Maple Grove

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A Restless Heart By Matt Kirkby Word Count: 29 747 Chapter One “The thaw is coming.” Patches of blue water could be seen through the grey ice still covering most of the St Lawrence River. Trees covered the distant shoreline, barren of leaves. “It’ll be spring soon.” “Yes, I suppose that it will be.” “The birds’ll be back and the chicks.” Mable stepped over towards the side of the King’s Highway as a carriage rolled past. Its driver tipped his hat to her and she nodded back politely. The two chestnut-brown horses pulling the carriage were fine specimens of stock. Someone is off on an adventure, she thought. Carriages travelled the highway in all weather after all. She could not see anyone inside the carriage though--its curtains were drawn over the windows. Robin Jackson was still staring at the river and babbling about the much-anticipated return of warm weather. Now he turned his head to look at her. “And folks’ll be getting hitched,” he announced. Mable flinched. “Lots of people’ll be getting hitched. That’s what my da told me.” He turned and waddled towards her, his usual gait further twisted by the bulk of his winter coat and long scarf. “Lots and lots. The Reverend will hafta run his feet off to keep up.” “I doubt there will be all that many marriages this year,” Mable replied with a bit of sadness in her tone. “There are not many boys of eligible age in the village right now.” “I’m of age,” he said in a serious tone. “I could marry someone.” “Yes, I know that you could.” Mable patted his arm. “You’d make some girl a very nice husband.” Not that he ever would marry. Not with his simple nature, she thought. Two black squirrels dashed past them, and then vanished up one of the barren maple trees. Mable turned back towards the road. It’s not like the stories. There’s no knight on a shining white stallion galloping here to save me, she thought with regret. Just one old cow and a flock of chickens waiting for me in the barn. After saying good-bye to Robin, Mable turned down the driveway towards the farmhouse when she heard the creak of a wagon behind her. She turned her head. A man riding a horse-drawn cart was approaching at a steady clip. Mable slowed her pace. He’s no one that I know, she thought. Maple Grove was a small village. Everyone knew everyone and there were few strangers about. “Morning.” He nodded to her. “Good morning to you.” Mable stared at him as he rode past. He looked to be tall and handsome, with a strong chin and chestnut hair peaking out from under his bowler. Mable watched him ride towards the village.

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“Another day has come. Thank the Lord.” Marjorie was sitting by the iron-bellied stove, in her favourite chair. The knitting needles in her hand clicked together softly as she slowly worked at crocheting a new blanket. Lena Cheney glanced across the kitchen. Aside from the white hair, she looked just like a younger version of her mother with a prominent nose. Her patent leather boots clicked softly on the worn floor boards as she stepped towards the stove and pushed another log through the grate. “I suppose that you feel the need to go into town?” Mable looked up from her tea-cup and into Lena’s eyes as the other woman sat down at the pine table. “Yes, Mother. My chores are done for the day.” She paused a moment. “We do have some fresh eggs for me to take and sell at Eddington’s shop.” Lena sniffed as she spread some of last summer’s strawberry jam on a slab of bread. “I have ten pounds of butter for you take as well. Mind you don’t dawdle on the way.” “Of course I won’t.” “And find out the status of our store account. I do not wish to fall too far behind in our payments.” She took a bite of her day-old bread. “We have our pride after all.” “Yes, we have our pride,” Marjorie agreed from her chair. And that is all that we have, Mable thought. “It’s been a most bitter winter.” Marjorie sighed and set her knitting aside. “All this cold makes my joints ache. Sometimes I wonder if the spring will ever arrive.” “The ice is breaking up on the River,” Mable informed them. “I was watching it earlier this morning.” “Well past time for it.” “Mother, it’s been cold, and the year is still early.” Lena turned her attention back towards her daughter. “You went walking this morning?” “Only after my chores were done!” Mable protested. Lena sniffed. “I don’t hold with these forest walks of yours.” “There’s no danger.” “There’s danger aplenty in the woods. Wolves. Bears. Other things. You could slip on ice and fall into a ravine and not be found ‘til summer.” Mable stared glumly at the table top. “The winter reminds me too much of what it was like when my parents and I came across the ocean.” Marjorie paused. “I would tell you about it, but my throat is dry.” Mable stood up. “More tea?” she asked politely. “Yes, dear, that would be lovely.” Mable hurriedly reached for the teapot. Marjorie sipped it. “Mmm. Now that just hits the spot nicely.” Mable refilled her own cup. “Frank had courted me in England and been granted permission to wed. I was a shopkeeper’s daughter. Frank was the fourth son of a tailor. Not many prospects for him in Sheffield so what real choice did we have? We left for new shores. ‘There’s a better life to be had in the Dominion of Canada,’ or so we’d been told.” “Life is about the same anywhere I dare think.”

“Frank worked hard to save up enough coin to pay for our tickets. My parents chose to come with us. I don’t think Ma could bear to be parted from me.” She sipped at her tea. “I’m not sure I could have stood to have been parted from her for so long either.” Lena slathered butter onto a bun and took a large bite. “We sailed across the ocean on a cramped ship. A miserable voyage it was.” She shuddered. “Nine days, we were on that ship, though it felt more like weeks and weeks. Couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep. The boat rocked something fierce. We could barely keep anything down when we did eat anything. We prayed that the voyage would end quickly. Sometimes we prayed that the ship would simply sink and end our misery and suffering. “And then we sailed into the harbour of Montreal and we stepped down the ramp onto the ground. And into ankle-deep snow,” she added. “The third week of March it was and there was snow on the ground.” “Canada is known for the ferocity of its winters.” “Very true.” Lena nodded. “At the time I hated it, but over the years I grew used to it. I rather enjoy the winters though. It makes things so peaceful.” “I’ve never quite gotten used to it.” Marjorie shook her head. “I likely never will.”

Chapter Two The highway was still frozen, and the ruts in the dirt made for treacherous footing. Mable had walked the road countless times. At least once a week, more often twice or even thrice. No matter what the weather. She enjoyed the walking into town. Peaceful and quiet, it gave her time to think and time to appreciate the countryside. The winter had given the land an almost magical appearance, after the first snowfall, but now everything looked grey and bedraggled. I will be happy when the leaves are back on the trees. Mable wore her thick brown serge coat and a matching woollen scarf was wound repeatedly about her neck so that she did not notice the brisk wind which was blowing out of the north. The basket in her hands was heavy, but she hardly noticed it now that she was free of the farmhouse. The maple and pine trees of the forest quickly gave way to pasturage, and even that soon gave way to the village of Maple Grove. We do not really live that far out of town, Mable thought as she walked through the village streets. A handful of people were out, and most of them acknowledged her passing with a nod and often a murmured ‘good morning’. Everyone knew each other in Maple Grove. There were fewer than three hundred souls living in the village proper. Eddington’s Shoppe was empty of customers, but the owner was standing behind his counter and he looked up as she walked in. “Good morning, Miss Cheney.” Kenneth Eddington wore a fine white shirt with tie and vest. He had his thinning grey hair slicked back, vainly attempting to cover his growing baldness. “Good morning, Mister Eddington.” She offered him a weak smile, which faltered as he peered across the counter at her. “I have some eggs and fresh-churned butter to offer you.” “Your Lena has a cool hand.” He nodded as he gave that compliment, and then off cleared a space on his countertop for her to set the basket on. “Have you your usual list?” “Yes.” She dug out the paper and handed it to him. “Mostly the basics.” ‘We have no need for fanciful thrills,’ Lena had declared while carefully writing the list out in her neat hand. “Do the butter and eggs cover everything?” “Not quite. I’ll just add the extra to your account.” Mable suppressed a sigh. “My mother wishes to know the status of our account,” she told him. He blinked at her. “She does not wish for us to fall too far behind in what we owe.” “You may inform your dear mother that your account is well within the acceptable range. Even with this latest purchase, she should be caught up by midsummer.” “Thank you.” “I’ll have Oliver bring the delivery to your house tomorrow morning, if that is acceptable?” His tone sounded as if she had no choice. “Yes,” she replied softly, “we’ll be home when he arrives.” There was no other place for them to be after all. As she turned to leave, she took note of the newspaper. The

front page of the Kingston Whig Standard was dominated by a picture of Prime Minister Laurier dedicating a new transcontinental railroad. * * *

Mable glanced up at the sun. “I have time enough to stop in.” She turned off Edward Street and onto James. The houses were close set here, with one in particular that she hastened towards. She reached for the door latch and pushed. The inside of the lending library was filled with shelves of books and newspapers. Sunlight was pouring through the windows and cast a welcoming glow over the room. Floral wallpaper covered the walls where the shelves did not. Reading lamps waited on two small tables, with four wing chairs each standing alone. “A real library,” Mable said softly. Her boots clicked softly on the floorboards. “It’s like being in a big city.” Or so she imagined Toronto or Ottawa to be like. “It’s too small by far.” A tall Native woman stepped through the doorway, her almond-shaped eyes twinkling. “Mable, I thought I heard your voice.” Her dark hair hung well past her waist, allowed to fall loosely over her shoulders. “I brought that book back, Autumn-Rose.” The Mohawk woman just smiled and waved aside the offered book. “I told you there was no need to rush through it,” she said. “You’re supposed to enjoy the books.” “Oh I did.” Mable eyed the other woman’s dress. Autumn-Rose was very much alive and vibrant, in a way that Mable could only dream of being. There was a luminous quality to her features, a bloom upon her reddish skin. “Do you like it?” “It’s beautiful.” Mable absently patted the ruffles of her own drab brown skirt. “It’s so bright.” “Too bright?” Autumn-Rose gave a twirl, allowing the jade green material to swirl around her legs. “Too much for Maple Grove?” “You look like a--” “A lady?” “Oh yes.” “I’ve told you before, Mable, that brown does not suit you. You should wear something brighter.” “Brown is dignified.” “Brown is boring.” Autumn-Rose laughed softly and gave another twirl. “Do you have time for tea?” she asked. “My mother is expecting me back at the house.” “To sit there with them and knit and cook? Oh come, spend a few minutes with me. The pot is already on the stove.” “Well…” Mable sighed--the inner battle was lost. “Just a few minutes then.” The small kitchen was cozy. A pot-bellied stove provided heat and a small pot resting on the top gave off the sweet scent of potpourri.

Autumn-Rose had waved Mable to one of the plain chairs at the small round table. “There are libraries in Toronto that have more books in one set of shelves than all the ones that I have gathered in there.” “I’m glad that you were able to convince Mister Blackwell into allowing you to open it. I do not know how you ever managed it.” “He’s just an old softy. I arranged it with not much difficulty.” Dismissing her efforts, Autumn-Rose reached for a nearby counter. “I have another book I saved just for you. It’s a wonderfully romantic tale.” “Coralled.” Mable took the book and studied its cover. A pale-faced woman was laying in the arms of a ruggedly handsome cowboy. “I don’t know…I mean, I can’t pay you for this one yet. I should have some money later in the spring, when I can sell some preserves and jams, but right now….” “This is a library, Mable: you are supposed to borrow the books.” Autumn-Rose stood up and hurried to the round-bellied stove where the teakettle was whistling. “That is the way they operate. You can settle up accounts later.” If only it were that simple. “It’s better to do without now, rather than fall into a debt you cannot escape from.” “That sounds like something your mother would say.” “That doesn’t make it any less true.” Autumn-Rose nodded. “A few pence for books will not beggar you.” “I feel so simple sometimes. You have seen so much of the world. Far more than I ever have.” Or likely will, she thought to herself. “There is something to be said for simple village life. Why else would I be here now instead of still being off traveling the world?” Mable reached for her tea. “I don’t know.” “You should order some material for a new dress for the summer. Something in a nice apple red would be striking.” “It would be shocking! Brown is suitable for pretty much any occasion.” “And it doesn’t show the gravy?” “That is what my mother says.” “Your mother is far too protective of you at times.” “I’m all that she has.” Mable sighed. “After my father fell ill….” * * *

“Now that was a fine meal.” “Yes, it was.” Marjorie patted her stomach. “A very hearty stew and a good way to end the Sabbath.” Lena carried the plates to the wash basin. “I’ll have to bake bread tomorrow. That was the last of it.” “Tomorrow will do.” Marjorie reached for her knitting needles and the ball of yarn. “A stew is good for Sunday dinner, but nothing is better than a proper roast with the trimmings.” “Maybe we can buy one in a few weeks after Andrew has come over.” “Perhaps. That would be nice for a change.”

“We do have our store account to pay off as well. I would rather not have that hanging over our heads all summer.” “Of course not. Still, it has been so long since we had a proper roast.” “In due time, Mother.” “I am an old woman, Lena, and my days on the Lord’s green earth are numbered and few.” Lena sighed as her mother continued to ramble. “I would not begrudge one final taste of a good roast.” “Yes, Mother.” Marjorie smiled across the worn pine table at Mable. “There was this one time that we went to my sister, Ida’s, house for a roast beef supper--” “Not that story, Mother!” Lena turned away from the sink with a loud sigh. “You know how much I hate that story.” “Hush, child. We had gone to my dear sister’s--God rest her soul--for the Sunday dinner. We had been to church first of course. We never missed a Sunday service back then. The entire village would be in attendance and the sermons were spirited and fiery. Not like Reverend McWhirter now. There was no fire in his sermon this morning…I could have slept right through it.” Mable giggled. “I can’t imagine you sleeping through a service,” she said. “Oh, it’s not likely that I would.” Marjorie reached for her teacup with a trembling hand. With an effort, she steadied herself so that she would not spill any of the tea. “Getting back to the dinner, we had gone to Ida’s straight from church. There was your mother, dressed in her Sunday best. Hair nicely braided, fine shoes with polished buckles on her feet, woollen stockings.” “Oh, stop this right now!” Marjorie leaned back in her chair. “She and Irene went off to play. Your uncle, Charles, had taken Frank off to the barn to discuss the cows. I was taking tea with Ida and the evening roast was cooking. The house smelled wonderful. Simply wonderful. Ida had made bread and although we had the same recipe, hers always seemed tastier. Must have had some trick she never shared. We discussed recipes often enough, and other matters while the afternoon passed. “And then eventually our Lena came back to the door, along with Irene. “They had fallen into Millstone Creek.” Lena coughed. “Irene fell in,” she said primly, “and I was dragged in when I tried to help pull her back out.” “They were quite a sight.” Marjorie was shaking her head, her eyes hazed by distant memories. “Soaked clear through to the skin. Covered in mud as well, I might add. Your best Sunday dress was ruined! Simply ruined.” “I did penance for months.” “The added chores were good for you.” Mable hid her face in her teacup so that her mother would not see her grinning. “You both had to have a bath. Then and there. Ida made your uncle go and pump up enough water for you two.” “I had to wear one of Irene’s dresses home.” Marjorie nodded. “A grand disaster it was. Twas months and months before I could show my face there again.”

“Nonsense. Ida was back here visiting the very next week.” “She wanted that dress back, didn’t she? And she knew full well that my Yorkshire pudding was by far superior to the slop she tried to pass off as authentic. Drown hers in gravy to hide the taste…that is no way to serve it.” “Mable, go and trim the oil lamp for your grandmother. She can’t see to knit in this poor light.” “I can see fine. I’m not blind.” “Oil is not too dear. We can afford a little more light.” “There’s plenty of oil left in here,” Mable said as she replaced the lamp shade. Lena sat down in her chair with her tatting on her lap. “We should make use of the night then.” “More lace?” Marjorie peered over the top of her knitting. “I don’t have the patience for such fine work anymore. Or the steadiness of my fingers.” Seated in her own chair, Mable carefully opened her latest book. “Something new to read?” Lena asked. “Yes, just something I borrowed from the library.” “Something tasteful and ladylike, I trust.” “It was recommended to me.” “I don’t know that I approve of this library. What was Edward Blackwell thinking in allowing it to be opened?” “No doubt he believes in the importance of an education.” Marjorie looked at her daughter. “What use is there is being learned in reading when one has nothing to read?” “We have the Good Book.” “There is more to life, at times, than the Good Book. I’ve read it numerous times,” Mable protested. “What harm is there in reading about far off places?” “I trust that this library is only stocking respectable titles upon its shelves.” Lena continued. “No scandalous biographies, or pamphlets with lustful images in them.” “Of course not!” “And this girl who works there? What of her? She seems a mystery to the village.” “Autumn-Rose is a hard worker. She’s--” “Of course she is, dear.” Lena had returned to her tatting and was no longer paying her daughter overmuch attention. Marjorie had resumed knitting. “As long as you do your chores properly, I see no reason not to allow you to read the correct types of books. It’s a cheap enough pastime.” Mable turned the page, taking her usual care to obscure the cover of her guilty pleasure.

