he comes back, it won’t be until . . . let’s see, 1861.’’
‘‘I’d be ninety-six by then,’’ Mother Garrett countered with a snort.
‘‘And I’ll be seventy-one. Don’t leave quite yet—this will take just a moment.’’ Emma returned to her desk. ‘‘If I pen a note to Mr. Breckenwith to expect the two of us tomorrow morning, Ditty can take it to him this afternoon. While she’s gone, I’ll explain it all to you.’’
‘‘I can’t see any reason for me to go with you to see your lawyer.’’
‘‘You need to write a will,’’ Emma countered, refusing to even consider how her lawyer would react when she handed him this primitive bill of sale.
‘‘A will? Why would I need a will? I don’t own much of anything.’’
Emma pulled the paper that Mother Garrett had signed earlier from her pocket and held it up. ‘‘You do now that you’re a landowner. Or you will once you pay what you owe me.’’
Mother Garrett tilted her head a bit and frowned. ‘‘You sold me the land he wanted, didn’t you? Don’t bother to deny it; I had a notion you were up to something like that. While you were with Mr. Langhorne, I had a very long chat with Frances. Go on. Write your note. By the time you finish up and get to the kitchen, I’ll be finished, too.’’
Emma cocked her head. ‘‘Finished with what?’’
‘‘I’m not sure. I’ll have to decide after you explain yourself.’’ Her eyes began to sparkle. ‘‘I might be peeling potatoes. Or I might be packing my bag. If Frances can run away from home, I suppose I can, too, assuming I don’t like what you have to say,’’ she teased.
Emma was too stunned to reply before Mother Garrett turned and left the room, convinced Widow Leonard might have brought more, perhaps, than blessings to Hill House.
7
I F E MMA HAD NOT BEEN BORN FEMALE, she would have spent her life studying and practicing law. If she had not been widowed, she would still be operating the General Store instead of Hill House. More importantly at the moment, however, if she had not been in such a rush to be on time, she would have been sitting in Zachary Breckenwith’s office wearing her finest bonnet.
Instead, she was resting on the sofa in the east parlor with a poultice propped against a goose-egg bump on the back of her head under the watchful gaze of Reverend Glenn and his faithful companion. She had no idea what Mother Garrett had used to make the poultice. She was as stingy with revealing her remedies as she was with her receipts.
Emma had no control over being born female or being widowed, but she did fault herself for ruining what should have been a productive and satisfying day taking care of a few legal matters and shopping in town. Her little mishap this morning had little to do with becoming as clumsy as Ditty, as she had first feared, and everything to do with being hasty, pure and simple. Instead of taking her time to get ready, she had foolishly rushed about her room. Unfortunately, she had gotten tangled up in her petticoats, tripped, and hit her head on the corner of the chest at the foot of her bed.
Though her head still ached, her vision was clear. Offering him a weak smile, she looked at the minister, who sat in an upholstered chair at the far end of the sofa near her feet. ‘‘I’m truly feeling much better. You really don’t have to stay and keep me company.’’
‘‘Then what would I do with myself?’’ he teased as he massaged the back of his weakened left hand.
‘‘I believe you might be keeping Widow Leonard company. Instead, she’s . . .’’ She let out a sigh and tried not to worry about the fact that Mother Garrett had insisted on keeping the ten-o’clock appointment with Emma’s lawyer on her way to ordering supplies at the General Store and taking Widow Leonard with her to get the sewing thread she needed.
‘‘They’ll be fine,’’ he offered, as if able to read her thoughts. ‘‘It’ll do them both good
‘‘I’d be ninety-six by then,’’ Mother Garrett countered with a snort.
‘‘And I’ll be seventy-one. Don’t leave quite yet—this will take just a moment.’’ Emma returned to her desk. ‘‘If I pen a note to Mr. Breckenwith to expect the two of us tomorrow morning, Ditty can take it to him this afternoon. While she’s gone, I’ll explain it all to you.’’
‘‘I can’t see any reason for me to go with you to see your lawyer.’’
‘‘You need to write a will,’’ Emma countered, refusing to even consider how her lawyer would react when she handed him this primitive bill of sale.
‘‘A will? Why would I need a will? I don’t own much of anything.’’
Emma pulled the paper that Mother Garrett had signed earlier from her pocket and held it up. ‘‘You do now that you’re a landowner. Or you will once you pay what you owe me.’’
Mother Garrett tilted her head a bit and frowned. ‘‘You sold me the land he wanted, didn’t you? Don’t bother to deny it; I had a notion you were up to something like that. While you were with Mr. Langhorne, I had a very long chat with Frances. Go on. Write your note. By the time you finish up and get to the kitchen, I’ll be finished, too.’’
Emma cocked her head. ‘‘Finished with what?’’
‘‘I’m not sure. I’ll have to decide after you explain yourself.’’ Her eyes began to sparkle. ‘‘I might be peeling potatoes. Or I might be packing my bag. If Frances can run away from home, I suppose I can, too, assuming I don’t like what you have to say,’’ she teased.
Emma was too stunned to reply before Mother Garrett turned and left the room, convinced Widow Leonard might have brought more, perhaps, than blessings to Hill House.
7
I F E MMA HAD NOT BEEN BORN FEMALE, she would have spent her life studying and practicing law. If she had not been widowed, she would still be operating the General Store instead of Hill House. More importantly at the moment, however, if she had not been in such a rush to be on time, she would have been sitting in Zachary Breckenwith’s office wearing her finest bonnet.
Instead, she was resting on the sofa in the east parlor with a poultice propped against a goose-egg bump on the back of her head under the watchful gaze of Reverend Glenn and his faithful companion. She had no idea what Mother Garrett had used to make the poultice. She was as stingy with revealing her remedies as she was with her receipts.
Emma had no control over being born female or being widowed, but she did fault herself for ruining what should have been a productive and satisfying day taking care of a few legal matters and shopping in town. Her little mishap this morning had little to do with becoming as clumsy as Ditty, as she had first feared, and everything to do with being hasty, pure and simple. Instead of taking her time to get ready, she had foolishly rushed about her room. Unfortunately, she had gotten tangled up in her petticoats, tripped, and hit her head on the corner of the chest at the foot of her bed.
Though her head still ached, her vision was clear. Offering him a weak smile, she looked at the minister, who sat in an upholstered chair at the far end of the sofa near her feet. ‘‘I’m truly feeling much better. You really don’t have to stay and keep me company.’’
‘‘Then what would I do with myself?’’ he teased as he massaged the back of his weakened left hand.
‘‘I believe you might be keeping Widow Leonard company. Instead, she’s . . .’’ She let out a sigh and tried not to worry about the fact that Mother Garrett had insisted on keeping the ten-o’clock appointment with Emma’s lawyer on her way to ordering supplies at the General Store and taking Widow Leonard with her to get the sewing thread she needed.
‘‘They’ll be fine,’’ he offered, as if able to read her thoughts. ‘‘It’ll do them both good
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