by Kim Bowman
“Don’t blame yourself. She’s been pampered all her life and hasn’t had to worry about things like this. Someone just has to show her how.”
He patted her shoulder. “I’ve heard about all the hard work you’re putting into making this house into an art gallery. I think it’s a marvelous idea. If it succeeds, you’ll have the perfect solution, since you’ll be here all day. And I, for one, will be glad to see Charlie Brannigan’s artwork featured here in his hometown.” He sat back. “I know you’ll need to leave the house for your job and to conduct business. Perhaps someone could stop in with meals for her while you’re away? I can recommend someone.”
“Thank you, doctor, but I can’t really afford a housekeeper or companion for Mother right now.”
“I don’t think she needs a companion, at least not in the sense you might be accustomed to. What I’m suggesting is more of a friend. Someone who can come over and make sure she’s getting nourishment and also engage her in conversation. Someone who has had some of the same experiences as your mother and can connect with her. Just on the next street is Mrs. Linden, a widow whose youngest child recently married and left the house. She is at a loss, as her life up until now has been her family. Perhaps we could introduce them to each other.”
A companion — a friend — for her mother? “That sounds wonderful! But how—”
“In addition to her cooking, Mrs. Linden is also well known among Wildwood residents for her beautiful embroidery work. Might there be a place in your gallery for some of her creations?”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea! Where does Mrs. Linden live? I’ll make sure Mother’s settled for the afternoon and visit her. And could you suggest anyone else in case Mrs. Linden is not agreeable to such an arrangement?”
Chapter Nine
Charlie balanced at the top of a ladder in the center of the dining hall. Several light bulbs in the large chandelier needed replacing, and he was the only person in the house tall enough to reach them. Rose hovered at the bottom of the ladder, unsure of how best to assist him. What if he should fall? What if the ancient ladder they’d found in the gardener’s shed should break? She couldn’t bear the thought. But without the new bulbs, the room was far too dark to properly feature the displays. So she held tightly to the ladder, praying for the strength to keep it steady.
Once word of the art gallery became known, Rose had met with a steady stream of artisans and crafters, all begging to be included. She’d accepted a few, like Mrs. Linden’s embroidery and Erin Grady’s weaving, but most were trinkets and small items more suited for the souvenir shops on the Boardwalk. Her heart still ached for those she had to decline. Their hopes had been so high, and their disappointment had been palpable.
The wide double doors behind her creaked, and Rose, assuming her mother had come to inspect their work, spoke without turning her head. “I’ll have lunch ready in a few minutes, Mother. I just want to make sure Charlie doesn’t fall.”
“Excuse me, are you open for business? I’m looking for some artwork for my new tea room,” a woman said.
“Oh, forgive me!” Rose cast a smile toward the woman but held tight to the ladder until Charlie came down. Then she turned her full attention to the potential customer.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to the Sheffield Gallery. I’m Rose Sheffield. What sort of pictures are you looking for?”
“I-I’m not sure. I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Of course. What is the name of your tea room, Mrs…”
“Mrs. Johnson. Dora Johnson. I plan to call it “Dora’s Delights.”
“Excellent. What sort of decor will you have? Do you have a color scheme or a theme for your establishment?”
The woman faltered. “I-I’m not sure,” she replied. “I just got the approval from my husband to start decorating. I hadn’t thought that far. It’s going to be a wonderful place, just off the Boardwalk on Spencer Avenue.”
“What a perfect location. What kinds of food are you going to offer? Will you have sandwiches and other lunch items, or just appetizers and desserts?”
Charlie listened as Rose worked with Mrs. Johnson. Keeping his eyes averted, he listened closely to the women’s exchange as he folded the ladder and put it away. Rose was an excellent hostess and savvy businesswoman.
“Your restaurant sounds wonderful. I’d like to suggest some still life paintings Mr. Brannigan created during his time in New York.”