Chapter Three “Your cousin will be stopping by later this afternoon.” Mable grimaced. Maybe I can avoid being here when Andrew arrives. “And you need me to help you tidy?” “The house is clean enough. Should be seeing as I’ve spent half the day sweeping and dusting. No, I want you to go and see if you can find some early flowers to brighten the table.” “Yes, Mother.” There was a knock at the door. “Come in!” Lena called out as she hurried from the small parlour. She hastily smoothed her ankle-length skirts. Marjorie was sitting at the table, her silver hair done into a tight bun and a woollen shawl draped over her shoulders. Andrew nodded to them as he stepped through the door. He was wearing a striped sackcoat and trousers, with matching waistcoat, and his moustache was fashionably curled. “Lena. Marjorie.” He paused. “Mable.” He removed his Homburg with his right hand; there was a small valise gripped in his left. “Good afternoon, Andrew.” Lena gave him a nod. “Please be seated.” She gestured to the table, briefly wishing that the pine boards were not as time-worn as they were. “Thank you.” He wiped his boots off on the mat, then stepped into the kitchen. “Mable, please pour the tea.” “Yes, Mother.” She lifted the teapot from the table and carefully filled four cups, starting with the one meant for Andrew. “I have brought the usual paperwork for you to sign,” he announced. He set the valise onto the table and opened it. “I just need the usual signatures from you.” “I don’t know we bother with these forms.” Marjorie shook her head as he lifted the papers from inside his valise. “It’s just worthless scrubland up north.” Andrew nodded either his agreement or understanding. “I don’t see how we earn anything from owning it.” “It’s just a pittance, but every penny counts, does it not? It keeps a roof over your heads and helps pt food on your table.” Andrew reached for a still-warm bun. “I still don’t see how.” “You are paid a series of small fees charged to the people using the land. It’s all rather complicated,” he paused, “so I won’t bore you with all of the mundane details.” “I don’t understand it all, but it does provide us with a small income,” Lena agreed. “Not much.” “Mable, don’t be rude.” Andrew was smirking as he looked over at her. “Just a pittance,” he said, “but it is better than having nothing.” Mable said nothing. “It is a great pity that your father was unable to better choose investments which would have given a higher rate of return. He could have left so much more for you.” “We make do, Andrew. Another bun?”

“Yes, thank you.” * * *

Mable leaned against Molly’s flanks. The jersey lifted her head and emitted a plaintive moo which echoed through the stable. “I know, Molly.” There was nothing romantic in being on a farm, milking the cow. “I have no muscular cowboy waiting to ride to my rescue,” she mused. “There’s no ruggedly handsome man waiting to hold me pale-faced in his arms.” Such things only happened in the books she borrowed from Autumn-Rose. Mable carried the milk bucket back to the farmhouse. The morning air was still crisp, a definite touch of frost in the air. The stable had been warm, even if it smelled strongly of cow. The stove was hot, and the kettle on top of it was already boiling. Lena gave the pot of thick oatmeal a stir with a wooden spoon. “Have you fed the chickens?” “Not yet.” “Be quick about it. They await their breakfast, same as you.” Mable set the bucket of milk near the table and scooped up a small bowl of grain from the barrel standing against the wall. “How full is the barrel?” “There’s still about a quarter of feed in here.” “Enough to last then.” Lena returned to the counter and gave the rising bread dough a good thump. “By the time that it runs out, there will be plenty of foraging for them.” Mable adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. “Be quick with the chickens. I need you to fetch me more water.” “Yes, Mother.” Mable stepped back outside. All five of the chickens were happy to see her, clucking loudly as she emptied out the bowl of grain for them. “What have you laid for us today?” she asked as she carefully poked through the nests and found two eggs. “Only two eggs this morning?” Lena sounded displeased. “We only have five chickens. What, do you think that Mable is hiding eggs on you?” Marjorie chuckled. “Soon be time to leave the eggs a bit and hatch new chickens.” Mable sipped at her tea, trying to warm the early morning chill from her bones. “That’s what Robin told me the other day.” “Did you go walking with him?” Marjorie’s eyes narrowed over her knitting. “I thought that you didn’t care for his company.” “I never said that.” Lena sat down and picked up her needlework. “Mable, when you take this new batch of butter into town, I have an order for you to deliver alongside it.” “More fabric?” “If we order it now, we can have new dresses made ready for summer.” “Can we afford it?”

“I dare say yes we can.” Marjorie nodded. “We put the winter months to good use and have a surplus of lacework and other crocheting for Eddington to sell in trade.” Lena shook her head as she lifted her eyes from the needlework in her lap. “I do not hold with selling these,” she protested. “Giving as gifts to family and friends is one matter, but to enter into the business of selling…” Her voice trailed off. Mable cleared her throat. “He’s often said that you produce fine quality. ‘Your mother has a deft hand with a needle.’ That’s what he told me.” “Pshaw.” “Would you rather we remain owing on our account?” Marjorie asked pointedly. “Or would you prefer to greet the Midsummer’s Day in an old dress?” “I see no reason to waste good coin on new material when our current dresses remain perfectly wearable.” “I’d like to have a new dress and some nice shoes with little bows on them.” “Shoes?” Lena snorted at her daughter’s words. “Shoes would not last a month in the mud and dust and general muck. No, you will stick with stout boots with a good thick heel. They, at least, last.” “Selling some of our own handicrafts would not be considered amiss for women.” Marjorie was obviously considering matters. “It would provide us with some additional income to aid in the running of the household.” “Business is a man’s task.” “Yet we have no men.” Mable did not look up from her tatting. A son would have been of so much more use than a daughter, she thought. She’s never said that, nor has Marjorie, but I’m sure they must have thought it once or twice. I’m certainly as flat as a boy. She lacked her mother’s ample chest and her height. “Even if we sold just to the town--” “I say no.” Marjorie’s eyes narrowed. “As you wish, Daughter,” she replied primly. “When you go to town, Mable, we shall want you to purchase a sedate navy blue for us, and something in a tasteful brown for you.” Mable sighed. “Must I always be clad in brown?” “It is the only colour which truly suits you,” Lena replied with some reluctance in her voice. “Pastels make you look ill, in black you appear jaundiced, and in navy you are little more than death warmed over.” Mable grimaced. How can I argue with such logic? she wondered. How about something in apple red? She managed not to laugh aloud at such an outrageous thought. Red being the colour of tarts and trollops, just as brown is the colour of the dignified poor.

Chapter Four “Another order of fabric?” “Yes, Mister Eddington.” For one brief moment, Mable thought about following Autumn-Rose’s oft-repeated advice and ordering something bright and cheerful. ‘I’d like to have two yards of apple red cotton,’ she thought about saying, and then watch him keel over in shock. Not that he stocked such material, of course. “I’ll take seven yards of the navy blue linen and three yards of brown,” she told him reluctantly. “Of course.” The door swung open and a man stepped through with a blast of chilly air. “Bloody hell!” he swore. “It’s freezing out there.” He stamped his boots on the floor. “That damned street is more mud than track. I thought I was going to lose my horse in any number of those puddles. And the so-called highway is little better.” Eddington’s eyebrows had lifted past his non-existent hairline. “Your language!” he exclaimed. “Sir, there are ladies present.” “Ladies?” The man looked around the store, then gave his head a shake. “I see only a single female…and she’s barely half a one.” The storekeeper blinked again and his mouth opened, but no sounds issued forth. Mable stared at the stranger. He was tall and rugged, with a white streak running through his chestnut beard. It’s him, she thought. The wagon rider I saw. “Are you done serving her?” “No.” “Then be quick about it. I have a sizable order to place.” He turned on one booted heel and strode towards the barrels of nails and other hardware. “Sir, I really must protest.” “Protest away. But when you are done with the lass, I shall want six bags of bran and pollard, a bag of flour, a tin of baking powder, two bags of sugar, a side of bacon, a pound of butter, half a dozen eggs, and six jars of whatever jam you keep on stock.” Eddington inhaled sharply. “Will that be all?” “No, I’ll need a box of twelve gauge cartridges. I’ll take a dozen candles and two gallons of kerosene as well.” Eddington’s mouth was hanging open, but no sounds were emerging. “And after you ready all that, then we can discuss the nails, rope, and other supplies I require.” Mable blinked. He’s so forceful. “Will you be starting an account?” the shopkeeper asked in a strained voice. “No, cash on the counter.” The man smiled. “I don’t believe in accounts owing.” Eddington swallowed. “My fabric?” Mable prompted. “Unless you would rather wait and serve him first?” “What? No, you were here first and your order is small.” He reached for his shears and began to cut the bolt of fabric. Mable dragged her eyes away from the tall stranger and wisely kept her mouth silent as the obviously distracted Eddington absentmindedly cut an extra yard of fabric from each of the bolts. * * *

Laden with shopping bags, Mable hurried towards the library. “You look all out of breath,” Autumn-Rose exclaimed after Mable had burst through the door. “Why, my dear, you actually have colour in your cheeks.” Mable opened her mouth, then gasped as a sharp pain ran through her side. Her shopping bags fell to the floor. “Sit down!” “I’ll be all right in a moment.” She tried to wave aside Autumn-Rose’s help, but found herself ensconced in a damask-upholstered chair by the fire regardless with her heavy coat unbuttoned. “It’s nothing.” “You burst in here all afire with news and then were struck speechless with pain.” Autumn-Rose had vanished off into the kitchen, but reappeared a moment later with a small pottery jug and a tiny cup. “Just have a sip of this.” Mable’s nose wrinkled at the strong smell which issued forth as her friend pulled the cork from the jug. “Don’t be alarmed. This is just a little something I keep on hand. Purely for medicinal purposes.” Mable took a sip, and then choked. “That will put some colour back in your cheeks.” “Wha-what is that?” “Just whiskey.” “Just whiskey.” “Yes, so you just sit there and catch your breath a moment.” Mable did so while Autumn-Rose fussed over a flickering candle. The library was dimly lit and the air was lightly scented with roses. “Please stop fussing over me. I’m fine.” Autumn-Rose gave her an appraising look. “Are you sure?” “Yes. It was just a little pain.” “If you say so.” Autumn-Rose pursed her lips, but then plopped herself down into another chair and rested her hands in her lap. “So, what’s your story? Whatever happened to bring such colour into your cheeks?” Mable felt herself blush again. “I was over in Eddington’s store, giving him my mother’s order for fabric. While I was there, this man came in.” “A man?” Autumn-Rose splashed a bit more whiskey into the teacup. “Who?” “Somebody new. A stranger.” Mable took another sip of the whiskey and coughed. “I’ve never seen him before, but he was handsome. Tall and rugged-looking, like someone out of one your books.” “Did he come galloping along on his horse to save you from your evil mother?” “Oh, don’t say such things!” Autumn-Rose giggled, and a moment later Mable joined her in laughing. “So who was he?” “He said his name was Scott.” Mable’s cheeks coloured yet again. “I lingered outside the door so I could listen.” Autumn-Rose giggled. “He was just so handsome. Like a breath of fresh air blowing in to freshen up the stuffy store. Oh listen to me, talking like a character from one of your books.”

“There’s nothing wrong talking like that, Mable.” Autumn-Rose shook her head. “I would not worry about it. So you lingered and listened?” “Yes, he was buying a great lot of things. Nails and rope and some grain.” “Sounds like someone setting up a house.” “Do you think so?” Mable’s heart gave a little leap. “But where?” “Well, you heard him place his order. Did it sound like something a traveller would buy up?” “No, he was buying a homestead’s worth of things.” “So he must be moving into the area.” Autumn-Rose stood up and then bounced across the floor to fetch some biscuits from the cupboard. “So what land did he buy?” she asked. “What is for sale?” Mable frowned. “I’ve not heard of anything in the village.” “Nothing that your family does not already own at least.” “They don’t own everything.” “Your cousins own a good chunk of the village and the farms around it. I know that you are not your cousins, but still….” “We’re as poor as church mice.” “I still like you.” Autumn-Rose smiled and offered another biscuit. “Anyway, tell me more about this mysterious Scott of your owns.” “Oh, he swears like a trooper. Tall and solidly built. Chestnut coloured beard, with hair to match.” “Scott Barstow, you say? Was there a white stripe in his beard?” “Surely you do not know him?” “I think that I recall someone of that name and description from my time in Toronto, but it’s hard to be sure,” she added. “It was a long time ago after all.” Mable nodded. “You must have known so many people there.” “I have a new book for you that you simply must read!” Autumn-Rose hurried to one of the shelves. “It’s called A Restless Heart. This young woman is trapped in a lonely farmhouse and eventually meets a handsome stranger. She falls in love with him and tries to win his heart. He marries someone else and she loses all hope. Eventually she suffers a heart attack and dies in his arms and he realises that he really loves her too. Oh, it’s just so tragic! I cried for days and days.” Mable smiled. “I’ll read it anyway.” Autumn-Rose often told her the plots of books before she borrowed them. It never lessened her enjoyment of them in the least. “Thank you.” “I saw your cousin, Olivia in the street. Well, I was walking and she was riding in her carriage, of course. I don’t think she walks anywhere.” Mable shook her head. “Neither do I.” Her cousin was glamorous and fashionable. “She was riding with some other girl and she was going on and on about her engagement.” Autumn-Rose chuckled. “She might as well take out an advertisement in the paper.” “Olivia has always had the best of everything.” “She keeps all of her goods in the shop-windows, for everyone to admire. And you know what happens to goods in shop-windows? They fade. After she gets married, she’s going to grow fat and lazy and develop the most dreadful temper.” Mable giggled. “How can you say that?”

“Why should I not?” * * *

“There was a new man in Eddington’s shoppe today.” “A new man?” Marjorie’s knitting needles clicked softly. “A traveller?” “No, he was ordering a lot of supplies. He must have just moved in.” Lena stirred the stew one final time and then began to ladle out three bowls’ worth. “I haven’t heard of any new sharecroppers moving in,” she said as she set the bowls onto the table. “He’s no sharecropper.” He was far too forceful to be someone’s tenant. She had been thinking about him all day. Where did he come from/ Will I be able to see him again? She gave herself a little shake. Why would he give me a second glance? she asked herself. I’m no great beauty. “Maybe he bought his own farmstead.” “I wonder where he found the land.” “There’s plenty of land around for the clearing,” Marjorie said. “I’ve not heard of anything going up for sale though.” Lena poured hot water into the teapot and left it to steep. Mable was staring into space. For a fleeting moment, she imagined herself standing on the highway and Scott riding up on a horse and offering her lift into town. “In any event, we will no doubt be able to find all about this mystery man tomorrow after the service.” “Is Gregory going to be on time?” Marjorie asked from her chair. “I don’t hold with being late for church. Bad enough arriving two weeks ago soaked clean through from the rain--‘I thought the tarp was oiled’ my foot!--but then to be late on top of it all.” “He said he would be here by nine.” “Twas shameful having to walk down the aisle to our pew, with everyone staring at us,” Marjorie continued as if her daughter had not spoken. “And with the Reverend standing behind his pulpit, waiting for us to take our places. I’ll have sharp words--very sharp words mind you--if Gregory is late this week.” “Yes, Mother.”

Chapter Five Christ Church was gleaming in the strong sunlight as the wagon pulled into its place. The steeple was the tallest structure in the village, easily seen from even distant farms. The wooden boards were whitewashed and the windows freshly cleaned. “I see that Reverend McWhirter finally got the place whitewashed.” Lena’s tone sounded approving as she waited for Gregory Landry to help her mother down from the cart. She wore a narrow skirt in the current style, with a floral-patterned bonnet on her head. “Can’t have April leave without getting all of the spring cleaning done.” Marjorie leaned heavily on her stick as Gregory turned to help Lena down. “Can’t have the house of God looking untidy.” Her navy blue skirts swished as she hobbled slowly towards the church’s door. Mable had hopped out of the wagon by herself and now waited for her mother and grandmother to finish making themselves presentable. Her eyes drifted past the low picket fence which surrounded the yard of the church and its cemetary. Lena patted her dark hair back under her bonnet. Gregory and his wife had already headed inside of the small church. “Come, child.” Lena hurried after her mother, with Mable in tow. Autumn-Rose was seated in one of the rear pews. She waved. “I’ll be over there,” Mable said. “You should sit with your family.” “Lena, let her be.” Marjorie gave her a warm smile. “Go along, dear.” Mable hurried over to where Autumn-Rose sat by herself. “You look beautiful.” Autumn-Rose grinned back. “I was trying for demure.” Her dark hair was brushed back and tied with blue ribbons. She was wearing another of her dark green dress, this one ankle-length. “Did I manage it?” “You look perfectly respectable.” And stunning. Mable could scarcely believe that no one was giving Autumn-Rose any attention. She might as well be invisible to everyone, she thought. I’m the one who should be invisible, dressed in this ugly brown. Most of the village had already taken their seats. There was a soft drone of quiet conversations between people. “Cover your ears,” Autumn-Rose whispered. “This is going to be loud.” Mable giggled. Octavia O’Bannion, dressed in a fine gown with a large hat covered with feathers, had taken up her usual position on the bench in front of the organ. She flexed her fingers and then reached for the keys. Octavia had considerable enthusiasm for her playing, if not the talent to match. “There he is!” Mable bent her head close to that of Autumn-Rose so that the other could hear her whisper over the organ. The stranger, dressed in a black suit with matching waistcoat, was just now stepping through the door. He removed his bowler, and then eyed the empty pews at the back of the church. “Oh, he is a tasty one,” Autumn-Rose agreed with a soft giggle. The man made his way to a pew on the far side of the church and sat down. “You are terrible.” “Hush, you’re thinking the same thing.”

