by Anna Schmidt
Nola couldn’t be sure but she thought she heard Judy chuckle as the older woman walked away and scanned the beach for her helpers.
By the time Harry cleaned up and returned to the clambake, the beach was already filled with locals and tourists who had looked forward to the event for weeks. The area was so crowded that it was easy to avoid Nola as he joined the other men to prepare for the closing of the bake. Someone handed him a pitchfork and he worked in tandem with a partner to clear his area of the pit that ran fifteen feet in length, three feet across and two feet deep. Carefully they lifted out the charred and glowing remains of each log to reveal the stones, now white-hot. Trading pitchforks for brooms, the men swept away debris and ash from the stones.
Next the men guided the boys as they gently deposited bushels of clean, damp clams onto the rocks. The sizzle and rise of steam tickled Harry’s nose and brought back memories of other clambakes, times when he and his buddies had been the ones responsible for making sure the clam shells did not break or crack as they were deposited onto the rocks.
Home, the sizzling clams seemed to whisper.
Next came a layer of lobsters followed by a layer of corn and then pans of spiced dressing were emptied over the length and width of the large pit. Harry laughed with the others as the girls squealed in dismay over the dying wriggles of the large lobsters. Finally the pile was lined with long baskets layered with tripe and bluefish and potato sacks. The last act in the ritual of preparing the bake was to cover the huge steaming mass with a large canvas soaked in seawater and then cover that with masses of the wet and tangled rockweed until every crevice through which steam might escape was sealed.
“Half an hour till chow time,” one of the men bellowed and the crowd cheered, then returned to whatever activity had caught their fancy. There were games and races for the youngsters as well as impromptu sing-alongs for the adults. But most people preferred to simply chat with their neighbors or help prepare the tables for the feast. It was there that he spotted Nola.
She was laughing and he thought it might actually be the first time he had seen her so completely open to the moment. Usually she always seemed to be examining the words of others for some underlying trap. But it was obvious that she and Ellie had developed the kind of trust where each accepted the other without reservation.
He turned away and then back again, his feet seeming to have a mind of their own as he made his way through the crowds of people toward her. She looked beautiful; something about the way she’d arranged her hair in a looser style held the promise that it might easily escape the usual pins and combs and cascade down her back. Harry sauntered in her direction, taking care that he appear simply to have wandered by.
You’re acting like some lovestruck teenager.
Struck by that thought, he paused and considered veering off in another direction.
“Harry! Over here,” Ellie called. “Come, make yourself useful.” She held up a roll of oilcloth that the women were using to cover the long tables.
Harry risked a glance at Nola but she had turned away and was walking back toward the ice cream stand with Judy.
“Sure,” he agreed, taking the cloth from Ellie. “Quite a party, isn’t it?”
“It’s such fun,” Ellie agreed. “And terribly romantic, don’t you think? I mean, the beach and all. And then the sun will be setting in a little while.”
“Why, Mrs. Chambliss, are you flirting with me?”
“Oh, Harry, stop fooling yourself. I can see how you look at Nola. Don’t you think it’s time you acted on your feelings?”
Harry didn’t even pretend not to know what she was saying. “Not meant to be,” he said. “We’re…different. Water and oil. Order and clutter.”
“Snowflakes and seashells,” Ellie added. “What’s your point? Nola is a good woman. She would be as good for you as you would be for her.” Her eyes misted over as she clutched his arm with her hand. “Take it from me, Harry. None of us knows how much time we have—perhaps the greatest sin lies in wasting the precious moments God offers. At least ask her to sit with you at the clambake,” she advised in a whisper as Nola returned to the table.
But Oliver and Minnie Franks joined the group at just that moment.
“Nola, come sit with us,” Oliver invited.
“Yes, please,” his wife added. “We’ve had so little time to catch up lately.”
They steered her to the far end of one long table, well away from Ellie and the others.
