by Lea Wait
Will turned toward Waymouth’s harbor and began slowing down.
“I remember this street,” Maggie said. “The first summer I came to Maine you brought me here, to Walter English’s Antiques Mall.”
She’d been both intrigued and amused by the three-story Victorian house crammed with a motley collection of antiques. The local auctioneer also did appraisals there and met prospective clients for his auction house.
“I thought you’d remember it.” He stopped the car in front of the house. “We didn’t go here last summer because Walter’d closed it down. The roof leaked, and the dealers who’d rented space there weren’t making enough sales. A lot of them hadn’t renewed their contracts. Walter decided to concentrate on his auction business.”
“Which explains the FOR SALE sign in front now.”
“Exactly.”
They sat for a couple of minutes.
“And you brought me here because…”
He turned toward her. “I’m thinking of buying the place.”
Thoughts whirled through Maggie’s head. Was he thinking of living here someday? Was this part of the marriage proposal he’d made in October? Or was he thinking of running an antiques mall himself? Did he want her business advice, or her personal thoughts? How should she react? How serious was he?
“Why? What would you do with it?” she asked cautiously.
“Obviously it needs a lot of work. But I think it could be turned into an upscale antiques mall.”
An antiques mall. Not a home. Half of her felt relieved, and yet somehow, the other half was disappointed. It was a grand old house. Fixed up, it would be a wonderful place to raise a family. But realistically, it was too big. Hadn’t there been about eight bedrooms on the second floor alone? And she remembered the dark, cluttered hallways and high ceilings. “You’re thinking of running an antiques mall? Being a landlord?” Maggie said quietly.
“It needs a new roof, new wiring, and new paint, and most of the windows need to be replaced. It was too hot in the summer, as you may remember, and to make it a year-’round business it would need to be heated better in the winter.”
Maggie watched Will as he talked. He was excited about the idea, and wanted her approval. But why should her approval matter?
“I don’t want to be a downer. And I don’t know how much Walter English is asking. But those improvements will cost a lot,” she pointed out. “The last antiques mall failed. Plus, you’ve said you have to spend most of your time with Aunt Nettie. You can’t be here, too.”
“All that’s true. But I want to reinvest the money I got from selling my house in Buffalo. And the mall I have in mind isn’t like Walter’s. I’m thinking early American furniture and fine art and maybe a silver or jewelry dealer. Perhaps a place people could bring their antiques to be appraised or restored. Like a group of upscale shops. I could do a lot of the building myself, and you remember I have cousins in the construction business. I could probably work a deal with Rachel’s husband to have his guys do the electrical work, and my cousin Giles and his son have already agreed to work for me evenings and weekends, off the books, if I buy the place.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“I am. But I wanted to know what you thought before I made an offer.”
Maggie hesitated. “It sounds exciting. You’ve thought it over, and you know the area and dealers and potential customers better than I do. But it’s a huge investment, Will. Not only of money, but of time. You already have so much to do. You’re taking care of Aunt Nettie and her house. You’re going to try on-line sales. And this place …” Maggie looked at the old house towering over them. “It needs a lot of care. It could eat up all you have and leave you with nothing.”
“Or it could give me something for myself, outside of Aunt Nettie’s little house.”
Maggie suddenly saw it through those eyes.
“And if the antiques mall didn’t work out, you’d have fixed up a grand old house and would be able to turn it over.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Will. “But I’m not ready to give up on it before I’ve started.” He put one of his hands on hers. “Unless you hate it. Unless you really think it’s a waste of time and you don’t like the idea at all.”
Maggie felt pushed into a corner. “I’ve never exhibited in a mall, Will. You have. You know much more than I do about this. And you’ve already checked out the house and what needs to be done to it. I only saw it once, two years ago. It’s your project. If this is what you want to do, then do it. Don’t ask me to make your decision for you.”
“I’d like you to see the inside of the house again. I was so excited at telling you about the place I’ve probably rushed you. Let me call the real estate agent and we can walk through together, after the party. Okay?”
