Miz Scarlet and the Bewildered Bridegroom

by Barton, Sara M.

  “Well then, I guess we should help Mama out.”

  “We should.” He reached over and turned the key in the ignition. “And if I’m any judge of men, the good doctor is equally interested in your mother.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do.”

  I do. Those two little words surfaced yet again. My luck -- there was just no escaping them tonight. I pulled myself together and focused on the matter at hand. How could I help Laurel find some happiness at this stage of her life? I was still adjusting to the idea of my mother dating when Kenny threw me another curve ball.

  “How do you feel about me moving down the road? Would that bother you?”

  For the second time in less than ten minutes, my jaw dropped. “Moving down the road?”

  “Bur called me and said he’s thinking of taking over Wallace’s house for an event venue, but he wants to use the upstairs as business offices and apartment space for himself. He offered me the third floor. How about it, Scarlet? We’ll be able to spend more time together.”

  I looked into those eyes and felt myself melting under the heat of his gaze. The idea of spending more time with him delighted me. “It’s just the nearness of you....” For a moment, that old romantic ballad flooded my head and I felt myself swept away. And then, suddenly, the spell was broken.

  “So?” Kenny spoke. “What do you think?”

  I shook myself out of my daydream and forced myself back into reality. “But what about your place, the one you just rented a few months ago after you sold your house in New Jersey?”

  “Honestly? It doesn’t feel much like home to me. It’s too empty. Besides, I spend most of my time here when I’m not working. I’d prefer to be your neighbor.” Your neighbor. That sentiment had such a lovely ring to it.

  “It would be rather convenient,” I admitted, flushed at the thought of the former boy heartthrob becoming the man next door, “especially if I need to borrow a cup of sugar.”

  “Aw, you’re just saying that because I’m such a sweet guy,” he smiled.

  “And a good kisser,” I acknowledged with a grin. “Pucker up, Captain Peacock!”

  The following morning, I lay in bed, trying to sort through the many thoughts swirling around in my head. That Laurel might want some romance in her life was a shocker for me -- admittedly so; but she was an interesting, intelligent woman with a good sense of humor and a heart of gold. Why shouldn’t she have a companion to share the remaining years with on life’s often rocky path? I tried to picture my mother going out on dates -- what would that be like? Should I worry if she wasn’t home by midnight? Would she suddenly start shacking up with the good doctor at every cheap motel from here to Kennebunkport? Hardly likely, I decided. For one thing, I doubted cheap motels install wheelchair ramps and that was a must for Laurel. Still, I wasn’t really sure how it would all play out.

  And then I remembered that Kenny would be living a few doors down the road. It all seemed so surreal to me, like a dream I wished I had dreamed long ago. Kenny was, at heart, a family man. He had loved his late wife dearly; of that, there was no doubt. Why would he enjoy living alone after so many years of being a devoted husband and father? Some folks are just born “people persons” and Kenny certainly fit that description. That was obvious to me once we began dating in earnest. But did that mean he would commit his heart to loving me?

  A warm little fur ball rolled over in bed and pawed my arm, looking for a tickle. Huckleberry was ready to rise.

  “Who’s the boy?” I asked him, giving his belly a rub as I ran through the day’s schedule in my mind. There was a lot to do. At the top of the list was to get started on the wedding plan. “I suppose we should get moving.”

  Twenty minutes later, after a brisk jaunt through the neighborhood with Huckleberry and January, I was in the kitchen, whipping up banana nut muffins in anticipation of the breakfast crowd.

  “Good morning!” Jenny popped in with her little Cavalier King Charles spaniel at her feet. “Mozzie and I are off for a hike up to White Oak Hill, but I need a little food for the trail.”

  An adventurous teen, she liked to climb to the summit with the little dog most summer mornings, travel mug of coffee in hand. I suspect it was because it reminded her of her old life in New Hampshire, the one she shared with her late mother.

  “I’ve got blueberry muffins left over from yesterday’s breakfast in the freezer and Greek yogurt in the fridge.”