“We’re in church!” Mable was torn between scandal and admiration. I’ve never met anyone like you, she thought. I wish I could be more like you. The Mohawk girl was considerably more bold and vibrant than anyone else in the village. “You know, I do know him.” Autumn-Rose smiled slightly. The expression made her even more radiant. “That’s the same man I knew in Toronto.” Mable heard a faint note in her friend’s voice. Is that regret? “Did you love him?” “No, I never loved him.” She laughed softly. “I can honestly be certain of that much. So can you. I never loved Scott.” “Oh.” “He was exceedingly close to my husband.” “I never knew you were widowed.” Autumn-Rose laughed again. “Oh, I’m not. He’s quite alive…someplace or other.” Mable closed her open mouth with a click. “So you’re a…?” she fell silent, uncertain how to continue. “Yes, I chose to separate myself from my marriage for a time. It was all just a formality at the end. He’s quite free of me though, if he ever wants to remarry.” Mable’s eyes widened. Divorce was all but unheard of. People in Maple Grove made the best of their marriages, whether made in Heaven or Hell. “It must have been so difficult for you.” She tried to keep her voice from sounding to prim and proper. “No, it was just a marriage of convenience really. He found me ever-so-exotic and I found his money ever-so-handy.” Reverend McWhirter stepped up to his pulpit as the organ fell silent. He cleared his throat. He was clean-shaven, with heavy jowls and eyes lost beneath bushy eyebrows. He opened his Bible. “The thought of the day is renewal,” he declared. Mable contrived to be standing near the doorway when the stranger paused to shake hands with Reverend McWhirter. Her mother and grandmother had stopped to chat a moment with Gertrude Dumbleton. “Welcome to Maple Grove,” the Reverend was saying to the stranger. “Thank you.” “I am Andrew McWhirter, the reverend for this flock.” “Scott Barstow.” He offered his hand. “You are new to the flock.” “I’m new to this area.” “All are welcome here in God’s House.” “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll bear that in mind.” He gave the minister a nod, then turned and paced towards the hitching rail and his waiting horse. Mable watched him ride westward, out of town. “Mable!” At her mother’s call, she turned to where the wagons had been parked. “The Landrys are waiting for you.” Lena managed to keep the exasperation from her voice as she stood near the wagon. “Come on, girl.” * * *

The farmhouse was quiet and Mable hastily shed her dress, flannel petticoat, woollen stockings, and bloomers. The room had chill to it and after pulling on her prickly flannel nightgown, she gratefully dove into her bed and pulled the blankets to her chin. She could hear her mother moving around in the next room. “Are those enough blankets for you?” “Yes, dear,” Marjorie replied in a low tone. “Stop fussing over me.” “I don’t want you to catch cold.” “I won’t, not under all these blankets.” Marjorie sighed. “Something’s amiss with you, girl. Spit it out.” “You know what tomorrow is.” “Monday.” “Mother!” “I keep hoping that one year you will forget about the date.” “Would you ever forget that day?” “No,” Marjorie admitted sadly. “Some days, losing him feels so strong that it’s like it just happened yesterday.” “There are times that I miss Duncan.” “I miss my Frank, but I would never replace him.” Marjorie paused. “Although there are cold winter nights that I would not object to having another warm body in here with me.” “Mother!” “I know, but it’s truth nonetheless.” “I wish Mable would find herself a man.” Lena sighed. “Anyone. She’s almost twenty. And I fear that she is doomed to spinsterhood.” “She is not doomed.” “She is not being courted by anyone.” “But what can we do, Lena? It is not our fault that she was not favoured with great beauty. There is no money for her dowry. All that she can offer a prospective husband is this small farm.” “Hush. When the time is right, God will provide her with a suitable husband.” “I fear that her time is running out.” “If Duncan was still alive, things would be so different.” “I know.” Marjorie sighed. “At least she is not suffering more of those chest pains.” “That she has told us about.” “You think she has had other ones?” “Yes, but she won’t wish to bother us. Stubborn girl.” “I wonder where she gets that from.” Marjorie’s tone was exceedingly dry. “I am going to mention this to Doctor Beland the next time that I am in town.” “That might be for the best, dear.” Mable closed her eyes. I don’t want to worry them, she thought. I can’t afford to be a bed-ridden invalid. The burden would be too great to bear! Maybe the doctor would not find anything wrong with her. Maybe he won’t be able to see me. Perhaps it was better not to know if anything was truly wrong with her.

Chapter Six A blue jay screamed out invective from one of the pines, and then flapped into the air. Mable smiled to herself. She could see the river from the hard packed dirt of the King’s Highway. She spotted a narrow path, branching off southward from the road. “It must be down here,” she murmured. “I’ve not seen this opening before.” It was aimed towards the river. “At least he will have himself a nice view.” She walked along the path, brushing past clumps of junipers. She found herself thinking about the new stranger in the village. Scott Barstow. Who is he? Where had he come from? Why would he want to settle in Maple Grove? What could that little village offer him? What kind of house does he have? She could not help but wonder. Some rude little cottage of rough logs chinked with moss? Something nicer? She clutched at her chest as a sharp pain suddenly stabbed through her. “Oh!” She staggered and leaned against a bare tree branch. Taking a deep breath, she leaned there until the pain had faded. For a few minutes, she thought about returning home, but the village was closer now. “This would have been a perfect moment for Scott to come riding and catch me up in his arms,” she muttered to herself. “A scene straight out of one of those penny-dreadfuls.” She sighed then. Men want beautiful women, she thought, and I am far from being beautiful. Or so she had believed. The farmhouse held a single mirror and it was forbidden for her to simply stand and stare at her reflection. Her few glimpses, were coloured by the guilt that she was lingering too long. * * *

“Did you enjoy the book?” “Oh, yes.” She handed A Restless Heart back to her friend. “It was so sad when she died at the end.” “But at least it was in his arms.” Autumn-Rose sighed loudly. She set the book onto a nearby table and then slumped back in the wingback chair. “That’s the way to leave the world,” she declared. “It’s the way that I’d wish to leave the world at least, cradled in the arms of some big, strong, handsome man.” It’s the way I almost went today, Mable thought. Only I had no big, strong, handsome man to catch me. “Do you have anyone in mind?” “Oh, not around Maple Grove. But at least I have my book illustrations and my overly active imagination.” “Just like me.” Mable sighed. “Maybe you’ll find your man.” “Oh, I’ve already had a man. Books are better.” Mable managed to look shocked, but after a moment the look faded. “All I have are my dreams.” “Those are nice too.” “You have so many books here. They tell me so much about the world. All the big cities I’ll never get to see.” “Oh, you’ll travel the country someday I’m certain.”

Mable shook her head. We’ve no money for travelling, she thought sadly. Scarcely enough money to keep body and soul together, as Mother often says. “I feel like I’m tied to the farm. I dream about seeing a big city, but I’ll be lucky to make it as far as Kingston, let alone Toronto.” “I lived in Toronto for years and years.” Autumn-Rose leaned back in her chair and sipped at her tea. “It’s so big and vibrant compared to Maple Grove. There’s oftentimes more people walking about on just one street than in all of Maple Grove.” Mable shook her head at the thought. “It’s not just one big city though. It’s a collection of several towns and villages growing together.” “Is it really as muddy as the stories say?” “One day in April I was walking along Bank Street and I spotted a very nice looking hat in the mud. I thought it would make a nice gift for a gentleman friend of mine, so I stepped out into the street to retrieve it. And when I lifted it up, I found a man’s head underneath it!” Mable gasped. “‘Good afternoon,’ he said to me. “‘Good afternoon,’ I replied. ‘Do you require any assistance?’ “‘No,’ he said, ‘but the horse I’m riding certainly does.’” Mable had to set her teacup down until she was finished laughing. “You made that up!” she accused after she had caught her breath. “Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t. There were puddles during the spring thaws that seemed deep enough to swallow up a man.” “You never saw such a sight. Even in Muddy York.” Autumn-Rose refilled their teacups. “Are you going to visit the mysterious stranger at his house?” “How can you suggest such a thing!” “Because one of us has too. Living away from town like he does. The poor man must be lonely.” Mable felt her face colouring. “Then why don’t you go and visit him? You used to know him.” “I don’t think he’d appreciate seeing the likes of me again,” she replied stiffly. “But you, I dare say, would be more his type.” Mable sighed. “I should get going back home.” “So soon?” “I have to stop by Eddington’s store to pick up some things.” Mable reached for her bonnet. “Mother will be expecting me to come back soon.” Mable stood watching while Kenneth Eddington measured tea from a barrel into a smaller bag. “One pound, you said?” “Yes.” She paused, then cleared her throat. “Your thumb is resting on the edge of the scale.” He looked at her, his eyes going wide. “Is it?” he asked in a low and cold tone of voice.

She blushed and hastily looked down at the floor. “My apologies, I must be mistaken.” He snorted and finished filling the bag. “Will there be anything else, Miss Cheney?” “No,” she replied meekly and handed him the coins. “Then good day to you.” She turned and hurried out of the store.

Chapter Seven “I’ve milked Molly and fed the chickens. My chores are done for the day.” “And now you want to disappear?” Lena sniffed. “I don’t like you taking off on these long walks,” she announced in a disapproving tone. “The woods are not safe.” “Mable can take care of herself.” Marjorie reached for her teacup. “She knows how to stay away from bears. If any have emerged from their winter sleeping yet.” “It is not the thought of encountering bears which fills me with dread,” Lena told her mother in a low tone. “Nor wolves.” “Mable has nothing to fear. Give the girl a little peace.” “It’s a warm day. I won’t be gone for long.” Mable settled her shawl about her shoulders and set off before her mother could argue further. “He always rides in from the west,” she told herself. * * *

“One of the best views of the River was from Chickadee Clearing.” At least, that was the name her father had given it when he showed it to her for the first time. ‘Listen to them singing,’ he had said as the chickadees called out from their nests in the pine branches. Mable pushed her way through the branches of a pine trees. The clearing was just as she remembered it from last year. Well, not quite, she thought. A mound of limestone blocks were piled on the western edge of the clearing, and a rough log cabin was built on the eastern side. Those are new. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee “What are you doing out here?” “Oh!” Mable jumped and nearly fell. Scott Barstow was leaning against an oak tree and staring at her. “I was just, that is, I was….” Mable coughed into her hand. “I was simply out for little a walk,” she declared. “As I often do.” “A walk?” “Yes, a walk.” He gestured. “The highway is back that way.” He was wearing a plain cotton shirt and trousers, with neither hat nor coat. There was no trace of grey in his chestnut hair. “I enjoy the peace of the forest and seeing the river.” She waved towards it. “I like to watch the ships sailing it.” “I’ve seen no ships.” “It’s not shipping season yet.” It would be starting soon though. “The River sees much travel. And you have chosen a fine spot from which to view it once the ice breaks enough.” “Have I now?” “Oh yes, you have. My father used to bring me here, when I was just a girl. ‘Chickadee Clearing’, he called it. For obvious reasons.” The call of chick-a-dee-dee-dee filled the silence. “I didn’t know this clearing was taken.”

“It was just our place.” Mable shrugged. “I like to come here every year.” She paused. “Wherever are my manners? I am Mable Cheney. My mother and I live just down the road, back towards the village.” “Scott Barstow.” “I know.” Scott frowned. “Oh, I heard your name mentioned after church.” She coughed into her hand. “You know how small villages are when strangers come to settle.” “Everyone wants to know every last thing.” Scott grimaced. “No privacy at all.” “Not at first,” Mable agreed. A few moments passed. “No doubt you must be thirsty after your long walk,” Scott finally said. “Can I offer you something to drink then, before you set off homeward?” Mable shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” “I’m sorry I startled you.” “It’s my fault for venturing down here. I never thought to find a home built here.” “It’s just a small one yet. I bought the land fairly,” he added. “I’m sure you will be happy here.” “I need a drink.” Scott gestured to the rough house. “I’ve been cutting firewood since before sunup.” The stitch in her side was back. She could feel twinges of it as it stirred. Not now, she pleaded silently. Don’t let me faint! She eyed Scott’s broad chest and muscular arms. Or perhaps I should… “Perhaps a glass of water would not be out-of-place,” she admitted, not wanting to end their meeting. “This way then.” Scott gestured. The interior of the cabin was just one room. A rough bed took up a portion of the eastern wall. A fireplace dominated the west wall. There were numerous boxes piled on the floor, against the back wall. “Is this your home?” “Yes, for now.” Mable looked around again. The logs were rough and she could light through the chinks in the wood. “This is just temporary,” Scott explained. “It will be awfully cold come winter. You will need to fill in all those gaps between the logs else you will freeze.” “Oh, I don’t plan to live in here come winter,” he told her. “I’ll have my other house built by then.” “Your other house?” she asked. “Yes.” He was looking at the mound of limestone blocks. * * *

The farmhouse smelled of freshly baked bread as Mable pushed open the door and stepped inside. She took off her shawl. “The chickens are still out scratching at the grass.”

“About time that you came back.” Lena turned from the sink of dishes with a look of concern, which quickly faded into one of annoyance. “You missed that nice Jackson boy.” Mable tried not to look too relieved. “Did I?” “He brought us the mail.” Marjorie was seated in her usual chair, knitting. “No bills at least.” “I’m sorry I missed him.” “He’s a tad slow, but he’s eager to help out.” Lena nodded at the table. “Doc Beland came back from Kingston yesterday. You have an appointment with him tomorrow. At three o’clock sharp.” Mable stiffened in her chair. “I told him about those little attacks of yours, Mable. He is eager to see you.” “But I feel fine.” “You are going anyway.” Lena’s tone brooked no possibility of disobedience. “I should go there with you.” “You have a meeting with the Reverend’s wife about the next quilting circle.” Marjorie’s knitting needles clicked together. “That starts at two o’clock sharp, if I recall rightly, and Eleanor tends to allow her meetings to run overlong. If that woman could knit as fast as her tongue flaps, she’d have no need of a circle.” Lena muttered something. “You two can go into town together and come back afterwards. I will just stay out here alone and forgotten.” “Spare me the falsehoods,” Lena told her mother. “You know that you are quite welcome to come along to the circle. Mable can run over to the Landrys’ and ask to borrow Gregory’s mule and cart for tomorrow. I can drive it well enough.” Marjorie shook her head. “Riding in that contraption once a week is enough for me. More than enough if I need say it. I will stay here and enjoy some solitude.” “Suit yourself, Mother.”

Chapter Eight “We should just stop into Eddington’s.” Mable winced as a sharp pain took her breath away. “Is there something we need to order?” She hoped that her mother had not noticed. “I just wish to check on our account.” Lena hurried down the street with a determined stride, trying to ignore the fact that her daughter had slowed her own pace. “We have just enough time for this.” She reached for the doorknob of the store with a gloved hand. “…might have drowned his wife,” Eddington was saying from behind his counter to a white-bearded gentleman. “Or at least that is the rumour I overheard.” “You must be doing well, Kenneth, if you have the time to stand idle and spread rumours.” Kenneth Eddington stood more straight. “I think it’s important for the village to know if there’s a murderer moving into the area.” Murderer? Mable thought in alarm. Who’s he talking about? Lena sniffed. “To whom do you refer?” “That new farmer. Barstow.” Mable felt her heart lurch. Scott? A murderer? Lena sniffed. “Dumbleton was through earlier this week, up from Toronto with some purchases for me. Happened to be here when that Barstow stopped in to purchase more victuals. Seems that Dumbleton recognized him from when he got his face in the papers. Wife was found floating face-down in the lake and the police thought he might have helped her into that state of affairs.” “I don’t believe it!” Mable exclaimed. “You should not spread such slander,” Lena told him reprovingly. “You have no proof other than Dumbleton’s hazy recall of a face from a newspaper?” She shook her head. “He is far from a reliable witness at the best of times.” “Now, Lena….” “Good afternoon, Mister Maguire.” The white-bearded man nodded to her and tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, Lena. You’re looking well.” He leaned his weight a bit more heavily on his stick. “Thank you. How is your wife?” “She’s up and about. Touch of arthritis in the cold. She’s minding the grandchildren today.” “You both must come to tea some afternoon. It’s been a long winter.” “That is has. Too long. Too cold.” Eddington cleared his throat loudly. “What brings you into town today, Lena?” he asked stiffly. “I wished to find out of the status of my account here.” She adjusted her bonnet. “And then I must be off to the quilting circle.” “I have the account here.” He showed her the ledger book. “Everything has been duly recorded,” he told her.

Lena studied the column of figures. “It matches what I was expecting,” she told him. “Thank you. We shall have it paid off by midsummer’s day.” She turned. “Come along, Mable. Let us leave these gentlemen to their gossip.” * * *

Mable sat in the doctor’s office quietly. The oil lamp hanging from the ceiling gave a bright glow to the otherwise cold room. Aside from the examination table, the room had a small oak desk and two spindly chairs. Doctor James Beland stepped through the door with a smile, followed by his pinched-faced wife, who acted as his nurse. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Cheney.” His white hair was combed back and his beard was trimmed into a sharp point. “Good afternoon, Doctor.” “From what I gather, your mother believes you are having some small difficulty with your breathing? A little pain in your chest?” “It’s nothing important.” “Don’t tell fibs to your doctor, girl.” He shook his head. “I’ve been looking after you since you were birthed. I know all your ailments.” “It’s just a pain, now and then. It passes.” “Just a pain and yet you call it nothing?” He shook his head. “Pain is never nothing, my dear girl.” He blew on his fingers. “Tell me if this hurts any.” Doctor Beland listened to her heart and lungs with his funnel-shaped stethoscope. “Your heart sounds healthy enough,” he said, “but I think you should go to see a specialist. I know a good man in Toronto.” Mable gasped. “All that way? I’ve never been to Toronto before.” “Then this will be a real treat for you,” he told her. * * *

“So have you been to see Mister Barstow?” Mable shook her head. “Autumn-Rose, I hardly know the man to nod to him on the street. Why ever would I be visiting his home?” “Because you like walking in that particular clearing?” “Well, that is true.” Mable giggled. “There are other clearings I can go walking in of course. I do not need to spend time in that particular clearing. The talk in town is that he is a murderer,” she added in a low tone of voice. “That’s just idle talk. Someone wants to stir up things against the handsome stranger who stole away their clearing.” Autumn-Rose laughed softly and poured more tea into their cups. The small kitchen was built at the back of the library. “Not that anyone hereabouts even cared about Chickadee Clearing before he bought it. Other than you of course.” “He is very handsome,” Mable mused. “Are you certain that you do not love him?” “I told you that I do not. I did not then and I do not now.” Autumn-Rose picked up a small fan and wafted air past her face. “I did not love my husband either…it was a marriage of convenience really. He enjoyed the novelty of my looks and I found his pots and pots of money to be most convenient.” “So there was no love?”

