by Anna Schmidt
Since when does Harry Starbuck need to plan an excuse? What if he was in the mood to call on Ellie? She was a dear friend. It was a free country.
Unbidden came the memory of the shocked look on Nola’s face when she’d opened her parlor door and seen him with Ellie. In the moment it had taken for her to recover he had registered something in the way she looked at them. Jealousy? No, Harry had had enough experience with competing females to know that look all too well. No, it was something else, something more poignant and unexpected.
Longing.
Well, and why not? A spinster like Nola? He shook off the notion of going in. He wasn’t in the mood for another debate with her tonight. The truth was that the woman confounded him. What was it about this uptight female, his adversary in business, that drew him to her like a moth to a flame? That was it, he realized. She was a woman and he was used to doing business with men and charming the ladies. This was business—pure and simple.
Relieved that he had solved the mystery of his fascination with the tearoom proprietress, Harry strolled out onto the footbridge that led to the stairway down to the beach and looked back at the impressive home with its mansard roof and dormer windows. Nola had done a fine job with the grounds. They were inviting and made good use of traditional ’Sconset plantings—climbing roses that lay heavy on the low stone walls marking the boundaries of the property. They would make an instant positive impression on city types who’d come with a preconceived and romantic notion of what an island resort town should look like. Those carefully pruned hydrangea bushes that lined the foundation of the porch, and the lush ferns in ceramic planters on high plant stands stood sentry among the several rocking chairs that aligned the front porch. In back near the carriage house, he was sure he’d seen a small herb garden surrounded by a picket fence. Beyond that was a small windmill for pumping water for the kitchen and bathrooms, and climbing the trellis at the side of the carriage house was a thick vine of morning glories.
The whole place was dignified and uncompromising in its propriety and yet with a certain aura of unexpected charm. Like Nola herself.
Harry frowned. “Not at all like Nola,” he muttered and wondered where such a ridiculous thought had originated. He left his bike by the stone wall and headed up the walk. Light from Nola’s office and parlor spilled onto the porch. He hesitated. If she was working he didn’t want to disturb her. He could certainly deliver the agreement the following morning.
He stepped onto the porch and up to the window, expecting to see Nola bent over her paperwork. But she wasn’t there, although the random stacks of paper and open ledger and pushed back chair gave the impression she had just stepped away. He was about to leave when a movement on the far side of the parlor caught his attention.
Harry blinked and wiped his eyes with the back of one hand, certain that the salty air had impaired his vision. Nola Burns was standing in the open doorway of the parlor. She was tapping one foot in time to the music and as she leaned against the doorway he caught a glimpse of her profile. She was smiling.
Seeing that, Harry rethought his notion of holding off until morning. “No time like the present,” he said as he rapped lightly on the front door.
Nola had given up trying to concentrate on making the monthly entries in her ledger. The activity going on across the hall was too intriguing. She eased the parlor door open and leaned against it. Ellie played through a passage they’d been working on for the last quarter of an hour. This time she slowed the beat just a touch. Billy sang the words and the entire troupe murmured their agreement that it was better.
Yes, it is. And perhaps if…
A light rapping on the etched glass of the front door startled Nola, but went unnoticed by the group in the tearoom. She felt the familiar twinge of guilt as if she’d been caught again and wondered if Rose Gillenwater had been passing the house and somehow known she was neglecting her work. The clock on the mantel chimed eight, the piano fell silent and the actors began gathering their scripts and moving into the foyer on their way up to their rooms.
“Who could be calling at this hour?” she said to herself. In the shadows of the porch she could see the figure of a tall man wearing a telltale hat. She sighed. “Mr. Starbuck,” she greeted as she opened the door.
“Good evening,” he said, sweeping off his hat and giving her a grin and a little bow. “I was bicycling home and happened to hear the music and I—”
“Your cottage is in the opposite direction,” Nola pointed out, making no move to step aside and invite him inside. “But to put your mind at ease, you did not imagine the music. Your acting company has been rehearsing.”
“I see.” He lowered his voice for her ears only as he added, “And did I imagine you enjoying the music, Miss Nola?”
She was so stunned that she took a step back, opening the way for him to greet the others. “Well, now, it sounds as if you’ve all gotten off to a fine start.”
“Miss Nola was kind enough to let us try some of the music here tonight,” Ellie explained.
“And speaking of that,” Nola said, stepping forward to face Starbuck, “I assume you’ve stopped by at this hour to announce the rehearsal schedule—and venue?”
“Why, Miss Nola, I had no idea you were taking such an interest. I stopped to bring you this.” He handed her the agreement and then moved past her to the tearoom. “You know I had thought to hold rehearsals at the hotel until the cabaret is completed, but this might work quite well. Nice high ceiling, private, and everyone’s already here, so…”
“I…That is….” Nola was astounded at the way this man seemed to enter any door and take ownership of the situation. She stepped around him and pointedly closed the lid of the piano. “The hotel would be a far more appropriate choice. And now, if you don’t mind, it’s late and these people have had a rather arduous day already.”
