When her aunt got to this part of her family’s history, Zoey stole a glance at Gabi. Would it evoke memories of her own mother’s quest to return to Benjamin’s Manor one last time before she passed away?
“So, my father finally sold our house in Brookline. The three of us—Marcus, my father and me—moved to Benjamin’s Manor for good and Charles stayed behind in Boston to continue his studies. We arrived the first of June, right after Memorial Day weekend. I had arranged for someone to open the house and prepare it for the season, since the rest of the year it sat unused. In the past, we had a housekeeper come in twice a week during the summer. But because my father’s illness was so severe and my brother was going through a stretch of sickness, too, I was overwhelmed. So I hired a maid to do the cleaning every day and give me a hand with the cooking, which allowed me more time to care for my father and brother… You know who I hired, don’t you?”
When Gabi shook her head, Ivy revealed with a flourish, “It was your great-grand-aunt Sylvia!”
“Really?”
“Really. But I can’t get ahead of myself or I’ll spoil the rest of the story.”
Zoey was glad for Gabi’s sake that Ivy skipped over the details of her father’s death, simply stating, “By mid-June, my father had passed, as we knew he would. Even so, I was utterly dejected. Sylvia had to move in with us because I was useless. I didn’t want to get out of bed because I missed my father terribly and also because I believed my best years were behind me. At almost twenty-five, I was considered an old maid and I resigned myself to that. No one thought Marcus would ever marry, either, because of his health. Or they said the only reason anyone would marry us was for our money.”
“That’s terrible,” Gabi objected. “Who would say something like that?”
“My brother Charles, for one. And before him, my father had said it, too. He wasn’t trying to be cruel—he was worried about our future. That’s why he set up the will to ensure the estate would always be passed down to a blood relative. He didn’t want someone taking advantage of Marcus or me or our descendants. He was especially worried an ‘outsider’ would be awarded the house in the event of a divorce.
“Anyway, after his death, Sylvia saw how miserable I was and she insisted I go for a walk every day. ‘Just down to the harbor and back. If you do nothing else today, do that,’ she’d plead with me. ‘I’ll take care of everything else at the house.’ So that’s what I did. Sometimes it took me until three o’clock in the afternoon to get dressed, but then I’d drag myself down to the harbor. And little by little, day by day, I started to feel better.”
It’s too bad you can’t walk down to the harbor now, Zoey thought. She wondered if there was something else her aunt could do every day that might alleviate her grief. Or at least provide a pleasant, momentary distraction.
“I felt guilty leaving Sylvia alone to care for Marcus, but he got it into his head he was going to teach her how to play chess. He’d set up the board on that round table, right there by the front window. Little did I know, he was falling in love with her!”
Ivy always seemed as happy to share the anecdote of how Sylvia and Marcus fell in love as she was to recount how she and Dennis met. Which was fortunate, since Sylvia had always been too shy to tell the story herself. She couldn’t even be in the room when Ivy told it; always finding some reason to leave. Zoey wasn’t sure whether that was because she felt insecure about coming from a poor family and being a housekeeper, or because she was embarrassed by how highly Ivy spoke of her.
“I shouldn’t have been surprised,” Ivy said. “Sylvia was so beautiful she could have been on the cover of a fashion magazine. She was wasp-waisted, had eyes like a doe and a peaches-and-cream complexion. She was lovely on the inside, too. So soft-spoken and patient. Sometimes I thought my brother was exaggerating his pain to win her sympathy and keep her attention. Sylvia later admitted she’d been smitten with him, too. She said even though he was more intelligent than anyone she’d ever known, he wasn’t the least bit conceited. She told me she wasn’t accustomed to a man being so kind to her and listening to her opinions.”
Ivy never stated it explicitly, but over the years she intimated that Sylvia’s father had been abusive. Her stepsisters, who were intensely jealous of her appearance, were cruel to her, too, constantly telling her she was homely and useless. By contrast, Sylvia took after her mother. She’d been gentle to the point of timidity; in all the time she’d known her, Zoey had never heard her raise her voice. The closest she’d come was when the squirrel would eat food from the bird feeder and she’d tap on the windowpane and say, “Scat.”
