Chapter 24

Twenty-Four

The moment Owen felt Camilla trembling, he pulled her closer, holding her until she drew in a shaky breath and stepped away, sending him a wobbly smile.

"Forgive me, Owen," she began. "I certainly wasn't intending on throwing myself at you, but I feel those tender feminine sensibilities you've remarked on a time or two have definitely decided to make an appearance."

He smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Since I know better than to remark on feminine sensibilities these days, allow me to simply say that I bet male sensibilities would've come out as well if a man had just been chased by a bear."

" I was chasing it until it cornered Gladys, and all the arm flapping you told me to use wasn't working, which is why I had to resort to shooting at the tree in the hopes that would scare Teddy, which didn't work, and just as an aside, Teddy's not nearly as friendly as you led me to believe."

He winced. "That, ah, wasn't Teddy."

"What?"

"I find I must now beg your pardon, Camilla, because I should have warned you that Teddy's not the only bear around these parts. There are a lot of mama bears out there right now with cubs. You and Gladys, I'm sorry to say, just tangled with an angry mama bear."

Camilla turned her attention to where Gladys was running into the trees with Cleo and Calamity, El Cid slinking through the tall grass behind them. "It doesn't seem as if Gladys is experiencing any ill effects from her tangle."

"It doesn't, and she's a smart dog, so I don't imagine she'll be trying to befriend additional bears, because I'm sure that's what she was trying to do at first. However, it seems she's heading back to the cabin, so we should probably follow her, just to make sure she doesn't find more trouble on her way down the hill."

After sending Owen a smile, one that left him losing his train of thought for a second, Camilla walked over and retrieved the rifle that had flown out of her hand after she'd fired it, releasing a bit of a huff when Owen held out his hand.

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying this down the hill," she said.

"I'm sure you are, but given how you said your tender feminine sensibilities are currently in play, I think it's best if I carry the rifle for you."

"You said you weren't going to mention anything about feminine sensibilities," she grumbled, handing the rifle to him.

"Which means I'll need to revisit that chapter in the latest etiquette book you told me to read—the one centering around knowing when a lady wants to address a subject with you, and when she doesn't."

"There's nothing in your latest etiquette book about that."

"Then I'm sure you'll find me one that covers that topic," he countered before they began walking across the clearing.

After sending a whistle to George, who immediately headed Owen's way, he waited for Camilla to scoop El Cid out of some tall grass, the meow of protest she immediately garnered suggesting El Cid had been about to pounce on a field mouse and was none too happy to have been interrupted from his pursuit.

Before Owen could do more than give El Cid a scratch under the chin, earning a purr, Gladys gamboled back into view, Cleo and Calamity flanking her. The poodle immediately circled Camilla, gave her a nudge with her nose, then dashed off again, evidently having circled back just to make sure Camilla was okay.

"For a pedigreed dog, Gladys is unusually affectionate. Most of the purebreds I've encountered are more on the distant side," he said.

"She wasn't affectionate with me until we came here," Camilla countered. "In fact, she spent most of her time sleeping and refused to walk with me in Central Park. She'd simply sit down on our way there and refuse to budge until I told her we were going home, and even then seemed less than interested in ever moving faster than an amble."

As Gladys bounded around some trees, Owen smiled. "She's evidently turned over a new and rather rambunctious leaf."

"Beulah thinks that's because Gladys has finally found her true place in the world, meaning West Virginia." Camilla dusted some leaves from the front of the apron she was wearing. "She also believes that even though my poodle has a fancy pedigree, Gladys was never meant to be a pampered pooch, but more along the lines of a mongrel that loves nothing more than rolling in the mud with Esmerelda and letting her fur down as she frolics around with Cleo and Calamity."

"Meemaw's usually right about these matters."

Camilla abandoned her dusting. "She thinks I'm like Gladys."

"She believes you'd enjoy rolling in the mud with Esmeralda?"

