“Jada, did you get her to try on the dress?” Linnie asked. “It’s such a sweet outfit. I’ll have the cutest flower girl this side of the Mississippi. Please tell me I can focus on finding my own gown and stop worrying about Fancy’s.”
Setting her chair back in motion, Jada rocked a nervous rhythm. Philip planned to break the news about his daughter’s big-girl decision. He’d promised to drop the bomb about how Fancy planned to select her own outfit from the wild and garish dress-up clothes in her closet.
Preferably, he’d deliver the news to his older brother—not to Linnie, whose expression had become unbearably fragile.
There was no easy way to let her down.
“About your wedding,” Jada said, “there’s a small glitch.”
Chapter 6
Within days, the problem became obvious. Contrary to her reservations about the reason for Millicent’s visit, Jada liked the historian from Chicago.
In her sixties, with a shock of blonde hair peppered with grey, Millicent possessed the build of a linebacker and the deep, gusty laugh of a woman comfortable in her own skin.
Each morning, she hummed with a child’s enthusiasm when she strolled out of the south wing. She left behind crisp bills and a handwritten thank-you note for the maids in Housekeeping. She ate solitary meals in the Sunshine Room with the Wall Street Journal or the Cincinnati Enquirer tucked beneath her elbow. On the veranda, she riffled through the newspapers; her quick, assessing regard fell upon anyone who entered or exited the Wayfair as if searching for a face she never found.
Millicent’s pale, sun-deprived skin wore a bluish cast. In the afternoons, lured outside by the sunlight, she strolled the beach rimming the lake’s sparkling waters. She traversed the ribbon of grass unfurling from the inn with the studious attention of a scholar who’d spent too much time indoors. If a cardinal flew past, or the rustling trees sang out, her green eyes crinkled at the corners. She plucked blades of grass and held them to her nose, marveling at the green scent of nature.
On Tuesday morning, she requested a lesson on homemade pudding. Saturday’s lesson on sheet cakes hadn’t gone well, nor the Monday session on the basics of quick breads. The slight palsy in Millicent’s hands sabotaged her efforts to measure ingredients accurately. The clatter of dishes returning from the Sunshine Room broke her concentration. Too often, she forgot to set the timer for the treats going into the oven as she attempted in none-too-subtle ways to dig deeper into Jada’s life.
“Millicent, you’re doing great. Keep stirring.” Stepping away, Jada returned to the oven. The brownies weren’t quite done. She decided to give them another five minutes. The breakfast rush in the Sunshine Room was winding down, allowing her to extend this morning’s lesson.
Millicent bent over the double boiler. “This smells delicious.”
“Wait until we add the vanilla and butter. They’ll go in after you finish thickening the base.”
A busboy trudged in with a tray of dishes. He veered past the day cook and the sous-chef working at the center island, joining a second youth at the sink. Together they began loading the commercial-grade dishwasher Jada had lobbied for last winter. On the day the appliance was installed, she’d celebrated by preparing extra sweets for the entire staff.
Millicent asked, “Why aren’t they in school?” Still stirring, she lifted her chin toward the busboys.
“They graduated from high school last year. Tony is saving for trade school. Gavin is considering a career in Hospitality Management. He hasn’t made up his mind.”
“Times have changed. When I became a professor, college was affordable. Back then, four years of college cost less than what kids now pay for one semester.”
“Today they wonder how they’ll ever get out of debt.” The timer dinged, and Jada removed the brownies from the oven. “Do you miss your career?”
“Academia? Too many big egos and palace intrigue. I never learned the knack of smiling politely while stabbing a colleague in the back. It was time to leave.”
“Do you miss teaching?”
“Young lady, I shall never stop teaching.” To punctuate the statement, Millicent swirled the spoon through the thickening pudding with growing enthusiasm. “I’m no longer in the classroom, but I do make time for doctoral students. Not in a formal capacity, but they know I’m available.”
“How do they find you?”
“Through the few professors I didn’t alienate during my career.”
