Not Quite by the Book

Chapter Nine

I watched the sunrise the next morning, unaccustomed to sleeping more than a few hours at a time. In Willow Bend I typically had too much on my mind, and too many things on my plate. But a day of labor in the fresh air and sunshine, followed by carrying gallons of water, had knocked me out cold. Minus my midnight trip to the thermostat.

I shivered around the first floor, starting a pot of coffee, then checking the temperature in the house. “Fifty-eight,” I read. “Ridiculous.” I had to contact Davis. The nights would only get colder as October drew near.

I wound the dial to seventy and waited for the latent lament of an ancient furnace struggling back to life.

Sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, bathing the white cabinetry and appliances in a warm golden glow. Woven baskets and antique kitchen gadgets decorated a baker’s rack on one wall. Eyelet curtains hung over the small rectangular glass in the back door.

I took my steaming mug of coffee onto the patio, then into the grass for a better look at my garden and flowers. Many were missing buds and leaves.

“Damn bunny.”

I set a bowl of cream on the pavers for the cat, eager to lure it back and maybe keep the rabbit away. Then I made a hearty breakfast and carried it to the study.

I started the new day with another book about Emily’s life, determined to see her as the warm, hopeful woman I wanted her to be. I searched my soul for a connection to her in the process. I needed to strengthen that tether if I planned to stay my course. Unfortunately, the more I read, the more evident it became that Emily had preferred the company of plants to people. And hours of contemplation over conversation.

I could not relate.

For the first time, I wondered how Emily and I could be so painfully different when her poems spoke the words of my soul.

Time dragged on as I struggled to write and reflect. My hand cramped and ached from the fruitless attempts at more letters to my family. Meanwhile, I started a third for Cecily. I missed my wireless keyboard. I missed talking to people.

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed, and I jerked to my feet. I’d write more before bed. Until then I wanted to go exploring.

I collected my phone, purse, and keys as I headed to the door.

I thought I might visit the local library and research ways to keep a rabbit from eating my garden, or how to fix a pilot light. Davis had mentioned checking the water heater’s pilot light on the night we’d met. If I was staying put, I should probably know how to fix it. Especially since I wanted to avoid the handyman as much as possible.

After lunch, I’d visit the grocery store for baking supplies. Maybe baking would be the thread that tied me closer to Emily. My little failures so far were starting to add up, and I needed a win. I had a pile of authentic recipes, fresh ingredients on my list, and a modern-ish oven at my disposal. As an added bonus, the idea of making my own breakfast breads and muffins made me feel incredibly self-sufficient. And, in true Emily fashion, I could share them by delivering extras to the shops and ladies who’d donated to my welcome basket. Another excellent and reasonable excuse to get out and meet more people.

A smile bloomed. An errand list like this one could easily keep me busy all day. My feet hit the lane with a little kick in my step, and I fought the urge to twirl.

I’d text Davis about the furnace before returning to the manor, and he could come over to take a look at the problem later.

I made it halfway up the lane before my phone rang, and I startled. Apparently I’d reached the signal zone. I knew I should stick to letters while I was on my mission, yet—

“Hey, Mom,” I said, hoping to sound at ease and delighted instead of desperate for conversation.

“Hello, hon,” she said. “How are you doing? Still enjoying Amherst?”

My chest constricted at the sound of her voice, and suddenly, I felt homesick. I missed my warm apartment and the busy store beneath. I missed seeing the people I loved in person and all the familiar things I’d taken for granted. Why had I thought leaving town to live alone and do hard things would solve my problems? I couldn’t even take a hot shower. I had to settle for a lukewarm bath.

“Emma?” Mom asked gently. “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, silently giving in to my dismal thoughts of failure.

“What is it, sweetie? Is there anything your dad or I can do?”

I shook my head, though she couldn’t see me. Her mention of Dad pulled me back to the moment, and I checked my watch. It was after nine. “I’ll be okay,” I said. “Are you at the store?”

