by Angela Hunt
Caleb continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I’ll ask Annie to go with you. It’ll give you two ladies time to catch up on all the news.”
“What news? Nothing ever happens in Heavenly Daze, and Annie won’t tell me anything that goes on in Portland.” Olympia shook out the financial section. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to know if she did. No telling what kind of trouble that girl gets into in that big city.”
“She couldn’t be in much trouble,” Caleb reasoned. “She’s busy with her job.”
“Ayuh, so she says. Busy, busy, busy. That’s what’s wrong with young people today, always busy. I was busy when I was Annie’s age, but that didn’t excuse me from family responsibilities. I was able to pick up a phone and call; I could write a letter once a week. That’s what’s wrong with young people today—’’
Caleb gently interrupted her. “Eat, Missy, before it gets cold.”
“I’m not going to the doctor,” she repeated. “This is Saturday. There isn’t a doctor worth his salt working on Saturday anymore. In my day, they worked when they were needed, none of this—’’ “Now, Missy, you know you must. And if Doctor Merritt is willing to give of his time on Saturdays to offer free senior physicals, the least you can do is give him someone to see.” He freshened her coffee. “I’m thinking pork chops for supper. Does that sound good to you?”
“Hamburgers,” Olympia corrected.
“Now, Missy, the doctor says—’’
“No red meat,” she mocked. “Honestly, Caleb. Doctor Merritt will have me soon eating cardboard and water.”
“See?” He smiled with genuine tolerance. “Aren’t my world-famous pork chops better than cardboard and water? Pork is a white meat.”
“Hummmpt. World-famous? Last time we had pork chops they were tough and half raw. You’ll give us all worms. But if I can’t have red meat, I want lots of gravy—maybe some of those nice parsley potatoes and string beans.”
“Certainly. It would be my pleasure.”
When had he ever served undercooked pork? Never, but when Olympia was in one of her moods . . .
Convinced he’d diverted the conversation, he set a plate aside for Annie, then asked, “Have you heard how Cleta’s church project is coming along?”
“I wouldn’t know. No one tells me a blooming thing.” Olympia riffled through the paper, tossing the Ogunquit section to the floor.
Caleb smiled as he thought of the Heavenly Daze minister. All of the angels had noticed that the portrait seemed to shock him, though none of them could say why. Gavriel thought Pastor Wickam might be sensitive about losing his hair, though Caleb couldn’t imagine why any human would care about a mere physical shell when the spirit was so much more important.
“I wonder if they’ll keep the portrait where it is?”
Caleb had assumed that the portrait placement would be a simple matter, but Gavriel had expressed concern about possible dissension in the church body. Guided by Doctor Marc (who had quietly funded the purchase of the portrait), Micah had hung the frame next to the picture of Jacques de Cuvier, but Birdie Wester and Beatrice Coughlin thought it would be more appropriate to hang Pastor Wickam’s portrait opposite the painting of Captain de Cuvier.
Actually, Olympia would be the best judge of such matters, but because of her increasing rudeness to the other island ladies, few would consult Olympia these days. Pity.
With an affectionate sidelong glance, he admired his charge. If only she knew she was appreciated . . . these difficult days would be easier.
If only she would hold her sharp tongue.
He sighed. Olympia’s harshness kept everyone at arm’s length, and poor Annie, the one who needed Olympia’s approval most, would certainly never come back to the island once Edmund was finally promoted.
Olympia lowered the paper to stare at her half-eaten meal. “There’s no butter on my toast. Caleb, you know I enjoy butter on my toast.”
“You aren’t allowed butter. Doctor Marc says your cholesterol is a bit high.”
“Well, what does he know? Honestly. You’d think since he lived in my guesthouse he’d be more considerate.”
“Now, Missy. Doctor Marc pays you handsomely for the use of the cottage. Have you forgotten?”
“Certainly not. And well he should. He makes a fortune giving those flu shots and taking people’s butter away from them.”
“That’s Doctor Merritt, not Doctor Marc.”
“What’s the difference? They’re both doctors, in cahoots with each other.”
