CHAPTER SEVEN
Late Friday afternoon, Aunt Mayda comes to take Robby and me shopping. We’re going out in style. Aunt Mayda’s rented an expensive foreign car for the weekend. Seeing it reminds me that Aunt Mayda has tons of money from her inheritance and from her job as a lawyer. Sometimes I forget she’s rich, because she bears no resemblance to those sleek, well-groomed women smiling out from the newspaper society pages. Not with her mousy brown hair falling about her face any old way and her clothing two sizes too large.
Robby makes a fuss about going. Then he says he won’t leave without his action figures. I tell him he can bring two along. He runs inside to get them, which is when Daddy grabs Aunt Mayda’s attention to complain about all the problems he’s having with the craft fair. He goes on and on in detail. When Robby gets into the car, I nudge Aunt Mayda.
Aunt Mayda’s real cool. She interrupts Daddy as smooth as anything. “Roger, I’ve come to take Vannie and Robby shopping, remember? Can we talk about this later on this evening?”
“Sure, I guess. Why not?”
“Unless you’d like to join us,” Aunt Mayda offers. “We’re going for a nice dinner, too. My treat.”
Daddy turns this over in his mind. “No thanks,” he finally says. “I’ve too much work to do.”
“Can I bring you back something to eat?”
Daddy shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’ll heat up a frozen dinner.”
Aunt Mayda revs the motor and we’re off. It’s good to hear Robby laugh as we drive out of MG at top speed. We stop at the main road and wait for cars to pass till we can make our turn.
“Now,” Aunt Mayda says, “shall we eat first or shop first?”
“Eat first!” I say.
“Eat first,” Robby echoes. “I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” Aunt Mayda says. “And I happen to know the perfect place for dinner, if it’s still there.”
She turns onto a narrow, winding road. We go a few miles. She makes a left here and a right there. Finally, she pulls into the driveway of a restaurant that looks like an old wooden house.
“The Thirsdale Inn,” Aunt Mayda announces as we step into a narrow hallway. A staircase rises before us. The flowery papered walls are covered with pictures. Mostly framed photographs, I see when I come closer.
“My parents used to bring me here all the time,” Aunt Mayda says. Her eyes scan the wall. Then she points. “There they are.”
Aunt Mayda’s pretty, blonde mother has her arm around her thirteen-year-old daughter and is smiling out at the world. Her father’s gloomy expression reminds me of a bloodhound. Despite the mustache and balding head, I see the family resemblance. He’s inherited Archie’s thin face and skinny legs.
I frown, suddenly puzzled. If Archie is Mayda’s father’s father, why isn’t her last name Heatherton?
“I’m afraid we’re not opened. Mayda! Is that you?”
A plump, elderly woman crushes Aunt Mayda to her bosom. Aunt Mayda introduces us to Catherine Powett, the owner of the inn.
“We hoped to stop for an early dinner before shopping,” she explains, “but if we’re too early, we’ll come back another time.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Mrs. Powett says, and leads us into a small dining room, to a table in front of a stone fireplace.
“Cool,” Robby says, looking around.
He gets up to examine the colonial household items and farming tools that hang from the wall. Aunt Mayda watches him, a smile on her lips.
“Robby seems more like himself,” she says softly.
I nod. “For now, but he’s had a bad week. Monday, he cried so much in school, Daddy had to take him home. And yesterday, Mrs. Peterson called to say that Robby and his friend Kevin were running all over our lawn looking for Theodore. Daddy was furious. He’d told Robby never to go back to our house for any reason.”
“Who’s Theodore?” Aunt Mayda asks.
“A stray cat Robby started feeding when Mom went into hospice.”
Robby calls to me. “Vannie, look at this! It’s part of a plow!”
“Great,” I tell him.
It’s all he needs right now to keep on exploring.
Aunt Mayda leans toward me from her seat across the table. “And how are you doing, Vannie?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Is the cottage a little less awful?”