Ivy continued to extol her sister-in-law’s abilities, gushing, “My, how she could cook! I had no interest in food after my father died, so Sylvia had to take over in the kitchen completely or else Marcus would have starved. That girl could make a four-course meal out of two sticks and a stone! Between boosting me out of my depression and keeping Marcus fed, Sylvia was a godsend. I don’t know what we would have done without her.
“Anyway, one hot afternoon in mid July, I began my usual excursion but instead of stopping at the harbor, I continued walking until I got to Bleecker’s ice-cream parlor on Main Street—this was long before they moved their shop to the boardwalk in Lucinda’s Hamlet. I had a craving for a scoop of strawberry ice cream, so I purchased a cone and then ambled back to the harbor and along the jetty. After barely eating anything for a month, I was savoring my treat—it was as if I was tasting food for the first time—and I was completely oblivious to the fishing vessel slowly passing by as it entered the harbor. It could have been floating backward and I wouldn’t have noticed, if someone on board hadn’t whistled. It was a catcall, loud and sharp, there was no missing it. Now, I know today you girls would consider that demeaning, but to us, it was a compliment. Especially to me, because I usually didn’t get that kind of attention. I had long legs and a big bosom but a short torso, just as I do now and my face wasn’t anyone’s idea of pretty.”
“I doubt that was true!” Zoey challenged, as she did every time her aunt got to this part of her story.
As usual, Ivy waved her hand. “Whether it was true or not, it was how I felt. But the man on the boat apparently saw me differently. And what a man he was! His arms were so muscular that if he hadn’t rolled up sleeves, his biceps would have split the seams. He was backlit by the sunshine, which made his tanned skin and blond hair even more dazzling. But it was his smile that nearly blinded me. Oh, what a smile he had! At first, I thought there must have been some mistake. There were a few other people on the jetty and I wondered if perhaps he’d whistled at one of them. So the next day, I came back when I knew the tide was in. Except instead of meandering down the jetty, I sat on a bench near the docks.”
She stopped and put her hand to the side of her mouth, indicating she was about to reveal a secret. “To be honest, I didn’t sit as much as I posed. Like this.” She crossed her legs and half-twisted in her chair, her spine elongated and her chest out. She placed one hand flat beside her and cupped the other above her brow, as if to shield her eyes as she surveyed the waves. Zoey could imagine her how striking her silhouette must have been, no matter how she’d joked about her appearance.
“You see, I knew how to accentuate my best features,” she said with a wink, her old familiar humor momentarily outshining her present grief. “It worked, too. This time, he hopped off the boat and sauntered over to where I was, with his hands behind his back. ‘Hi, Doll. Were you looking for this?’ he asked and presented me with a fish wrapped in a newspaper. It was a sea bass and it was so fresh it was still wiggling.” Then, Ivy added the line she always said, “I couldn’t have been more delighted if he had given me a bouquet of roses—although roses would have smelled better.”
After eliciting a giggle from Gabi, Ivy quickly skimmed over the details of her “whirlwind courtship with Dennis Cartwright,” saying that at first she didn’t tell Marcus or Sylvia about him. She’d time her daily walks to c
oincide with when he’d be docking. Or else she’d excuse herself in the evenings to meet him on the beach for moonlit strolls. Since Ivy wanted to be discreet about their relationship, they never went to a sock hop at the dance hall or even to eat at a restaurant, although Dennis occasionally bought Ivy an ice-cream cone or she packed a picnic for them to enjoy on the beach.
“Sylvia and Marcus were oblivious, just as I was unaware they were falling for each other. They must have thought it was beneficial for me to get as much fresh air as I could. Or perhaps they were so eager to have time alone that they didn’t question my whereabouts. I’d see Dennis every day except on Sunday, which was Sylvia’s day off. She’d go visit her friends, the other seasonal maids and nannies she’d lived with briefly in a boarding house before we asked her to stay with us full-time.”
