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Medals in the Attic

Page 9

by Cathy Elliot


  “But what do we have to discuss?” Annie asked, her tone pleading.

  “Alice gave me a call this morning, but I told her the problem is between you and Kate.”

  “But, what have you heard? Please tell me!”

  “I’m too busy to get involved,” Gwendolyn said. “Just talk to Kate.”

  “OK.” Annie nodded. How does that happen when Kate won’t talk to her? She moved away, feigning interest in the other auction items as she entered the hall. Stepping aside as a man rolled a dolly past, she hurried from the hustle.

  Back in the sanctuary, she noticed Reverend Wallace sitting alone in a pew near the back. Annie hated to disrupt his reading but, feeling desperate, she slipped in beside him. “Reverend Wallace? Could I have a word with you?”

  He closed his book and gave her a grin. “Good to see you, Mrs. Dawson. How about a walk outside? We can talk there without being interrupted. Too much traffic here.”

  As he spoke, a couple wandered through with paper bags bursting with something. Probably auction items. “See what I mean?” he said, rising.

  They followed a worn path beneath the trees, apparently a favored walk. Annie appreciated the amble under the leafy canopy, shafts of sunlight piercing the shade like laser beams. The serenity of the scene was as welcome as his kindness.

  Eventually, they stopped at a picnic table. “If you don’t mind, I need to rest this old hip of mine. One day, I suppose I’ll need to get it taken care of through surgery, but I’m putting it off as long as I can.” He brushed a few leaves off the bench before making himself comfortable, and then he placed the worn book he’d brought with him on the table.

  As Annie sat down on one side, she gazed at the older man. Spectacled, with receding gray hair and a gentle manner, he filled her job description of a country parson.

  “This is a beautiful spot, Reverend Wallace. I didn’t even know it was here,” Annie said, stalling a little, not sure how to begin.

  He glanced around. “Isn’t it? My wife and I often picnic here in the middle of the day. She makes the best chicken salad sandwiches and brownies. I always look forward to her company. But I have to say it is enhanced by her cooking.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Annie said, smiling. “You’re a lucky man.”

  “Mighty blessed, for sure,” the Reverend said. “But you didn’t seek me out to hear about my wife’s cooking. How can I help you, Mrs. Dawson?”

  “Well,” she looked down at her hands. Though she wanted his advice, it was awkward, if not embarrassing. “I have a problem.”

  “I gathered as much,” he said. “Take your time. I’m listening.”

  She might as well get it over with. Attack it head on, as Wayne would say. “I seem to have offended a friend without realizing it, and now I feel shunned by her and everyone in our circle. Well, not everyone because my best friend still supports me, but I’m hurt by everyone else’s treatment and not sure what to do!” The words poured forth like a verbal tsunami.

  Reverend Wallace didn’t seem that surprised. “Can you think of anything you might have done or said to get such a reaction? Maybe even a joke gone wrong?”

  “No, I really can’t,” Annie said, her expression baffled. “I’ve tried to understand, but it’s a mystery. At least it is to me, though Kate must have her reasons.” She caught her breath. “I didn’t mean to mention names. Sorry.”

  “It won’t change my opinion of anyone, even if I know the name. We all have faults, all have shortcomings.” He fixed his kind eyes on Annie. “Have you confronted your friend? Tried to talk it out between the two of you?”

  Annie sighed. “I did try. But she wouldn’t talk to me. When she saw me, she just left. Since then, pretty much all of our friends are siding with her. But about what, I don’t know.”

  “I see.” He thought a moment and then spoke. “Here’s what I recommend, Mrs. Dawson. Just try and isolate each of your friends and talk to her alone. It’s not helpful to have the herd against you, not that I’m calling them a herd, you understand. Let’s say instead, it’s not good to have a group ganging up against you.”

  “OK.” She almost grinned. “That makes sense. But what would I say?”

  “Approach each one individually and say that you have felt a sudden distance between you. And you are bothered by that. Which you are, of course.”

  “Yes,” Annie said. “I really care about them.”

  “Then say that too. That you care and value their friendship. You want to clear up this conflict between you. To make things right.”