“If you’d like me to.” Maggie squeezed his hand. “I remember liking the house. But I’m no expert on Victorian home repairs.”
“That’s my world. I just want to know if you can imagine it transformed into the kind of mall I’m talking about. You have an eye for that sort of thing. You’re better at setting up booths at antiques shows than I am, and here I’m thinking of setting up a whole house.”
“I promise I’ll look at the house and give you my opinion,” Maggie said. “But only because you’re right about one thing. I am better at setting up booths than you are!”
Will bent over and kissed her. And then kissed her again.
While Maggie wondered: what was it about this house Will wasn’t telling her?
7
Christmas Belles. Winslow Homer black-and-white wood engraving published in Harper’s Weekly, January 2, 1869. One of only three Homer engravings that included what is believed to be a self-portrait. Depicts mustached man (probably Homer) driving a sleigh in which five elegantly dressed women are riding; another sleigh pulled by three horses is in the background. The letters “WH” are on the side of the sleigh. 9 x 13.5 inches. Price: $300.
“Doreen’s going to come with Ruth and Betty,” Aunt Nettie announced, as she put down the phone an hour before her guests were due to arrive. “Ruth needs her help with Betty. And they’ll want to use our ramp to the back door, Will, because Betty uses a wheelchair or walker. Could you move my car and Maggie’s van out of the driveway?”
“Not a problem,” he said, reaching to get his coat as Maggie finished cutting the tea sandwiches into triangles.
“Those look absolutely elegant, Maggie,” said Aunt Nettie. She’d loved the idea of the red and green–colored cream cheese and the cucumber sandwiches. “And crabmeat! Oh, this is going to be so special! I’d always just made tuna and egg salad. And a whole bowl of shrimp! Plus your delicious cookies. You know, none of us girls do much baking anymore. Fruit pies in the summertime, of course, or muffins. But cookies take so much time and energy.”
Maggie secretly agreed, but she loved to make them. And inventing the tea sandwiches had been fun, too, although she’d notice the chopped-liver pâté hadn’t stirred any enthusiasm from Aunt Nettie.
“So, you said Ruth and Betty are sisters. Have they always lived together?”
“Not always. Ruth’s husband died in a horrible car accident when they’d only been married about twelve years. Betty was living in Boston then. After that she moved back home to live with Ruth. They raised their children together.”
“And Betty’s the one who isn’t well.”
“I’m afraid she’s been going downhill for a while now. She’s got that awful Alzheimer’s; some days her mind’s with you, and other days not so much. Plus, she’s had diabetes for years. She won’t be eating any of your cookies, I’m afraid, but she’ll enjoy the shrimp and Ruth will watch out for her.”
“That must be hard on Ruth.”
“It is. But for the past couple of years they’ve had Carrie Folk come in days to care for Betty. Carrie’s a gentle soul who’s done private nursing in town for years. She helps with the housekeeping, too, and keeps Betty company and ma
kes sure she’s on her diet and checks her sugar levels and on the bad days can give her a sedative, so Ruth can go to her church meetings and her garden club and book group and such. Ruth takes over when Carrie goes home. It seems to work for them all.”
“I’m glad.” Until now she’d never thought about how much was involved in assuring that older people had the care they needed.
Will came back in, brushing snowflakes off his beard and coat. “It’s snowing again. Just a little, so I don’t think it’ll bother your friends, Aunt Nettie, but I’ll make sure the path to the back ramp is clear.” He reached over and before Aunt Nettie could bat his hand away he’d liberated two cookies from the platter she’d been arranging.
“Get out of here! Those are for my guests!”
He grinned and headed for the back door.
“I think we have everything set,” Maggie said. “I’ll take the platters of food into the living room. Water is heating for tea, coffee is made, and Will and I will stay out of your way.”
“Everyone will want to meet you,” Aunt Nettie said, “So don’t you worry about hiding. You’re part of the family now.”
