The Sweetest Heart

by Catherine Lanigan

  Louise twisted the antique doorbell that was mounted in the middle of Mrs. Beabots’s front door. The first promise of summer was moving across Indian Lake in the form of a warm breeze that swept through the Boston ferns Mrs. Beabots had placed around her front porch. Louise noticed that dozens of daffodils were in full bloom in the garden, along with forsythia and French lilacs.

  The door opened with an impressive whoosh. Louise knew Mrs. Beabots was in her early eighties, but for her money, the woman didn’t look or act a day over sixty-eight.

  “How are you, Louise?” Mrs. Beabots asked brightly.

  Louise scrutinized her friend. She wore her blue-rinsed white hair in a shorter-than-normal bob. “You have a new hairdresser. Or that’s a wig.”

  Mrs. Beabots smiled. “Observant as always, Louise. I have a new girl, and she’s just the ticket.” Mrs. Beabots cupped her hand beneath the exact curve of the hair close to her ear. She tilted her head. “What do you think? Too young?”

  “Lord, no. It’s great. I wish I had thick hair like yours, instead of these feathers.” Louise rolled her eyes. “I’d kill to have that style. It’s very becoming.”

  Mrs. Beabots stood back and allowed Louise to enter the foyer. She closed the door behind them. “I’m glad you approve. I thought we’d go into the parlor.”

  “Excellent.” Louise followed her into the room, which was filled with spring sunshine. Nearly every cachepot, bowl and container was filled with blooming plants. “Good heavens, it looks like a greenhouse in here.”

  Mrs. Beabots sat down and motioned for Louise to take a chair. “It is. These are my forced bulbs and some seedlings I’ve been playing with. Keeps me busy till it’s planting time. Thank God that time has arrived. Winter just seemed so long this year.”

  “I’ve only been back a few weeks.”

  “How was Florida?”

  Louise knew if she answered completely, they would spend all day talking about her, and that wasn’t the purpose of the mission. “It was fine. Listen, I know you’re always busy and I’ve got a million things going on, but quite honestly, I had to speak with you about...”

  “Maddie?”

  Louise was taken aback. “Well, that’s getting right down to it. Yes, as a matter of fact. Seems I can’t go anywhere that she isn’t the topic of conversation.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Beabots replied with a slight purse to her lips.

  “It’s true then? She’s franchising her café and she’s going to be a millionaire?”

  “That’s quite exaggerated, but if it all goes through and it’s handled correctly, I’d say that in a few years, Maddie won’t have to scrimp anymore.”

  “There’s another matter I wanted to discuss.”

  “Since we’ve already covered the money part, that only leaves romance.” Mrs. Beabots leaned forward. “I don’t like people talking about someone I love, and I know you don’t spread gossip....”

  “I don’t,” Louise assured her.

  Mrs. Beabots nodded again. “So are they talking about Maddie and, well, anyone in particular?”

  “Two men. Nate Barzonni—I just found out he’s back in town—and then some rich Chicago person. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he sent a limousine?”

  Mrs. Beabots swatted the air with her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. People don’t do that anymore. It was a Lincoln Town Car.”

  “But hired. I get it. And he’s sending flowers?”

  Mrs. Beabots nodded.

  “Maddie has always been close to you and Sarah. I figured you, of all people, should know what’s going on,” Louise said.

  Mrs. Beabots looked down at her hands and then out her beveled-glass windows to the blooming flowers along Maple Avenue Boulevard. “Honestly, Louise, I don’t think that girl has the first clue what’s going on at all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  NATE PEELED AROUND Maple Avenue in his Hummer and barreled to an abrupt stop in front of Cupcakes and Coffee. Still wearing his scrubs, he jumped out of his SUV and slammed the door. He bounded up the steps to the café and went inside.

  Nate was surprised not to see any patrons inside, but then he remembered Maddie telling him that past three o’clock in the afternoon, she usually didn’t have much business.

  “Nate!” Maddie said with a bright smile as she came out of the backroom. Her face fell as she glanced at the clock. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a surgery?”

