Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📕

and from my farm, so consumed by Mr. Bleu’s financial gift to Uncle. Had I read the receipts right? I was scarcely able to think on anything else. Or look him in the eyes. It was afterwards, when I escaped to my bedroom, that my busy mind plunged my heart into deeper trouble.

I’d gone looking for Mrs. MacDonald to cure a case of idle hands. I needed some sort of project to make living worthwhile. I heard her voice float from the library door ajar—talking to Chess.

“A marriage to her would double the size of our property. Your father would be proud to have a bit more land in the family.”

“I thought you married for love, Mother.”

“I did, and I absolutely love this place.” She laughed.

“Mother.”

“Alright. I adore your father as well. All I’m saying is that Dorothy is a delightful, lovely woman.”

I trembled. They were discussing me!

“True...”

“Well?”

“I wouldn’t court her for the land.”

My land?

“Losh, I know that son. I just wanted to shake you up. Not very clever of me, I know.”

“I kinda wanted to have a look around.” His voice rose with dramatics. I imagined his arms outstretched.  “A wider playing field to scout out my ultimate intended.”

“Finding a wife is nothing like a baseball game, son. I’m telling you, you’ll not find a better girl than Dorothy. She’s what this place needs. And I want a daughter.”

So, that’s what she’d hinted at when we sat on the porch the other day. Was she testing the air? I can’t imagine myself needed here. Or familiar enough to be wanted in a romantic manner.

Chess yawned. “Her looks are decent enough, I suppose.”

I felt my mouth form an “Oh!” Decent, that’s me alright. I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t the shiniest apple in the barrel either, despite his sparkling personality and easy wit. Wouldn’t Helen be pleased to know that he doesn’t have eyes for me?

Mrs. MacDonald argued. “She is stunning, in body and spirit. Even in mourning. She has that knowing expression.”

“You mean proud. Have you seen how she looks down at me? Why don’t you pawn her off on Philip, cure him of his curmudgeonly ways.”

“Don’t start in on your brother. You know what he’s endured.”

Philip. What had he been through?

A clatter of teacups and spoons sent warning. I scooted away from the sliding doors, lest they open. I cautiously made my way upstairs, meandering down the hallway and furniture. I quickly hid behind a palm tree when Philip came thumping round the bend in cadence with my erratic heart. He was in a hurry and didn’t notice me, thank goodness.

Mrs. MacDonald and Chess must never know I had heard them. How embarrassed we’d all be!

I sat my decent self on my bed and tried to think about the good things Mrs. MacDonald had said. How rotten to find a man not keen on courting me, even if I wouldn’t have him in the first place! My family needs no further division.

Her jest about my land was perhaps no jest at all. Had she more need of me or my acreage? I thought of Mr. Bleu, imagining the moment he signed the check over to Father. Trusting him to pay for and hold Uncle’s farm in his safe hands. I must be on my guard against attentions from either son. I was having such a pleasant time! Perhaps that will continue. Nothing may come of Mrs. MacDonald’s romantic suggestions. But it does rather jam a stick in the wheel.

Chess did pay me special notice this evening. I was all suspicion. Now properly mortified.

He offered the formal escort arm to lead me into dinner. And winked again. I began to think he must wink at everyone. Maybe he had a problem with his eye!

I ate uncomfortably as Mrs. MacDonald said little but threw more than one knowing glance to Chess, after which he attempted to talk to me exclusively. Hard for him to do, since it seems his nature is to charm an entire room at once. Always the center of attention. I picked at my sweetened cabbage and pork chops.

“Milked any cows lately?”  he queried.

I dropped my fork, remembering our odd conversation at the gala last month. “I haven’t, what about you?”

“You put cream in your tea? On your oats?” He wiggled his fingers. “Thanks to me.”

“Decent of you.” I sipped my water, trying not to believe I’d spoken the word he’d used on me, but with a very different meaning.

Mrs. MacDonald began to brag on her boys. She was insistent that I see that though they lived in a glamorous home, they still had to work. I admit, I am impressed with this mode of living. Not dependent wholly on servants or tenants.

Chess balanced his butter knife on the tip of his forefinger before catching it midair. Such talent.

“I see to it that the boys know how to prepare chickens as well.” How delicately she put it!  And with a smile sweet enough for an elegant gala. I had seen Aunt, Henry, and Tom work on the task of, well, enacting a chicken’s demise. I usually took myself elsewhere to avoid the mess. I’d have to live without meat if I lived on my own.

I shuddered without meaning to, Chess and Philip laughed in turn. “You shock our guest, Mother.” Chess stood. “Perhaps you need fresh air? Walk with me around the house.”

I went. Like a silly chicken being led to slaughter. Oh, I shouldn’t have gone. I must confess I was more curious than interested in the man. I’m sure I blushed every shade red.

We took our time walking the perimeter of the large home. I suspected Mrs. MacDonald’s eyes on me the whole time. If only to know for sure. Did she watch from the balcony? Peer behind draped windows? Eavesdrop like me? Never mind that. What he said was humiliating enough.

“You’ve been found out, Dorothy. Discovered.”

Caught in my very thoughts. “Pardon me?”

“Just how much did you hear, eh? The part about the playing