Maggie dropped to one knee, held out a hand, and coaxed the animal to her. “Well, who are you?” Maggie spoke softly to the dog. “No collar, no tags. Do you belong to somebody?” The small female terrier mix, white with brown markings, sidled over to her and firmly planted her muzzle in Maggie’s lap. “You are a soppy mess,” she said. “Let’s get you dried off. Are you hungry?”
Maggie scavenged a towel from the closet off of the laundry room. “Okay—let’s get you fed. I don’t have any dog food, and we are snowed in at the moment, so you’re going to get people food. Don’t get used to it.” As the dog practically inhaled the remainder of last night’s chicken, Maggie decided that unless she belonged to someone, she was going to keep her. Paul always threw cold water on Maggie’s desire to have a dog—they traveled too much, worked too many hours, it wouldn’t be fair to the animal, on and on. In truth, he wasn’t a dog person. And she always suspected that she was. Maggie now had a new companion for her new life. She named her Eve.
Maggie dusted off the coffee maker and filled a solid stoneware mug with a large cup of strong black coffee. She summoned Eve and they headed upstairs to choose the bedroom and bathroom that she would settle into.
After narrowing her favorites down to the two bedrooms at either end of the house, she selected the large room that ran the width of the house along the east side, with shuttered windows on three sides, a cozy fireplace, and a generous marble bath. The morning sun sought every corner and painted the space into an Impressionistic prettiness. What a pleasure to make a decision based solely on what I want, without considering anybody else, she realized. Removing the sheets from the furniture and cleaning would have to wait. Right now she wanted to grab a quick shower and change out of the clothes she had slept in. The hot water was plentiful. She stood in the steamy shower and allowed the water to wash away the recent gloom that pervaded her.
As she was pulling on an old pair of jeans and a sweater, she heard a snowplow laboring up the drive. She grabbed her shoes and raced down the stairs, with Eve keeping pace.
Maggie threw on her coat, wound her scarf around her neck, and stepped out the front door as the plow finished clearing the turn-around in front of the house. The driver didn’t see her signaling him to stop and proceeded back down the driveway. She was looking forlornly in the direction of the retreating plow when an old pickup truck slowly made its way up the drive. Maggie recognized the driver. Sam had come to check on her. She smiled and waved as he pulled up.
“How’d you get along last night?” he called as he stepped out of his truck. By his tone, she knew he had been worried about her. “Did the furnace hold up?”
She assured him that all had been just fine, with lots of warm air and hot water. “I’ve already had a visitor this morning. Come inside and meet Eve” she said, and told him about waking up to find the dog outside in the snow.
“Well ... how ’bout that. It’s a wonder she survived,” he noted as he scratched Eve behind the ears. “I’ve never seen her before. I don’t think she belongs to anyone around here.”
“Good, because I’d like to keep her. Will you watch for any lost-dog notices? I’ll contact a local vet and check online to see if any dogs have been reported missing, and if not, she’s my new roommate.”
“This place is seeing more life than it has in years,” Sam declared. “Here’s some banana bread, yogurt, and fruit from my wife for you. We don’t want to impose, but we’d like you to join us for dinner tonight. She says you have a lot of cleaning to do in your kitchen before you can use it.”
Maggie acknowledged that his wife was right about that. “This is all very kind of you,” she said, gesturing to the goodies she was holding. “But you don’t need to have me over for dinner. I’ve got groceries.”
“Joan would really like to meet you. Once word gets out about you staying on at Rosemont, you’ll be the talk of the town. And we’ll be able to say that we know you,” he said with a wink.
Maggie laughed. “I’ve never been ‘the talk of the town’ before. I assure you, I’m very boring. My time in the limelight will pass quickly. But I’d like the opportunity to get to know you both and my new hometown better. So thank you. I’d love to come to dinner.”
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I’ll pick you up at four o’clock, dinner is at five—if that’s okay. We like to eat supper early on Sunday night.” He turned to go, stopped, and looked back at her. “I have a fairly open schedule next week, so if you need any help or need a ride anywhere, just let me know.” With that he stepped outside and headed back to his truck.