  Annie nodded slowly, wishing she’d talked to Reverend Wallace earlier. Before she’d seen Gwendolyn.

  “Folks around here can be a little wary of strangers. You have points in your favor because you are Betsy Holden’s granddaughter, but that only goes so far if they think you have hurt one of their own, which is what it sounds like to me.” The old gentleman reached over and opened the book, a hymnal, flipping the pages as he spoke. “The main thing is to confront these ladies in love. Love conquers all.”

  A soft wind rustled the leaves overhead, and Annie thought about all he had said. It wouldn’t be easy. She would have to set her pride aside and, as Reverend Wallace advised, approach each one in love.

  But how loving did she feel?

  “Here it is, one of my favorite hymns,” he said. “As we talked, this line came to me: ‘Are you weak and heavy-laden, cumbered with a load of care?’ And the answer to everything, ‘Take it to the Lord in prayer.’ ” Reverend Wallace closed the book and folded his hands. “May I pray for you, Mrs. Dawson?”

  A calm settled over Annie as he prayed. And as they walked back along the path, her spirit at rest, she had a sense that all would be well.

  Annie was almost inside her Malibu when she thought of something else. “Reverend Wallace!” she shouted.

  “What is it, Mrs. Dawson?” He hurried over to the car. “Is something else bothering you?”

  “No, but I wondered if I might ask you one more thing, about someone here in Stony Point.”

  How much should she share with him? Annie decided to be open. If you couldn’t trust a minister, who could you trust? “I want to talk to Harold Stevens, Harry’s grandfather, about a World War II photo that might be of my grandmother in her youth. He probably knew Gram long ago, and I’m hoping he can help identify the people in the picture,” Annie said. “But of course, Kate isn’t speaking to me.”

  “Ah, yes. I see. That makes it awkward.”

  “I’d like to find him myself, but I’m not sure where he is. Any ideas?”

  Reverend Wallace nodded, considering. “The last I heard of Harold Stevens, he was moving to an assisted-living facility. But I regret to say I don’t recall which one.” He did look full of regret then, perhaps lamenting that he hadn’t made a visit to see Harold himself. “Please let me know what you find out.”

  Annie thanked him and climbed in the car, excited.

  Now she had a place to start.

  14

  After loading up on groceries at Magruder’s, checking for frames at Malone’s, and having the car washed, Annie was glad to pull into the Grey Gables driveway. Boots met her at the porch’s edge, arching her back to meet her mistress’s hand and leaning against her pant leg. Annie could always depend on Boots to give her a warm welcome. She scratched along the furry backbone with her free hand and then paused to straighten up and shuffle a bag of groceries to her other hip. That’s when Annie saw a white wicker basket resting on the doormat.

  Tied to the curved handle was a fluffy yellow bow. Annie thought she knew who it was from. She picked it up and stepped inside the house, holding the door open long enough for Boots to enter. Placing the basket on the coffee table, Annie spotted an envelope. She ripped it open.

  Inside was a gift certificate for anything in the Divine Décor catalog. Annie beamed. How thoughtful Alice was. Maybe she would look for something new for the kitchen. She couldn’t resist going through the bask
et right away. It looked as if Alice had been on another cooking kick. More pumpkin bread, some pumpkin scones, and pumpkin spice tartlets. Last, a slim package covered in pumpkin print paper. She unwrapped it with care and opened the box.

  “Oh, how lovely!” Annie said aloud. It was a small square cloth cross-stitched with pink roses in each corner. It could serve as a tiny tablecloth for her little moss-rose toy china set. When had Alice stitched up this creation? The workmanship was almost as good as Gram’s.

  Annie jumped up to call Alice. But before she picked up the phone, she noticed her answering machine flashing furiously, indicating several messages.

  She pressed the button. The first was from LeeAnn.

  “Mom, is everything all right? Haven’t heard from you in a few days. That’s not normal, you know!” Annie could hear the worry in her daughter’s voice. “Call me. By the way, did you like the drawings the twins made? They’re missing you. So am I.”

