend Robertson as she went to work that morning. But she had the little cake to take to Louis.
Another worry. Ruth did hope giving Louis the cake wouldn’t cause problems for the slave. Of course, they took him sweets all the time, and his owner, George Sanderson at the hotel, never seemed bothered by that. He even allowed Louis to come help Ruth when the porch on the front of the house started sagging last spring. Ruth paid Mr. Sanderson a fair wage for Louis’s work. That infuriated Adria. She thought they should pay Louis, but Louis told her that was just how things were.
“Now don’t get all riled up, missy.” Louis still called Adria that the same as he had when he’d brought her to Ruth’s doorstep twelve years ago. “Massa George, he don’t treat us bad long as we tend to our work.”
Adria just couldn’t accept that. She hated slavery. Ruth didn’t like it either. For one thing, the teacher in her wanted to give every child the gift of reading. And some of the slave children wanted to learn. She could see the hunger in their eyes when, at times, they dared a peek in the school windows, but she wasn’t allowed to teach black children. That was simply how things were. Adria couldn’t change that nor could the northern abolitionists.
Yet another concern. Adria read those seditious abolitionist newspapers. She even copied bits from some of them and added her own words to send to the Lexington newspapers. She signed a fake name, but she could still be found out. Abolitionist thinking was not welcome in Springfield. Ruth could lose her students if the townspeople thought she was campaigning for the end of slavery. Not that she was, but she would be held responsible for Adria developing such inflammatory ideas.
Ruth shoved her worries aside as she went up Mrs. Gregory’s rock walkway. Already the day was growing warm and she wished she’d left off one of her petticoats. The things a woman had to wear to be considered decent. At least she’d put on a small hat instead of a bonnet. Bonnets not only suffocated her, they made her feel as though she were wearing blinders. But she couldn’t go out bareheaded. That wasn’t done.
She hoped Adria had remembered to pin up her hair and wear her hat. She was up and gone very early this morning before Ruth was dressed. The girl was often careless with her hair and let her dark curls hang unhindered on her shoulders and down her back. Ruth touched her own neat coil of blonde hair on the back of her head. Peter had loved her fine blonde hair and often said he hoped their children would have hair like hers instead of his flaming red.
No, she wouldn’t think about that. Those babies would never be. Instead she had a fiery dark-headed sister/daughter who had no idea how beautiful she was. Standing next to her at times, Ruth felt like a wilting flower. A head shorter than Adria and pale and blonde next to Adria’s dark hair and rosy skin. Ruth supposed she had faded from when she was the belle of the town before she met Peter. Now she was a woman moving past her prime who should no longer be concerned about how she looked.
Neat was all that mattered, and she managed that with her blue skirt and crisp white blouse. Her schoolmarm outfit, but it serviced well for her deliveries too. Certainly nothing with which Mrs. Gregory could find fault. Leoda Gregory had a sharp eye and a way of noticing everything. She said that was all an old woman like her could do. Watch what was happening in the town. What she saw often found its way to other ears.
As she knocked on Mrs. Gregory’s door, Ruth caught sight of her reflection in the narrow windows in the door. Her eyes didn’t look so faded. She had plenty of spark yet to keep her students in line.
“My dear Ruth.” Mrs. Gregory opened the door and reached to grasp Ruth’s arm and pull her inside. “You must come have a cup of tea with me. And perhaps a piece of that cinnamon bread. You did bring me a loaf of it along with the chess pie, didn’t you?”
“Don’t I always.” Ruth smiled at the old woman, whose shoulders were rounded as though her years had gotten too much to carry. “But I’ve already had my breakfast.”
The woman twisted her head to peer up at Ruth. “As have I, but is that any reason not to enjoy a bit more?” Mrs. Gregory laughed and led the way to her parlor where she already had a tea tray ready.