“Looks like it’s time to open the bake,” Harry said, handing Ellie the roll of cloth. He nodded to Nola as he passed by her on his way to help. “Miss Nola,” he murmured, “enjoy your meal.”
Nola was all too aware of Starbuck sitting at the far end of the table. His laughter rose above the chatter and the background of the surf rolling onto the sand. And when it wasn’t his laughter, it was the laughter of others, especially Violet Gillenwater who had defied her mother and taken her place next to Harry. “Why, Harry Starbuck, you say the most appalling things,” Nola heard her say.
It had gotten to the point where Nola was barely aware of Minnie’s attempts to include her in the conversation going on at their end of the table.
“Rose,” Oliver called out as he stood and relieved Rose of her plate and escorted her to the table. “We have saved a place just for you. And look, Nola is here as well. We were just talking about how Alistair has never missed a clambake in all the time we’ve…”
To everyone’s astonishment, Rose’s lower lip began to quiver uncontrollably and her hands flailed about as she reached for her glass of lemonade and knocked it over. Her face flushed and blotched, she pushed her way past others and fled.
“What on earth?” Judy Lang said as she mopped up the lemonade.
“I’ll go,” Nola said.
“Let me come with you,” Oliver offered. “Obviously it was something I said.”
“No. Stay here,” Nola replied, including in that instruction anyone else who might have had thoughts of accompanying her. “She needs privacy.”
Rose was sitting on a bench near the road. She was sobbing into an already-sodden lace handkerchief and the choking sounds she was making were not only alarming, they were heartrending. Nola sat down on the bench and offered the woman her own clean, dry handkerchief.
“Rose?”
The older woman shook her head and waved Nola away.
Nola slid closer and put her hand gingerly on Rose’s back. “What is it? Has something happened to Alistair?”
As suddenly as the tears had begun, they were gone. Rose wheeled around and stared at Nola, her face filled with fury as her lips worked to find words. “You have the nerve to ask such a thing when it was you who took those people in, gave that woman a position of prominence in your business? Gave her access to my husband?”
Nola tightened her grip on the hysterical woman. “Rose, calm yourself,” she said gently. “What woman?”
“The countess,” Rose spat out bitterly and then she gave a laugh that was high and cackling and totally devoid of humor. “Countess, indeed. She is a harlot who preys on the good intentions of unsuspecting men and traps them in her lair and—”
“Olga?”
Rose jerked free of Nola and stood. “Yes. Where is she? Have you seen her at all today?”
“She was here earlier, but this sort of thing is not really to her taste.”
“No, I suppose not. Her taste runs to enticing a respectable married man like my Alistair into becoming such a fool that he…” Her tirade unleashed a fresh wave of tears.
Nola’s mind raced. “You’re mistaken, Rose. Olga would never—”
“Are you questioning what my boys saw with their own eyes, Nola?” She drew in a long shuddering breath and her voice was high and tight as she added, “When I think that those dear impressionable lads should have witnessed their father—whom they idolize—with that woman in broad daylight.”
“I’m quite certain this is all a misunderstan
ding,” Nola said. But she wasn’t certain at all. What did she really know of Olga or the others?
“Has my husband ever missed a clambake?” Rose demanded. “Look around. Do you see him here?” She fanned her arm across the gathering on the beach. “No, and why not? He is with that…that…”
“There has to be some other explanation,” Nola murmured.
For the third time Rose dissolved into tears. “It’s my fault, of course,” she blubbered. “I have such high standards and Alistair has often reminded me that not everyone is as strong as I am when it comes to temptations.”
“But the countess was here,” Nola said. “Why don’t I just go to her cottage? I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation to whatever Edgar and Albert might have thought they saw.”
“Oh, Nola dear, you’ve led such a sheltered life. My sons are not fools. They know what they saw.”
“And what exactly did they see?”
“They observed their father with that woman walking along the beach. They were oblivious to anyone else, laughing together. Laughing at me,” Rose added and her lip quivered.
