Chapter Four
Fortunately—or unfortunately, as it turned out—Melody did not have to wait long to discuss Fred’s departure, as he himself brought the subject up at dinner the very next day.
Dinners had become rather muted in the months since Pops’s death and the eventual departure of all of their lodgers.
It was one of Pops’s last acts of charity to insist the Kaufmanns stay at the Willows until new arrangements could be made, despite Mums’s opinion to the contrary.
Mums disliked poor Imogene and often said so out loud, but at least, Melody mused, she had had a strong opinion.
These days, Mums was apathetic about almost everything.
“I’ve come to a decision,” Fred declared grandly. He had just recently taken to sitting in Pops’s chair at the head of the table, which annoyed Melody. It was not only disrespectful, but presumptuous as well.
“About what?” She was sure it had something to do with the Merc, probably a critique of something or other.
Just this morning, he had barricaded himself in the office to work out a new system of tracking inventory.
Personally, Melody wasn’t sure what was wrong with their current method, which consisted simply of looking at the shelves, noting what needed to be ordered and then ordering it, but of course her opinion didn’t matter. She braced herself for an argument.
Fred took his time responding, pausing to spear another bite of tender roast pork—one of Helenka’s specialties—and swiping it through a pool of gravy.
Despite his criticisms over the years of Bunny being overly dramatic, Fred had a flair for it at times as well.
He leaned back now and dabbed his mouth with his napkin.
“I hope it’s about when you’re going back to school,” Bunny said irritably. “I’d like to get back to my evening practice.”
Since Fred had come home, he had asked—no, insisted—that Bunny refrain from practicing after dinner, as it gave him a headache when he was trying to relax and read the paper.
Relax and read the paper? Since when? It frustrated Melody beyond belief that he was so obviously trying to turn himself into a carbon copy of their father.
Fred frowned. “As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I wanted to announce.” He scowled at Bunny, clearly annoyed that she had stolen his thunder. “I’m not going back.”
“What?” Melody exclaimed. “Why?”
Bunny likewise groaned.
Mums stopped pushing food around her plate and actually looked up. “What did you say, Fred?”
“I said I’m not going back to school, Mums,” Fred repeated, a little louder.
“But why?” Melody was stunned.
“I think that’s obvious, Mel. The Merc needs help, and I’m here now.”
“No, it doesn’t! I was doing pretty well on my own, thank you very much.”
Fred sopped up some mashed potatoes with his roll. “You’ve done a good job in the interim, Mel, I’ll say that, but there are a lot of improvements that could be made.”
“Yes, I know that, Fred, but it’s not like I had any money to make changes.
I’ve tried as best I could.” How dare he!
She had more than done a “good job”; she had literally saved the Merc from going under.
And she now had a vision for the future, courtesy of Frank Churchill, who had convinced her to focus on local products and craftwork for the new age of tourism he and Julius were hoping to usher into Merriweather with the renovation of some of the cottages on Magnolia into working historical sites.
Fred gave a little chuckle. “Yes, but selling crude baskets made by a hermit girl, and soaps made by the village idiot, and . . . and cider brewed by crazy old Rosemary Mueller isn’t going to do it.
What we need to do is apply sound Harvard business practices.
” He pounded the table softly with his fist. “Let’s face it, Pops wasn’t the best bookkeeper in the world.
And,” he hissed in a whisper meant only for Melody, “the fact that he borrowed money from loan sharks is saying a lot.”
“Well, Uncle Joe didn’t help matters,” Melody hissed back.
“But it’s Pops’s fault for trusting him with all of his money!”
“What are you two whispering about?” Bunny interrupted. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s rude?”
“Yes, what are you saying, Freddy?” Mums pushed her plate away.
“I was just saying that I’ll be damned if I let the Merc and the Merriweather name fall into the dustheap of history. I plan on staying to bring us back to our former glory!” He raised his glass, but no one else joined in the salute.
“I wasn’t aware we were in need of resurrection,” Melody snipped.
“Me, either.” Bunny set down her fork.
“Well, I don’t know. Perhaps it might be a good idea for Freddy to stay,” Mums said with pathetic eagerness. “I couldn’t bear for him to leave just now. What would we do without him?”
