by Carol Voss
* * *
Della’s place was humming, the buzz of conversations and clatter of dishes deafening. Tony sat across from Maggie in a back booth waiting for Hannah to bring their suppers. Maggie had asked him to meet her. Actually, it had bordered more on a command than a request. She must be having a bad day. “You saw Nonna?”
“I tried, but she was asleep at 4:00 p.m.”
“I took lunch to her,” he said. “She actually seemed to enjoy it, and we looked at one of the old photo albums I took from the attic.”
“Really?” Rather than looking pleased, she frowned at him suspiciously.
His defense mechanism began clicking in, and he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve suspicion. “The picture album was such a hit, she wouldn’t hear of taking a nap until we looked at another one.”
Maggie drew in a breath and let it out a little too carefully. “Jim said she’s developed a cold and is running a low-grade fever.”
“You think I tired her out too much?”
“I don’t think you made her sick, if that’s what you mean. But Jim said she’s fretting about a lost picture and worried you’ll leave without telling her. What happened, Tony?”
He pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to think his way through an unexpected quagmire. Maggie hadn’t come out and accused him of upsetting his nonna, but she didn’t have to. He got the picture.
“What happened?” Her voice shook. With worry? Agitation? Or restraint?
“We had a good time. We talked a little about my growing-up years, she helped me understand my dad a little—”
“Your dad?” Maggie gave him a look that clearly questioned his sanity.
He lifted a hand to slow her down. “I know what you’re thinking…but it was good…good enough that I managed to ask her to forgive me, and she did. In fact, if she hadn’t looked for the picture to show me, she might not have even noticed it was missing.”
“What picture?” Maggie frowned.
He looked down at the table. “The one we saw in the attic.”
“Of you and your parents?”
He nodded. “I took it out, for some reason. Do you think she was more upset about that picture than I thought?”
“Did you mention going back to South America?”
He shook his head. “Neither of us did. I specifically told her I was going to find the picture. I don’t remember telling her I’d see her tomorrow. I should have told her that, shouldn’t I?”
“You need to make it clear you’ll tell her before you leave.”
“I will.” God knew Maggie understood the torture of loved ones being gone without her having the chance to tell them goodbye.
“Dr. Peterson doesn’t want her doing therapy for a few days until her cold clears up.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “She’s going to be so discouraged. And with you leaving…I don’t know what I’m going to do to keep her from giving up.”
“She’s a fighter, Maggie. She’s not going to give up. You have to believe that.”
She took a sip of water. “I do…when I remember to put everything in God’s hands and leave it there.”
“Not an easy thing to remember sometimes.” He dragged a breath and decided a change of topic might help. “Too bad they’re out of your favorite custard pie again. I’d like to see if it lives up to your endorsement.” He realized unless he came here for breakfast tomorrow, this would be the last time he ate here for a good long time. “I’ll cook tomorrow night, okay?”
“Okay. Tomorrow will be your last night before you go back to your jungle.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed, hating the thought of leaving Maggie. Especially when he still hadn’t found a way to get past her logic glitch about the old house.
“How’s Stella?” Della hustled by, a steaming plate of food in each hand.
Maggie shook her head.
“I’ll be right back.” Looking concerned, Della delivered the food to two teenage girls wearing Noah’s Crossing softball shirts and caps.
Tony gave Maggie a serious look. “Whatever you tell Della will be broadcast all over town. You do know that, right?”
“That’s the idea. We depend on her to know what’s going on in town and to keep us informed.”
Tony grunted as if he understood. He didn’t.
“Stella isn’t doing so well?” Della was back, apprehension in her voice.
“She has a cold and can’t do her therapy,” Maggie explained anxiously.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No. We need to do everything we can think of to keep her from getting discouraged.”
“People are sending cards. I’ve told them that you said she needs rest and therapy right now. But maybe a few of her friends could stop in to help cheer her up. What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Maggie frowned.
“She needs time to recover,” Tony said simply. “Seeing people will tire her out.”
Maggie nodded. “But she used to see her friends when she did errands or met with her church groups. I’m sure she misses them.”
“There’s nothing like a familiar face and a warm hug,” Della said.
“Hmm,” Maggie murmured. “Maybe if somebody stopped in for five or ten minutes in the morning and afternoon. That would give her plenty of time for rest.”
“I’ll be happy to talk to Jim about timing and keep a schedule here for people to sign up,” Della offered.
“That’s very generous,” Maggie said.
The bell by the cash register pinged, alerting Della that a customer was waiting to pay for food. “You two think about it.” Della hustled away.
“I’m sure Stella would love to see her friends,” Maggie said.
He wasn’t convinced.
“When either of us is there, she seems to perk up. But obviously, we can’t be there all the time. And when you leave…well, we know she won’t take that well.”
Hannah set plates of roast beef, potatoes and steamed vegetables in front of them.
“Thanks, Hannah,” he said.
Hannah’s chubby face lit in a smile. “If you need anything else, let me know.” She walked away, more confidence in her demeanor than he remembered. Good for Hannah.