When Mrs. Johnson found the still lifes too expensive for her budget, they moved on to his smaller oils and then finally to his watercolors. All the while, she engaged the new restaurateur in conversation, asking questions not only about the new business venture but her own life, as if they were destined to be the best of friends. Even if this visit didn’t end with a sale today, Mrs. Johnson would likely return.
“Young man, could you help me get these paintings to my restaurant?”
Charlie looked around for a young man then realized the woman had spoken to him. “Er, yes of course, ma’am. As soon as Miss Sheffield finishes packaging them. We wouldn’t want them to get dirty from all the construction going on.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. I know exactly where I want to hang these, too. I’m so glad Miss — Sheffield, is it? I’m glad she was here to help me pick them out. I hope Mr. Brannigan appreciates how good she is at selling his paintings.”
“I know Mr. Brannigan appreciates all that she does, but I will be sure to pass along your comments to him.”
Rose finished wrapping the paintings and handed the bundle to Charlie with an impish smile. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Here you go, Charlie. Thank you for helping Mrs. Johnson with her purchases.”
Charlie responded with a nod, though their gazes met in understanding. He escorted the lady down the Boardwalk to her restaurant, where she proudly gave him the grand tour and insisted he take a dime as a tip. Charlie let the woman ramble on about all the plans she had.
His return trip took him past the ice cream shop where he had first set up his paintings. If Rose hadn’t walked by that day, would he still be standing there trying to sell his watercolors?
“Could I interest you in some ice cream, Charlie? It’s a nice sunny day, perfect for a cold treat. I’ll give you a special deal and throw in a sundae for Miss Sheffield.” Bernie, his old friend, stood in the doorway.
“Two for the price of one? That sounds like a great deal. Why are you so generous today?”
“I heard about the arrangements Miss Sheffield is making with different businesses for her Grand Opening. I’d like to be a part of that, too. Would you take her some of my ice cream? And could you tell her that I can fix a special treat for people who come to your grand opening? Maybe I can print up some coupons for her to give to your visitors.”
~~~~
Returning to the gallery, Charlie found Rose helping yet another customer. Sales` had been steady since he’d moved his business here, and he’d resigned himself to the big event she’d planned. He was amazed at all she’d been able to accomplish without spending a dime. But at the rate his things were selling, he’d run out of paintings before the Grand Opening. Three or four new paintings, including the one for Erin and her family, would be completed that night. If there was enough daylight left, perhaps he’d sketch out a few more. With the money Mrs. Johnson had given him, he could pay Rose her percentage, buy more supplies, and still have plenty to give to Ma. The thought cheered him, and he walked with a bounce in his step.
Once Rose saw her customer off, Charlie put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the sitting room, in front of her treat.
“Eat this before it melts. It’s from Bernie’s Ice Cream Shop.”
Rose sat, but she examined the bowl of creamy goodness before picking up her spoon. “Are you sure, Charlie? This is such a huge sundae, it must have cost a fortune.” Rose stared at the mound of vanilla ice cream, covered with chocolate syrup and whipped cream and topped with a cherry. “I’ve never eaten so much ice cr
eam in one sitting, even when — even when we could afford it.”
“Eat up. You deserve it. Bernie gave me a special deal. Since you’ve brought so much business to his part of the Boardwalk he wanted to show his appreciation. He’s also hoping you’ll allow him and his business to be part of the Grand Opening.”
She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth and frowned. Charlie began to wonder what thoughts spun around inside that lovely head. Did she not consider ice cream appropriate for her event?
“Bernie’s ice cream is delicious, and I’m sure the guests would love it, but how would we serve it? If you and I are busy greeting guests, we’re not going to be able to scoop ice cream as well. Does he plan to give a voucher for our guests to go take to his shop, or will he or one of his employees come here to dish it out? And how will he keep it cold enough?”
“He mentioned printing out coupons for your visitors, but I didn’t discuss the details. I think he just wants to be included somehow. This plan of yours is getting everyone in town excited, and they all want to be involved. Why don’t you finish your sundae and then go over to discuss it with him? I’ve got plenty to keep me busy here.”
