“I’m sure he’s still watching over you and cheering you on.”
Nolan turned to her. “I don’t know what happens when we die. Most of the time, I don’t believe anything does. I don’t believe in a soul, some gauzy little shadow that floats out of your body when you take your last breath . . . I don’t believe in an afterlife, either. But it is nice to think about what you’ve just said. Even though I know it isn’t true.”
“But you’re still curious about church and what goes on there,” she pointed out, recalling his surprising appearance beside her in the pew.
Nolan shrugged and grinned. She could tell she had cornered him.
“I suppose I am. I was today anyway.” He turned to her a moment, then looked out the window again. “Perhaps nearly drowning last week persuaded me to hedge my bets? I didn’t think a few prayers could hurt, no matter what’s really up there,” he added, glancing at the blue sky outside the window. “You know what they say about soldiers on a battlefield: ‘There are no atheists in foxholes.’”
Claire had to laugh at his rebuttal. “Well, do the research and keep an open mind. You might discover something that you missed the first time around.”
They had arrived at the inn. A few of the guests lingered on the porch, reading the newspaper. Claire noticed Liza watering the flowers, and Daniel sitting out there as well. Claire drove her Jeep to the back of the property and parked near the barn.
“I like to park back here, so my Jeep won’t be in the way of any of the guests going in and out,” she explained. “I also prefer to come and go through the kitchen, so I can avoid folks who keep stopping me to ask about the day’s menu.”
Nolan laughed. “I don’t blame them. I told Liza a major benefit of my new job is your cooking. I just hope I have enough outdoor work to burn off the calories.”
“We’ll keep you busy. This weekend is fairly slow in comparison with what’s to come. Next weekend, July Fourth, that’s the real test.”
Nolan shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ll be up to it.”
She could tell he didn’t believe her. It really was four days that could feel like four weeks. Especially if the guests were demand-ing or they hit little unpredictable snags or—heaven forbid—bad weather.
As they got out of the Jeep and headed toward the kitchen, Claire noticed Nolan looking back wistfully at the barn. She guessed he was thinking of his boat. But he couldn’t visit the Ariadne until he had at least finished his morning tasks, like mowing the lawn and cleaning off the patio.
“How did it go at the boatyard? I forgot to ask,” she said as they walked toward the back door.
“I’ve ordered some supplies that I need. Daniel’s friend Harry Reilly is giving me a good price. He’s going to call when everything is ready to be picked up.”
“You know your way now. You’re welcome to take my Jeep any time you need it. I bet you’re eager to get started.”
“I am, once I have some free time from my new job,” he added quickly. “I think I can work on the boat at night if I rig up some strong shop lights.”
“Liza probably won’t mind some better lights in the barn,” Claire replied—though she doubted the inn’s owner would encourage sanding machines and power drills running after dark. The guests would certainly complain about that.
But Claire didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm. It was good to see Nolan looking ahead.
“So, what’s on the schedule for today?” Nolan rubbed his hands together.
Claire opened the back door and entered the kitchen, and Nolan followed. “Some lunch to start. Then I’ll give you a list of chores.”
“I’m at your service, ma’am,” he replied.
“I hope you’re this cheerful a week from now. You’re starting off on one of our biggest weeks of the season,” she warned him. “It will be like trying to ride the Tour de France when you’re just getting training wheels off.”
Nolan laughed at the comparison. “I thrive on a challenge. Now, how can I help with lunch? You don’t need to wait on me hand and foot. In fact, I’d prefer it if you would stop treating me like a guest. I have two hands and two legs, and I also know how to cook.”
Claire laughed at his complaint, though it pleased her as well. It was a refreshing attitude. She had rarely met a man who didn’t expect to be waited upon, guest or otherwise.
“I’m not sure this kitchen is big enough for two cooks,” she answered quickly as she gathered some food from the refrigerator. “But I will appreciate the helping hands—and feet—in all other ways. Here’s some cold chicken. There are garden tomatoes in the blue bowl on the counter. I can make some sandwiches if you like.”