“My problem, dear--and it has cost me a great deal of pain and suffering--is that I have never loved anyone half as much as myself. I made my husband miserable during the marriage and by our last night together, he hated me and all women.” She sighed somewhat theatrically. “I really should have been drowned at birth.” “Oh don’t say that!” “Anyway, I’m here now. Poor as a church mouse and relying on the generousity of distant relatives to run a small library.” She gestured to the pot-bellied stove. “Tea?” “Thank you.” Mable settled herself on the chair, trying to avoid one particularly stiff spring. “It must have been ever so difficult for you.” “Lord knows just how difficult,” Autumn-Rose agreed. “Don’t weep for me, Mable, as I am not worth it. I have washed ashore for the last time here in Maple Grove to do penance for my sins.” “And what about your husband?” “Oh, I’m sure he landed on his feet and found the chance to do everything that he ever really wanted too.” She paused and sipped at her tea, then she rose to her feet and paced towards the stove. “But, what of your visit to the doctor’s? That was scheduled for today, was it not?” “Oh yes. Doc Beland wants to send me to a specialist.” Autumn-Rose nodded. “Makes sense.” “He’s in Toronto. Somewhere on Bloor.” “Oh, Mable, how wonderful!” Autumn-Rose whirled around. “That’s truly a stroke of luck. You’ll finally be able to see the big city for yourself.” “But I’ve never left Maple Grove before. I can’t go to Toronto by myself.” “No, you should have a guide. A chaperone.” “I’ll probably have to go with my mother. Or maybe even with cousin Andrew.” She shuddered. “I don’t like him. He’s just so…so stuck-up!” Her friend laughed. “I can believe it. Why, when he passes me in the street, he ignores me. It’s almost as if I’m invisible.” She laughed lightly. “More tea?” “No, thank you.” “You know, now that I think about it…I have some business with a solicitor down in Toronto. It’s not all that far from your specialist. A few blocks at most. I could very easily schedule my meeting for the same day as your trip appointment. Then we could go down there together.” “We could? You would do that?” Mable reached over and impulsively hugged her friend. “That would be so wonderful.” Autumn-Rose’s eyes twinkled and she was smiling broadly. “I’ll make all the arrangements for us. Don’t you worry yourself. Just let me take care of everything.” * * *

“Welcome home.” Marjorie nodded to them. “As you can both plainly see, I am still alive and breathing despite being left untended for the day.” Her grey hair was tied into a tight bun. “It was only for a few hours,” Mable told her. “She probably slept through most of it.” Lena poked at the embers in the stove. “Mable, how about fetching some water for tea?”

“All right.” She picked up the bucket and wandered out to the well. A few halfpumps to prime it and then she put her back into full strokes so that water welled through the pump and into the wooden bucket. She picked up the bucket and carried it back to the farmhouse, slowing before she reached the door. “I don’t give a fig about the quilting circle. What did the doctor have to say about our Mable?” Marjorie asked. “He claims that he could find nothing wrong with her. ‘She’s as skinny as a wormy cow, but she certainly seems healthy enough aside from these attacks.’ He prescribed no medicine, just plenty of nourishing food and sufficient rest.” “Is that all?” “He is sending her to Toronto to see a specialist of some sort.” “Toronto!” “I know. I can’t imagine why she should have to go there. It’s so far away.” “You will have to accompany here. She cannot possibly go to that den of vice by herself.” Mable pushed open the door. “I hope this will be enough water,” she announced as she stepped inside. “More than enough for the rest of the day.” Lena nodded. Marjorie was sitting in her favourite rocking chair. “So,” she said as she reached for knitting needles, “what did Doctor Beland have to say?” “I have to go to Toronto to see a specialist.” “In Toronto?” Marjorie was still aghast at the idea. “But that’s so far away.” “It’s only a few hours by train.” “Why couldn’t you go to Kingston? It seemed a nice enough place when I was last there.” “You haven’t been there in ten years, Mother.” “I doubt that it’s changed much.” Lena pursed her lips. “You cannot possibly go to Toronto without a proper chaperone. I will go to town tomorrow and speak with Andrew. No doubt he will have some sort of business there shortly and he can accompany you.” Mable managed to keep the distaste she felt at the thought from appearing on her face. “My friend, Autumn-Rose, has business there with her solicitor next week. She said that she would schedule her appointment so that she can go on the same day as me.” Marjorie was frowning and shaking her head. “Two young ladies venturing into that city.” She shuddered. “The stories I’ve heard about it. The sins and vice which will corrupt you.” “Autumn-Rose lived there for years and years without incident or corruption. She’s told me all about it many times.” “I really should go with you, but who would stay to look after Mother.” Marjorie snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. “I’m not dead yet, girl. I can look after myself for a day or two.” Lena shook her head, clearly not listening. “Maybe your cousin Andrew could take the day off and go down with you. He often has business down in Toronto.” Mable grimaced. “Autumn-Rose is already going. Why should we bother Andrew over this?”

“Maybe this friend of yours, this Autumn-Rose, could come to the house for tea,” Marjorie suggested. “We could talk to her directly and find out more about what she thinks of Toronto.” “Oh yes, we could.” Lena shook her head one final time.

Chapter Nine The house was freshly dusted and scrubbed from top to bottom. “It’s just a friend of mine,” Mable said for the tenth time that morning. “You don’t have to go to all this bother.” “Nonsense,” Lena replied as she looked around the kitchen one more time. “This house needed a good scrubbing to bring it back into shape after a winter of slackness. Not fit for the cow to sleep in here.” She eyed the floorboards with a critical gaze. “Is that mud on your boots?” “Of course not.” The floor looked clean enough to eat from. Mable looked around again. There were a few spring flowers in a vase on the table, and the curtains were tied back so that the sun could shine through. Lena poked at the kettle on the stove. “I hope the tea brews right.” “It’s tea,” Marjorie said from her chair. “How can it not brew right?” Her knitting needles clicked softly. A light shawl was draped around her shoulders. “Do we have any clean plates?” “The dishes have all been washed and put away, Mother.” Mable had done the job first thing. “The cookies look perfect.” “I hope they’re sweet enough. We were low on honey.” Lena opened the cupboard door and looked at their stock of china. “Help me find the least chipped plates,” she said. Mable started at the knock. She hurried to open it. “Come in.” Autumn-Rose stepped through the door and looked around the kitchen. “Good afternoon to you all.” She was wearing a rather subdued--for her--blue dress, though it was still far brighter than anything Lena or Marjorie had ever owned or worn. Her dark hair was tied back in a neat braid which fell down her back. “This is Autumn-Rose,” Mable said making the introductions. “My mother, Lena, and my grandmother, Marjorie Douglas.” “Mrs Cheney. Mrs Douglas. Mable has spoken about you quite often during her visits to my library.” “Has she?” “Oh yes.” Autumn-Rose followed Mable into the parlour. There were four wingback chairs and three small tables. “And your house is very nice. So clean, much more so than I would have expected. Too many of the farmhouses are just let go with people worrying over their crops. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble just for me.” “No trouble at all,” Lena replied with a completely straight face. She gave the parlour another glance. From the floral-patterned wallpaper on the walls to the lace hanging around the windows, the room looked suitably elegant. “The tea should be steeped shortly. Can I offer you a biscuit?” “Oh, thank you.” “Sit yourself down,” Marjorie gestured to a chair across from where she was sitting. “We get so few visitors out here.” “I can’t imagine why. It’s not that far of a ride.” Autumn-Rose gave Mable a warm smile and then winked. “What are you knitting just now?” “Just a few wash cloths right now.”

“I’ve seen that lovely scarf that Mable wears in the winter. And the mittens to match. Were they your work?” “Yes.” “Far better work than much of what I saw in the stores back in Toronto. If you had seen the prices some boutiques charged for such shoddy quality, it would make you cry.” “Would it really?” “Oh yes. Shocking I tell you.” “Please, help yourself to some cookies.” Lena set the plate onto the table. Autumn-Rose took one. “Your handiwork, Mrs Cheney?” “You may call me Lena.” “All right.” “And ‘Marjorie’ will do for me. Being called ‘Mrs Douglas’ makes me feel like an old woman.” She laughed at that. “I’m just so glad that Mable has found someone of her own age to talk with. She spends far too much time alone.” “There’s nothing wrong with being alone at times. Oftentimes I enjoy walking the outskirts of Maple Grove in the early morning or evenings. It’s such a change to the pace of life in the city.” Lena shook her head. “The city,” she said, not quite masking the worry in her voice. “Oh, it’s big and vibrant and crowded, but it’s hardly the den of vice that you’re thinking it is.” “I should hope not!” “And these biscuits are delicious.” Autumn-Rose reached for a second. “So good for one’s digestion as well.” “There’re nothing fancy--” Lena began. “That is why they’re so delightful. When you take tea anywhere, one is always pressed to accept refreshments. And all too often the cooking is either poor, or else over done. Why, the last time that I was invited to tea, why I nearly drowned in the rich creams and jams poured over things.” Marjorie dunked her biscuit into her teacup. “It does get difficult, I would imagine.” * * *

“You charmed them.” Mable smiled at her friend as she walked Autumn-Rose back towards her mule-cart. “You charmed them both and they never quibbled about my coming with you. Not one little bit.” “Your mother is a most reasonable woman. At times at least.” Autumn-Rose held out a ticket which she had pulled from inside her purse. “This is for you.” “You already bought my ticket?” Mable reached for it with some reluctance. “I’ll pay you back,” she promised with all of the pride that someone poor could muster. “Oh, I’m not concerned about that.” Autumn-Rose waved her hand dismissively. “It’s a gift to you.” “No, I insist on paying. Mother has promised to give me some money for the trip.” “And a lecture about spending any of it no doubt. Save it. Maybe you’ll see something in Toronto that you simply must have.” “She’d kill me if I wasted her coins on some foolishness.” “Then don’t tell her.”

“Autumn-Rose!” “I’m not asking you to lie to her. She sent you with money for your ticket, yet your ticket is already taken care of. Instead, you can spend it on something else. What’s the harm in this?” “I suppose that there’s none.” “Precisely.” The Mohawk girl smiled widely. “I’ll see you at the train.” She gave Mable a hug. “Don’t be late.”

Chapter Ten The train rattled along the tracks. “It’s louder than I expected.” “It’s faster than a wagon.” “Faster than a galloping horse.” Mable watched the trees flicking past the window as the train moved along. The second class section was fairly comfortable. Now and then, the forest opened into cleared fields belonging to small farms. “Exciting, isn’t it?” “Very.” Mable turned back to the window. “I never dreamt it was like this.” She thought back to being on the platform when the train first rolled into sight. A huge black monster of an engine clunking past, with torrents of grimy smoke and fierce gushes of white steam. “Did you see your cousin?” “No.” Mable shook her head. “Is she on the train?” “In the first-class carriage, of course. Olivia walked past me on the platform without a single word of greeting. Just like I told you earlier. Keeps all her goods on display for the sun to fade.” Mable giggled. “You say the most outrageous things,” she exclaimed. “Well someone has to say them.” * * *

“There are so many people.” “And this is only one street.” Mable shook her head. Since stepping off the train at the station and walking through the building, she was left amazed. “How do you ever find your way around here?” Some of those buildings have to be five or more stories! Certainly nothing in Maple Grove was that tall. Not even the church’s steeple. “Practice.” Autumn-Rose smiled in amusement at the way her friend was craning her neck and staring wide-eyed at everyone and thing. “You get used to it. Sometimes.” Mable looked around again. There were men and women dressed in what had to be the latest fashions. The women with their full blouses and narrow waists; the men in their sack coats and trousers. Mable glanced down at her own plain brown dress and sighed. My Sunday best, she thought, and it looks so drab compared to what they are wearing. She glanced at her friend. Even Autumn-Rose seems almost subdued. Autumn-Rose was wearing her jade-green dress along with a wide-brimmed hat topped with several feathers. She still maintained her usual glow, but even it seemed subdued in contrast with the city. Mable stopped while two well-dressed men with trimmed beards and curled moustaches walked past. Both of them wore morning coats, high-buttoned waistcoats, creased fly-front trousers, and top hats. “I never really did get used to it. Neither did my husband. We ended up here, not quite by choice, and eventually we drifted apart.” Autumn-Rose stared at the buildings as she slowly walked along the sidewalk. “We never should have gotten married. We were both simply swept up in things.”

“You make it sound like the plot from one of your books.” “In some cases it was. Love is like that, taking you by surprise and washing you off to unknown shores. It’s not always a pleasant journey, nor does it always have a happy ending.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. You had no control over it. Sometimes I don’t think that I did either.” “But I brought you here. Back to all these memories.” “I have business here, remember?” She waved her hand. “If I recall correctly, there was a delightful little cafe a block or so west. We should be able to take tea there, and then get you to your doctor.” * * *

The doctor’s office was on the third floor of an office building. Mable stared through the window at Bloor Street below. It’s like being up in the church steeple, she thought. “Doctor Williamson will be with you shortly.” “Thank you.” The round-faced nurse vanished into another room. Mable turned back towards the street. Autumn-Rose had left her at the front door, hastening away to meet with her solicitor, while Mable met with her doctor. “Come in here, please.” Mable left the waiting room and followed the nurse into a room endowed with moveable screens of terrifying whiteness. “Please remove your clothing.” “Everything?” “Yes, every stitch. Then wrap that towel around yourself and lie down on the examining table.” “All right.” Reluctantly, Mable did as she had been ordered. A few minutes passed before the door opened and the doctor entered, followed by his nurse. “Good morning.” He was wearing a white shirt and black trousers, with a dark blue waistcoat. “Good morning.” Mable gave the reply, while thinking that this was a most unusual way of meeting anyone. What does Williamson look like when his nostrils are not his most prominent feature? She managed not to burst out laughing at the thought. Gerald Williamson looked closely at her, his nurse standing behind him in silent attendance. “Take a deep breath,” he commanded. Mable did so. Williamson listened to her heart and lungs through a stethoscope--one far sleeker than that used by Doctor Beland--and then took her pulse. “Hmm.” Mable gagged as he inserted a spatula down her throat. His fingers began to work around her flinching belly. “Are you learning anything?” Mable asked in a weak voice. “Yes,” he replied. His curled moustache quivered.

Is he done yet? Mable wondered after the internal examination was finally over. He had been thorough enough to make her feel that she had undergone some operation without the benefit of chloroform. “One more thing, I dare say, and we should be done.” He poked at her back with his fingers. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “Josephine!” Without any further warning, Mable found herself grabbed by both doctor and nurse combined. In unison, they grabbed her by her head and heels and hips and she heard a terrible grinding crunch, all the more terrifying because she heard it more from inside her head than through her ears. “Oh!” Mable exclaimed. Gerald Williamson stepped away from the examination table and rubbed his hands together. “That should help matters.” There was a strong note of satisfaction in his voice. “Wha-whatever did you do?” Mable asked after a moment. “Just a pinched nerve. That little manoeuvre of our s should have helped to move the bones and eliminate the pinch. All those vigorous walks of yours simply aggravated it.” “But I couldn’t breath. The pain--” “Simply a case of panic, Miss Cheney. When the nerve pinches, the pain was severe and your body simply overreacted. But there’s no need to worry. Josephine and I have manipulated your spine and that should fix the problem. Just slow down when you are walking any long distances and you should have no further attacks.” “Just a pinched nerve. Nothing fatal?” “Not at all.” “Oh.” “You sound disappointed.” He frowned at her. How can I die romantically in Scott’s arms of a pinched nerve? Mable wondered despairingly. It’s not romantic, nor likely. “Were you hoping to die?” Gerald Williamson asked bluntly. “You’re far too young for that kind of thinking. You need to find yourself a husband and have some babies first. A certain cure for anything that might ail you.” Mable blushed at his directness. “If I could find someone to start me, I certainly would,” she replied tartly. He blinked at her and coughed into his hand. “You may get yourself dressed. I’ll be right back.” He nodded to her and opened the door and hurried out of the office. Autumn-Rose bustled in while Mable was still struggling back into her brown dress. “How are you, dear?” “I’m not dying.” “Well, that’s always a good thing.” “My attacks are just the results of a pinched nerve. He twisted me and now it’s all better. Back to Maple Grove and the farm and boredom.” “Surely boredom is better than dying.” “Not by much.” Mable sighed. “You should have some form or other to take back with you. The doc’s learned opinion and all that.” Autumn-Rose picked up a letter from the desk. “What about this one?”

“You can’t just go through his papers like that!” “‘Dear James,’” she read aloud. “How very formal of him.” “I’m not listening.” “‘The patient you have referred to me is suffering from heart troubles of the kind you suspected. At best I can only give her a year before she must pass from this world.’ You should take this one with you. Fatal heart trouble is always good for getting you out of scrapes.” “I can’t take his letter.” “He can always write another one.” Autumn-Rose stuffed the letter into Mable’s handbag. “There you go.” “I can’t do this!” “It’s done.” The doctor’s footsteps were creaking out in the hallway. “See?” The door creaked open and Marshall stepped back into the office. “Ready to be on your way, Miss Cheney?” Autumn-Rose gave her a wink. “Let’s go for a little stroll and then lunch.” * * *

The restaurant was opulent. “There’s simply nothing like this in Maple Grove.” Mable shook her head. “It’s all so overwhelming.” This single room was larger than the tea-room in the village--it had to be larger than her entire farmhouse--with crystal chandeliers and marble columns. There were scores of tables and a veritable army of waiters in formal coats and winged-collar shirts. “I did develop a taste for grand things when I was married.” Autumn-Rose smiled. “And the food is amazing.” She had been unable to read half of the menu, and so Autumn-Rose had ordered for her and her selections had proven delicious. “Poor Mable. Life has all but passed you by, hasn’t it?” Autumn-Rose leaned back in her seat. “Now me, life ran me down like that train. Rattle, bang, crash, and there I am, face-down in the water.” She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Cheer up, darling! Life won’t always pass you by, I promise you that.” “A nice thing to say, but how can you be so certain?” “I just have a sense about these things.” She smiled and reached for the bill. “My treat.” “Oh, let me. You paid for my ticket and then took time out to show me around. Without you I would have been quite lost.” “Nonsense. It’s been too long since I had a reason to come to Toronto, let alone have lunch at the Metropolitan. You should have reason to celebrate your heart being sound as a bell.” Mable sighed. “Didn’t Doctor Williamson say that you were fine?” “Oh yes,” Mable said, knowing exactly what Autumn-Rose was implying. “But the disease I have is not easily cursed.” “If you like Scott so much, then why not show him?” “Show him?” “Yes, dear.”

