Down to the Potter’s House. Annette Valentine

nearby. Good thing for us folks here in Elkton that Russellville’s just a hop, skip, and a jump away.” A generous smile spread on her face. “So tell me: how’s our young schoolteacher doing?” she said, squeezing her chubby hands together atop the glass case that covered the candy confections.

      “Fine, fine. I haven’t expelled anyone in the first two months of this term . . . and not anyone last year either,” I said, grinning, briefly distracted by the appearance of a tall man warming his hands by the potbelly stove at the rear of the store.

      Miss Baxter gave a jolly laugh to acknowledge my attempt at humor, and my glimpse of the gentleman ended.

      “You’re right. Russellville’s not very far. And you haven’t seen the last of me, unless I start spreading out like Sunday dinner on a picnic cloth,” I said, realizing Miss Baxter resembled my remark. “Then I’d have to stop eating chocolates.”

      “Me too,” she said with a never-you-mind gesture, relaxing her forearms farther across the counter. It was clear, she was in no hurry for my candy selection. “Your sister sure tries to keep everybody up to snuff around here. Got her own schoolgirl nowadays. That little Louise is cute as a pie. Second grade . . . Goodness, goodness!”

      “I know. It’s certainly amazing how time flies,” I said, focusing on the candies.” Point out what Louise would like, then the usual: three sticks of horehound for Millicent. Now then. Chocolate. Let me . . . um . . . decide between the—”

      “Please excuse me for interrupting. May I offer a recommendation for the chocolates before you make your decision?” The smooth voice slid into our conversation like butter on a hot biscuit.

      Surprised, I turned to find the tall gentleman from the back of the store standing next to me. Having captured my attention, he smiled a gorgeous smile that momentarily broke my concentration.

      “The finest of the fine is right before your eyes—your beautiful eyes, if I may be so bold. I’m something of an expert on the subject.”

      Seriously? I thought. An expert on how time flies or chocolate?

      “But first things first. My name is Simon Hagan.”

      After a slight hesitation, I gave him a brisk once-over during which time his smile never faltered. I’d not ever met a statelier man and maybe not a better-looking one. The weight of his gaze caught me off guard. But only a little, I told myself. I then recast my answer: “How do you do, Mr. Hagan? I am Gracie Maxwell.”

      Miss Baxter wasn’t helping the situation’s awkwardness. She no longer rested against the candy counter, but rather leaned in to hear what she could hear. Her mouth had dropped, and I warned mine not to do the same.

      I tried to give as little heed as possible to Mr. Hagan’s remark about my eyes and forced myself to look straight at him as he continued to speak of how glad he was to meet me. Perhaps he missed the cold shoulder that I thought I was presenting. He proceeded to select a bar of chocolate from the case with one hand, then gave coins to Miss Baxter with the other.

      Father passed the window. A tip of his hat indicated he would just as soon be on his way.

      I stood dumbfounded as Mr. Hagan handed me the chocolate bar.

      Jim Carver’s voice rose above others, dickering politely with a woman who had doled out produce and eggs for his consideration. Their transaction seemed to be coming to an end, and my brother-in-law turned toward us at the front of his store where Mr. Hagan continued to stand at my side.

      Miss Baxter’s smile was way too big.

      Flustered by the simultaneous doings, I offered a quick thank you to the tall stranger, snatched the horehound that Miss Baxter had laid on the counter—forgetting to pay for the candy sticks—forgetting the candy treat for Louise—then darted straight out the front door without a backward glance.

      “Gracie!” Father was waiting outside when I emerged. “Guess I should have come inside . . . I’d already unhitched us, though. Here, let me help you up. When you see Jim later today, do remember to give him my regards.”

      I hopped up onto the seat, and Father steered the horse around the town square, its hooves plodding noisily on the cobblestone street. The ride was quieted as the buggy rolled onto the dirt road leading to Millicent’s house.

      “Glad you didn’t, Father. No need to come inside,” I said without knowing why. “It will be a good visit with Jim tonight at supper.”

      He peered over at me. “You seem preoccupied, Gracie. Everything all right?”

      I didn’t look at him. “Of course. Just met a gentleman . . . He must be related to Mr. Hagan who got me my teaching job.” Slightly embarrassed, still puzzled by my own doings, I held up the chocolate bar and waited for Father’s reaction. “I believe he said his name is Simon. Yes, Simon Hagan.”

      “Ah! For sure. Simon’s been away from Todd County for quite some time. Didn’t realize he was back.” Father shot me a suspicious gander, then signaled the horse to pick up speed, giving the reins some slack with a nimble foist from the driving whip.

      The surrey’s wheels creaked in objection to the horse’s surge, and the forward jolt startled me. I wondered if the timing had not been right to exhibit the chocolate. “Oh, Father, he just happened to be at the counter as I was deciding. All of a sudden, he was there. He simply insisted on making this a gift.”

      “Hardly proper for him to cover your purchase of chocolate.” Father glanced at the horehound sticks. “He didn’t pay for those, too, I hope.”

      Realizing my predicament, I cut my eyes at him. “No. Nobody did. I got them for Millicent . . . I forgot to pay. Silly me! Mr. Hagan was just being kind,” I said as we rolled up to the front of the Carvers’ house.

      “What’s he doing now, anyway? Believe he had tuberculosis . . . although I could be confusing him with another of the Hagans. Geoffrey had six or seven boys and a couple or three girls.”

      “Heavens, Father! I have no idea. You mustn’t go thinking poorly of him, though. And I can certainly fend for myself. I am twenty-three, not fifteen.”

      He stepped down from the carriage, hitched the reins. “Big family, the Hagans.”

      Millicent had not missed the sound of the approaching carriage. Oblivious to the October chill, my sister was out the door to greet us.

      Father paused to serve up his customary greeting to her. I reminded myself not to compare its woodenness to the top-shelf affections he openly lavished on Francine, practically from the time of Mama’s passing. The crater in my heart caused by his attraction had stubbornly closed, but having spent last night in my stepmother’s presence, old grievances had threatened to undo family peace that time and my absence had afforded me.

      Inside the short day spent in the country, I’d seen the signs that revealed my brother’s discouragement. Hardest to take was seeing how Father regarded Henry with cool detachment. Witnessing my brother falter with every attempt to make a decision was more than I could stand.

      Father offered me his hand to steady me off the carriage step.

      Having squelched the bitter rise of contempt for the fresh evidence of Francine’s power over Henry and the ease with which she dominated Hillbound, I rallied, grateful that Father had avoided either subject. Our arrival at Millicent’s had interrupted the discussion of the Hagans. It had stilled, too, the recurrent rusty attitude of bygones that had no place in my reshaped heart.

      Chapter 2

      “Happy Birthday, Father. What a handsome sixty-year-old you are, too.”

      “And you’re looking well, Millicent,” Father said. “How’s that Jim? In good health and prosperous, I trust. Haven’t gotten into the store lately. I will. I will.”

      “Busy