by Anna Schmidt
Miss Nola, Miss Nola, why won’t you heed
The fact that we’re doing you a good deed?
Those people will be your downfall
If you don’t see that, you have some gall.
A friend
The rhyme was so awkward as to be almost comical, but this was hardly a joke. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble in composing the message, constructing it from cutout words and finding a way to insert it with her regular mail.
And why would Harry spend time making up these silly warning notes when all he had to do was move the actors out and leave her with no help at all? Someone else was behind these warnings. But who?
After the actors moved out, Nola lay awake after another sleepless night. The house was too quiet these days, especially in the evenings. She missed the laughter and conversation of the rehearsals. She missed the sounds of the actors settling in for the night. She missed her late-night chats with Ellie. Without them, the house felt empty. She thought of something Harry’s cousin Rachel had once said when someone asked how she could stand being all alone in that house on New Street all the time. “Oh, we have each other, my house and I.”
Rachel had a reputation for being a modern woman—not always a statement of respect among her neighbors, but Nola had long admired Rachel’s penchant for bold self-expression. Perhaps when she was in her forties—as Rachel was—and people no longer gave a thought to the idea that she might one day find some poor widower to complete her, she would give free rein to the bold ideas and wild imaginings that sometimes assailed her.
Surely there was some compromise she could offer Harry. It was completely understandable that Starbuck had been taken by surprise when he discovered she’d scheduled the recital. But we had an agreement, Harrison Starbuck.
From her wardrobe she reached for one of half a dozen starched, high-collared blouses and her gray serge skirt, then put back the skirt and took out turquoise lightweight wool instead. She selected a length of matching velvet ribbon from the collection on her dresser and fashioned a tie at the collar of her blouse. That should get his attention, she thought and was immediately stunned that she was choosing her attire to impress Harry Starbuck.
“Well, this is business,” she reminded her reflection in the mirror as she twisted her hair into its usual serviceable chignon and stabbed it with the necessary pins to hold it for the day. She put on her black leather shoes and then shrugged into a fitted black linen bolero jacket. Sparing herself one last turn before the mirror, she chose a small brimless black turban-style hat from her collection and pinned it into place. “Now, off with you before you lose your nerve,” she ordered as she headed down the back hall and into the kitchen.
Jonah Lang was helping himself to a second cup of coffee before heading out to work for the day. He nodded in Nola’s direction.
“You going over to the mainland?” Judy asked.
“No, why would you think that?”
Judy gave her the once-over and raised one eyebrow.
Nola blushed. “I have a business appointment,” she replied. “I won’t be long,” she promised and hurried out the kitchen door.
In the yard she took a moment to gather her thoughts and through the open window heard Jonah ask, “Do you think she’s going to try and get Harry to change his mind?”
“Yeah, I’d say she’s off to plead her case.”
Plead her case? Most certainly not, Nola thought as she squared her shoulders and set off down the street. Nola Burns does not plead with anyone—certainly not a man who thinks he can shape the world to his own pleasure and needs.
“Morning, Miss Nola,” Ian sang out as he paused in the washing of his store window. “The mail up yet?”
“Good morning, Ian. Actually I was on my way to see Mr. Starbuck. Do you know if he’s in his office?”
“Come and gone,” Ian replied, studying her with fresh interest. “I saw him head off down toward the east end with Horace Gibbs not twenty minutes ago.” Ian pointed in the direction of the construction site for the cabaret. “Horace had a bunch of rolled-up papers under one arm. I expect they might be down there awhile. I could tell him you were looking for him when he gets back.”
“Thank you, Ian, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll just go and see him at the…down there.”
“That urgent, huh?” Ian asked, his eyes afire with curiosity.
Nola forced a laugh. “Not at all. As you said, it’s a lovely morning and this may well be my last opportunity for a walk on such a day. We’re getting to be quite busy at the tearoom.”
“Aye,” Ian replied. “I sure hope that’s the way it stays for the remainder of the summer. I’ve got a store full of goods I need to move.”
“Which reminds me,” Nola said with a smile. “I could use another dozen of those fine table napkins you ordered for me last season.”
“Got my table linen order in last week. I’ll send over a baker’s dozen as soon as it’s unpacked.”
“Thank you, Ian,” Nola said. “Put it on my account and give my regards to Mrs. McAllister.”
Ian’s wife had joined the ranks of those who thought Nola had made a grave error in associating with the actors. But faced with disapproval from practically every quarter in the small village, Nola had decided that her best defense was no defense at all. She simply went about her business as she always had and treated everyone the same as she had before the actors arrived. She would not make excuses for her decisions no matter who was concocting these silly notes of warning.
Without hesitation, lest she lose her nerve, she strode the rest of the way through town, nodding to those she passed along the way but not stopping to visit. As she neared the end of Broadway she kept her focus on the low-pitched shingled roof capped by two louvered square cupolas that seemingly overnight had become the town’s newest landmark. Nola had avoided the place even as others in ’Sconset had watched it so closely it seemed as if some of them had witnessed every nail being driven.