  “You’re a peach, Miz Scarlet.”

  “I am indeed; that also happens to be the yogurt flavor of the day,” I replied. I opened the oven door and slid the muffin pan in as Jenny tucked the yogurt and muffin in her insulated fanny pack and zipped it up. She poured coffee into her thermal cup, added some cream and sugar, capped the lid.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” she informed me.

  After setting the table for the guests, I placed a pitcher of orange juice in the butler’s pantry alongside a pitcher of milk, and then checked the breakfast set-up on the counter. The tiny cereal boxes were displayed in wicker basket for guests to help themselves. A cut glass bowl held fresh tropical fruit salad made with pineapple, papaya, mango, kiwi, and banana. Crisp bacon, wrapped in foil, was warming in the oven, ready for plating. All that was left to do was to scramble the eggs and toast the bread when guests sat down in the dining room.

  “Good morning!” said a voice behind me. I turned and greeted Dr. Van Zandt. He was wearing a madras plaid cotton shirt and a pair of chinos, with Topsiders on his feet. He looked like he belonged on a sailboat on Long Island Sound. That’s not a bad thing for a woman like Laurel, who loves the sea. Maybe they could take a cruise together.

  “How are you today?” I gave him a bright smile.

  “Very well, I must say.” He chose a seat at the table next to the space where my mother normally parked her wheelchair to dine. Was he calling shotgun or was his choice of chair just a coincidence? Before I had time to ruminate on the matter, I spied my mother making her way down the hallway. She was wearing her favorite blue blouse, the one with the embroidered Peter Pan collar. Just below that was her favorite strand of freshwater pearls. She had swept up her hair in an elegant French twist, so that her pearl earrings showed nicely.

  “Don’t you look lovely this morning,” I told her. “Are you going out?”

  Dr. Van Zandt rose from his chair, giving Laurel a slight bow. “Indeed she is. She has promised to escort me on a driving tour of Cheswick after church. I’m also hoping I can convince her to have lunch with me.”

  “That sounds like fun. You certainly have a picture perfect day for it.”

  “Well, considering I have that medical appointment tomorrow, I decided to enjoy myself before the ax falls. I’m not looking forward to the tests.”

  “That’s understandable, Thaddeus, even though I’m sure it will all work out just fine,” my mother reassured him.

  According to Lacey, who lived to ferret out guest information, Thaddeus Van Zandt had been a physician for the better part of forty years. He and his wife had lived in West Hartford for much of that time, but after her death, he sold their home and moved to Maine, to be closer to his daughter and her family. A long-time cancer survivor, he returned every year for his annual physical with his oncologist. This was his first visit to the Four Acorns Inn, but judging from the way he looked at my mother, I doubted it would be his last. He had asked if he might extend his visit, especially if something unusual surfaced during his physical exam.

  “You know what they say,” he laughed. “Doctors make the worst patients.”

  “Surely not in your case!” My mother patted his hand. It was a gesture I hadn’t seen her make since my dad passed away, and yet it seemed so normal.

  “Well, maybe I’m not so bad, but I could tell you horror stories about my colleagues.”

  I left them to their conversation, smiling as I walked back into the kitchen. I put the bread into the toaster, ready to get started.

&nb
sp; “Well?” Lacey sat at the kitchen island, a glass of orange juice in her hand. “What are they talking about?”

  “They’re going to church and then for a drive, followed by lunch. Will that work for you?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “Scrambled eggs and toast will be up in a couple of minutes,” I informed her, turning on the burner under the griddle pan.

  “I’ll just eat here, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t want to cramp your mother’s style.”

  “You think you might?”

  “Two’s company, three’s a crowd, Scarlet. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  “I’ll try my darnedest,” I laughed. Through the open kitchen door, I saw Ms. Vinson strolling purposefully towards the dining room. “What’s four? Here comes Florence.”

  “Nuts! I’ll be eating in the dining room after all!” she groaned, scrambling to get off the kitchen stool and beat the new arrival to the table, no doubt to grab the chair on the other side of the man of the hour.