"Probably not that," Camilla returned, her eyes beginning to twinkle. "Although now that I think about it, since I've become acquainted with you, covered in mud has literally taken on an entirely new meaning for me."

"You do seem to be covered in it quite often, but if not the mud, what do you think Meemaw means about you being like Gladys?"

Camilla shifted El Cid to her other arm. "She seems convinced that even though I was born into the elite world of New York high society, I'm not meant for that world. Beulah evidently has concluded that, quite like Gladys, my place is here, living a life far removed from the frivolities that make up the Four Hundred."

"Don't you miss those frivolities?"

Camilla shrugged. "In all honesty, I haven't had time to think about my time in New York since I've been much too busy whitewashing fences, doling out etiquette advice to Nems and his friends, and attending quadrille practices." She set El Cid, who'd started to squirm, on the ground. "Luella even took me crawdad hunting the other day, which, after I got over my fear of those somewhat terrifying creatures, turned into an amusing few hours. Bernadette, to my surprise, decided to join us as well, forgoing a nap she'd planned to take, although she might have done that because she knew Nems was going to tag along with us."

"Luella told me Nems might be sweet on Bernadette."

"Oh, he is, and has been trying to impress her lately. Frankly, I think she's been enjoying Nems's attention. She's certainly been asking a lot of questions about him to Sally and her friends while she styles their hair, since apparently everyone seems to be related around here, if distantly."

"Meemaw mentioned you've been encouraging Bernadette to take on clients—and paying clients at that."

"Bernadette enjoys having the prominent ladies of Wheeling clamor for her hairdressing skills," Camilla began. "And since I don't need her to dress and style me during the day because, what's the point when I'm doing manual labor for Elma, I thought having her spend her days doing something she loves would keep her out of trouble." She smiled. "Add in the fact that when she's not doing hair, she's altering Luella's clothing, and trouble doesn't seem to be in Bernadette's schedule these days."

Owen took hold of Camilla's arm. "Speaking of trouble," he began as they walked toward the forest, "you're not trying to secure a match between Nems and Bernadette, are you?"

"As if I've had time lately to concentrate on matchmaking."

"You know you always have time for matchmaking."

A rather telling smile was her only reply to that, but before he could do more than appreciate the sight of the smile, Meemaw and Luella rode into view, pulling up their horses the moment they spotted them.

"We heard shots," Meemaw said, swinging from her saddle as Luella did the same.

Owen nodded. "One was from Camilla because a bear—not Teddy—had Gladys cornered. The other was from me after Camilla shot to distract it, but the bear turned on her instead of running away. Thankfully, my shot scared it off."

"Well, thank goodness no one was hurt, including the bear," Meemaw said before she stepped up to Camilla, gave her a hug, then took to giving her a few soothing pats on the back. "What say, since you've suffered such a fright, we forget all about Elma telling you to clean out my chicken coop today?"

Camilla's brow furrowed. "And deprive the ladies of the sewing bee another opportunity to amuse themselves by doling out what they claim is helpful advice? Absolutely not." With that, Camilla began heading down the hill, declining Luella's offer of riding behind her on her horse, saying the walk would be an excellent way to banish any lingering feminine sensibilities she'd been experiencing after a near bear attack.

After exchanging amused looks with Meemaw, and then having no choice but to head after Camilla when Meemaw gave him a none-too-subtle push in Camilla's direction, he caught up with her a moment later, taking her arm when she stumbled over a tree root.

Once Camilla found her balance, he caught her eye. "You know you really don't need to clean out Meemaw's chicken coop, don't you, because if you ask me, Aunt Elma might be taking this whole chore business of hers a little too far with that request."

Camilla waved that aside. "It's a matter of pride at this point. I mean, granted, I know I'm rubbish at most of the tasks—or rather, all the tasks—Elma gives me, but I won't give her the satisfaction of concluding that a city girl doesn't have enough grit to complete everything she throws at me."

"Did she actually tell you that?"