“A little.” Then I remember. “Thanks, Aunt Mayda, for asking Casey to put in brighter light bulbs. And for fixing the leak in the bathroom.”
“You’re welcome. Have you prepared any tasty dinners lately?”
I shake my head. “I tried roast chicken, but it came out burned on the outside and raw inside. We’re relying on takeout and frozen meals right now.”
“Sorry I can’t help you. Making a good cup of coffee is about the extent of my culinary talents.”
Her words remind me of Archie’s interest in Aunt Mayda’s social life, so I say, “If you get married, you’ll have to learn to cook.”
Aunt Mayda doesn’t answer. I’m afraid that I’ve offended her. To my relief, she bursts out laughing. “I’m hopeless in that department. Actually, it’s a good thing I’m not married. My husband might starve to death.”
“You could always eat out,” I offer.
Aunt Mayda peers at me closely. “Vannie, are you trying to marry me off?”
I shrug, glad that the light in the restaurant is dim so she can’t see I’m blushing. “I was just wondering. Last Saturday you said you were meeting a friend and going to the movies.”
“Ah hah. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but Tom’s just an old friend and fellow lawyer.”
“I bet he wants to marry you,” I say rashly.
She sighs and I’m giddy with success because I’ve hit a bull’s-eye. “If he does, I can’t help him out in that department.” Aunt Mayda tries to sound flippant, but I hear the pity underlying her words.
She looks so sensible and down-to-earth in her baggy tweed blazer and corduroy slacks, it’s hard to believe someone actually finds her attractive enough to want to marry her. Suddenly I’m curious about her love life.
“Did you ever love someone enough to want to marry him?”
She gives me a bittersweet smile. “There was someone in law school, but it didn’t work out.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone else someday,” I say.
“Yes, Mother, maybe I will,” she teases.
I think we’re both relieved when Robby returns to the table. He’s followed by a young woman in the white apron and cap of colonial times. She offers us hot popovers and takes our orders.
“Aunt Mayda,” I ask, “what was it like, growing up at Greystone?”
Her face takes on a faraway look. “Vannie, it was heaven. We didn’t give costume balls or any of the grand parties my grandmother went to when she was young. But I adored living in the mansion and never tired of exploring the grounds.”
“Do you remember your grandmother?”
“Certainly. She lived with us until she died when I was twelve.” Aunt Mayda smiles. “Granny was beautiful and kind, but she was always sad because she’d lost the love of her life. My grandfather died when they’d only been married a few years. My father was hardly more than an infant at the time, but his mother’s grief turned him into a sad person, too.”
I think of Archie, who blames himself for their sadness. Again I wonder what he means by his foolish death. How can a death be foolish? I’ve no time to wonder about this because now I want to hear about Aunt Mayda’s childhood memories.
“My mother always complained Greystone was too large for the four of us, three after Granny died, but she sure made up for that.”
“What do you mean?” I bite into the delicious cranberry bread.
“My mother came from a large family and I’ve lots of cousins. They often stayed with us on weekends and during vacations. My mother was a whiz at organizing anything you could think of—a Halloween party, a scavenger hunt, a hay ride, buildin
g a snow fort. During the summer, my cousins and I loved to camp out.”
I can’t help it. The words tumble out all by themselves. “When you went camping, did anyone see a ghost?”
Aunt Mayda bursts out laughing. “Oh, Vannie, that old tale.”
My heart is pounding. “What do you mean?”
“Whenever we camped out, my cousins, Steve and Perry, went into their routine that a ghost was watching us. Of course they were only teasing.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Certainly, I’m sure. Don’t tell me you’ve seen a ghost at Merrymount Gardens.”
I drink some water and it goes down the wrong way. I cough and Aunt Mayda thumps my back. Then Robby pounds my back until I yell at him to stop.
“It’s my friend, Tammy,” I say. “She’s real interested in ghosts.” It’s true enough, so I’m not exactly lying.
