“Bright, no doubt—just like this lamp,” Maude said and giggled.
Jenny noticed that the inn’s mascot had abandoned her former perch and was nowhere to be found.”
“Would you like a glass of sherry?” Lavinia asked.
“I’ve never had one before.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.” Lavinia poured the mahogany-colored liquid into one of the stemmed crystal glasses and handed it to Jenny, who took a hearty sip—and began to choke.
“Tiny sips—tiny sips!” Maude advised while Jenny continued to cough and wheeze.
“It’s a little harsh,” Jenny managed.
“Nonsense. This is cream sherry. Goes down much easier than the other stuff. By the time you finish your glass, you’ll come to love it, too.”
Jenny doubted that.
“Remember the time you got sick on cream sherry?” Maude said, giving her friend a dig.
“Do I ever.” Lavinia sank farther into the comfortable-looking leather couch. “It wasn’t too long after Jerry and I got married. One of mother’s friends gave her a bottle of sherry she’d received as a Christmas present. Mother didn’t drink, but she didn’t want to offend her friend, so she gave me the bottle. Well, I wasn’t much of a drinker back then, either—”
“You lush you,” Maude interrupted.
“I thought sherry was just wine—not fortified.”
“Fortified?” Jenny asked.
“Much stronger,” Lavinia clarified. “So Jerry and I figured we’d kill the bottle.”
“I wish I’d been there,” Maude said, once again captured by giggles.
“We’d guzzled just about the whole bottle and were pretty loopy, but Jerry insisted on getting supper ready. He always was a better cook than me, anyway.”
“What did you have?” Jenny asked.
“Polish sausage. I don’t remember what else was on my plate. It all went down.” She raised her hand high into the air, and then quickly let it sail toward the floor. “And then it all came right back up—along with half the bottle of sherry.”
Maude slapped her right thigh, laughing outright now.
Jenny wasn’t sure what to say.
“To this day, I can’t even stand the thought of Polish sausage, and it was one of my favorite treats before that night,” Lavinia lamented. Maude wiped tears from her eyes, still unable to stop laughing.
Lavinia sipped her sherry, occasionally rolling her eyes in her friend’s direction until Maude was finally able to calm down. “She does this all the time,” Lavinia muttered confidentially.
Jenny still couldn’t come up with anything appropriate to say.
Lavinia took up the conversational ball once more. “So, you came here for the girls-weekend?”
“I didn’t even know about it. My mother and I were supposed to come here to—” She paused, “for a weekend getaway. I didn’t know it was a girls-only affair until I checked in.”
“Where’s your mother? In her room?” Maude asked.
Jenny shook her head. “She passed away.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” Maude echoed, and reached over to pat Jenny’s hand.
“It was sudden,” Jenny said, and again reached for the little hummingbird charm that hung from around her neck. She didn’t want to discuss her situation, and decided to change the course of the conversation. “Do you two have children?”
“I’ve got three,” Lavinia said.
“I’ve got two—a boy and a girl, although they haven’t been children in decades. I guess a mother always thinks of her children as—well, children,” Maude said.
“Do they live near you?”
“Not anymore,” Lavinia said, “which is probably just as well. After they flew the coop, they never came to see me and Jerry much anyway. When Jerry died, my oldest couldn’t even be bothered to come to the funeral—he had a big presentation at work—but he called and sent me a card. I guess he figured that was enough. I cut him out of the will. In fact, I’ve decided not to leave a nickel to anyone. I’m going to spend it all on travel and good times. I only wish Jerry was here to enjoy the fruits of his labor.”
“You go, girl!” Maude encouraged her BFF.
Jenny blinked. “How about you?”
“I lost my husband about five years ago. My kids are okay. They call at least once a week. They live not five minutes from me, but they’re very busy with their own families.”
“That’s terrible,” Jenny said. She’d been very close to her mother, who’d pushed her out of the nest because she was worried Jenny would one day end up taking care of her—like she’d had to do for her own mother—and didn’t want that to happen.