“I would like that. But why don’t I make the sandwiches?”
Claire was tying her apron, and stopped short. It took her a moment to process his suggestion. But why not? It seemed as if it would make him happy . . . and he’d already started. After washing his hands, he had begun slicing a tomato on a cutting board.
“I’d like mine with some lettuce, please,” she told him as she took out a head of lettuce and a pitcher of iced tea. “And a dab of mayo and Dijon mustard.”
“Will do. I wouldn’t mind some of that potato salad from yesterday, if there’s any left over.”
“Oh yes, plenty. I’ll take some out for you.”
A few moments later, everything was set out, and Nolan served the sandwiches while Claire sat, politely waiting. It was a distinctly different feeling; she felt a little uneasy at first, but she realized she didn’t mind it a bit.
“How is it?” he asked after her first bite.
“Very good,” she said sincerely. He did know his way around a kitchen, enough to make a very tasty sandwich, though her enjoyment at being waited on did improve the flavor.
After the meal, Nolan cleaned up the kitchen while Claire explained and wrote out a list of his assignments for the day. As he headed off to mow the lawn, Claire hoped that his positive attitude and energy would hold up over the week ahead.
If he’s half as chipper next Sunday, we’ll be okay, she decided.
* * *
BY Monday afternoon, all the weekend guests were gone. Liza, Claire, and Nolan were free to prepare for the big rush, but barely had forty-eight hours to do so. Fourth of July fell on Thursday this year, and guests would start arriving on Wednesday afternoon and stay through the weekend.
Just about all of the rooms were booked, and the trio rushed to get everything done—cleaning, shopping, and washing. Making beds and arranging the bedrooms and common rooms in the most inviting way, with dishes of special soaps and fresh flowers, appealing magazines, games, and other amusements. Plus plenty of maps and brochures for sightseeing and menus of local restaurants.
Even the empty rooms on the third floor would be occupied. This was the floor where Claire stayed when she didn’t go home to her own cottage and where Nolan had been moved to a small, cozy room at the opposite end of the hall from Claire’s.
Liza and Claire always prepared the menus well in advance so Claire could get a jump start on baking and prepping dishes—as much as she could without compromising her exceptionally high standards. That part was difficult; she still liked to make everything right before it was served and didn’t believe in freezing and reheating. There were many reasons guests returned to the inn year after year, and everyone knew that one of them was Claire’s cooking.
Nolan’s spirits and energy held up well for the preamble, she noticed. When guests began to arrive on Wednesday, he greeted them with a jovial manner and quickly helped them with their bags. Claire often overheard him engaged in conversation with their visitors while he watered the porch flowers or helped serve a meal. She could tell that his quirky personality and colorful stories charmed the guests, even if he often talked to himself as well, especially when he was trying to work out some new idea in his head. But with Ed
ison always at his master’s heels, this little quirk was easily masked.
“But what if the base was doubled, Edison? Then it would easily support the weight. With a larger diameter on the wheels, of course,” Nolan might say.
Edison, in his wise, dignified way, always looked as if he were considering these suggestions very thoughtfully . . . and agreeing, of course. The big brown dog was also a hit with the guests, and Claire had no doubt that Edison would be the official inn mascot before the summer was out.
But while Edison seemed to know instinctively that the customer was always right, Nolan was sometimes too blunt with his opinions. Nolan being Nolan, however, he hardly noticed when guests bristled. “Yes, your room is three flights up. But you can certainly use the exercise,” Claire had overheard him say to a somewhat portly guest one day.
Or when a couple came down very late for breakfast and were annoyed that the buffet had been cleared: “Isn’t the clock in your room working? It’s nearly time for lunch.”
