Chapter 45
True to her word, Paige waved and smiled. What broke Edwina’s heart was the fact that her mouth smiled, but the brown eyes mourned. She wanted to pick the child up and hug her to her breast and make everything all right. But she couldn’t—and that broke Edwina’s heart again. It was not her love and acceptance the little girl was seeking.
Together the foursome watched the black car grow smaller and smaller, the dust clouds the last sign of the man who held all of them together.
“Come lass, I have baked yer favorite. Oaty crumbles.” Mrs. Gillespie’s eyes were skimmed with tears, but her voice was soft and kind.
“What are those?” Edwina wiped her own eyes with the backs of her hands as they turned. She snuck a look. Not a tear in the little girl’s eyes.
Twice Cecelia called saying she was coming over and twice she called to cancel. Business deals. Spencer wrote about once a month, too busy opening his new restaurant.
In his last letter he had enclosed a sketch of the restaurant’s sign that would hang beneath the navy blue awning with gold lettering, Cecelia’s signature colors. He had named the restaurant Winnie’s.
Cecelia, he had said, liked it much better than her own suggestion, Ed’s.
She shook her head. They must miss her very much if they’d named the entire second floor of the new restaurant after her.
Her father, too busy with his wife’s career, had elected to call instead of write and faithfully on the first day of each month checked on his only daughter.
Everyone was about their lives, and Edwina was about hers. There were never enough hours in the day. Once the weather became cold, she discussed moving their classroom inside.
“Paige, be aboot the house, and find yourself a class- room. We will make it our own,” she stated one morning. “It is very cold in these hills. You may choose where we will learn, but here are the needs: the room must be big enough for two, there must be a writing surface both for you and for me, and...,” Edwina lay her finger at her chin, “there must be enough light for reading and writing. Be off with ya.”
For two days Paige researched the house. Three requests, just enough for the five-year-old to comprehend, but that wasn’t hard. Paige was above her station when it came to knowing things. Sadly though, Edwina thought her a bit too grown up, just as she had been as a child. She’d tried hard to inspire the child’s imagination with games, dreams, and pretending along with her normal learning. Paige wanted to dance. She wanted to learn ballet. Edwina had already checked into classes, but it would require her to leave the premises, which she was forbidden to do.
She added that to her ever-lengthening list of things she would confront Mr. Dunnegin about. If there was a perfectly good reason she could not leave the farm, because Edwina’s practical mind knew there might well be, then he should hire a teacher from Edinburgh to come and teach the child dance. Heaven knows she could never teach that. She had learned to appreciate the arts early in her childhood, but had never been encouraged to participate.
Edwina had two secret desires of her own, besides writing a romance story. And both were simple enough. She wished she’d learned how to dance and to play the piano.
There was one thing she could do, and that was to begin her story. She’d faithfully kept the pad she’d started the last time she was in Scotland. It was time to write. She could do that while the child did her lessons.
Paige chose her father’s study.
Oh boy, so much for letting her choose. The office was locked. It wasn’t possible in the least. Edwina would never allow herself inside the Laird’s personal chamber.
“Paige, dear, it is impossible. That room is your father’s private space. What is your next choice?” she said brightly.
“That is my choice.” The little body had stood, feet together, arms folded across her chest.
Edwina took care not to look into the determined child’s eyes, or she would have succumbed immediately. She stared over her shoulder deep in thought. Impasse. What to do?
“Lass, I will consider your request, but you need to look for another.”
“We will see.” The child ran off to the kitchen.
Exactly one week later Rose and Edwina were setting up the new “schoolroom.” Mrs. Gillespie was certain it would be all right, since the Laird would not return for some time.
Available space was minimal. As Edwina was sizing up the situation, Paige began carrying books from the book case to her father’s large desk.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making us two desks.” Her tone was serious.
“So does that mean you’re taking over your father’s space?” Edwina was sure they should not be moving Mr. Dunnegin’s papers about.
“Yes,” the child explained. “This is my side and this,” she pointed, “is your side. See, there is the wall.”
Edwina looked to Rose for support.
“Aye, so it is. I’ll stack the Laird’s papers here.” Rose carefully gathered up stacks of important looking documents and set them safely on a side table.
She showed Edwina, should there be need to find them if Mr. Dunnegin returned unexpectedly, which was likely, Mrs. Gillespie said to Paige.
The desk aptly divided equally, for the child made sure, Edwina brought her papers and pens from her room.
“I will be writing and preparing lessons while you finish your work,” she told her student.
Edwina, back from her second trip, stood in the doorway and watched the little girl work. Just like Cecelia, she seemed to have the knack for decorating. She had used the books she could reach, nearly clearing out the entire first row of her father’s book shelves, to make her wall. Her little girl thoughts were pretending because Edwina saw her lips moving as she worked. For that she was happy. She had instilled at least a modicum of imagination in the serious child.
“Now we need chairs.”
Paige looked over the situation and ran. She came back carrying her own small chair, sat it on one side of the desk, and began piling books on it. Then she climbed up the precarious tower and seated herself. Edwina reached out twice to catch her if she fell, but she did not. Triumphant, she said, “See, I shall be tall like you. Maybe I will be a teacher too.”
“You would make a good teacher, Paige.” Edwina patted her head, then watched nervously as the short legs maneuvered the climb down. Successful.
“Miss Blair, you sit there, in my father’s chair,” she ordered.
Edwina did.
“See, you can sit there, but only until he comes back,” she warned, hands on hips.
“Indeed.” Edwina felt small in the huge black leather chair. It swiveled and offered the comfort of a high back. “I could take a nap in this.” She smiled.
“It is not time for a nap. It is time for school,” Paige insisted and climbed up on her seat.
“So it is.” Edwina checked at her watch. “Have you brought your letter book down? We need to practice tracing your letters.”
“Again?” Paige whined. “I want to try something new.”
“Okay.” Edwina thought a minute. “Okay, let’s try writing a story. I will write it while you tell it to me.”
Paige eyed her for a minute, then agreed.
“I will make the story about a mother,” she said and looked away, the story beginning to form itself in the young mind.
Edwina quietly took a pencil in hand and her yellow- ruled pad and waited.
Ten minutes later the little lady was still talking, her teacher writing as fast as she could.
“Should I end it now?”
“Most certainly. Many words do not necessarily make a good story.” Edwina rested her writing hand.
It was time to begin the work she’d thought of doing so long ago and decided at that moment that she too would begin her story. A romance... sweet... about a handsome Scot and the beautiful lady he met walking over the Scottish hills, her gauzy dress whipping in the wind.