Caleb sighed. Olympia was too stubborn to acknowledge that Doctor Marc had never charged them a cent for Edmund’s care. As a matter of fact, Caleb couldn’t remember the doctor ever charging anyone who stopped by with a sniffle or a bump on the head. The joy he received by serving others far outweighed his need for payment.
Olympia picked at her plate and took a bite of egg, then her eyes scanned the table for the salt shaker.
Anticipating her question, Caleb beat her to the punch: “Your blood pressure was up a bit, too, so the doctor suggested that you go light on the salt.”
Bracing for a tongue-lashing, he winced and spun toward the sink full of dirty dishes. But Olympia only sighed as the pleasant voices of Annie and Doctor Marc drifted through the open window.
“She’s a good child, but she never does anything right.”
By now Caleb was elbow-deep in a pan of sudsy water. “Pardon?”
“Annie. She was never able to do anything right. It wasn’t for lack of trying, she isn’t a slow child, but you know how she is, Caleb. She’s setting herself up for another disappointment with those tomato plants. Trying to raise a Maine tomato in October.” Olympia snorted. “Who but Annie would come up with such nonsense?”
Caleb paused, recalling the time she’d blown the roof off the carriage house trying to come up with a revolutionary new soda pop. Apparently she’d put a little too much pop in the formula.
And then there was the unfortunate episode involving Vernie Bidderman’s setting hens. A sad day indeed. Traumatic, actually, for Vernie. Annie came up with a potent concoction she vowed would make the hens lay multicolored eggs twice the usual size . . .
My, how those hens had suffered.
He made a soft tsking sound, then continued. “Just because Annie hasn’t had much luck in the past doesn’t mean that somewhere inside that inventive mind she isn’t harboring the next cure for the common cold . . . or maybe a plan for the next hula hoop.”
A sillier contraption Caleb had never seen, but look how that simple toy had taken off. Annie’s hardy tomato could very well be the basis of the next salsa sensation.
Olympia had apparently abandoned the thought. “People say I have ice in my veins, but I think I’m just sensible—isn’t that right, Caleb? Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Ayuh, Missy, you are most practical.”
Frowning, Olympia smeared the dab of blueberry jam on her toast. “I spot pitfalls and try to avoid them. If that’s heartless, then so be it. Facts are facts. I learned long ago that you couldn’t please everyone so you might as well please yourself. I don’t want Annie hurt. She’s had enough trouble in her young life, and I don’t want her hurt, that’s why I’m so hard on her. If I hadn’t been tough with her, can you imagine what she’d be like today? Wild as a buck, like her mother. Can you understand?”
Caleb hoped she wouldn’t press him. He didn’t understand the iron stance she’d always taken with Annie, nor was he meant to understand. It was not his place to question; he was here to serve. Both Olympia and Annie were his charges as long as they lived in the house. Only the Lord knew if the two women would ever reconcile their differences. The Lord would give them many opportunities to do so, but they would have to make their own choices.
He smiled without humor. God instructed his children to love one another. Though some folks did make it a mite difficult to summon up even a little like, love was still the Lord’s teaching. If only Annie and Olympia would bury the hatche
t.
Olympia drank the last of her coffee, carefully setting the fragile cup back on the saucer. “Someday Annie will see that I’ve always had her best interests at heart. She’s a dreamer, Caleb. Like her mother, she resents me and my authority—she has from the moment Edmund and I took her under this roof and gave her a home.”
Caleb continued scrubbing. The dishes were already sparkling clean, but if he stopped washing, Olympia would make him sit down so she could talk for another hour.
“She could have gone to strangers,” Olympia continued. “Do you think she’s ever stopped to consider that? I see the accusation in her eyes. She wants me to be a touchy-feely teddy bear like her mother, but someday she’ll thank me for being the one solid influence in her life. Edmund certainly saw the light. He often said that if it wasn’t for me, he’d be off selling tea in China or peddling rugs in India.”
“Lots of people make a good living doing those things, Missy.”