Claire chalked up this overly honest trait to his scientific perspective, which filtered out most everything but the facts. Nolan often saw social niceties as a time-wasting nuisance, a needless inefficiency. She wasn’t sure if any guests had complained, but hoped Liza would give him a pass on that, especially since he was very amenable to the requests of the guests and didn’t seem to feel belittled at all by providing service. Yet he could be quite forgetful, setting out to fix a leaky faucet or stuffed drain and getting distracted by the articles in the newspaper he’d spread out to keep the floor clean. Or he might deliver luggage to the wrong room because he’d stopped in the hallway to jot down an idea on one of the many index cards that he stuffed in his shirt and pants pockets. One visitor actually drove off with the wrong set of luggage after one of Nolan’s lapses, but fortunately discovered the mix-up in time and quickly backtracked. Nolan felt quite contrite and explained to Liza he had been lost in thought, trying to figure out how he could rig a rope-and-pulley system off the back of the building to lower and raise bags very quickly and with far less effort.
Claire skipped church on Sunday. She was far too busy preparing and serving breakfast to their throng of guests. She wondered if Nolan noticed or had given any thought to returning to church. If he had, he didn’t mention it.
By Monday night, the inn was quiet again, and vacant except for the intrepid trio. Claire fixed a light dinner from an array of leftover foods, and they sat together in the kitchen, recapping their efforts.
“You did very well overall, Nolan, especially with those unexpected repairs,” Liza said. “Though there are a few areas you could work on—dealing with the guests, mainly.”
“I suppose you mean I could have a better bedside manner. Nice talk has never been my strong suit.”
Claire had to hide a smile. Nolan was pleasant and polite enough with her and Liza, but he wasn’t the type who could suffer fools gladly, and, well . . . for better or worse . . . some of the guests could get under one’s skin. If you let them.
“I have a little book upstairs, The Innkeeper’s Companion, or something like that. It covers all those sticky situations dealing with guests, when you need to draw on your patience,” Claire explained. Of course Claire knew that most of Nolan’s faux pas had not arisen from sticky situations but mainly from his own blunt way of speaking. But at least he might read the book and get the idea of how to soften his style. “I can loan it to you if you like, Nolan.”
“I’d appreciate that, Claire. I’m sure I can get up to speed on this innkeeper-speak quickly.”
Liza smiled. “A book on the topic is a great idea, Nolan. You can just flip through whenever you get a chance. Do you have any questions at all for me?”
Nolan thought a moment. “Just one. Now that all the visitors are gone, I’d like to get started on my boat. I hope it’s all right with you if I work in the barn at night—if I don’t make too much noise.”
Claire was not surprised by the request, though she was surprised that Nolan had a drop of energy left after the pace they had kept the last few days. She was exhausted. A cup of tea then up to bed with a good book and her knitting was her plan for the rest of the evening.
She and Nolan had gotten into the habit of spending time together in the evening, playing Scrabble and even chess. She usually beat him handily at the former and held her own at the latter. Sometimes they just sat together out on the porch, reading. Nolan even had a special system for brewing tea and liked to prepare the pot for them. Again, it was an unusual switch of roles for Claire, but she liked his tea almost better than her own. And she had to admit, it felt nice to be served at the end of a long, hard day.
But tonight it was best if Nolan went out to his boat and she went up to her room. It had been Daniel’s first day of classes, and he would be home late from the city, so Claire also thought it best to give the couple some time alone. They had hardly seen each other over the long weekend.
“Why don’t you go out and work on it right now, Nolan? While it’s still light?” Liza suggested. “Oh, but don’t forget the trash. All the recyclables need to be sorted before it goes out on the road—or we’ll get fined.”
Claire could see that Liza was reluctant to remind him of this one last task for the day and deter him from the Ariadne. It took time to sort out the trash and get it out in proper order—precious time he would want for working on his boat.
