Gently disengaging her hand from Maime’s warm grasp, Erika quickly wiped away the suspicious moistness from around her eyes. Taking a deep breath meant to garner control before looking into Maime’s eyes Erika said simply, “I would like that very much.”
“Good! Then ‘bout that tureen you’re so interested in,” Maime said saucily switching to their previous topic of conversation enabling Erika the space to feel comfortable. “Got your facts straight on your history, young lady.”
Successfully breaking the intensity of the last few minutes Maime said, “It’s nineteenth century and made by one Josiah Aldrich for the British Queen Victoria. It was used for affairs of state. See here,” she said while gently turning the piece so that Erika could glimpse the insignia on the bottom, “Josiah signed the piece here and this is Queen Victoria’s Coat of Arms, which is retired now, I believe. It says here, ‘Spem Reduxit,’ Maime finished proudly. “The use and beauty of that kettle is actually recorded in history by several visitors to Windsor Castle as they acclaimed the Queen’s chef and the beautiful dishes upon which her bounty was served. The kettle and dishes for twenty are all that have survived. I, of course, have the kettle,” Maime said importantly.
“It is very recognizable among the nobility. Young Josiah Aldrich, the designer of this piece, was killed in a hunting accident shortly after this creation. He only lived to 18, so sad,” Maime continued while once again shaking her head.
“They say he would have been one of the most ingenious craftsman of his time had he lived long enough to create more masterpieces. The kettle and dishes and then oh, yes, a set of dinnerware, forty to be exact, of another design is all that survive of his work. They are very coveted pieces and are, as you have said, very, very valuable.”
“It is a little-known fact,” Maime continued as if reciting a favorite story, “that the kettle actually survived. I actually have a letter written to Josiah Aldrich by Queen Victoria thanking him for it, as it was the last in the group to be created ... only the letter was returned unopened due to his untimely death.”
And then as an afterthought Maime added, “And, by the way, they are registered with the Royal Crown of England,” she finished proudly.
Erika stood with her mouth agape. If her knowledge of fine porcelains weren’t so extensive, the story of a backwoods woman owning such an exquisite soup tureen would truly be unbelievable.
Enjoying the look of utter astonishment on Erika’s face, Maime smiled through her crackled face until she fairly beamed. “Tell you what, since you are so knowledgeable about designs, I will let you take this to the cottage to study it if you would like. I think Queen Victoria would have liked that. She was an avid gardener, you know.” And at Erika’s shake of her massive curls, Maime continued. “It’s a little-known fact. Anyhow, promise me, Marie. I mean truly promise me that no harm will come to it, my most prized possession. It’s more important to me than you will ever know.”
“Oh, I promise,” Erika breathed while excitement permeated the very room. “I will take care of it with my life. This could be my most important find. You couldn’t even imagine what kind of variations could spring from a design this innovative and fresh. Thank you so much,” she exclaimed while capturing Maime’s hand in her own tiny one.
“And about your other offer,” Erika said softly while gazing at Maime’s wrinkled and work-worn hands, “I would very much like to spend some time with you if you wouldn’t mind. I have longed my whole life for someone to whom I might confide in … and who would understand. I think I would like that person to be you. And in time, I will tell you all about who I really am.”
“And, thanks for not telling Tim,” Erika added while releasing Maime’s gentle hands. “At the right moment, before I leave, I will tell him all about it. It’s just that when I do ... our relationship ... whatever that means,” she said remembering an earlier conversation where Tim had told her there wouldn’t be one, “will be over for good. And, rightly or wrongly, and just between us ... I am enjoying it so much. But be assured,” Erika breathed, “I won’t let it get to the point where either one of us gets hurt. It’s purely platonic!”
“Platonic, my foot,” Maime breathed to herself. And then to Erika, “Thank you my dear. Now listen, I’m making huckleberry jam tomorrow. Why don’t you stop by and help me put up the jam and then we can talk? My mother always did say that confidences were best shared over the steam in the kitchen. It cleans out your soul,” she said with a wizened smile.
Papa walked Erika home that evening. By the time they returned to her tiny cottage the icy chill had permeated the interior walls so sufficiently each could see the breath of the other quite plainly.
“Do you know how to build a fire?” Papa asked.
“Well, uh, I did try my first night here. Only,” she giggled, “after the paper burned out, it was as cold as an ice cube. I finally gave up.”
“Not everyone’s good at it, you know,” Papa chuckled.
“I think there is quite a few things I am not very good at. Anything that has to do with hearth and home would quite cover it,” Erika mused.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, child. Yer jus’ a baby yet. You gots lots of time. You let me worry ‘bout the fire.” And at her disapproving nod, he continued. “Don’t ‘no’ me there youngun. Nice to be needed.” Before he left, Papa had built a roaring fire that had already dispelled much of the frigid air.
Erika was still uncomfortable with the silence of those mountains once the sun went down. She wished with all her heart that Tim were here. Or at least ... somewhere at the lake. It was sort of lonely, Erika mused. Then she mentally shook herself. She would overcome this senseless fear. Tim had fixed the lock, there was no reason to feel insecure. Negative thoughts precipitated negative events, besides it would ruin her evening. No pity allowed, Erika solemnly vowed. Concentration, she told herself, was just the medicine she needed.
