Carol Ritten Smith Page 6

  “It will be large, and wrapped with pink and white polka dotted paper.”

  “Pink and white dots. Got it.”

  “And tied with — ”

  “Yoo-hoo, Tom. You in here, Tom?” It was Davy.

  Abigail immediately tensed.

  “Sorry, Abby,” Tom whispered. He could see that she was displeased by the boy’s untimely appearance. “He comes nearly every day after school.”

  “You in here, Tom?” Davy called again.

  “In the back.”

  Tom made the necessary introductions. “Abigail, this is Davy Patterson, youngest brother to the new schoolteacher. Davy, this is Mrs. Craig, a very good friend of mine.”

  “Are you the Widow Craig who sews?”

  Abigail forced a tight-lipped smile. Tom knew she hated being called that. “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m a friend of Tom’s too.”

  “Yes, Tom told me.” There was an undeniable coolness to her voice.

  “Listen, Davy,” Tom said, “would you put some more coal in the forge? I’m talking with Mrs. Craig.”

  But Abigail stood. “I’d better go. You have lots to do. See you Friday night?”

  “I wish I could, but if I’m taking Saturday off, I’d better work late.”

  She seemed disappointed. “I understand.”

  • • •

  The day of the social, Beth ticked off the items on her list as she filled the box. Satisfied that everything was packed, she wrote her name on a slip of paper, making certain to sign Patterson. She needn’t have worried. Accustomed to hearing herself called Miss Patterson at school all day, she seldom even thought of signing Parkerson now. Only once, when they had first moved to Whistle Creek, had she blundered, but quickly caught her mistake before anyone noticed. She merely changed the ‘rk’ in Parkerson to ‘tt’ in Patterson.

  She set the paper carefully atop the packed food. Mindful to keep the box upright, she wrapped it and then stood back and eyed her lunch, pleased with the results. Once the box was opened, the buyer would pair up with her and they would enjoy the lunch together. She got butterflies just thinking about who he might be.

  When Davy exited the boys’ bedroom, Beth’s heart warmed at the sight of him shining like a polished penny.

  “Who are you?” she asked as she set the lunch aside.

  He looked perplexed. “Davy.”

  “No, you’re not. Davy has a rooster-tail poking straight up right here.” Beth tapped her finger gently on her brother’s head. “And let me see those fingernails. Ah ha! That proves it! The Davy I know always has dirty nails.”

  Davy giggled at his sister’s teasing.

  “There’s only one way to tell.” She poked him under his arm and in his ribs until he was laughing hysterically.

  “Why, mercy, it is you, Davy! I never would have believed it! You look so spit polished.”

  “So does Bill.”

  “Does he?” she asked, eyes bright. That was a switch. Dressing up for Bill usually meant making certain his socks matched.

  But Davy was right. When Bill came into the room, Beth eyed her brother appreciatively. It had been too long since she’d seen him in good clothes. Heavens, he was even wearing a tie!

  “You look handsome, Bill,” Davy exclaimed.

  “Shut up, twerp,” Bill warned, though obviously pleased his groomed appearance had not gone unnoticed. “You ready, Beth?”

  “Yes.” She carefully placed her wrapped lunch inside a larger box so no one would see which lunch she brought. “Let’s go.”

  “What stinks?” Davy asked.

  Bill gave Davy a shove. “It’s cologne and it don’t stink.”

  Cologne? Beth wondered where Bill found the money, wishing she had some perfume for herself. Then she had an idea.

  “You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.” She set the boxed lunch on the table and quickly opened the cupboard, withdrew the small bottle of vanilla and dabbed a few drops behind each ear. For good measure, she dabbed some more at the base of her neck. She grabbed the lunch again and caught up to the boys before they reached the school. They were arguing.

  “What’s the matter, now?”

  “I want to eat with Bill.”

  “And I said no!” Bill retorted.

  Davy kicked at a thistle. “But why not?”

  “Because I said so, that’s why.”

  “You can eat with me today, Davy,” Beth stated firmly, thwarting any further dispute. If Bill had gone to the trouble of wrestling with a tie and putting on cologne, then someone had caught his eye. Beth was pretty certain that that someone was Annaleese Hewn. Davy would just get in their way.

