Chapter Two #2
“Didn’t you get any food?” Harriet asked. “You’d better hurry if you want any of the hashbrown casserole. It’s almost gone.” She popped a pickle into her mouth.
The last thing Kate wanted right now was food.
“I’m not all that hungry.”
“You okay?” Harriet asked. “You look white as a ghost. Is Ray here?” she asked in a low voice. Only Harriet knew the full story of what Ray had done.
Kate blanched further before remembering that Ray would never come to something like the potluck, even if it meant free food, as for one thing, he would have to face his father.
“No, I . . .” Kate faltered. “I guess I’m just tired.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense. I saw you talking to the sheriff. Everything okay?”
Kate hesitated. Normally, she wasn’t one to share her feelings, but she longed to tell Harriet everything the sheriff confirmed. Still, she was loath to do so in front of Rosemary and John. However, they did seem somewhat preoccupied with their food . . .
“Yes, I was . . . I was asking the sheriff for more information about where I might be from, who I might be. Turns out I’ve been wrong.”
“Wrong?” Harriet took a big bite of a meatball. “About what?
“About me being a Sauk Indian from Prairie du Chien.”
Harriet’s brow creased as she chewed.
“Mrs. Norris thinks it’s more likely that I was from one of the immigrant camps that used to be down near you in New Grimsby. Which makes more sense, I suppose,” Kate mused. “If I had really been from Prairie du Chien, how would I have been found all the way out by the Wareham farm?”
“What’s this now?” Rosemary asked, setting down a large piece of strudel.
With a tired little sigh, Kate quickly related the story to Mrs. Mueller.
“Hmm,” Mrs. Mueller said when Kate finished.
She wiped her mouth with her hankie. “I do seem to remember a story about a little lost girl now.” She studied Kate anew.
“Funny how I never connected the story with you.” Her wrinkled eyes were unusually bright.
“Yes,” she murmured. “You’d be about the right age. ”
“What is it, Mom? Do you remember something?” Harriet looked hopefully at Kate.
“Well, I do recall that there was a family, name of Espo or something like that, who lived in that camp. The father was killed in the same mine accident as my Earl, and the mother died of diphtheria not long after. The kids were all picked up by a relative from Shullsburg, if I’m not mistaken. Maybe you were one of them?”
Kate’s heart skipped a beat, and she tried desperately to remember. Espo? Espo? It didn’t ring a bell. “Well,” she finally said, “if that were the case, why didn’t the relatives take me, too?”
Rosemary shook her head sympathetically. “I don’t rightly know, Kate. Maybe you wandered away and got lost?”
Kate thought about this. “But once they discovered I was missing, why wouldn’t they have come back for me?”
“Maybe they did, but couldn’t find you?” Rosemary shifted her plate into one hand and used the other to pat Kate on the arm.
“Or maybe they aren’t connected with you at all.
It’s just that when you mentioned the families who used to live down our way, it came to me that maybe they could have been your people, just as Mrs. Norris suggested.
” She moved the plate back into both hands.
“I guess I didn’t think of it before. You’ve always been a Kerwyn to me.
And at the time that it all happened, I was overwhelmed with my own grief, as, like I said, Earl died in that accident, too. ”
“Yes, I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mrs. Mueller,” Kate mumbled.
“Ah, well. ‘Time heals all wounds.’ Isn’t that so?” She smiled at Harriet. “Me and Harriet got along alright, didn’t we?”
“We did, Mom.” Harriet gave her mother a quick return smile and then turned her attention to sampling a deviled egg.
“Did you ever think to ask out at the Warehams?” Rosemary suggested.
Kate folded her lips in quick irritation.
Of course they had asked at the Warehams. Many times.
The Warehams, however, had not noticed anything unusual on their property, nor had they heard anything.
And now they were both practically senile, so it was no use asking them yet again.
How they were still living on their own on that big farm was a mystery to all.
Kate pulled her eyes from the Muellers, hoping to spot Edmund in the crowd.
It was getting more difficult to see through the haze of cigarette smoke.
Finally, she saw him. He was standing very near Frank and Julius, which was odd, but what was even more odd was the fact that he was talking—and laughing! —with a pretty young woman.
“Who’s that?” Kate asked Harriet.
Harriet popped a baked chestnut into her mouth. “Who?” she garbled.
“The woman talking to Edmund. I don’t think I know her.”
