Chapter 8.
Back at the house, Nick and Emily found Mrs. Wells visiting with Victoria and Jarrod in the parlor. The usual introductions were made and salutations exchanged and Victoria led Emily to the downstairs bathroom to freshen up. Nick disappeared upstairs.
Alone in the bathroom, Emily stared at herself in the mirror wondering if the day's events had changed her. She felt they had but she couldn't see it with her eyes.
She removed her hat and washed her hands. She smoothed her hair with water, its curly tendrils tamed back into place, and she washed her face with cold water. She didn't pinch her cheeks. She didn't need to.
Dinner was pleasant and subdued with Victoria and Nick reporting on the approaching fruit harvests and Jarrod about progress on his legal case.
Victoria asked how the ride home went for Nick and Emily and Nick quickly announced, "Emily is considering moving away but I am working to convince her to stay."
Victoria looked away from Nick and over at Emily, sitting across from him, and saw the blood rise in her cheeks.
Victoria said, "Oh, I think you should give us some time."
"I have no current plans to go anywhere," Emily replied calmly, pleasantly, and then concentrated really hard on putting her fork to the mashed potatoes on her plate. She was relieved when Mrs. Wells shifted the topic to Stockton in general and away from Stockton and Emily.
After dinner, the group retired to the parlor, Victoria and Mrs. Wells leading the way. Mrs. Wells was talking about a local family and how their daughter could "sing like an angel."
And then it happened.
Mrs. Wells turned back to Emily and remarked, "Mrs. Fisher tells me you play the piano." Mrs. Fisher had asked Emily during a short course of polite chitchat following a recital if Emily played the piano and Emily had answered honestly that she had taken lessons in school. One of the other lessons she learned at school is that a young lady's proper response to being asked to play the piano is to do just that.
"Would you please play for us, Emily?" asked Victoria.
Emily could feel all eyes on her and heat emanating from her cheeks.
"Of course, Victoria. I would love to," she replied, thinking, what a gracious little liar I am.
She sat at the piano and considered her repertoire. There was not a sound from anyone in the room as she started to play Chopin's Valse, Number 13 in D Flat Major, Opus 70, #3 .
She chose it for its brevity and its general lightness. It had a happy calm which matched the mood she wanted and felt was becoming her own.
She tried to decline the encore requested by everyone but felt an outright denial after one song would be considered rude.
For the second piece, she played the allegretto from Schubert's Scherzo, Number 1, also a short piece and always a crowd pleaser.
She hadn't had the opportunity to play since coming to Stockton and so did not dare a longer – and more likely to be forgotten – piece.
Uncomfortable at being the center of attention, Emily knew her love of playing always won out and conquered her anxiety. She simply would have preferred an audience busy playing cards, or talking to each other, anything but focusing on her.
Her audience did accept her surrender after the second piece.
"Why, Mrs. Powell, you play beautifully!" exclaimed Mrs. Wells.
"Thank you," said Emily, "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice and haven't the recall I should."
"Then you should come visit more often and practice. I couldn't think of a nicer way to enjoy a houseguest," Victoria was quick to suggest.
Emily was glad when the evening drew to a close shortly afterwards. Nick took Mrs. Wells home first and both she and Nick helped her into the house and into the care of her son and daughter-in-law.
On the way to her shop, Nick smiled and said, "Well, you're really something, aren't you? Ride like a cowboy and play piano like, like, like I don't know what!" and they both laughed.
In front of the shop, Nick didn't stir from the surrey. He was leaning forward, looking ahead.
"Em, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I'm real sorry."
Emily had started to entertain the notion of Nick as someone more than a friend as the afternoon, and then the evening, wore on. When he called her Em, though, her insides grew warm and her heart filled up. No one ever called her Em, they called her Emmie or Emma. Nick had called her Em and she liked it.
She put her gloved hand on his and patted it.
"It's okay," she said, "I'm quite recovered now."
He tilted his head towards her, took up her hand with his free hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it.
Nothing was said between them as Nick climbed down from the surrey, walked around, and lifted Emily down. Emily was dreading the awkwardness surely to come waiting for a kiss that might not happen.
There was no awkwardness, however, because there wasn't time. As soon as she reached her door, Nick still at her elbow, he turned to her, lifted her chin with a finger and kissed her mouth. His kiss was soft, and gentle, and just long enough to be decidedly unchaste.