  “Canceled,” he said. He spotted a silver vase filled with at least four dozen red roses. His eyes tracked around the room until they fell on a second crystal vase with drooping white tulips.

  Maddie watched him as he walked slowly toward her. “You’ve heard.”

  “The gossip? Yeah. Couldn’t avoid it. Seems the nurses in my unit talk about nothing else.”

  “Really?” Maddie settled a hand on her hip. “I wonder who instigated the topic.”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, moving to the counter. He pointed at the roses. “Alex, huh?”

  “Yes.” She raised her chin haughtily and pierced him with her eyes. “He likes to send flowers. He’s been doing it since Valentine’s Day.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. I usually give them to Sarah or Mrs. Beabots. Hazel likes the tulips, and sometimes Chloe takes them home.”

  Chloe came out from the backroom. “I go for the daisies. He sends those on Fridays,” she said without missing a beat.

  Nate rolled his eyes. “I can only guess what Alex wants.”

  Chloe tried to stifle a laugh. Maddie glared at her. “I’ll take out the garbage,” Chloe said as she hustled away.

  Maddie turned back to Nate. “Alex wants to come to Indian Lake and take me out to dinner. I told him I’ve been too busy. I’ll see him in a few weeks for our next meeting with the investor,” she said flatly, still staring at Nate with an uncompromising expression.

  “He doesn’t just want dinner, Maddie.”

  “I know that.”

  “Has he put the moves on you yet?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she replied.

  “It’s not. But I’d like to know,” Nate said sincerely.

  “Okay. So, I kissed him.”

  Nate swallowed hard. He didn’t know why he hadn’t been prepared for her answer. Or maybe the truth hit him harder than he’d imagined it would. “Must have been some kiss.” He exhaled, casting a glance at the roses.

  Nate felt like the earth had just dropped away from under his feet. The last time he’d felt this devastated was the night she’d refused his proposal. He’d recognized, then, that her refusal would change his life. But this time he would do something differently. This time he would fight for her.

  “Nate, when you came here that morning and I kissed you, it was for revenge.”

  He sucked in his breath and held it. “Revenge? Well, I guess I deserved that one. Great. That’s great. And what about the kisses at the beach? Were those for revenge, too?” He spun around and headed for the door.

  “I hated you so much, Nate!” Maddie shouted after him. “My emotions were on fire. I thought if I kissed you I would get you out of my system for good. Expunged. Exorcised. Whatever. I wanted you gone. Until I kissed you.”

  “And then?” He turned back to her.

  “Frankly, I’m off my fulcrum here. Out of whack. Out of balance. You make me nuts, you know that? I don’t know what to think. I had everything all planned out. My life, I mean.”

  “And Alex was a part of it?”

  “Not in that way, no.”

  “Not then, you mean. Not before you kissed.”

  She pursed her lips. “And not now, either, Nate. No man is.”

  Nate was silent. He nodded. “Thanks for being honest. I appreciate it.”

/>   Nate walked out the door feeling as if he were going to explode. Anger at Maddie wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Cursing at fate hadn’t helped in the past either.

  Maddie wanted a life of her own. Without him.

  His head told him that giving Maddie time and space was his best option, but right now, his heart was fearful that he would lose her.

  When he’d lost her before, he’d been young and filled with the need to escape from his father’s grip and make his own way in the world. Losing Maddie then was a thousand times less painful than this.

  This time he knew he wouldn’t recover.

  This time he felt a cold chill of deep loss and sorrow crackle through his body like life-sapping frost.

  Nate knew what it was like to feel dead inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  IN INDIAN LAKE, the second Sunday in May was undoubtedly like most towns and cities across America. Churches were filled with mothers and grandmothers dressed in their finery, gathered together to be with their families for the holiday. Every restaurant in and around Indian Lake served its own version of a special champagne brunch. Live bands, trios and string quartets played at private homes, hotels and beach cafés.

  What made Mother’s Day in Indian Lake unique was the riotous affair that took place up and down Maple Avenue in the gardens of the majestic Victorian mansions. From the moment Pastor Joe Blake from Bethany Lutheran and Father Michael from St. Mark’s Episcopal Church released their congregations, the rush to the town nurseries was on.

