Hearts at Home

by Lori Copeland

  Cleta Lansdown called a minute later, beside herself with grief: “I just talked to Olympia after supper last night. She wanted to know if I had a certain fat quarter she favored. I told her that I did have the fabric and I’d drop it by after church this afternoon.” Edith listened as emotion choked the woman’s throat. “I’ve said such hateful things about Olympia—”

  “Olympia wasn’t an easy woman to love,” Edith said, taking pains to keep her voice low and soothing. “We have all had unkind thoughts, but Olympia is at peace with us now, and I know she’d want us to rest easy about her.”

  “I don’t know—I wish I had apologized for some of the things I’ve said over the years. Now it’s too late. Micah always says we should live each day as if it were our last one, but I never realized how right he was till now.” Cleta’s voice dissolved into sobs.

  Hanging up a moment later, Edith realized that she had not been voicing meaningless platitudes. Olympia had been both friend and foe to every woman on the island at some point. She’d had a tongue sharper than a serpent’s fang and a will as stubborn as stone. But her absence would leave a gaping hole in every islander’s heart.

  Edith wandered into the bedroom and opened her closet door. The full-cut corduroy dress she’d planned to wear to church lay on the bed, but what would she wear to the funeral? Undoubtedly there’d be a few off-islanders present, maybe even some folk who had never met her. Olympia’s son was a hotshot Boston lawyer, and maybe he’d bring his wife. Edith would need to look good for Winslow’s sake.

  She stood before the rack of dresses, her gaze flitting over them until her eyes fell upon a black size eight—the stuff of distant memories. She’d paid more for that one garment than her monthly food budget at the time, but Winslow had insisted she buy the dress for a pastor’s banquet they had attended. She had looked nice that night, thin and svelte, and Winslow hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

  But she’d ingested buckets of clam chowder since then, and nothing but her shapeless winter dresses and stretch pants seemed to fit anymore. However, there was a nice dark blue suit in the back, a fuzzy wool coat and skirt that might do for the funeral… .

  She took the suit off the hanger, then shrugged her way out of her robe and nightgown. A moment later she eyed her image in the mirror and frowned in frustration. The button on the waistband wouldn’t fasten, and the fabric formed horizontal pleats across her abdomen. Tugging the skirt from her hips, she reached for another outfit.

  And another.

  The third, a skirt with an elastic waistband and a boxy jacket, ended up in a pile on the floor.

  Standing amid a heap of discarded clothing, Edith realized she didn’t have a single dressy outfit that fit. If she couldn’t find something to wear to Olympia’s funeral, what in the world was she supposed to do about Salt’s and Birdie’s wedding? The social event of the year was still eight weeks away, but the lovely peach dress she had wanted to wear was form-fitted and two sizes smaller than what she wore now. Worn only once to a teahouse in Boston, the Leslie Faye designer dress had silver-edged peach lace at the bodice, a tulip hemline, and a delicate rhinestone-studded bow at the hip… .

  If she tried to wear that dress now, that bow would look like decoration atop a sack of lumpy potatoes.

  Defeated and dejected, she sank to the side of the bed and bawled.

  Caleb stood on the porch, carefully playing the part of dignified butler as guests flooded into Frenchman’s Fairest. Maintaining a somber expression on this victorious occasion was one of the most difficult tasks he’d ever performed; fortunately, the sad faces of the islanders reminded him to be gentle and sympathetic. Though the reality of Olympia’s home going made Caleb want to crow with delight, he’d be less than loving if he allowed his joy to splash out on the shocked mourners around him.

  He had risen early to clean the house and prepare finger foods for the crowd he knew would descend that afternoon. Olympia’s silver gleamed from the sideboard, candles glowed on the dining room table, and the aromatic scents of pumpkin bread and coffee wafted from the kitchen.

  Olympia would be pleased.

  A motorboat from the funeral home had arrived at eleven to pick up Olympia’s mortal shell, so Annie was truthfully able to refuse the ladies who wanted to go up to Olympia’s room and weep over the woman who had been both the thorn in their flesh and the keeper of social order for so many years.

  Caleb had never been able to understand the human attachment to fleshly vessels, but after living inside a mortal body for many years, he had begun to understand the reason for their limited perspective.

