by Donna McLean
The gentleman relented. He laughed. “A piece of pie would be nice, Ms. Tilda. Been a long time since I’ve had homemade blueberry pie.” He sat down at the table, then stood up gallantly and held out another chair. “Would you care to join me? Cut a slice of that for yourself before you leave.”
Tilda grinned and put a saucer with a huge slice of golden brown crust in front of him; the blueberries, still warm, oozing out inside sugary juice. “Let me find the forks and spoons and things, must be here somewhere, oh here they are,” she said cheerfully while she pulled out drawers and opened cabinets. She poured a cup of steaming coffee for the gentleman, placed it before him and then said with sudden feigned panic, “Oh my goodness! I believe that was Mr. McGrady hollering for Hannah!”
The lawyer, his mouth filled with blueberries and looking rather awkward and unsophisticated, tried to rise from the chair, but Tilda pushed him back.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Frederick, I will see to Mr. McGrady until Hannah gets back. You go on and enjoy that pie before it gets cold!”
She hurried out of the kitchen and up the staircase, leaving the lawyer alone at the table with a forkful of food in one hand, a full coffee cup in the other and a surprised expression on his face. He could have sworn he hadn’t heard a thing.
The spry lady knocked softly on the door to McGrady’s bedroom. She was met by a soft snore. “Oh dear. That will not do. Not after coming all this way to have a word with the man!”
She knocked louder, threw the door aside and said at the top of her voice, “Lach McGrady, you old catbird, how are you doing today?”
The old man wobbled his head on the pillow and opened his eyes, blinking them a few times. He rolled over to focus on the voice coming from the open door.
“What’s that? Who’s there? That you, Hannah? What you want?”
“It’s me, Mr. McGrady. I’m sorry to disturb you. Want me to go on home?” Tilda tiptoed toward the bed as though she were genuinely sorry for waking the old man from his midday nap. She fervently hoped he would be glad to see her.
He was.
“Well, Ms. Tilda MacArdan, come on in! I am tickled to see you again so soon. Give me a minute here to set up straight. These pillows are so full and fluffy, it’s like trying to stand up on a cloud. Right aggravating sometimes. Hand me that blanket there at the foot of the bed. I just cannot stay warm anymore, it seems. Wait a minute, I’ll holler for Hannah—”
“No, no, don’t do that, Mr. McGrady. Don’t holler! She had to run out to the market so I’m going to sit right here with you for a few minutes. Anything you need, I will be glad to get for you.” Tilda punched a few pillows and placed them behind the old gent, arranging the blanket comfortably for him.
“Is that a fact?” The old man, now wide awake and sitting upright, studied Tilda with shrewd eyes. “She just happened to be running to the store and you just happened to be passing by. Something like that?”
“Something like that,” the spry lady answered cautiously.
He threw back his head with a merry laugh.
“Tilda MacArdan! You are my second surprise visitor today! But you knew that already, didn’t you?” He leaned forward and winked at her in a conspiratorial fashion.
The lady didn’t say a word. She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to admit to being nosy, either. So she smiled kindly, and waited.
Lach McGrady laughed again. “Well, I’m right glad to see you, Ms. Tilda, I truly am. Matter of fact, something unusual has happened, and you’re just the kind of level headed, smart person I need to talk it over with.”
He cast a wary glance toward the door and abruptly fell silent, listening. After a long pause he spoke in a soft voice. “First of all, you go on out there and close the door to the outer room, and then you come back in here and leave that bedroom door open a little so we can see out. I want to be sure nobody hears this but you.”
Tilda nodded. She tiptoed around, closing and adjusting the doors as he commanded, then brought a wooden chair over to the bed and sat down next to it.
The old man continued to speak softly. “You seen a stranger in town recently, Tilda?”
“Yes, sir, I have seen a man in town, a fellow from up north.”
“That’s him, that’s the one! Came to see me this very morning. Barged right in, right past Hannah, even got past that long-faced bulldog of a lawyer!”
Tilda asked breathlessly, “What did he want?”
