by Barbara Ross
As you rebuild Windsholme, it is also my hope you will rebuild the family. It was the Black Widow that tore us apart originally, and I believe putting it to rights will bring us together. Let this letter be an introduction for you to the rest of your family.
By the time you receive this package, I will be gone. Despite your anger and shock, you may regret you did not get to see me one last time, but I have not risen from the dead for you to see me as I am. I want you always to remember me sailing away from the dock on Morrow Island, a young man, handsome and strong, laughing and buoyed by your love, even when it was not the kind of love I wished for. Though you would not know it to see me today, I am that man still.
With Love,
Hugh
Chapter 37
It was April before we could find a time to be together to place the urn containing Hugh’s ashes in the family vault. The day was unseasonably warm and the paths at Mount Auburn Cemetery wound through the pale greens of early spring, accompanied by the occasional slash of yellow from a forsythia bush.
Marguerite sat in a wheelchair, pushed by Vivian. I could imagine the scene when Vivian insisted her mother ride, not walk, to Hugh’s burial.
Clive wasn’t there and no one spoke of him. Detective Salinsky continued to build a case against him for the attempted murder of Marguerite, while others across law enforcement looked into his past deeds. The problem wasn’t a lack of charges, but too many. Clive was even younger than I’d thought, barely twenty-seven. For a relatively young man, he’d left a trail of broken promises, hearts, and fortunes. I asked Salinsky why twelve women had married him, and why so many people, old, young, male, and female, had given him money for his nonexistent companies.
“They did it because he was bold enough to ask,” Salinsky said. “Happens all the time.”
When the possible charges had come to light, Clive had slunk out of the house on Marlborough Street with only the suitcase he’d brought with him. At least Marguerite hadn’t had to pay him to go away. Perhaps there was some solace in that.
Tallulah wore a sleeveless black dress with her tattoos showing in all their glory. It was a warm day for April, but April in New England nonetheless. Perhaps she had some source of body heat none of the rest of us possessed. Her eyes were ringed in their usual black.
Jake fussed around her, the caring husband I knew him to be. Mr. Dickison had found him a crackerjack criminal lawyer. Jake had turned himself in, but was out on bail while the attorneys negotiated a plea deal. Euthanasia was illegal in Massachusetts, but there were no witnesses and the family of the victim was solidly behind him. I was the only person Jake had confessed to, presumably aside from his lawyer. He had never said the words to me, exactly, and though I’d understood his meaning, I was grateful, in case I ever had to testify.
Rose brought her husband, a tall, handsome, African-American doctor, and their son. He was not quite as tall as his father, and gangly, an L-shaped teenager not yet grown into his feet. When my mother met him at the chapel, she held both his hands in her own. “You look just like him,” she said, her eyes filling. “Just like your Uncle Hugh.” It had taken me a moment to see it. Photos didn’t capture Hugh’s expressions or gestures, but Marguerite backed Mom up.
“He does!” she agreed. “I’d never noticed before. You’ll be a handsome man,” she assured the blushing teen.
Livvie, Sonny, and Page were there, with John Morrow Ramsey in a sling across Livvie’s belly. He was a mellow baby, cheerfully cooperative about long car rides and unfamiliar faces cooing over him. He’d been born bald as a cue ball, and still was, no sign of Sonny’s fiery temper or red hair.
Chris had come too, and I was happy to have his reassuring presence behind me as we approached the family vault. In the past few months we’d both grown more comfortable talking about the future, “this summer,” “next Christmas,” “next year.” We had turned another corner, and happily so.
The family plot featured an elaborate Victorian monument, which entombed Lemuel and first wife, Sarah. The vault containing the ashes of other family members stood beside it. Marguerite’s mother was there, along with distant ancestors too numerous to count. Many were missing too; generations of Rose’s family were buried in San Francisco, along with her father, mother, and grandparents. My grandmother was buried in Busman’s Harbor, along with my grandfather Gerald, a man I appreciated more for having seen him through Hugh’s final letter.
“This is a crazy family,” Page had complained in the car on the ride to the cemetery, after I’d attempted to clarify who was who. But as I looked at us, infant and ancient, single, married, divorced, and widowed, brown skinned, olive skinned, freckled and pale, I thought, most American families are like this.
We stood in a semicircle while a cemetery employee put Hugh’s urn in the vault, and then Tallulah sang, “All I ask, all I want is this, if you loved me, love one another when I’m gone.”
Her voice was mournful, husky, and fully in her command. As she took her trained singer’s breaths, the little gray bird tattooed on her chest came alive, and it too appeared to sing, full throated and wholehearted. I looked at Livvie standing across from me. Neither of us had ever met Hugh, but our eyes ran with tears.
We had lunch at the Harvard Club. There was much catching up to do and never a lag in the conversation, and then Mom, Vivian, Rose, and I left for Skinner’s for the auction of the Black Widow.
