“Who’s Dory?” asked Olympia.
“Eudora West, your landlady.” Julia smiled at a confused Olympia. “Sit down and put your feet up. For such a little island, we manage to keep ourselves pretty busy. Try and get some rest before tonight. It will do you a world of good.”
Six
When she heard the car drive off, Olympia reached inside the canvas carryall and took out Miss Winslow’s clock and diary. These were her connections to home. The wooden case of the clock was warm from being in the sun. She looked around for a good place to put it and finally decided on a painted wooden bookcase on the far wall across from the front door. That way she would see it first thing when she came in, as well as from the chair by the window where she planned to do more than a little reading.
With that accomplished, she set up the cats with food and their litter box and left the cautious beasties to settle in while she explored the rest of the cottage for herself.
The larger, brighter bedroom was just big enough for a standard double bed and maybe one book, if she didn’t open it up all the way. She and Frederick would be in close company when he visited, but Olympia didn’t see that as a problem.
The kitchen had all the necessaries, only in miniature, and the shower in the bathroom had been designed for a very thin person.
Olympia retrieved the flowers from where William had left them and set them on the window sill behind the sink. In so doing she found a business card propped against the screen.
The Gingerbread Man
William F. Bateson
Prime Vineyard Properties
Sales, Rentals, Property Management
Olympia picked up the card and turned it over. On the back there was short note and a different telephone number. “If you are ever interested in owning property here, please call me at this number.”
Interesting.
From these multiple first impressions, it was likely that this assignment might be considerably busier than she had originally anticipated. On the other hand it would be a different kind of busy from the academic world, and that’s what she was looking for. Surely a pot-luck or two and a few church services, add a funeral to that, and the odd cup of tea with an elderly landlady would still leave time to relax, touch up her résumé and think about the future. Exactly what future, and with whom shall I share it?
She tried not to dwell on the subject of her distant daughter, but ever since she had received the letter saying Laura was pregnant and asking about Olympia’s medical history, even including a photograph, Olympia had begun to hope that this personal agony might one day be resolved.
She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back and dropped into the armchair beside the window. Alone in the warm quiet of her temporary new home, she was staring at the pattern cast on the tabletop by the sunlight coming through the lace curtain when she was startled back into the present by the sound of knocking behind her. Unwillingly, she pulled herself up out of the comfort and solitude of the chair and the sunshine and opened her front door to a diminutive older lady holding out a plate of cookies.
She inclined her head slightly as she introduced herself. “Good afternoon, Reverend Brown, I’m Eudora West, your landlady.”
Olympia’s mother would have described her as being no bigger than a minute, and it would have been an accurate description. The woman standing at the door was all of five feet tall. Her light brown skin and short-cropped, tightly curled white hair bespoke her African-American ancestry. She was wearing a pink and blue madras plaid skirt and a light blue blouse, and she had a pink sweater over her narrow shoulders. A pink flowered cane hung over her right wrist.
“May I come in and tell you about the house?”
“Oh, please. I’m not really moved in yet, but there isn’t that much to unpack. Looks like you’ve thought of everything I’ll ever need. It’s lovely. Here, let me get you a chair.”
Olympia glanced at the cane.
“Just for balance,” said Eudora West.
“Of course, Mrs. West, I was hoping I would have a chance to meet you before I have to go back out. William Bateson told me that you own the house.”
Eudora walked into the room, set the cookies on the table and settled herself in the window chair. Olympia cleared a place for herself on the futon and sat facing her first guest.
“Do please call me Dory, and may I call you Olympia? Mr. West died years ago, poor dear, and even when he was alive, I never did like being Mrs. Anyone. The name Eudora sounds like the hostess at a snooty white lady’s garden party. And just for the record, what else did Mr. William Bateson tell you about me?”
“Not much of anything other than you wanted to meet me and you were probably napping when we arrived.”
Olympia looked toward the kitchen and started to get up. “I’d make you some tea or something, but I don’t know what’s here. I‘ll need to go shopping. Would you like a glass of water?”
“Sit down, dear. I can get water if I need it. I know where it is. Let me tell you about the house and see if you have any questions about where things are and how they work.”
Dory ended her sentence with a half-smile and an upward lift of her chin. It was a charming and endearing gesture, and in that moment Olympia fell completely in love with this tiny, intelligent, fiercely independent wisp of a woman.
After they had gone over the particulars of the house with a little bit of island history and gossip thrown in for good measure, Dory gave Olympia directions to the nearest grocery store, which was less than a ten-minute walk from the house.
“I usually have cup of tea about this time of day, Olympia, if ever you’d like to come next door and join me.”
“That’s an invitation I won’t refuse. It just so happens I have an English gentleman friend who’s been educating me on the time-honored custom of afternoon tea. I’ll try and find some of my favorite teas while I’m shopping. Maybe you’d like to try some.”
“English gentleman friend?” Dory winked broadly. “I do hope you’ll introduce me when he comes to visit. I had an English friend once. I just love their accents.”
“That’s a promise, Dory. You’ll love him.”
