by Donna Alward
Abby shifted in the chair and the armrest knocked against her thigh. She gasped and clenched her teeth but not before Meggie noticed. “Are you okay? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re looking a bit rough. We all sort of assumed that you and Tom had … I mean, with the borrowed clothes and everything…” Meggie blushed a little, and so did Abby.
“Oh,” she replied. She hadn’t quite thought about appearances when they’d hopped in the truck. “Um, not like that. I got caught in the storm earlier. My clothes are in Tom’s dryer.”
“And the leg?” Meggie’s gaze penetrated. “Someone doesn’t react like that from a little scratch.”
“The short version is that the barn at the top of Blackberry Hill is toast. I didn’t quite make it out unscathed.”
“What?” Meggie leaned forward. “Are you saying that old monstrosity finally came down?”
“With me inside it, I’m afraid.”
Meggie’s face paled. “My God, girl, what are you doing here?”
Abby smiled, touched by the concern. “It’s okay. I was pretty lucky. Tom bandaged me up. There’s a cut on my leg, and my knees got chewed up a bit.”
“Let’s see.”
Abby felt ridiculous. “I’m fine, really.”
Meggie frowned, her face taking on that motherly “just do as I say” look. Abby rolled up the cuff of Tom’s pants and carefully peeled back the gauze over her knee.
“You weren’t kidding.” Meggie examined the wound.
“There were a lot of splinters,” Abby explained. “I’m afraid it’s quite tender.”
“Of course it is.” She sat up. “Josh?”
“Meggie, please…”
“Josh is a doctor. He should have a look.” She frowned. “Tom should have taken you to him in the first place. Oh, well. At least fences seem mended now.”
Josh approached, followed by Tom and Bryce.
“Take a look at Abby, will you, Josh?”
Josh knelt down and examined her knees. “Good Lord. How did you do this?”
She met his alarmed gaze. “Trying to crawl out of a falling building. I didn’t quite make it.”
He peeled off the remaining gauze and tape. Tom put his hand on her shoulder as she winced at the gentle touch. “She had splinters, but I think I got them all out.”
“A falling building, huh?”
“Lightning hit the old Prescott barn,” Tom explained.
“And Tom pulled me out,” Abby replied, reaching up and squeezing his hand. “Did I actually say thank you yet?”
He squeezed back in return.
Josh frowned. “You’re okay otherwise?”
“I think so. There’s a small cut on my leg.”
“You should have your tetanus updated if you haven’t in a while. I’ll see to it, okay?”
“Josh, really, I—”
He put his hand on her ankle. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, it’ll keep me busy. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Meggie gently replaced the bandage, anchoring the tape and rolling down the cuffs of the pants. Abby’s eyes stung. Twice today people had tended to her with care. Right now Abby was feeling rather mothered, and it was something she’d missed more than she realized.
Tom went to put his cup in the garbage. “You’re really selling the house?” Meggie asked, sounding disappointed.
The question made Abby uncomfortable. She really didn’t know anymore. Why did it seem to matter to everyone? “It’s awfully big for one person. I didn’t know much about my family when I got here, but I’ve filled in the blanks, which is what I set out to do. There’s no reason for me to stay.”
Meggie looked at Tom. “Isn’t there?”
Josh returned with fresh materials and in no time he had her knees rebandaged and she’d endured a tetanus shot. She felt silly, knowing she was fine while Sarah was the one in the hospital room going through hell. But she let Tom’s family baby her just this once. Once she was squared away, Tom offered to go out and pick up some food for everyone. Bryce went with him and Josh went to speak to the doctor.
Jess came out of Sarah’s room. “I’m going to take Mark to pick up the kids,” Jess said. Her eyes looked tired and slightly red. “Mom, she wondered if you’d go with me and pick up some of her things for the night.”
“I’ll sit with her for a while,” Abby said, rising. “I can’t do much, but I can get her something if she needs it.”
“Thank you, Abby,” Jess said. “I don’t want her to be alone.”
Abby went into the room, her steps tentative. Sarah was in the bed, covered to her armpits in a white sheet and wearing a hospital johnny shirt. Abby sat on the edge of the bed, struggling not to cry herself. Maybe she’d never lost a baby, but she was no stranger to grief. She took Sarah’s hand in hers.
“I am so, so sorry,” she said quietly.
Sarah looked up at Abby and tears filled her eyes.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Abby whispered, knowing that there were times that words just didn’t seem to help when a heart was in despair. Sarah put her head back against the pillow and Abby watched, helpless, as a tear squeezed out of Sarah’s eye and rolled along her cheek to the pillow.
And then Abby sat there, just holding Sarah’s hand as she cried it out, until Sarah’s eyelids finally closed and she slid into an emotionally exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER 21
“Tom, can I ask your opinion about something?”
Abby stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Tom had come by to replace the door on one of the kitchen cupboards that had come from the manufacturer with a flaw. He was kneeling on the floor holding a screwdriver in his hand, his jeans curved beautifully over his bottom. His T-shirt rode up just a bit, stretched across the muscles of his back.
He was easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever known.
