by Cathy Elliot
Annie waved her hand as Peggy rushed to another table. Soon The Cup & Saucer seemed a flurry of Peggy-in-pink, zipping past with another tray full of food or hurrying between tables to take more customer orders. But never stopping at Annie’s table.
Maybe she should grab that unoccupied stool at the counter? Taking a whole table for herself might be considered bad manners. Especially when lunch-rush seating was at a premium. She didn’t want to annoy anyone.
Just as Annie began to gather her things, Lisa, another waitress uniformed in pink, appeared. “What’ll you have?” She flipped open her pad to a clean page.
“Well, let’s see,” Annie said, stalling. She wanted to talk to Peggy about Kate. But she was faced with Lisa instead.
“I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,” Annie said, spreading out her hands. It was true. Technically. She’d been straining to make eye contact with Peggy.
Lisa raised one eyebrow in disbelief. Then closed the pad with a snap. “I’ll come back.” She whirled around and crossed the room to take orders from a couple of rough-looking characters with wild hair and unshaven faces.
Had she just been ignored again? Annie frowned. Granted, today’s rush was a frenzy, but not even a fast greeting as her friend passed the table? Had Peggy told Lisa to come in her stead? If so, she hadn’t been much more cordial than Peggy.
Which was not cordial at all.
Apparently, the shunning that started last night with Kate extended to the yarn shop and now the diner. She couldn’t bear staying a moment more and, head down, left the table. The cowbell chimed cheerily as she slunk out. She could feel folks following her exit with their eyes. Annie couldn’t dismiss the feeling that everyone knew something … except her.
And she was wandering around in the dark.
Alone.
12
When Annie arrived home, she noted Wally outside hunched over his trays and rollers, hosing Jersey Cream paint from a brush. Considering what occurred this afternoon at A Stitch in Time and The Cup & Saucer, she almost expected her handyman to throw down the hose in disgust when he saw her, turn, and stomp out of sight.
Instead, he shot a playful spray of water her way and waved the wet brush. “Hey, Mrs. D., check out the kitchen.” Wally nodded toward the porch, urging Annie inside the house for a look.
She took the porch steps with a lightness borne of relief. Would he still be as warm tomorrow after a talk with Peggy? Annie pushed the thought away. She had enough troubles without looking for more.
The cat waited inside the front door to weave herself around Annie’s ankles. Reaching down to scratch Boots’ back, her mistress mused how nice that she’d received such a spirited welcome, even if it was only from a stray kitty.
“Come on, Miss Boots. You deserve a treat.” Annie untangled her feet from the cat and took a few steps. With a meow that sounded annoyed, the cat trotted ahead toward the kitchen. By the time Annie caught up, Boots was standing guard beside her dish.
Taking in Wally’s work, Annie caught her breath, delighted. The walls glowed with a soft yellow, the color of fresh-shucked corn. She imagined how the completed kitchen might look with the new backsplash, updated cupboards, hardware, black granite countertops, and, of course, her red Victorian-style appliances. Or black.
“So, what do you think?” Wally’s voice resonated as he came alongside.
There was pride in his tone. And well earned, by Annie’s high standard.
“Gram would love it, Wally, and so do I,” she said, looking around with admiration. “Even though we’re at the beginning of this project, I’ve seen the quality of your work on the outside of Grey Gables. And you did a beautiful job on the living room too. So I know it will be stunning when this room is done.”
“Thanks,” he said, running his fingers through shaggy brown hair. “Once that paint sets, I’ll sand the cupboards. Then you really need to tell me what you want. Paint or stain.”
“I can’t decide.” Annie bit her lower lip. “I just don’t want to do anything Gram wouldn’t approve of, you know?” Though Gram would probably encourage her to take a risk and want Annie to please herself.
Wally frowned. “Here’s the problem. I have to do more prep work if you want the cabinets stained. If you want them painted, it won’t take as long.”
“That makes sense.”
“Less time, less money too.”