She held up her right index finger. “If you do, then I’m sure I will.”
Olympia closed the door behind her landlady and recalled a not-so-nice cup of tea that had been intended for her almost a year ago. She shuddered and pushed away the thought. That was all behind her now. She was beginning a new life, and this was the first day. Olympia leaned back on the sofa and then shifted the pillows and lifted her legs so she could stretch out for a minute. Then she stretched out a little farther.
~
At home in Brookfield, Frederick was listening to the answering machine and carefully writing down the number that Olympia’s daughter left on the tape, but when he tried to call her and heard the cell phone ringing in their shared bedroom, he knew they had a problem. The only number she had given him was the church office number, and who would be there at this hour? Tomorrow he would call and leave a message if Olympia hadn’t called him before then.
~
At precisely five-thirty Julia Scott-Norton parked her green minivan outside the door, and right behind her, William Bateson pulled up in an ancient, dusty blue Volvo station wagon. Olympia looked at her watch and opened the door. She had been asleep for almost two hours and suspected she still had pillow creases in her cheek.
Julia waved through the car window, and William got out of the Volvo and walked up the path holding out the keys.
“Can you drive a standard shift?”
Is the pope a Catholic? “I’ve driven one all my life. They are getting harder to find, though. I’ll enjoy it.” She accepted the key and asked who she should thank for such an extended courtesy.
“Mary Mayhew, Leigh Mayhew’s great aunt. Six or seven generations of Mayhews have been coming to the church. She’s the most recent, and she’s close to eighty, but for heaven’s sake don’t tell her I mentioned
her age.”
Olympia looked out at the boxy old car and wondered which one of those six generations it dated from.
William caught the look and said, “Like the fabled Bostonian ladies who have their hats, Reverend, Martha’s Vineyard ladies have their cars. And let me tell you, a real island car is truly priceless and defies description.”
You’ve got that right.
Olympia nodded politely and walked down the path to where Julia was sitting in her own car. “Feeling more refreshed, Olympia?”
“Not quite yet. Would you mind giving me directions to the church? The day got away from me, and I’d like to have a quick shower and change my clothes before I meet people.”
Julia began to describe where the church was located, but before she could finish, William pulled a pen and paper out of his pocket and sketched out a quick map complete with street names and directional arrows. The man was amazing.
“Thanks, I’ll be there in two shakes.”
Olympia’s sudden shyness about meeting and socializing with a group a people she didn’t really know came as a surprise. She was used to mingling and making small talk at the college. So where did this come from? But any sense of awkwardness was immediately put to rest as she walked up the wooden steps and stepped into the soft golden light of the knotty pine interior of the chapel. It was beautiful. She was greeted by the sounds of clinking glasses and people in happy conversation. Leigh Mayhew was the first to wave enthusiastically without spilling a drop of whatever she had in her hand.
“I see you’ve found us. Here, first things first, let me get you something to drink, wine, beer, soda? Then we’ll start introducing you around.”
“White wine if you have it? I’m really looking forward to meeting you all.”
As if by magic, a man wearing chino shorts and a light blue golf shirt materialized out of the crowd and held out a generous glass of something pale and cool and decidedly alcoholic. Olympia sniffed and sipped. It was acceptable.
“And we are looking forward to meeting you, Reverend Brown. For such a little church we seem to have a lot of things going on. I’m Mike Herlihy. I’m the sexton, and my wife Deb is the church administrator.”
Olympia turned to the man speaking to her. “Oh, do please call me Olympia. And is this your wife?”
A slender woman with straight, dark blond hair and a wonderful open smile held out her hand. “I’m Deb. I’m only part time here at the church, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you settle in.”
Before Olympia could respond, William Bateson materialized out of the conversational clusters of people, slipped his arm though hers and led her away.
“My my, Olympia, that was a quick change. Now if you don’t mind, let me get everyone’s attention, and I’ll introduce you.”
He clapped his hands a few times, and people turned slowly from their nibbles and with glasses in hand looked expectantly toward the newcomer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here is our summer minister, Reverend Doctor Olympia Brown. Julia and I collected her and the cats at around mid-day and settled her into Dory West’s guest cottage, and now we are celebrating her arrival with one of our incredible community church pot-lucks and her choice of the finest of jug wine.”
William waited for the ripple of forced laughter to die down before he continued with his introduction. When he finished they all applauded, made greeting pleasantries and quickly returned to their own conversations.
Olympia thanked him and then walked over to where Julia Scott-Norton was standing apart and observing the festivities.
“Would you mind introducing me to a few people? I feel a bit awkward being new and just barging in on conversations.”
Julia looked pleased to be asked and steered Olympia to a group of people standing around the snacks table. As they drew closer she could hear snatches of a conversation about sailing and choppy water and other nautical terms she’d read about. She realized she didn’t know thing one about sailing, didn’t know the pointy end from the flat end of a boat, the star from the board, the mast from the plank. She did, however, have some familiarity with the significance of the sun being over the yardarm, and with glass in hand, she hoped it might suffice.”