“Why would he even take a second look at me?” “Not every man desires someone like your cousin Olivia. I can tell you, for a fact, that you would suit Scott Barstow extremely well.” “Was he ever married?” “At one time. He’s single now though. His wife died.” “Oh!” Autumn-Rose adjusted her hat. “Was…was she nice?” “Well, I certainly liked her. There were many who did not, of course.” “Did he like her?” “He married her, did he not?” Autumn-Rose sighed. “I think he liked her well enough in the beginning, but by the end of their marriage, it was a different matter.” “Oh,” Mable said in a subdued tone. “That was all years and years ago, dear.” Autumn-Rose waved her hand. “Shall we go and window shop some more?” “Oh yes, lets.” Mable nodded. “There’s such pretty frocks and dresses here.” She could never afford any of them, of course, but it was nice to look and imagine the stir she would cause back home should she show up in one to do her week’s marketing.

Chapter Eleven “Andrew’s daughter is due to be married in the summer.” “Good for her.” Mable poured a steaming cup of tea into her mother’s cup. “Olivia will make a fine wife for her husband-to-be. We have received our formal invitation. It is scheduled for the tenth of June.” Lena was holding the folded paper in her hand. It was written upon a very good quality of stationary, of course, for Andrew and Rosemary would use nothing less than the best. “We’re going to need new dresses.” “Something dignified of course.” Mable shook her head. “Something other than brown I hope.” “Brown is very dignified.” “We’ve had this discussion before.” Lena spoke firmly. Since Mable’s return from the doctor and claim of good health, she was back to her more usual domineering personality. “You will have to go into town and place an order with Eddington for more fabric.” “More expense for us. We just ordered dress material a few months back.” “Those dresses are fine for summer wear, but they are not suitable for a wedding.” Lena shook her head. “Would you wear your summer dress to Olivia’s wedding, Marjorie?” “No.” Marjorie shook her head reluctantly. “Andrew and Rosemary will certainly be dressed in their finest and we cannot fall short.” “Indeed.” “We can add some of our lacework to the collars and bodice. A wedding is always a fine excuse for dressing up a bit. Be a good time to attract a little attention.” Marjorie was eying Mable as she said those words. “Will there be anyone there worth attracting?” Lena clucked her tongue. “That is not the right kind of attitude to have. You have to be more confident in yourself, girl.” “We shall have to send a bundle of lace into town. I promised Andrew that he would have plenty to add to Olivia’s gown.” “When do you want me to go?” Mable asked in resignation. “We will be going there tomorrow.” Mable blinked. “We?” “Of course. I have to speak with Andrew and his wife about certain things. I will be accompanying you. Or rather, you will be accompanying me.” “And I will once again be left out here alone.” Lena turned her head. “Mother!” “Oh it’s all right. I’m used to be being left alone. I’m just an old woman after all.” Marjorie turned her head so that Lena would not see her smile. * * *

Andrew’s house was one of the largest in town. Of course it is, Mable thought as they walked up the raked gravel drive. He has money enough. He owns half the village outright and collects rent on the rest. Lena knocked on the door and a stern-faced butler opened it. He wore a pressed white shirt and black trousers.

“Mrs Cheney to see my brother, Andrew.” “Of course.” The butler had affected an accent, but it did not suit him. “This way.” The interior of the house was as charming as its façade hinted. Pale wood panels covered the walls of the hallway, with oil portraits of the family staring down at visitors. Andrew and Rosemary stepped out of the kitchen and stopped as the butler approached them, with their guests in tow. Andrew was wearing a dark blue waistcoat, with neither coat nor hat. Rosemary’s dress had the full pouter-pigeon look, complete with high collar. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate style. “I have brought you the lace for Olivia’s gown.” Lena was holding a large box. “I hope it will be enough.” “Of course it will be,” Andrew replied. “Thank you.” He gestured and the butler took the box from Lena, before vanishing into the depths of the house. “Come out to the garden and visit us for a bit,” Rosemary said, forcing a welcoming smile onto her face. “Olivia is having a little party in the parlour for her bridesmaids and friends. You should go and join them, Mable.” Mable blinked. “I should?” “Yes,” Lena replied, “of course you should go and join them.” Rosemary nodded with some reluctance. “You know where the parlour is. There will be tea and sandwiches coming shortly.” “Thank you,” Lena told them. Mable slowly paced through the house as her mother followed her cousin and his wife into the kitchen. She stared through the window at the yard. Small statues stood along a winding gravel path amidst the bushy lilacs. More stern-faced portraits lined the wall. “And I shall have all of my bridesmaids dressed in similarly fashioned gowns.” Olivia’s distinctively unmusical voice echoed through the open doorway to the parlour. “Delicate gowns, of course, in subdued shades of green.” “How lucky you are to have seven bridesmaids.” Mable winced at the nasally voice of her cousin, Helena. “I had planned on simply having six, but Mother was quite insistent that I have to include my dear cousin Mable.” Olivia sounded quite annoyed by that fact. “As a favour to Aunt Lena and Great-Aunt Marjorie. And seven is a number of good fortune, right? I shall be wearing a beautiful white gown, with yards and yards of lace, and all of you will be dressed in those lovely shades of blue.” “Except for Mable.” “Yes, she only wears brown.” There was a burst of laughter at Helena’s comment and Mable winced. “Oh, but that won’t do. I can’t have Mable ruining my wedding by showing up in brown!” Olivia sounded scandalized. “I simply won’t have it.” “So whatever will you do?” Mable grimaced. Yes, you can’t have me ruining your special day, she thought bitterly. It simply won’t do. She listened more closely. “Mother and I have already discussed this matter, Robin. I will send my father out with some old material for my aunts to use in their usual projects. He will also be carrying one of my old dresses.” “A green dress?”

“Yes.” “Oh which one?” “One I only once.” There was a burst of murmuring from the assembled ladies. “That taffeta one you wore last spring May Day?” “The very one.” Olivia sounded pleased. “I dislike the way that dress drapes across my waist and the material rubs harshly at my skin. A complete waste of time placing the order for it. I wrote a most irate letter to the company and told them to not bother sending any further catalogues, for I shan’t be ordering from them in the future. So let dear Mable have it. That way she will match the rest of you.” “A very wonderful idea,” Helena agreed. Mable closed her moist eyes. Such hateful creatures! she thought bitterly. How can they just laugh at me like that! She turned and hurried towards the front door. * * *

“I never expected to see you this afternoon,” Autumn-Rose exclaimed after Mable had stormed through the door. “Your eyes are all red.” She was wearing her usual jade green dress and her loose hair was secured with a dark red ribbon. “I’m fine.” Mable dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Really, I’m fine.” “Oh hush, luv. Here, take a seat.” She patted the back of one wingback chair. “I just put the kettle for some tea. Stay and have a cup.” “Thank you. Tea sounds wonderful right now, but I don’t want to impose--” “It’s no bother. There’s no one else here just now so sit and relax. I’ll be right back.” Autumn-Rose hurried into the back kitchen, her green dress rustling softly. Moments later, she emerged with a tray laden with sandwiches cut into quarters. “I just made some sandwiches. Take one.” “Thank you…I’m half-starved.” Mable took a small bite and spicy watercress filled her mouth. She stuffed the rest into her mouth and chewed. “Oh,” she moaned. Autumn-Rose chuckled and set the tray onto a low table. “You look like you could use that and more. Should I fetch the whiskey?” “No, the tea will do.” Mable looked around the library, trying to think about what to say. Autumn-Rose sat in the opposing chair and waited patiently. “Mother and I stopped in at my uncle’s. She’s still there visiting. She’ll be furious when she finds out that I left. But I just couldn’t stay any longer. Olivia was planning her bridal party and she was being so horrid.” “I heard about that grand soiree. It should be quite the social event of the season.” “I don’t care!” Autumn-Rose poured the tea. She had a very steady hand and the spout of the teapot neither tapped against the rim of the cups, nor did tea drip onto the lace tablecloth. Mable took a deep breath. “She was afraid that I would ruin her wedding party by wearing brown to it.” She tugged irritably at her skirt. “So she’s decided that she will prevent any embarrassment by sending me one of her old cast-offs.” “Is it a nice cast-off?”

“What does that matter? I am not wearing it just to please her. Spoiled cow that she is.” Mable flung her hands over her mouth. “What I saying?” “The truth,” her friend laughed. “Oh hush. Worse has been said about her before this.” She took a bite from her sandwich and chewed. “Don’t get all worried.” “This isn’t some book, Autumn-Rose. I don’t know what to do.” “If it was a book, then this would be a good time for you to get carried off by the dashing knight on his shining steed.” “That is not going to happen. There is no dashing knight.” “I bet that Scott would look great in a suit of armour.” “I bet he would too,” Mable sighed. Then she laughed. “You always seem to know just what to say.” “It’s a gift of mine,” Autumn-Rose told her. “Now finish your tea.” * * *

Mable stepped into the kitchen and hung up her light coat. “Back so soon?” Marjorie asked after a moment of yawning and blinking. Her crocheting was in her lap. “Where is Lena?” “Probably still in town. I had had quite enough of the gossip and left for home a bit early.” Marjorie nodded. “You missed me, didn’t you, love?” “Yes.” “Well good, dear. Why don’t you put the kettle on and make a nice cuppa.” “All right.” * * *

Lena bustled through the doorway in late-afternoon. Mable was seated at the table peeling the potatoes for supper and she waited for a harsh admonishment about leaving early, but none was forthcoming. “Good news comes to us at last it seems,” Lena commented as she sat down at the table while Mable brought her a freshly brewed cup of tea. “What news? I hear nothing, trapped as I am in this house day and night.” “Rosemary had the most brilliant suggestion that Olivia should purchase her linens and other things from us. She quite insisted on that and offered a most outrageous sum.” “Selling our linens?” “This is between family so it hardly counts.” Lena waved her hand. “And it is a source of money for us. Enough to pay for a new roof.” She sighed. “Olivia is a trendsetter in the town. This could be a start for other brides-to-be to come to us. This sale could be the start of an acceptable ladylike form of business.” “But is there linen enough in the spare room to cover this sale?” “Oh, more than enough, Gran,” Mable replied immediately. “There are years and years worth of things packed away.” “We shall have to spend the next few days sorting through those things,” Lena told them. “I will not have Rosemary come all the way out here and then find mothholes in anything.”

“She won’t. We don’t have moths.” “We should have a tea prepared. Some delicate sandwiches and light biscuits. Mable, that will be your task.” “Yes, Mother.” “You have a light hand with flour after all. Do we have enough jam left?” “There’s still a few jars of it.” “Use as much as necessary. Berry season will be on us soon and we can restock.” “You should make a nice sour apple tart as well. There are still some cloves in the pantry.” “Oh yes, we’ve not had a tart in some time.” Mable stretched out her arms and stood up. “I should go out and fetch a pail of water before its gets too dark.” “Only if you feel up to it,” Lena told her. “I mean, we won’t need much water before we go off to bed.” “I don’t mind at all.” Mable picked up the pail and hurried into the twilight. “What’s all this about?” Marjorie demanded before the door had finishing closing. “Why the show of concern for her?” “Because my girl is dying of heart trouble!” Mable froze in mid-step. “Heart trouble?” Marjorie sounded both concerned and puzzled. “What are you jabbering on about? She told us that it was a simple pinched nerve. A muscle spasm.” “I found a letter from that Toronto specialist. She had it in her room.” “Hiding it from us?” “Of course she was. The poor dear doesn’t want us to know. To be so young and only have a year left.” “Don’t be daft. That girl’s as strong as an ox.” “That’s what she wants us to think. The brave thing, not wanting to be a burden on us. Oh, we can’t let on that we know her secret.” “Of course not.” “I found the letter hidden amongst her bloomers a few weeks ago. Don’t look at me like that. I was not snooping! I was putting the washing away for her--she had gone into town on errands after all. It’s partially the reason I asked Rosemary and Andrew to find a place for Mable in the wedding. It will be the only time the…” her voice cracked. “The only time she gets such a chance.” Mable closed her eyes as she heard the pain in her mother’s voice. I should confess about that letter, she thought. This is too cruel for them. Instead, she turned and hurried towards the pump. Lena poked at the fire. “I was thinking of hiring someone to help look after this place.” “A hired hand?” Mable looked across the worn pine table in shock. “But you never wanted to spend--”

“There is ever more and more work around this place and you can scarcely be expected to handle it all by yourself.” Lena did not look up as she poured the steaming tea into the delicate cups. “I was thinking that the Jackson boy might be suitable.” “There isn’t that much work around here.” “There will be. Once the garden gets established and we get more chickens. It will be too much for just you to look after.” “I’ll manage.” “No, I have already made some inquiries. We’ll be getting some help.” “All right.” Mable accepted her teacup.

Chapter Twelve Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. “Oh my.” Mable stopped dead in her tracks and stared. The rough log hut was still there, but now there was a proper single-story house standing in the clearing. “Limestone.” She took a step closer to the structure, studying it closely. “He built it out of limestone.” Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Mable made her way across the small yard towards the house. It looked to be of a good size, easily a match for that of her own family. The grey limestone blocks were rough cut, but joined together with thick mortar. There were numerous windows, fitted with stout shutters but all were open to let the daylight and air inside. “What in tarnation are you doing here?” Scott Barstow demanded as he stepped around from the back of his house. His rough-spun shirt was open at the collar, showing the thick hair on his upper chest. “I am simply admiring your house,” Mable replied. He looks so handsome! she thought, taking a moment to admire his tanned skin. I wonder what that beard would feel like against my face? She fussed with her bonnet, to buy herself time for the sudden flush in her cheeks to subside. “However did you get all this limestone here?” She shook her head at the thought. “Surely we would have heard something in the village. Someone must have seen the wagons carrying all this here.” “I had it brought in by sledges,” he told her. “Last winter.” “Last winter?” “Across the river. Makes a perfect highway when frozen.” “Ah, I had not thought of that.” Mable nodded her head. “Surely you did not do all of the work yourself.” “No, I hired people to do it.” “No one from the village though.” Mable shook her head. “There has been no gossip about it.” “I didn’t hire anyone from Maple Grove. I went through Prescott.” “Oh.” “I find that Maple Grove is a little…insular for my taste.” “It does tend to be very close-knit. You’re a stranger. You remain a novelty for the village and thus, you can understand their curiosity.” “A bunch of nosey-parkers you mean.” Mable sighed. “Not everyone is against having new neighbours though.” She walked boldly towards him. “Some of us quite enjoy it.” “I value my solitude.” “I envy you that.” Scott frowned at that. “Do you?” “Oh yes.” Mable gestured. “You are making a fine start with this place. The slate roof looks grand.” It was not finished yet, as part of the roof was still covered with oilcloth and a mound of slate was piled nearby. “Thank you.” He watched her as she stepped through the mud and around to the west side of the house.

Mable ignored the mud squishing under her boots. She gave the small corral a quick look over. “You have fine stock,” she told him. The horses looked strong and clean. “I have always enjoyed coming to Chickadee Clearing to see the River,” she said. Scott was following her. “Did you?” “Oh yes, my father used to bring me here.” “I recall you mentioning that before.” Mable took her gaze away from the St Lawrence River. There was a small vegetable patch planted on a sunny slope. “I see that you have made a start at farming.” “Yeah, but I wasn’t sure what will grow in this soil.” “The potatoes will do nicely. You might have too much shade for the squash.” She looked around, then gestured to the north. “There are wild crab apples growing just up the hill. You should obtain a fine harvest from them.” “I saw them.” Yes, I suppose that you did. Mable sighed softly, trying to think of further things to say. I know this valley as well as you, she thought. I’ve come here so many times before. “All in all, I envy you.” Scott blinked his brown eyes, and then rubbed at his beard. “You do?” “Of course. You have chosen one of the most beautiful spots to settle in.” “I was more interested in being far enough away from the village.” “That is also one of the advantages.” “Is it now?” He shook his head. “Women usually don’t enjoy being cut off from shops and houses and other women.” “Not all women are like that,” she replied. “Some of us enjoy solitude and isolation. Some of us see it as peace and freedom.” Scott snorted at that. “Can I escort you home, Miss Cheney?” he asked with forced politeness. “All right.” She nodded reluctantly. He hurried to the corral to hitch up the small wagon. * * *

“A pity that you were not here earlier, Mable.” “Oh?” Mable poured herself a glass of milk from the clay pitcher and then took one of the biscuits from the plate. “You missed the tea,” Lena said, not masking the irritation in her voice. She turned away from the stove and frowned. “You knew that your aunt and cousin were coming here today.” “Were they?” Mable asked, attempting to sound contrite. Lena snorted and gave the stew a particularly rough stir. “I’m sorry, Mother. I cannot believe that I forgot about their visit.” Marjorie’s knitting needles clicked together softly. “A good thing then, that you did remember to milk the cow before you left on your nature walk.” Mable gnawed on her biscuit. “Rosemary and Olivia picked out a great deal of things from the spare bedroom. They were both most impressed with the quality.” Lena stirred the stew again, this time

with less vigour. “I can see this boding well for the future. Olivia is such a trendsetter in the village. No doubt, all of her friends will now flock to us to purchase their household linens. A suitable ladylike business.” “We can afford those new dresses now,” Marjorie said from her chair. “Our account will be paid off. Eddington will be pleased.” “I’m happy for you, Mother.” She truly was. I know how much she dislikes living on account, Mable thought. Genteel poverty wears on her. Lena paced over to the table and sat down in her accustomed chair. “Forget about Eddington--I shall be pleased to see our account settled in full.” Lena sipped at her tea, then set the cup down with a grimace. She poured in some honey and stirred it before drinking again. “And when Andrew came back out here to pick them up, he also brought some old fabric that Rosemary thought we might find a use for.” “How kind of them.” Lena took no notice of her daughter’s cold tone. “And amongst the fabric was one of Olivia’s old dresses!” She held up the dark green organdy gown with a wide smile. “It’s quite beautiful, don’t you think?” “Yes, Mother, it’s lovely.” She stared at the sheer cotton fabric, willing herself not to like it. Olivia does have excellent taste, she admitted reluctantly. “For once you won’t be wearing brown.” Mable said nothing. “I would have thought that you would be overjoyed by that fact alone.” Lena shook her head at her daughter’s reluctance. “You are forever complaining about the drabness of your wardrobe are you not?” “You could show a little gratitude.” Marjorie spoke up from her chair. “It is a very nice dress. A catalogue order I dare say. Something from Toronto that Andrew brought back with him on one of his trips.” “Then let Andrew wear it!” Mable pushed her chair away from the table and hurried back outside. Mable bounced into the barn, her brown skirts flaring around her legs. “Molly, sometimes I think that you are the only one who understands me!” The cow lifted her head and mooed. Mable eyed the messy straw and smiled to herself. “You are the nicest cow,” she exclaimed. Nice cows give the nicest milk, after all.