The distinct sounds of traffic told me they weren’t.

“Not yet,” she said. “We’re meeting Annie and Jeffrey for breakfast first. I thought I’d give you a call on the way and make sure you know we’re all thinking of you and missing you every day.”

I ignored the irrational jab of jealousy on multiple counts. “Is Annie still mad at me for leaving?”

“She’s very pregnant,” Mom said. “She has a lot on her mind, and a heavy load of hormones affecting her thoughts. She’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

“She called me selfish.” The words popped out of my mouth before I’d thought better of them. I hated how much I’d let Annie’s outburst bother me, but I didn’t mean to drag Mom into our rift. We weren’t children, and Mom didn’t need the added drama.

“I’m sure she’s worried about her upcoming delivery and all the major changes she’s facing. She doesn’t want you to miss it. That’s all.”

“I wish she’d just say that,” I complained. “Then we could talk it through. It’s not as if I moved across the country. I can be home in less than an hour. All she has to do is let me know when she goes into labor. It’s no big deal.”

Mom was quiet.

“The drive, not the labor,” I corrected. “Of course the labor is a big deal.” I pressed a hand over my eyes, feeling unintentionally rude and ridiculous. “I’m glad you and Dad are visiting her in the mornings. But you should probably change the store hours if you aren’t going to be there at nine.” Otherwise, we’d lose our batch of regular morning shoppers. There were only so many times a person would visit a store and find it locked before they stopped dropping by.

“Already done,” Mom said. “I put a sign in the window last night letting folks know we’ll open at lunchtime this month. Now your dad and I won’t have to worry about rushing around to get there.”

I clamped my mouth shut, processing the news. I hadn’t slept in—or had breakfast out—in years, because I felt obligated to open the store at nine. But as soon as I took a few weeks off, Mom just taped a sign to the window, and poof! The hours were now more convenient?

Did she even care about sales? Was her store wholly my problem now?

“You know,” Mom said. “It’s not too late for you to come home if you’re bored or lonely. I can’t tell you how much you’re missed. By us. By Annie. By the store and customers. They ask about you every day.”

My eyelids fell shut, and I swiped a frustrated tear from the corner of one eye. The possibility she only wanted me home to run the store replaced sentimentality with anger. “I can’t,” I said, forcing the words through a tightening throat. “I’m not done here yet.”

If I gave up, all the trouble I’d caused by leaving and all the little obstacles I’d already faced would have been for nothing. “I have to go, Mom,” I said. “I hope you have a good day. Tell Dad and Annie I love them.”

I disconnected and tucked the phone back into my pocket with a soft growl. I had work to do in Amherst before I could worry any more about the state of affairs in Willow Bend. Even if my parents were messing things up.

It was afternoon when I dragged myself and my shopping bags through the manor’s front door and into the kitchen. I’d taken my time browsing the shops and created haiku as I went.

Alone, not lonely

Enjoying a pretty day

Learning to be fine

The best part of going about my day was seeing several familiar faces from my letter-writing class, and each of them had recognized me too. We traded smiles and waves, then a few casual words that made me feel like part of the town.

I’d forced myself to text Davis on my walk home. He’d responded to say he’d visit after he finished at work. I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing him again when I was lonely at the manor and he was unfairly attractive. So I concentrated on the moment at hand.

I heaved my bounty onto the countertop and unpacked the newly purchased baking supplies into orderly rows on the counter.

“Black cake, coconut bread, or gingerbread?” I asked the empty kitchen. I’d found three recipes from the 1850s, and all sounded delicious. Gingerbread felt a little too Christmassy, however, so I set that one aside. I loved coconut, but the black cake involved cognac and hazelnut liqueur. “Black cake it is.”

I made a cup of coffee and checked the clock. Not that time had any meaning in a world where I had zero responsibilities. I dosed the coffee with liquor, then hummed and sipped as I prepped the pan.

