Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

  Sarah and her mother exchanged glances. Yeah, right. Once Miranda had her foot in the door and her belongings upstairs, she’d probably be here forever.

  ****

  “So today’s the day, huh?” Beth said over the breakfast table two weeks later.

  Sarah set an omelet in front of her and turned away to get the toast. “Yep.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I eat and run, then. You know Queen Miranda the Only. She’ll have me carrying a piano or something if I stay.”

  “She’s not bringing any furniture.”

  “Right. And then there would be all the insults.”

  “Coward. Anyway, you don’t have to rush. She isn’t due until ten.”

  “And I’ll bet anything she’ll be early.”

  “Oh, Beth. Help me here. This isn’t fun.”

  “I’m sure. But I have to run. I hope Rob will be here to help.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Out of town.”

  Beth frowned. “Well, good luck. You’re gonna need it. Anyway, it’s nine fifteen. I’m outta here.”

  Sarah’s hopes that Beth had been wrong about Miranda’s intentions were shattered at nine thirty, when a huge moving truck pulled into the driveway.

  “Oh, dear.” Her mother came out on to the porch and stood at Sarah’s side. “I was afraid of this.”

  Thank goodness this was one of her mother’s good days. “I thought you talked to her.”

  “I did, of course. She agreed to put most of her furniture in storage, and I agreed to let the movers clear the Frau Karl rooms to make room for a few of her pieces.”

  “I think you and Miranda might have different definitions of ‘a few,’” Sarah said. “And why are you giving her all three rooms? Violet only has one.”

  “No one is using those rooms, dear, and our furniture can easily go in the attic. Not to mention the fact that Miranda agreed to pay a great deal extra to have the other two rooms and her own furniture. I would imagine she’ll describe it as a suite.”

  Sarah gazed at the wicked glint in her mother’s eyes and the little smile that turned up one corner of her mouth in an expression that could only be described as sneaky. “Well, aren’t you the Machiavellian one? And just how much extra is she paying? And were you going to tell me about this?”

  “Of course. And I was going to tell you as soon as I could do it privately. I don’t want Violet to feel badly because she’s paying so much less than Miranda.”

  “I would think it would be more important to keep the Queen Bee from finding out that she’s paying more than Violet,” Sarah observed, visualizing the possible tantrum.

  “Oh, she knows,” her mother said.

  “She knows? What could possibly make her accept that?”

  Hilda smiled, a gentle, self-satisfied curve of her mouth. “Well, of course having three rooms is bound to cost more. Or possibly it could have something to do with the little talk that we had, in which I convinced her that she was doing a noble thing, helping her good but somewhat impoverished friend.”

  Sarah closed her mouth with a snap. “Unbelievable. You got Miranda Hogbinder to do something generous?”

  “You’re being unfair. She’s always generous to friends. And of course, she’s not really renting a room from us. She’s generously helping with household expenses.”

  “She’s only generous if she gets enough good press out of it.”

  Hilda smiled.

  “Well, good job, Mama. Now I’d better go do something about the furniture upstairs.” Because Sarah surely didn’t want to be the one who confronted the dragon and told her she couldn’t have it all. Geez, it looked like the woman was planning to furnish the whole house.

  Sarah cravenly melted back indoors, leaving her mother to deal with Miranda, and took two movers upstairs to show them the rooms to be cleared, and the attic. She stayed to make sure they treated the old furniture with at least a little of the respect it deserved.

  Hilda and Miranda were sitting on the porch when Sarah came back down with the moving men, who went out to the truck to start unloading.

  “So you see, Miranda,” her mother was saying. “This arrangement will work very nicely for you, but if you put all of that furniture upstairs, you’d have to crawl across several tables and a sofa to get to your bed.”

  “Well, if the rooms were a decent size,” Miranda huffed, “Like Crowley Hall...”

  “But of course they’re not,” Sarah’s mother said smoothly. “Such a shame, but I know the moving company has storage for antiques.”