Harry laughed. “Nola Burns, you are a force to be reckoned with. I will give you that. Still, you might want to give my idea some thought. You could keep your eye on things.” He turned to the assembled group. “Rehearsals start in earnest tomorrow—venue and time to be determined.” He stepped onto the darkened porch. “Have a good evening, all,” he called to the actors and then he focused on Nola. “Miss Nola…”
Nola shut the door before he could say anything more.
“He’s so…so…” Deedee Kowalski sighed, hugging herself.
“Beautiful,” Mimi sighed.
“He’s impossible,” Ellie said with a laugh. “Always has been. Come on, girls. Bedtime.” She herded the twins up the stairs as Olga trailed behind, leaving Jasper and Billy standing in the foyer.
“Miss Nola?”
Nola forced her thoughts away from the sheer audacity that Harry Starbuck seemed to wear as easily as he wore that hat and focused on Billy Andrews. “Is there something you young men need?”
“No, ma’am, but, well, Jasper and I were talking earlier about how well Ellie’s playing went over today. And well, maybe you might want to think about expanding on that. Offering the occasional recital or reading…I mean, I write poetry and Jasper sings opera. If we did something here—maybe one evening or something—it would not only be a way of promoting the theatrical season. It would also be a way of promoting the tearoom. Not to mention that Jasper and I can always use the extra money.”
Nola stared at the two young men. They were barely out of their teens and yet in many ways they were more worldly than men Nola knew who were a decade or more older. “Well, Billy, I believe that Mr. Starbuck might intend to take up a great deal of your time with rehearsals for the gala opening,” she said. And yet they had a point. Her customers had loved the music. Why not let the others entertain her guests as well? “Let me give your suggestion some thought,” she told them.
Billy grinned and elbowed Jasper as the two raced up the stairs and to their room on the third floor.
Nola had barely gotten to sleep when she was awakened by a noise. She listened carefully and realized it
was coming from the kitchen. As quietly as possible she got up, put on her robe and slippers and tiptoed out into the foyer. On her way through the tearoom, she picked up the brass poker from the fireplace, pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and raised her weapon.
Ellie Chambliss nearly dropped the dish of water she was about to offer her dog as both of them froze and stared up at Nola. “It’s just me,” Ellie said, holding up her hands. “And Lancelot. Sometimes at night I have trouble sleeping and a little warm milk helps.” Her voice betrayed nervousness as she slowly stood and backed away from Nola. “I’m so sorry. It’s not my place to…I should have asked permission…I should…”
Nola lowered the poker and released a long breath. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I cannot tell you the last time there’s been a burglar or cause for alarm in this town. I have no idea why I imagined the worst. Please, have your milk.”
“Join us,” Ellie invited, setting the bowl down for the dog and then turning back to the stove. “I made enough for two.”
Nola hesitated, then propped the poker by the door and reached for a cup from the sideboard. “Do you often have trouble sleeping?”
Ellie shrugged. “Mostly since Phil died. I wake up and he’s not there and sometimes I forget.” She gave Nola a weak smile even as her eyes brimmed with tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Nola said. “It must be very difficult for you.”
“The days are so full of other things and of course, Lancelot here is a comfort, but at night…But of course, you know,” she added.
“Not really,” Nola admitted. “I lost my parents and it was tragic in both cases but I’ve never lost—never been in love.”
“Not once? Even as a girl?”
Nola shook her head and concentrated on her milk. But when Ellie chuckled, she looked up at the actress. “It’s hardly a laughing matter,” she said.
“Oh, honey, I’m not laughing at you. I’m thinking about the day when you finally are in love and how it’s going to be like the Fourth of July with fireworks and all.”
“Because I’ve waited so long,” Nola guessed.
“Because when the right man comes along you will know it—likely given your inexperience you will fight it, but there will be no way you can not love this man.”
“That’s how it was for you and Mr. Chambliss?”
Ellie smiled. “Exactly. We met when we were both hired to do a Shakespearean comedy. Are you familiar with The Taming of the Shrew?”
Nola nodded.
“Talk about your fireworks,” Ellie recalled. “We were at one another’s throats from day one. I thought to play it one way but Phil had quite different ideas. And as the weeks passed we found ourselves fighting the attraction that was practically palpable in the room. Everyone else knew we were meant for each other.”
“Apparently it all worked out,” Nola prompted.
“It did. By the end of the run we were mad for one another. The night the show closed we persuaded a local minister to perform the ceremony and from that day until Phil’s death we were never apart again.” Ellie drank the last of her milk and got up to wash out her cup.
“How did you know?” Nola asked softly.
“You just do,” Ellie said, scooping Lancelot into her arms. “A woman like you, Nola, was not meant to go her whole life without love—the love of a man, a partner, a husband. I refuse to believe that God meant for you to be alone.”
“You believe in God?”
This time Ellie laughed out loud. “Oh, Nola, honey, how could I not? A country girl like me who grew up on a farm in the mountains of Tennessee? How could someone like that make it to the city and have the opportunity, the sheer joy, of performing for others? How could someone like that meet and marry a man from a family of high social standing who was just as drawn to the stage as I was?”