Maude shook her head and sighed. “My daughter was very strict with my granddaughter—much stricter than I ever was. She was a soccer mom and loved it! I mean, it was unnatural. Poor Emily didn’t even like soccer, but Leslie—that’s my daughter—never missed a game. She took vacation time off just to see practices. That’s just not normal.”
“I’ll say,” Lavinia agreed, taking another sip.
“So was it any wonder that Emily’s first time up to bat with a boy, she was knocked up?”
“Don’t you mean knocked out?”
“No—she was knocked up. I’m now a great grandmother. Can you imagine that? I’m much too young to be a great grandmother.”
“Well, not really, dear,” Lavinia chided.
Maude leveled a scorching glance at her friend before continuing. “The way little Caleb gets dragged between my daughter’s house and being dumped on his father every weekend, is it any wonder he’s a handful? But he’s Leslie’s problem, not mine—thank goodness.”
Jenny managed another tiny sip of her sherry. Boy, these ladies didn’t mind dishing their family secrets. Again, she decided to steer the conversation in another direction. “Are you going anywhere after this weekend?”
“On Monday, we’re heading to Boston to catch a flight to Dublin where we’ll meet up with a bus tour and travel around the country for two weeks.”
“We’re going to kiss the Blarney Stone,” Maude declared.
“You have to do it hanging upside down,” Lavinia put in. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
Not really. Jenny wondered about the bacteria that clung to the stone. What if someone who had a cold or a virus kissed it? They could infect untold hundreds of unsuspecting tourists. If she ever went to the Emerald Isle, she vowed to eat some Blarney cheese, not kiss the stone.
“How many other guests are here for the weekend?” Jenny asked.
“Four other ladies. I believe they’re sorority sisters. They arrived here just after we did. They went out to dinner,” Lavinia said.
“We ordered in a seafood pizza. It was wonderful. Have you eaten?” Maude asked.
“Yes. I stopped at a clam shack before coming here. I’d originally thought I might go for lobster, but the shack seemed a better option for a woman alone.”
“I take it you have no siblings?” Lavinia asked.
“It was just me and my mom. She and my dad divorced when I was just a baby. He was never a presence in my life.”
“That’s so sad,” Maude said.
“I’ve got a couple of half-siblings, but they live on the west coast. I’ve never even met them.”
“Do you want to?”
Jenny shrugged. “Not really.”
“Do you have aunts and uncles?” Maude asked.
Jenny shook her head. “My mom was an only child, too.”
“Do you have anyone?” Lavinia asked.
“Just my best friend, Missy. She had a wedding to go to this weekend and couldn’t change her plans.”
“She’s not much of a best friend then,” Maude muttered into her glass of sherry.
Jenny kind of—sort of—felt the same way. Why had Missy felt more loyalty to someone she hadn’t seen in years instead of the friend who was a part of her life just about every day?
It did
no good to think about such things.
Lavinia drained her glass and glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Look at the time, Maude.”
“You’re right. It’s much later than I thought.”
“Are you ladies going to bed so early?”
“Oh, no,” Lavinia said. “But we hope to get in a couple of episodes of Gilmore Girls before bedtime.”
“Do you have a TV in your room?” Jenny asked.
“No, but I brought my laptop and packed the last three seasons worth of DVDs. No matter how bad the TV is on our travels, we always bring some kind of entertainment with us.”
“And I packed all five seasons of Boston Legal as a backup. That Denny Crane is a hoot,” Maude chimed in.
Oh-kay.
The ladies stood in unison.
“It’s been lovely to meet you, Jenny. We may not be about in the morning as we’ve booked a personal tour of the island, but we’ll be at the tea. You will be there, won’t you?” Lavinia asked.
“I haven’t decided,” Jenny answered truthfully.
Both ladies pursed their lips at the declaration.