Even from several doors away, she could hear the sounds of hammering and sawing coming from inside. And as she came closer she could not help but admit that this was a handsome building. Shutters framed the large windows that ran along the front and sides of the cedar-shingled exterior. In addition there was a welcoming porch, not unlike her own, stretching across the entire front of the building and wrapping around to one side where it ended in an enclosed pavilion.
She paused for a moment to take it all in. She could understand why Harry wanted to buy her out. Her home and tearoom would be the perfect retreat for those special visitors who wanted to be in the thick of things and at the same time a bit removed from the general activity in the village. The cabaret certainly was a far cry from the shadowy shuttered place she had envisioned. It was light and airy and inviting.
Nevertheless, she thought as she stepped inside, there were other options. In Nola’s opinion Harry had become so used to getting whatever he set out to acquire that the very idea someone might refuse to cooperate was unthinkable.
“Well, well, well,” Harry murmured, tipping his chair back as he watched Nola Burns enter the cabaret. She stood just inside the door for a moment, no doubt allowing her eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine of the day to the dimmer sawdust-filled interior. She was wearing an ankle-length skirt the color of the sea on a July day and he couldn’t help wondering if she’d worn the uncharacteristic color in order to impress him.
She approached Horace, asked a question and Harry saw Horace point in his direction. He watched her cross the large hall, dodging workmen and carpenters along the way. He waited until she was standing across the table that served as his desk, then slowly got to his feet. “Miss Nola.”
“Hello,” she mouthed, her soft voice drowned out by the voices of the workers calling out instructions and the sounds that came with finishing off the interior of a large room still in need of lighting, flooring and a stage.
Harry indicated the open rear entrance to the building
. “Out here,” he shouted and waited for her to precede him onto the back landing. There he shut the door against the chaos inside and turned to her. “What do you think?” he asked, indicating with a sweep of one hand the building and surrounding grounds. “Tennis courts,” he explained, following her gaze to the side of the building where the ground had been chalked off in a grid. “Croquet over there.”
“Very impressive,” she replied, working the fingers of her cotton gloves more tightly into place. “Are you—that is, will you be ready to open on schedule?”
Harry was thrown by her question. Nola was usually one to come directly to the point. This polite chitchat was unlike her. He squinted at her. “We’ll be ready. Now, how can I help you, Nola?”
“I won’t keep you,” she replied, suddenly all business. “I can see that you have a great deal to accomplish in a very short period of time, and with rehearsals and all, you’re quite busy. I have come to apologize.”
“I see.”
“You were perfectly within your rights to be upset that I had staged the recital using talent you had hired. That will not happen again.”
“Apology accepted. Was there anything else?”
“Yes, I have also come to suggest a compromise,” she announced without missing a beat.
Harry’s squint evolved into a frown. “A compromise?”
“Yes. I can certainly appreciate that your acting troupe needs to have ample rehearsal time, especially now that you’ve reconstructed the piece to be played as an operetta. And I perfectly understand your desire to have them go over the material not once but twice a day, especially since—from what I’ve heard of the rehearsals to date—the play does seem to change significantly from day to day and they are constantly being challenged to learn new lyrics and melodies.”
Harry eyed her more closely. Was she making fun of him? Surely Ellie had confided to her that rehearsals were a disaster. “Go on.”
“And furthermore I would remind you that we had an agreement.”
“One you violated,” he pointed out.
“I don’t recall anything being said about whether or not I could offer entertainment in my establishment. But that’s hardly the point. The point is that, while I am sure this was not your intent, your decision to have the group rehearse morning and afternoon leaves me in a bit of a bind.”
Well aware that in business sometimes silence spoke more eloquently than words, Harry made no response. His action had the intended result of flustering Nola and he couldn’t help noticing that the rosy hue that pinked her cheeks was most becoming. It occurred to him that it had been several days since he’d seen Nola and he had to admit that he’d missed her.
“You see,” she hurried to add, “it occurred to me that if the troupe rehearsed morning and evening, they would still be able to staff the tearoom in the afternoons until I can find suitable replacements.”
“And just what progress have you made on that front?” Harry asked. “It seems to me that you haven’t yet even begun the search.” His gentle accusation needed no response. He was well aware that the best workers had long ago been snapped up by other businesses, not only on Nantucket but in resort communities up and down the eastern shore.
“I…That is…”
“You see, Nola, staffing your little tearoom is hardly my concern. In fact, we are both well aware that it would make life much easier for me were your business to suffer. Now, if there’s nothing more?”
Her eyes widened. “Obviously it was pointless to come here and attempt to conduct a reasonable discussion of the matter. How can you pretend to be a man of faith and wish suffering on others?” She turned to go then realized the steps down from the landing were not yet in place. Trapped, she turned back to face him, her mouth working in frustration, her eyes now dewy with the tears of her anger.
