Emily laid a hand to her chest. “Ralph Waldo Emerson, the writer?”

  Susan chuckled and lovingly touched Emily’s cheek. “My girl, yes, is there any other Emerson of literary importance in this world? He will be arriving from Concord by carriage a week from today. As you can imagine, this does not give me much time to prepare. My own maid is in a complete panic over it because, yes, I expect everything to be perfect. I will not have my first esteemed guest reporting back to the wider world that I neither knew how to keep a home, nor was a proper hostess.” She lowered her hand from Emily’s cheek.

  Emily rested her own palm in the place where Miss Susan’s had been, as if she missed its warmth.

  Miss Susan looked to me. “I could use an extra maid this week. I have only the one. It is a shame considering this is such a large home, but Austin is not one to overspend. He is too afraid of following in your grandfather’s footsteps in that regard.”

  Emily made a face. “Austin has good reason to be concerned. Everyone says he is much like our grandfather in temperament and thought.”

  “Yes, and now as his wife it is my job to keep him on a more practical path.” She said this with more than a little pride. “In no time at all, the Evergreens will become the cultural center of Amherst, and Mr. Emerson will be the first guest to make that dream happen.”

  “Willa should help you,” Emily said. “Just for this week, to ensure everything is ready and prepared for Mr. Emerson’s arrival. I’m sure Mother and Father will agree. How you impress Mr. Emerson will reflect on them as well. I believe it will benefit the entire family if you can put on a nice show for such a learned man.”

  Miss Susan pinched her lips together. “Very good. Willa,” Miss Susan said. “I expect you to report to the Evergreens at five in the morning. We have just a few days to make the home welcoming to Mr. Emerson.”

  “But what about Miss O’Brien?” I asked. “She will be left alone in the homestead to care for it herself.”

  Miss Susan scowled as if she was annoyed I would dare question her. She was the lady of a house now and wanted to be treated as such.

  “Miss O’Brien will be fine,” Emily said. “She has made do with no help many times before. It’s only a few days, and you can help her in the evenings when you’re finished at the Evergreens.”

  Help in the evenings, after putting in a full day’s work starting at five a.m.? I was certainly game to help this family, regardless of which house required more immediate assistance, but I didn’t want to think about doing double the work for the next week.

  I folded my hands in front of myself and said nothing, just like any servant would in my place. It sounded as if the visit of Mr. Emerson was going to mean one thing only. Trouble. At the time, I had no idea just how much trouble it would actually become.

  Chapter Two

  When I returned to the homestead, I dreaded telling Margaret O’Brien that I would be working at the Evergreens from morning to night for the next week. I was already walking on eggshells with the head maid because of how much time I spent tending Emily’s flowers and plants in the garden. Margaret was very much looking forward to the first frost, when I would not be helping in the garden any longer.

  Thankfully while I was at the Evergreens, Cody finished planting the daylilies with the help of the gardener, Horace Church. Horace was a tall man in his thirties with a full beard and a long list of convictions. If you got the gardener on a topic he was passionate about, he would speak about it for days if allowed. He cared deeply for the Dickinsons’ gardens and was also the sexton at the Congregational church on the other side of Main Street, where all the Dickinsons except for Emily attended.

  “Wet the ground first, Willa, if your mistress gets the idea in her head to plant during the hottest part of an August day,” Horace called grumpily.

  I waved to let him know that I had heard him. I was too nervous about the conversation that I had to have with Margaret to stop and chat.

  The news that I had to share with the head maid would not go well. This I knew. I sympathized with her. When she left for a few days to care for her ailing mother, it was all I could do to keep the house running. Being responsible for such a large home right after the family had moved in and didn’t know where all their belongings were was daunting. Thankfully both Emily and Miss Lavinia chipped in to help with the cooking during that time.

  However, Miss Lavinia did it with a scowl on her face. Miss Emily’s younger sister didn’t care for me. With so much activity at the Evergreens, I didn’t think that Margaret would receive their help this time. The entire family would be in a flurry preparing for Mr. Emerson’s arrival. The meals at the homestead would be Margaret’s problem and hers alone.

  I tentatively stepped into the kitchen and grabbed my spare apron from the hook. My other apron was still in the garden. I hoped Margaret wouldn’t notice it was missing. I promised myself that I would run out and collect it the first chance I had.

  Margaret was at the stove stirring a summer soup as the Dickinsons’ first course. Since Austin and Miss Susan had returned home, the family was having a formal meal all together in the homestead’s dining room.

  I washed my hands quickly and jumped into the work of preparing the meal. I began slicing the crusty bread that Emily had made that morning. Emily baked most of the bread for the family, and she was quite talented at it. Many times, I had thought if she had been born lower class, she would have made an excellent baker. Her father refused to eat any bread in the home that wasn’t made by his eldest daughter.

  It came as a surprise to me when I learned Emily enjoyed baking. Baking was all about time and precision, and her mind seemed to meander from thought to thought. Often it was as if Emily was unaware of her surroundings because she was so arrested by a thought or a word or a line of a poem that she wished to write.