“Invite Tammy to the children’s Halloween party we’re putting on this year. In fact, the two of you can help decorate Greystone.”
“Tammy will love that,” I say. “She thinks Greystone must be haunted.”
Aunt Mayda puts her hand over her heart. “Trust me, it isn’t. Nothing dramatic or tragic has ever happened at Greystone except…” She stops suddenly.
“Except what?” I prompt.
“I want to go to the Halloween party, too!” Robby pipes up all of a sudden. “I need a new costume.”
“If we have time, we’ll look for one tonight,” Aunt Mayda tells him.
Robby lists all the costumes he may want, then he lists all the costumes he definitely doesn’t. I watch Aunt Mayda give him her full attention and wonder if she was about to tell me about her grandfather’s death.
Our salad comes, then our main course. There’s so much food to eat, Robby hardly touches his chicken. He dozes off as we drive to the mall. I’m full too, but I’m looking forward to shopping.
We get Robby pants, shirts, underwear, and socks in the boys’ department. He tries on three pairs of sneakers before he declares he wants the first pair, after all. Then he turns cranky big time and keeps saying he wants to go home.
“I think we’d better,” I tell Aunt Mayda.
We practically have to carry him to the car. “I’m sorry, Vannie,” Aunt Mayda says as we drive home. “I see I tried to fit too much into one evening.”
“It was fun,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“Let’s go shopping ourselves next week,” she says. “Girls’ night out.”
I grin. “I like that idea.”
The car hums along as Aunt Mayda follows the curves of the road with ease. “I’m glad you’re living here,” she says when we turn into MG. She laughs, sounding pleased and embarrassed at the same time. “Now, when I come back, it feels like I’m coming home to family.”
Impulsively, I reach over and put my arm around her shoulders.
“When did you move away from Merrymount Gardens?”
“After my junior year of college. The year my parents died.”
It’s too awful. I gulp in air. “Both of them?”
“My mother was sick and died in the winter. My father was in a car accident three months later.”
“Oh, Mayda,” I say.
The back of her hand touches my cheek. “Your mom helped me through it all. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence, thinking our own thoughts about Mom. We’re both bleary-eyed when we pull up in front of the cottage.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As soon as we arrive, Daddy comes flying out to the car . He’s clearly agitated about something. He lifts Robby from the back seat and carries him to his room. “Vannie, please put Robby to bed,” he calls out to me as he ushers Aunt Mayda into his office.
I stick out my tongue at him, then I help Robby undress. He wakes up long enough to put on his pajamas and crawl under the covers. “My action figures,” he mumbles.
“You must have left them in the car. I’ll get them.”
Robby’s eyes close again. I figure he’s asleep, when he asks, “Vannie, do you think Theodore’s mad at me ’cause I left him?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m sure Mrs. Peterson feeds him.”
“She doesn’t. She chases him away. She told me so when I went looking for him with Kevin.”
“Go to sleep, Robby. Theodore’s a good hunter. I bet he finds plenty to eat.”
Robby’s half asleep but he’s smiling. “Don’t worry, Theodore. I’ll take care of you.”
I kiss him good night and close his door, leaving it ajar the way he likes it.
From Daddy’s office come the sounds of his ranting and fuming. He’s mad because some big-shot goldsmith who demanded that Daddy give him the best location—which he did even though he’d promised it to someone else—has come down with pneumonia and can’t make it to the craft show, after all. I swear, my father is one big baby, carrying on how people always leave him in the lurch the last minute. The man has pneumonia, for heaven’s sake. The one I feel sorry for is poor Aunt Mayda, who is doing her best to calm Daddy down.
Outside, the stars give enough light so I can make out the booths that have been set up on the Big Lawn rising well beyond our cottage. I can’t decide how I feel about the craft fair since my opinion keeps changing, depending on my mood. Sometimes I hate the idea that hundreds of strangers will be roaming around MG as if they have every right to be there, which they do. Other times I’m excited about having a big event in my own back yard. Especially since I’m going to help out at the ticket booth or the food area, whichever place needs me more.