Unfortunately, he was also the most difficult to figure out. Everything had changed since the day of the storm. So many things had been resolved. She’d shared the deepest parts of herself with Tom, and she’d thought they’d grown closer because of it. It was true that Sarah and Mark’s tragedy had cast a pall of sadness over the family, but it was tempered by Tom and Josh’s tentative reconciliation. Wounds were being healed.
So why did she feel farther removed from Tom instead of closer? Ever since they’d been interrupted on their way to kissing—and that was definitely where they’d been headed—he’d been distant. He’d brought her home from the hospital that night and left her at the door. She’d offered to go to his place to pick up her clothing but he dropped it off one day when she was in town meeting with the lawyer.
That night had given Abby a clarity about herself, her past, and what she wanted from her future … or in this case their future. She’d been running away her whole life, afraid of getting hurt, and she was tired of it. Abby wanted a place to call home, a family, friends, Tom. But so far, instead of getting closer, Tom had backed off.
“Fire away,” he answered, not looking up from his work.
She stepped inside. “Jewell Cove has a historical society, right?”
The ratcheting screwdriver made grinding noises in the otherwise silent kitchen. He chuckled. “Sure, but you could start up your own historical society with what’s up in that attic.”
“I’ve already sorted out a lot of things that might be of interest to collectors.”
He picked up another screw and set it in place. “Getting their hands on some of the old Foster relics would be a major coup,” he confirmed. “I’m surprised the town hasn’t asked you about buying the house for a museum.”
She ran her hand over the cool granite countertop. He’d done a fabulous job in the kitchen, making it modern and sleek while still maintaining the stately grandeur of the rest of the house. “Oh, I did run into the mayor at Breezes one morning when I first arrived and he might have mentioned it.”
The screwdriver stopped turning. Tom finally looked up at her, but she found it impossible
to read his expression.
“Has the town put in an offer?”
“Not that I’m aware of. The price tag might be a little hefty.”
He looked back down at the cabinet door and opened and shut it a few times, and then fiddled more with the screws.
“Anyway, what I wondered was … what do you think of me hosting one last Foster garden party?”
“A garden party? Here?” Tom paused in the middle of his task to look at Abby in surprise.
“I know the yard still needs some work. I thought about asking Art Ellis to come up to show me how the garden used to be. The roses are blooming, but it needs more flowers. Do you know where I should go to buy some annuals to fill in the gaps?”
He sat back on his heels. “Why on earth would you want to hold a garden party when you’re selling this place anyway?”
This was the tough part, because she wasn’t sure she was ready to lay all her cards on the table yet, to just come out and tell him—and everyone—that the party was her own personal housewarming. She twisted her fingers together. “I think it’s a good way to erase the bad … I don’t know, karma, maybe, of the past. You worked so hard to restore the house and everyone talks about how it used to be in its heyday. Why shouldn’t I throw a party? What better way to … send it off into the future?”
Except the future wasn’t quite what he thought it was. The FOR SALE sign was still up and would remain up—but only for the time being. Tom thought that the party was a last hurrah before she sold, but really, it was a new beginning. For her. And maybe for them …
She took a step closer to him. “Think about it. White tents on the back lawn, vases of flowers, ladies in long dresses. We could polish up the good silver and serve tea on that gorgeous Wedgwood china. I counted, Tom. The Fosters had service for a hundred. Can you imagine? China for one hundred people!”
Tom shut the cupboard door, stood up, and tucked the screwdriver into his back pocket. “So you’re what, throwing a going-away party for yourself?”
So much was at stake but she’d never been more determined to succeed. The time for running was past.
“Something like that,” she answered, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Anyway, I was wondering if you knew who to contact. I’d like for the historical society to be a part of it.”
“Talk to Gloria Henderson. She’s the organist at the church. If she can’t help you, she’ll know who can.”
“We’ve met. Thanks, Tom.” She turned toward the door but then spun back. “You’ll be sure to come, won’t you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Me? At a garden party? Are you serious?”
For a second Abby felt a flash of panic at the thought that Tom wouldn’t be there. She couldn’t imagine doing this without him, not when he’d been here every step of the way. It was because of him this was even possible. “But of course you’ll be here. You’re the reason this place looks like it does. Everyone will want to ask you about the restoration. It’s good advertising for your business.”
“I’m not dressing up in some silly suit.”
She smirked. “Of course not.” She tried to picture Tom in an elegant day suit of cream and white and it wouldn’t gel. “Just say you’ll come and soak up all the compliments on your fine work.”
He sighed. “Me coming, is that the favor?”
“Not quite. I was hoping you could tell me where to rent the tents and a good garden center to buy the bedding plants,” she nudged again.
“Brian Wilson has a greenhouse out on Oaklawn Road. I’d go with him rather than some of the bigger garden centers.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Anytime. And there’s a place in Rockland where you can probably rent the tents. I’ll text you their info. I know I’ve got it at home.”
She smiled. “You’re a gem, Tom. I appreciate all your help.”
“You’re welcome. And you’re all set here, so unless there’s something else…”
“You want something to drink? I can put on some coffee, or there’s iced tea in the fridge.”