Lach McGrady laughed out loud. “What did he want? He wanted my estate and all my money to boot, that’s what he wanted!”
The spry lady’s face lit up. “He’s one of the twins, your very own grandson! After all these years! Is that who he is, Mr. McGrady?”
“Well, that’s who he claims to be!”
Tilda’s face fell, disappointed. “You mean he isn’t one of the twins, after all. I’m so sorry.”
The old man put his head on one side, winked at her and wagged a gnarled finger playfully. “Well, now, I didn’t say that he isn’t one of the twins. I didn’t say that at all.” He stopped, glared at the door and bellowed, “Hannah, is that you? Come on in, I’m decent!”
Tilda turned in the chair. A shadow spread out across the floor, sliding from the crack beneath the closed door of the outer room. She turned back to the old man and studied his face. Shrewd, she thought; he can’t see all that well but he still noticed there was someone listening.
The door opened and Richard Frederick’s gray head appeared. “Hannah has not yet returned, Mr. McGrady,” he said, both professional and apologetic. “I wanted to let you know that I’m about to leave; that is, if Ms. Tilda will be kind enough to stay until the housekeeper arrives.” He smiled at the lady.
“Sure she will, sure she will!” Lach McGrady said before Tilda could answer. “Frederick, did you get the letters I signed? And the codicil and the business contracts? Don’t you dare forget those contracts!”
“Yes, sir, everything is locked inside my briefcase and will be properly dealt with before I leave the office this evening,” Frederick said formally.
McGrady bobbed his head and leaned back against the pillows. “Before you leave, Frederick, you step in here a minute and tell Ms. Tilda who we met this morning.” His eyes twinkled as he squinted at the lawyer. “We got a big shock, didn’t we, Frederick?”
“Yes, it was rather surprising. I’m afraid it may not have been good for Mr. McGrady’s condition—”
“Just threw me for a loop, that’s all. I’m fine now. Get on with it.”
“Yes, well. Ms. Tilda, to be brief, it seems that a young man has appeared claiming to be one of the heirs to Mr. McGrady’s estate.”
“Claiming to be? You don’t believe him?” Tilda asked.
The lawyer cleared his throat in his best courtroom manner. “It is not,” he stated, “that I do not believe him. It is a matter of proof, definitive proof; that is all. On a personal level I would be thrilled to see Mr. McGrady reunited with his estranged family; however, as a lawyer it is imperative to protect my clients. Therefore, proof is necessary before accepting this young man’s claim. And he must also present the other twin; as the will states, without exception, that only both twins can inherit.”
“Well, that’s wonderful! All y’all need to do is get one of those DNA tests!” Tilda said, delighted. “Mr. McGrady, your kin may be right here in Sparrow Falls! Isn’t that exciting? Your very own grandson!”
McGrady laughed and slapped his knee. “Right here in Sparrow Falls, Frederick! Think of that!”
Mr. Frederick smiled and nodded. “Yes, that would be a wonderful thing, indeed. This is why I suggested that you proceed with the proper investigation and settle the matter once and for all, Mr. McGrady, with a DNA test.” He looked at the visitor, his expression downcast. “Unfortunately, Ms. Tilda, Mr. McGrady has refused.”
“You bet I’ve refused! No, sir, I have no use at all for all these newfangled ideas. Fancy medical tests can be rigged just like anythi
ng else, you bet they can!”
The lawyer shook his head, patiently. “We can take precautions against that, Mr. McGrady. It really is the best way.”
Tilda added her two cents worth. “It really is accurate, Lach, and then you would know for certain if he is Sarah’s boy—”
Old man McGrady reared up off the pillows. His face was convulsed with rage. “I think I will know my own kin when I see them! Lach McGrady does not need a test for that! No sir! I told that young man this morning to fetch his twin. I said, and I meant it, that when I see the two of ’em together, side by side and face to face, I will know if Sarah’s youngun’s are looking right back at me. That’s all I need for proof. To see them both together. And when that happens, the money will be theirs right away, and this here historical house and the rest of the estate will go to them after I die. That’s all I need to know!”