  “I thought some of it could go in the living room. After all, these are, as you said, antiques, and they’d be ever so much more lovely than the things you have.”

  Apparently only Sarah noticed the quiver of her mother’s nostrils .

  “Miranda,” Sarah’s mother said in the quiet voice that Sarah had always dreaded. Sarah backed into the hall.

  “Now, Hilda.”

  “No. Perhaps it’s best that we have an explicit agreement, Miranda. You know that I will not allow you to run rough shod over me, or to change things in my house.”

  Sarah knew the look that went with that voice. Stern, implacable, immovable. She had never in her life been able to get her own way when it was turned on her. And amazingly, Miranda Hogbinder had the same reaction.

  Sarah had to hand it to her mother. Just a few quiet words and Miranda was standing on the sidewalk pointing out which pieces were to come into the house and which were to go into storage.

  Sarah tiptoed out onto the porch. “How do you do that, Mama?”

  “Do what, dear?” Her mother’s innocent question was belied by her smug smile. When Sarah folded her arms and waited, she added, “Miranda and I have some history, you know.”

  This was interesting. “I know you went to kindergarten together. Is there more? Stuff no one else knows?”

  “Of course everyone knows. They’ve just mostly forgotten.” At Sarah’s raised eyebrow, her mother leaned closer and whispered, “I punched her lights out in second grade.”

  Sarah’s jaw dropped. “You?” she gasped.

  “And don’t you forget it.” Hilda laughed at her astonished expression. She struggled to her feet and wobbled into the house, leaving Sarah stunned in the porch swing.

  That had been such a normal exchange, her mother at her witty and sparkling best. Nothing like the vacant-eyed woman who had labored to conceal that she’d forgotten her daughter’s job only a few days ago.

  ****

  Two days later, George Arliss came striding up to the back door, Casey bouncing around him, barking and wagging a welcome. Sarah saw him from where she stood at the kitchen sink, and his grim expression sent her heart plummeting to where her boots would have been if she hadn’t been barefoot. Quickly, she dried her hands and went to let him in.

  “Morning, Uncle George,” she said. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” He sat heavily at the table, Casey curled at his feet and Fred taking instant advantage of the lap. Sarah set a steaming mug in front of him and turned to get cream from the refrigerator.

  “Sit down, Sarah. I got to talk to you.”

  “Official?”

  “’Fraid so.” He poured a dollop of cream and stirred, not looking at her. “Miranda Hogbinder and Violet Henderson live with you now, right?”

  “You know they do.” She closed her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

  “Well.” He drew the word out into three syllables. “Could be, Sarah, could be. I’ve had a complaint that you’re running an unlicensed nursing home here.”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” she said, squeezing the words past the ball of panic in her throat. “You know better than that.”

  “Acourse I do. But it’s an official complaint, so I’ve got to investigate and make an official report. With any luck that’ll keep the state licensing board out of it.”

  A vision of huge fines levied by unsympathetic, hatchet-faced and hatchet-wielding bureaucrats loomed large in he
r mind. “But who would do that?” Homer Macklin’s vindictive face rose in her mind.

  “Now, honey, you know I can’t tell you.”

  Sarah sighed. “I know. And you don’t have to. I appreciate you doing this yourself instead of sending one of your men.” Appreciation wouldn’t keep her from staying awake nights worrying, though.

  “So what kind of arrangement do you have with Violet and Miranda? Oh, and Christine, too. She wasn’t mentioned in the complaint, but we might as well get it all ironed out right now.” His gaze sharpened. “She isn’t under age, is she?”

  “Well, I can’t prove it, but she swears up and down that she’s eighteen, and her driver’s license agrees.”

  “Thank goodness for small favors. What about the other two?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re both over eighteen.”

  “Sarah.”

  “They help with household expenses. And they each give Mama some money as a non-taxable gift.”

  “You don’t charge them rent?”

  “No. I checked on line to see what might be legal and sharing expenses seems to be at least quasi-legal.”