  I could feel Margaret watching me out of the corner of her eye. I didn’t say a word and concentrated on slicing bread like it was the most important task I’d ever been given.

  Margaret selected a wooden spoon from the canister by the stove, dipped it into the soup, tasted it, and gave a satisfied nod. She then removed the boiling pot from the hot burner and placed it on a cast-iron trivet in the middle of the table. “I take it you and Miss Dickinson were out gallivanting again. When I went to the garden to collect herbs for the soup, you were not there.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. “She asked me to go with her to greet her brother and Miss Susan, who have just returned from their wedding trip. She told me she asked you.”

  “She did,” Margaret replied. “However, I did not think you would be gone quite so long.”

  “Nor did I,” I admitted.

  “I’m grateful you will be cleaning the kitchen tonight. Since I have done the majority of the cooking, it only seems right,” she sniffed.

  I nodded and again thought of the unread novel under my pillow in my little room. There would be time to read later. Perhaps not in the next week, while I would be working at the Evergreens. As of yet, I could not think of a way to tell Margaret this news. She was already in a foul mood.

  “I’m sorry I was gone longer than I expected. Em—Miss Dickinson was quite insistent I go with her.”

  If Margaret noticed that I almost slipped and referred to Emily by her given name, she gave no indication, but I was wise enough to know she would stow that fact away in the back of her brain for the proper time to use it.

  Instead, she spoke of Austin’s new bride. She wrinkled her nose. “She is no longer Miss Susan. She is Mrs. Dickinson and the mistress of the Evergreens, but it would be far too confusing to call her such as we already have one Mrs. Dickinson. We will continue to speak of her as Miss Susan, but only when away from the family. When you address her directly, I expect you to call her Mrs. Dickinson or Mrs. Austin Dickinson.”

  I nodded, having come to the same conclusion.

  “The pie should be ready to take from the oven. Miss Emily made it, but I’m sure that she’s forgotten all about it in her excitement. She lets so many things distract her. It’s a wonder she gets anything done.” She shook her head like a woman who would never dare succumb to a distraction.

  I picked up a tea towel and opened the oven’s blackened door. Steam billowed in my face. The pie was blackberry, made with berries grown in the Dickinson garden. It smelled heavenly. I wished that Margaret and I could try a piece of it, but I knew that it would have to be saved for the welcome home dinner for Austin and Miss Susan, and with so many family members at the dinner, there wouldn’t be a single crumb left.

  “That does smell good,” Margaret said even if a bit reluctantly. It was no secret she preferred that the Dickinson sisters stayed out of the kitchen. Emily in particular made a terrible mess when she baked. It was left to Margaret and me to clean it up.

  “After tonight,” my superior went on to say, “I hope the family can finally settle into the two homes and we can have some peace. There have been so many changes in the last year with Mr. Dickinson leaving politics, moving here, and Mr. Austin’s wedding. We all deserve some calm.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. Margaret wasn’t going to like Miss Susan’s plans for the Evergreens, then. I tidied the kitchen, stalling for time, trying to think of the very best way to tell her. Truthfully, it didn’t matter how I told her, it would not be welcome news. It was best just to get it out in one breath, like pulling off a day-old bandage.

  I opened my mouth to speak, when Emily appeared in the kitchen doorway. I wasn’t the least bit surprised that I hadn’t heard her coming. She had the ability to move around the house like a butterfly on the wind. She fluttered soundlessly from room to room.

  Emily clasped her hands in front of her pale yellow summer dress. “Oh, Willa! You are a true friend for pulling the pie from the oven for me. I would hate for Austin and Susan’s welcome home dinner to be marred by a burnt blackberry pie. Could there be anything else more bitter?” She leaned over the pie and inhaled deeply. “Perfect. This is Austin’s favorite dessert. He will be surprised I went to all the effort for him. Do we have an ice cream to go with it? Homemade vanilla would be just the thing.”

  Before Margaret or I could respond, Emily went on to say, “Margaret, I trust Willa has told you that my brother and new sister will need her assistance at the Evergreens all week long to prepare for the arrival of their first guests.”

  Margaret glared at me. “She has not.”

  I swallowed. “I was about to tell you.”

  Even to my own ears my response sounded weak.

  Margaret narrowed her eyes at me. “Who are these guests? Is it wise to invite people into their home when they themselves are new to it? I believe it is much wiser to wait.”

  “Whether it is wiser to wait or not does not matter. Susan has extended an invitation, and she cannot take it back.”

  Margaret looked down at her soup as if she wanted to hide her disapproval. “Whom did she invite?”

  “Mr. Emerson,” Emily said. “I can’t believe he will be coming here to Amherst. And not just in Amherst but right next door in my brother’s home. As you said, Susan and Austin are themselves new to the home. They need help to prepare. I’m sure you understand how much pressure this is on poor Susan to present her home and hospitality in the best possible light. It will be the first time she is entertaining as a wife. It could set the tone for all the guests she will have at the Evergreens for years to come.”

  Margaret looked up from her soup. “Who is this Mr. Emerson? I have never heard of him.”