  In a matter of hours, salmon, pink, white and lavender impatiens; petunias of every color and ruffle; geraniums from scarlet red to bubblegum pink; begonias; black-eyed Susans; hydrangeas; marigolds; vincas; salvia; firecrackers; hibiscus; climbing roses; knockout roses; cane roses; and stunning rose trees would be whisked off the nursery shelves and the planting wars would begin.

  By early evening, Maple Avenue would be transformed from natural spring gardens to haute couture spring and summer gardens. Not a brown leaf would be seen anywhere. Fresh mulch would cover and outline the flower beds so they looked as if they’d been scissored in by seamstresses. Hundreds of Boston ferns would be hung before sundown from the posts of expansive front porches. Wooden rocking chairs appeared from basements and cellars. Palmetto blades were attached to porch ceiling fans and yellow bug lightbulbs were screwed into garage and backdoor light fixtures.

  Huge clay pots were filled with red geraniums, blue ageratum and spikes.

  The fact that Ann Marie Jensen was almost singularly to blame for the current flower addiction along Maple Avenue had not escaped Sarah one bit.

  As much as she loved her fellow townsfolk, this was one time when they really were comparing her to her talented mother.

  Sarah had worked out a detailed planting diagram for her garden, just the way her mother had instructed. She ordered the flats of color-coordinated annuals, bags of potting soil and red bark mulch from the Indian Lake Nursery well in advance of the rush. She had been as organized and prepared for this day as she was about her work and her wedding. Everything was in place.

  But this year was different. Very different.

  Maddie stood in Sarah’s kitchen after Sunday services at St. Mark’s making a pot of espresso for Sarah and Luke. She had just retrieved a pitcher of heavy cream from the refrigerator, when Sarah hit her with her news.

  Maddie whirled to face her best friend. “What do you mean Luke’s parents are coming today?”

  “Just what I said,” Sarah replied, brandishing a knife over the head of a fresh pineapple.

  “But you’ve never met them.”

  “Obviously,” she growled.

  “Did you know this was happening? Or did Luke just spring it on you? Which, by the way, doesn’t sound like him at all.”

  “No, we talked about it. But last week we said we’d go see them up in Oak Park. Then Timmy got the flu. It was just a twenty-four-hour thing, but we canceled the trip. That was the second time we had to cancel, so finally we told them to come here. It’s also Mother’s Day. Luke wanted to do something for his mom, and we were dying to meet each other.”

  Maddie put her hand on her hip. “So here we are. With a meal to prepare. A yard of the century to plant. The Indian Lake Garden Club breathing down our necks. Oh, the pressure!” Maddie threw the back of her hand against her forehead.

  “Shut up,” Sarah retorted.

  “Okay. I get it. You’re nervous,” Maddie said nonchalantly, and then she turned to Sarah. “Oh my gosh. You are nervous.”

  “What if...” Sarah began.

  “Don’t...” Maddie shook her finger at her. “Don’t! It’s not possible.”

  “They’re the kids’ grandparents. And I’ve only been a career woman. Not a mother.” Sarah stared at Maddie with doubt in her eyes.

  “Listen, those kids adore you. And if you need any help being a mother to them, they’re the kind of kids who will tell you you’re messing up, so you can fix it right away. Besides, no parent actually knows what they’re doing. They just do it.”

  Sarah stayed silent.

  Maddie took a deep breath. “Okay. Look at it this way. No matter what you do, you always know you’ll do a better job than Babs did.”

  Sarah nodded slowly. “I’ll take that one. Let’s fix the sausage-and-cheese soufflé. While it’s in the oven, we can get an hour of work done on the yard.”

  “Fine with me. I brought my gardening dungarees. Put me to work.”

  “Don’t laugh. I will,” Sarah replied.

  Just then Miss Milse tromped into the kitchen. She wore a pale blue cotton uniform dress that Maddie remembered the woman wearing at least fifteen years ago. Maddie was amazed that the dress looked brand-new. Miss Milse’s steely-gray hair was tied up, as usual, in the tightest bun any human could possibly twist on top of her head without drawing blood.

