Today's Reading
"Oh dear." Ida feigned a pout. "I perceive you are a gentleman, and on the odd chance that you entertain any doubts, I am most definitely a lady. Therefore, we must have a third party introduce us. Do you know little Benny? He might do the trick if we don't mind his lisp and tell him exactly what to say."
How she enjoyed this unexpected pleasure. She found herself wishing all the others would go away so she might get to know this intriguing man by herself.
Then again, what would be the fun in that?
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Prescott approach. Before the woman drew near, Ida lowered her voice so only the stranger could hear. "Don't look behind you. She knows I've seen her, but it's not too late for you. Run! You can still escape. Go, quickly!"
Despite the warning, the stranger turned. "Hello, Mother."
His mother was pinched-faced Mrs. Prescott? And she had encouraged him to run as if a cougar were about to pounce. Great. Her face flushed. She couldn't look at him.
* * *
"Where have you been? I've looked everywhere. People are waiting to meet you."
"Yes, Mother, you are right. Let's not delay the introductions. Will you begin with this lovely young lady?"
The cheeks of the "lovely young lady" showed the color of a California poppy. Blaine struggled not to laugh aloud. Her warning to escape would be great fodder to tease her with later when they were alone. He'd make sure they had time alone.
Mrs. Prescott looked Ida up and down, pointedly scowling at a grass stain near the hem of her frock. "Yes, of course. This is Miss Ida Dempsey. Her uncle, Mr. Harvey Dempsey, owns a sawmill. Mrs. Ruth Dempsey, her aunt, is a member of my Wednesday afternoon whist club."
Mrs. Prescott's gaze roamed over the picnic site. "Ida, may I present my son, Mr. Blaine Prescott. He is newly returned after graduating college. Now, if you'll excuse us, I have 'important' people waiting to meet him." She hooked her elbow around Blaine's arm.
Like a redwood rooted firmly in the ground, Blaine did not move. He would honor his parents and meet Eureka's socialites—in a little while. Right now, he intended to get better acquainted with Miss Ida Dempsey. "Yes, Mother. In a minute or two." He hoped she'd strut off, but she pursed her lips and kept her arm linked through his.
She obviously disapproved of Ida. He'd have to ask Pratt if he knew anything objectionable about the young lady. Until then, he was quite ready to be infatuated with the unassuming beauty at his side. "So Miss Dempsey is your name, and you live with your aunt and uncle?"
Ida's face had returned to its normal color. "Yes, I've lived with them all my life. And we aren't so formal here as in San Francisco or on the East Coast. Please call me Ida."
"Ida it is—of course, you must call me Blaine." He wanted her to say it. He wanted to hear his name on her lips.
She turned to his mother. "Mrs. Prescott, your front garden is especially beautiful this year. When I walked past yesterday, I thought it looked as enchanting as a fairyland."
"I'll give your compliments to my gardener."
A bit of silence followed, and then Ida again addressed his mother. "I've not made it to the picnic tables yet. I heard a rumor you brought your famous rhubarb-strawberry pie. I think it's everyone's favorite."
"I'll give your compliments to my cook."
Why wouldn't his mother even look at Miss Dempsey? Her rudeness aggrieved Blaine like an itchy mosquito bite. It might be better if he got the other introductions over with now. He could come back to Miss Dempsey—Ida—all the sooner, hopefully alone.
Before he could excuse himself, Ida gestured to a group of young men. "Oh, there's my cousin. I have a message for him from Uncle Harvey. It was nice to meet you, Blaine. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Prescott."
And she was gone. Running across the grass like a mythological nymph. He watched her even as his mother tugged him toward a group of young ladies, all holding lacy parasols and wearing frilly dresses sans grass stains.
* * *
"Wallace," Ida called, grateful she had an excuse to flee from the disagreeable Mrs. Prescott.
Ironic that the contrary woman was the mother of Blaine, such an amicable young man. Perhaps at home, away from society, Mrs. Prescott had a sweeter, gentler nature more like Ida's Aunt Ruth. For Blaine's sake, she hoped so.
"What do you want?" Wallace jarred her thoughts.
...