  Inside the parlor, a group of women had gathered around Annie. “Alst I know,” Birdie said, her eyes red from weeping, “is Olympia de Cuvier always spoke plainly. If she hated your outfit, she’d come out and say so.”

  “Course she’d say so nicely,” Bea added. “In that cultured way of hers. But she never left you wondering what side of the fence she stood on.”

  “She had a heart the size of Texas,” Vernie said, coming into the room with a plate of sausage balls. “Too bad her purse was the size of Rhode Island. The woman was as close as the bark on a tree with her money—a right admirable thing, in my opinion.”

  “She wasn’t just tight,” Cleta said, lifting a knowing brow. “She’d been seein’ snow in the woodbox for a few years.”

  “Annie, honey.” Babette Graham drew Annie into an embrace. “We want to help. Charles says he’ll do a portrait of Olympia for the funeral if you want one. You can set it on an easel down front, right by the casket.”

  “We’ll help provide food for the wake,” Birdie added, taking a sausage ball from Vernie’s plate. “Cookies, rolls, finger sandwiches—whatever you want, sweetie.” She caught Caleb’s eye. “You won’t have to lift a finger, Caleb. Abner has already fired up the ovens.”

  Caleb felt the corner of his mouth twist as he watched the women nibble from the refreshments he had placed on the dining room table: sausages, crackers, olives, nuts, thin slices of cold cuts—all the things Olympia had bought for her surprise party to thank the town for their kindness.

  He looked toward heaven and smiled. You’re thanking them now, Missy.

  As he lowered his gaze, his eyes fell upon Annie, who was struggling to be brave. His young charge nodded to this woman and that and smiled through her tears as she accepted hugs and condolences. Edith Wickam stood by her side, one arm firmly hooked around Annie’s waist. “Winslow will do a beautiful service,” she was saying. “Olympia would be right proud. We understand she was fond of high church ceremony, and we’ll honor her wishes. I think I might even be able to dig up some candles in the basement. We have a wedding candelabra somewhere.” She pressed her fingertip to her chin. “I think.”

  Annie squinched her face into a look that made Caleb wonder if candles were proper decorations for a funeral, but surely the pastor’s wife knew what she was doing.

  Drawing a deep breath, he moved toward the knot of men who had gathered around the kitchen coffee pot. Once again, Dr. Marc was explaining the events of last evening. “By the time Annie found her, Olympia was gone,” he said, one hand wrapping around a ceramic mug. “There was nothing we could do. You know Olympia— for years Dr. Merritt and I have been telling her to watch her diet, but the lady was set in her ways.”

  “Stubborn as a mule, you mean,” Floyd interjected, winking. “I don’t mean no disrespect, ’cause Olympia’s heard me call her that many a time. But she was stubborn, and no two ways about it.”

  Leaving the humans to their discussions, Caleb moved to the back porch where his angel brothers had gathered. Zuriel, Abner, Micah, Yakov, and Elezar silently made room for him as he joined their circle, and an instant later he realized why none of them were speaking. Gavriel stood in spirit form at the center of the group, invisible to all but angelic eyes.

  “Caleb.” The angel captain’s voice rang with authority. “Congratulations on a job well done. The Lord commends yo
u for your excellent service to Olympia. She is celebrating in heaven with her loved ones, patiently awaiting the Resurrection.”

  Caleb lowered his head. “It is my joy to serve the Father.”

  “He knows.” Gavriel’s eyes burned brighter. “And it is nearly time for you to move to another place of service. By the end of this month your replacement will arrive to serve whoever is living in this house.”

  Caleb lifted his head. “Will it be Annie?”

  Gavriel smiled. “It is not for me to know. Annie must exercise her free will, though I trust you will do all you can to encourage her to be obedient to the Father’s leading.”

  Zuriel clapped Caleb’s back. “Well done, faithful servant.”

  The other Smith men murmured in agreement, then fell silent when Gavriel raised a hand. “There will be time for congratulations when all our work is done.” He lifted his gaze toward the heavens. “Until then, we have much to do, and Caleb still serves Annie.”