  “And you don’t provide any care?”

  “No. Anyway, the only one here who needs much care is my mother, and I can’t believe anyone’s going to tell me that taking care of her is illegal.”

  “Of course not,” George soothed. “Now give me details. What do you do for them, and what do they do in return?”

  Everything, and precious little, respectively, but she shouldn’t be cynical. So she explained in detail about sharing expenses, and cooking and cleaning.

  “Well, Sarah,” George said when she’d dragged out every detail of their lives. “I reckon that’ll do. But you’d better get a good tax lawyer to go over your returns from now on. If I know Ho—” He broke off with a cough. “The complainant, that is, he’ll try siccing the IRS on you next.”

  “Well, thanks, Uncle George. That should help me sleep nights. Thank heavens I don’t cheat on my taxes.”

  “I figured you didn’t. Just be extra careful from now on.”

  “Do you think he’s really going to be able to make trouble for us?”

  “Nope. I’m going to write a report that will keep Social Services in Susanville where they belong, and out of Crowley Falls. Don’t reckon they’ll pay any attention to Ho—him if he files any more complaints.”

  “Thanks.” And she was grateful.

  And scared.

  ****

  A few days later, the chime of the front door bell startled Sarah. Not many people used the front door these days. Probably a salesman. She padded barefoot down the hall and opened the door. If it had been Santa Claus or the devil himself she couldn’t have been more surprised. “Mr. Macklin!”

  Reluctantly, she pushed the screen open in tacit invitation to enter.

  “No, thank you,” he said, somehow managing to suggest that he would rather wade into a garbage dump than enter her house.

  Well, okay. So much for being polite. Sarah let the screen swing closed between them and waited.

  “I understand that your old family friend, the chief of police, has managed to keep you out of trouble this time.”

  “Oh, you mean those unsupported charges about me running a nursing home? How ever did you hear about that?”

  “I want you to be aware, Miss Gault, that your future actions will be watched.”

  “By you? Why? I’m not your employee any more. Not that that would give you the right to ‘watch my actions.’”

  “You were in my employ for fifteen years. If you are arrested, it would reflect badly on the company.”

  Tough. “And you expect me to care? Anyway, you fired me. That should get you off the hook. But perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me why you are so intent on persecuting me.”

  He drew himself up to his full, meager height. “I certainly am not persecuting you.”

  “You opposed hiring me. As soon as your partners were gone, you began putting a steady stream of bogus complaints in my personnel file. You fired me. Now you’re filing charges against me because of Violet and Miranda. What is your problem?”

  He took a step backward.

  “Is this some kind of vendetta against me? Against my mother? What?”

  His face might have been carved of stone, it was so expressionless.

  “What’s next, the IRS?”

  By the way he flinched, she knew that’s just what he intended.

  “What are you shouting about, Sarah?”

  Oh, great. Violet was just what the situation needed.

  “My goodness. Homer. What are you doing here?” Violet said. “I didn’t think you’d ever set foot in this house again, not after the way Eldon—”

  Macklin turned red, turned on his heel, and fled.

  V. THE ROSE GARDEN

  A garden or park containing a collection of roses of different color, scent, and variety. Other plants may be seen along with the roses. Typically, a rose garden is an oasis of peace and quiet in an urban setting.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, Sarah was in the kitchen stirring pancake batter when Rob tapped lightly on the back door and slipped inside. “How’s it going?” he asked, bending to pet Casey.

  Relief was Sarah’s first reaction. It was so good to have his big, solid presence back that she could almost ignore the way her heart skipped a beat. She raised an eyebrow, trying for cool and collected. “So you decided to come back to town now that all the furor has died down?”

  He grinned. “Yep. But Mum said that the great move-in went very smoothly. Miranda brought a lot of furniture, but most of it went on to storage. How’d you manage that?”

  “I didn’t. Mother did.” She gave a final stir and set the bowl aside to turn the heat on under the griddle. “Want some breakfast?”