SIX
The next day the little town was already abuzz with rumored sightings of the twins and the possibility that they may soon be moving into the McGrady mansion. It still had not been announced, however, that they were definitely Sarah’s children. Lach McGrady’s stubborn refusal to have a DNA test was talked about all around town, from the barber shop to the hardware store to the library, from the grocery store to the sandwich shop and coffee cafe. Richard Frederick told the men at the country club that he kept insisting on the test, hoping to prove without a doubt that the McGrady family could be reunited, but that McGrady kept refusing. And the elderly eccentric had yet to meet with the twins.
“Mr. McGrady took a turn for the worse right after I was over there the other day,” Tilda explained to the Ladies Gardening Club. Addie was assisting them at the time, although she knew very little about plants and flowers.
The spry senior citizen and the strawberry blond circled the tulip bed on foot, carrying plastic watering cans and drenching the newly blooming flowers in the late afternoon sunlight. Magda, Peggy and Delcie watered the flowers on the opposite side and joined in the conversation from time to time.
“Seems like he hasn’t been up to receiving visitors lately. The doctor is afraid that the stress of dealing with two strangers claiming his inheritance would be too much for him to handle right now.”
Addie said, “Lach McGrady seemed like a feisty fellow to me! He can probably still take it and give it out, too.”
Delcie spoke up. “That is exactly what I think, Addie.”
“They should go on and see their grandfather now, if he is their grandfather. There may not be much time left!” Peggy said.
“Sounds like he is not long for this world,” Magda agreed melodramatically.
“Sad, isn’t it.” The strawberry blond held the watering can upright, stopping the flow of water, and gazed across the flower bed. It was a comfortable spring evening in the little southern town, and a mockingbird was singing carols while redbirds flitted from tree to tree along the quiet street. Most of the downtown businesses closed at six o’clock even though the sun was still shining, and this meant there was very little traffic at that time of day. “This flowerbed is perfect, Tilda! I like the way the Ladies Garden Club chose to do something so modern and unexpected. Alternating the yellow and pink rows like that.”
Tilda looked around, embarrassed. “Um, well, yes, it was rather unexpected,” she stammered.
“It makes the town look very youthful, I think,” Addie continued with admiration in her voice. “Makes a good first impression on visitors, this being the first place they see when they drive into Main Street. This flower bed and the new welcome sign clearly shows that Sparrow Falls is quaint and charming, but not old fashioned.”
Delcie called out, “We’re finished here, ladies.” She waved, and Tilda lifted a hand to wave back. The gossipy trio strolled off.
Addie turned to Ms. Tilda and spoke a little hesitantly. “Dane and I thought you might like to join us for dinner one night. At the Marble Garden.”
Tilda MacArdan’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “For dinner?” she asked. “At The Marble Garden? Me?”
Addie laughed. “Yes, Ms. Tilda, you! Dane suggested it and I agreed. It’s about time the two of you started getting to know each other. And he wants to take us to a nice restaurant, he says, for a change.”
Tilda took the empty watering cans and placed them in the trunk of her old red Rambler. She pushed the lid firmly, then again, as it always took at least two pushes to catch the latch.
“Well, I reckon that would be all right. When were you planning on going?”
Addie glanced at her cell phone. “In about an hour, actually.”
“Tonight! Bless goodness, I don’t know if I can get purtied up that fast,” Tilda protested.
“You don’t have to get purtied up,” Addie teased. “We’re just going to Pineyham. It isn’t New York City!”
The spry lady looked at the young redhead doubtfully. Addie couldn’t help smiling at the dismayed expression on Tilda’s kind face. “I can always ask him to take us some other night, if you’d prefer,” Addie said politely.
Tilda thought it over and made a quick decision. “No, tonight will be fine. Just fine!” she said. “In about an hour. But I better go straight home and change clothes.”
