Tara had exhibited such skittishness from the start. She acted a lot like Boots when anyone came to the door, Annie thought, amused. The day Boots had knocked the pot of geraniums off the porch, Tara had practically jumped out of her skin. “That’s just Wally,” Annie said gently. “I asked him to come and have a look at my pantry; it desperately needs new shelves. Come on down. I want you to meet him.”
“Morning!” Wally called before she had opened the screen door. He was dressed in his usual blue shirt and faded jeans, his handmade toolbox clutched in one deeply tanned hand. He smiled shyly and lowered his head.
“Oh!” Annie said in surprise, for he wasn’t alone. A tall, muscular man, somewhere in his late thirties, stood beside Wally. Unruly black hair dipped over one of his deep-set eyes, giving him a roguish look. But his smile was as broad as his shoulders.
“This is my brother, Je—J.C.,” Wally said, dipping his head toward the man. “He’s visiting me and Peggy. He said he wanted to see Grey Gables again. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Annie said. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand and looked up inquiringly. “You’ve been here before?”
“A very long time ago, I’m afraid. My—uh—business keeps me on the move, but I spent some good years here in my youth. I remember your grandmother. And I’m very pleased to meet you too.”
Annie stepped back to admit them, charmed by the stranger’s rather over-gallant manner. At least he didn’t have any trouble expressing himself. She turned, aware that Tara had followed her obediently down the stairs. “Wally, I don’t think you have met my guest.”
A deer-in-the-headlights stare passed over Tara’s face. She looked as though she might break and run. She was skittish indeed.
“This is Tara Frasier,” she said to Wally, who had placed his toolbox inside the hall and was wiping his boots on the mat. “Tara met your Peggy at A Stitch in Time the other day. Now she can meet you and your brother—J.C. is it?”
“Folks in town might remember me as Jeremiah, but the name’s a little hard to get around. J.C.’s simpler. Besides, some folks might not want to remember the wild kid I was in those days. I hope I’ve improved.” He laughed, setting off a spark in his deep-set eyes.
Tara didn’t move to take the hand offered to her but nodded stiffly, her face drained of color.
“Pleased to meet you too, young lady,” said Jem. Turning away, he clapped his brother amiably on the back. “Yup, old Wally and me had some good times here in Stony Point.”
Annie suppressed the urge to correct his grammar, which detracted from his charm.
“When we weren’t getting up to mischief we did an errand here and there. We liked doing chores for Mrs. Holden. Fine lady. And this house …” He made a sweeping gesture and looked around the room in open admiration, his eyes coming to rest on the large over-the-couch canvas of flowers. “This house is still an eye-popper—inside and out.”
Annie turned to Tara who hadn’t moved from the spot. “Tara, will you see if there’s still some coffee in the pot?” She gave her a reassuring pat on the arm and turned to her guests. “Won’t you come in and have a cup of coffee?” She indicated the way to the kitchen. “I might have some oatmeal cookies in the cupboard. Tara and I were working on something upstairs, but a morning coffee break would not go amiss, would it, Tara?”
“That would be great,” Tara said, hurrying away to busy herself at the counter.
By the time they were seated around the table, Wally and Jem were reminiscing about their days hauling lobsters in the old dory that belonged to Wally’s dad. Not surprisingly, Jem did most of the talking. Tara had recovered and had gotten cups down from the cabinet above the stove.
“Wally is a fine craftsman,” Annie said. “You can be proud of your brother. What line of work are you in, J.C.?”
“Real estate,” he replied, and then he stroked his jaw thoughtfully as though contemplating what to say. “As you know, things have been a little slow, what with banks not wanting to make loans, but it will pick up. Already has, as a matter of fact. I look for the market to rally any day now.”
“Ayuh,” Wally put in. “J.C. had an import/export business before that. He …”
“So, I thought it would be a good time for a little R and R,” Jem said, ignoring Wally’s remark. “And what could be better than the coast of Maine in the good old U.S. of A.?”
