Page 29 of Hank and Elsie
Hank chuckled. “I suppose it’s not fair.” Slang was another thing his grandfather forbade as unsuitable for gentlemen.All the more reason to indulge now and again.“You have time before you have to act like a grown lady.”
Miss Bailey drew herself up. “I’ll have you know I’ve turned seventeen.”
Not quite too young, but close.Hank held up his hands in appeasement.Just be yourself, he wanted to advise the young woman.Don’t grow up and lose your refreshing zest for life.But he couldn’t speak so familiarly to ayoung—for all she was seventeen—lady he’d just met.
He searched for a safe topic of conversation and blurted out the first question he could think of. “Do you like swans?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “Why, I don’t know. I’ve never seen them up close. Only a few times flying across the sky.”
Even though he’d touched on Three Bend Lake and the swans earlier, he wanted to tell her more. “There’s a pair that live on the lake by my house. Your employer might sport a peacock feather in her hat, and I’ve seen one in full fan—quitespectacular. But in my opinion, the swan is a more graceful bird.”I’ve gone from tongue-tied to babbling.
She gazed at him, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen a lake.”
“Ours isn’t much of one compared to some of the others in Montana. Rather small and narrow and twisty. That’s why we call it Three Bend Lake. Sure is pretty, though.”
“Ohhh.” She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “I can’t wait to see it.”
The more they talked, the more Hank felt himself relaxing.Miss Bailey doesn’t seem to mind my conversation.He hoped he could entertain Miss Taylor just as easily.
CHAPTER 12
The next Sunday morning, as dawn cast pink-tinged light through the windows and open door, Hank frantically prepared for guests. He could never remember feeling this unsettled in his life, wanting everything to be perfect. After all, Miss Taylor and Miss Bailey would be the first women to ever see—and cast judgment—on his home.
The house and porch were as clean as soap and water could make them. The furniture gleamed from beeswax polish. The stove was freshly blackened. The bedding on his wooden sleigh bed looked and smelled fresh. No weeds dared poke their heads up in the yards and garden. The clear glass in the windows caught every bit of sunlight.
Traces of his prior life remained, mostly because on every visit to his sister’s, she sent him home with something to, as she put it, ‘remind him of the elegances of life,’ albeit, mostly with her feminine taste.
Luckily, she was limited to what he could carry while riding his horse. So, several framed photographs sat on the mantel between an ancient pewter drinking mug and a pitch-roofed Seth Thomas cottage clock with a heavy pendulum. On the wall, sandwiched between two of her paintings was a carved shelfdisplaying a china shepherd and shepherdess and a filigreed box, inlayed with rosewood in the shape of a flower. Blue roses were painted on the surface of a basin and ewer on the dresser.
While secretly annoyed by some of her choices, now, Hank was grateful, hoping the flowery touch would appeal to a bride. He could imagine his sister gloating and telling him, “I told you so.”
Last night, he’d labored over chicken and dumplings, one of the few meals he could cook from scratch instead of opening up a can. The food now resided in the ice box, waiting to be warmed up. This morning, he’d gathered tender greens and carrots for a salad, squeezed lemons to make lemonade, ground beans in case anyone wanted coffee, and had tea leaves and a strainer ready for tea drinkers. He drew the line at baking, though, and planned to pick up some dessert in town.
Yesterday, Torin had helped him wrestle the square table outside to the porch, after he’d used the surface to iron the mostly unused tablecloth, four napkins, and his shirt for today. Now, the table was set, ready for his guests.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red. Turning, he saw Torin and Jewel heading their way. The girl very carefully held a mason jar of wildflowers with both pudgy hands. She didn’t take her eyes off the jar, her expression focused, tongue protruding.
With a chuckle, Hank bounded down the porch stairs. “Watcha got there, Jewel baby?”
She hefted the jar. “Flows for yo, Han.”
He crouched in front of the girl, his heart warming. “For me? Did you pick them yourself.”
“Pa help.” With a smile that crinkled her eyes, she thrust the jar at him.
Taking the jar, he leaned to kiss her cheek, inhaling her little girl scent. “Can’t say a lady has ever given me flowers before. They sure are pretty.”
“Pin. Blu.”
“Prettypinks and blues.” Hank stood and grinned at Torin.
His friend held up a second mason jar. “Figured you might want some cream for the coffee or tea.”
“Good thinking. I can’t believe I forgot.” Frantically, Hank glanced around. “What else am I missing?”
Torin rolled his eyes. “You’re abachelor, remember. I’m sure their expectations are verylow.”
Hank returned the eye roll and took the second one. “I’ll put the flowers in a vase on the table and this—” he hefted the cream jar “—into the ice box. Many thanks.”