Chapter Thirteen Cardinals sang from branches as Mable picked her way carefully through the bushes along the road. The sun was warm on her face and she adjusted her bonnet. For once, even wearing a brown dress did not bother her, for the day was too fine. She nodded to a wagon as it slowly rolled past her. The farmer driving gave her a nod and tipped his hat to her. “Morning.” “And to you.” She watched it roll towards the village, and then turned off the highway and plunged into the woods. Scott’s house stood, apparently deserted. Mable carefully avoided the clearing, after her single quick glance, keeping to the woods. She pushed her way through a screen of blackberry bushes, feeling a few thorns tear at her hands. A stream splashed noisily over some rocks. It had cut a deep gully over time as it flowed towards the Saint Lawrence River. She stooped and stared at it. I never get tired of this view, she thought. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. A branch snapped nearby. Mable smiled to herself. She refrained from looking over her shoulder and simply stared at the River. “You back again, Miss Cheney?” “Why good morning, Mister Barstow.” She gave him a warm smile. Scott Barstow glowered at her. “I hope that I’m not intruding on your property,” she said in an attempt at defusing his sudden hostility. “I was fairly certain the stream was located on still-public land.” “This portion of it certainly is.” “I’m ever so glad to hear it.” Mable gave him what she hoped was her warmest smile. “I’d hate to think that I have lost my favourite walking place.” Scott took another step towards her. “It hardly seems ladylike of you to be wandering about in the woods.” “Oh, I’m not afraid of bears or wolves,” she told him. “I guess that I’ve never been very much of a lady either.” “I would offer you an escort home, Miss Cheney, but I have work to attend.” “Of course, don’t allow me to interfere or delay you.” She gave him another smile. “Good day.” Scott gave her another look, then shook his head. “Good day.” He turned around and walked towards his house. Mable turned and retraced her steps. He is ever so handsome, she thought as she skirted a particularly large juniper. Is he as gentle as he is in my dreams? If Scott only knew how much he figured into Mable’s nightly fantasies…. If he knew, why he’d be shocked I’m sure. She felt her cheeks flush again. Surely ladies do not have such dreams as mine. At least not outside of the romances Autumn-Rose has been lending me. * * *

Mable reluctantly knocked on the door. Andrew and Rosemary’s house loomed over her. Its peaked roof towered pretentiously--in the village, only the church steeple was taller. I do not want to thank Olivia for her gift, she thought, yet Lena had been insistent on the showing of good and proper manners. At least I found time for a quick meeting with Scott. Memories of that all-too-brief meeting would sustain her through this one. The butler opened the door from inside, silent on its well-oiled hinges. “Yes?” he sneered in his affected accent. Mable stared back at him. She did not know whence came her sudden boldness, but she obeyed her instincts. “Miss Cheney to see Mister and Mrs Millward.” “This way.” The butler, his pressed shirt and black trousers, stepped aside. “They are currently in the parlour.” Mable picked up the well-wrapped box from the ground beside her. “I can find my own way there, thank you.” “As you wish.” He eyed her closely, yet said nothing further. Mable made her way through the panelled hallway, for once ignoring the stern-faced portraits hanging on the wall. She paused near the parlour door, listening to the voices issuing from within, without venturing close enough to be seen. “Several of the investments did not show the returns I was hoping for,” Andrew was complaining. “There is some other investor buying up northern land.” “The Crown?” “I’m not sure, Rosemary. All I can learn is that it was a private purchase by a single agent.” Mable paused in the hallway. “Damn the man. He’s stealing land I rightfully had a claim too. Our property will be left isolated up there. The richest land is being bought up before I can get to it.” “How did this happen?” “I’m not sure.” “Someone was prospecting and found gold,” the deep baritone voice of Edmund Millward growled. “Now they want to open up a mine.” “And they plan to either purchase or lease the land to do it,” Octavia Millward added. Rosemary cleared her throat. “Surely we can purchase more land.” “That is precisely what we plan to do.” Edmund snorted. “Pass the brandy, Octavia. That is our plan. Thank you, dear that’s enough. As I saying, if we can purchase or acquire more of the deeds for that region, then we can either sell the land at a very tidy profit, or else become partners in this proposed mine--” “And make even greater profits.” Mable winced at the sound of pure greed in Andrew’s voice. “A pity that the remaining region is limited. Much of what I would like to acquire is already held by other parties.” “A few of them are distant relatives.” “Most are not.” Edmund grunted. “Strangers. They’ll want good coin for their deeds.” “Can’t we approach them?”

“Not easily. I have been unable to learn their names, despite repeated trips to the land registry office.” Andrew grunted. “I have another meeting in Toronto in a few days. Acquiring those deeds will cost us more than we have to spend.” “We need more land.” “I know that.” “We can always try to get the deeds from your sister,” Rosemary suggested in a soft voice. “They would never miss the land. I mean, they’ve never even been up north. They never even leave the village.” “Truer words were never spoken.” “Deeds?” Olivia asked. “Why should they just give you their deeds?” “As a wedding gift for you.” Andrew tried to sound pleased with that. “It would be a fine gift for you. Especially if they turn out to be as valuable as I have heard of in the rumours.” “But will they agree to this?” “Why wouldn’t they, Octavia?” Olivia asked, a touch of contempt in her voice. “What do any of those three know about investments or property?” “Indeed,” Andrew added, “they’re just silly women after all.” Mable grimaced at that. She turned and hurried up the hallway several paces. “Thank you,” she said in a loud voice as Rosemary was saying something about a distant cousin, “but I can find my own way to the parlour.” The voices fell silent. “Why hello,” Mable exclaimed as she stepped into the parlour. “I simply had to stop by for a few moments.” Her relatives and their friends looked at her, none of them looking pleased by her sudden appearance. “Good morning, Mable.” Rosemary managed to sound polite, although she was clearly surprised by Mable’s unexpected and unannounced appearance. “What brings you here at this early hour?” “I came here to thank you, Olivia.” “To thank me?” She blinked in obvious confusion. She had a hoop on her knee, but the needlework had been abandoned. “Yes, because it was ever so kind of you, Olivia, to offer me that green organdy dress.” Olivia blinked. “It was nothing,” she said. “I know.” Mable kept her tone sweet. “With a little alteration, it should be perfect for an appearance at your upcoming wedding.” “Of, of course.” She was still blinking. “Thank you for coming,” Rosemary said in a clipped tone. Her eyes strayed to the box dangling from Mable’s hand. “As ever, your manners and sense of proper decorum show your true nature.” “I won’t keep you from your other guests.” Mable nodded at Edmund and his wife. Both of them were portly figures. Edmund’s waistcoat was obviously under significant strain and Octavia’s round face suited her equally round body. “Uncle. Aunt.” “Mable.” He pursed his lips while Octavia said nothing, but merely adjusted the way in which her large hat sat atop her head. “However, much as I would enjoy your gift, dear Olivia, I simply must decline it.”

Olivia jumped as the box landed in her lap. “What--” she began. Mable smiled. “That dark green colour just did not suit me, so I had to redye it into something so much more suitable.” “Redye?” “Thank you again.” Mable turned on her heel. “Do enjoy your upcoming wedding.” She turned and stalked out of the room, leaving a growing smell of cow manure behind her. The uproar which immediately began behind her was most satisfying. “I can’t believe I just did that!” Mable stood in the street, aghast as her actions. “I must be out of my mind.” It had certainly felt like someone else had been controlling her actions this morning. Andrew and Rosemary would be furious. They’ll tell Ma about this and then I’ll be in for it. Her face hardened. I will not apologize for it though. No matter what Lena says or does, I will not apologize. “I left a note…and now I have angered family. What am I doing?” She gave her head a shake. “Autumn-Rose will know what to do.” The answer was obvious to her. Mable hurried through the streets to the library, but the door was locked. She knocked. “Where can she be?” Why was no one answering the door? “Autumn-Rose?” She wandered around to the back of the building and knocked again at that door. “Are you home?” She felt her eyes filling with tears. “Why aren’t you there when I need you?” she called out.

Chapter Fourteen Morning came and Mable was up long before the others. Dressing in haste, she raided the chicken coop before the sun had peaked above the horizon. She then left the door open so that the flock could emerge to root around and peck at the ground. She took the half dozen eggs inside and left the basket on the floor by the wash basin. The ever-so-carefully and painstakingly handwritten note she left folded on the table. Mable walked to the end of the drive and stopped at the highway. She looked off towards the village, though of course it was hidden by the forest. “I am going to make this work,” she told herself. “Just like Autumn-Rose told me. It’s my one chance.” She took a firm grip on the battered carpetbag in her right hand and began walking westward at a steady pace. “I left the note to explain everything…I have to do this.” During the night, she had settled on a plan and she had packed her few clothes and most treasured belongings into the time-battered carpetbag. “I’m going to do this,” she told a watching squirrel. “After all, what do I have to lose?” Twenty years of boredom and drudgery had already passed her by…if this scheme did not bear fruit, then she would merely continue on as she had done. The squirrel chattered at her, and then scurried up into an oak. The scent of the junipers was strong that morning as Mable walked along the narrow drive. Pines and junipers lined the hard ground. There were marks from Scott’s wagon, but not the deep ruts which would come after years of use. Mable paused as her destination came into view. The limestone blocks of Scott’s house looked solid in the late morning sunlight. The slate roof was completed now and the dark stone sparkled dully. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Mable felt her resolve melt away. What am I doing? she asked herself. What madness has come over me? Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Taking a deep breath, Mable tightened her grip on her carpetbag and strode directly towards the house. With one final deep breath, she reached for the brass doorknocker. There was no answer to her repeated knocks. Mable turned and stepped away from the house. Three chickens were pecking at the ground. The corral was empty and Scott’s wagon was also missing. Mable sat down on a convenient tree stump to wait. The creak of wagon wheels sounded along the drive. Scott reined in his two horses and stared at the figure in brown sitting on the tree stump staring at his vegetable garden. “What brings you to my doorstep on this particular day, Miss Cheney?” He sounded resigned to her current appearance.

Mable gave a little start. She had fallen into thought as the morning waned into afternoon. I was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to come back home. “I was merely passing by your fine house. I was out for another of my nature walks and thought that I might obtain a moment’s rest by the stream.” “The stream flows up by the highway as well.” “I would hardly choose to drink from that particular spot,” she replied. “True enough, I suppose.” He nodded, and his gaze drifted down to the carpetbag at her side. His eyes narrowed into a frown. He looks so manly standing there, she thought as she struggled to her feet. I’ve been sitting too long, she thought irritably. I don’t look very graceful. She hoped that her knees would suddenly give way and spill her onto the ground. “Do you ever get lonely out here?” she asked abruptly. “I hardly seem to have time by myself enough to feel alone,” he replied. “And no, I have no desire for company, Miss Cheney.” “I had thought that you might.” “I chose this valley because it is far enough away from Maple Grove that I can be left alone.” “It is a fine choice. I have often wished that I could live farther from town. This is a fine valley that you have built your house in.” “Thank you.” “I want to marry you.” Scott’s mouth dropped open. “You what?” he spluttered. “I want to marry you.” “Woman, you do not know me!” He shook his head. “You do not know what you are talking about.” “I assure you that I do.” “I do not wish to marry. I am perfectly happy living here alone. You know nothing about me.” “I know that you lived in Toronto. I know that you are kind. You are strong. You are different. I know that you clean. I can see that you are hardworking and that you have built yourself a fine home.” Scott’s lips twitched into a smile. “That’s an interesting catalogue of virtues.” “They’re all valid ones,” she told him. “I like being alone. I have no wife. No children. No family pressing on me. Why would I wish to spoil myself now?” “Just allow me a year with you.” “If you are in the proposal mood, then why not venture east into the village. Surely there must be men of suitable age and temperament there.” “But none that interest me.” “That fact that I am a stranger and thus different is no basis for marriage, Miss Cheney. It will soon wear off.” “I’m quite happy to sleep in there for now.” She waved at the rough log cabin. “I just want to have some time out here.”

“Out here? It’s not that much farther from Maple Grove than your farm.” Scott blinked at her. “Maybe I like my privacy and solitude out here. If I wanted company, I could have built my home closer to Maple Grove.” “I know. The peace and quiet and the view.” She stared off towards the river. “I just want to stay here for a bit.” Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. “And just how long is a ‘a bit’?” “Let me stay here for one year. That’s all I ask.” “One year living out your dreams in the wild valley and then you will meekly return to your spinster life in Maple Grove?” He threw his head back and laughed loudly at that. Mable watched him, her face expressionless as he laughed. Eventually his laughter trailed away as he looked at her. “One year.” “And why should I believe you?” he asked, breaking into another bout of laughter. “Because that is what my doctor has told me I have left.” She reached into her carpetbag and removed the well-read letter. His laughter slackened into a chuckle even as he reached for the crumpled letter. His eyes skimmed it and his chuckles faded away completely. He looked at her, then his eyes dropped back to reread the written words. “Dying?” he said. “You look healthy enough.” “I prefer not to have my condition become common knowledge around the town,” she announced primly. “I have told my mother than my attacks were simply muscle spasms. My heart condition is rather simple and there are no outward traces of it.” “Miss Cheney--” “The valves in my heart sometimes stick,” she told him in an emotionless voice, hoping that he had no medical knowledge. “That’s what brings on my weakness. There is sudden, stabbing pain and I can’t breath. One day they will stick permanently and that is the day that I will simply stop…” His face was twisted as her voice trailed away. “But, you’re…that is, you can’t just….” He took a deep breath, clearly uncertain how to continue. “Is one year too much to ask?” she asked him. “No, of course not. It’s just….” “I do not wish to discuss my condition. Just allow me to be me.” “I am not sure what to say to that.” “Then say nothing and wait until morning,” she told him. “Allow me to stay for the night while you think matters over.” Scott’s face softened. “I will see you home, Miss Cheney.” He reached for her carpetbag. Mable drew herself up stiffly. “I can walk,” she told him. “Nonsense, it’s growing dark and getting late.” “It is not that late.” “You have a long way to go and I would not wish to see you fall prey to some ill fortune. The wagon is already hitched.” “There is no need to trouble yourself on my account. My own two feet are quite enough to carry me home.” “I insist.” He pulled the carpetbag from her hand and then took hold of her elbow. “This way.”

*

*

*

The turn-off from the highway to her farmhouse came all too quickly for Mable. “This will do,” she said breaking the long silence which had lasted the length of the ride. “I can make it on my own from here.” “Are you certain?” “The path is not long.” Not now, the house is close. “I will be fine.” She alighted from the wagon, feeling a great reluctance to let go of his callused hand as he helped her down. “Good evening to you.” Scott cleared his throat. “Are you angry?” “Should I be?” “Well, you didn’t meet with much luck.” Mable burst into laughter at that. “Why, Mister Barstow, I simply had nothing to lose by trying.” He frowned. “Did you really think this little scheme would work?” “Yes.” “And why is that?” “Because you are you.” “Meaning what?” “You are a decent man. A kind and caring man.” “Yes, well…” Scott coughed. “Good evening.” He tipped his Homburg to her. Mustering her dignity, she stalked up the drive toward the farmhouse. She listened to the wagon creaking as Scott turned it around and proceeded to head back home. His home, she thought. “I can’t face them.” She lip trembled. “I simply can’t face them like this.” Not after leaving her note. Mable crept near the door, but did not open it. “…run off like this. ‘Dear Mother, forgive me for running away like this. I think it is best that you do not what I am planning. In a few days, I will be coming back home at least for a visit. Please do not worry. My love to you both.’ How can you sit there so calmly?” “What else can I do?” Lena countered from inside the kitchen. “You could send for the police.” “Mable knows the forests as well as any boy.” “True,” Marjorie agreed. “She can elude pursuit if she wishes. And it does seem that she so wishes.” “I wish that she would not wander off so. She could encounter bears or wolves out there.” “She’s smart enough to avoid them.” “There are worse things than bears and wolves,” Lena commented. “She will have no one to protect her from men!” “Perhaps our little Mable has finally decided that she does not wish to be protected from men.”