Ruth would have preferred to go on about her chores. Her desk at home called to her. With Adria at the store and the baking done for the week, Ruth looked forward to some quiet time to work on her poetry. But a person couldn’t say no to Mrs. Gregory. Before he passed on, Mr. Gregory was one of the justices of the peace appointed by the governor to handle the business of the county. The cholera hadn’t stolen him. He died several years prior to the epidemic, so Mrs. Gregory had been a widow longer than Ruth. Sometimes she appeared to enjoy the role.
“We had been married these many years. I was quite used to Mr. Gregory,” she had told Ruth on one of her first visits. “But there are times when the morning is more pleasant when one is by one’s self. Don’t you agree?”
At the time Ruth did not know Mrs. Gregory well and she had stuttered out some sort of answer.
That had amused Mrs. Gregory greatly. “I seem to have you tongue-tied, my dear, but you do surely know how men can be such a problem, with always wanting something. Food or drink or a clean shirt. If a woman has servants to do all the work, that’s one thing, but then the woman has to see to the servants to be sure everyone is doing as they should and they never are. Trust me on that. They never are. But if you have only yourself to please, then the task gets decidedly easier.”
“But you do have a maid, don’t you?” Ruth looked around the old woman’s spotless house. She knew that was not easy even if one did live alone or nearly so.
“Oh yes. Sally is a treasure. There’s no way I could scrub the floors or get to the dust in all these hidden places.” Mrs. Gregory waved her hand toward a table full of bric-a-brac. “You are young, so such is not a problem for you, and you have that dear little Adria to help you.”
That had been when Ruth first began baking her desserts, when dear little Adria would rather read than dust. She still would, the same as Ruth. So books were all that decorated their tables.
Now Ruth poured the tea for them both. As she handed Mrs. Gregory a cup, she attempted to divert her from sharing the latest gossip by asking, “Have you heard from your children?”
“No, no. Sometimes I think they’ve completely forgotten their old mother.” Mrs. Gregory sipped her tea and then sighed. “I raised three boys to adulthood, and trust me, that wasn’t easy. Boys can be a handful. Not like your dear Adria. Then what do they do but take off for the frontier, as though nothing in Springfield was good enough for them. And after we sent them to the best schools. I don’t know how many times I told Mr. Gregory that was our mistake. Those teachers led them astray. I’m sure of it.”
Mrs. Gregory set her cup back on the saucer. “Oh dear, I suppose I shouldn’t have said that about teachers, but I certainly wasn’t speaking of you. All of us here in Springfield know we can count on you to not lead our children down any wrong roads.”
“That’s nice to know.” Ruth had learned long ago to keep smiling no matter what Mrs. Gregory might say.
“But children do go off on their own in spite of anything we might do. As the good Lord intended, I suppose. Even so, it might have been nice if one of my boys had settled here in town to supply me with grandchildren close enough to run in and out of my house.” She peered over her cup at Ruth. “You may be more fortunate in that with your dear Adria. I hear Carlton Damon is interested in making her his bride.”
“They’ve been friends for a long time.” Ruth avoided confirming or denying Carlton’s courtship of Adria, but it was little use. Mrs. Gregory already had facts in hand.
“True enough, but will that friendship lead to a happy marriage? I’ve been told Adria is not exactly encouraging the young man.”
“Young people have to set their own courses.” Ruth set down her cup. “Thank you so much for the tea, but I really must finish my deliveries.”
“Yes, of course. I noted that you had yet another pie in your basket.” Mrs. Gregory stood up and fished several coins out of her pocket to hand to Ruth. “You keep the extra for delivering your goodies to me. I appreciate your kindness to this old lady. Perhaps a custard pie next week or even better, some of those delectable meringues you make.”
“The meringues do cost a bit more than a pie,” Ruth warned as she took the money.
“And worth every penny, my dear. Worth every penny. Those children of mine are going to have to become much more attentive if they expect me to give up my desserts to save their inheritance.” Mrs. Gregory laughed, a tinkling sound that Ruth wondered if she had once practiced.