I sniff in the night air, tangy with the scent of the first fallen leaves. My eyes are drawn to the bright lights of Greystone. I’m glad Aunt Mayda’s staying there tonight. It makes me feel less lonely.
Robby’s action figures are on the back seat of the car where he left them. I pick them up and turn back to the house. Then I have a better idea. I leave the action figures on the hood of the car and head for the road.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
Even though I was hoping to meet Archie, I jump at the sound of his voice.
“I swear, Archie, the way you sneak around could give a person a heart attack!”
“I don’t sneak around,” he says stiffly. “Merely come and go.”
“Appear and disappear is more like it. Anyway, I’m glad to see you.”
“Really?” He seems pleased. “Do you have time for a stroll?”
“A very short one.”
We head for the duck pond. I’m perfectly at ease, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to be walking along with a tall, skinny ghost in a tuxedo.
Natural, but funny. I start to giggle.
“And what is so terribly amusing, may I ask?” Archie asks.
“Oh, nothing. Everything.” I’m suddenly in a good mood.
“Did you enjoy your evening out with Mayda?”
“Sure. We had a great time. She told me about her childhood.”
“Did she mention her grandmother?”
I nod. “She was your wife.”
“My beautiful Elizabeth. What did Mayda tell you?”
I hesitate, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. But the naked hunger in his face spurs me on to tell him everything I know.
“Mayda said she never stopped grieving for you. And because she was always sad, your son, Mayda’s father, grew up to be a sad person, too.”
Archie nods. “I loved them both so very much and caused them endless unhappiness.”
“Because you died?” I ask, incredulous.
“Because I died a foolish death.”
“I read about it in an old newspaper in the library.”
“How did it happen?”
I stare at him amazed. “Don’t you remember?”
When we get to the pond, I sit down on the bench. Archie paces before me. Finally he stops and stares out at the water as he speaks.
“I
never knew for certain. I remember chasing the thief outside, then falling, feeling pain in my head, then—nothing. Afterwards, I had no sense of anything except the overpowering need to return to Merrymount Gardens because my wife and son were here.”
“But why do you call it a foolish death?” I demand. “You were doing something heroic.”
“I was doing something stupid. Elizabeth warned me. She’d had one of her premonitions—the same dream three nights in a row—that something bad would befall me if I left the mansion after dusk the day of Christopher’s party. She made me swear on his head that I wouldn’t leave, no matter what happened.”
I gasp. “Oh, Archie.”
“I forgot my promise when she screamed from upstairs that someone had taken the sapphire necklace I’d given her to celebrate our son’s first birthday. I saw a figure dart out the side door and I took chase.”
Now I understand. Archie blames himself for making his wife and child unhappy, and the only way he can atone for his “foolish act” is to see that Mayda’s married, whether she likes or not. I shake my head in disbelief.
I suddenly remember something I’ve been wanting to ask him. “If you were married to Archie’s grandmother, why isn’t Mayda’s name Heatherton like yours?”
“Because I took the Shipley name. It was a request her father made of me when we were betrothed. Elizabeth was his only child, and the Shipley name would have died out if I didn’t agree. I was happy to do so, though I still think of myself as Heatherton.”
I smile. “Thanks for answering my questions. I’m finally getting the picture.”
“Did you find out if Mayda has a young man?”
“A young man? Oh, you mean a boyfriend. No, I don’t think there’s anyone she’s interested in right now.”
“But there must be someone.” I hear the anxiety in his voice. “Didn’t you say she had a social engagement last week?”
“She went to the movies with another lawyer. Mayda says he’s just a friend.”
“That’s too bad.”
I peer at him in the dark, puzzled by his disappointment. “Why, what does it matter? Mayda’s happy the way she is.”
“You’re too young to understand! Mayda needs a home filled with a husband who loves her, and children who adore her. She’ll make a wonderful mother.”
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