  Warmth flooded her heart. She missed them terribly. And that was an understatement. Annie would call them back this evening.

  Next was Alice’s message, an invitation to dinner tonight. Probably so Annie wouldn’t have to cook in her own chaotic kitchen. Alice’s neat cottage was always welcoming. And her cross-stitch décor reminded Annie of Gram’s style.

  A message from Wally followed. “Mrs. D., I’m getting ready to have glass cut for the cupboard doors like we discussed. Here’s what I need to know. What kind of glass do you want? It’s your call. There’s frosted--that would really pump up the modern look. Or patterned glass? Lots of choiceseven stained glass. We have some local artisans who could do a good job, but the expense and time …” Would the decisions never end? Once she made a final one, it never seemed to be final at all. She was glad the machine cut him off midchoice.

  All the messages along with Alice’s thoughtful basket were like a tonic for Annie. She decided to return Wally’s message first.

  What if Peggy answered?

  She would simply act as if nothing was wrong.

  Maybe Peggy would believe it.

  To her good fortune, no one answered at the Carson household. Annie left an upbeat message, telling Wally the plain glass would work fine in the new kitchen. She added that she hoped to see the family at the big auction tomorrow. And took a deep breath in relief.

  After carrying in the rest of the groceries, Annie cut herself a slice of Alice’s pumpkin bread, plopped down in a kitchen chair, and considered how she might best pursue Harold Stevens. Remembering Reverend Wallace’s suggestion, she reached for the telephone book and opened the yellow pages to the listings for assisted-living facilities.

  Annie found three listings and wrote them down, along with addresses and telephone numbers. Glancing at her watch, she saw there were still several hours before she was due at Alice’s for dinner. Why not do a little sleuthing this afternoon? Annie would have more to share with Alice over dinner. Taking the rest of the pumpkin bread with her, she stuffed the list into her purse and hurried out to the car.

  The biggest ad on her list had been for Seaside Hills Assisted Living with an address on Elm Street. Annie thought it might be located near the church and she was right. It was just up the street. Why hadn’t Reverend Wallace mentioned that?

  She parked out front and approached the wide double doors under a porch overhang. A silver-wigged woman sat in her wheelchair, fingering the strand of beads that lay across her chest. When she saw Annie, her face lit up and she smiled. “Are you here to see me?” the woman asked.

  “Well, I certainly am very glad to see you,” Annie said, stopping to chat. “I’m Annie Dawson. What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth. Elizabeth Taylor,” she said. “You’ve probably seen me in the movies. I was a big star at one time.”

  She spoke with such assurance that Annie wavered. After all, people do change over time. But this much? She examined the wrinkled face with the liquid brown eyes. It wasn’t her. The real Elizabeth Taylor was famed for her violet eyes. Besides, why would she be hidden away in Stony Point when all of Hollywood adored her? Not a chance.

  “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. Are you having a good day?”

  Elizabeth shook her finger at Annie. “I said that’s all. No more autographs!”

  “That’s OK. Maybe next time,” said Annie, adding, “Those are beautiful beads you’re wearing.” She moved toward the doors.

  “Aren’t they? I wore them when I made Giant with Rock Hudson.” Elizabeth oozed sweetness again. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

  Declining as politely as possible, Annie stepped inside to the reception desk. A young woman tapped on her computer keyboard. She stopped and faced Annie. “Welcome to Seaside Hills. I’m Tiffany. How may I help you?” It sounded like a well-rehearsed phone salutation that doubled as a face-to-face greeting.

  “I hope you can help me, Tiffany,” Annie said. “I’m trying to locate Harold Stevens and was told he might be residing here.”

  She shook her head. “That’s Harry Stevens’ grandfather, isn’t it? Sorry, not here. We had a Harold Warnock for a time. Nice old guy. But that doesn’t help, does it?”

  Annie didn’t want to waste the trip. “Do you have any other folks who have been lifelong residents of Stony Point? Maybe in their late eighties? Or early nineties?”

  “Do you have a family member here?” The receptionist’s response became less helpful. Protective.

  “Actually, I’m looking for information about my grandmother, Betsy Holden. She passed away recently, and I’m anxious to find folks who may have known her. Especially if they lived here in the 1940s.”