“Okay, Eve,” Maggie said. “My first social engagement is on the books. What shall we do until then?
Maggie took Joan’s care package to her new bedroom, broke off a generous piece of the fragrant bread and shared it with Eve. Eve selected a spot in the sun slanting onto the fireplace rug, circled three times, and settled in for a morning nap.
Maggie set to work with a vengeance, uncovering the furniture and dusting, scrubbing, and vacuuming every surface. She lost herself in the task at hand—restoring order to her new environment was cathartic. If her emotional life was in turmoil, at least her bedroom was clean. And for now, that was enough.
It was three thirty when she finished—just enough time to dig out something a bit more presentable to wear to dinner and to dash off a text to Susan and Mike that she was fine, the house was great, and she would call them later that night.
***
Sam arrived promptly at four and insisted the invitation included Eve. Delighted to be in a car, Eve leapt onto Maggie’s lap, and they set off through the bright, clear afternoon. The snow had stopped and the landscape was iridescent.
The Torreses lived on the other side of the town square. Westbury was the county seat and home to some forty thousand residents. The square was dominated by the county courthouse, an imposing building of indigenous limestone in the grand style popular in the late 1800s, with sixty-foot columns flanking the entries at both the north and south sides and ringed with carved figures along the top. The limestone was tarnished with soot and the ravages of age, but the courthouse was still beautiful. It was surrounded on all four sides by a generous lawn and a row of stately oak trees. An old-fashioned bandstand stood on one corner of the lawn.
“How charming,” Maggie commented. “Does that bandstand actually get used, or is it just for show?”
“We use it,” Sam told her with pride. “April through December. We have band concerts, choral groups, Wednesday-night cloggers. You name it.” He glanced at Maggie. She smiled in encouragement and raised an eyebrow. Sam warmed to his topic. “If you don’t know, cloggers are sort of like country western tap dancers. If you’ve never seen clogging, you’ll be amazed. You might want to try it. It’s a lot of fun. And they hold big country western dances on the square. Joan and I attend those. They have craft fairs three or four times a year. And the courthouse is decorated with more holiday lights than any other building in the state. We have a big lighting ceremony every year on December first.”
“Sounds lovely. Homey and old-timey and congenial. Very neighborly. I’ve always lived in a big city, and we just didn’t do that. Something to look forward to.”
She turned her attention back to the area around the square. Rows of intricate, architecturally interesting brick buildings surrounded the square that originally must have housed wealthy residents and more recently shops and businesses. Almost half of them were boarded and empty, with “now available” signs posted above the entrances.
“Looks like the Recession’s hit Westbury like it’s hit everywhere else,” Maggie observed.
“That and more ...” Sam answered cryptically as they pulled into his driveway.
Joan Torres flung the front door open in welcome before Maggie could get out of the truck. If she was surprised to see Eve, Joan didn’t let on. She welcomed Maggie with a warm handshake and gave Eve a good rub. Maggie presented Joan with a bottle of wine she had uncove
red in her pantry and followed her into the living room. “Something smells absolutely delicious!” Maggie exclaimed. “And that banana bread was fabulous. You’re a lifesaver.”
Maggie took a seat by the fireplace as Sam uncorked the wine and handed each of them a glass. “Sam tells me that you’re going to keep Rosemont. We’ll all be so happy to see that house occupied again. Will you live here full time?” Joan asked. She was curious about this sophisticated-looking widow who would now be part of their community.