She nodded and tucked into the sundae. Charlie really did have things to do, but somehow they didn’t seem quite as important as watching Rose eat. She attacked her food the way she did everything else — with purpose and determination. When she made up her mind to do something, she gave it her all. He hid a chuckle when a drop of the melted ice cream got on a tendril of hair.
Finished with her sundae, she stood. “Was there something you needed before I go?”
Charlie reached for his handkerchief, thankful his mother had insisted he take a clean one that morning. “I’m sure Bernie would be pleased to know that you enjoyed his ice cream, but I don’t think he expects you to wear it.” Before she could react, he wiped the glob from her hair and then moved to her chin, where a few melted drops had dribbled.
She stood still, staring at him with wide eyes. Was that fear he saw in them? Or was it surprise? He moved the cloth gently across her face, giving her time to back away, hoping she wouldn’t.
And then the smoky gray darkened to a charcoal hue as awareness took hold. He stepped closer, still moving slowly, his handkerchief now trailing up her cheek, across her nose. His other hand rose to cup the other cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin. He lowered his head, and her eyes closed, her lips parted, and—
“Rose, dear. What do you think of — oh!” Lily stood at the doorway, holding a selection of crocheted doilies.
Rose gasped and stepped back. The flush on her cheeks bothered him more than he cared to admit. Was she embarrassed to be caught in an almost kiss with him? He’d known a few high society women who liked to flirt with him but saw artists as bohemians, totally unworthy of any kind of permanent relationship. Rose was no longer wealthy, but she’d been raised in that atmosphere. Did she consider him beneath her?
Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Charlie turned to Lily with a courteous smile. “Was there something you needed, Mrs. Sheffield?”
The older woman beamed. “Not a thing, Charlie. Not a thing. Carry on.” She swept out as silently as she’d come in.
Rose cleared her throat. “I’ll be going now. Er, is all the ice cream gone from my face?”
He used his handkerchief to wipe an imaginary spot off her nose. “All clean. Perhaps after you get back from talking to Bernie, you’ll join me for a hot dog on the Boardwalk?”
She hesitated, and he guessed at the reason. “I’d be honored if your mother would join us.” His heart started again when she nodded.
“That would be — very nice, Charlie. Thank you.”
Watching her hurry out, he realized he couldn’t wait for her to come back.
Only a few months ago, he’d looked forward to summer so that he could sell his paintings. Now there was so much more to look forward to.
Chapter Ten
Rose hurried home, humming as she walked. After putting in her time at André’s, she’d spent an hour delivering signs to most of the merchants along the Boardwalk. Nearly everyone had agreed to display the flyer in their window, and most had offered words of encouragement. It heartened her to know she had the support of the town.
Returning to the house, she prepared lunch for her mother and changed into work clothes. Normally, she dreaded coming home to clean after having spent several hours scrubbing at the restaurant. But today she had lots of help. The entire Brannigan family had arrived earlier, ready to make the entire house shine and get everything ready for the gallery’s Grand Opening. Connor and Charlie built new frames for the larger canvases. They had moved the large dining table and stored it so that the carpeting could be thoroughly cleaned.
Mother, having eaten her lunch, rested upstairs, so after straightening the kitchen Rose rolled up her sleeves and got to work on the rest of the house. She’d learned a lot working at the hotel. At first she hadn’t known much about housekeeping except to get the dust off the furniture. But one of the older maids had taken pity on her once she saw that Rose really wanted to learn and wasn’t just playing at being poor.
So now she cleaned, grateful for all the extra help. She liked the affable Mrs. Brannigan, the earnest young Connor, and the ever-cheerful Katie. How lucky they were to have siblings. The past several years would have been so much easier to bear if she’d had others to share the burden.
Katie knelt on the floor in the Main Hall, scrubbing the floorboards. She looked up with a smile when Rose came in carrying a bucket.
“Afternoon, Rose. Did you get the word spread about the Grand Opening?”