Maggie smiled tightly as she picked up a heaping plate of sandwiches and carried it into the living room. Part of the family? Not exactly. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But maybe for the purposes of this afternoon.
“Aunt Nettie! Your guests are here!” Will’s voice and the back door opening signaled the start of the gathering.
Maggie didn’t have to be introduced to figure out who the guests were, but Aunt Nettie explained she was “Will’s special friend,” before anyone sat down.
She’d already met Doreen Strait, the youngest of the three by at least twenty years. Today Doreen was wearing a red Christmas sweater decorated with a green Christmas tree with sequin lights. She had her arm around the waist of a frail woman with short, white hair who had to be the sickly Betty. Her skin was as pale and thin as the paper of Maggie’s oldest prints, although, like the prints, her hands and face were marked by a few small brown age spots. Her long brown wool skirt and sweater were well made, but hung on her as though her slight body was gradually disappearing into their folds.
Her sister, Ruth, on the other hand, stood tall and straight. She held Betty’s other arm comfortably, as though helping her sister was a natural function. Betty leaned slightly in her direction, and although physically the two women did not look alike (Ruth was not only taller but heavier, with darker hair, which she wore pinned up) it was clear their relationship was close.
“Which chair would Betty be most comfortable in?” Will asked.
“The higher one.” Ruth pointed to the armchair with a padded seat cushion. “I’ll sit next to her.”
“High chairs are for toddlers,” Betty declared. “I’m not a toddler.”
“Of course you’re not,” her sister assured her, helping her down into the designated seat. “But it’s easier for you to get up if the chair seat isn’t too low.”
Will hung up the ladies’ coats while Maggie added a bowl of shrimp and plates and napkins next to the sandwiches and cookies already on the coffee table.
Aunt Nettie took over at that point. “Maggie’s made all these delicious cookies and sandwiches. Will, maybe you can put folding tables next to our chairs.”
“That would be lovely,” said Ruth, and Will went to a closet by the back door to get the folding tables while Maggie listened to drink orders. To her surprise, everyone decided to have wine. She turned off the hot water and coffee in the kitchen.
“Is this a picnic?” asked Betty, looking around. “It smells like a picnic.”
“The Christmas tree and all the pine boughs do smell like the woods,” said Ruth, without missing a beat. “Your tree looks lovely, Nettie. We’re planning to put ours up tomorrow, aren’t we, Betty?”
“I love decorating the tree,” said Betty. “Papa always lets me put the star on the top because I’m the youngest.”
“I’m so glad your party was this afternoon,” Ruth added. “Carrie asked for the day off to go to a doctor’s appointment, so we would have been sitting at home. Instead we’re seeing everyone, and meeting Maggie, whom we’ve heard so much about.”
Will had put up the tray tables while Maggie was passing out glasses of wine.
“A toast. To us. To dear Susan. And to our other friends with us in memory,” said Aunt Nettie, raising her glass. “May we remember the good times, forget the bad, and always be there for each other. Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” echoed the other three.
Maggie watched from the kitchen doorway. This toast, or one very similar to it, had probably been made on many other Christmases. How would it feel to have the same friends for most of your life?
She didn’t have much time for contemplation.
“Maggie, would you mind helping us? We’re going to pretend we’re lazy old women today since you and Will are here. Would you fill our plates for us?” Aunt Nettie asked.
“Of course,” Maggie answered. “Shall I give you all a taste of everything?”
Nods all around assured her that, as Doreen added, “For our first plate!” that would be fine, and Maggie went to work.
“Are your children coming for the holidays?” Doreen asked Ruth.
“We’re going to have a houseful,” said Ruth. “Betty’s daughter Miranda is coming with Joan, of course, but they’re staying at the Inn, aren’t they, Betty?”
Betty nodded. “They wouldn’t let the baby Jesus be born at the inn, you know.”
“My older children can’t make it, but Brian and Jenny are flying in from Philadelphia with the new baby. I’m dying to see my newest grandson.”