Hugh had intended to leave it to my mother alone, but there was no doubt Vivian would challenge her ownership, and Cuthie Cuthbertson had urged us to reach an agreement rather than face litigation. At my mother’s insistence, Rose was included too. The money from the necklace would be split evenly by the three families. Rose pointed out that her branch had benefited from the capital it had secured for five generations, but Mom was undeterred.
The Black Widow was the main attraction of the day, though the bidding was brisk on the magnificent antique jewelry pieces that led up to its sale. When the necklace came up for auction, a dapper gentleman in a black suit and black mustache led off the bidding. He was quickly bid up by a woman in an elegant red dress and another person on the phone. The auction employee who had handled our sale told us keen interest from multiple parties would be the key to maximizing the Black Widow’s potential value.
Rose, Mom, Vivian, and I held hands, and our collective breath, as the bids flew by us: 2 million, 2.1, 2.2. The woman in the red dress dropped out, but the mustachioed man and mystery person on the phone kept bidding: 2.5 million . . . 3 million . . . 4.
The audience, which had been sedate all afternoon, buzzed with conversation. The auction house employees around the room stared at one another, their looks as puzzled as our own. I squeezed Mom’s hand on one side and Rose’s on the other. If they hadn’t been there to hold me up, I might have fallen over.
The auctioneer kept going: 4.5 million, 4.75. The bidding slowed, the increments became smaller. At last the man with the mustache signaled he was through.
The auctioneer brought down his gavel. Five million dollars to the person on the phone.
We hugged and cried and hugged some more. There would be the auction house, Massachusetts inheritance tax, and the lawyers to pay, but still, even split three ways, there would be enough money to restore Windsholme. Mr. Dickison had been clear that Hugh’s final wishes for how my mother spent the money were in no way binding, but she was determined. She’d already contacted my friend Quentin, who’d long been a proponent of rebuilding the house, and he had found “the perfect architect, who would respect its neocolonial style while making it a modern place to live.”
I was skeptical. The Snowden Family Clambake had barely escaped bankruptcy the year before. I wanted to pay off the money Quentin had loaned us, but he wouldn’t hear of it, and I could see my mother was not to be deterred. It wasn’t my money, or my house, so I kept my mouth shut. For now.
Back at the house on Marlborough Street, we had a dinner of Rose’s lasagna. The wine
flowed throughout our loud celebration. Everyone’s life story spilled out in a series of questions and answers.
Marguerite sat at the head of the table, the dreaded wheelchair put away for the moment. Toward the end of the meal she cleared her throat and raised her glass. The conversation died and she spoke. “A toast to Hugh, the child of my heart, who brought us all together in the end.”
We raised our glasses too. “Hear, hear,” we chorused. “To Hugh.”
Recipes
Vee’s Beef Stew
One of my most precious possessions is a book of handwritten recipe cards given to me by my maternal grandmother, Ethel McKim. When I planned for Julia and her mother to be snowed in, I knew I would turn to this book full of comfort foods for many of the recipes. This one is made by Vee Snugg in the book, and it’s as homey and delicious as you might imagine. I have provided amounts for the vegetables, though according to my grandmother’s note, you can use as many or as few as you please.
INGREDIENTS
2 pounds of beef, cubed
6 carrots, cut in three inch chunks
4 medium potatoes, peeled and cut in half
1 15-ounce jar pearl onions, drained
1 3-ounce can tomato sauce
3 ounces of water
1 teaspoon sugar
Juice of ½ lemon
3 Tablespoons instant tapioca
Salt and pepper
6 drops Worcestershire sauce
INSTRUCTIONS
In a bowl, mix well tomato sauce, water, sugar, lemon juice, instant tapioca, and Worcestershire sauce.
In a casserole dish, pile meat in center. Place all vegetables around the edges. Pour tomato mixture over all. Cover and cook in a preheated oven at 225 degrees for 6 to 7 hours. Can be prepared in advance and reheated. Makes a delicious brown sauce.
Serves 4 to 6.
Ma’s Ginger Snaps
When my cousins get together, one memory we all share is my grandmother’s ginger snaps. It was a joy to find them in your mailbox at camp, or on a bluesy day in your college dorm. They always came in a coffee can, lined on the inside with wax paper and taped shut. The cookies provided instant comfort and could be hoarded or shared, depending on your mood.
INGREDIENTS
1½ sticks butter, melted
2 cups granulated white sugar
¼ cup molasses
1 egg, beaten lightly
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon ginger
¼ teaspoon each cloves, allspice, nutmeg,
mace
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
INSTRUCTIONS
Mix the melted butter, 1 cup of the sugar, and the molasses. (Put aside the remaining cup of sugar.) When the mixture is cool, fold in the lightly beaten egg. In another bowl, mix the flour, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, salt, cloves, allspice, nutmeg, and mace. Add the dry ingredients to the wet. Mix thoroughly with a mixer or food processor.
Dough will form itself into a ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and put into refrigerator for at least 4 hours or overnight.