Annie noticed the way Tara’s fingers trembled on the coffeepot. If a couple of visitors could get her so rattled, how did Tara cope with Carla Calloway, pit bull of the animal shelter? Or was it just men who unnerved her? She had said something about a marriage and being abandoned. Once burned …
“I’ve heard that Mrs. Holden’s become famous these days,” J.C. rambled on. “When I saw that gorgeous picture in the Brown Library I wondered if it was done by the same Mrs. Holden I knew. Sure enough, there was a plaque right next to it telling all about her being from Stony Point and all.”
Was it odd that a man like Jem would notice a hand-worked canvas? Maybe he was a collector besides a real estate broker. Annie was sometimes surprised when a stranger spoke glowingly of Gram’s talent—surprised but eminently pleased. She felt a lump in her throat and missed Gram anew.
“I suppose there are galleries where you can buy one,” he continued. “Sure would be honored to have a Betsy Original hanging in my home someday.” Jem’s eyes wandered about the room as though he might see one hanging on the kitchen wall. The term “Betsy Original” seemed strange on this young man’s lips; it almost seemed that he intruded on some private territory. Perhaps Gram’s work was more widely known than she had thought.
“And where is home?” Annie asked, mildly unsettled.
“Portland right now,” he said matter-of-factly.
“That’s not so far. Do you get over to see Wally and Peggy often?”
Wally, lips pursed, was about to say something, but Jem quickly took over. “I keep pretty busy—lots of travel—but it’s something I’m planning to change. I’d forgotten what a first-rate town you’ve got …” he paused, “and what charming citizens live here,” he added, giving both Annie and Tara a meaningful smile.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your visit.” Annie nodded to Wally who had said little. He wasn’t much of a talker on any occasion, but he was unusually quiet next to his gregarious brother. Annie felt somehow protective of him and a little sorry to see him lost in this man’s larger shadow. “Wally’s a regular around here. I couldn’t get on without him,” she said. “His work is in great demand these days. Maybe he’s shown you the model boats he builds?”
As though he hadn’t heard, Jem leaned forward in a decisive gesture. “Well, I should be off and let Wally get his work done.” He laid a hand on the table just a hair’s breadth from Annie’s hand. “Thanks for the coffee and for letting me have a look at the old place. You’ve really fixed it up great.”
“Thanks to Wally,” Annie amended, unnerved by his intrusive manner and by the blush she felt rising in her cheeks. She sometimes offered her guests a tour of the house, but in J.C.’s case, she decided against it, for no reason that she could name. She rose, and the men did too. “It’s been a pleasure,” she said. “I’m sure you and Wally will get some fishing in while you’re here. And I bet you’ll fall in love with that delightful Emily. You won’t want to be such a stranger.” She led them to the door.
When she turned around, Tara had already started upstairs. “I’ll get back to work on the cross-stitch pieces,” she called over her shoulder.
Annie cleared away the coffee and cookies, wondering about Wally’s smooth-talking brother. Mostly, she wondered about Tara’s reaction to the two men. Jem could certainly be a bit overwhelming, but why did she act as though the two were about to swallow her up? What was it that troubled Tara so?
11
“The wood’s right solid on these pantry shelves,” Wally said, running his hand over the even planes of light oak. “It doesn’t make good sense to rep
lace them. We could sand the gouges and such, and then repaint them to match your kitchen cabinets. Besides, your granddaddy built these, didn’t he?” He turned to Annie who stood with hands on hips studying the pantry’s interior, her fine brows drawn together in concentration.
This was one lady he liked. She’d been the one who gave him a boost when he really needed it. She was no pushover and demanded good work, but she was quick to praise his efforts. It made him want to do even better. When he’d broken his arm and couldn’t work at carpentry or repair, she’d gotten Todd to hire him on with his crew. Recently, she’d suggested he try his hand at crafting toy boats. He loved making them, and people were buying them. He owed her a lot.
“I trust your eye for wood, Wally. Let’s go for it, and I love the idea of keeping the integrity of Grandpa’s work.”
“Good oak’s not cheap,” Wally said, “but I can get unfinished boards and finish the shelves myself. It’ll save some money.” He whipped his tape measure from his belt and began to take the measurements. “The door will have to stay off for a few days while I’m working on the shelves.”