"Right after I had a tussle with the wringer on her washing machine." Camilla's eyes began to twinkle again. "There I was, attempting to figure out the mechanics of that horrible contraption, when I got the hem of Beulah's apron stuck in it. Elma, unfortunately, discovered me stuck to the machine and . . . I might have been talking to it. That, of course, had Elma questioning my sanity, as well as suggesting I lacked grit because of my city-girl status, since I wasn't finding much success getting unstuck."

He swallowed a laugh. "What were you saying to the washing machine?"

"Oh, you know, just that it needed to start cooperating, and I might've added something about it not being my fault I was stuck to it when I'd never had an opportunity to wash clothes before."

"I don't imagine you've ever had an opportunity to clean out a chicken coop either."

"Which is why I'm just all aflutter to get back to Meemaw's cabin."

"Where Meemaw's sewing club will apparently be waiting to lend you some more invaluable advice?"

"I would say it's more along the lines of interesting advice over invaluable, although I did finally discover what those ramps are that Nems apparently enjoys."

"They're like onions and can be found along creeks."

"That's what the ladies told me." Camilla grinned. "They also told me there are rules that come with eating ramps, and that you weren't in the wrong for pointing out that Nems smelled that day because everyone is supposed to be aware that you don't eat ramps past Thursday, as ramps can cause a revolting smell to emit from the skin for days after. And, according to Mrs. Johnson, who has a remarkable proficiency with embroidery by the way, no one wants to be ‘the stink in the church service'—her words, not mine."

"Truer words have never been spoken."

"Oh, I've been given a lot of true words of late. The ladies are especially keen to throw tidbits at me that are romantic in nature and revolve around things I need to do to keep your attention firmly settled on me. And no, I won't be sharing any specific details with you because that'll just embarrass us both."

"I appreciate your willingness to withhold what were undoubtedly brow-raising disclosures and pieces of advice."

As Camilla took to grinning again, they reached Meemaw's cabin, the front porch filled with ladies from the sewing bee, all of whom immediately sent him knowing looks as he took to greeting each and every one of them, while Camilla took to pretending she didn't notice the looks, saying a moment later that she needed to get down to the business of mucking out the chicken coop.

She'd barely disappeared around the side of the cabin before Aunt Elma pushed herself from a rocking chair and shook a finger his way. "Don't jist stand there, boy. Git movin'. Your little lady is fixin' to clean out the coop, and given her penchant for disasters, I say you should go off and help her."

"She's not going to let me help her after you questioned her grit."

Aunt Elma gave her nose a rub. "She told you 'bout that, did she?"

"She did, which suggests that maybe you would benefit from seeking her counsel regarding proper etiquette like Nems and a few other men are."

"A few other?" Aunt Elma said, releasing a cackle. "Boy, every man 'round these parts is clamorin' to get your little lady's advice." She leaned closer to him. "Some of them, I have to tell you, are interested in more than jist advice cuz she seems to have charmed every male over the age of ten around here, and perhaps even charmed the young'uns as well, since she sure does seem to have a way with children."

"I haven't seen her with any children yet."

"If you play your cards right, you'll have a few of your own with your little lady 'fore you know it."

Not wanting to dwell on the image that had just sprung to mind of Camilla holding a baby that was a mix of her and him, not when he was being watched by ladies who seemed to think it was their mission in life to hand out advice whether their recipients wanted it or not, Owen settled for clearing his throat. "I'll keep that in mind, but ... why is it that Camilla allows you to get away with calling her ‘little lady' when she got annoyed with me for doing it?"

"Don't be daft, boy. That's on account I'm a female, but no sense lingerin' here since me and the ladies are going to hie ourselves off to the chicken coop, seein' as how Camilla's gonna need some suggestions about how best to clean it."

"She shouldn't be cleaning out the coop at all."

"Every country girl knows how to clean out a coop."

