Heartwishes Read online

  “You think the whole town knows about the Stone?” Gemma asked in horror.

  “No. Only the seven families. If outsiders heard of it, this house would be picketed. The only reason I know of it is because I overheard Mrs. Frazier bellyaching about her nonexistent grandbabies.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’ve become a fanatic about taking my pills.” Except for the first time, she thought but didn’t say.

  “Can you mash potatoes with a hand mixer?” Rachel asked.

  “Sure. Just point me to it.” Minutes later, Gemma had on an apron and was whirring away at a huge pot full of cooked potatoes.

  When Rachel went out, Mr. Frazier came in. He took a stool across the counter from her and helped himself to Rachel’s tray of olives and cheeses.

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Gemma said as she turned off the mixer.

  “What’s that?” There was caution in his voice, as though he dreaded what she was about to say.

  “Do you think they really sent a repairman for a broken axle, or did the Rolls-Royce people just make up that story?”

  Mr. Frazier laughed. “I’ve always wondered that too. What do you think?”

  “My dad said the story was true. How many Rollses do you own?”

  “One Rolls, one Bentley,” he said.

  The kitchen door opened, and Pere came in. “I thought I’d find you in here,” he said to his father. He looked at Gemma. “So you can cook.”

  “I can push the button on the mixer and use it on potatoes Rachel cooked.”

  “Better than I can do,” Pere said. “What about you, Dad?”

  “Much better. I thought mashed potatoes came out of a box.”

  “Actually, they come out of a transmission case,” Gemma said solemnly.

  “No, it’s a crankshaft,” Pere said.

  “Fueled by the pistons,” Mr. Frazier said.

  The door opened and young Shamus came in, art case in hand.

  “Too noisy for you?” Gemma asked.

  “Ariel,” was his reply as he sat down beside his father and brother.

  Gemma ran a big spoon around the mashed potatoes. It looked like a giant lollipop. She handed it to Shamus.

  “Hey!” Pere and Mr. Frazier said in unison.

  Gemma opened drawers until she found more spoons, then gave the two men each his own helping. She saw the gray duct tape on the corner of Shamus’s wooden box. “What happened?”

  “Broke,” he said as he licked his spoon.

  “My son the wordsmith,” Mr. Frazier said, also licking.

  “Wow!” Lanny said from the doorway as he looked at his father and two brothers sitting at the island with their big lollipops of mashed potatoes.

  Gemma got another spoon, filled it, and handed it to him as he took the last remaining stool.

  “So what are we talking about?” Lanny asked.

  “I don’t know,” Pere said.

  “Ask Shamus,” Mr. Frazier said. “He’s leading the conversation.”

  The door opened again, but this time it banged against the wall.

  “Uh oh,” Mr. Frazier said as he quickly cleaned his spoon. “I know that sound.”

  It was Mrs. Frazier, and she was drawn up to her full height. “Out! The lot of you! And you too, Gemma. No more hiding in the kitchen.”

  Gemma removed her apron and ran after the departing men. But Mrs. Frazier caught Gemma’s arm, then kissed her cheek. “Welcome, Gemma,” she said softly. “And thank you.”

  “It was nothing. I just gave them some potatoes.”

  “No, thank you for Colin. I haven’t seen my eldest son smile so much since . . . Since he got out of college.”

  “I’m sorry about Jean. I know how much all of you like her.”

  “Jean is champagne. You can’t live on wine, no matter how fine it is.” Mrs. Frazier smiled. “But the Irish proved that you can pretty much live on potatoes. Now go!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gemma said, and smiled back, her nervousness greatly alleviated—even though she wasn’t sure about the potatoes and wine analogy.

  When all eleven of them were seated in the dining room, the table laden with enormous bowls and trays of food, Gemma soon found out that she was the center of attention. All the Fraziers, except for Shamus and Colin, bombarded her with questions about her research, where she’d grown up, what she wanted to do in the future.

  She tried to answer everyone, but there were just too many queries. Mainly, she didn’t want to talk about herself. If she did, she feared they’d ask about her and Colin, and it was too soon for that.

  After several minutes of interrogation, she stopped them with a story of the first Shamus Frazier, the one who came from Scotland to America in the 1760s.

  “His wife, the countess,” Gemma said, “wrote a letter telling of a carriage her husband made for the beautiful Edilean Harcourt.” She had their attention now and they ate in silence as they listened to her. “It was a yellow carriage with black seats, and Mrs. Harcourt called it her bumblebee.”

  When there was a quick intake of breath and everyone looked at Mr. Frazier, Gemma did too.

  He gave no explanation for the attention turning to him. “Go on,” he said. “What else did the letter say?”

  “Prudence—that’s Shamus’s aristocratic wife—said the carriage was made to cheer Edilean up because the last of her children had married and moved out of their house.”

  “I understand that!” Mrs. Frazier said as she looked at her five grown children. “Go on, Gemma.”

  “Mrs. Frazier—the first one, that is—said that Shamus put a plaque under the seat, but he doubted if anyone would ever see it.”

  To Gemma’s consternation, both Lanny and Shamus stood up.

  “Shamus,” Mr. Frazier said, and the young man grabbed a couple of rolls and left the room.

  Gemma looked across the table at Colin, her eyes asking him what was going on.

  He smiled. “Dad has a lot of the old wagons and carriages stored in warehouses in the back. One of the prettiest is yellow with black seats. My little brother went to see if he could find the plaque.”

  “You didn’t think to tell me that you have eighteenth-century carriages stashed away? I could have searched them for information,” Gemma said before she thought, then remembered where she was. She glanced at the others. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  All of the Fraziers started laughing, and Lanny slapped Colin on the back. “Our brother likes to keep secrets.”

  “Better than blabbing everything to everyone,” Colin answered and everyone started talking again.

  Next to Gemma was Frank, but she hadn’t been able to say a word to him.

  Ariel, on the other side of him, leaned forward. “Gemma, would you like for me to take the attention off of you?”

  “Could you please?” Gemma watched as Ariel reached inside her trouser’s pocket and withdrew a diamond ring. Under the cover of the dining table, she slipped it on her left ring finger. “That should do it,” Gemma said softly. She couldn’t resist kissing Frank’s cheek in congratulations—a gesture that brought everyone to a halt.

  “Colin, it looks like you have some competition,” Pere said.

  Colin looked at Gemma, and this time he was the one wanting information.

  Ariel broke the silence by reaching her left hand far across the table to her mother at the end. “Mom, will you hand me the carrots, please?”

  No one paid any attention to her—but Mrs. Frazier did. She reacted with a little scream, grabbed her daughter’s hand, and pulled so hard Ariel nearly landed in a bowl of collard greens.

  “What in the world, Alea?” Mr. Frazier asked.

  By that time, Mrs. Frazier had pulled her daughter out of her chair and was hugging her, kissing her face, and crying copiously and loudly.

  Everyone else was still seated, but they were staring at Ariel and her mother in wonder. Ariel clarified the matter by holding up her left hand and flashi