Shape cold dough into balls using a small melon baller. Roll the balls in sugar to coat completely. Place the balls at least 2 inches apart on parchment paper on a cookie sheet, to allow for expansion.
Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 10 to 12 minutes.
Jacqueline’s Meat Loaf
Jacqueline Snowden isn’t much of a cook, but she can manage this simple meat loaf. This is one that I made for my kids a lot when they were growing up.
INGREDIENTS
2 pounds ground beef
1 medium onion, diced
1½ cups dried Italian bread crumbs
1 egg
½ cup ketchup
2 Tablespoons Dijon mustard
INSTRUCTIONS
Combine all ingredients in a bowl and work with your hands until thoroughly mixed. (It’s a cold, messy job, but somebody’s got to do it!) Form the mixture into a loaf. Cook in an oven preheated to 375 degrees for 45 minutes.
Serves 6.
Rose’s Three-Cheese Lasagna
Rose’s lasagna is the one a college roommate taught me to make. All these years later, it remains one of my specialties. Somehow I have even become the lasagna maker for our Easter celebrations with my husband’s large Italian-American family. Though in fairness, I have to acknowledge that my husband makes the sauce.
INGREDIENTS FOR THE SAUCE
4 28-ounce cans Italian tomatoes
(preferably San Marzano)
4 6-ounce cans tomato paste
2 Tablespoons olive oil, divided
5 pounds sweet Italian sausage (20 to
24 links, depending on size)
6 ounces pancetta, diced
2 medium onions, chopped
2 red bell peppers, diced
4 medium cloves garlic, chopped
1 cup red wine
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried basil
salt and pepper
INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE SAUCE
Crush the tomatoes or quickly puree in a blender.
Heat a large saucepan over medium high heat and add 1 Tablespoon of the olive oil. Prick the sausages in several places with a fork. Working in batches so the sausages brown and don’t steam, brown the sausages on all sides. Set browned sausages aside in a bowl.
Drain the pan of fat, return to the heat, and add the second Tablespoon of olive oil and the pancetta. Cook the pancetta until nearly crispy and add the onions and peppers. Sauté for 7 minutes. Add the garlic. Cook another 1 to 2 minutes, until the garlic becomes fragrant. Add the wine and stir constantly to deglaze the pan. Let the wine cook down for 2 to 3 minutes, then add the tomato paste and stir constantly for about 2 minutes to distribute throughout the vegetables. Add the canned tomatoes and stir. Return the sausages and any accumulated juices to the sauce. Add the oregano, basil, and salt and pepper. Bring the sauce up to a simmer. Partially cover the pan and simmer for 2 hours. Adjust seasonings, if needed.
Make the sauce a day ahead if possible.
INGREDIENTS FOR LASAGNA
27 no boil lasagna noodles
3 24-ounce containers whole milk ricotta
3 pounds mozzarella cheese
2 cups grated Romano cheese, divided
2 eggs
3 pounds ground beef
1 medium onion, diced
1 bunch of Italian parsley
INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE LASAGNA
In a large frying pan, combine the ground beef and the diced onion. Cook until the meat is lightly browned.
In a food processor, combine ricotta cheese, 1 cup of the Romano cheese, the eggs, and the tops from the entire bunch of Italian parsley. I create this mixture in two batches due to the quantity.
Remove the sweet Italian sausages from the sauce and slice them. I use the slicing attachment on my food processor. It’s a messy, imprecise process, but no one will know!
Shred the mozzarella cheese. I use the grater attachment on my food processor.
In a large (16 × 13 × 4) roasting pan, layer
Sauce to lightly cover the bottom of the pan
⅓ of the noodles
½ of the ricotta mixture
½ of the ground beef. Use a slotted spoon
to leave most fat in the pan.
½ of the sliced sausage
½ of the mozzarella
Sauce to lightly cover the layer
⅓ of the noodles
½ of the ricotta mixture
½ of the ground beef. Use a slotted spoon
to leave most fat in the pan.
½ of the sliced sausage
½ of the mozzarella
⅓ of the noodles
Sauce to lightly cover the noodles
Romano cheese sprinkled across the top
Cover the pan with aluminum foil, shiny side down. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and bake for 2 hours.
&nbs
p; Serve with the remaining sauce, heated, and the Romano cheese on the side.
Serves many
The Daily Catch Lobster Fra Diavolo
I include a lobster recipe in every Maine Clambake Mystery, and since this book takes place in the off-off-season, I knew Julia would eat the lobster meal at a restaurant on her visit to Boston. From there, it was an easy decision to have that meal take place at the Daily Catch, my favorite seafood restaurant. Second-generation Chef Basil Freddura (completely coincidentally an old camp buddy of my daughter’s) kindly offered up three signature recipes. The Daily Catch has three locations. The one where Marguerite, Rose, and Julia go is in the Seaport district, though I served them a dessert only on the menu in the Brookline location.
INGREDIENTS FOR DAILY CATCH SEAFOOD MARINARA SAUCE