  Several people were already in the school, standing around in clusters, visiting. The students’ desks had been pushed to the side, some stacked precariously one upon the other and looking about as stable as a one of Davy’s card houses. At the front of the classroom, Beth’s desk had been curtained off, allowing the women to secretly deposit their lunches. Beth lifted her lunch from the large protective box and set hers among the others, relieved to find it looked very similar to the other wrapped lunches.

  Suddenly she remembered she hadn’t packed any cutlery. Racing back to the house, she grabbed the necessary utensils and stuffed them in the large pocket of her skirt. She had just returned to the school when someone called her name.

  “Miss Patterson, wait.” It was Penelope Pickard, running ahead of her family carrying something large. Perched upon her head was that ridiculous feathered hat.

  Immediately the memory of being caught in the maple tree came barging into Beth’s mind, but she shoved it aside. There was no way she would let that unfortunate moment ruin this day.

  “Would you please take this in for mother?” Penelope thrust a large lunch wrapped in a blanket like an oversized baby into Beth’s arms. “I have to go to the privy.”

  “Oh, of course. Away you go then.” She watched her dash to the facility out back. Beth smiled sadly, acknowledging the girl’s bladder problem. Before and since the school inspector’s visit, Penelope had had several accidents in the classroom.

  Down the road a hundred yards, the remaining Pickard children straggled behind their parents, Jonah riding drag. With that many mouths to feed, no wonder this lunch is so enormous, Beth thought. Before her arms were pulled from their sockets, she decided to take it inside.

  “Oh here, Miss Patterson, please allow me to take dat from ew.” It was Lars Anderstom. “Dis lunch is too heavy for a little voooman such as ew, I tink.”

  Beth smiled generously at the Norwegian. She’d met him a few times before, usually at Betner’s General Store. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She imagined that they were the color of a deep Norwegian fjord and every time he looked at her, she felt she might drown in their depths. But Lars was shy and didn’t often meet her gaze. Today he seemed to be looking at her right ear.

  Beth tucked the blanket around the lunch. “It’s not too heavy,” she lied, shifting the cumbersome lunch to her other arm. “How was your harvest?” she asked, leaning ever so slightly to the right to center herself in his view.

  “Ah, da harvest vas gewd.”

  She liked the way he spoke. His accent had a sing song quality to it.

  “And yewr teaching? Dat is going vell?”

  “Yes,” Beth answered as her arm started to go numb. “The children are wonderful.”

  Lars nodded.

  One more minute and Beth would have no feeling at all in her arm. “I’d better put this inside now,” she said reluctantly, wishing she could get one more gaze into those blue pools of his, but Lars had moved to open the door.

  “Maybe you’ll buy my lunch and we can continue our conversation?” She blushed slightly, never having been so bold with a man before. Oh, but it would be wonderful to sit across from him as they ate!

  “Yah, I vood like dat.”

  • • •

  Tom sat with his back against the old maple
in the schoolyard and watched with amusement as Miss Patterson ran back and forth between her place and the school. Sometimes she seemed more like one of her students than the teacher. But what could one expect considering she was so young.

  He peered up at the branches and studied the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy of coppery autumn leaves. He closed his eyelids, happily remembering the day he caught her trying to retrieve that fool hat. Hmm, all those ruffles under her skirt. They sort of reminded him of a huge bouquet of carnations.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” a soft feminine voice said.

  Tom opened his eyes. He scowled as Miranda Parsons settled herself beside him.

  “Brrr, it’s chilly today.” She hugged herself tightly and in doing so, squeezed her breasts together to enhance her already abundant cleavage. “I should have worn my cardigan.”

  A gentleman would have offered the lady his jacket, but Tom didn’t consider Miranda a lady so he felt no need to be a gentleman. Let her go inside if she was so cold.

  “Momma didn’t want me to come today. She says box socials are nonsense.” Miranda twirled her hair around her finger and brushed the ends against her cheek. “She’s so old fashioned. I think she was born in the wrong century. I mean, Papa died three years ago and she still wears black. Well, not me. I didn’t die. Don’t you think my crimson dress is pretty?”