Doreen smiled. “How wonderful to have a baby coming for Christmas.”
“It is, isn’t it? They named him Jonas, you know.” Ruth glanced at her left hand, where she wore a narrow wedding band.
Wasn’t it Ruth that Aunt Nettie had said lost her husband in a car accident years ago?
“Jonas is very handsome. He should be here to see his baby,” said Betty. “When will he be here?”
“You did a wonderful job with these sandwiches, Maggie. The cucumber ones are delicious,” said Doreen, adding two more to her plate.
“Who’s Maggie? Is she one of Jonas’s friends?” said Betty.
“Maggie’s Will’s friend,” said Ruth. “She made these sandwiches and cookies for us.”
While Doreen and Ruth had already made major inroads on their plates of food, Betty had hardly taken a bite. She was still holding her glass of wine, looking at it as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. As Maggie watched, Ruth reached over, took the glass out of Betty’s hand, and handed Betty a crabmeat sandwich.
“And aren’t the cream cheese and olive sandwiches pretty?” added Aunt Nettie. “I’ve always liked the combination of cream cheese and olive but haven’t had it in years. And I never thought of coloring the cream cheese. Maggie here is real creative. And what about you, Doreen? Any company for the holidays?”
“Not me. I’m just hoping no one will be murdered, so Nick’ll be able to get the day off. Working the homicide unit, you never know. He’s put in for extra shifts the week after Christmas, hoping he can get the day itself free. If he’s home, maybe Zelda will stay to home, too, and not go running off with her friends the way she sometimes does. I’d like to have her home for a good last Christmas before she graduates.”
“Before I forget, everyone, Betty and I are going to have a Christmas Eve party, aren’t we, Betty?”
Betty looked up, as though seeing the tree for the first time. “It’s Christmastime!”
“Exactly,” Ruth continued. “We’ve decided that with little Jonas visiting, we’d like to be especially festive this year. So all of you are invited.” Ruth raised her voice. “Will and Maggie, you two hiding in the kitchen, you’re included. And when you get a chance, I could use a little more wine and a few more sandwiches. Doreen, you tell Nick if he c
an get free, he’s welcome, and of course so is Zelda.”
“Don’t count on either of those two,” said Doreen. “Nick’ll most likely be working, and Zelda always finds some reason not to party with anyone over the age of twenty. But I’ll tell ’em, of course. And you can count on me to come. What time?”
“I think about four-thirty. It’ll be dark by then, so all the Christmas lights in town will be on, and it can be a late afternoon cocktail party, before the carol sing. What do you think?”
“Sounds perfect,” said Aunt Nettie. “But will you really serve cocktails, Ruth? I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“I might just do that, Nettie. In fact, now that I think about it, I may even hire a bartender,” she laughed. “I want to enjoy my own party.”
“We used to have the best parties, didn’t we?” said Betty. “We danced and sang and everyone we knew came. Even people we didn’t know came.”
“I remember those parties, too. We did have fun,” said Aunt Nettie.
“Will we get that band from over to Bath to play? Davy Jones and His Boys? Mary and I like them the best.”
“I don’t think they’ll be free this time, Betty,” said Ruth, as she and Aunt Nettie exchanged glances.
Maggie had added sandwiches to Ruth’s and Aunt Nettie’s plates, while Will saw that Ruth’s and Doreen’s wineglasses had emptied more quickly than he’d anticipated and was opening another bottle of cabernet. Maggie whispered, “They’re sweet. But Betty seems to be losing it.”
“She seems to remember a lot, though. ‘Davy Jones and His Boys’? I wonder what era that was.”
“I have the feeling a lot of what she’s talking about happened years ago,” Maggie agreed, opening her tins of cookies to fill a new plate. The women were eating more than she’d anticipated. Doreen had helped herself and was now on her third plate of sandwiches and had checked out all Maggie’s cookie varieties, too.
“Maybe,” he acknowledged. “I haven’t been listening that closely.”