“I have trouble believing you alienated all your colleagues.” Millicent had a strong personality, but she was also charming. And generous—the Housekeeping staff now battled over who would freshen up her suite.
The compliment pleased the historian. “I don’t suffer fools, and I’m too blunt,” she confided. She seemed eager to share more. “The grad students learn to adapt. I don’t coddle them, because I want them to work hard. In fact, one of those students lives at my estate. Vasily Pruszynski. He’s brilliant, if too chummy for my tastes.”
“You don’t like chummy grad students?” A lie, surely. Affection laced Millicent’s voice.
“There’s no plausible reason why a young man four decades my junior aspires to becoming my BFF. I’m sure he can do better. Anyway, Vasily gets free room and board. Well, not free. When he’s not working on his dissertation, he helps my spouse with physical therapy, runs errands—I like to joke that Vasily is an underpaid houseboy. I do keep him on the straight and narrow with his dissertation.”
A live-in grad student, and an estate. Was Millicent wealthy? Her sensible shoes were scruffy. Her blazer looked well made, if dated. It could easily sit among the consignment offerings in Penelope’s shop. And she was married. Jada had assumed she was single. It took no effort to visualize the historian tucked away in a library, happily wedded to books.
“Physical therapy . . . is your husband ill?”
Around the edges of the pot, the wooden spoon slowed its journey. Millicent lifted her head. Her long, steady appraisal made Jada worry she’d overstepped. They were treading on hallowed ground.
“We were in an accident. Not recently—the accident was nearly ten years ago.” Millicent returned her attention to the pot. “The car swerved into a tree and flipped over. The ambulance took forty-three minutes to reach us. Godforsaken country roads. Snow piling up by the bucketful, and the street signs covered over. There was black ice on I-94, and lots of calls going in to 911 about fender benders. We had to wait our turn. I walked away with nothing more than a gash on my forehead.”
The accident crippled her husband? Jada’s heart overturned. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Whatever for? Good heavens, you weren’t behind the wheel. Besides, we’re both alive. Nothing else matters.”
“You’re an optimist.”
“Send me straight to hell for my sins. My optimism gets me into all sorts of trouble. It always has.”
“I believe you.”
“You should.” The grin she offered nearly took Jada hostage. Then her expression became watchful. “About college. Did you wait to go, save up to avoid running into debt? You don’t seem the type to rush into anything without careful thought.”
“I was lucky,” Jada said, uncomfortably aware that the query represented Millicent’s latest attempt to extract information. They’d been at this for days, the thrust and parry of delving questions and evasive replies. But the story about the historian’s spouse was tragic, and Jada found herself adding, “I’m an only child. I’m close with my parents—they live in town. They didn’t have me until their early forties. They’d saved more than enough for my education.”
“Why did they wait so long to start a family?”
“They were nearing middle age when they met. Mom was born in Sweet Lake. Dad moved here to work for a building company. He was a carpenter. He retired when the company closed.”
“The building company owned by Frances Dufour’s late husband?” When Jada’s brows lifted, Millicent elaborated. “Fra
nces and several of her comrades stopped by my suite Sunday morning. They are an early bunch, aren’t they? I was still in my robe when they rapped on the door.” The pudding was adequately thickened, and Jada instructed her to remove it from the stove. “We had tea on the veranda. I particularly liked Penelope Riddle.”
“Everyone does.”
“Few people are molded entirely by kindness.”
“Penelope is unique,” Jada agreed. “She’s governed by her charitable instincts.”
“She complimented my necklace. In fact, she was quite taken with it.”
Jada transferred the pudding to a bowl. Reaching for a measuring spoon, she explained how much vanilla and butter to add. She made a quick survey of the tweed blazer and tan blouse encasing the historian’s broad frame. No earrings dangled from beneath her bluntly cut hair. If she wore a necklace, the jewelry hid beneath the collar of her blouse.
“Jada, this smells divine. We’d better hurry, or I’ll start dipping in. Why are nursery foods so enticing? Smelling this takes me right back to childhood.” Millicent looked up expectantly. “What now?”
