Lucy let the remark sit there. Hank still had some explaining to do.
“He really did us one hell of a favor. There were times I don’t think we’d have made it if not for that agreement.”
“So how do I figure into this?”
“The lease Dad and Sam signed expired upon his death.”
“And you need a new agreement from me.”
“I do.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me from the start? After what I saw today, I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’ll sign a new lease agreement.”
“Really?”
“Just be up-front with me, Hank, and we’ll be fine. Draw up the papers.”
“I have them in my car.”
“Get them now. I’m feeling generous.”
He rose and left for his car as Natasha and Dolly rushed down the stairs.
“Is that pizza?” Natasha asked. “Oh, I love pepperoni.” She picked a piece from the box and took a bite.
The door opened, and Hank strode into the kitchen. “Hey, kiddo.” He laid the one-page contract on the table and handed Lucy a pen.
“This is just a lease agreement?” she asked.
“Correct.”
“For how long?”
“Another decade. A dollar a year. I can leave it for you to read.”
She scribbled her name on the line. “As long as you’re straight with me, we’re good. And for once I like being a part of something bigger than just slinging drinks.”
Silent, he studied her, and for a moment she got lost in those eyes before she handed him the signed document.
“Lucy, draw Hank,” Natasha said. “He’s pretty good-looking for an old white guy.”
Hank cleared his throat. “Not so old.”
Natasha giggled. “Ancient.”
“I’m game if Lucy is,” Hank said.
Drawing could be an intimate exchange. When she drew someone on a Nashville street corner, she was giving them a piece of themselves—a glimpse into who they were at that moment. She’d just done that for Natasha. But to draw Hank, and to allow herself to study his features and his expressions, left her nervous and exposed.
With the two staring, for her to refuse would make something out of what really was nothing.
“Sure. Why not?” Lucy accepted.
She opened the pad and took a long sip of wine. On the Nashville strip she also drew caricatures, and in this moment she needed a laugh.
She drew quickly, sketching out his face and exaggerating his square jaw. She penciled in large, broad shoulders, and in one hand he was holding a bottle of wine, and in the other a strip of caution tape she’d seen him wrap around the well. The waves of the bay swirled in the background, and in the distance sat Winter Cottage. Glancing at Natasha, Lucy drew the girl’s youthful face with full expressive eyes and a wide grin. She added curls, and in one hand was a math book and the other a slice of pizza.
Natasha looked at the picture and immediately giggled. “Luceee.”
Hank didn’t try to look, but he sensed Lucy was lampooning them. “Can’t wait to see it.”
She turned the sketch around for him to see. “What do you think?”
“I don’t have a lantern jaw.”
“And did you see me?” Natasha asked.
“I did. But I don’t see Lucy. Where are you in the picture?”
“Draw yourself.” Natasha pushed the paper back toward Lucy to finish. “You have to be in our picture. And so does Dolly.”
“You heard the girl.” There was a dare in Hank’s tone.
She sketched herself with her crazy, long hair and a Nashville T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. Dolly ended up with a wide grin and a chew stick under her paw. Natasha giggled.
Hank also laughed. It was deep, rich, and warm. “Well done.”
“Can I put that up in my room too?” Natasha asked.
“It’s Hank’s picture,” Lucy said.
“It’s all yours, kid.” He grinned.
Natasha scooped up the picture. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll set up another video,” Lucy said, grabbing her glass as she walked.
“Don’t start without me,” the girl shouted as she ran up the stairs with Dolly on her heels.
Hank followed Lucy into the parlor, his footsteps defined with confidence.
She picked the next video in the stack. “I’ve already watched two.” She pulled sheets from more of the furniture and, with his help, set two more chairs by the old VCR and TV. Natasha whirled back into the room within moments and plopped in the chair by Hank.
Lucy hit “Play.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beth
May 22, 1988
Beth sits next to Mrs. B, looks back at the camera, and smiles. “Sunday tea with Mrs. B,” she says.
The older woman wears a blue suit trimmed with red brocade and tailored to fit her body perfectly. Her hair is twisted into a bun, and she’s wearing panty hose and dark, sensible shoes. “Why do you always wear that broach?” Beth asks.
“It was made for me by a dear friend, and I’m very fond of it.”
“What’s the design?”
“It’s a songbird.”
“Who made it?”
She is silent for a moment, and then an old secret rises up, and she says, “Jimmy. He was quite talented.”
“That’s ivory, right? Scrimshaw?”
“Many a seaman found hobbies to pass the time. For him it was carving ivory.”
“When did he give it to you?”
“A story for another day, child. Today I want to tell you about the wedding day.”
“For Mrs. Lawrence and Mr. Buchanan.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll get out of the shot.” Beth scrambles off camera. “Take it away, Mrs. B.”
Claire
January 20, 1916
On the day of the wedding, Claire rose early, still too annoyed and angry with Jimmy and Victoria for their poor choices of the other night. Victoria was a fool. She always would be. But Jimmy—Claire expected he would have had some common sense.
She moved to her window and looked out over the courtyard. There would be no hunting on this wedding day. She was disappointed when she didn’t see Jimmy gathering his group of wealthy hunters who so admired him. He was their pied piper, and they loved his tales of adventure.
Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she padded down the hallway to her workroom, where Mrs. Lawrence’s wedding dress hung on the sewing mannequin. She turned on the overhead electric light, which cast a warm glow over the rich satin.
The finishing work had been done at Winter Cottage in the early-morning hours when the house was quiet. This was the time she did her best work. Now, as she touched each pearl bead, pleat, and strip of ribbon, she recalled each morning when she had risen to just catch a glimpse of Jimmy traipsing off with his merry gang.
Yesterday, when she’d heard the hound dogs barking, she’d risen and watched for him. But this time he had looked up toward her window and their gazes met. Claire didn’t step back into the shadows or look away. It was Jimmy who yielded first.
Footsteps creaked in the hallway, and she turned to see Mrs. Lawrence standing in the doorway. Her long, dark hair, streaked with strands of gray, flowed around her shoulders in a dramatic flair befitting of her rumored theater past.
“It’s a work of art,” Mrs. Lawrence said.
“Thank you.”
“I know you put a good bit of yourself into the dress,” she said. “No one creates beauty like this without giving of themselves.”
“I wanted it to be perfect.”
“And it is.” Both stood in silence as Mrs. Lawrence traced embroidered songbirds. “Victoria came in late the other night.”
Claire didn’t respond.
“I’ve known the girl since she was seven. She’s impulsive and selfish. She’s lucky you were there to see her upstairs and that her father was too inebriated with spirits to hear he
r tiptoeing into her room.”
Claire kept her gaze on the songbird, wondering why Jimmy had allowed this to happen. Couldn’t he have been the one man to resist Victoria?
Mrs. Lawrence smiled and pushed a stray red curl from Claire’s face. “Men can be quite helpless around her. She knows it and uses it well.” She fingered a delicate pearl sewn into the waistband. “I’d also not judge any good man for a foolish mistake.”
“No, ma’am.”
Mrs. Lawrence stepped back from the dress. “Today has finally arrived.”
“Yes, and it will be beautiful.”
“Mr. Buchanan would not have wanted it any other way.” She squeezed Claire’s hand with the warmth of a kindred spirit. “I’ve not eaten in weeks in preparation for this day. I do hope Mrs. Latimer has prepared ham with her biscuits this morning. Now eat up and let us get this day started.”
The day was perfect. The sun was warm, the sky was a crystal blue, and there was not one cloud in the sky. A flock of geese flew overhead, honking a most perfect salute to the couple who loved the outdoors.
Claire was with Mrs. Lawrence in the back of the small stone chapel in town, fluffing the ivory silk. The pearls caught the morning light and glimmered like the waters of the bay.
Mrs. Lawrence was radiant and glowing in a dress that hugged her curves in such a way that erased decades and transformed her into a blushing bride.
Claire wore a green velvet dress, originally made for a woman in Newport who had changed her mind at the last moment. The seamstress in the shop had traded the dress for Claire’s help in a month of Sunday-afternoon sewing sessions. She’d been saving the dress for this day, wanting to make an excellent impression.
In the rich folds of an elegant dress, she wasn’t the lost little girl who’d been abandoned by this town. When she was dressed in her best, she was a worldly woman of substance and daring who could rise to any heights. She also hoped Jimmy Latimer would see her and dream of her for the next thousand nights.
Claire was the last to take her seat in the back row beside Mrs. Latimer, who wore her gray wool Sunday dress. Claire had crocheted a strand of lace and sewn it on her collar as a surprise. The older woman had fussed, said she didn’t need anything so fine, but she stood just a bit straighter.
Victoria and Robert sat in the front row. Victoria was dressed in a rich ice-blue velvet dress that fitted her trim waist. Brocade on the hem and cuffs added sparkle and set off her blonde hair and pale porcelain skin to perfection. Robert’s suit, like his father’s, was made of black broadcloth, and the frock coat, trimmed with satin lapels, pinched in a little at the waist. A freshly starched collar sat high, and his trousers were slender and sharply pressed.
When the ceremony ended and Mr. Buchanan kissed his new bride, Claire ducked out to signal the five horse-drawn carriages that awaited the wedding party. Jimmy stood by the last carriage, arms folded, a cigarette in his mouth. When he saw her, he dropped the smoke in the dirt and ground it out.
Since the night Victoria had appeared at the kitchen door, disheveled and with no sensible explanation for her whereabouts, he’d kept himself busy either at the lighthouse or with the early-morning hunters.
Applause pulled Claire back, and as the new Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan emerged and took their posts by the bottom step, Claire arranged the new bride’s tulle veil in a gentle waterfall behind her. The guests greeted husband and wife and then formed double lines. As the new couple moved through the cheering gauntlet, a flurry of rose petals fluttered around them.
Claire watched as Victoria walked past without so much as a nod and settled into the second carriage with her brother. Robert kept his gaze ahead, silent, almost brooding.
Claire approached the last carriage and paused by Jimmy. In a low voice, she said, “Victoria leaves a wake of sad, longing faces behind her. She’s claimed more men’s souls than I can count.”