“Yes. After I get myself set up here, I’ll go back home long enough to pack and put my house on the market. My kids are grown and I have my own consulting business. I’m a forensic accountant. My clients are all over North America, and I do most of my work over the phone and Internet.” Maybe it was the wine, on top of the sheer fatigue of the past months, coupled with the soothing warmth of the fire, but Maggie found herself pouring out her hurt and un-certainty. “Frankly, this was a snap decision on my part. I came here out of curiosity to see the place. I never knew that Paul had inherited Rosemont. I intended to sell it. But when the front door closed behind me, I knew I was home. And that I need a fresh start. In this spot.” She glanced at their anxious faces and saw that they didn’t know exactly how to respond. “Paul was so prominent in our community that I can’t go anywhere without being reminded of him,” she said, and her voice choked with emotion. “I’ve found out things about him since he died that have been very hurtful.” She looked away from them. “I can’t discuss this with anyone back home. My kids adore their father and if even half of it gets out, his reputation will be ruined. I can’t bear thinking about what that would do to my kids.” Maggie took a ragged breath and turned back to her hosts. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with my worries. This isn’t what you bargained for when you invited me to dinner. Please, just forget I said anything,” she implored.
Joan leaned over and squeezed her hand. “We’re not gossips. We won’t repeat anything you’ve told us. I know what it’s like to need a friend you can count on. We’ve only just met, but I hope you’ll consider us such friends.”
Maggie looked into the earnest eyes of this kindly couple, so unlike the flashy and urbane people she and Paul considered friends, and knew that they were genuine and trustworthy. How long had it been since she had felt so comfortable—so unguarded—with supposed friends? Maggie squeezed Joan’s hand in return. “I guess I felt that the minute I met you.” She drew a deep breath and relaxed into her chair. “So, do you know the history of Rosemont?”
“Oh, heavens yes,” Joan replied. “Everybody around here knows about Rosemont. It was built in 1893 by Silas Martin. He made his fortune from the local sawmill, which was turned into a hotel and restaurant in the late 1920s. It’s still there. And he later invested in property all over town, was instrumental in raising funds to build our courthouse. He was three times a widower and had five children—all boys. Two died in childhood and one was killed in World War I. Legend has it that Silas was unbearably autocratic in his later years and drove away his son Joseph, who became a successful attorney in Cleveland and had one son. The other son, Hector, remained in Westbury and expanded his father’s business interests and fortune. He never married. Hector inherited the property, when Silas died in 1937, and left it to his brother Joseph’s grandson, when Hector died in 2000 at the age of one hundred and six. Your husband was Joseph’s grandson, I believe?”
“Yes,” Maggie replied. “Paul’s father died the year before we got married, and his mother died when he was in kindergarten. He told me he had no living relatives. Paul never once mentioned Westbury or Rosemont. Not even when he inherited it.” Maggie saw shock register on Joan’s face. She continued, “Do you know if Paul ever spent time here growing up? Was he close to Hector?” She inhaled deeply and her voice trembled. “Has Paul spent any time here since he became the owner?”
Sam leaned over and looked her squarely in the eyes. “I don’t think Paul spent any time here when he was growing up. I met him once, briefly, three or four years ago when he came to town and hired me to make repairs at Rosemont. He told me he wanted to fix the place up as a surprise for his family.” He paused to let this sink in. “He put me on retainer to keep the place in good repair, and he hired a crew to maintain the grounds. We had very little contact. He always paid me on time. We were sorry to hear about his death. And your loss,” he concluded gently.
Maggie let out a long, slow breath. “Thank you for this. I’ve been so curious about Paul’s connection to Westbury and Rosemont, but didn’t know anyone to ask.” She was tremendously relieved that Paul had not been bringing the other woman and her children here. Maybe Paul meant it to be a surprise for the kids and me all along? This thought was vaguely comforting. Joan broke Maggie’s reverie by announcing that dinner was ready.
Over a generous helping of the best pot roast Maggie had had in years, she learned that Sam was a custodian at the local elementary school and Joan was a dispatcher for the Westbury Police Department. They were both born in town and had been high school sweethearts. They had three grown children, seven grandchildren, and were active members of the Methodist Church. Their hobby was travel, and they took one big trip each summer. They funded their travels by taking on extra jobs. Sam did handyman work after school each afternoon and on Saturdays, and Joan took in sewing and alterations.