“We slice bananas, toss them gently with lemon juice, and whip the egg whites. After we assemble, the pudding bakes for thirty-eight minutes. Any longer, and the meringue goes from golden to an ugly brown.”
“You’re very precise.”
“Comes with the territory. Some recipes don’t require exact timing, but others do. You learn the difference.”
“It’s a pity you lost your bakery on Sweet Lake Circle. Was it seven years ago? Although I’m sure Linnie is thrilled you agreed to work here. In better economic times, I’m sure you would’ve made a go of your enterprise. That must’ve been a difficult time in your life.”
“It was,” Jada agreed.
Fetching the cream of tartar, she demonstrated how to add several pinches to stabilize the egg whites as they whipped. Apprehension shadowed her as Millicent positioned the bowl on the mixer. This wasn’t the first time the historian had steered the conversation back to seven years ago—the year Bodi Wagner came to Sweet Lake.
Was this unequivocal proof of a relationship between Millicent and Bodi? Proof Millicent was a grandmother intent on locating her missing grandchild? Jada dreaded the answer.
Her smartphone rang. She read the screen with interest.
“Hey, Penelope,” she said, picking up. “We were just talking about you. What’s up?”
“Good morning, Jada. I’m at the bus stop with Fancy. She wants to talk to you.”
“Sure. Put her on.”
At the mixer, Millicent flipped the switch to high. The steel whisk clanged around the bowl, and she flinched. Jada put her hand up like a traffic cop. Millicent lunged toward the switch. The mixer went silent.
Fancy came on. “Jada, I’m ready.”
Jada knew this meant Fancy had decided which of her dress-up clothes to wear to the wedding. There was an outside chance she’d trot down the aisle dressed like a drag queen—a calamity Jada hoped to avoid.
“Do you remember the rule?” she gently asked. “Don’t pick too many colors, or lots of accessories. Like, if you want the feather boa, forget about the magician’s cape.”
Fancy made a small sound of objection. “What if I want them both?”
“You’ll have to choose. Even beauty has its limits.”
“What about the fairy crown? It’s sparkly. Can I wear it, and the feather boa?”
“The fairy crown we made in January?” Jada had brought over a bouquet of gently fading roses after replacing the arrangement on the lobby’s front desk. Fancy had been delighted when she’d demonstrated how to dip the flowers in glitter. Then they’d glued the roses to a ring of cardboard. “I don’t know, girlfriend. The fairy crown has seen better days.”
They debated the merits of moldy crowns until the school bus roared up. Before finishing the call, Jada promised to stop over in the evening.
When she hung up, Millicent regarded her with amusement. “Who was that?”
“Just a friend.”
“A friend who wears fairy crowns? Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Jada reached for the bananas. Then she slid a cutting board beneath Millicent’s hands. Sharing details with Bodi’s potential grandmother—and Fancy’s possible great-grandmother—was a tricky proposition. Philip knew nothing about her suppositions. There was no reason to upset him until she uncovered Millicent’s connection to Bodi, if any. What was the ethical course of action?
Indecision swamped her.
With unnerving perception, Millicent read her expression. “I’m prying,” she announced. Grabbing up the first banana, she began chopping with gusto. It took her all of three seconds to reduce the fruit to mush. “You’re not sure you can trust me. Why should you? I’m a nosey old woman from Chicago with enough curiosity for ten cats. Keep your secrets regarding fairy crowns and magician’s capes. Shall we move on?”
Jada stilled her wrist. “Let’s start over.” She scooped up the mess and pitched it into the trash. “This isn’t a coconut. You don’t have to beat soft fruits into submission. They’ll comply readily.”
“I’m unfamiliar with the delicate approach. With bananas, and in other arenas.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I like you, Jada. You’re a quality individual. I have no right to forge ahead with the ‘Do Not Trespass’ sign in plain sight.” Millicent rolled her meaty shoulders, clearly unable to dispel her agitation. “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
The contrite historian peered down the counter. “Do you have abundant produce? In case I need more practice? Never flunk the student if she doesn’t have time to prepare.”