Ruth scooted the remaining pie to the middle of her basket before she picked it up.
“And who is the fortunate person getting your other pie?” Mrs. Gregory led the way through her hallway to open the door for Ruth. She turned with a sly smile. “I’m guessing it’s for our new preacher. And what a nice thing for you to do.”
Ruth was surprised by her accurate guess. “A welcome gift. That’s all.”
“Excellent. It’s so good to have a new preacher and one so young. We can only hope he’ll bring new enthusiasm to our church.” The old woman peered up at Ruth. “What do you think? That he might be about your age? I certainly wouldn’t be so bold to ask, but one can’t help being curious, can one?”
“No, I suppose not, but I have no guess as to his age.”
“A good-looking man for a preacher.” Mrs. Gregory laughed and covered her mouth for a second. “Shame on me. That wasn’t a very kind thing to say, but it does seem that many of the preachers in our pulpit have been old, with ears too big or noses too long.”
“We only have the looks the Lord gives us.”
“So true, my dear. I was once quite blessed in the looks department myself.” Mrs. Gregory ran her fingers over her cheek.
“You’re still beautiful.” Ruth smiled.
“What a sweet liar you are.” Again the tinkling laugh. “I don’t have to tell a falsehood to say you are still every bit as lovely as the day I met you. Our young Pastor Robertson will surely note that fact too.”
“Come, come, Mrs. Gregory. I’m only taking him a pie.”
“And I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to get it. Poor man. They tell me his wife died in childbirth a couple of years ago and that’s why he changed churches. Too many memories, I suppose, in his old church. Somewhere up toward Danville.”
“Did the baby die too?” Ruth’s heart lurched, unable to keep from remembering losing Peter and then her hope of a baby.
“No, the baby lived. A little girl. But what could a man alone do with a baby? He gave the child to his sister to raise, or so I’ve been told.”
“How very sad,” Ruth murmured.
“Sad, but I suppose sensible. It does seem strange that he would be so eager to move away from where he could see the child now and again.”
“Perhaps he thought it would be confusing for them all,” Ruth suggested as she waited for Mrs. Gregory to open the door. She would have opened it herself to escape the conversation, but the old woman had her hand on the doorknob.
“Nonsense. Children adjust to situations such as that with ease. What the man should have done was find a new wife to be the child’s mother. Then all would have been well.”
“He could have been too brokenhearted.”
“You young people are such romantics. I only suggest a marriage of convenience. A woman needing a husband. A man needing a mother for his child. Need can often trump love. Such arrangements abound in our world.” Finally Mrs. Gregory turned the knob to pull open the door. “You made such an arrangement yourself with your dear Adria, did you not? One encouraged by George Sanderson’s servant, I’ve heard.”
“But that wasn’t marriage. I merely stepped in to give a child a home.”
“The same could have happened for our young preacher. A willing woman stepping in to give a child a place with her natural father.”
Ruth pretended she didn’t know the thought behind Mrs. Gregory’s words. “I suppose that could have happened.” She stepped out the door. “Thank you so much for the tea and I’ll see you next week. Meringues, right?”
“Oh yes. Meringues. And do tell Pastor Robertson if he needs anything, anything at all, to not hesitate to call upon me.”
“Anything at all?” Ruth smiled over her shoulder at the old woman before she started down the porch steps. “Even a marriage of convenience?”
“If only I were a few years younger.”
Mrs. Gregory laughed and closed the door, but Ruth had no doubt she watched out the window to see which way Ruth turned at the end of the walkway. She considered forgetting her generosity and heading back to her house. She could find another customer for the pie. But no, she wasn’t doing anything wrong and the gossips were going to talk at any rate.
She’d made a pie for their new preacher. She’d have done the same if he was an old man with those big ears and a long nose Mrs. Gregory mentioned. His looks and age had nothing to do with her taking him a pie. She was definitely not looking for a marriage of convenience.