  Tom said nothing, hoping she’d leave if he ignored her.

  She spread the flounces of her dress around her in a wide circle. “It would be tragic if some old pig farmer bought my lunch. He’d probably stink to high heaven and my delicious lunch would be ruined!” She pouted. “And I baked all my specialties. Why, even Widow Craig’s cooking won’t be as fine as mine this year.”

  Tom gritted his teeth.

  “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you bought my lunch? I wrapped it in a red checkered tablecloth so we could spread it under this tree and — oh my, I’ve let you know which one is mine. Shame on me!”

  Tom could see if anyone was going to leave, it would have to be him. As he stood, he said, “Actually, it is a shame you let that information slip, Miss Parsons. I wouldn’t feel right about bidding on your lunch now. Besides, I’m sure you’d rather share your food with some youngster closer to your own age.”

  • • •

  Inside, Beth set the Pickard lunch behind the curtained area and rubbed the feeling back into her arms. She whisked off the blanket just as Earl Betner, this year’s auctioneer, declared it was time to start the bidding. The adults were called in from outside, and the curtain opened.

  The men crowded forward, and the women moved to the back. Beth immediately spotted Tom among the men. He was taller and broader in the shoulders. She noted his dark hair had been freshly trimmed, all except for a small ducktail that curled over his starched white collar. He was likely the best-looking man here today.

  She gave herself a shake. What on earth was she doing, comparing him to other men? He could be the best-looking man on earth for all she cared. She reminded herself that she despised Tom Carver. He was a scoundrel, an arrogant rogue who thought nothing … ”

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” welcomed Earl, interrupting her scathing critique of the blacksmith. An expectant hush fell over the school. “It’s great to see everyone here today. I hope we have some men with empty stomachs and full billfolds.” Everyone politely laughed. “As you can see, there are many pretty lunches to bid on, so let’s not waste any time. Mrs. Pickard, I believe you volunteered to be my assistant this year?”

  With one child in her arms and another tangled in her skirt, Mrs. Pickard made her way to the front. She handed the first lunch to Earl.

  He cleared his throat and began. “Gentlemen, the social is now open for bidding. What am I bid for this delightful box?”

  Immediately an arm shot high into the air. “I bid five cents.” It was Lewie Hanks. His underarm was stained with sweat and all those near him withdrew slightly.

  Earl acknowledged Lewie’s bid. “Thank you, I have five cents. Now who will give me a dime? Ten pennies then … come gentlemen … a pretty little package like this should be worth twice that.”

  “Fifty cents!” Orville Cook called out. With such a jump in the bid, everyone assumed he was bidding on his wife’s lunch. Someone raised it to fifty-five and Orville counter bid with sixty cents.

  “Orville knows a good lunch when he sees one. Now, who’ll bid sixty-five? Sixty-three then? Going … going … gone. Sold! Orville Cook for sixty cents! Thank you, Orville. Come pick up your lunch. Just drop your money in the can there. That’s right. Remember, gentlemen, no peeking until all the lunches are sold.”

  The next lunch was a tidy package wrapped with bright green paper and gold ribbon. Beth watched Bill’s shoulders straighten when Earl held it up for bid. Lewie Hanks opened with a nickel again, and Bill countered with a dime.

  Beth glanced sideways at the women. Annaleese Hewn was nervously biting her lip and Beth could see that, hidden partially in the folds of her skirt, her fingers were crossed. She smiled. Annaleese had been the answer to Beth’s prayers. Ever since Bill and Annaleese had started seeing each other, Bill’s obsession with having a horse had been completely forgotten. Annaleese had a positive influence on Bill, and Beth was forever grateful. Today she prayed he would have enough money to buy the young lady’s lunch.

  The bidding went up slowly, and in the end, Bill bought the lunch for two bits. Both he and Annaleese seemed delighted.

  Mrs. Pickard slid a large lunch forward to the table ledge.

  “Looks like whoever made this lunch packed enough for all of us,” Earl joked. Beth recognized it as Mrs. Pickard’s. By now everyone expected Lewie to open the bidding, but to their surprise this time a different voice boldly called out, “Ten cents!”