Gingerly, Erika brought Maime’s prized soup tureen to the scarred pine table in front of the fire. Curling up on the far end of the over-stuffed chintz couch Erika gazed with amazement at the piece. An hour or so passed before she could render a near perfect sketch of the piece. After a satisfied appraisal of the work, Erika began to reflect on her earlier conversation with the tureen’s owner. Maime’s kindness and sensitivity was overwhelming. She knew in her heart that a lifetime friendship had been born.
Later that evening when Papa was crawling under the hand-made patchwork quilts that now layered their old feather bed he said in a falsetto voice meant to imitate his dearly beloved wife, “It’s only been a few days, but things happen like that sometimes. What’s that all about,” he finished in a gruff voice meant to rebuke his wife’s seemingly meddling ways.
“Oh, pooh,” Maime countered with a good-natured shove. “Why are you always hidin’ round the corner listen’ to my conversations,” she demanded. “You didn’t hear the whole thing,” she finished.
“Hidin’ round the corners,” Papa demanded. “I can hear everythin’ you says clear out to the shop, for goodness sake. Believe you me, I don’t even want to hear what you says to that nice girl. You’re meddling and folks don’t like it. You know as well as I do that people ‘round here don’t stand for that. Like I told you, Mama, you gotta keep out of Timmy’s life. He has to make his own decisions. You’re goin’ get yourself in a heap of trouble with that boy if you don’t let up, not to mention getting your heart hurt as well. Now jus’ leave it alone, I say.”
“Papa,” Maime said while rising clear up off her pillow, “this isn’t just for him. It’s for her, too. She needs someone. She’s all alone out in the world and she needs me. And, by George, I’m going to help her, even if I have to fight you to do it. And whether you agree or not, they need each other. I’m just afraid,” she continued while lying back down and feverishly adjusting the quilts to her husband’s comfort, “they’re going to blow their chance at happiness. Those secrets they are keeping from each other could ultimatel
y destroy any love that is beginning to bloom.”
“Well,” Papa said while turning toward Maime to cuddle her to sleep, “its jus’ something they’ll have to work out. If it’s meant to be, it will be ... with no meddling from the likes of us.”
In minutes, his snoring was as steady as it had been for the fifty-six years they had slept together. Maime smiled at the comfort it brought to her. She knew it would be hours before her breathing became steady. She had too much to worry over, too much to pray over.
Chapter Eight
The morning California sun burned through the back of T.J.’s sleek Italian suit. He rotated his shoulders under the welcome warmth. The Idaho cold had seeped into his bones in just the few days he had been home. Of course, he had been in his New York office before that and the weather was unseasonably cold as well. Normally his preferences for fall and winter residences were the family homes in the Mediterranean, the South Pacific or even the desert of Southern California. T.J. tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to frequent those offices that offered beachfront views, patio dining and warm sun.
This fall, however, his desires had changed. The brightly hued tamaracks of North Idaho, along with the beauty dwelling along the shores of Priest Lake invaded almost every waking thought. Images of Bear Creek Lodge, long walks in the ancient forests surrounding his home, and cold evenings spent fishing or the warmth of a roaring fire beckoning in the hearth was so vividly real T.J. could smell the crackling cedar. Also real was the charming beauty dwelling in a quaint little cottage nestled in his mountain home.
“Good morning,” said a beautiful blond receptionist perched behind a mahogany desk at the corporate headquarters of Crawford Industries. “What can I do to help you this morning Mr.? ...”
“Morgan,” he said with an engaging smile as the receptionist batted her eyelashes at him.
“Oh,” the secretary breathed. Her face was becoming a pleasant shade of pink. “My name is Stacy. Can I get you coffee … tea … anything else?” she asked coyly.
“No, I’m just fine. I have an appointment with Lawrence Bancroft but I’m a little early. Would you mind if I just sat here while I wait?”
“Oh, not at all,” she responded enthusiastically. “Let me get you something to read ... we’ve got trade magazines, financial magazines and, of course, PEOPLE ... even a coveted copy of the LA World.”
At T.J.’s obvious surprise that Bancroft’s office would display what he considered as trash journalism, Stacy hurriedly explained. “Mr. Bancroft doesn’t know. It’s just that LA World is featuring a story about two of our executives! Oh,” she quickly amended with a crestfallen smile, “I wasn’t suppose to say that. Sometimes I say all the wrong things. You, uh, you won’t tell Mr. Bancroft I said that, will you?” she questioned pleadingly. “He feels very strongly about all this, especially when it comes to Erika. And I would never want to hurt him. Oh, no,” she exclaimed in utter shame. “I did it again! I’m so sorry, this is only my first week here and I’m learning so much ... it’s just that ... well, I’m not doing this very well, Mr. Morgan.”
“Stacy, you said?” he inquired gently having compassion for her obvious distress. In fact, she reminded him so much of his younger sister, he had to look twice just to make sure. “You’re doing just fine. No one will be the wiser. Mr. Bancroft and I have been acquainted for years ... I’m safe,” T.J. replied with an engaging smile. “And to answer your question, no, I have not read the article in LA World.”