  His gaze melted into the butler’s. “Remain close to her side during the coming days, my brother. She is young and easily confused, and her heart is vulnerable from bearing so much pain in so short a time. Minister to her as best you can, and guide her with tender love.”

  Moved to the core of his spirit, Caleb nodded. “You know I will.”

  Edith returned home at 1:30; Winslow didn’t arrive until nearly three o’clock. When she heard his tread creak the front porch steps, she set her cross-stitch aside and stood to greet him. Her heart sank at the sight of weariness in his eyes. Usually a persistently happy man, today her husband looked drained.

  She gave him a hug, then stepped back to look up at him. “How is Annie holding up?”

  “Fine, I suppose.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Do we have anything to eat? I feel like I’m about to fall over.”

  “Didn’t you eat anything at Frenchman’s Folly? Caleb had food everywhere.”

  “I had no appetite.”

  “Follow me, then.” She led the way into the kitchen, then opened the refrigerator and brought out the egg salad sandwiches she’d prepared before church. “I’ve spent the last hour trying on clothes. I can’t find a thing to wear to the funeral.”

  He sat down, massaging the back of his neck. “You have a closet full of dresses.”

  “All too tight.” She set a plate before him, then paused to gently knead the tight knots along his shoulder blades. He bowed his head for a moment of silent prayer, then picked up a sandwich.

  Leaving him to eat in peace, Edith returned to the counter and eyed the remaining two sandwiches. She wasn’t hungry; she had eaten her fill at Olympia’s house. But, just to keep Winslow company, she could eat again. She could eat a sandwich, garnished with a helping of potato chips … or she could eat lettuce and do something practical about her poundage problem.

  Pulling a handful of lettuce from a plastic container, she tore the leaves into pieces, then dropped them into a bowl. A moment later she had found a half-empty bottle of low-fat dressing wedged in the back of the refrigerator. Uncapping the bottle, she smelled the contents, then drizzled a little over the shredded lettuce.

  After taking her place at the table, she picked up her fork and picked out the pieces of lettuce with the most dressing. Salad had never been her favorite food. Roughage put her colon in an uproar.

  Winslow stopped chewing long enough to speak. “Annie wants Olympia’s viewing tomorrow.”

  “So soon?”

  Winslow nodded. “The service will be Tuesday. Annie wants to keep it small since most of Olympia’s friends are here on the island. She made a few calls to family on the mainland, though.”

  Edith tilted her head. “What’s going to happen to the house?”

  Winslow chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then swallowed. “Annie’s inherited the estate, and it’s too soon for her to be making important decisions. I’ve counseled her to move slowly, take her time, and be sure of what she wants.”

  Edith frowned at her tasteless lunch. “Would you like cookies for dessert?”

  “Do we have Oreos?”

  Dark chocolate, creamy middle, just the right amount of crunch… .

  Edith stuck a forkful of green into her mouth, then spoke around it. “I think so.”

  She knew so; she’d eaten three with a glass of milk twenty minutes before he got home and she was still hungry enough to eat the legs off the table.

  Emotional stress gave her the munchies, but the next few hours wouldn’t be any easier than the last. Tomorrow she’d have to cope with the stress of attending Olympia’s viewing.

  Chapter Three

  The old grandfather clock was chiming ten on Monday morning when Edith heard Bea’s golf cart rattling over the graveled road. Eager to catch the postmistress, Edith hurried through the living room, her head bent as she tightened the back of a loose earring.

  She opened the front door just as the bell rang. Bea stood there, her eyes narrow and watery, a stack of mail in her hand. Edith opened the storm door to accept delivery, then smiled at the woebegone woman.

  “You look like you could use a hot cup of coffee.”

  Bea’s face crumpled. “I know the mail must go out, but my heart isn’t in it this morning.”

  Edith snorted as she tossed the stack of letters onto the foyer table. “I never get anything but bills and credit card offers, anyway.”

  Drawing Bea into the warmth of the house, Edith closed the door and led her into the cozy kitchen. She knew how Bea felt; she’d gone on her own crying jag an hour earlier. The close-knit town had lost two residents in a short time, and each death served to remind the islanders of their own mortality.

  She turned toward the coffeepot, then heard Bea sigh. “I haven’t come empty-handed—Birdie sent this with me, probably hoping I’d find someone to share it with.”