“You’re leaping to conclusions here without…”
Rose scowled at Nola. “Sometimes I think I may have done your dear mother a disservice in not making sure that you got out into the world a bit. You are far too trusting, my dear, so naive when it comes to the matter of judging the character of others.” She gave one last shuddering sob and stood. “So I seriously doubt that you can explain to me why Alistair had to leave suddenly for Boston this very afternoon.”
“He often goes away on business suddenly,” Nola reminded Rose.
“He has gone ahead to make all the arrangements for their little rendezvous, don’t you see? And soon that woman will follow him. You mark my words.”
Nola sat quietly for a moment while Rose continued to pace, muttering to herself and clutching both Nola’s handkerchief and her own. There had to be some plausible explanation. Rose was given to jumping to conclusions, especially when she had already formed an opinion.
“I have tried my best to heed Reverend Diggs’s counsel and at least tolerate these theater people. For the sake of Alistair’s investment if nothing else. After all, I suppose one could think of them as assets in a purely business sense, but…”
“That’s true.” Nola felt a flicker of hope that perhaps Rose was coming to a more rational conclusion about the entire matter.
“But at the same time I have warned Alistair that no good could possibly come of actually socializing with such people.” She turned her attention to Nola as if just realizing that she was still there. “I have also warned you, for all the good it’s done.”
“Mrs. Chambliss and the others have been a great help to me. They have offered not only their time and talent but their friendship.”
Rose pulled herself to her full height. “Well, if you consider yourself my friend, Nola Burns, you will do me the favor of disassociating yourself from those people at once. I will make certain you have proper staffing for the tearoom. Dorothy and Lucille and I have discussed it at length. We have found you two young girls of impeccable character. They are from a family here on the island that has fallen on difficult economic times. Not unlike your own situation after your mother died. Surely employing those girls is the charitable thing to do.”
“But…”
“Let Harry Starbuck provide for those people, Nola. He’s the one who brought them here in the first place. He has the means. It’s hardly as if you are putting them out into the street.”
“You are wrong about them, Rose,” Nola said. “They are good people. Mrs. Chambliss, for one, is a woman of strong faith and the others are so giving and—”
Perfectly composed once again, Rose Gillenwater leaned close to Nola’s face. “Get them out of your business and life or be prepared to suffer the consequences,” she hissed. Then she snapped open her parasol and sailed back across the sand toward a small group of dignitaries. “Ah, Mr. Mayor,” she chirped.
“She threatened you?” Judy gasped once Nola had relayed the entire story as they completed setting up for distributing the ice cream samples. “Then maybe we’ve both been barking up the wrong tree.”
“Meaning?”
“The notes. What if—”
“Oh, Judy, don’t be ridiculous. Whoever sent those notes has surely realized their prank won’t work—”
“You just said that Rose Gillenwater threatened you,” Judy reminded her.
“She didn’t threaten me,” Nola corrected. “It’s just her way. She has certain standards and she expects others to follow them—me especially because she was instrumental in keeping our family together after my mother died. Besides, she was upset. She has this idea that Alistair and the countess have been, well, carrying on.”
“Oh, Nola dear,” Rose Gillenwater called out from a short distance away. Two plain-faced and clearly nervous young girls were at her side. “May I present Constance and Clara Huff? The young ladies I mentioned for employ in your tearoom?”
“I am so pleased to learn of your interest,” Nola said graciously. “If you will both come by the tearoom tomorrow afternoon, it will give you the opportunity to observe my current employees and decide if indeed the work suits you.”
The Huff girls glanced nervously up at Rose who pressed her lips into a thin line. “I hardly think your current employees set the sort of example these young ladies need.”
“I trained them myself,” Nola replied, meeting Rose’s gaze.
“Very well. Tomorrow, girls.”
“On the other hand,” Nola added, “perhaps you could get a hint of what’s in store for you by helping me to serve the ice cream samples?”