Gabi nudged Moby off her lap and stretched. Zoey hoped she wasn’t getting restless because she knew Ivy wasn’t finished with her story yet.
“Sundays were agonizing. I couldn’t stand being away from Denny, so after about a month or so I broke down and asked Sylvia if she could stay home and keep Marcus company so I could go be with my “steady,” as we called our boyfriends then. She was surprised but delighted I’d met someone and suggested I invite him to the house for supper. That put me in a tizzy because I was afraid Marcus would object to our relationship since Denny was working class. But I should have known my littlest brother disagreed with my father and Charles on that issue.”
Gabi snickered. “My great-grandfather was kind of an elitist, wasn’t he?”
“I suppose, but Charles learned to think that way from my father,” Ivy acknowledged. “I loved him to pieces, but he could be very… influential. Not that it’s any excuse but as the eldest son, Charles was expected to follow in my father’s footsteps, including adopting his opinions. Marcus and I didn’t always share their views but we weren’t necessarily outspoken. If my father hadn’t died, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to marry Captain Denny or if Marcus would have married Sylvia…” Ivy’s voice faded. She bent forward and absently touched Moby’s back as the cat wove between her ankles before stealing out of the room.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. As nervous as I was about bringing Denny home, I found out later that Marcus was even more anxious. We were both worried Denny would take one gander at Sylvia and we’d be out of the picture! Instead, he didn’t give her a second look. She didn’t warm to him, either, although she was always polite. Shortly after that, Marcus professed his love and proposed to her and they got married a couple of weeks later. Talk about a whirlwind! I think Marcus was afraid of losing her and she didn’t want to have to return home to Connecticut in the fall, like her family expected her to do. Denny and I weren’t in as much of a hurry—we wed on October the fifteenth,” Ivy wryly jested.
“You met him in July and got married in October?” Gabi asked.
Zoey wagged a finger at her niece. “Don’t get any ideas!”
“I wasn’t. I just wondered how Aunt Ivy planned a wedding that quickly.”
“Oh, I didn’t need a big to-do. We got married at the courthouse, just like Sylvia and Marcus did. Denny didn’t even have a ring to give me—I used my mother’s. He didn’t feel right about that but I didn’t care. I had everything I’d dreamed of when he proposed to me on bended knee, right there.” She gestured to the area in front of the fireplace. “Afterward, we celebrated with champagne in the best room, didn’t we, Captain?”
Gazing at his portrait, Ivy absently raised her teacup as if toasting him, a faraway look in her eyes. Then she took a sip and blinked several times. “I’m sorry I rambled so long. You girls must be bored to tears.”
“No, we aren’t! I’m really glad you told me your love story, Aunt Ivy. It’s really amazing even thought parts of it are sad. It reminds me of some of the historical romances I’ve read, only it’s a lot better because it was about you. And about our family.” Gabi’s response couldn’t have been more earnest or endearing and Zoey could tell by the expression on Ivy’s face how pleased her aunt was to hear it, even if she shook her head and apologized again for blathering for so long.
Gabi walked over and kissed her aunt’s cheek before collecting the tea cups and saying goodnight. Shortly after her niece left, Zoey accompanied Ivy up the stairs, cupping her elbow for support. On the first landing, her aunt paused to take a rest.
“I must have used up all my breath telling that long-winded story,” she said. “I can’t seem to help myself. I only have to catch a glimpse of the chess table or Denny’s hat on the mantel and all my favorite youthful memories come rushing back… You know, my brother Charles’s wife—your grandmother—used to try to get me to take home movies but I never had any use for them. She’d say, ‘When you’re old and gray, you’ll be sorry you don’t have anything to remind you of the people you loved or what you did in your younger years.’ But I do have something to remind me. This house reminds me, if that makes sense.”
“Yes, it does,” Zoey assured her. And that’s why I’m going to do whatever I can to keep Mark from forcing you out or making any changes to your home that you don’t want to make, she silently promised her aunt.