  “Lars Anderstom opens with a dime!”

  “Fifteen,” Mr. Pickard returned and Mrs. Pickard smiled ever so slightly.

  “Tew-bits!” Lars jumped the bid.

  “Thirty,” countered Pickard.

  The two men bid back and forth until the bid reached the astronomical price of seventy-eight cents. It seemed obvious to everyone it was Mrs. Pickard’s lunch the two men were bidding on, obvious to everyone except Lars. And Beth knew why. When the bidding finally stopped, Lars had bought the lunch, all ninety-six cents worth.

  Lars toted the enormous lunch back and set it on the floor beside him. He stole a quick glance at Beth and she gave him a gracious smile. It was the least she could do. Had he glanced at Mrs. Pickard, he would have seen her bubbling with excitement at having brought the highest bid thus far, and from a handsome bachelor to boot.

  Beth hoped he was fond of children.

  From the far side of the classroom, Tom saw Earl lift Abigail’s lunch, a somewhat large box wrapped in pink paper splattered with tiny white polka dots.

  Tom’s bid of two-bits alerted all the men Abigail Craig’s lunch was up for bid and the bidding began again in earnest. Even Lewie Hanks excitedly reached down deep in his pocket and, pulling it inside out, dumped its contents into his hand: washers, coins, chaff and all.

  Always a prankster, Ernie Brown palmed some money to Lewie, just to add a little excitement to the bidding. With the added money, Lewie, who had never gone past twenty-three cents, excitedly raised the bid to thirty-five.

  “The bid is thirty-five cents. Do I hear more?”

  Lewie caught up in bidding fever, raised his own bid. “Thirty-seven!” he hollered.

  “Now just a minute. You’re getting ahead of yourself, young fellow,” Earl said.

  Tom could feel Abigail burning a hole in his back with her glare. He had no idea where Lewie’s new-found wealth came from, but he did know, no matter what, he’d better out bid him.

  “One dollar!” Tom called out and the room buzzed at the exorbitant price.

  Lewie’s hopes shriveled like a popped balloon.

  “Going once … twice … sold!”

 
; Tom dropped the money into the can on the table and picked up Abigail’s lunch. Suddenly a sick feeling washed over him. Sitting farther back on the table, almost hidden from view by other lunches, was a larger box wrapped in pink paper with white polka dots. And he knew without a doubt that one was Abigail’s. The lunch he had just purchased was not covered with polka dots at all, but with small white flowers. He stared at it thoughtfully before picking it up. Nothing he could do now but pray Lewie Hanks didn’t buy Abby’s lunch.

  Tom avoided looking in Abigail’s direction as he carried his box back with him. And he didn’t breathe easy until Mr. Pickard dropped the money in the can for Abby’s lunch.

  Finally, when all the boxes were auctioned off, Earl announced, “All right, gents, open your boxes and pair off.”

  When Tom read Beth’s name on the slip of paper, he shook his head. Is there no justice?

  An excited yelp brought everyone’s attention around. Lewie was jumping up and down, unable to control his excitement. “I got Miranda Parson’s!”

  Miranda was so enraged, she marched right past Lewie and out the door. Lewie bounded after her like a dog after a ham bone.

  All right, Tom conceded, maybe there is justice.

  Chapter 6

  Tom wove his way through the crowded classroom toward Beth. She didn’t look pleased. Too bad. Upsets like this happened all the time at box socials. It was part of the fun. She would just have to put up with him. He had to chuckle to himself. When he thought about it, the entire mix-up was rather humorous. But a glimpse at Abby told him she thought otherwise.

  “I believe I have the honor of sharing your lunch, Miss Patterson.”

  “Yes, I see,” she replied curtly, as if it pained her to even be that civil.

  Tom handed her the box and then lifted down a set of desks joined in tandem by two planks at the foot of the legs. “How’s this?”

  “We’ll need a chair for Davy.”

  “Oh good,” Tom said, blurting it out almost in relief. At least the boy could act as a buffer between them. “I didn’t know he was here.”