“Mother!” Marjorie chuckled. The stable was warm enough as Mable crept inside. “Oh, Molly, it’s all going so terribly wrong.” The cow lifted her lead and mooed. “I thought it would work, but I was sent packing.” Mable pulled a clean old sack from the corner and spread it out on the straw. “How could things have gone so wrong?” Molly continued chewing. “How can I go home and face mother after this?” How do you go home and tell your mother that a man rejected your proposal of marriage?

Chapter Fifteen Once again, Mable set off before dawn. She smoothed the wrinkles from her drab brown dress as best she could and she stalked down the path towards the limestone house. Scott stood in the doorway, watching her approach his house. A steaming mug of coffee was in his hand. “Bloody hell, woman! Why do you pester me like this?” he demanded. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his cheeks were unshaven. “Who has put you up to this?” “No one has. You have found a lovely clearing. I just want to share its beauty.” “You’ve seen it. Many times already. Now why don’t you just scoot along home?” “But I want to marry you.” “Why do you keep saying that?” he spluttered. “Because I love you. I have since the first day I saw you riding along the highway.” “I do not believe you have thought this through clearly, Miss Cheney.” “I have given it considerable thought.” “I see.” “I am not going back home. I will continue to come here everyday until you agree to marry me.” “You could be playing with fire,” Scott told her in a grim voice. “Has it not occurred to you that a man might resort to violence if he is provoked?” “Some men might,” she told him in a demure tone, “but not you.” “You do not know me.” “I know enough.” Mable felt confident in her assessment of him. I know what Autumn-Rose has told me and I trust her. “So, will you marry me?” Scott lifted his eyes and stared up into the cloudless sky for a long time. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Finally, he lowered his eyes and looked at her. “I must admit that you have not been far from my thoughts since I escorted you home last night. For all of the hard work I have done today, I have not been able to drive you from my thoughts. Perhaps I am being offered a method of atoning and I should not risk spurning it.” “Atoning for what?” Mable asked. “Oh ,just a figure of speech. Everyone has something to atone for, don’t they?” Mable stared at him. Scott grimaced. “You can stay here for tonight.” “Oh, thank you.” Later that evening, Scott watched her stir the soup atop the pot-bellied stove. “You can’t sleep in the old place,” he told her gruffly from his chair. “It’s just a stable now for a pair of cows.” “Cows do not bother me.” Mable continued to stir the soup with the large wooden spoon. “It would not be the first night I’ve slept in a barn.” Let him chew on that. “You can stay in here. There’s several rooms,” he added quickly. “With stout doors and locks on them.” She gave him a look. “Thank you.”

*

*

*

Mable poured coffee into an enamel mug and set it onto the pine table. Scott looked at it and roughly cleared his throat. “I could’ve cooked my own breakfast,” he told her. “I know, but I want to make myself useful.” Her boots clicked on the floorboards as she carried his empty plate over to the wash basin. “I have some business to attend to in Morrisburg.” Scott cleared his throat again, a trifle uncertainly. “I should be back her by nightfall.” “I’m certain I can find some means with which to amuse myself.” Mable looked around the rather Spartan kitchen. “This homestead could use a woman’s touch.” “Suit yourself then.” Scott gave her a nod, drained his mug and set it back onto the table with a soft thump. He set his homburg on his head and headed outside. Mable watched him hitch the horses to the wagon. I wonder where he is off too, she wondered. He’s so well dressed today. Scott had appeared that morning, his cheeks shaven and beard nearly trimmed. He was wearing a suit, not as fine as those Andrew wore, but still fashionable. Mable sighed and brushed her hand along her drab dress. Rosemary would never be caught wearing a dress like this, she thought sadly. Scott had vanished up the drive and Mable reluctantly turned away from the window. The kettle atop the stove was whistling and she poured the water into the wash basin. Taking a cloth, she hastily washed herself down. There was no copper tub, though the house did possess a room clearly meant for bathing. For now am I meant to bathe in the River? she wondered. Mable washed up the dishes. There were not as many as she had expected there to be. Apparently he is not afraid of domestic duties, she noted to herself. She dried the plates and stacked them neatly on a shelf. She hung the mugs from pegs on the wall. There was dust, but again not as much as she might have found. “This place could do with some touches,” she noted, “but it’s certainly no slovenly bachelor’s abode.” The kitchen table was pine, the boards well-made and sanded. There were four straight-backed chairs. The windows were open, allowing the sun to fill the house. Mable wandered between rooms. Scott’s bedroom contained a mattress set on roughly-hewn logs. It was rough, but strong. Like he is. The feather quilt featured a plaid pattern. An oil lantern rested atop a pine clothespress. One might have expected crates and boxes, not true furniture. Her own bedroom had featured a smaller straw mattress sitting on the pine floor, though her quilt had been warm enough. She returned to the kitchen and set a large kettle over the fire. She dumped what water remained in the bucket into it, then headed outside to the stream. * “You’re still here?” * *

“You sound surprised.” Mable turned away from the table where she was folding laundry to look at Scott as he stepped through the doorway. “It’s a long ways from the neighbours,” he said gruffly. “I thought that you might get lonely.” “No, I’m quite used to solitude. There was so much to see around here.” “Is that a pie sitting by the window?” “You have a very fine patch of strawberries growing out there.” “Apparently you have some skill with pastry.” “I suppose that I do.” She watched his hang up his hat. “Did your business in Morrisburg go well?” “Yes.” He gave her a nod. “Yes it did.” Mable poured him a mug of coffee. “I wasn’t sure when to expect you back, so I only made a simple stew for you. Something that could rest on the fire for a long time.” She turned and gave it a stir. “Sit down and I’ll fetch you a bowl.” “You didn’t have to do that. I’m used to looking after myself.” “I want to do my share around here. You are letting me stay here after all.” “Yes, well….” Mable handed him a bowl of stew. “Enjoy.” “I trust that you did not strain yourself with chores while I was away.” “Not at all.” Mable bit her tongue, wondering how her mother and grandmother were faring. I should be there with them! she thought. But I want to be here with Scott. “Let us come to an understanding, Mister Barstow. My condition must be set aside. It is not to be discussed or thought about. I wish to live free, with you, and I cannot do that if I am constantly being reminded.” Scott chewed on his stew. “Very well.” * * *

“I suppose, that if you are planning to stay here, that you should at least be shown everything.” Mable glanced at him as they walked through a screen of pines. She could clearly hear the stream gurgling over the rocks from somewhere just ahead. Scott was carrying a small sack in his left hand and he used his right to push tree branches out of his path. “There is a wash basin in your room.” “I’ve been using it.” “I’ve noticed.” Scott stepped around a particularly large and thick pine. “Perhaps you might enjoy this more.” “Oh my.” Mable stared. The stream gurgled along its rocky bed, but a narrow channel had been dug away from it to a shallow pool. That pool was large enough for two people to stretch out in, and had been lined with smooth limestone. “The limestone warms the water nicely,” Scott told her. “You should enjoy it. At least during the summer.” “Thank you.” She paused, uncertain of what to say next. “Thank you.” “Here.” He handed her the sack, then stood awkwardly. “Anyway, there is soap in her for you to use. And one of my old shirts for you to wear afterwards.” He cleared his

throat. “In case you might wish to wash your dress. Or not.” He took a step away. “Enjoy yourself.” She watched him leave, pushing his way back through the screen of pines. Would he be scandalized if I called him back? she wondered. The soap smelled nice. Nothing feminine, but certainly pleasant enough. Mable felt her cheeks flush. I must still smell of Molly! she thought. The poor man. Making use of the wash basin was simply not adequate. The water was surprisingly warm to her hand. The sunlight shone from above, the surface of the pool sparkling and inviting. The shirt was plain blue cotton, and after she had shaken it out and held it up to herself, it appeared long enough to hang down to her knees. “So be it.” Mable stepped into the pool. The limestone was smooth under her feet. No sharp edges and no leeches either. She used the cake of soap to lather up her dress and then she rinsed it in the stream. She draped the brown fabric over a tree branch to dry. She soaped up her own body and luxuriated in the pool. It was not as warm as what she was used to at home, but it was certainly not the coldness she would have experienced had she bathed in the stream or, God forbid, the Saint Lawrence. Mable stepped through the doorway into the warm kitchen. “That pond of yours is really quite nice, Scott.” She was smiling. “I did not expect to find such a pleasant place for bathing.” “I have a copper washtub on order for the winter,” he told her, “but that pool is nice for the summer.” The shirt did hang to her knees, but she still felt her cheeks flush as she walked past him. “Thank you for the use of your shirt.” Her brown hair fell loosely over her shoulders. “Well, I thought you might appreciate a chance to bathe properly. That is what women do, isn’t it?” She paused by the stove. “Thank you.” “For what?” “For everything.” He cleared his throat roughly. Mable smiled to herself. Is he always so easily distracted? she wondered. Once again dressed in a drab brown dress, Mable stared through her bedroom window. She had unpacked her carpetbag and placed her meagre possessions into the clothespress. Now she was distracted from further work. Scott was chopping wood in the yard, laying in a supply for the winter. He was shirtless and sweat matted the dark hair on his chest. “He has such a nice body,” she murmured as she watched him. His torso was muscular and defined with years of honest labour. He swung the axe with a practiced motion. “He’s obviously done that before.” The sun was only just rising towards its peak and he had already chopped a significant amount of wood.

“Would you care for some cold water?” Mable offered the mug to him. She held a clay pitcher in her other hand. “Thank you.” He drained the mug in one long swallow. “’Tis hard work.” “But vital come winter. My father used to chop several cords’ worth to be ready for the long winter months.” “And now?” “My mother hires boys from the village to chop wood for us. I help out as best I can, but it really is man’s work.” Scott eyed her. “Isn’t that hard work for you?” “As I told you, I am healthy enough. Hard work does not frighten me.” Scott said nothing for a moment. “Won’t your mother be missing you?” Mable licked her lips at his question. “I left her a note.” “Just a note? That hardly seems like explanation enough for your disappearance.” “She will hardly even notice that I am not there.” Mable tried to sound convincing, but she knew from Scott’s expression that she had failed. “Perhaps you should go there for a visit.” “Perhaps I should.” * * *

The farmhouse was deserted. Mable paused, just across the threshold. “Mother?” she called. “Gran?” The stove was cold. “Where could they be?” Alarm stole away her breath. She moved through the kitchen. Marjorie’s knitting was missing. “They must have gone to the quilting circle.” Mable wiped at her eyes with her handkerchief. “They must be worried sick.” Mable ventured out to the barn. Molly looked at her and mooed softly, then she went back to chewing her cud. “Someone is milking you.” Lena had taken care of the milking until Mable had grown up enough to take over. Mable wandered around the farm. The chicken coop was clean and the hens looked happy with their chicks. Mable returned to the kitchen. She sat in her accustomed place at the table and chewed at her lip. “Should I stay and wait, or should I leave.” She was torn--part of her wanted to confess everything to her mother, but the greater part longed to return to Scott. “I’m not ready yet to face them.” She was decided. Mable took a piece of paper from the stationary desk and dipped the pen into the ink well and began to write. “I am sorry to have missed you. Do not worry, I am healthy and happy. I am staying with a friend.” She paused in her writing. “I will be back again and I hope to have momentous news for you. Your loving daughter.” * “You came back?” * *

“Of course I did.” Scott blinked at her. He had bathed since finishing his wood chopping and was dressed in a comfortable shirt. “I thought that you might reconsider matters and stay at home with your mother.” “Are you so eager to see the back of me?” she asked him. “I never said that!” he replied quickly, and then he blinked. Mable felt a triumphant smile flit across her face. “No, you did not.” “I was just…concerned for you. There are wild beasts in the forest.” “Not this close to the village.”

Chapter Sixteen “I was thinking about matters last night.” “Yes?” Mable gave the oatmeal a final stir. “What were you thinking?” She proceeded to ladle their breakfast into two bowls which she then carried to the table. “I was thinking that if you were going to continue staying here, then we need to come to some better arrangement.” “Some better arrangement?” “You and I…sleeping under one roof. Alone like this.” Scott stumbled over his tongue. “We need to come to a better arrangement, Miss Cheney.” “And what precisely did you have in mind, Mister Barstow?” “Seeing as you are so set upon this idea of marriage--” “I am, have no doubt of that.” “Well, there’s a church in Morrisburg and the minister there is known to be somewhat sympathetic to lovers.” He coughed into his hand. “If we skip the banns, we could be married this very day.” Mable smiled at him. “That would suit me quite well.” “Then we shall head there after breakfast. I’ll hitch up the wagon.” “Very well.” Mable gave him a warm smile and watched him hastily avert his eyes towards his oatmeal. She scooped a spoonful from her own bowl and chewed it. Her eyes drifted down to her skirts. It looks as if I shall be married in brown, she thought bitterly. * * *

The wagon creaked past the outermost houses of Maple Grove. “I have to stop in at Eddington’s and arrange for a few things. Will you be all right in the meantime?” “Of course.” Mable nodded her head. “In fact, if you slow here, I will have just enough time to run to the library and tell Autumn-Rose. She’s my best friend in the whole world and I have to share the good news with someone or else I shall simply burst.” He nodded. “All right then.” He pulled on the reins and the wagon slowed to a stop. “But be quick. I’d like to get to Morrisburg before noon.” “Of course.” She hopped down from the wagon. “Thank you, Scott. I won’t be long.” She hurried into almost a run. I feel so alive, she thought. That tingling bursting-out-of-one’s-skin that she only read about until now. And yet her joy was mingled with shame. I’ve lied and cheated and stolen to feel this way. Yet she did not feel truly sorry. Perhaps the Olivia’s of this world get what they want with just the snap of their fingers, but who would give me a second glance? I can make Scott the happiest man in the whole Dominion. She just needed the chance. Give me a year and he will forgive me for deceiving him about my heart. “Mable Cheney! I have a bone to pick with you.” Skidding to a stop, Mable turned to face Andrew and Olivia as they hastily alighted from their own wagon. “Yes?” she asked sweetly as she adjusted her bonnet. Andrew stalked towards her. “You…hussy!” he snapped. “You stole away those land deeds!” Olivia followed him. As usual, she was dressed in the height of fashion.

“Hardly stolen, Uncle. I simply carried them to a willing buyer.” “That land was rightfully ours. It has been in our family for a century or more. You stole it away!” “If it was worthless, then why are you so worked up?” she asked calmly. Andrew’s eyes widened. “If those deeds are valuable, then why have we never seen any return from their investment? ‘Just a pittance,’ you have often told us. ‘It’s just a pittance, but every penny counts, does it not? Better than having nothing.’ But then, it’s all rather complicated and you wouldn’t want to bore us with all of the details.” “You silly chit of a girl!” “Perhaps my father failed to choose investments which would have given a higher rate of return, but I think we’re finally getting what we’re due.” She smiled sweetly at him, noting that Andrew’s face had reddened badly. “Well, I cannot tarry longer to chat with you. I have to run…my husband-to-be is waiting for me at Eddington’s.” Olivia’s face had paled and her eyes had grown wide. Andrew staggered backwards a step. Grinning, Mable hurried down the street. “Oh, Autumn-Rose, it’s all happening!” The words burst out of her even before the library door was fully open. “Whatever is happening, Mable?” “Everything.” Mable looked around the library, but it was empty of patrons. “Oh, Scott’s asked me to marry him!” A wide smile split Autumn-Rose’s face. “Why that’s wonderful!” “He’s taking me to Morrisburg shortly. He just stopped in town to see about something at Eddington’s Shoppe, and some other store. I only barely had time to run in here to tell you.” “I’m so happy for you.” “My mother doesn’t even know yet! I have to go and tell them.” “Time enough for that later.” Autumn-Rose waved her hand. “Time enough later. But, Mable, you can’t get married in that old thing.” Mable looked at her brown dress. “It’s not what I dreamed about,” she said, “but it’s all that I have.” She paused. “I was given a dress by Olivia, but I refused to wear it. That spiteful cow was afraid that I would ruin her wedding by wearing brown so she sent me a hideous old green dress of hers.” “Did you send it back?” “After I let Bessie spend the night sleeping on it.” Mable’s cheeks coloured at the thought. “It was--” “Delightfully wicked!” Autumn-Rose threw her head back and laughed. “How truly wicked and fitting.” “But now all I have to wear are these dreadful brown dresses.” She pulled at her skirt. “Maybe I should have just swallowed my pride and kept it. Mother always tells me that we have our pride, but now I have no pretty dress to wear.”

“Nonsense. If all you own are brown dresses, then we’ll just have to do something about that.” Autumn-Rose hurried to the door leading deeper into the house. “Wait here a moment.” Mable stood waiting. She reached up to pat her hair, trying to push it into a more fashionable style. She wished that the library possessed a large mirror. “Autumn-Rose, I don’t have time to stand around. Scott is waiting--” Autumn-Rose burst out of the back room. “Take this with you.” She was holding a large string-tied box which she began tearing open. “What is it--oh, I can’t!” Autumn-Rose finished shaking out the dress. “You can and you will.” She held up the dress. “This robin’s egg blue will go with your eyes.” “I can’t.” Mable shook her head. “You know the traditional saying. ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.’ Well, this is an old dress of mine, new to you. It is borrowed and blue.” She giggled. “So you have to take it.” “You’re just too kind to me!” Mable impulsively hugged her friend, feeling her cold skin. “You really are the best friend I could ask for.” “Try it on right now. Go on. You can’t wear brown to a wedding. Least of all your own.” Autumn-Rose pushed Mable into the back room. “Go on, girl.” She followed her. “Let me help you with the buttons.” “I told Scott I was dying of heart trouble.” “Aren’t we all?” “That is splitting hairs.” Mable paused while Autumn-Rose adjusted the tightness of her corset. “Oh, come to my wedding with me! Close the library for the day.” “I’d love to be there, but I don’t think Scott would appreciate seeing a face from the past at the ceremony.” Autumn-Rose finished fastening the buttons. “You look beautiful.” Mable turned to face her. “Do I?” The dress fitted her perfectly. What an eye she has! What a fine colour! Autumn-Rose handed her a large hat, topped with several feathers. “You will make a lovely bride and you make Scott a very happy man.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice. “Oh thank you!” Mable burst out and hugged her friend again. “Thank you for everything.” Mable stepped onto the street. The dress was a perfect fit for her. “Miss Cheney, wherever did you get that?” Scott asked. His eyes were wide with surprise. “From a friend. Something borrowed for the wedding.” She gave a little twirl so that the thin cotton swirled around her legs. “Do you like it?” She sight of her reflection in a shop window. Is that me? “Yes, it suits you.” He nodded. “Far better than the brown ever did.” “Thank you.” She allowed him to help her climb into the wagon. “I do not plan to wear brown ever again.” “Yes, well.” He coughed and looked down at his homespun flannel shirt and rough pants. “You look more suited for the wedding than I do.”