“Mums, it would be foolish for Freddy to quit with just one semester left. It was Pops’s greatest wish that he finish law school. And, as a lawyer, he’ll be a much better financial resource to the family.”
Mums pursed her lips. “Well, that is true, Fred. And Melody was doing well enough at the Merc. There was the fire, but that wasn’t necessarily her fault. Perhaps she should continue on while you go back to school.”
“I will at some point, Mums. But right now, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
Melody rolled her eyes. “A man would do his duty and finish school!”
“Temper, temper,” Freddy admonished and waved his fork at her.
Melody threw herself back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Well, what am I supposed to do now that you think you’re in charge?
Be a shopgirl at your beck and call?” Of course he was swooping in now, after she had been forced to give up her lovely life at Mundelein.
Had it really taken Pops’s death for him to feel some sort of family responsibility?
Almost as if he had read her mind, Fred tossed his napkin onto his empty plate. “You might as well go back to Mundelein, Mel.”
“Go back to Mundelein? But why?” Mums seemed genuinely confused.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Freddy.” Melody tossed her napkin, too. “We don’t have the money for that. You just want me out of the way. And, anyway, it’s the middle of the term!”
“Well, what does that matter? You’re not really there to get a degree, are you?
Look, you can have my college money. Or maybe you can get some kind of scholarship.
Family hardship and all that. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet some rich guy and marry him.
Isn’t that the whole point of that school?
Whatever happened to that kid you were seeing? What was his name?”
Melody drummed her fingers on the embroidered tablecloth. Figures Fred would bring all this up again. And in front of Mums, who did not blame Douglas for essentially ruining Christmas (at least for Melody) and instead blamed Melody for rejecting him! It was maddening!
It hadn’t been her fault that Douglas had turned up on their doorstep on Christmas Eve.
She had written him a perfectly respectful letter in which she had refused his many offers of matrimony once and for all, thinking that this would be the end of it.
But, no! He had not accepted her answer and had recklessly driven all the way to Merriweather from Chicago to confront her.
His parents must have been furious! And of course, having no clear plan and nowhere to stay, Douglas had accepted Pops’s invitation to sleep on the couch.
Likewise, he had further ruined Christmas by accompanying them to church the next morning and then accepting Mums’s cheery invitation for him to dine with them as well.
Melody had tried her best not to be alone with Douglas, but he had finally found his chance when he spotted her trying to creep up the stairs for a quick nap after their big Christmas dinner.
“There you are, Melody! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he hissed, rushing up the stairs after her.
Melody reluctantly turned. “Oh, hello, Douglas.” She forced a smile. “I was just going to lie down for a bit. A little too much for dinner.” She patted her stomach.
“Melody! Stop avoiding me! We have to talk!”
Melody bit the inside of her cheek. It was silly to keep running from him. She would just have to be firm, though she thought she had already done that in her letter.
“Oh, alright.” She leaned against the wall. “Go on.”
“Here? On the staircase? Can’t we go somewhere . . . well, private?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, the house is rather full.” Melody came down a few steps. “Maybe the pantry? But I think Helenka is in the kitchen preparing something for this evening,” she murmured. “And the back porch is too cold . . .”
“Can’t we go to your room?” he pleaded.
Melody sighed. It was perhaps the only private place left in the house, but she was loath to lead Douglas to her bedroom—not because of the impropriety, though if Mums were to find out, she would be furious (however, if the light snore coming from her room was any indication, Mums was having her own little lie-down).
And it wasn’t because Melody feared that Douglas would do anything ungentlemanly—he was, in her mind, akin to a cuddly little kitten—but because she would have nowhere to retreat if the conversation grew uncomfortable.
She could hardly waltz out of her own bedroom, leaving him in there alone, if the topic at hand became too heated. Which, she predicted, it might.
“Fine. But we have to be quick. And quiet,” she emphasized. “Mums is right next door.”
Douglas followed her on tiptoe into her room and paused just inside the door, his eyes darting everywhere at once.
Melody leaned against her desk, facing him. “Well?”
Douglas stopped observing the sacred inner sanctuary of his love and gazed at her. Melody quailed under the pain she saw there.
“Why, Melody? Why won’t you marry me?” he begged. “Is it something I did? Something I said? Didn’t say? Didn’t do?”