“As you wish, dear,” Maude said, “but I hope you’ll opt to come. There is strength in numbers.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“It’s been very nice to meet you,” Jenny said, placed her now-empty glass on the old blanket chest that served as a coffee table, and stood. “I hope we get to talk again.” She left the statement open-ended, unsure if she wanted company for the rest of the weekend. Then again, she’d been alone far too much during the past two months, which had been painful to endure.
“We will,” Maude said with conviction. “Good night,” the women wished her.
“Good night,” Jenny said, gave the ladies a smile and a nod, and watched them leave the lobby. Once they’d disappeared down the hall, she ambled over to the bookshelves. Among the volumes were some children’s classics. Jenny’s mother had often spoken of her favorite book from childhood: Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. It was the reason she’d taken up gardening as a hobby. Their small yard had always been rife with blooms all summer long, and their vegetable patch had fed them fresh food in the summer, and frozen and canned treats the rest of the year. It all seemed like a lot of work to a child and teenager, but now the thought of not having her mother and a garden to work in this summer made the upcoming months seem just a little bleaker.
Jenny hefted the book in her hand. For some reason, she’d always balked at the idea of reading a story set in the early twentieth century. Now she wished she had, because she knew it would have pleased her mother.
Once again, she clasped the hummingbird charm at her neck. “I’ll read it now, Mom. Or at least I’ll try.”
Tucking the tome under her arm, Jenny started back for her pretty room, hoping she’d soon be entranced by the story of a lonely little orphan girl and how a secret garden saved her.
4
The sky was still dark when Blythe entered her kitchen the next morning. She paused for a moment to listen to the rain pounding on the roof. Somehow, she always found that to be a comforting sound. Comforting for her, but inconvenient for her guests who’d hoped for fair weather on their trip to the island.
Martha rubbed her body against Blythe’s ankles and cried piteously.
“Yes, I know you’re hungry. I’ll be right with you.” But the first order of business was to fire up the ivory-colored Aga cooker that was the focal point of her large country kitchen.
Blythe puttered around, feeding Martha, then taking a dozen assorted muffins and an apple strudel from the freezer. They’d thaw in time for the sorority sisters to have their breakfast, but she also intended to make Eggs Benedict, as well.
The coffee was brewing and Blythe began to assemble the ingredients for the cake she intended to bake that would be the featured dessert for the afternoon tea later that day, when footsteps approached.
Blythe turned. “Good morning, Jenny. You’re up early.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t sleep well,” she said, looking weary. She was dressed for the day, holding onto a book.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve never had any complaints about—”
“No, no!’ Jenny hurriedly interrupted. “It wasn’t the bed—it’s very comfortable. And my room is absolutely perfect. I had a hard time falling asleep, is all. I read until quite late, and then I woke up an hour ago and just couldn’t fall back to sleep. I guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
Blythe offered her a sympathetic smile. “The coffee will be ready in a few minutes, unless you’d rather have tea or cocoa.”
“Coffee is fine. It’s what I usually have for breakfast. My mother drank tea.”
“What kind?”
“Either English or Irish breakfast tea. She liked it strong.”
Blythe grinned. “As do I.” She took two hand-thrown pottery mugs down from the cupboard and set them on the counter near the Bun-O-Matic coffeemaker. “How do you take yours?”
“With just milk.”
“So do I.” Stepping around Martha, who had parked herself by the warm cooker, Blythe took a small pitcher from the cupboard, filled it with milk from the fridge, and set it on the counter. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
Jenny smiled. “If I eat now, I’ll just want another breakfast in an hour or so.”
“I hear you.”
Jenny pointed to the sack of flour, can of crushed pineapple, bananas, and cinnamon all lined up before her. “What’s all that for?”
“The cake I’m going to make for tea this afternoon. It’ll be the crowning glory.”
“I like cake—maybe a little too much,” Jenny admitted.