But Nolan sprang up from his chair with a cheerful grin. “Already taken care of that. I rigged up a little system with some plastic piping to sort things quickly, and the newspapers have their own chute. They just need to be tied. It’s all set up on some planks that I nailed together. I attached them to an old bike, with one wheel in front and the pedal part in the back, so I can get it down to the road quickly. Just some odds and ends I found around the barn. I hope you don’t mind that I used them,” he added quickly.
“Um, no, I don’t mind.” Liza’s brow knit together as she tried to picture this trash-sorting-conveyance contraption. Claire’s did, too. She had heard hammering and whistling out in the barn a few days ago, but she thought Nolan had just stolen a few minutes to work on his boat. She didn’t realize he was inventing something.
“I’d be very interested to see that,” Liza said.
“So would I,” Claire added.
“I’ll be riding it down to the road in a minute. The first official run, though I have tested it once or twice.”
He tested this contraption? Claire wondered how she had missed it.
“Take a peek out the window,” he suggested as he picked up his dish and brought it to the sink. “And thanks for another fine dinner, Claire. A bit of a hodgepodge,” he admitted. “But delicious as always.”
It had been a hodgepodge with all the leftovers, that much was true. Though most people wouldn’t have mentioned that, you could count on Nolan to be honest. Claire appreciated that about him, too.
Liza and Claire began to clear the table and soon heard a loud rattling sound coming from the back of the house. They ran out the back door just in time to see Nolan riding his trash-sorter. It was a strange, ungainly-looking vehicle: a wooden platform, attached to bike wheels at the two rear corners, with half a bicycle—he’d somehow sawed off the back—attached to the front. Nolan was pedaling for all he was worth, propelling the platform along. The platform held several large plastic barrels, which were attached to long chutes made of flexible plastic pipe, the type Claire had noticed at the back of the clothes dryer, but a bit wider. The chutes swirled up to a board on the far side of the vehicle that had large round holes. Each hole was labeled—glass, clear plastic, opaque plastic, tin foil, cans, food waste, and so on . . . all the different categories of trash-sorting the township required. There was some other sort of contraption at the rear of the platform, as well, with a large spool of hemp twine attached to a modified plastic milk crate that caught and piled old newspapers
in a tidy, even stack. Bunches of newspaper were also on the platform, neatly packed and tied.
As Nolan pedaled past, he lifted his hand and waved. “Evening, ladies. Just delivering this load to the roadside. Be right back.”
Claire waved back, smiling. “I wish I had a camera,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“No one has,” Liza said, struggling to hold back her laughter. “It looks a little shaky to me. I hope it doesn’t fall apart midway down the drive . . . Oh, I wish Daniel were here. He wouldn’t believe this.”
“I think it looks quite solid,” Claire said. “And it does the job nicely.”
Before they could say more, Nolan appeared again, pedaling back up toward the barn. He stopped, smiling proudly. “So, what do you think? I must have saved at least an hour of labor tonight. Not to mention time I would have spent sorting during the week without that chute system and newspaper piler.”
“It’s . . . remarkable,” Liza said sincerely. “I’m very impressed.”
“So am I, Nolan,” Claire added. “You’ve saved a good deal of time to work on your boat, that’s for sure.”
“And I’m going to get right to it. Good night, ladies. See you tomorrow.” Nolan waved and started pedaling again, dragging along his recycling mobile. The big doors of the barn were open, and he drove it inside. He had already installed bright lights for working, and now the barn doorway framed a bright yellow square at the back of the property.
That cheerful square of light signaled to Claire optimism . . . challenges met, and inspiration answering problems. Nolan didn’t see himself as a spiritual person. But she knew he was touched and inspired by some greater intelligence all the time. Of that, Claire could not be more sure.
* * *
CLAIRE had gone up to bed and Nolan was still working in the barn when Daniel’s truck finally appeared. Liza felt her heartbeat quicken at the sight, as if he had been away a long time, not just one day. But it had been an important one: his first day of classes in Boston. Liza was eager to hear how it went, though she knew you couldn’t tell much from a first day of something like this, good or bad.
Harbor of the Heart Page 9