  The Johnsons and the Wilkies soon filled the rest of the empty chairs at the table before the platters of scrambled eggs were passed. Poor Ms. Vinson was relegated to the opposite corner of the table, where she engaged in conversation with the Johnsons about the art of fly fishing. I suspected it was her way of trying to capture Dr. Van Zandt’s attention, but it seemed to go nowhere. By half past eight, the last platter of eggs was passed and all were satiated. With a final round of coffees poured, I cleared their plates while they chatted.

  “Well,” said the man with the bald pate, exuding the charisma of Sean Connery as his female admirers hung on his every word. “We should probably get going.”

  “Oh?” Florence’s head shot up. “Where are you heading?”

  “To church,” said Dr. Van Zandt.

  “Can I get a lift with you?” Florence didn’t even bother to wait for the answer. She dabbed her lips with her napkin before she placed it on the table. “I’ll just go and get my pocketbook”

  One look at my mother’s face spoke volumes. I heaved a great sigh at the thought she would be so disappointed on what was one of the first dates since my father died. And then I got a brilliant idea.

  “Lacey, I have a hankering to go to church today. Care to join me?”

  “As a matter of fact, Scarlet, I think I do. Say, why don’t you two go along? Florence can ride with us.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, herding them towards the hallway as Lacey scooted away to intercept the persistent Ms. Vinson, “you go on ahead. We’ll catch up.”

  “Do you want us to save you seats in the same pew?”

  “No, no, no.” I shook my head. “Don’t worry about us. Just go enjoy yourselves.”

  The front door had no sooner closed behind the pair when Florence began her descent down the grand staircase.

  “Did they just leave without me?” The scowling face and quickened pace confirmed our worst fears. She had the hots for Thaddeus.

  “Not to worry. We’ll give you a ride. I just have to grab my purse. I won’t be a moment.”

  “You’re going too?” she demanded, her voice brittle.

  Chapter Five --

  “Yes. So is Lacey.” If looks could kill, I’d have a dagger stuck in my chest and a chalk outline around my limp body. For that reason, I announced the news with a cheerful smile. “Surely you don’t mind. After all, the important thing is to be there for the church service. Reverend Hoskins is wonderful.”

  I kept up the vacuous chitchat until I saw the physician’s silver sedan roll down the driveway and turn into the street. A moment later, it was out of sight.

  “I won’t be long,” I promised, hurrying up the staircase and onto the landing. I took a moment to pop into my mother’s room and make her bed before moving on to the third floor staircase. In my own suite, I fluffed the sofa cushions in my sitting area where Scrub Oak, the cat, was having a bath. I gave him an affectionate tickle behind the ears. I made my own bed, threw a brush through my long locks, and then stopped long enough to wind my hair into a French braid, which I pinned up, all the time aware of the minutes ticking away. If I played my cards right, by the time we got to the East Street Congregational Church, the only seats left would be in the back of the church.

  “Okay, Scrubby. It’s time for you to head downstairs.” I scooped the cat up under my arm and off we went.

  Florence Vinson was practically apoplectic in the vestibule by the time my left foot hit the bottom step. “We’re going to miss the service!”

  “Oh, heavens! What time is it?” I replied, digging through my purse. “Let me just find my keys.”

  Scrub Oak left us to join the dogs in the living room while I pretended to search through my purse for the keys that I knew were already in my pocket. Florence’s apparent distress reeked of desperation and dismay. How could a woman, who had only arrived at the Four Acorns Inn a day ago, have formed such a strong attachment to Dr. Van Zandt? It bordered on the absurd.

  That question went unanswered on the drive. Florence huffed and puffed in the back seat, communicating her deep disappointment in grunts and groans. I made a point of taking the long way, heading down side streets and tiny lanes that wandered along a meandering route, adding a couple of extra minutes to the trip. The parking lot of the tiny church was nearly full when I finally pulled my Ford Focus into an available spot at the back of the property. Florence didn’t even bother to wait for us. She practically sprinted into the stone-faced building with Olympian determination.