  Tiffany seemed to relax. “I see. We do have some lifelong Stony Point residents, but few will be able to speak to you. This is a fairly high-functioning facility, but many residents are unable to remember or even communicate because of one thing or another. Dementia, strokes, and so on.”

  “I understand,” Annie said, disappointed.

  “There is someone,” Tiffany said. “She’s been here all her life, and she’s about the right age. You may have passed her when you came in. Her name is Elizabeth.”

  “Ah, yes, Elizabeth.” Annie sighed. “Thanks.”

  “You must have talked to her already,” Tiffany said, a little grin playing over her lips. “Her name really is Elizabeth Taylor. She gets her dreams mixed up with real life sometimes. But if you guide her back to that time, she may have some information for you.”

  “I’ll do that.” Maybe Annie would end up with some information after all. She was about to leave when Tiffany spoke again.

  “Wait! Why didn’t I think of it before? I’ll just call his grandson Harry. My husband works on his fishing crew, so I know the number by heart.” Tiffany dialed as she spoke. “I’m sure Harry can tell us where his grandfather is staying.”

  “No, please. Don’t go to any trouble.” The last thing Annie needed was to make Kate think she was poking around into her family affairs or bothering old Harold Stevens. Not after the angry looks at the restaurant. “I can figure it out.”

  “No trouble at all,” Tiffany said, tapping her nails on the desk until the other party apparently picked up. She asked for Harry and waited again before identifying herself. “Mr. Stevens? Sorry to bother you, but I have someone here who is interested in finding your grandfather, to ask him some questions.” She continued to pour out information, including Annie’s identity as Betsy Holden’s granddaughter.

  Annie’s shoulders sagged. This couldn’t be good. She didn’t need another reason for Harry or Kate to be angry with her. Apparently there was already reason enough, though Annie was still in the dark about that mystery too.

  Tiffany ended the call, scribbled some words on a note, and held it out. “Here you go. Harold resides at Ocean View Assisted Living.”

  Annie took the paper, murmured her thanks, and escaped outside. She just hoped the episode wouldn’t create more problems with Kate. Meanwhile, she might as well see if Elizabeth kne
w anything about Harold or her grandparents. The senior still sat stroking her beads. Several lawn chairs encircled her at different angles. Annie dragged one up next to the woman and took a deep breath.

  “Hello, Elizabeth. I just heard that you are a long-time Stony Point resident.”

  “Oh, yes. Isn’t it a beautiful spot? I’ve lived here all my life, right in this house.”

  Not a good start. Annie tried again. “Do you remember a man named Harold Stevens? Maybe he was a friend of yours?”

  Elizabeth laughed out loud. “A friend of mine? No, he never noticed me, though Harold liked the ladies. He was sweet on that one gal. But I don’t remember her name.” She looked into the distance, as if reliving that time.

  Annie caught her breath. “Was it Betsy? Betsy Holden?”

  “Did you know Betsy too? She was a lovely girl. Married Charlie. Betsy and Charlie, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s--”

  “Got it,” Annie said, pushing back her disappointment, stopping the familiar phrase. She checked her watch, realizing she needed to leave or be late for dinner at Alice’s. “Thanks for the visit. Maybe I’ll come back and see you again. Would that be OK?”

  “That would be nice, dear.” Elizabeth’s brown eyes shone. “Next time, you’ll have to stay for dinner.”

  “Next time, I will,” Annie promised, waving as she headed toward the car. The visit had produced a good haul. She now knew where to find Harold Stevens. Though there wasn’t time to visit him today.

  But she also might have stirred up the fire with Kate.

  Should Annie have come at all?

  Still, she had met a movie star. With a clue. Harold Stevens loved the ladies.

  But what that meant to the overall picture created another mystery.

  15

  Saturday morning Annie slid her car into a just-vacated spot on the outer edge of the church parking lot. Celebrating such a piece of luck, she stepped out onto the pavement. Now, if her auction items made some decent money for the building fund, especially Gram’s pillow, this day would only get better.

 

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