Annie wasn’t so worried about the extra money, though maybe she should be. These projects had a way of wrestling cash from one’s pocketbook without a fight. The expense of Victorian-style appliances would push this remodel into new financial territory. That was a fact. She made an on-the-spot decision.
“Let’s paint them.”
“Paint it is.” Wally walked over to a windowsill and pulled off a fragment of painter’s tape he’d missed in cleanup. “Got a color in mind?”
Oh, no. She wasn’t sure. “Not really.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Yes, please do!” Annie appreciated the expertise. He’d probably seen many combinations of color and paint in his work.
“I like that white you chose for trim. What about that?”
“Well,” she said with hesitation, “white’s all right. But that’s a high gloss.”
Wally nodded. “Exactly. I can get more, no problem. Your account at Malone’s is still good, right?”
Annie smiled. “Right.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Wally said. “The white will lighten up your space and look crisp with the new black counters. It will showcase your grandmother’s collectibles and the gloss will give a modern, edgy feel.”
“You make a good point. Or several good ones,” Annie said. “I like the way you think, Wally. White will work well.”
“And, if you want, I could cut the middle out of this row of cupboards and replace it with glass.” He ambled back over and stood next to Annie, leaning toward her. “Then all these fine old heirlooms could be on permanent display.”
“That’s true,” Annie agreed. And she’d have to make sure the cupboards were always neat and clean. That could be a drawback. Or a blessing. Overall, the plan was an inexpensive fix that would change the complexion of the kitchen for the better.
She approved. “Let’s do it!”
After Wally left, Annie’s mood moved from excited to exhausted, in spite of the wonders of her new kitchen. She sank down onto a hard chair at the table and massaged her brow, feeling a bit woozy. Should she eat something? Annie recalled her embarrassing afternoon exodus out of The Cup & Saucer. Without lunch.
She should be hungry. But she wasn’t, though her hands trembled a little. Maybe a little nap? Or was that a little escape? Everything seemed to make her emotional. Since Wayne’s death, she’d turned more tender, which was the way Annie liked to put it. As if she could feel things more deeply. The losses … the loneliness … the trials of life.
The snubs of friends.
Boots gave a feline whine and stretched. She’d given Annie enough time.
“OK, OK. I owe you some cat food. It’s coming.” Annie struggled to her feet, fatigue washing over her. She fed the cat and then opened the refrigerator door, looking for a snack. A Styrofoam container housed the remains of last night’s garlic shrimp. She pulled it out, thinking of a treat for Boots, but changed her mind. Loud chomping noises confirmed that the cat was content.
Annie grabbed a bag of loose lettuce and, instead, fashioned a shrimp salad for herself. Too tired to make a dressing, she added a handful of crackers to her meal. Sitting back down, she ate slowly, again pondering the behavior of the women.
They were friends, weren’t they?
She must have said or done something wrong. What other explanation was there?
The answer was more of a mystery than Annie had ever faced.
If Wayne were here, he’d tell her to confront her problem head on. “Don’t wait for things to get out of hand. Tackle your troubles right away.
Or they’ll grow so big in your imagination you’ll be powerless to overcome them.” He was right, of course.
But wasn’t that what she’d tried to do today?
She needed some good advice. But from whom? Who was still talking to her besides Wally? And he might not be so affable tomorrow. How would she deal with that little challenge?
Sighing, she cleared away her late lunch and put the kettle on. While she waited for water to boil, she determined to call Alice. No one could better assess the situation than her neighbor and friend who was a Stony Point native.
If they were still on speaking terms.
Annie took her tea into the living room, sat on the sofa and, firming her resolve, dialed Alice’s number.
“I was just thinking about you,” Alice said. “About last night and especially about Kate’s strange behavior.”
“It’s gotten worse,” Annie said, thankful to hear the acceptance in her friend’s voice. “Let me tell you what happened today.” She poured out the afternoon’s upsetting experience.
“Put the kettle on,” Alice said. “I’ll be right over.”
