Second Chance Match. Arlene James
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“I’m six, not a baby,” the boy said in his little-boy voice.
“Go through the sunroom,” Garrett advised. “There’s a men’s room in the East Hall, across from the ballroom.”
“Thanks,” she said, urging Hunter forward. “For the tour, too.”
“No problem,” Garrett called after her. “You’re both welcome to poke around anytime.”
Jessa didn’t answer, mostly because she knew that she should stay away from him. She couldn’t risk liking Garrett Willows any more than she could let herself get too comfortable in a place like Chatam House. East Hall, library, ballroom, suites, greenhouses that would make commercial growers weep with joy; Chatam House had it all—including the too-handsome man who had upset all her hopes and plans.
“Skittish little thing,” Garrett muttered, watching Jessa and Hunter disappear through the divider. The long, vertical strips of heavy plastic flapped and swayed behind them as if to underscore the turmoil that they left in their wake.
He turned back to the violets, heavy of heart. Something was going on with the Pagetts, and it disturbed him plenty. Something about Jessa Lynn Pagett brought out Garrett’s protective instincts, and that, he had learned the hard way, was never a good thing. He struggled with that protective part of himself, which often led him to erroneous conclusions and impulsive actions, like the time he’d yanked Chandler Chatam out of his pickup truck and started throwing punches, believing that the man was responsible for Bethany, Garrett’s sister, being pregnant and unmarried.
He’d soon found out otherwise, of course, but not until he’d made a real idiot of himself. Thankfully, that episode in stupidity had not created an enemy of the man who was now his brother-in-law and the father of his nephew. Garrett took a moment to thank God for that, smiling to think how happy his sister and her little family were. Obviously, Jessa had not been so blessed.
For one thing, she was divorced. For another, she was clearly overprotective with the boy. Plus, something about her manner signaled that she expected to get the short end of every stick. The boy’s quietness and docility bothered Garrett, too. He’d been shocked to hear the kid say that he was six years old. Normal six-year-olds didn’t stand silently clasping their moms’ hands for the better part of an hour. None that Garret knew, anyway. Still, it wasn’t his concern.
Her business ambitions were, though. A florist shop. The Monroe place would be perfect for that. She’d have to be careful not to upset the Historical Society when she put in her shop, but that shouldn’t be too tough.
Sighing, he went to work splitting a healthy violet into two shallow pots. While he worked, he pondered the situation with Jessa and the Monroe place.
He could not, in good conscience, fight her on possession of the site. She had a son to house and a business to launch, and unless he missed his guess, she didn’t have much funding. Buffalo Creek could certainly use another florist, though, almost as much as a good plant nursery, so she should be okay. He’d tell everyone at the meeting. No point in dragging it out. They were all getting together at some point later today to go over wedding plans and decide the matter of the Monroe place. It could all be settled by nightfall.
Garrett acknowledged a sharp sense of disappointment. The Charter Street site had felt right to him. It felt like home and the future and hope all wrapped up together, but not too long ago a cardboard box would have felt that way to him. He certainly couldn’t complain about living and working here at Chatam House. Closing his eyes, he found a silent place within himself and spoke to God.
Guess I jumped the gun in regard to all this, he acknowledged. Forgive me, Lord. It wasn’t just losing the Monroe place, though. He couldn’t help feeling that he was missing out on some sort of opportunity with Jessa and Hunter, too, which was pure nonsense. At any rate, Your will is always best, he prayed on. So that’s all I’m asking, for Your will to be done in every aspect of my life. Besides, we both know You’ve gotten me through much deeper disappointments. You’ll get me through this. In the name of Jesus, thanks.
Feeling a little better, he went back to work. Wouldn’t be long, he told himself, before another place came up, one as good for his purposes as the house and lot on Charter Street. Even if the new place wasn’t as good, he’d make do and be glad. Meanwhile, Jessa would have her shop and Hunter would have a real home.
Smiling to himself, he recalled Jessa’s obvious approval of his greenhouse and plants. He saw her in his mind’s eye, her big dark eyes surveying his little domain with pleasure. The image of her face had not been far from his mind since he’d first laid eyes on it.
He wondered what she was going to do with her day. Maybe he should look in on her and Hunter later. Then again, maybe he should mind his own business.
“Ms. Pagett,” Magnolia said, pausing on the stairway beside Hypatia to acknowledge the young woman and her son.
“Oh, call me Jessa, ma’am.”
“Very well. We’ll all be on a first-name basis, then. Much easier that way.”
Hypatia bent forward slightly and spoke to the boy. “How are you this morning, Hunter?”
“Fine,” he answered softly. His mother gave his hand a waggle, and he added, “Thank you.”
Hypatia smiled. “My, you are a well-mannered young man.”
“Thank you,” he and his mother said at the same time.
Magnolia opened her mouth to ask how they’d slept, but the sound of a buzz saw had her grimacing instead. Tossing a resigned glance upward, she offered Jessa a wan smile. The screech of the buzz saw ceased, leaving abrupt silence. Magnolia offered her apologies.
“It never lasts very long. Mr. Bowen is a most considerate fellow.”
Jessa nodded as she slipped past the two older women, tugging her son behind her. “No problem. Excuse us, please. We have books waiting.”
“Did you find the library, then?” Magnolia asked, pointing to the door below, across the foyer from the front parlor.
“Not yet. I meant our lesson books, ma’am,” Jessa clarified, hurrying Hunter around the curve in the stairs.
Magnolia tilted her head at that, but Hypatia just sighed and resumed her descent. Magnolia fell in beside her sister, trying not to smile at Hypatia’s exasperation.
“What happened to hand saws?” she asked. “I’m sure they were more accurate.”
The things that upset the usually unflappable Hypatia always amused Magnolia. Every flower, tree, shrub and blade of grass on the place could die overnight, and Hypatia wouldn’t blink an eye, but forget one little rule of etiquette or upset her routine, and she groused. Politely, of course. True to form, Hypatia waited until they were safely in the sunroom and out of earshot of anyone who might be offended before she complained.
“Really. Guests while the house is undergoing construction! Not to mention planning two weddings. How are we to be proper hostesses with that racket going on and our focus consumed with getting Ellie and Asher married?”
“Most of the time, we don’t even know Mr. Bowen is around,” Magnolia pointed out.
“Nevertheless, I wish he’d get on with it,” Hypatia grumbled.
“You’re the one who told the Historical Society that we would use materials only from the period when the house was built.”
Hypatia made a face. “I’m not the one who invited the Pagetts to stay without consulting another soul, however.”
“What could I do?” Magnolia asked. “The Pagetts were obviously in dire straits.”
“And you didn’t want them moving into the Monroe house,” Hypatia surmised flatly.
“Much more difficult to evict them than host them,” Magnolia conceded.