“This isn’t a test.” Demonstrating, Jada arced the knife across the second banana, producing a perfect oval. “You see?”
“What if the slices aren’t uniform? There’s a limit to my patience.”
“Doesn’t matter. They go in the bottom of the dish, beneath the pudding.”
“What a relief.”
Jada watched as she set to work. The palsy that invaded Millicent’s hands at unpredictable moments made the knife unsteady. Gripping the handle tighter, she muttered beneath her breath. She failed to keep her movements in check, and yellow disks of uneven size fell from the blade. She seemed older then, vulnerable in ways Jada hadn’t noticed. A fiercely intelligent woman, she was adept at hiding her weaknesses.
An odd calm blanketed Jada. Whatever her true motives, the historian wasn’t the enemy. She was a colorful personality, a woman endowed with high intelligence and absolutely no talent for mastering the art of baking. Jada wondered if she was overreacting by refusing to explain the call. The decision continued to weigh on her as a tiny growl popped from Millicent’s lips.
Her palsy increasing, Millicent brought the knife down at a bad angle, and a disk of banana leapt from the cutting board. “Blast it all,” she muttered as the banana flew past her shoulder to the wall—and stuck.
Which decided the matter for Jada.
“The call was from Fancy Kettering,” she said, peeling the banana from the wall. “She’s a first grader at Sweet Lake Elementary. She’s the daughter of the man putting in the new patio behind the ballroom.”
“Philip Kettering. We met during my stroll yesterday. Nice young man.”
“Fancy is into make-believe in a big way. Linnie wants her to be the flower girl in her wedding.”
“The Sirens mentioned the wedding when we had tea on Sunday.” Millicent took the next banana, did a better job slicing. “They’re concerned about Linnie finding the right gown.”
“So am I.” Jada began scooping up the sliced fruit and scattering it across the bottom of a baking dish. “Linnie still hasn’t made a decision, and the wedding is next month. There’s still lots to do, lots to decide.”
“How does a fairy crown fit into the picture?”
“Fancy got it into her head to pick her own dress for the wedding.
She’s determined to follow her imagination wherever it leads. I’m going over tonight to see what she’s picked out from her dress-up clothes. I’m sure Philip has already hidden the crazier outfits, like the dress with multicolored spangles and the clown pants. They’d jingle when Fancy walks down the aisle, and drown out the harpist. If he didn’t do a good enough job, I’ll hide the worst costumes tonight when Fancy isn’t looking.” Jada’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what’s worse. Disappointing a six-year-old who’ll dress like a drag queen for the big day, or ruining Linnie’s wedding. She’s striving for a formal look, not a carnival sensation.”
Enthralled by the telling, Millicent set down the knife. “One question,” she said, and her eyes danced. “Why is this your problem?”
Jada shrugged. “I’m Linnie’s best friend.”
“You misunderstand. I’m curious why a child with delightfully flamboyant tastes is entrusting her decision to you.”
The moisture in Jada’s mouth evaporated. Until she unearthed Millicent’s connection to Philip’s late wife, discussing Fancy in too much detail was out-of-bounds.
At length, she said, “Philip is a single dad.”
“Divorce is such a nasty business, especially for children,” Millicent said, thankfully coming to the wrong conclusion. The merriment in her face increasing, she seemed oblivious to Jada’s unease. Her eyes crinkled as she lowered her voice. “Are you and the dashing landscaper a ‘thing’? Remind me to tell you about the girl Vasily is dating. He sneaks her into the mansion when he thinks I’ve doused my brain with Lunesta. She’s a drama major, third year. Covered with more tattoos than Angelina Jolie.”
“She sounds nice,” Jada quipped. She saw no harm in adding, “I’m not dating Philip. I’ve known him since we were Fancy’s age.”
“You’re old friends?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “Linnie and Cat were friends with Philip when we were all growing up, but I thought he was irritating. Always teasing me in school and, later, dating more girls than I could count. Mr. Hot Body with the shallow personality.” She shrugged. “That’s all in the past. I suppose we’re becoming good friends now.”
The Season of Silver Linings Page 8