“Oh!” Harriet swallowed. “Her name’s Mary Crawford.
She’s a friend of Frank’s. She and her brother—he’s the one talking to your sisters—are from Chicago.
Frank’s asked them to help him with the cottages.
Henry, that’s the brother, is some big architect, and Mary’s an interior designer, whatever that is.
” She looked at John, who gave a little shrug.
“I think it means she arranges the stuff inside,” Harriet mused. “You know, like the furniture.”
Kate studied the young woman. She was tall and slender, but not overly so, just enough to give her a commanding, elegant presence.
She had very fair skin, beautiful bobbed, black curls, and a pleasant smile.
She was wearing a long, slim burgundy skirt with a matching jacket, cropped at the hip, and a white blouse with a bow at the neck.
And gloves! Who wore such an outfit to a church basement potluck?
Now, the woman leaned close to Edmund and whispered something, which made him laugh yet again. Kate felt a little stirring in chest. She wasn’t sure she liked this new young woman.
She shifted her gaze to the brother, Henry, who was also dressed as if he were .
. . well, going somewhere other than here!
He was wearing a dark gray suit with polished Oxfords and a burgundy silk tie that curiously matched his sister’s dress perfectly.
He was apparently also quite entertaining, if Louisa and Nettie’s loud laughter was any indication.
However, the two of them, Kate knew, would laugh at just about anything, especially if spoken by a man, so this was no real proof of Henry Crawford’s wit.
Unfortunately for Kate, Frank caught sight of her and let out a little cry of joy. “Ah, Kate Kerwyn!” he exclaimed, dramatically throwing up an arm in welcome before moving towards her.
Oh, God, no! Kate’s head suddenly began to throb.
“We were just talking about you!”
At this, most of the entourage stopped chatting and looked in Kate’s direction.
Kate wished a hole would open up in the ground and swallow her.
Her eyes darted to Edmund, but he was unfortunately at the back of the little group, Mary Crawford’s arm looped tightly through his as he tilted his head toward her to hear what she was saying yet again.
“Allow me to introduce one of our local artists, Miss Kate Kerwyn.” Frank’s voice held real pride as he approached, the little group following.
“Kate makes the most exquisite woven baskets, and she also has a very fine hand at illustration,” he added.
“Kate, these are my friends Mary and Henry Crawford.”
Kate tried to turn to Harriet for support, but the Muellers and John were already back in line for more food! How much could Harriet possibly eat?
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Henry Crawford said, pulling Kate’s attention back.
He held out his hand, and after hesitating a moment, she took it.
He was not very tall, just her height, actually, but he was extremely handsome—possibly the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Her guard went up immediately, however, when he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Her insides squirmed. Was he mocking her?
“You really must show us your baskets,” Mary added, disengaging from Edmund. “Edmund here has been telling us all about you.”
Kate shot Edmund a dagger, and his crooked smile instantly withered. With his close-cropped brown hair and worn tweed jacket, he appeared as opposite of Henry Crawford as a man possibly could. He shuffled slightly under Kate’s gaze.
“He’s been telling us all about how you live in a hole! Is it not charming, Henry?” Mary drawled. “Dear Frank, you have the most delicious acquaintances. Why have you not told us about them before?”
“Well, you are here now, are you not?” Frank smiled his big jovial smile. “And right at the beginning of our grand project. Tomorrow, I will take you and Henry to see the cottages so you can observe what is to be done.”
“Splendid! And will you come, too, Edmund?” Mary gushed and batted her eyes at him. Batted her eyes? Worse was the fact that Edmund actually blushed and looked at the floor.
“That’s mighty kind of you, Miss Crawford, but I’ve work to do,” he bleated like a lost lamb. Why was he acting this way? He was normally so confident and strong, but he seemed now like a bowl of mush.
“A pity,” Mary said sweetly. “But what about you, Miss Kerwyn? Or may I call you Kate? I do hope you’ll call me Mary!”
“Yes, Miss Kerwyn, will you accompany us?” Henry was not quite as overeager in his request, but his deep green eyes held hers, almost as if he could see right through her.
It made her feel exposed and weak, shabby.
Quickly, she shifted her gaze away and focused instead on the dark curls near the nape of his neck, which was thick and strong.
She imagined this was how a Roman emperor might have looked.
She found it hard not to stare. He was utterly fascinating, but at the same time, he filled her with a sort of nervous dread.
“No, I . . . I think not.” She cleared her throat.