“So where are you headed on your next trip?” Maggie asked, and instantly regretted it. Joan began twisting her napkin, and the couple exchanged a wary glance.
Sam sighed. “We don’t have anything planned at the moment. We hoped to go to Italy this summer, but we’re holding off. Westbury is in terrible financial shape. We both have over thirty years of seniority and aren’t worried about being laid off, but we’ve had unpaid furlough days, and there is talk that the town’s pension fund wasn’t properly invested and is broke.”
Joan brought one hand to her chest and leaned forward. “We’ve worked long and hard all our lives, been model employees. And now we don’t know if our retirement is secure or not. We’re in our early sixties. We can’t replace all of that money now. We’ve always lived within our budget, which wasn’t always easy. Put our kids through college. We thought that our retirement would be the time for us to do what we wanted.”
Maggie was shocked. “What do you mean broke? Aren’t the town’s financials audited each year? How could that even be possible?” And then she thought about Paul’s financial misdeeds—Paul who was widely thought to be above reproach by everyone—and realized that this terrible suspicion might be true.
“William Wheeler has been our mayor for thirteen years, and his dad was mayor before him. Things ran pretty well for a long time. This is fertile land and our farm families have done well. We were home to several large manufacturing plants. When the manufacturing jobs went to China and the factories wound down, they brought in a couple of high-end golf courses and tourism took over where the factories left off. But with this Recession, tourism is way down. The shops that were supported by our visitors are struggling, and no one is buying second homes on the golf courses.”
Sam continued, “Wheeler’s cronies make up our town council. Or they did until last year when we elected our first independent council-member, Tonya Holmes. She discovered the shortage in the pension account. This is all just starting to come to light. We don’t know what’s true or where to turn. I don’t trust Wheeler and his bunch, that’s for sure. Tonya is having a town meeting Wednesday night at the library to tell everyone what she’s found out so far. We’ll be in the front row,” he said vehemently.
“Is she working with anyone on this? You may want to get a forensic accountant involved. As I said, that’s my specialty. I can recommend someone if you’d like. Here’s my card,” Maggie said, fishing one out of her purse. “The number is my cell. You can tell Tonya to call me, if she’d like. I’d be happy to talk with her. I’m so sorry—this is just terrible. I hope you find it’s not as bad as you think.”<
br />
Sam took the card. “We do, too. Thank you. Enough of this—what do you plan to do tomorrow?”
“I’ll rent a car. I want to get Eve to the vet to see if she has a microchip. I’m getting very attached to her. If she has an owner, I need to return her as soon as possible.” Maggie sighed. “And I’ll tell the realtor I’m not selling. Then I should get the house in shape to move into. I haven’t even uncovered all of the furniture or figured out what repairs are needed or changes I’d like to make.” Maggie turned to face Sam. “Would you have time to help me assess the house and to make the necessary repairs?”
“Absolutely. I’m not the fastest handyman around, but I’m also not the most expensive, and I don’t believe anyone does better work than I do. I work alone, at my own pace. I’ve found that a lot of mistakes can be avoided if you think things through first. If I need help, I can call on another maintenance man from the school. He takes on extra jobs, too. We’ve worked together for over thirty years, so we know each other’s ways and habits, strengths and weaknesses. We make a good team. And I’ll always get you the best materials at the lowest price. I’ll tell you where to cut corners, and when you can’t. If you don’t like something I’ve done, I’ll redo it until you’re happy. As simple as that.”
“Sounds perfect. When can you start?”
***
Maggie was bone-tired when she turned back the sheets and climbed into the new, unfamiliar bed. Eve leapt onto the bed easily, circled around, and settled at Maggie’s feet, while Maggie replayed the conversations she’d had with Mike and Susan a few hours earlier. She hoped she had done the right thing by remaining silent about her decision to uproot her life and move to Westbury. She wasn’t ready to get into a big discussion about it yet.
Coming to Rosemont Page 3