“I’d better get back. I’m putting together a bid on a new project.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be in touch soon, though. See ya, Abby.”
He picked up his tools and the old cupboard door and slid past her, his boots making thumps on the hardwood floor.
Abby bit down on her lip as she rested against the woodwork of the door frame. She had her work cut out for her, didn’t she?
* * *
Art Ellis was more than happy to help with the gardens. Abby spent several pleasant hours listening to him recall stories about Marian’s time in the house and how she loved her garden. Petunias, marigolds, pansies, and alyssum filled out the flower beds, but Abby also took care to add some new perennials that would last from year to year—lilies, phlox, and her personal favorite, cheerful red bee balm. She knelt in the dirt and Art supervised nearby. By the time they were done Abby was stiff but pleased. The garden was alive with color and scent, and as she put her hands on her lower back and stretched, she watched a butterfly alight on one of the crimson blossoms.
Help in the form of Gloria Henderson also made things come together. She volunteered her services along with that of the churchwomen to prepare the food for the event if Abby bought the groceries. Together they decided on a very garden party-ish menu of finger sandwiches, petits fours and cookies, punch, and of course, tea.
Jess was enlisted to help with the table decorations, details that Abby left in her capable, creative hands. Tents were rented from Rockland. It was all coming together beautifully.
It was Jess’s idea to ask Sarah to help with the invitations. Ever since arriving home from the hospital, Sarah had been withdrawn. It wasn’t unexpected but it was increasingly worrisome as the days went by. Jess had somehow acquired a pen-and-ink sketch of Foster House. They scanned it into Sarah’s computer, and with the first real energy she’d shown for days, Sarah added the details in an elegant font. Eighty invitations were sent out to local businesses, civic figures, and anyone who’d had a personal connection to the Fosters.
The only thing left was to decide what she was going to wear.
And for that, she needed to make another trip to the attic.
* * *
Tom wasn’t prepared for the red, white, and blue bunting hanging from the pillars of Foster House. Coming up the drive he could already see the white tents set up in the back, festive and pristine against the blue of the sky. Abby couldn’t have better weather if she’d ordered it especially for the day. Tom did a double take as he realized there was a man directing the parking, and that he was dressed in what Tom suspected was the old Foster livery—not a re-creation, but the original, real deal.
How on earth had she come up with that?
There were at least a dozen cars all lined up along the side of the lane, their hoods partially shaded by the row of birch trees. Tom got out, glad for once he had put away his work boots and jeans for something slightly dressier. Maybe he’d had to dig into the back of his closet, but the light blue shirt and charcoal suit pants had seemed far more appropriate. The dress shoes pinched his toes a bit but were livable. He wasn’t dressed like some Edwardian dandy, but he figured he’d do all right.
Everything was happening in the backyard, but Tom went to the front door instead. Abby had been right. He should be here because it would be good for business. And since his business had involved the house and not the backyard, he figured he’d better make a showing there first. Besides, he was feeling slightly proprietary about it all today. Abby hadn’t changed her mind about selling. Quite the contrary, in fact. Ever since that day at the hospital he’d been waiting for her to take down that blasted sign, but it stayed stubbornly in place, a glaring reminder that her feelings hadn’t changed.
She was really going. It was time he accepted the truth and quit waiting. Tom had finally gone into town and put his offer in this morning before the place sold from under his nose
.
The door opened before he could raise his hand to knock, and feeling foolish he stepped inside. He felt even more foolish when he saw the man behind the uniform. “Mayor,” he said drily.
“Just the butler today, Tom. The historical society is helping out.” Luke Pratt winked. “Welcome to Foster House.”
Abby had gone all out, hadn’t she? As Tom made his way through to the back of the house, he noticed that every inch had been polished until it gleamed. The new drapes she’d ordered had been delivered and hung precisely in place, and the sliding pocket door he’d installed in the kitchen was closed, blocking it from the view of the guests. He stood aside as it slid open and a maid in black and white came out carrying a silver tray.
He’d stepped back in time.
“Tom.”
Abby’s voice was a welcome distraction from feeling like he’d fallen down a rabbit hole, but when he turned around it felt like all the air had gone out of his lungs.
She looked beautiful. Timeless. Like a picture out of the old Foster photo album only in living, breathing color. “Wow,” he managed.
She grinned and spun in a circle. “Do you like it? It’s got to be over a hundred years old. When I first discovered it the shirt was a bit yellowed and it smelled like the cedar chest. It dry-cleaned beautifully though, don’t you think?”
He swallowed. What he was thinking had little to do with the state of her clothing but with her. The full navy skirt fell in soft folds clear to the floor, and the white blouse was tapered and tucked in all the right places to make her waist look tiny and her breasts …
Well. He swallowed again. He’d have to lock that down tight, wouldn’t he?
A red, white, and blue sash ran from her shoulder to her hip as well, to celebrate the occasion. “You’re looking very festive,” he answered. “This is quite the event.”
“Come look,” she replied, taking his hand and tugging him toward the porch. “The historical society has worked its magic.”
What Tom thought was that Abby had been the one to work magic. She had no idea how much she belonged here. Or that when she went away, they were all going to miss her terribly.