“And lots more people make a good living at banking, just like my father, and just like Edmund.” With that pronouncement Olympia rose from her chair and went to the window.
Caleb listened with rising dismay. Apparently Annie’s visit had brought a lot of troubling issues to the surface of Olympia’s heart, and Mr. Edmund was just one of them.
Edmund had not been happy the last years of his life. Out of consideration for Olympia’s insecurities, he rarely went out. One by one, friends quit stopping by—no one but Edmund and Caleb understood that Olympia’s waspish tongue was nothing but a defense mechanism.
Olympia stared out at the ocean. “Edmund was happy. We were both happy.”
Caleb kept silent. The Lord still had much to teach the people of this house. Olympia placed too high a priority on money, and, as kind as he was, Edmund had always craved adventure more than the things of God. He had longed to travel the world, to visit Edmund Junior, who had cut ties with the island, and Annie, a lonely young woman in Portland who believed no one loved her.
Love one another.
Why was that so difficult?
“Caleb?”
The old servant turned from the sink, dripping suds from an iron skillet.
“Missy?”
“It’s almost over for Edmund, isn’t it?”
Caleb sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
The quiet of the kitchen seemed to amplify their sorrow, but the sound of Annie’s laughter came through the window. Glancing outside, Caleb saw that the doctor had gone back into the cottage. Annie was frolicking around the backyard with Tallulah, the plump dog trying hard to keep up with Annie’s youthful strides.
“It’s good she came back,” Olympia said. Caleb could hear the tears in her voice and knew how hard she was trying to maintain her composure. “Good that she can tell Edmund good-bye.”
“It is.” Caleb let the skillet fall into the water, then toweled off his hands. He walked to where Olympia looked out the window, then the two stood there with their own thoughts.
Outside, Tallulah tired of the game and fell over in the grass, playing dead.
“Fine, sissy. I’m going in anyway.” Laughing, Annie made her way to the house.
Her coming broke the spell. As Olympia turned to leave the room, she paused and looked at Caleb. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you? You won’t leave me alone?”
“I’ll be with you as long as you need me.”
Her tired eyes searched his. “Do you promise?”
And, as he had so often, he promised.
Chapter Nine
Supervising Aunt Olympia’s doctor’s visit wasn’t Annie’s idea of a cakewalk, but Caleb explained that his services were more needed with Edmund. And since Caleb asked, Annie agreed to take Olympia to the doctor on the mainland. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for the old butler.
Twelve o’clock found her in the porch swing waiting for Olympia to finish dressing. She’d spent half an hour with Uncle Edmund, but today there had been not the slightest sign of life other than the steady rise and fall of air moving in and out of his lungs.
Tallulah kept her company as she waited on the porch, the friendly mutt crawling up on her lap to stare at her with adoring brown eyes.
“Well, old girl,” Annie whispered, rubbing the dog’s ears, “I made myself a promise that I’d try my best to bond with Aunt Olympia during this trip. If I’m civil, with a little luck, we’ll both return to the island alive.”
Patience, Annie. Caleb’s voice echoed in her mind.
As Caleb drove the carriage to the ferry, Annie determined that it would be a pleasant outing even if it killed her and Olympia to try.
Scenic Ogunquit was slowly closing down after a booming summer season. The small seaside community thrived on tourism, and this afternoon the vendors welcomed the final few tourists into their establishments.
Lobster fishermen were running their traps along the shore while crews of local sightseeing boats took out their last customers of the season.
Annie held her sweat-drenched blouse away from her chest, trying to catch the breeze. The day wasn’t that warm, but anticipation—dread—had made her as nervous as a politician on Super Tuesday.
“Where is it we’re going?” Olympia asked as they stepped off the ferry and set off toward the center of town.
Annie hurried to match her aunt’s brisk pace. “You have a doctor’s appointment—don’t you want to take the trolley?”
“I don’t have money to burn. Do you?”
“But it’s several blocks to the doctor’s office.”
“Walking is good for you. That’s what’s wrong with young people today; they ride when they can walk. Waste money like it was growing on trees.”