“Are you new to the company, Stacy?” T.J. asked.
“Not exactly,” she commented. “I used to work for Capital Textiles, it’s one of Mr. Bancroft’s subsidiaries.”
“Well, you must have made quite an impression to be moved to corporate ...” T.J. commented.
“Well, I don’t know about that. Given my performance just now, I would think it the other way around. I’m never like this ... I’m just a little nervous is all. I’m so thrilled with my new job, I don’t want to do anything wrong. Capital was fine,” she breathed. “but there was just too much pressure. I mean, I like everyone ... almost everyone there ... but there were so many changes going on that I never knew who was in charge from one week to the next,” she said warming to her topic.
“That can make it very difficult,” T.J. replied encouragingly.
“Yes, especially when you are trying to begin a career with little education. I thought I was doing very well as an assistant, I just had one too many bosses,” Stacy finished.
“Lawrence Bancroft must have a lot of confidence in your abilities to bring you into his corporate offices. He must have felt you had done an acceptable job.”
“Yes, it’s quite surprising given the circumstances of my dismissal.”
“You were dismissed from Capital?” T.J. asked incredulously knowing Lawrence Bancroft to be a brilliant, levelheaded businessman.
“Mr. Caslin, second in command...I think...at Capital was not satisfied with my work when I found a file containing some potentially dangerous information regarding mill operations. So, he let me go, threatening to ruin my life if I ever breathed a word of what I had read. I did, in fact, breath the word to Mr. Bancroft’s office only with the intent of protecting the family, not of regaining a position. You see, Erika had always been very kind to me. She really extended herself to me when my Mother died last year. I’ll never forget it. I felt I owed it to them. So... here I am.”
“That’s quite a story, Stacy. You are very loyal, and that is an uncommon trait,” he praised.
“Well,” she shrugged, “not uncommon in my world. Now that you have listened to all my woes, shall I let Earlene know you are here?”
“Yes, that would be fine.”
T.J. Morgan and Lawrence Bancroft spent the next several hours together, pouring over documents and copies of correspondence that Stacy, unbeknownst to Steve Caslin, had been able to obtain under the guise of working late one evening. Lawrence had informed T.J. that it was general speculation on the part of Capital employees that the company would eventually be sold and that Sam Bernstein, current President, was stepping down due to corporate pressure. Lawrence also felt that some were against the appointment of his niece, Erika, as President because of her relationship to the family. Still others believed that Steve Caslin, Vice President and former fiancé, should be appointed.
T.J. digested all the information and together they laid the groundwork for T.J.’s investigation that under preliminary suspicions was kin to insider trading or selling of company secrets. One way or another, T.J. promised, they would uncover the hostile ploy.
“What are your obligations T.J.? What kind of time can you devote to this?”
“I’m not sure,” T.J. responded. “Sufficient to crack the case. My offices are in good shape and my Father is still very much at the helm. I do, however, have some commitments out of the area for the next few weeks. I will commute,” he stated.
“You’ll never know how much this means to me, son,” Lawrence said stoically. “I have a great amount of confidence in you.”
“And I you.”
----
Ellie spent the morning trying to place several calls to Erica Crawford of which she had been unsuccessful. Usually Erika was so easy to get a hold of. It didn’t feel right to Ellie. In fact, it made her quite annoyed if the truth were told. After all the hours Ellie was putting in, it galled her that Erika would be unreachable.
“Stacy,” Ellie spoke into the hands-free microphone on her telephone, “have you taken any calls from Erica Crawford this morning?”
“No, Ellie, I’m sorry, I haven’t heard from her today at all. But as I told you earlier, if she calls, I will transfer her to you immediately.”
“Do you think she could have spoken to Earlene when you were on another line?”
“Why don’t you ask her that yourself,” she responded pointedly.
“Because,” Ellie said becoming angry, “I’ve already called her too many times as well.”
“I think Earlene is probably very busy about now,” Stacy teased.
“Why’s that?”
“Because the most fabulous guy you have ever laid eyes on is in Mr. Bancroft’s office right this very minute.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I met him,” Stacy stated simply. “And, he is really hot, if you know what I mean.”
“Okay, give me the details, Stacy. What’s he here for?”
“He’s a colleague of Mr. Bancroft’s.”
“And what does that mean,” Ellie demanded.
“That’s all I know. Oh! They’re coming out. Bye!”
Ellie quickly hung up the receiver and began to connive a reason to run up to that floor. She just had to find out who Bancroft was meeting with now. It was becoming more difficult to keep a finger on everything that was happening.
Ellie walked down the glass-paneled hallway to Mark Hillston’s office. She hated to have any communication with him what so ever. But, with Steve out of the office, she simply had no other choice. After a short rap on his closed office door, she poked her head around the corner. “Hi,” she said in her most congenial tone. “I was wondering if you have heard from Erika today?” And after a negative nod she said quickly, “Thanks, I just wasn’t able to get through to her and wondered if I had just missed her. Sorry to bother you.”
“Uh, Ellie, where exactly is Erika,” Hillston responded sharply.
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