  “I set the table in the dining room. It’s done. I fix the fruit. And the sausage.” She shoved Sarah away from the sink.

  “I was going to make the soufflé,” Sarah retorted.

  “Your mother’s recipe?” she asked.

  “Yes. It’s tradition.”

  “It’s good. I make.” She picked up the paring knife and pointed to the garden. “You go to work. In the garden. You make it nice, like your mother.”

  Sarah nodded and turned to Maddie. “Come on, we have about an hour or so before Luke and the kids get here with his parents.”

  “Can I change in your room?”

  “Sure. Meet you outside. I have some gardening gloves for you.”

  “Peachy.”

  * * *

  MRS. BEABOTS WORE her wide-brimmed straw gardening hat, new pink gardening gloves and a long apron over a buttercup-yellow dress. In the pockets of the apron, she carried all manner of tools. She’d had the Indian Lake Nursery deliver her flats of annuals the day before, and this year she’d told the nursery to put her pots of geraniums, spikes and blue forget-me-nots together for her. Lifting the bags of potting soil was getting to be more of a bother to her with each passing year. There were just some things she’d decided to ask others to do for her. Each year she’d planted more and more perennials and bulbs and fewer annuals. By this point in her life, she’d participated in the grab for the Indian Lake Yard of the Year Award often enough. And besides, if she put her full court press effort into what she knew she could do well, she might steal the prize from Sarah. This year, she truly did think Sarah should win.

  Sarah had worked very hard last fall to put in new beds and to plant her bulbs early-flowering forsythia and French lilacs. Mrs. Beabots had seen Sarah’s diagram for this year’s garden. The stunning design included two weeping cherry trees, which were among Mrs. Beabots’s favorite plants. Yes, it was time for Mrs. Beabots to take the downshift. She’d save up for next year. Or perhaps the next.
/>   Mrs. Beabots heard the chatter coming from Sarah’s yard. Although she was invited for Mother’s Day dinner at Sarah’s later that evening, she knew her neighbor wouldn’t mind an early visit. Putting her gloves in her apron pocket, she walked down her drivewayand onto the sidewalk, nearly bumping into Father Michael and three of his feisty housekeeper’s children.

  “Happy Mother’s Day, Father Michael,” Mrs. Beabots greeted him with a sly smile while staring at Colleen Kelly’s brood. The girl and two boys were dressed in their Sunday clothes.

  “I’m taking them for a walk. It’s my Mother’s Day present for Colleen,” he explained. “It seemed the least I could do, considering she has three more at home besides these to deal with.”

  “Children are a blessing, Father,” Mrs. Beabots reminded him.

  “Yes, but not in groups,” he grumbled.

  “Still, it’s a kindness you’re doing her.”

  “I told her to take the day off, it being Mother’s Day, and all, and she’s over at the rectory making me a chicken salad.”

  “She wants you to be healthy.”

  “I’d rather have her potpies and she knows it.”

  Mrs. Beabots smiled. “Well, I have a recipe that is lower in fat and cholesterol and just delicious.”

  “How can you do that? Potpies are butter, cream and piecrust. Colleen says they’re the worst thing for me.”

  Mrs. Beabots winked. “I use olive oil and triple the sherry. I’ll whip one up for you sometime.”

  “That’s delightful, Mrs. Beabots. Just delightful.” Father Michael beamed at her. Then he looked down at the children, who were staring up at him patiently. “Okay, I think I hear your mother calling you,” he joked.

  “Good day, Father,” Mrs. Beabots said.

  “Good planting,” he replied, and shuffled off with the youngest Kelly toddler hanging on to his pants’ bottoms, still sucking his thumb.

  Mrs. Beabots walked around the hedges that separated her yard from Sarah’s. “Yoo-hoo! Sarah,” Mrs. Beabots called.

  Maddie was planting salmon-colored impatiens and blue salvia under one of the weeping cherry trees. Sarah had just finished piling peat moss around the sides of a new Princess Diana rosebush. “Mrs. Beabots, hi!” Sarah yelled back.