Jimmy looked at her, his expression more quizzical than dark. “She’s not claimed me.” He set the step stool down in front of the driver’s seat. “I’ve got you in the front seat. There’s no room in the back.”
If he thought he was forgiven, he was wrong. “What about your mother?”
“She prefers the carriage’s interior.” He pulled off his gloves and offered his hand to Claire.
Claire refused his hand and climbed into the seat, taking care to arrange her skirts. Jimmy strode to the back and helped the others into their seats.
The carriage dipped as he climbed up on his side and took the reins. With a snap of his wrists, the horses began to move.
“You look nice,” he said.
Heat rose in her cheeks, and she was annoyed with herself for being so affected by a few sweet words from him.
“Is that a blush, Miss Claire?” His was the devil’s grin, and it had the power to make her knees weak.
“I’m pleased that you noticed how well I sew.”
“I suppose the stitching is all fine, but not a man here today was thinking about needle and thread. They were noticing how the dress looks on you.”
“I don’t want your flattery, James Latimer.”
The carriage wheels rolled through the sandy soil. “Then will you accept my apology?”
When she looked up, the too-confident grin was gone, and his blue eyes telegraphed longing. “I want us to be friends, Claire, now more than ever.”
“Why now?”
“Because I’ve received orders for a new ship. I’m to be a captain this time. When I got the word, I thought of telling you first.”
Knowing he was leaving softened all the anger she was desperately trying to cling to. “You’ve sailed before.”
“The war in Europe is going poorly, and it’s just a matter of time before America is drawn in.”
“But you’re safe. You’re a merchant marine. You’re not a combatant.”
“The U-boats don’t agree. They’re sinking ships all along the English coast. Their plan is to starve Europe of naval supplies.” He gripped the reins, and she sensed that nervous energy bubbled in him as it did in the younger male servants when the topic of the war came up at the dinner table.
“When do you leave?”
“A week.” He glanced toward her, his eyes bright. “I don’t want there to be anything bad between us.”
“Why can’t you just stay here?”
“And continue to lead the old men on their hunting expeditions?” he asked harshly. “My time here has always been considered temporary as I waited for my next ship.”
“You could make a fine life here. You’ve done enough, and everyone here doesn’t want to see any harm come to you.”
His jaw set into a grim line. “I want more, just as you do.”
Suddenly, she blamed Victoria for all this. She fancied he’d have stayed longer if not for that spoiled woman who had dallied, grown bored, and put him back on the shelf like last season’s frock.
An azure sky drifted past them as they made their way down the dirt road toward Winter Cottage. She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her low voice. “She’s not worth this. She’s not worth what that war will do to you.”
He wrapped the reins around his hands. “This has nothing to do with her.”
“Have you told your mother?”
“No. You’re the first, and now that I’m looking at your sour face, I’m sorry I did.”
Sadness tightened her chest, and she was forced to sit in silence for several minutes before she could bring herself to say, “I don’t have a sour face.”
“You look like you’ve bitten a lemon.”
Claire studied his proud, angled face, and she wanted to cup it in her hands and kiss him. She wanted to order him to stay here, where it was safe and far away from the madness of Europe.
She didn’t say any of that but huddled behind the silence that lingered between them.
They rode the rest of the way back to Winter Cottage and pulled up behind the other carriages. Mrs. Latimer and a kitchen girl
got out of the carriage, but Claire couldn’t bring herself to leave. Time with Jimmy had always been precious, and now it may be over.
She stared ahead, her hands gripping the purse she’d proudly chosen to match her dress. She twisted toward him, and he turned. Suddenly, she sensed an understanding between them that hadn’t existed. She didn’t care that he’d chosen Victoria over her before. All that she knew was that if she was going to kiss him, it had to be now. People would see, of course, but she would manage the whispers and gossips. “Who dares, wins.”
His seat creaked as he turned to her. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course.” She moistened her lips.
He watched the crowd of guests and servants vanish into the house. “Can you get a message to Miss Victoria?”
Her heart seized and she froze. “What?”
She didn’t want to talk about his affection for another woman. She wanted him to see her and everything she’d done today expressly for him. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell her I’ll marry her, if she’ll have me.”
“Shouldn’t you ask her this question directly?”
“I’ve tried to get her alone the last couple of days, but she’s avoided me.”
“She won’t marry you,” Claire said.
“The offer needs to be made.”
Victoria wouldn’t accept his offer of marriage because she was destined to marry money, and candidly, Jimmy was beneath her. She wanted the big church wedding that would be the society event of the year. She’d never be satisfied with a small country affair, holding a handful of winter flowers days before her sea captain husband left for his next voyage.
“I’ll talk to her tonight.”
As much as she wanted to stomp off, she didn’t. “Take care of yourself, James Latimer. Don’t take any foolish chances.”
When Claire entered the room, Victoria sat at her dressing table, looking into the mirror as she brushed her hair with a silver brush that had been her mother’s. Without the hints of rouge and lipstick, Victoria looked pale.
“I believe you have made your name today in the world of fashion. Everyone was talking about the dress you made for my stepmother,” Victoria said.
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