He cut a slice of beef, took a bite, added pepper. “Do you really think her friends would stick to a schedule and stay only five or ten minutes?”
“We’ll tell Della to stress how important it is that they not tire her.”
“You have more faith in people than I do.”
“I’ll ask the aide to keep her eye on the clock when people visit. But these people are her friends, Tony. They have her best interest at heart.”
He guessed that’s what friends did, didn’t they? “But I think we’d better run the idea by her doctor first. If he gives it a thumbs-up, let’s give it a try.”
“Good.” She picked at her food as if she didn’t have much of an appetite.
Tony took a drink of his soda, set down the glass and decided to wade in and find out just how bad her day had been. “How did your meeting go?”
“Not so good.”
“What’s wrong with those people? They, obviously, don’t know good landscaping.”
Her gaze darted nervously to the table.
Was she hiding something? “The meeting wasn’t with a potential client?”
“It was with a loan officer.”
He squinted. “Please tell me you didn’t ask him for a loan to fix Nonna’s house.”
She gave him a guilty frown and set out to explain an elaborate scheme to use the potential of a rose as collateral for a loan.
He’d never heard anything so ridiculously speculative in his li
fe. “Did you get the loan?” he asked as calmly as he could.
“No.” She lifted her chin. “I guess I might just as well tell you all the bad news while I’m at it. I’ve called several banks in Eau Claire, too. They’re not interested in loaning me money either.”
He gave her the most sympathetic look he could muster. “When are you going to stop beating your head against a rock?”
She met his gaze and held it. “You’re absolutely no help when you ask a question like that.”
“Help?” He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “You’ve flatly turned down my offers of help.”
She huffed and shoveled in a huge bite of food, as if her appetite had suddenly picked up.
Too bad he’d lost his. He had one day left to convince her the old house was a total wash. One day. Not too likely when he’d already given her his best arguments and wasn’t coming up with any new ones. Maybe he should get a clue that she wasn’t listening to him.
Wait just a minute. She wasn’t listening to him. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t listen to somebody else…necessarily. Especially if that somebody was an expert on old houses.
Like Jack Celenti.
The last Tony heard, Jack had slunk off to Minneapolis last year to nurse a bad case of malaria. Minneapolis was practically in their backyard…relatively speaking. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
“I have a meeting with Senator Benson’s wife at three, which reminds me, I need to get home and finish the plans I’m drawing for her. But I should be free by four or so. Why?”
“I know a guy who loves old houses and knows them like the back of his hand. I think he’s currently living in Minneapolis. I’ll give him a call, see if he can drive over tomorrow for a quick reunion and a house assessment.”
She studied him, her fork poised halfway to her mouth. “You’d do that?”
“Unless you’re ready to change your mind about the house?” He raised an eyebrow.
She gave him a serious stare.
He sighed resignedly. “Well, then…I’ll give the expert a call.”
Chapter Ten
“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. McGuire.” Senator Benson’s wife swept into the sunroom like a regal delphinium, tall and flouncy and all in bright blue. “I’m very excited to look at the plans you’ve drawn for my rose garden.”
Smiling in greeting, Maggie shook the woman’s offered hand and held out the roses she brought for the senator’s wife.
“What exquisite roses. The coral-pink color is so unusual.” Mrs. Benson took a deep breath. “And the fragrance is lovely.”
The Salvatore roses were weaving their charms just as Maggie hoped they would. “They’re my gift to you. I thought you might enjoy them.”
“I certainly will. As you know, roses are one of my passions. Please, sit down.” Mrs. Benson sat. “Thank you so much for the roses.”
“You’re very welcome.” Doing her best to calm her racing mind, Maggie laid her sketchbook and notepad on the glass-top table, perched on one of the cushioned chairs and began spreading out her designs for easy viewing.
She hoped Mrs. Benson also loved the rose garden drawings that she’d stayed up half the night to finish. But whether the lady loved the roses or the sketches wasn’t what had her so on edge.
It was obvious bank loan officers weren’t lining up to give her a loan based on future earnings of the rose. But on the way to Rainbow Lake, the wonderful scent of the Salvatore roses filling her truck had given her a lightbulb idea.
What about a private backer?
Mrs. Benson seemed made to order, and this appointment gave Maggie an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. Not only did the senator’s wife adore roses, but she also seemed wealthy enough to wait for the investment to pay off. If Maggie signed over future rights to profits, she could claim a salary above and beyond the costs for propagating the rose. And voilà. No more cash flow problems. No more trouble getting a loan or paying it off.
She’d have to be extremely tactful in her timing and choice of words when she presented her need for a financial backer. She didn’t relish the possibility of embarrassing herself. Or even worse, Mrs. Benson. “As you can see, I’ve done three sketches of possible layouts for the rose garden, incorporating ideas we talked about.”
Mrs. Benson donned the glasses hanging from a gold chain around her neck and peered at the first sketch. “Very nice.”
“I’ve attempted to convey a different shape and flow in each design, but any of the elements you like can be worked into the final plan.”