“Yes, I did. I gave out fifty posters this morning along the Boardwalk. I personally tacked the posters up in the shops where they let me. With the others, I’m not sure if they’ll actually get displayed or whether they’ll be used for kindling.”
“We really appreciate all the hard work you’re doing to help Charlie. I know he’s missed his artist days in New York. He was a big deal, you know.”
“Rose,” Charlie’s mother called from the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Susie’s hands toyed with her apron and her eyes darted about. Rose wondered what could have caused the woman’s distress, but got up to speak with the caller.
A hurdy-gurdy man stood at the door, cap in hand, accordion at his feet, and monkey on his shoulder.
“Afternoon, Miss Sheffield,” he began. “Sam Henderson’s my name. I heard you’re havin’ a big to-do here in a few weeks and there’s gonna be all kinds of bigwigs and high-flyers here. And word has it you’re lookin’ for musicians. Well, Jocko an’ me, we can kick out a lively tune for your guests.” Before Rose could form a polite answer, he plunked his hat on his head, picked up his accordion, and began a jig. The monkey, taking his cue, played a pair of tiny cymbals, but the tempo of the monkey’s crashes had no connection with the music.
Sam finished his piece and looked hopefully at Rose. “What do ya think, Miss Sheffield? Can’t ya see those ladies and gents takin’ a turn with my playin’?”
“Er, your music is lively. I’ll certainly consider it, Mr. Henderson.” She thought frantically of a polite way to let him down, but it didn’t seem to be necessary. He hung his head, and Rose felt bad for him.
“Yeah, the other lady told me you had lots of musicians already.”
“The other lady?” Confusion must have shown, because the man elaborated.
“Mrs. Sheffield. She answered the door yesterday when I came. Said you had so many musicians that there was a waiting list. So I wanted to make sure I was on that list, in case ya need more of us.”
Bless Mother and her years of being a proper hostess to those high-strung Wall Street types. I never would have thought of the waiting list idea.
“My mother was correct. We already have enough musicians, but I will be sure to start calling people on the waiting list should we have a cancellation or if the even
t grows large enough that more people are needed.” A thought occurred to her, and she asked, “Do you have a business card you can leave with me? We might not need your services for this time, but I’m hoping to have other special events later in the summer that might require your talents.”
The man brightened and stood taller. “No business card, but I can write my name down if you have some paper.”
Rose fetched a notebook, and Sam scribbled his contact information then went away. Rose went back to her work. Throughout the afternoon, a steady stream of musical acts of varying degrees of talent came to call. Apparently, Sam had spread the word about the waiting list. She thanked them politely and took their names and addresses. If Sheffield Galleries was to be accepted, she needed to make friends with the locals.
But there was one local citizen in particular whose approval she craved. The idea of setting her home up as an art gallery had sprung from a desire to provide better care for her mother. But now, she thought of him often, wondered what he was doing, considered what he would like, looked in his eyes for approval. She knew now that her original opinion of him as a bohemian, living hand to mouth and not worrying about stability and responsibility, was wrong. Charlie and his brother delivered newspapers early in the morning to make sure his family had enough to eat, and he wasn’t afraid of hard work. She could depend on him. And she wanted him to depend on her. The gallery would be a success. So she dipped her rag into the soapy water and went back to work, making the woodwork gleam once more.
Chapter Eleven
Rose hurried home from her shift at the restaurant, nearly skipping with excitement. Only one more day and she would find out whether or not all her hard work would net results. As she passed the Seaside Motel, Ned Barker, the owner, stopped her.
“Miss Sheffield, you’re a godsend,” he exclaimed. “I thought your hoity-toity art gallery idea was gonna be a bust, but my hotel is full for the next month, and so is every other hotel in town. We’ve got bigwigs coming in from Philadelphia and New York City and more calling every day. I’ve had to turn away at least half a dozen people this morning. This place is going to be crowded with visitors! I had doubts about your Grand Opening, but you really pulled it together. If there’s ever anything I can do for you and your gallery, just see me!”
