Small Town Cinderella

It wasn’t a very informative answer. The man didn’t even smile. Emily felt as welcome as a door-to-door canvasser. “I’d like to talk to him myself. Is he here?”

Dark-gray eyes looked back at her. Did he really need to think it over? Daniel was either here or he wasn’t. Her concern flooded back. “Has something happened to him?”

“He’s been called away.”

“He’s all right, though?”

“He’s fine.”

Emily didn’t want to play tug-of-war with the man over one simple piece of information. If his clothes weren’t enough of a clue, his tone made it clear he was from the city. No one used to small-town life would sound so distant when company called, not even when that company dropped in without notice.

She used the firm expression that usually got children’s attention when they were misbehaving and waited expectantly. Finally he added, “Daniel asked me to look after the place while he’s gone. He should be back in about a week if you want to try again.”

The door began to close.

She couldn’t believe it. He’d been so cool through the whole exchange, no more than polite. Not even polite. Stiff and distant and unhelpful, all with a sort of repressed energy that she found a little unnerving. “If you’re talking to him, would you tell him I came by? Emily Moore—”

The door, half-shut, opened again. “Otherwise known as Robb?”

For a moment his eyes had some life to them. Why did he care if she was a Robb? “According to people around here.” She smiled tentatively. “Not on any legal documents.”

“My uncle mentioned you. I’m Matthew Rutherford.”

A nephew! The name didn’t ring a bell.

He leaned against the doorjamb. Maybe he was feeling more relaxed now that they were introduced. But if he was more relaxed, why was she still standing outside?

Daniel would be disappointed if his nephew didn’t get a proper welcome. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Three Creeks. You’ve come a long way to watch the house. Not many nephews would be so generous!”

“I suppose it depends on the uncle.”

“That’s true. I’d do just about anything for Daniel, and we’re not even related.”

Her comment was met with a blank stare.

Emily sighed. She tried to catch it before it was out, but she was too late. “The last time I talked to him he was expecting to go to my cousin’s wedding this past Friday. He must have changed his mind suddenly. Did he go to Ontario?”

“He didn’t mention a wedding.”

Another non-answer. Daniel wouldn’t mind her knowing where he’d gone. She tried a subject the nephew might find less personal. “Have you met your neighbors yet?”

“You’re the first person I’ve seen.”

“Mrs. Bowen—” she pointed over her shoulder “—next door, is a dear friend of your uncle’s. Once she knows you’re here and alone—oh! Are you alone?”

As soon as she asked the question, something flashed between them. Awareness. She had forgotten about that sense of possibility. A pleasant, alert, tingly sort of feeling. It was a little rusty if it thought it should pop up now. There was no possibility with this unfriendly stranger.

“I’m here alone,” he said.

“Then she’s bound to be knocking at the door with salads and cookies and casseroles. She’ll pack your fridge with enough food for a month.”

The idea didn’t seem to please him. This really was an uphill conversation. She wasn’t going to give up, though. “Why don’t you come for dinner at my place one evening soon?”

Again, the stare. It wasn’t a complicated question. “Thanks, I’d love to,” he could say. Or “Sorry, I won’t have time.”

He didn’t choose either of those easy options. With traces of that disquieting awareness hovering, he stood in the doorway, apparently evaluating the invitation. She could picture him at the table, slowly and silently chewing and swallowing with that same look in his eyes. And she could picture herself getting very annoyed if he did.

“Daniel won’t want you to sit and look at the walls while you’re here. Now and then you’ll need to get out of this boiling hot house and have a proper home-cooked meal.”

The watchfulness became mild interest. His head tilted to one side. “Do you think a home-cooked meal is beyond me?”

Was he being curious or challenging? “Well, no…but there’s nothing like a home-cooked meal eaten in the shade of a big old maple tree.”

“That sounds appealing.”

The maple tree had clinched it. She should have known food wouldn’t be a draw. As far as she could see he didn’t have an ounce of body fat anywhere.

“Good.” She thought of her mother, still recovering from the wedding crowd. How long should she wait? He was only here for a week—it wasn’t meant to be a farewell dinner. “Come tomorrow? Around six?”

His expression was less stern now. Was he thawing? Was it because she was about to leave?

She smiled, and hoped it didn’t look as wooden as it felt. One dinner, and her duty to Daniel would be done.

SO THAT WAS Emily Robb. The problem of how to meet her was solved. He watched until she reached her car—an old Tempo, 1990, maybe—then he shut the door. It didn’t do anything to shut out her indignation.

People reacted differently to a blank slate. Some rushed to please, some got angry, some scared. He’d been up all night and had reached the point of not fully trusting his impressions but it was clear her efforts to please weren’t for his benefit. Daniel’s, he supposed. Or maybe the community’s.

He went up to the kitchen, ran the tap until the water was cold and filled a glass. From the window over the sink he could see the street. Her car was gone.

Hard to know what to think about her. Flustered, emotional, a little on the schoolmarmish side. At least that was what she presented. And why not? That’s what she was. A small-town, high-school-educated teaching assistant. Flustered schoolmarms usually got his back up. Not this one. For some reason, he kind of liked her.

It didn’t have to be a complication.

He yawned and rubbed sandpapery eyes. His files were downloaded, passwords set up, contacts alerted. Time for coffee and a shower. Then he’d go exploring.

BELLA AND Dora took the trouble to leave the shade of the lilac bushes as Emily’s car approached, and three figures on the veranda waved. Aunt Edith and Susannah had already arrived.

As soon as Emily stepped onto the porch her grandmother handed her a cup of tea. “No luck with your mother?”

“Sorry, Grandma. I guess she needs a little more time to herself. She’s fine, though. Reading recipes and ordering books, as usual.”

“Just as if Susannah and Alex and Winston and Lucy weren’t visiting,” Edith said, smiling over her tea.

Eleanor frowned. “Really, Edith.”

“I’m not criticizing her. I’m only saying what she’s doing. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

Susannah said, “Aunt Julia and I had a good visit at the reception.” She looked content in a Muskoka chair, her long dark hair pulled back in its usual French braid, her feet up, and one hand resting on her very noticeable stomach. She and her husband Alex were expecting their first child in September.