“Well, well, and welcome to you, Reverend Olympia. Tell me, do you sail?” A tall sunburned gentleman wearing faded jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt with the mandatory tennis sweater tied over his shoulders extended his free hand.
Olympia took his hand and smiled. “The answer to your question is, I’ve never been on a sailboat in my life, but I’d love to be asked.”
“Well, I’m Jack Winters, and as of right this minute, with witnesses to prove it, consider yourself asked. I hereby invite you to go sailing with us tomorrow or the next day, if you already have plans, and the weather cooperates.”
He put an avuncular arm over her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze. Olympia didn’t like being touched, much less hugged, without permission. They did describe this place as being casual, but how casual is casual? She made herself relax and smile before responding.
“How very kind of you. I would love to take you up on your invitation, but I want to feel my way around the island a little bit. And then of course there is the Sunday service to prepare. Maybe next week or the week after, if I can have a rain check?”
Olympia moved out from under his arm and stepped back to a more comfortable distance as they were joined by a well tanned and slightly flushed woman.
“What about Sunday? “Hi, Olympia, I’m Janney, Mrs. Jack.” She gestured to her husband with her thumb. “Be careful of old Jack-in-the-box here, people have been known to disappear for days when he takes them out on that boat of ours. Bring a life jacket, a big stick and plenty of gin.” She turned toward the food table. “Now I do believe they are calling us to the trough.”
Olympia couldn’t say for sure whether it was the unevenness of the wooden plank floor under her feet or the press of people moving toward the extravagant buffet, but she thought for a moment that she saw Janney Winters stagger.
After filling her plate, Olympia found an empty seat at one of the long plank tables and was greeted by welcoming smiles and beckoning gestures and encouragement to try a little bit of everything. When she got up to go back for seconds, Leigh called out and told her to make sure to save room for desserts—plural. The wine and the promise of abundant calories to come were turning this into a very pleasant evening indeed.
By the time she was well into a wedge of strawberry chiffon pie, William Bateson stood and tapped the side of his coffee cup to get everyone’s attention. Olympia noted a few shiftings and rollings of eyes as he did so and added this to the growing collection of things to ponder when she got home that night.
When the place grew quiet he made a few housekeeping announcements and then called upon Julia Scott-Norton to say a few words. She looked casually elegant, as so many of the women there did. Tonight she was wearing beige slacks and a yellow linen blouse topped by a long-sleeved beige jacket. She turned and smiled over to where Olympia was sitting before beginning to speak.
“I’m sure a few of you have had a chance speak with Olympia this evening, but there are still many who have not, so I shall be hosting a little tea at my house for just the ladies of the church tomorrow at three in the afternoon.”
Olympia glanced over to a frowning Jack Winters, who made an ocean wave action with his right hand and then crossed his two hands in front of his face which she understood to mean they would not be sailing tomorrow. Olympia responded with a slightly regretful smile and a giant internal sigh of relief.
Julia beckoned to Olympia to join her, then asked, “Is there anything you’d like to say before we start clearing up?”
Olympia wasn’t so sure she liked being the center of attention, but for now she would go along with what was asked of her. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t be so tired, and things wouldn’t be quite so new. She patted her lips with a paper napkin and stood.
“Let
me start by saying how full I am of all your good food, and thank you so much for respecting my vegetarianism. I’d love to have the recipes.”
This was received with several appreciative murmurs, nods and smiles.
“I’ll do my best to learn your names, but for the next few days please remind me again when we meet. I’m delighted to be here, and I guess I’ll see many of you ladies at tea tomorrow.” So much for a day to myself!
“So now you know Julia, our lovely president.” Olympia turned to find Leigh Mayhew beside her. “She’s a real steel magnolia. Tough as nails and good as they come, and she gets things done. I guess she’s a mixed blessing. Nobody wanted to be chair of the board, too political.” Leigh leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Too many secrets and too many skeletons in the island closet, but don’t tell anyone I told you. I’ll see you at tea at precisely three in the afternoon.”
Then she winked, held up her hands and whispered. “For the record, I’m not wearing white gloves, and I’m unsure whether I’ll even wear a bra. I will, however, wear a big untidy hat.”
With that, Leigh was up and gone, and Olympia was left trying to stifle a fit of giggles and wondering what in heaven, or hell, this place was really like and what kind of an adventure would be in the learning of it.
~
Alone in the empty antique farmhouse in Brookfield, Frederick was putting together his own version of supper: a room-temperature bottle of beer, a slab of overripe cheddar that smelled like an old sock, and two slices of homemade bread, followed by a second beer. This was not how he had envisioned his summer, but life happens, and you damn the torpedoes and get on with it, don’t you? At least that’s what his red-haired mother had said when he whined about something. Even though Olympia was separated from him by thirty or so land miles and seven water miles, she was still one hell of a lot closer than she was when he was in England. He would surely get in touch with her tomorrow, and if he finished up in the garden, maybe he’d surprise her and come down a day or two sooner.
A Despicable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 3