The water was still steaming when Alice stepped inside the house. Annie gave her a grateful hug, and they headed toward the kitchen. Alice plunked herself into one of the green chairs, setting a basket in the center of the farm table. She pulled away the linen towel, cross-stitched with pumpkins and winding vines of green leaves, reminiscent of Cinderella’s magic coach. Alice’s handiwork, no doubt.
“Pumpkin nut bread. Hot out of the oven.” Alice pushed the basket toward Annie, who had placed a cup of steaming hot water and a teabag in front of her. “With matching linen, no less.”
“It’s beautiful work, Alice. And the bread.” Annie breathed in the spicy aroma. “It smells wonderful! But isn’t it a little early for pumpkins?”
Alice shook her head. “In my book, it’s never too early for pumpkins. Besides, waiting all year for Thanksgiving makes my pumpkin passion grow so unbearably strong that by the time the season actually arrives, I’m in a state of starvation. Pumpkin bread, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin scones--I inhale it all.” She helped herself to a plump pumpkin slice. “I gained five pounds last fall.”
Annie laughed. Having Alice here returned everything to normal. Even Annie’s energy returned. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. After all, it is a vegetable, right?”
Alice stopped. “Why didn’t I think of that before? It changes everything. Now I can eat this vegetable guilt-free.” She sank her teeth into the pumpkin nut bread again.
After they had shared several slices between them, Annie asked, “What do you think is going on with Kate? And not only her, but Mary Beth and Peggy. Peggy saw me, I know. But she didn’t even acknowledge me or come by the table.” Annie shrugged. “That just doesn’t seem like Peggy to me.”
“I agree. Peggy likes to chat. And she really admires you, Annie.” Alice used her fingertip to pick up the last pumpkin crumbs on her plate. “This is a puzzle for sure.”
Annie grew thoughtful. “I don’t know what to do. It’s all so bizarre, I was even worried maybe you and I weren’t speaking anymore.”
Alice stopped her nibbling. “Don’t you ever, ever think that again. We have been friends since we were children and always will be. And if you move back to Texas, we won’t allow the miles to come between us. No getting rid of me, I’m afraid.”
“Good. That’s how I feel too, Alice. Amid all the loss of the last year or so, I’ve been given a great gift. That’s you and our friendship.”
Alice blinked rapidly. She patted Annie’s hand, in an apparent attempt to comfort. “Let me make a couple of calls and see what I can find out.”
“Would you? I’d be so grateful, though I don’t want to come between you and the others.”
“Don’t worry about that.” She covered the basket of bread and pushed it away. Surveying the kitchen, she said, “I like what you’re doing with the place.”
Thankful for a change of subject, Annie said, “You like the yellow?”
“Love it.”
“Wally’s going to paint the cupboards a glossy white.” Annie explained the decisions she had made so far. “I wonder if Gram would approve of my choices in here.”
“Annie, remember that sampler Betsy made for me? It says, ‘To everything there is a season. A time for every purpose under heaven.’ Now is your time to make the decisions for Grey Gables. Betsy left the house to you, her only and most beloved grandchild. I know she would approve of you making it your own, Annie. It’s your season, after all.”
Annie nodded. “Thank you for saying that. But, as I recall, that sampler also says to keep your heart open for love--or something. What do we do with that statement?”
“It actually says, ‘Keep your head held high and your heart ready for love.’ I think you should take the first part under advisement. You haven’t done anything wrong so far as I can see. The second part? The having your heart ready for love part? Well,” Alice hesitated and then said, “Good luck with that.”
13
The next morning was Friday, the deadline for all auction items to be dropped off at the Stony Point Community Church. Annie had tried to finish up her afghan the night before but had run completely out of the brick red yarn. Perhaps the afghan was destined for the missionary cupboard back in her Brookfield church.
She put together a box containing both baby afghans she’d made, along with the Wallace Nutting print, sandwiching it between the soft coverlets for safe transport. It didn’t seem like much. Not for Betsy Holden’s granddaughter, anyway. Gram would have given more.