“You look fine,” she replied. Scott flicked the reins and the wagon lurched into motion. “We should reach Morrisburg by noon. The minister there’s an old friend of mine.” “That’s good to know.” “I look like hayseed and you look like a madam.” Scott chuckled. “Let’s go and get this over with before I change my mind.” * * *

The ceremony was short and simple. “That was far easier than I had expected,” Mable commented as she strolled along the street away from the church with Scott holding her arm. “Mrs Mable Barstow.” She admired the ring on her finger. “It was better than the other one.” “Was your first a big affair?” Mable asked him. “It could have passed for a royal marriage,” Scott replied sourly. “Hundreds of guests, the bride with a vast train of lace, a full dozen bridesmaids, some archbishop to oversee the ceremony…Christ, it was a nightmare! But compared to what was to come… but surely you don’t want to hear about this.” “I think that I should. I’ve read that the second wife always has to contend with the ghost of the first.” Scott grunted. “Was she dear to you?” “She might have been once…which was why I married her. She proposed to me, come to think. I wonder why this is a trend?” Scott gave her a look. “I think I was just a trophy of sorts for her. An object to give her an aura of respectability. She needed it too. Girlfriends were sharp like knives and her male companions were like delicate hothouse flowers. Troublesome she was, and in need of taming, but she was wild. Drank too much too and had no head for it. Native blood you know. She and I fell out of love quickly enough. We grew into mutual loathing.” Mable heard the bitterness clear in his voice. “How long were you married?” “Five long years.” “No children?” “She might have lost her precious figure.” Scott shook his head sadly. “We had a falling out over something. Said words we shouldn’t have said, even if we did mean them. I walked out…met a bachelor friend and drank too much. Lucky I didn’t wake up out at sea. Equally lucky that I met my friend who could vouch for me, as my wife had gone for a late night swim and washed up on the beach.” “Oh.” Mable blinked. “It’s been nearly ten years.” Scott turned to her. “Shall we ride back home?”

Chapter Seventeen The morning sun was warm on her face as Mable opened her eyes and looked towards the window. Scott was still snoring, his arm supporting her head. Mable stretched out her body, pressing against his warm body. Last night had been amazing. The books did not prepare me for any of that. She knew that she had been inexperienced and woefully ignorant, but Scott had been a patient and wonderful teacher. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Distracted for a moment by the sunlight catching on her ring, Mable cracked fresly gathered eggs into the frying pan. “I can cook, you know.” Scott was standing in the doorway to the bedroom. His white shirt was hanging on him, unbuttoned. “I like cooking.” Mable glanced at the kettle, but the water was not yet boiling. “It’s part of my wifely duties, is it not?” “I’ve been looking after myself for ten years now. I don’t expect you to slave for me.” He cleared his throat. “Especially given your--” “We have an agreement not to talk about that,” she replied primly. “So we won’t.” “Can I interest you in a bath?” She tried to put a little extra sway in her hips as she walked past her husband. “A bath?” “You might like someone to help…wash your back.” Mable turned away so that he would not see her cheeks flush. How did I grow to be so brazen? “Perhaps you want someone to scrub your back, Mrs Barstow?” “That would be lovely.” Mable followed Scott past the vegetable garden towards the screen of pines. The stream was gurgling loudly this morning. The limestone pool was crystal clear and the call of chick-a-dee-dee-dee echoed from the trees. Scott was slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re certain that you’re happy with me?” “Of course I am.” Mable allowed her dress to fall to the ground. She waded into the thigh-deep water, and then turned back towards her husband. “Will you be joining me?” she asked in the tones of a professional temptress. He splashed his way towards her. They soaped up. His hands rubbed across her back. She laid back in his arms and they luxuriated in the pool. Bathing had lasted for well over an hour before they had finally emerged and towelled each other dry. Mable finishing combing her hair. “I should stop by Eddington’s and order some fabrics. I should have some new dresses.”

Scott nodded. He was fully dressed in shirt and trousers “True. Brown doesn’t suit you. That blue you wore offset your complexion in a most intriguing manner.” “I was thinking about greens and blues.” “Good thinking.” Scott tossed a small bag onto the kitchen table. “Try not to spend all of that at once,” he told her. “I have my own connections with the shopkeeper.” “You’re my wife now. That’s yours to spend as you see fit.” Mable reached for the bag and untied the strings. “My God!” She had seldom seen so much coin in one place before. “Will that be enough for you for the month?” “For a month?” She was slack-jawed. “It will last me the year!” Scott shrugged. “You can have as much as you like for the year.” “I did not marry you for your money.” “I didn’t think you know anything about my money.” He chuckled at her slackjawed expression. “I own a fair bit of land up north. Has some nice gold mines under it. I’m rich many times over. Rich enough at least.” “So that is how you could afford to come here and buy this land.” “Buy the valley and half the village as well if I wanted too.” He smiled. “So go and buy your dresses and whatever else you fancy.” “Thank you, Scott.” “It’s nothing really.” He coughed into his hand. “I’ll be setting up an account for you at the bank.” “I have an account there.” “Well I’ll be depositing money for you then. An allowance of sorts. It won’t do to have you come begging every time you need a few pennies.” “I had no intention--” “You are my wife, Mable Barstow, and a wife deserves an allowance. Let that be an end to it.” “Very well.” She gave him a nod. “Thank you.” Inwardly she was still reeling. That much for a month? It staggered her. “I have a few errands to attend in town. Telegraphs I need to send off.” “I should stop by my house. My mother’s house, I mean. I need to see her and tell her the good news.” She took a deep breath. “I’m married now.” A blue jay squawked from one of the pines and then a chickadee called out. “That you are.” Scott walked towards the small corral. “I’ll hitch up the wagon then while you prepare yourself.” The wagon creaked to a stop in front of the path. Mable stared at the dirt path. My mother is waiting up there, she thought. “Would you like me to come with you?” Scott sensed her hesitation. “My errands in town could wait.” “No, it’s all right.” She wasn’t sure that she wanted to have any witnesses for her return. Mable hopped down from the wagon onto the ground. “I should go and see them first. You can join us later.” “You’ll be all right?”

“Of course, Scott.” She nodded at him, masking the nervousness beneath false bravado. “The turn-off from the highway is just here. I’ve walked this path a thousand times before.” He pulled on the reins to restart the wagon. “I shall pick you up from there then.” “See you.” “Good-bye, dear.” Mable felt her heart flutter. Dear. She gave him a smile, watching until he had turned the corner and vanished from her sight. With a reluctance in her tread, she turned and marched up at the hard-packed dirt. “I blame those damned books.” Mable paused with her hand on the farmhouse latch as Lena’s voice came clearly through the open window. “Those books?” Marjorie repeated. “Yes, Mother. You insisted that we allow her to read them. They’ve done terrible things to her mind. They’ve set this wild streak into her.” “They have given the girl some hope in her life.” Marjorie sounded firm. “Would you rather that she simply mope around this farm day in and day out for the rest of her days?” “No, of course not!” “You saw the doc’s letter.” There was a pause. “Let her have her simple pleasures while she still can.” Mable winced at the sadness in Marjorie’s voice. “I just wish that she would find herself a good man to love. She deserves that much.” “I know.” “But she has run off on us. It’s been three days now! Anything could have happened to her.” “We would have heard something by now.” “So you say, but I know that you are worried as well. She has never been gone for this long. Never more than a day. Never gone overnight.” “Well, she is gone and she will return when she wishes it.” “I’m going into town.” “For what good, dear? It will only stir up resentment should you drag her back here to us.” “I can’t have her running wild. She should be at home with us.” “She is somewhere happy.” “She is running wild.” “Lena, give over. You cannot cage her like some beast.” Taking a deep breath, Mable reached for the latch again and slowly pushed the farmhouse door open. “Mable!” “Good morning.” Mable paused at the threshold, uncertain if she should venture fully inside or not.

“Where have you been?” Lena demanded as she hurried towards her daughter. Relief warred with anger on her face. “What were you thinking? Running away like this? We’ve been worried sick for two days now.” She blinked as she took in her daughter’s bright blue dress. “She looks to be in one piece.” Marjorie leaned heavily on her stick. “Three days of living rough or not.” “I was not living rough. I left you a note--” “Left a note!” Lena exclaimed. “Left a note? Young woman, you had us worried sick! Two notes or not! I was planning to travel into Maple Grove tomorrow and roust out a posse to hunt you down. I thought we’d find your body under a bush someplace.” “I am perfectly well.” Lena winced, but was at a loss for words. Finally she licked her lips. “I do not know what has come over you of late.” “So where have you been?” “Staying with a friend.” “What friend? That Mohawk girl?” “Lena, give over.” Marjorie shook her head. “Pour me some tea, girl.” She settled down into her usual rocking chair. “Mable is here, alive, and looking clean and proper. Clearly she is not sleeping in a cave with bears.” “No, I am not.” Mable took a deep breath. “So, are you back again?” Lena looked up the table “Have you had enough of this running wild?” “No, I’m only just here to visit.” Mable took a deep breath. “And to let you know that my husband will be joining us later.” Lena dropped the ladle in shock. Marjorie’s knitting needles fell to the floorboards with a clatter. “What did you just say?” She leaned forward in her chair. Mable took another deep breath. “My husband will be joining us.” “I thought that is what she said.” Marjorie slowly reached down to retrieve her knitting needles from the floor. Lena had taken hold of the table, as if drawing support from it. “And whatever are you wearing?” “Something Autumn-Rose loaned me. I had to look my best for my wedding.” “It suits you.” Lena shook her head, clearly at a loss. “And just who is this mystery man?” “Who cares?” Marjorie interrupted. “He has saved my granddaughter from spinsterhood!” “Mother!” “It was Scott.” “Scott?” Lena frowned as she tried to match a face with the name. Then her eyes widened. “Mister Barstow?” “He is a fine looking man,” Marjorie agreed. “But I am not ready for company.” Lena looked around the kitchen. “I have had no chance to bake. All we have is a simple stew.” “It’s my fault for just dropping in unexpectedly like this.”

“Nonsense. Don’t ever feel like you cannot simply stop in.” Marjorie waved one of her knitting needles. “Lena, throw a few more potatoes into the pot.” “We’ll just stay a bit.” “Nonsense. You’ll stay as long as you like.” Lena was smiling broadly now. “You and your fine husband.” There was a tentative knock at the door. Lena patted her hair. “Do I look all right?” she asked. “You look fine,” Mable reassured her. “Don’t just stand there dithering,” Marjorie said with a wave. “Mable, go and open the door. Bring the man inside!” Mable hurried to the door and opened it. “Come in, Scott,” she said. “This is my mother. Lena Cheney.” “A pleasure.” He had doffed his hat. “You will stay for supper,” Lena asked. “It will be ready shortly.” “We don’t want to be a bother.” “It is no bother at all.” Lena gestured to the pot. “I’m sorry that we cannot offer you anything better than just this stew.” “It smells quite delicious, Mrs Cheney.” “Lena, please. Sit down.” She gestured to an empty chair. “I’ll fetch you a bowl and some hot tea.” “Some butter for your bread, Mister Barstow? You may call me Marjorie. ‘Mrs Cheney’ makes me feel like an old woman.” Scott chuckled. “It’s Scott. Thank you.” He slathered some of the fresh churned butter onto his still-warm bread. “Do you do the churning?” he asked Lena. “Yes, Mable has never quite mastered the art.” “She will learn eventually.” Marjorie sipped her tea. “I have longed for this day. To see Mable settled with someone. It is a fine thing. A gift from our Lord.” “I will be honest with you three. I did not move to Maple Grove looking to find myself a wife.” “Why did you move here?” “I wanted some land for a house and I fell in love with the view of the River from that clearing.” “There are some fine views along the River. This region is a wonderful one.” Scott looked at his wife. “So I have been told.” “Have you been married before?” Marjorie asked as they enjoyed tea in the parlour. “I was married once, to an Iroquois girl. We clashed over just about everything in our marriage until it ended.” “A divorce?” Lena asked. “Of sorts. We quarrelled and she went and threw herself into Lake Ontario one night.” He shook his head, his eyes going dark. “My Rosie drowned herself.” Mable blinked at that.

“How awful for you.” Marjorie reached over to pat his knee with her hand. “Was it long ago?” “Some ten years back.” “One never forgets the pain of losing a loved one.” “But now I have found Mable…not that I was expecting too.” “Life is full of surprises.” “It is indeed.” Mable nodded. His little Rosie? “But we should talk of happier things.” “They say that the second wife always has to contend with the ghost of the first,” Mable commented. “I can’t replace her, Scott, and I will not try too.” “It was over a long time before…it’s past.” He inhaled. “I am told that you two have a deft hand with sewing. My new bride and I have a house to outfit and I would like to avail myself--ourselves--of your bounty.” “Anything in the house is Mable’s for the taking,” Lena replied hastily. “A dowry of sorts.” “I would never dream of relying on such generosity from you. Her dowry cannot be enough to fully equip our house, so I insist that you allow me to purchase some things from you.” “Nonsense, Scott.” * * *

Kenneth Eddington was measuring out coffee from one barrel into small bags when the little bell over the door tinkled. “…and the latest I have heard is that Olivia absconded from home with the stable boy--Joesph. Did you ever hear tell of such a thing?” He chuckled. “Yes?” he asked, without bothering to lift his eyes from his weighing scales. “What do you want?” “I have an order to place with you.” At Mable’s voice, Eddington finally looked up from his measuring. “An order,” he began in a bored tone. “What does your mother want this--” His voice trailed off and he stood blinking at her. She adjusted her bright blue bonnet and then smoothed out the material of her equally bright skirt. “It’s not for my mother. This order is for me.” “For you?” Kenneth looked at his waiting customer. Adam Kent was speechless. “Good morning, Mister Kent.” Mable gave him a polite nod. “I want to order in some fabric.” She smiled sweetly as the shopkeeper’s face grew pale. “A few yards of blue and some of green and maybe something in a nice bright apple red. For those special times.” “Apple red?” Kenneth’s face was growing splotchy. “Blues I might grant you, but red?” “I have an image to uphold,” she told him. “As a married woman, I have to look my best for my husband and he is of the opinion that brown simply just does not suit me.” Kenneth’s mouth was hanging open. Adam coughed.

Mable managed not to start laughing at them both. “My husband hates the sight of me in brown so I shall have to change my entire wardrobe. You can imagine how that is.” “Now see here, young woman, I am not--” Mable reached for her purse and removed some coins which she carelessly tossed onto the countertop. “That should be enough to cover my order,” she announced. “And this should pay off my mother’s account.” Adam’s eyes were wide as more coins clattered onto the worn wood. “It’s more than enough….” Kenneth stammered. “Now, may I have a receipt?” The door closed behind her and Mable felt her knees sag. “I did it,” she murmured. “I actually did it!” She was grinning and hurriedly walked away from the store. It felt very liberating to have finally told him off like that. “I need to see Autumn-Rose.” She hurried down the street. The library was closed. The windows were curtained and the building was dark and dusty. Mable knocked on the door. “Autumn-Rose?” she called out. A woman was walking past and gave Mable an odd look. Then she realized who was standing there in that particular dress and she stopped. “Mable Cheney?” “Good morning, Mrs Dumbleton. I’m looking for a friend of mine. She’s usually here.” “Mrs Grady is out of town right now. She went to visit her sick mother.” Mable frowned. “I haven’t seen her in months. I was hoping to see Autumn-Rose.” “Who?” “The Mohawk girl who works here.” “Don’t be silly. Mrs Grady works there. No one else. Are you certain you are all right?” “Of course.” Mable was still frowning and she looked at the door one more time as a thought suddenly came to her. “Oh no!” She took off at a run, her skirts flapping, leaving the other woman to stare after her. The Saint Lawrence was cloaked in mists. She couldn’t see the American shoreline at all and the canoe with its single occupant was already half-obscured by the mist. The second wife must contend with the ghost of the first indeed. “Autumn-Rose!” Mable called out. The figure in the canoe looked back and slowly waved her right hand. “You can’t leave me! Not now!” “You don’t need me hanging around any longer.” Autumn-Rose was smiling as the current began to carry her downriver. Her usual radiance had faded and she looked pale and dragged out. “But I can’t go on without you!” “You have everything you need now. One more thing!” she called out. “Do not tell Scott the truth!” “But he’ll know I lied. When I live out the year and nothing happens!”

“Do not tell him. Let him believe that his love for you has cured you. Let it be a blessed miracle.” She was smiling. “Let him believe whatever he wants, just do not tell him!” The canoe was moving faster now, carrying her away into the mists. “Just live!” Her last words echoed as the mists closed around her.

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