He looked up to see Annie’s houseguest in the doorway. Annie set a canister down on the table and motioned for Tara to join them. “I guess we can put up with exposed food for a while!” she said laughing. “Can’t we, Tara?”
Tara looked very young in her jeans and T-shirt with her hair drawn back in a ponytail. A few dark curls escaped the rubber band and coiled around her face. She held a tray of something in both hands. “I came down to get some fresh water for the cross-stitch canvases,” she said, addressing Annie. Then catching his glance she said shyly, “Hello.”
He nodded to her. “Ayuh.”
Wally knew Tara Frasier had been staying at Grey Gables. He guessed she was all right, but Annie was sometimes just too kind for her own good. From the corner of his eye, he admired Annie’s soft wheat-color hair and the way she moved gracefully as she carried plates from the cupboard to the kitchen counter. He felt a strong need to protect her—like when he’d beaten the stuffing out of that guy who had pretended to be some fancy antiques dealer but was nothing but a two-bit crook.
“Anybody home in there?” Ian Butler peered through the back screen door. “I brought the catalogs you wanted from the Cultural Center.”
“Ian!” Annie opened the door, quickly pressing her hand over her hair. “I didn’t expect you until this afternoon.”
“Have a two o’clock meeting at the town center—some urgent business the board can’t seem to put off. So I thought I’d better bring these over now as promised.” He stepped in and placed a stack of books and magazines on Annie’s counter. “Morning, Wally,” he greeted him. “Hard at work, I see.”
“Ayuh,” he acknowledged.
“There’s coffee left,” Annie said a little breathlessly. “I can bring it out onto the porch. Things are a bit messy in here.”
“Had my fill of caffeine for the morning, but I wouldn’t mind a glass of something cold.” Ian rested an arm on the counter and smiled at Annie.
“No problem. I can mix up some lemonade, Annie said. “Tara, will you get the red tin from that cupboard? Wally, you come on out too, and have some refreshment.”
“I want to get this door off first and finish these measurements. I’ll come out in a few minutes.” Wally smiled to himself. Annie always tried to include him. She never made him feel like the hired helper he was. But he didn’t want to intrude on her conversation with Ian. Besides, he had a sneaking hunch the two had a particular liking for each other.
Ian was a good man. Wally liked his down-home attitude; no fancy airs for him. His dress was casual too, though he kept his gray hair neatly trimmed and his pants pressed—except when he took off in one of Todd’s boats on a Saturday morning to haul lobsters. A real man’s man, Wally thought. He’d been alone a long time after Arianna’s death. It had hit him hard. He deserved someone as nice as Annie Dawson. Wally was sure of that. He moved the pantry door aside and propped it up against the counter.
“You go on. I’ll get the lemonade,” Tara said to Annie. “I think I can find the pitcher.”
“Even I could find a pitcher,” Ian said drily, looking around the gathering chaos of the kitchen. “The whole world will know what’s in your pantry, Annie. Nice to see you too, Tara.” He nodded in her direction. “How are things going at Carla’s?”
“OK,” she said quietly.
“The old girl’s not browbeating you, is she?”
Tara often looked like she carried the weight of the world on those thin shoulders. She’s one of Annie’s strays, no doubt, Wally thought. Well, at least she’s doing some work for her keep. At Ian’s comment, a hint of a smile touched the girl’s usually serious face. “No. In fact, she’s been really nice to me, and I appreciate the work.”
Ian’s eyebrows went up a notch. “Nice? Are we talking about Carla?” He gave Tara a penetrating look. “I believe you’ve worked a miracle.”
“See,” Annie said, giving Ian a mock punch on the arm. “Carla’s not nearly as callous as you think. Come on.” She grabbed the tray of oatmeal cookies left from their earlier coffee break and led the way out to the porch.
Wally continued his work, while at the other end of the kitchen Tara emptied ice cubes into a pitcher and searched out napkins. From the open screen door behind him he could hear Ian’s and Annie’s voices rising and falling on the morning air. The sounds were warm and friendly, and Wally felt good just being there.