  He slid into a chair. “Thought you’d never ask. Thanks.”

  “So what do you want?”

  “You’re making pancakes, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So I want pancakes. You think I’m going to walk in uninvited and start making demands? I’m happy to have anything I don’t have to cook myself.”

  “You have choices. Your mother wants pancakes and sausage. My mother wants bacon and scrambled eggs. Today, Miranda will have a pesto and tomato omelet with country fried potatoes and a slice of ham. Christine gets yoghurt and fruit and cereal. So, what’ll it be.”

  “My God. Do they do this to you every day?”

  Sarah rubbed a hand across her forehead. “You ought to be here at dinner time.” She tested the griddle and poured out half a dozen perfect, round pancakes.

  His eyebrows wrinkled together in a frown. “You can’t keep doing this.”

  Just the thought of someone caring that she was being driven nuts by her houseful of little old ladies had her on the verge of tears. “Hark, do I hear concern?”

  “You hear concern. Why don’t you just say no? It works for drugs, it ought to work here. If you cook, you should get to pick the menu.”

  “Ah, come on, Rob. Even though they don’t eat as much as birds, they look forward to their meals so much. I can’t do that to them. It would be mean.”

  “Invite me for dinner tonight.”

  “Invite you? So I can fix five dinners instead of four?”

  “Four?”

  “Yeah. Christine and I eat pretty much the same thing.”

  “Thank goodness for small favors. No, I’ll eat whatever you fix. I think a little discussion is in order.”

  Sarah flipped the pancakes and considered the suggestion. “Maybe. I guess so. But if you hurt anybody’s feelings, you have to wash the dishes.” He didn’t need to know that Christine had taken on K. P. as her permanent duty.

  “So,” Rob said that night at the dinner table. “This looks like the buffet restaurant over in Susanville.”

  Hilda frowned. “It is rather a lot, Sarah dear. You must have spent all day cooking. I hadn’
t realized. You must be careful about overdoing, you know.”

  Sarah smiled at her mother. “You don’t eat enough. Anything I can do to tempt your appetite is worth the work.”

  “Unlike Violet, who certainly does not need to be tempted,” Miranda said, curling her lip at Violet’s loaded plate.

  Miranda’s plate was every bit as full as Violet’s. Rob coughed and looked away.

  Oh, it felt good to have an ally in the house. But Sarah kicked his ankle. “Be nice,” she mouthed.

  “Sarah is such a good cook,” Violet chattered. “It really is a pleasure to sit down to one of her meals. I’ve been cooking for myself for so long that this is a real treat. I’m not much of a cook, as Rob will probably tell you, his father always said I had other talents, and...”

  “You should see how many pans she ruined in the last year,” Rob murmured in Sarah’s ear. “That woman could burn water.”

  “...it’s so nice to have all this choice. You’re right, Rob, it is like that buffet, except that Sarah is a much better cook. And it’s ever so much nicer to have it right here and...” Violet paused for breath.

  “You wouldn’t have so much choice if you didn’t keep taking the dishes that I requested,” Miranda said. Her nostrils were drawn tight and her mouth had its mean look.

  “Oh, but Miranda, you’ve never said I shouldn’t.”

  Rob put his fork down. “I think maybe you all are asking Sarah to do too much work,” he said. “She’s not your servant. This isn’t a retirement home with a staff to wait on you. Think about it, ladies.”

  Well, he cut right to the chase. Sarah looked around the table to measure the reactions.

  After a speechless moment, Violet said, “Oh, Sarah, dear, we have been thoughtless. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed. And you look so tired. Hilda, why didn’t you say something? I just got so busy with all the moving, and the excitement and things. This is terrible. Sarah, why don’t you just leave us on our own for breakfast and lunch? Miranda and I are used to fixing our own.”

  “I most certainly am not, Violet,” Miranda said in her most repressive tone. “You know I’ve always had a maid, and a cook to fix meals, and I certainly never expected that when I moved here that I would be expected to do menial work.”