Chapter Four
Since Ivy’s house was just under two miles away from the school, Gabi wasn’t eligible to take a school bus and of course, Zoey didn’t want to drive her in Ivy’s car. The teen could have taken public transportation—there was a bus stop right down the hill—but Zoey was glad when Gabi said she’d rather walk.
It was a gray and mizzling morning and a foghorn sounded as they strode down Main Street in the opposite direction from the harbor. They passed the golf course before cutting east, down a slope and through the valley. Zoey pointed out landmarks along the way: the library, a historic gristmill, the site of the island’s first church and even the road leading to the part of town where Mr. Witherell lived.
“Do you want me to meet you after school in case you forget how to get back home?”
Gabi pretended to suck her thumb, ridiculing, “No, Mama. Me a big girl.”
That was exactly what Jessica would have done and Zoey elbowed her. “Fine. Did you at least bring an umbrella?”
“No.”
“Here, take mine.”
“It isn’t raining.”
“It isn’t now, but if it starts this afternoon, Aunt Ivy will worry about you and then she’ll make me drive down to pick you up in the Caddy. And I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stay in my lane—or even on the road. Is that really the first impression you want to make on your new classmates?”
Gabi groaned as she accepted the umbrella and shoved it into her bookbag.
Once they arrived at the school, Zoey discussed the questions she had with the vice principal before signing the required paperwork. Then, a cheerful girl a head shorter than Gabi and a skinny boy wearing glasses arrived to take her on a tour. Zoey dawdled in the office threshold, watching them flank her niece as she ambled down the corridor, her long, blond hair hanging down her back, her bookbag hoisted onto one shoulder.
It reminded her of how she’d accompanied Jessica when she walked Gabi to school on her first day of kindergarten. Usually unflappable, her sister had cried all the way home. Since Scott was traveling on business, Zoey ended up taking a personal day off from work so Jess wouldn’t have to be alone.
“Gabi will be fine. She’s going to thrive,” she’d comforted her.
“I know she will and more than anything, that’s what I want for her,” Jess had sobbed. “But it’s still hard to let her go.”
She said the same thing about leaving her daughter at the end of her life, too—except she used the word ‘excruciating,’ Zoey recalled, the lump in her throat growing bigger. She shot out of the school and dropped onto the cement bench encircling the flag pole. After a few moments, when she’d caught her breath again, she blotted the dampness from her face and got up. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help Gabi thrive, she mentally reass
ured her sister, just as she’d done the day before Jessica died. She only hoped her best was enough.
On the way home, Zoey was so melancholy she wandered at least half a mile beyond the farm stand before she remembered she was supposed to stop for eggs. It was drizzling harder now and the clouds on the horizon had darkened from gray to charcoal, so she quickly backtracked and made her purchase.
She had just scuttled half a block down the road when the sky let loose. Because she’d been too warm to wear a coat and she’d given her umbrella to Gabi, she had no protection from the nickel-sized raindrops. She tried jogging, but she was worried the jostling would break the eggs. Not that I care if there are shells in Mark’s omelet, she thought sardonically as she slowed her pace to a brisk walk. But I don’t want to hear him complain.
Within a minute, Zoey was soaking wet. By then, she figured it must have been eight o’clock, maybe later. Her backtracking had made her late. Although she didn’t want Ivy to attempt to come get her, she hoped if Mark had arrived at the house, her aunt would at least send him. She didn’t want to call and ask, for fear that Mark would twist her request and send Aunt Ivy out to drive in the rain, leaving him alone to conspire with the carpenter about the renovations.
The egg carton she carried was a recycled donation that must have been used repeatedly because once the flimsy cardboard top got soggy, it began to tear. Zoey slipped the package beneath her T-shirt and hugged it against her chest to protect it, although by that time, her clothes were so wet she doubted it did any good. The rain was falling at a slant against her face and even though Zoey tucked her head against it, droplets dripped from her lashes into her eyes. Squinting, she didn’t see the pedestrian approaching from the opposite direction until the last second.
Aunt Ivy's Cottage: A totally gripping and emotional page turner Page 7