  Edith turned in time to see the postmistress pull a white pastry box from the depths of her mailbag. She groaned as Bea lifted the lid and the warm scent of cherry chocolate coffeecake washed over her.

  “Ohhhhhh.” Edith concentrated on the coffee mugs. “That smells good.”

  “It is good. Abner’s cakes are downright sinful.”

  Edith lifted the coffee cups and turned, then stared at the gleaming chocolate cake. Why not eat some? After all, this was a unique occasion … and she wouldn’t be eating, she’d be ministering. Maybe the sugar would lift their spirits. Besides, she hadn’t actually started an official diet plan yet, so this could be her day of “last suppers.” Like a condemned man who splurges on his last meal, she could eat everything she wanted today and begin her diet tomorrow. She’d wear one of her tentlike corduroy dresses to the funeral and still have nearly two full months to diet for the wedding. Plenty of time to lose a few pounds and fit into her peach dress.

  She’d be good … tomorrow. After the funeral, she wouldn’t feel like eating, anyway.

  Bea dropped into a kitchen chair as Edith pulled two plates out of the cabinet, then sliced thick wedges of dense chocolate, her mind momentarily flashing back to the sausage and waffles she’d eaten a little over an hour ago.

  This food was okay. It was part of the Last Breakfast.

  She’d be disciplined tomorrow.

  Bea sighed. “I can’t believe Olympia’s gone.”

  Edith set a plate before her guest, then handed Bea a fork. “I’ve always said I hope the good Lord takes me quick like that. Alive one minute, with the Lord the next.”

  Bea nodded, cutting into the coffeecake. “Sudden death is hard, though, on the ones left behind. Especially since Olympia went so soon after Edmund’s passing.”

  Edith stirred sugar into her cup. Two teaspoons; she wouldn’t deprive herself today.

  She cut a piece of cake with her fork. “Olympia and Edmund are together now. I know she must be some happy.”

  With tears in her voice, Bea lifted a forkful of chocolate coffeecake. “I suppose Winslow will be doing the service.”

  Edith closed he
r eyes as the rich chocolate melted on her tongue, then swallowed. “Ayuh. He will.”

  “I don’t suppose this crisis will interfere with Salt’s and Birdie’s wedding next month,” Bea said, slowly portioning off another bite. “I asked Birdie if she wanted to postpone the ceremony, but she said no. She and Salt don’t want to wait another minute.”

  A sudden realization struck Edith as she studied the postmistress—why, Bea wasn’t grieving only for Olympia! She had the look of a woman who had just lost her best friend, but Bea’s best friend wasn’t Olympia … it was Birdie.

  Beatrice Coughlin had moved to Heavenly Daze after her husband’s death to live with Birdie, her only sister. Edith knew Bea had considered the move permanent, never dreaming that Birdie would fall in love in the winter of her life. Salt Gribbon was a good man, and he’d make Birdie a devoted husband, but what would Bea do when Birdie moved out to the lighthouse? She’d be sitting by the fireplace in the bakery’s living quarters all by herself.

  Bea dragged the tines of her fork through the rich frosting on the cake. “I’m a third wheel now.”

  “Oh, Bea.” Edith leaned over to pat her hand. “You and Birdie will still be close. She’ll be coming to the bakery every day to run the business, won’t she?”

  “And I’ll be out making the mail run.” Bea’s eyes clouded. “Or selling stamps. Or answering angel mail. Birdie and I always had our special time together at night, after work.”

  Edith finished Bea’s thought. “But after the wedding, she’ll be up at the lighthouse with Salt and the kids.”

  Bea nodded, her chin quivering. Edith remained silent for a moment, giving the woman a chance to rein in her flighty emotions.

  “I’ll get used to it, I suppose,” Bea finally said, lowering her gaze to her plate. “A body can get used to anything, if they try hard enough. Changes are coming, I know, and I’ll just have to brace for them. Olympia’s gone, Annie will probably sell the house, and Birdie’s moving up to the cove. Who knows?” She let out a hollow laugh. “Maybe some nice looking rich fellow will buy Frenchman’s Folly and fall for me. I could find myself serving tea in Olympia’s parlor.”