Both girls broke into wide smiles. “Yes, ma’am,” they replied and took off toward the ice cream stand where Ellie and the rest of the actors were donning aprons and a line had already formed.
Nola watched them go then turned to face Rose. “Thank you for your concern. They may be an answer to prayer.”
With a barely audible harrumpf, Rose turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction.
Chapter Thirteen
Unlike the recital, the ice cream samples were a spectacular success, especially with the young people. And the additional help of the Huff girls freed Jasper and Billy to entertain the crowd with an impromptu sing-along as the sun set and everyone gathered around a large campfire. When they had served the last customer, Nola sent the Huff and Kowalski sisters to enjoy the music. She was just licking the last of the melting ice cream from the spoon when she saw Harry coming across the beach toward her.
He was applauding as he might the end of a good performance. “I can see the reviews now,” he said. “Tearoom owner warms young at heart with ice cream.”
“I didn’t see you or Violet stop by for a sample,” Nola said. “Perhaps you’d like to take some to Miss Gillenwater. I believe there’s just enough for one more dish.”
“Why, Nola, you aren’t jealous, are you?”
“Certainly not.” She thrust a dish of half-melted ice cream at him.
He polished off the scoop in four quick spoonfuls. “Delicious,” he murmured as he set the spoon on the counter behind her. “I’d tip my hat to you, but I seem to have misplaced it.”
Nola neither moved nor breathed as she took in the nearness of him. The smoke of the clambake fire that clung to his shirt, the faint fragrance of the lime that was his aftershave, the sheer presence of him so near to her. “I’m sorry. I left it behind when I went to change. I’ll…”
“By the way, Violet went home with her mother. Seems Mrs. Gillenwater was upset about something.”
“Yes. She thinks Alistair is preparing to run off with Olga.”
“Well, that will certainly be news to Alistair since he’s in Boston closing the sale on their townhouse and buying some mansion Rose has had her eye on for years as an anniversary gift.”
“Oh, Harry, you should tell Violet.”
“It’s also to be a surprise for Violet. It’s where she and her fiancé are to be married.”
“Violet is to be married?”
“Yep. Son of a shipping heir.” He touched her hair, then brushed the outline of her jaw with the backs of his knuckles. “You see, Nola, things are rarely as black and white as they may seem.”
“Oh, Harry, I just assumed that you and Violet…” she whispered. “Would you…”
“Kiss you?” he murmured back as he lowered his mouth to hers. “My pleasure,” he added a second before his lips—still cool from the ice cream—touched hers.
Down the beach a group of teenagers had set off skyrockets, but Nola was certain that those were no match for the fireworks she was feeling. The gentle pressure of Harry Starbuck’s kiss sent sparks up and down her spine.
“You taste like berries,” he whispered as he pulled away. “And smell like lily of the valley,” he added. “It’s a perfect fragrance for you. I noticed it that first day on your porch.”
He picked up the picnic basket she’d used to store the used spoons and hooked it over his arm. “May I see you home, Nola?” With his free hand he took hold of her elbow and as they stepped out of the stand, they were swallowed up by the tidal wave of partygoers still exclaiming over the fireworks. Together they walked up the stairway and on to the tearoom while the others went off in other directions calling out their farewells and promises to meet up again the following day.
“Well,” Harry said as he set the basket by the back door, “that wasn’t exactly the way I had planned to…”
“Please don’t concern yourself, Harry. It was impetuous but hardly out of character given the circumstances. I mean, after all…”
Before she could complete the sentence Harry had set the basket aside and bent to kiss her again. Nola murmured a protest of surprise and he stepped away.
“All outward appearances to the contrary, I am not an impetuous man, Nola. And I most certainly am not given to impulsive moves when it comes to you. I have far more respect for you than that. I intended to kiss you when I saw you alone down there. I thought about little else all during the clambake.”