The oven made a number of questionable sounds as it preheated, but the appliance appeared to be about my age, so I assumed it was doing the best it could.

“All right. What’s next?” I asked, examining the recipe I’d propped against the backsplash. “Raisins and a bunch of dried fruits chopped into raisin size. No problem.” I grabbed a knife. “Currants, apricots, prunes, pears, dates. Yeesh.” I finished my coffee and sampled the brandy as I worked.

The process was a lot more labor-intensive than all those cupcakes and brownies I’d made from boxes. Being required to do all the extra steps felt a little like being held hostage.

I hated tedious tasks.

I sagged in relief when I’d finished the chopping, then checked the clock.

When Davis had stopped by after work on the night of my arrival, it’d been dark. Based on that, I reasoned I probably had time to finish the cake and my minigarden project. As long as I kept moving.

I took another look at the recipe. “Flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, cloves, mace. Good grief.” I was going to need a larger bowl.

“Nutmeg, cardamon, ginger, butter, sugar, eggs, vanilla.” I groaned miserably.

I tested the cognac again, which helped.

Maybe Emily only thought she enjoyed baking because she was drunk.

Eventually I had the batter mixed and ready for the oven. Understandably, the pan weighed about fifty pounds. I hadn’t packed enough stretchy pants to eat this on my own.

I set the timer on my phone because the ancient oven didn’t seem to have one; then I gave myself a short break and read Paul’s letter once more. I never imagined how much I’d enjoy receiving notes from friends and classmates. I hoped my letters made Cecily and my parents smile too.

Next, I moved on to Project Protect the Garden. I set the letter on the table, then collected my supplies before heading outside with stakes, twine, scissors, and aluminum pie plates in hand.

I gritted my teeth at the condition of my garden. Several plants had been completely ruined; leaves were shredded on some, missing on others; and two carrot buds had been fully removed from the ground. I silently cursed the bunny.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” I said, projecting my words to the nearby trees. “’Cause this restaurant is closed.”

Something moved in the shadows, and I grinned when the bunny came into view, nose twitching as it watched from the tree line.

“Not. Going. To. Happen,” I whispered.

Across the lawn, the brown-and-white cat strolled onto my patio and took a seat. It licked its paw as its attention moved from me to the bunny and back.

“That’s right,” I said. “I’m taking over now.”

I wondered, briefly, if either animal had a name. Then smiled as the words to one of Emily’s poems whispered in my mind. I’m nobody! Who are you?

Strangely, I’d thought I’d known exactly who I was when I made plans to come to Amherst, but in my few days I’d learned things I hadn’t expected. And none of it so far had anything to do with my dreams of love. In a family of extroverts, I’d considered myself quiet and shy. But I wasn’t. I’d thought I craved solitude, but now I was positive I hated that. I’d even considered talking to the plants for company.

I couldn’t do that if they were all dead, and I couldn’t save them if they were all dismembered.

According to advice I’d found online, stringing aluminum pie plates around the perimeter would keep wildlife away without harming the plants or the animals. The movement of the plates in the breeze would frighten animals somehow, as would the reflection of sunlight as the silver discs bobbed in the wind. The job seemed relatively simple, so I was willing to give it a try.

I hammered dowel rods into the four corners of my garden, then punched holes in the pie plates and strung them with twine. After that, I crawled around the little square, securing the string to the dowel rods.

My hands and knees were sore when I finished. Dirt packed into the scrapes from my fall the day before. I dusted together my palms, then stretched upright to knock the dirt off my jeans.

Fiery hues of waning daylight reflected on the plates, and pride drew a smile over my lips.

A moment later, I tensed. The sun shouldn’t be setting already! How long had I been outside? I still needed to clean up before Davis arrived, and what had happened to the timer on my phone? I patted my pockets and looked around. But the device wasn’t anywhere to be found.

A new horror rushed into mind. “The cake!”

“Oh, no, no, no.” I gathered my remaining supplies from the grass and hustled across the lawn and patio toward the manor.