  “What is that all about?” I asked Lacey, my concern rising. “Does Florence strike you as a little unbalanced?”

  “Honey, in a world where there are more women than available men, you’d be shocked at the lengths to which the desperate will go to snag a mate.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. You’re still young enough and pretty enough that men still pay attention to you, but when you get to be my age, it’s ‘Slim Pickens time’,” she confided, referring to the gangly rodeo rider and actor, who appeared in old cowboy flicks. “On the rare occasion that a good-looking, well-educated, half-decent man appears on the scene, it’s a no-holds-barred fight to the finish for the single females.”

  “Competition is that fierce?” I asked, amused.

  “Are you kidding?” Lacey shook her head. “Come down to the senior center at noon on any given day. You’ll see more jockeying for position between the challengers than on Kentucky Derby day. We sometimes take bets on who will hit the finish line first.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something Laurel will want to get mixed up in,” I decided, as we entered the church. “My mother isn’t exactly the competitive type.”

  “Kiddo, if your mother wants something enough, she’ll do whatever it takes to get it, whether it’s a man or marrying off her only daughter.”

  “She’s been waiting for me to settle down?”

  “Good heavens, we were beginning to think you’d die an old maid, Scarlet!” Lacey poked me in the side.

  A touch of guilt rolled over me. All this time, I thought Laurel was content enough with her lot in life, even though she never got over the death of my father. It never occurred to me that she worried about my romantic life.

  “Now that you and Kenny seem to be heading towards matrimony, it’s only natural that Laurel might consider her own situation and want a little something for herself.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Well, you should. She may be your mama, but she’s still a woman and she still has needs.”

  “Hmm....”

  “As long as there are stars in the sky and sunsets that take your breath away, romance lives. It doesn’t matter how old you are on the outside. The heart is ageless.”

  Those words stayed with me as I sat beside her, listening to Reverend Hoskins’ sermon on the role of human kindness in everyday life. Were any of us ever too old for love?

  Unlike
my fairly chaste and proper mother, Lacey had a long history of having men pursue her after her divorce. The husband who dumped her for another woman decided a year or two later that he had made a mistake, but by that time, it was too late. Lacey had moved on emotionally. She never wanted for male attention. Why hadn’t she remarried? It wasn’t like she hadn’t been asked. Maybe she just hadn’t met the right man. Or maybe she deliberately raised the bar too high to make sure no one ever broke her heart again. Like me, she’d been badly burned and found trust to be in short supply.

  I spied the back of Florence’s gray-haired head three pews away, where she was squeezed in between a squirming child with inattentive parents and a heavyset man with a girth the size of Cincinnati. Why, if there were empty seats available, would she subject herself to such discomfort? The answer was easy to discern the moment I spotted Dr. Van Zandt’s shiny bald dome one row up.

  “Each of us has some small part to play in the lives of those around us. We can choose to be casual in our affairs, taking the easy path, or we can deliberately put our foot forward in a positive direction, providing influence to raise the human heart to a higher level. Before you act, ask yourself what you would want someone to do for you, if those were your shoes....” Pausing momentarily, Reverend Hoskins adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “It’s not always the easy choice that is the best one. If we only do what comes easy to us, we often make life harder for those people around us.”

  My mind started to wander as the steady, soothing voice of the minister rumbled on, becoming white noise. What did I know about Florence Vinson? Not much. She was visiting the Four Acorns Inn from Minneapolis. She had come to visit an old school friend who lived in the next town over. That was it. That wasn’t much to go on, was it?

  When the service was over, Dr. Van Zandt and Laurel waited until the crowd cleared out. I could see Florence chomping at the bit to get back in the race, but Lacey made a point of joining her, so I followed.

  “Nice sermon, wasn’t it?” Lacey touched the other woman’s elbow, gently trying to steer her attention away from the object of her desire and the woman who was her chief rival for the prize.