Annie searched among the living room’s treasures for something else. She touched a Tiffany-style lamp with its intricate stained-glass pattern. No, not that. She used it every evening. Besides, she remembered watching Gram stitch in its soft light. What about the little figurine on the end table? Not that one either. It was a gift from Grandpa.
Finally, she picked up a favorite pillow with a cross-stitched harbor scene in the center. Another Betsy Original. It would bring a great deal more than any of the items she had selected. She put it in the box and took a few deep breaths. Could she give up something so special of Gram’s? Something she had created by hand? Even for charity? Steeling herself, she taped the box closed and wrote a description of the items inside for whoever would set up the auction list. Before she could change her mind, she carted the container out to the car and loaded it into the trunk, out of her sight.
Returning to the living room for her purse, Annie felt the loss of the pillow. Or was it the loss of Betsy’s presence? That was ridiculous. The entire house shouted Betsy’s name to anyone who entered.
Don’t be so selfish.
Annie hurried to the Malibu, climbed in, started the engine, and turned down Ocean Drive. It was the usual scenic route, but she hardly noticed the view. Her brain was too active attempting to solve the mysteries of Kate and the medals.
She had maneuvered her vehicle into a parking space in the crowded church lot before she realized it. Wrestling the box from the trunk, she carried it up the walk. The white clapboard building was typical New England fare, served up with gracious trees and generous lawns. Not fancy in the style of some structures, but the requisite steeple placed it fully into quaint category. Annie had often thought it would make a charming scene in a snow globe.
She entered the small sanctuary, passing rows of wooden pews lit by chandeliers, and walked through a side door. Finding herself in a hallway, Annie headed toward the door that opened into the big church kitchen. Inside was a hub of activity as industrious as Santa’s workshop. And everywhere, tables were covered with all manner of donations. Rather like Gram’s attic.
A couple of men were carrying furniture out into the hall and across into an open Sunday school room. Between two busy volunteers, she saw Gwendolyn Palmer, writing on a pad and taping numbers to several items culled from the rest. With a little sigh of gratitude, Annie made her way between peo
ple and boxes until she was in front of Gwendolyn.
Annie squeezed her box between a couple of others at Gwendolyn’s table. “You sure look busy, Gwendolyn. Need any help?”
“This is the biggest event we’ve ever had. We sure could use more …” Gwendolyn looked up and stopped abruptly. “Oh.”
Annie pushed the box toward Gwendolyn. “I just brought this stuff down for the auction. Maybe it will bring in something for the fund.”
“Thank you. I’ll just catalog this and give you a receipt so you can get on your way.” Gwendolyn cut through the tape and opened the flaps. She lifted out the pillow, drawing in a breath, her eyes wide. “Annie! This is Betsy’s work, isn’t it? I’d know that exquisite stitching anywhere.”
“Yes,” Annie said, pleased at the reaction. “I’ll admit it’s hard to give up. But I know Gram would have given even more. She had a great heart for others.”
“That she did.” Gwendolyn said, her eyes misting. She set the pillow to the side and pulled out the first baby afghan. “Beautiful work. I’m sure it will draw some bids.”
“Thanks.”
“And what’s this?” Out came the old tinted photo, the glass gleaming inside the frame. “Remember when you used to find these at yard sales for ten dollars?” Gwendolyn shook her head. “Now they can cost hundreds. Why didn’t I store up the ten-dollar-types back then for a rainy day?”
“Well, it’s not raining out,” Annie said. “But I hope this will help put a new roof on the building before it does rain again.”
Gwendolyn peered into the box and drew out the second afghan. Raising her eyes to meet Annie’s, she said, “So you donated your Texas-bound baby afghan too. It reminds me of something your grandmother might do.” She put the soft cotton yarn next to her cheek. “This one is my favorite. I might have to bid on it.”
She added the items to her list and assigned them numbers. Once she’d written out a receipt, Gwendolyn pressed it into Annie’s hand and said, “Talk to Kate. You two need to discuss things.”