While Mrs. Benson took her time to study each sketch, Maggie nibbled discreetly on a fingernail and tried to calm her mind for her little spiel about the Salvatore rose.
Finally, Mrs. Benson pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “You’ve captured the ambience I love in all three of your designs, but I believe I prefer the second one. I like the way the trellises and arbors draw the eye up. I also like the flagstone walk, the benches and the quaint little fountain you show in the other drawings.”
“All those elements will work together beautifully.” Maggie made notes, appreciating Mrs. Benson’s eye for detail. Many of her clients hardly glanced at her carefully laid-out designs, preferring not to be bothered with the particulars.
“I see you have identified the roses by name, color, bloom time and intensity of fragrance. But I don’t see this lovely coral-pink rose you brought me today.” Mrs. Benson peered over her glasses at Maggie. “It is an exceptional one. I want it planted near the benches to allow guests to enjoy its fragrance.”
Maggie had trouble containing her smile. Mrs. Benson had fallen in love with the Salvatore rose. Whether she’d be interested enough to become a financial backer for its propagation was the question. A question Maggie had to find just the proper way to phrase. “It’s a magnificent rose, but it hasn’t been propagated for commercial use.”
Mrs. Benson frowned in puzzlement. “I hope it isn’t too delicate for this climate. The roses are so fresh, I assumed you’d just cut them.”
“The rose was bred for northern Wisconsin’s climate. And yes, I cut them just before I brought them to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Careful, she told herself. She couldn’t afford to gush or appear too excited and blow her professional image. “The Salvatore rose grows exclusively in a private garden near Noah’s Crossing.”
Mrs. Benson shook her head. “What a shame. It’s a wonderful rose. What a rare gift. Thank you again.”
Maggie smiled. Rather, she beamed. She’d never have a better opening. “A good friend and her late husband bred the rose years ago. I recently talked to her about my developing it. She’s very interested, but we need a financial backer to make it happen.”
Mrs. Benson’s eyes widened in a look of surprise. “I see.”
Maggie almost cringed. Had she offended the lady by stating her need so succinctly?
“I’d be very disappointed if I couldn’t have that rose in my garden.”
Just as she’d hoped Mrs. Benson would feel. “This season, I could plant an inexpensive rose near the benches, anticipating the availability of the Salvatore rose in the future.”
“There’s no chance it will be available this summer?”
“I could get one or two plants. But it will take a season to propagate more. And I’m afraid I can’t do that without a backer.”
A tiny frown creased Mrs. Benson’s forehead. “I’d be very interested in backing you myself. Unfortunately, I’ve taken on my quota of projects for the next couple years. I would like you to reserve spots in the garden for the rose in case you find a backer, though.”
“I…I…understand.” She struggled to keep her expression from showing her disappointment. “I’ll draw up a plan
incorporating your preferences and call to schedule another meeting for your final approval.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you.” Mrs. Benson stood.
Maggie got up, gathered her sketch pad and notebook into her portfolio. Hands shaking, she tried to steady them, not wanting Mrs. Benson to notice. She’d have to find another rose enthusiast to fund the rose.
If only she knew of one.
* * *
Sun blazing across the western sky in an orange-streaked sunset, Tony and his old friend Jack Celenti sat on the back steps drinking lemonade and catching up on news. Tony’s head jerked up when tires crunched gravel.
Maggie’s Suburban pulled to a stop in the driveway. She slammed the door shut, and walked toward them, confident, self-possessed, irresistible.
Both men climbed to their feet.
She stopped in front of them.
“Maggie, this is Jack Celenti. Jack, Maggie McGuire.”
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Ms. McGuire.” Jack grabbed Maggie’s small hand and pumped it with vigor. “How come you didn’t tell me she was such a beauty, Stefano?”
Tony drew in a long breath. Jack’s fancy for women usually amused Tony, but Maggie could be put off by him.
Her lips turned up in a tired little smile but her assessing brown eyes never flickered. “It’s nice to meet one of Tony’s friends, Mr. Celenti.”
“The pleasure is mine, little lady, believe me.” Jack grinned.
“Subtlety escapes him, but Jack’s a genius when it comes to old houses,” Tony said.
“At your service.” Jack did a flamboyant bow.
Tony couldn’t help chuckling. What a ham.
Maggie set her oversize briefcase on the bottom step, her shoulders drooping a little.
“Rough day?” Tony asked.
“You might say that.”
“Mrs. Benson didn’t love those great designs of yours?”
“She liked them.” A little frown clouded her eyes. “I stopped to see Stella on the way home. She’s not doing so well, but Dr. Peterson thinks short visits with friends could help her state of mind.”
She sounded exhausted. The last thing she needed right now was Jack’s analysis of the house. But Tony couldn’t put it off. Not when he was flying out tomorrow. She and Nonna needed a place to live that wasn’t falling down and too expensive to fix. Hopefully, a little dose of reality would convince Maggie of that. “I stopped to see Nonna this morning,” he said. No need to mention that Nonna barely woke up to greet him.