“If you ask me, it’s one of life’s greatest pleasures. Nobody ever got fat eating just one piece, but too many people deny themselves the enjoyment.”
“I admit, I don’t bake for myself because I’m afraid I’d pig out.”
“Cake freezes quite well, as do most baked items.”
“Like those muffins?” Jenny asked, eyeing the bounty set out to thaw.
“Exactly. Would you like one? They’re apple crumble or carrot cake.”
“The apple sounds heavenly.”
Blythe took a small plate from the cupboard, placed a muffin on it, popped it into the microwave, giving it thirty seconds, and then offered it to Jenny. She poured coffee for both of them.
Jenny peeled the paper wrapping from the muffin and broke off a portion of the top, taking a bite. As she chewed, her smile widened. “Oh, that is fantastic.”
“The recipe is on the manor’s website. Just click on the link marked EXTRAS.”
“I will definitely do that when I get home. Maybe I’ll make a batch and take them to work. I’m sure my officemates and the guys in the warehouse would love them.”
“Do you like your job?” Blythe asked, hauling the big mixer away from the wall so that she had better access to it.”
“Yeah, I do. I work in a lumber yard—of all places. I’m an expeditor. I keep track of what inventory we have on hand, arrange to purchase what we need on a day-to-day basis, and keep track of special orders. It’s rather meticulous work that drove the last person who had the job crazy, but I thrive on that kind of detail.”
“Being happy in one’s work is one of the greatest joys in life.”
“Are you happy?” Jenny asked.
Blythe felt a wellspring of bliss envelope her. “Taking care of the manor and serving my guests is incredibly rewarding. When visitors arrive stressed and unhappy, I hope my small efforts bring them comfort and respite. Can there be any greater purpose?”
Jenny shrugged. “I guess not.” She nibbled on more of her muffin. “I should leave you to your work.”
“Will you come to the tea this afternoon?”
“I guess it depends on the weather.” The rain still hammered the roof. “I made a list of places I thought I might like to see, but now that I’m here—and the weather is so crappy—I migh
t just stay here at the manor for the day. It’s such a peaceful place. It just feels good to be here.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I’ve heard some say they think the house and grounds have healing properties. Others claim there’s an almost mystical calming aspect here they feel in no other place on Earth.”
“Do you believe that?” Jenny asked, sounding skeptical.
Blythe turned to retrieve her measuring cups and spoons. “Sometimes.”
Jenny picked up her cup. “I’m keeping you from your work. I think I’ll go sit in the lobby.”
“Would you like me to put a few extra logs on the fire?”
“Oh, no. I’m just going to try to finish this book and drink my coffee.”
“Please let me know if you need anything.”
“I will, thank you.”
Blythe watched her young lodger make her way through the dining room and into the lobby, and then turned back to her workspace. She enjoyed measuring the ingredients for the recipes she made, and anticipated the pleasure the final product would elicit from her guests. This cake in particular could be inspirational, and even if it wasn’t, the ladies would enjoy it and the conviviality in which it was shared.
Martha got up, stretched, turned around twice, and then settled back down in front of the stove. Blythe couldn’t help but smile—at her cat, and because she had an inkling of just how meaningful that afternoon’s tea was likely to be. With just a little magic, the spirit of kindness and empathy that would touch the heart of one of her guests—the one who needed it most.
5
Jenny finished her muffin, and then curled up on the big leather couch intending to read, but the fire’s glow and the cozy atmosphere did what her pretty room hadn’t been able to do. Her muscles relaxed and her eyes grew heavy. She rested her head on the arm of the sofa, intending to close her eyes for just a moment, but immediately feel into an exhausted sleep.
When she awoke, the sky was a dismal gray and two hours had passed. Someone had spread a hand-crocheted afghan over her. The aroma of baking seemed to fill the house and the fire in the hearth still burned merrily, as though new logs had been added just moments before.
A Final Gift Page 2