He’d come to love the people of Stony Point. In spite of his faults and all the wild oats he’d sowed as a kid growing up here, they didn’t look down on him. When times were hard, they stood by him. When Emily had broken her leg they’d made anonymous payments on the enormous hospital bill. Now they were buying up his handcrafted boats and saying how gifted he was! Wally hummed a little to himself and only half-listened.
His ears perked up, though, when he heard Ian talking about some money missing from the Gas N Go.
“I stopped in for gas on my way here this morning. Scooter Hatch looked like he’d lost his best friend.” Ian’s tone was somber.
Everybody liked Scooter. Wally knew him as polite, friendly and eager to go the extra mile. In a day when nobody got service at “service” stations, Scooter would even offer to wash your windshield. Wally straightened, made a pretense of jotting some figures down on a piece of paper. He took a step closer to the door.
“The Gas N Go came up short when they checked receipts at the end of the day last Friday,” Ian was saying. “A hundred-dollar bill that had been placed under the drawer in the cash register was missing. Scooter’s being blamed for it. He thinks he’s going to get fired.”
“Oh!” Annie protested, her voice rising. “Scooter’s no thief. He wouldn’t do that. He’s a really good kid!”
Wally looked up to see Ian massaging his temple, like he always did when he had a problem to solve. “I’m partial to him too, but it happened on his watch. He was alone at the store. They’ve got one of those old-fashioned registers that don’t automatically lock. Scooter likely got busy. You know how things can be on a Friday afternoon when everyone is heading out of town for the weekend and stopping for gas.”
Annie’s brows furrowed as she leaned in across the wicker table toward Ian. “So anyone could have gone inside and taken the money while Scooter was outside helping customers. Doesn’t Stuart realize that?”
“Scooter says the bill was there when he came in after school, but by the end of the day it was gone. Stuart is furious,” Ian said. “You know how unreasonable he can be about money. You’d think a hundred dollars was a fortune.”
“Well, it would be to Scooter if he has to replace it,” Annie was saying. “Almost every penny he makes goes to help his family. With his dad out of work and his mother so sick, he’s scraping to help keep food on their table.”
Wally felt his knees grow weak. He turned away, dropping to the floor to measure the lower shelves. La
st Friday—he had been to the Gas N Go that day—along with Jem, who’d met him in town. They were going home to one of Peggy’s fried-fish dinners. Wally felt his stomach turn over as he recalled the afternoon. He had an hour after finishing a woodworking job to take his peapod out for a turn on the bay.
He liked being under the great blue sky with the water swirling around him, whispering its secrets, calming him. The gulls’ keening was like strange other-worldly music. Sometimes he felt closer to God in his peapod than anywhere else on earth. But he still came to listen to Reverend Wallace on Sundays. Peggy would have his hide if he didn’t. But Friday, Jem at the Gas N Go … Wally’s pleasant thoughts of drifting in the sun cooled as he thought about that day.
When he’d gotten to the end of the wharf around five o’clock, Jem was waiting, hands in the pockets of his trousers, the wind ruffling his hair. He needed a haircut, Wally realized, and he was still wearing those beat-up old shoes that looked like rejects from a thrift store.
“Hey, bro. Thought I’d take you up on that invitation to dinner.” He slapped Wally on the back, and the two headed for Wally’s truck.
“Sure,” Wally said, recognizing the sour smell of liquor on Jem’s breath. He couldn’t get the hang of calling him J.C. and had stopped trying. For a man who apparently had lots of business contacts to make along the coast, he was showing up a lot in Stony Point. He was dropping in at The Cup & Saucer too. He frowned. Peggy was always going on about J.C. this and J.C. that. “How are things going?” he asked quietly.
“Swimmingly,” he answered. “And with the prospect of one of sweet Peggy’s fine meals, I’m a happy man.”
“Happy” was not a word Wally had ever connected with Jem. He seriously doubted it was true now. When they were kids, Wally had idolized his older brother; he’d been deeply hurt when he drove away, but relieved too. He didn’t have to keep up anymore or make excuses for him.
“Say, I don’t suppose you’d like to stop in at the Shark’s Head before dinner?” Jem said.
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