An hour later Dane Donovan rang the doorbell of Tilda’s cottage, scratched the top of Puddin’s head (thereby becoming instant friends with the little terrier), and promptly handed each lady a single rose; yellow for Tilda, red, she noticed, for Addie.
The strawberry blond placed the rose at the tip of her nose and gazed up at Dane coyly from beneath long eyelashes. He kissed her cheek and smiled tenderly.
Tilda frowned. “We had better leave right this minute or we will be out all night! Takes about thirty minutes to get all the way to Pineyham.”
Dane turned to Ms. Tilda and took the lacy pale blue cardigan from her hands. “Let me help you, my dear. My mother, rest her soul, always wore a sweater like this one, even in summer. She said that the air conditioning was always too cold in five star restaurants.”
“The Marble Garden is a fancy one. Those tall stone walls like an Italian village out of an old movie, and little tables outside and in, and beautiful statues all around! I never will forget. I’ve only been there once, with my late husband on our fiftieth wedding anniversary.” She sighed.
Addie noticed the sadness flit across Tilda’s face. “We can go somewhere else tonight. How about that little Mexican place near the country club? They have delicious food! Very authentic.”
“No, no, we will go to the Marble Garden. It’s about time I went back. Can’t just stay home all the time with my faded memories,” Tilda replied.
“That is very wise, Ms. MacArdan,” Dane said with solemn respect. “Tonight is a night for making new memories! Excellent memories!” He took her by the arm with a charming smile, and grabbed Addie’s hand with his free one. “Shall we go, ladies?”
Tilda MacArdan thought that although Dane’s vehicle was an SUV, it certainly was no family station wagon! The seats were ultra soft leather, the carpet was plush, and there were so many gadgets and shining lights on the dashboard that Tilda felt sure they could have flown to the moon and back if they had wanted to do so. She had been given the front passenger seat, and wondered if that was done out of polite respect or a desire to impress her. Dane Donovan certainly was polite, she would give him that much, but she was not entirely convinced that the reason for it was an honorable one. She noticed that Addie, however, seemed thrilled by the gallant attention he was bestowing upon Ms. Tilda.
The half hour trip to the nearby town was a pleasant one filled with relaxed conversation and gentle laughter, but every attempt by the spry lady to fish for personal information was rebuffed with subtle expertise. Dane Donovan was vague about his childhood, never saying exactly where he had been born or who his people were, other than a brief mention of a sister. Donovan changed the subject when Tilda politely inquired about his college degree, suddenly pointing out a “fabulous example
of antebellum architecture” as they passed it at sixty miles an hour! Tilda thought that she barely caught a glimpse of it and wondered if he always flew when driving. He talked freely of famous musicians he had met and celebrities he had photographed. Tilda did not recognize any of the names, although Addie seemed very impressed. With consummate skill, Dane turned the conversation to the subject of life in Sparrow Falls. Tilda found herself, almost without realizing it, telling him everything about her childhood and the people she grew up with.
They parked outside the restaurant and Tilda waited in the car while Dane opened the door for Addie, escorted her around the SUV, and then opened the door for Tilda. He offered the spry senior lady a hand so that she could easily make the long step out of the big vehicle.
The Marble Garden was the fanciest restaurant for a hundred miles, the scene of many society weddings and swanky parties ever since the late 1930s. Large cream colored and weathered stone walls sprawled outward on either side of the main restaurant, broken by arches and openings that gave the impression that an ancient Mediterranean ruin had been carefully transplanted to North Carolina. Beyond the numerous arches were very tall and ancient-looking statues of elegant women holding urns or gathering the folds of their carved silken garments in graceful hands. A marble fountain gurgled outside the entrance. Dane stepped inside the restaurant while Tilda and Addie paused to gaze in delight at the beautifully carved marble dolphins and fish that sparkled in the sunlit water.
The handsome man approached them with a smile. “It will be just a few minutes, ladies. Care to go inside? Or we can stroll among the statues in the garden.” He took Addie’s hand and led her along the stone path. Tilda watched them pensively, then followed from a discreet distance.