“Okay. We’re walking.” Olympia had already passed the trolley stand, and Annie doubted that a Mack truck could stop her.
“I just saw the doctor last week! I don’t understand why I have to go again,” she complained.
“That was Doctor Marc, Aunt Olympia. This is Doctor Merritt. It’s time for your yearly physical.”
“What, time for a doctor to tell me all the things I already know? Hmmph.”
Cool air washed over Annie when they entered the ivy-covered medical building. Pausing before the bank of elevators, Annie perused the directory. Phillip Merritt, M.D., Room 106.
Ground floor, Annie thought. Thank goodness. If Olympia made her climb a flight of stairs after that hike, she’d have to carry Annie on her back. When Annie turned around, she spotted the disappearing hem of Olympia’s skirt shooting around a corner.
By the time she caught up, Olympia was giving her name at the reception desk. A pleasant white-coated receptionist took the information, then motioned toward the row of chairs lining the large room. “Have a seat, Mrs. Cuvier, and we’ll call you.”
“Mrs. de Cuvier,” Olympia corrected.
The nurse’s smiled faded. “Of course, Mrs. de Cuvier. It shouldn’t be long.”
Rolling her eyes, Olympia sat down.
The two women flipped through magazines, glancing up occasionally as the door opened and closed. Annie was fully prepared to grab Olympia’s skirt tail should she attempt an escape, but the older woman now seemed unconcerned with the pending appointment. She thumbed through a worn Good Housekeeping, ripping out recipes while Annie watched in horror.
“Don’t do that,” she whispered, glancing up to see if the receptionist had noticed the tearing sounds.
“Why not? Doctors make enough to pay for every magazine in here twice.”
“Just don’t do it anymore. Okay?”
She shot Olympia a murderous look a few minutes later when she heard another quick rip.
Twenty minutes passed before the inner office door opened and a pretty brunette nurse called, “Mrs. Cuvier?”
Olympia didn’t budge.
Rereading the chart in her hand, the nurse called, “Olympia Cuvier?”
Annie glanced at Olympia. “That’s you.”
Olympia continued to leaf thro
ugh a copy of Good Housekeeping. “They haven’t called my name.”
The nurse’s anxious gaze searched the waiting room. “Cuvier?”
“Aunt Olympia,” Annie warned under her breath. “Why can’t you ever do what you’re told? Why must you make an issue out of every single thing?”
Olympia lowered the magazine and returned Annie’s direct gaze. “They haven’t called my name.”
Releasing a breath, Annie got up and approached the nurse, glaring at her aunt as she quietly explained.
Disbelief tinged the woman’s features. “Really?”
“Really.” Face flaming, Annie returned to her seat.
Shrugging, the nurse said quietly, “Mrs. de Cuvier?”
“Here.” Olympia raised her hand. Ripping one last recipe, she stuck the paper in her black purse and joined the nurse.
“The doctor is in, isn’t he? I don’t want to go back in that room and freeze. Is the air conditioning on? It isn’t warm enough for air conditioning. That’s the trouble with doctors. Charge you an arm and a leg and then waste the money on air conditioning so you’re not even comfortable in their offices.”
Olympia’s voice faded down the hallway. “Is Doctor Merritt in? I don’t want you to leave me in that room wearing nothing but a paper dress while you’re off doing who knows what . . .”
As heads turned to stare, Annie slid lower into her chair.
After perusing two old Newsweeks, a tattered Good Housekeeping, and a complimentary office copy of The Children’s Bible, Annie drummed her nails on her chair and waited for Olympia to reappear.
Her aunt’s demanding voice had occasionally drifted to the waiting room. When it did, Annie slumped lower in her chair and hoped that none of the nurses had a roll of duct tape handy.
Olympia finally burst back through the doorway with a fistful of papers in her hand and an incredulous look on her pale face.
Annie stiffened in her chair, her heart pounding. Had the routine exam found a problem?
“Aunt Olympia? Are you okay?”
Gritting her teeth, Olympia ground out the words. “I have to have a . . .” She paused, clapping a hand to her heart.