  If I had asked Emily a direct question with such a sharp tone, I would have gotten her disapproving stare in reply. However, when it came to Margaret, it seemed the Dickinsons took her bouts of churlishness in stride. Except for Mr. Dickinson, of course. Not even Margaret would speak to the patriarch of the Dickinson family in such a way.

  Emily put her hand on her chest. “Do you not know the name Ralph Waldo Emerson and his work?”

  Margaret gave her a blank stare.

  “He is only the most influential writer of our time,” Emily said somewhat breathlessly, as if she had trouble getting the words out. “He’s lecturing to the Amherst Literary Society symposium at the college in a week’s time. Of course, he would be staying either at the Evergreens or here. We are one of the most important families in Amherst,” she said with not a bit of conceit. She had simply stated a fact she knew to be true.

  “I see,” Margaret said. “It is important that such a man stays with the family. I would think the homestead would be a more suitable place for him, as it is well established,” she added with a bit of disdain.

  Emily wrinkled her nose. “You know Mother could not handle such a guest in our home. Susan is far more equipped for the stress of entertaining.”

  Margaret nodded. Mrs. Dickinson was of a sensitive nature. It was not uncommon for her to go to her bed before dinner with complaints of a headache.

  “Yes, the younger Mrs. Dickinson will make a good hostess,” Margaret conceded. “She certainly has her ways of impressing the right people.” Margaret’s last comment didn’t sound like a compliment. If Emily noticed her tone, she made no mention of it.

  “However, she has her own servants. She has a domestic in that home. Why does she need Willa?”

  “She’s just arrived home and is still setting up her house. She needs all the help she can get. We understand that you have to stay here and take care of the homestead, but surely you can spare Willa for a few days in order for the family to make a good impression on such an important man.”

  Margaret looked at me. “It seems I don’t have a choice.”

  Chapter Three

  A week later, an ornate carriage came to a stop, and Jeremiah York, the Dickinsons’ stable hand, grabbed the bridle. “Whoa,” the driver said to the horse, and large wooden wheels ground to a halt in the gravel.

  I stood on the steps of the Evergreens with the other servants, ready to welcome the esteemed guests. Margaret had also been invited to be there for their arrival, but she had declined, claiming she had to tend to Mrs. Dickinson, who was afflicted with one of her headaches again. That might have been true, but I also knew Margaret was still upset that I had been away from the homestead so much this week as I helped the Evergreens staff prepare for Mr. Emerson’s arrival.

  In front of me the three Dickinson children and Miss Susan waited for the guests to disembark from the carriage. Emily stood a little off to the side from her family, and she stared at the carriage door with rapt attention. Her back was so rigid that it was as if a piece of iron bar had been pressed up against her spine. She held a large bouquet of flowers from the garden in her arms. Emily believed in gifting flowers from the garden whenever possible. She gave bouquets to neighbors and friends in town, and she pressed flowers from her garden in letters to friends and family who lived farther away. I was not surprised that she wanted to give flowers to Emerson. I saw that she picked the very best blooms that the garden had to offer this time of the summer. In her arms she held sunflowers, dahlias, black-eyed Susans, zinnias, and daylilies. It was a burst of large blossoms and bright colors.

  Miss Lavinia stood next to her and was also tense, but her nerves perhaps came from what she thought of her appearance. She continuously smoothed her hair and felt the lace of her collar as if to reassure herself that it lay flat.

  Austin and Miss Susan were arm in arm and looked very much like the young, fashionable couple they were. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before their home became a place of importance in Amherst, even more than the homestead.

  Austin clapped his hands. “Very good. Jeremiah, will you help the driver unload?”

  The young man nodded and peered over his glasses at me. I gave him a small smile in return. Jeremiah had been my brother Henry’s closest friend before his death. They had worked at the Amherst stables together as stable hands. After Henry’s death, Emily convinced her father to hire Jeremiah to care for their horses in the homestead barn. I was glad. I knew Jeremiah still dabbled in the dangerous work he did for the Underground Railroad, but at least he had a safe, secure job, and a good family that could protect him. And he was no longer sleeping on the floor but in a proper bed in a small cabin on the property.

  The hired driver hopped out of the carriage seat and opened the door, allowing a tall, austere man in a dark suit to step out. His dark hair was parted at the side, and he had long sideburns reaching to the bottom of his chin. However, the most interesting aspect of his features was his nose. I couldn’t say I had ever seen one like it. It was rather large, filling most of his long face, and reminded me of the drawings of Roman emperors I had seen in the history books within the Dickinson family library. It suited him. On anyone else, a nose like that would have been overpowering, but on Mr. Emerson it was just right.

  Mr. Emerson held out his hand to Austin. “Mr. Dickinson, it is a pleasure to see you again. I have very much enjoyed your thoughtful correspondence. If you were not a lawyer, I would say that you should have been a writer.”

  Austin chuckled. “Oh no, not me. My sister, Emily, is the writer in the family.” He nodded at Emily.

  Mr. Emerson glanced at Emily, who nodded at him. I had expected that Emily—who loved to speak of her writing—would have taken her brother’s lead and told one of the best known writers of our time about her work, but she said nothing.

  “What do you write, Miss Dickinson?” Mr. Emerson asked with an arched brow.