“Fate?”
“What is fate but God in action?” Ellie asked.
Nola could not have been more surprised and she realized that she had been guilty of pigeonholing Ellie and the others. They were actors, therefore…
“Well, I should get some rest if not sleep,” Ellie said, putting Lancelot down so he could take one last lap of his water. “Thanks, Nola—for the milk and conversation and most of all for opening your home to us.”
“It was nothing,” Nola said.
Ellie wagged a finger at her. “It was something, Nola. Don’t think for one minute that we don’t know how some people feel about our being here. You’ve gone out on a limb for us when you didn’t have to. We won’t forget that.”
Nola felt a rush of pleasure at Ellie’s compliment. “It’s quite nice having people in the house again,” she admitted.
“We’d be here every evening if you changed your mind about letting us rehearse here.”
You and Harry Starbuck.
Ellie took her hesitation for rejection. “Not a problem. Harry will figure something out. Still, maybe we could still get together for tea or coffee?” Ellie indicated the pan of warm milk on the stove and Nola’s half-filled cup. “A midnight chat now and then?”
“I’d like that.”
“Lovely,” Ellie said as she tiptoed up the back stairs with Lancelot in tow. “Say good night, Lancie,” she murmured, burrowing her face in the dog’s fur.
Lancelot gave a yap and Nola smiled. “Good night,” she replied.
What a day! Nola thought, but she was smiling as she returned to her bedroom and that night she slept better than she had in weeks.
Chapter Seven
Harry had lain awake most of the night thinking about how Nola’s place was a far better venue for rehearsals than the hotel. The play was not yet in good enough shape to risk hotel staffers hearing the clunks and clinkers of it. At Nola’s they could work through all of that in privacy. But he hated asking Nola Burns for anything. It just gave her the upper hand.
He was lost in thought as he rounded the corner of McAllister’s store and nearly collided with a young woman coming out of the bookstore.
“Why, Harrison Starbuck,” Violet Gillenwater trilled as she raised her parasol against the late morning sun and spun it flirtatiously. “How lovely to see you.”
Two summers earlier when Harry had first returned to ’Sconset, Violet’s mother had done her best to foster a romance between the two of them. Her efforts had escalated once she had assessed his wealth and connections to influential people on the mainland. There had been repeated invitations to join the family for Sunday dinner or to attend gatherings. These invitations came with the unspoken understanding that he would be Violet’s escort for the occasion.
“Miss Violet,” he said, tipping his hat and buying the time he needed to gauge her mood. Things had ended badly between them the previous summer just before he’d returned to New York. “It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well.”
“I’ve been on holiday,” she replied with a bright smile. “In Europe.”
“Ah, an adventure,” he replied.
“Now, Harry, you know very well that I left because you broke my heart.” She looked up at him from under lowered lashes.
“Apparently Europe was the remedy then, for you are looking quite lovely.”
She laughed. “Mother always said you were a rogue and a charmer.”
“Did she, now?”
“Well, of course that was only after we parted ways. Before that she was quite fond of you. In fact there were times when I thought she was more fond of you than I was.”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “Why, Miss Gillenwater, and here I was feeling guilty about any heartache I might have caused you.”
She shrugged. “I’m not a fool, Harry. I knew exactly what my mother was trying to do. Frankly, you did me the greatest favor when you refused to go along with her plan. I suspect we both would have been quite miserable.”
Harry’s respect for the young woman escalated. “Obviously Europe has made you a very wise woman indeed,” he said.
“I have
matured, yes, but more to the point I have seen the world beyond this island. The world is far too grand and exciting and our time on this earth far too short to waste.”
“Shall I take that to mean that you have not come home to stay?”
Violet actually shuddered at the thought and then she smiled up at him. “I shall stay for the opening of your grand new venture, Harry. I presume, knowing you, that it will be a spectacular occasion. I’ve invited my fiancé and his family for that week.”
“We’ll do our best not to disappoint,” Harry promised. “You’re to be married, then?”
Violet beamed. “Over the holidays. In Boston. To Charles Edgemont Carrington.”
“The shipping heir? Your parents must be so pleased.”
“Ah, Harry, we’re on the brink of a new century. The important detail in this is that I am pleased and so is my darling Charlie. And now I really must be going. You know how Mother can be about tardiness.”
“It’s very nice to see you, Violet,” Harry said as he stepped aside to allow her to continue on her way. She crossed the street, and at the same time he saw Nola making her return trip from her morning errands.
He watched as she marched down the grass-covered street without so much as a glance in his direction. A delivery wagon rumbled by, blocking Starbuck’s view as it splashed its way through the rain-soaked ruts of the street. The wagon passed and there she stood looking down at her mud-spattered skirt. In spring the Nantucket weather could sometimes be as gray as the high-necked cotton dress Miss Nola Burns wore. Starbuck couldn’t help noticing that the solemn color of her dress found little relief in the black three-quarter cape she’d donned for protection against the damp morning fog. Her straight-backed posture and perennially pursed lips only added to the impression of a woman who took life seriously and had little time or patience for the frivolity of others.