Knowing he really had no choice but to traipse along with the ladies who were now moseying off the porch and heading toward the back of the cabin where Meemaw kept her chickens, Owen took Aunt Elma's arm and helped her down the steps, then walked with her around the cabin, coming to a stop when he caught sight of Camilla, who was already in the coop, but wasn't cleaning it. Instead, she was running around, scattering chickens as she ran, a rooster that went by the name of Harvey in hot pursuit.

"Don't just stand there, Owen," Camilla yelled. "I can't stop running to open the door, as that would allow this fiend to catch me."

Owen was in motion a second later, sprinting to the chicken coop and throwing open the door, Camilla dashing through it a second later.

Before he could slam the door shut, though, Harvey charged out and took off after Camilla, who was scrambling up a pile of firewood stacked in Meemaw's yard, Camilla releasing a bit of a shriek when Harvey fluttered his way up to join her.

"I thought roosters couldn't fly," she yelled, edging away from a rooster that was now crowing up a storm.

"They don't really fly—more like propel themselves upward for short distances—but now isn't the time to discuss roosters. Just jump," he called after he reached the firewood and held out his arms. "I'll catch you."

To his surprise, she didn't hesitate to jump, landing in his arms a blink of an eye later, where he promptly pulled her close and took off across the lawn, passing Meemaw on the way, who said something about utter madness before she began running after a rooster that was now chasing Gladys, but a rooster that was also now being chased by El Cid.

"I really hope El Cid doesn't catch Harvey," he said as he came to a stop a safe distance from where all the chasing was still going on and set Camilla on her feet. "He's Meemaw's favorite rooster."

"He's definitely not mine," Camilla muttered, rubbing a hand over an arm that was now sporting a welt.

"He pecked you?"

"He did, and after I saw something stuck to his leg, which I thought he would appreciate me getting unstuck, but, no, he started attacking me the instant I reached for him."

Owen tilted his head. "What was stuck to his leg?"

"It looked like a piece of paper, all rolled up and what you'd expect to find on a carrier pigeon." She frowned. "Now that I think about it, there were other pieces of paper stuck in odd places in the coop as well, most of them in the henhouse where I was supposed to collect the eggs, and..." Her eyes took to flashing. "Oh no they didn't" was all she said before she began marching across the lawn, evidently unconcerned that Harvey could still be on the loose.

"Might want to stay back for a minute whilst Beulah gets Harvey settled," Aunt Elma called, moving to block Camilla from where she now seemed determined to return to a chicken coop she'd only recently escaped from.

"I need to see what's tied to Harvey's leg," Camilla said.

Aunt Elma shot a look at Owen. "You best be talkin' some sense into that girl, boy. Harvey done took a dislike to her, so he ain't gonna want her lookin' at his leg, 'specially when what might be attached to it ain't gonna be taken the right way, what with Camilla being in a questionable state after sufferin' a bear tussle and then a rooster one."

"What's attached to Harvey's leg, Aunt Elma?" Owen asked.

"Ain't no cause to git into that, no siree."

Camilla released an honest-to-goodness snort. "There's every reason to get into that, especially if you and Beulah snuck copies of that infernal apple pie recipe into the chicken coop, hoping I'd pick up at least one of the copies as I went about cleaning or collecting eggs, because . . .who in their right mind would expect to find a recipe hidden in a chicken coop?"

Given that Aunt Elma immediately took to wincing, and Meemaw immediately headed into the henhouse with Harvey tucked under her arm, it wasn't a stretch to conclude that Camilla was exactly right and that his grandmother and aunt had been up to some shenanigans again.

And even though he'd never been convinced the apple pie recipe held the power of securing matches, he found himself just a little disappointed that Meemaw and Aunt Elma had been foiled in their latest scheme because—given that he could no longer deny he found Camilla far too fascinating, but knew she was far above his reach—if she'd suddenly found herself in possession of the secret family recipe, perhaps—just perhaps—the odds of him having a small chance of winning her favor might have actually increased.