Small Town Cinderella

Julia reached for the quiche. “My husband was interested in genealogy.” She cut a thin slice and paid attention to lifting it without losing a crumb. “He liked reading the births written in my mother’s Bible. He liked the way my family uses the same names over and over.”

It was the longest speech Emily had ever heard her mother make about her father. She didn’t know anything about his relatives. “Is there a Moore family Bible?”

“This looks like Edith’s quiche.”

“No, Mom, it’s mine. Remember? I stocked the freezer with them in the spring, for hot days like this.”

“It’s sure good, whoever made it,” Matthew said. “Emily, would you be able to show me around sometime?”

“Around Three Creeks?”

“Around this farm. It could stand in for the Rutherford homestead, couldn’t it? Give me a sense of the way things were for my family—if you and your mother don’t mind.”

“I’d be glad to, but there isn’t much to see.”

“Would tomorrow work for you? After lunch?”

Julia said, “She’s busy tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow afternoon would be fine, Matthew.” More than fine. Her grudging sense of duty had disappeared. She wanted to spend time with him.

She stood up, gathering plates. “I’ll get dessert.” No doubt her mother would find it necessary to remind them Jack had baked the pumpkin loaf, but there was no way she could give anyone else credit for the raspberry meringue torte.

MATTHEW DIDN’T STAY LONG after dinner. He helped with the dishes and then Emily walked him to his car. Croaking sounds came from all around them.

“Isn’t it supposed to be quiet in the country?”

“The creek is full of frogs and toads. They make quite a racket in the evening. And then when you’re trying to fall asleep there’s the crickets and the whip-poor-will.”

He stood beside the car door, but didn’t move to open it. “I’ve never heard a whip-poor-will. Never heard of one, either.”

“It’s a bird. A plain, clumsy brown bird that whistles its name. At night, unfortunately. You probably won’t hear it in town.”

“I guess that’s a good thing. Thank you for dinner, Emily. It was a terrific meal. A group effort, I take it.”

She made a small sound of protest. “My grandmother and my aunt donated a couple of things. Not as much as my mother wanted you to think.” What her purpose had been, Emily didn’t know. “Thank you for being so nice to her.”

“Nice?”

“Not everyone is. She makes some people uncomfortable.”

“I can see she has her own style. That’s good, isn’t it? A little variety? I enjoyed meeting her.”

He seemed to mean it.

“You’ll have to let me know if there’s anywhere else you’d like to go while you’re here—for your family history, I mean. There’s a pioneer museum in Pine Point that might be helpful.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Matthew smiled and got into the car. Emily waited while he backed out of the driveway, and waved when he started toward the creek road. She spent most of the walk back to the house wondering why there had been no warmth in his eyes when he had smiled so kindly.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALL JULIA WANTED to do in Pine Point was get to the Encyclopedia Britannica. She agreed grudgingly to stop for a midmorning ice cream cone, then refused to have one and stood silently while Emily tried to enjoy her single scoop of maple walnut in a waffle cone.

“Done?” she said, as Emily took the last bite.

“You know, you could be a little more cooperative. I’m not going to stand beside you groaning while you read ten pages of fine print about obscure Egyptian publications—”

“Publications isn’t the right word. There wouldn’t have been actual publishers.”

Unsure whether fondness or exasperation was her dominant emotion, Emily started for the library, barely listening as her mother explained about pharaohs and government ministers and clerks who knew how to write hieroglyphics. As soon as they stepped inside the building, Julia stopped talking and headed unswervingly for the reference section. Emily wandered off to find paperbacks suitable for long afternoons stretched out in the relative coolness of the porch.

When she had a pile of books, enough that she could discard any that didn’t catch her interest when she settled down to read, she made her way to the checkout desk, past book carts in the aisle, people reading in chairs and a toddler half-asleep on the floor. The winding route took her almost to the door of the adjoining computer room. Feeling a pleasant little jolt, she stopped. Matthew was there, intent on the screen of a microfilm reader.

She stood watching him, enjoying the focused stillness of his body. Most of the people she knew were solidly one way—-of course they had variations in their personalities—but she could say without hesitation that Aunt Edith fussed and Liz dreamed and Martin teased.

Matthew seemed different. Cold and distant on one hand; warm and kind on the other. Analytical, with an air of professionalism, but physically strong, not bookish. In spite of the suit that had annoyed her for no good reason, she couldn’t picture him doing desk work.

He was a puzzle. Maybe that was why Hamish didn’t trust him. Yesterday he’d lowered his head whenever Matthew had spoken to him and kept his tail still. The dog had met people he didn’t like before, very nice people. He wasn’t that keen on Aunt Edith. It made Emily wonder, though. Two days, and two versions of Matthew. Why assume the one she liked was more real than the one she didn’t?

JULIA PILED the reference books she’d borrowed from the library onto the kitchen table. She shuffled through them a few times, rearranging them, then placed her catalogs and several sharpened pencils beside them.

“I’ll just put my books away upstairs, Mom. Then I’m going out to the garden.” Emily wanted to pick radishes and green onion to add to the leftover fried chicken sandwiches she planned to make for lunch.

There wasn’t much time before Matthew came, but she ended up staying outside longer to deal with some weeds. She had ignored them for the past few weeks, in the name of nice fingernails for the wedding. The cat sat next to her and watched as she pulled plantain and pineapple weed from between the carrots, sometimes batting a paw at a trailing root.

“That’s it,” Emily said softly. “Kill that root! You’re such a hunter. Oh, dear.” She’d got a baby carrot by mistake. She rubbed it clean and ate it in two bites, then picked more, thinning the row. “We’ll take some to Mom. There’s nothing like baby carrots to cheer a person up.”

“Talking to the cat now?”

Emily jumped. Martin stood at the edge of the garden, his truck parked behind him. “You startled me!” She got up, brushing dirt from her knees.

He climbed through the rails of the fence and stepped over the rhubarb to reach her. Every time she saw him he looked more strained. He and Liz’s brother, Tom, were working toward organic certification. It would be a few more years before they got there and in the meantime they were using grain profits to feed cattle they couldn’t sell. Given the date, she thought she knew why he’d come.

“Is your mom still excited about her thief?”

He grinned. “Oh, yeah, it was the best thief ever. You’re keeping your door locked, right?”

“I always do, Martin.”

“Like right now?”

“Well, no…but I’m here, close by, and Mom’s in the house.”

“You didn’t see me come. The dog didn’t bark. You should lock it during the day, too, Em, even if you’re home.” Changing pace abruptly, he smiled and patted the cloud of hair above her head. “You’ve got your Albert Einstein look goin’ on.”

Emily pushed his hand away. “Quit it, you.”