“Nola,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I did not say I wanted to make you suffer. That’s the last thing I want. I said that if your business fell on hard times—of its own accord—that would be to my advantage. It’s a simple truth.”
“Well, here is a simple truth for you, Mr. Starbuck. My business will not fail. It did not fail when my mother became ill. It did not fail in the years when it was the sole source of income for my siblings and myself, and I assure you that it will not fail now.” Her eyes flamed with the strength of her determination.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” he asked.
She blinked. “I don’t have that luxury.”
“But you could, Nola. You don’t have to work this hard, fight this hard.”
“It’s my home,” she whispered and looked down. “It’s all I have.”
“No, it’s not,” Harry replied. “You have friends and a family you never have time to visit and a gift for making beautiful music.”
“I have said what I came to say,” she said and her voice quavered as tears welled in her eyes.
Harry had to knot his hands into fists to keep from wrapping his arms around her. The idea surprised him so much that he turned away and she seized that moment to pull the door open, pinning him against the landing railing while she hurried across the chaotic construction site toward daylight.
He was recovering his senses and trying to decide whether or not to go after her or wait until she’d calmed down when he saw a worker carrying one of the long wide planks intended for the stage floor on a collision course with Nola.
“Watch out!” he heard Horace shout just as the worker swung around, catching Nola full in the back of the head with the board.
She crumpled to the floor and lay there without moving. Workers from all sides of the room rushed to her aid. For an instant Harry’s heart seemed to stop beating. Only his brain hammered out a single rhythm. Nola. Nola. Nola.
“Get a doctor,” Harry ordered and two of the men ran for the front entrance as he knelt next to her. “Nola?”
Nothing. Not a sound or a flinch. Her face was pale and relaxed as if she were simply taking a nap. Harry felt the kind of panic that comes with losing something precious, something you didn’t even know you valued. “Nola?” he shouted and touched her shoulder although he wanted to gather her in his arms.
“She’s breathing, boss,” Horace observed. “Maybe let her alone till the doc gets here. She’s gonna have one whopper of a headache, I’ll wager.”
Harry eased himself to a seated position on the dusty floor and took Nola’s hand in his. He pulled off her glove and stroked her fingers as he closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer up to Heaven that she would be all right. Whatever Your plan, please, just let her be all right.
To his relief, he felt her fingers close around his.
Chapter Ten
Nola had trouble getting her eyes to open and she certainly could not understand why she was flat on her back surrounded by men talking in low murmurs. Someone was holding her hand while someone else gently lifted her head and pressed a wad of fabric underneath to form a pillow. Everything smelled of unfinished wood and paint.
“Where’s that doctor?” she heard a familiar voice growl.
Starbuck.
She tried to call his name and managed only a low groan. Behind her closed eyes her head throbbed.
“She’s coming around,” someone said.
Then from some distance away she heard a stranger’s voice announce, “Here’s the doc. Get back to work, all of you.”
“Nola?”
She managed to open one eye and the first thing she saw was Harrison Starbuck’s handsome face swimming just above hers. He gave her a shaky smile but his eyes were dark with worry. “Lie still,” he ordered and Nola sighed. He did have such an annoying habit of commanding others. Usually he did it with charm and even levity, but the way he was looking at her defied her to challenge him.
Reason enough, she decided, and struggled to sit up.
“Nola!” This time his voice was a shout and she grimaced as the sound ricocheted around the fierce pain in her head.
“The
re, there, Miss Burns,” a gentle female voice entreated. “Lie still so I can have a look.” Dr. Lois Wainwright and her sister ran the spa and homeopathic health facility just down the street from the tearoom. Nola had never had occasion to need their services until now, but she had heard high praise for their holistic approach to medicine and healing.
Comforted by the fact that she was in good hands, Nola collapsed back. She expected to find herself once again resting on the hard floor with its makeshift pillow that smelled of turpentine. Instead she was lying against the firm pillow of Harry’s chest. His breathing came in shallow but regular beats. When she turned her head so the doctor could examine the site of her injury, she found her cheek pressed against his shirt. The warmth emanating from beneath the soft fabric accompanied by the rhythmic beating of his heart soothed her.
“She’s going to recover, isn’t she? I mean, fully recover?” Starbuck asked.
“Let’s get her back to her house so I can conduct a more thorough examination,” Dr. Wainwright instructed. “I’d like her to lie flat for the time being. Could we borrow one of the wagons outside to transport her?”
Arrangements were hastily made, the men obviously relieved to have something concrete to offer. They brought another of the wide planks intended for the stage floor and gently moved Nola onto it, then carried her to the door and outside. The driver of one of the work wagons was waiting and the sudden brightness of the sunlight made Nola cry out and throw her arm across her eyes. Immediately the light dimmed as if the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud. She squinted up and saw Harry holding his straw hat over her face like an umbrella. “Let’s go,” he barked, and the driver snapped the reins.
The ride was no more than a few blocks, but ’Sconset Sconset was a tight-knit community and even before the wagon stopped at the tearoom, a crowd had gathered.
