by Lea Wait
“Will? Where’s that wine?” Aunt Nettie called out.
“Right here,” he answered, taking the bottle he’d uncorked back with him to the living room.
Betty picked up her glass again and drank it all at once.
Will reached for it, to refill it. She looked at him and screamed. “No! Why is he here? Who let him in? Rule number-one! Rule number-one! We all promised!”
“Will, put the wine down on the table and go back to the kitchen,” Aunt Nettie said calmly, as Ruth reached out and put her arms around Betty, who had scrunched down in her chair and was babbling. “We promised. We did.”
“Betty, it’s okay. It’s okay. The man’s gone. It’s all over. No one’s here.” She helped Betty sit up straighter again, handed her the newly filled wineglass, and held it so she could sip a little. Then she opened her pocketbook, removed a bottle of pills, shook two out, and gave them to Betty, who swallowed them with more wine.
Ruth gestured to Maggie, who got her a wineglass filled with water. When Betty wasn’t looking, Ruth quietly exchanged her sister’s wineglass for the one with water.
“We used to go for such wonderful long walks, down by the harbor,” said Aunt Nettie. “Do you remember?”
“And the movie nights. When you’d all get into two or three cars and go to the drive-in over to Brunswick,” said Doreen. “Once in a while Mother’d take me with her. You all thought I was sleeping in the backseat, but I just pretended to sleep. I didn’t want to miss anything you were talking about. Or that was happening on the screen.”
“I’ll bet what we were talking about was more interesting!” said Aunt Nettie.
“It surely was,” agreed Doreen. “But I never told Mother that. She’d have sent me to my room for months if she’d known I was listening. I got half my education at those drive-in movies!”
“We’d eat popcorn and clam rolls and laugh,” said Ruth, as calm as though nothing had happened a few minutes before. “I remember.” She looked around the room. “There were more of us then.”
“There were. And we did have fun,” agreed Aunt Nettie.
“I don’t know what I would have done when Jonas died, if it hadn’t been for our group.”
“That was one of the hard times. But we pulled together and got through it. And the other times, too.” Aunt Nettie looked around the room. “And now there are only four of us left. Four of us who remember.”
Maggie stood at the door and listened, as the little girl Doreen had done years before in the backseat of a car at a drive-in.
She watched as they all looked at Betty, who was happily, obliviously, finishing the wineglass full of water.
8
Quatrain XX. Edmund Dulac’s 1930 lithograph in blues and greens of a mysterious Mideastern castle-like building. An illustration for the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, translated by Edward Fitzgerald. New York: Doubleday. 7.5 x 9 inches. Price: $60.
“Jo Heartwood is going to meet Maggie and me at Walter English’s old mall,” explained Will the next morning. He kept glancing at the clock and was clearly rushing Aunt Nettie through her second cup of coffee. Even she had slept in a little. It was nearly nine o’clock.
But her party had been a success, and she was still reliving it. “Betty doesn’t look at all well, does she,” Aunt Nettie repeated for the third or fourth time. “She’ll probably be the next of us to go. Although God works in mysterious ways. Gloria had a heart attack and died in her sleep when she was only sixty-two, and we thought she was the healthiest of us all at the time.”
She didn’t mention Betty’s strange outburst when Will was in the room, and neither Will nor Maggie asked about it. Betty was confused. Sadly, her words didn’t seem to warrant examination.
“Why don’t I pour you another cup? You can sit in the living room and watch TV while we’re out,” suggested Will. “We won’t be gone long.”
“I don’t see why Maggie has to see that old building. She saw it when it was a mall, as I remember. And my memory is fine, thank goodness. I know you’ve got it in your head that you might buy the place—you can’t keep secrets like that from me—but if you want to start your own antiques mall, why don’t you look at buildings on Route 1, where there’s more traffic? A building there would be newer, and you’d have less upkeep. An old dowager Victorian like Walter’s place will cost a fortune to fix up and maintain. That’s why he’s trying to get rid of it, Will.”
“I know, Aunt Nettie. I’ve thought of all that. Now, where should I put your coffee?”
Will was not to be dissuaded by his aunt’s logic.
Nettie settled on the living room couch with the remote control in her hand and a cup of coffee and a plate of Christmas cookies on the table in front of her. (Maggie was beginning to think she’d have to bake more if they were going to have any left on the actual holiday.)
Will handed Maggie her coat and headed her toward the door.
The snow wasn’t drifting down gently, as it had most days. This morning the sky was low and gray and a curtain of snow shielded most of the river from view. Today’s snow was going to accumulate more than just a cover for yesterday’s two inches.
Will brushed the new snow from the car as Maggie hugged herself, wondering if the inside of the car would warm up before they got to see Will’s dream house. It wasn’t far. On a summer’s day it might be a comfortable half hour’s walk. But in this weather? No, thank you.
This time she paid closer attention to the neighborhood the house was in. The only Victorian in a block of sea captains’ colonials, it was certainly visible. But it was two blocks off Route 1, and parking was limited to the street and the wide driveway, now covered with several feet of snow, leading to the barn. A local artist had an in-barn studio and gallery down the street, but other than that it was a residential block. Maggie noted a SCHOOL BUS STOP sign two houses away. It would be a nice place to raise a family. She wasn’t as sure about its future as an antiques mall. It had failed once. Could Will afford to put most of his savings into a business with a questionable future?
It was Will’s decision, she reminded herself. Not hers.
They’d talked about money before, but always in terms of her business and his business. Buying this house was the riskiest decision she’d ever seen him consider.
Will pulled up in back of a red Subaru wagon. “That’s Jo’s car. Let’s go.”
Jo Heartwood looked almost as young as one of Maggie’s students. Blond, and very earnest, her smile for Will was sparkling. “I’m so glad you decided to take one more look.” She turned to Maggie. “And you must be his friend from New Jersey! Merry Christmas, and welcome to Maine. I’m Jo.”
Maggie accepted her outstretched mittened hand. She’d imagined a real estate agent as someone in their forties. Or fifties. Someone with experience and know-how. How could this girl know anything about Victorian houses? And how many times had Will looked at this house before?
“Let’s take a look, shall we? I’m afraid it’s snowing hard enough that they may declare an early closing at school and I’ll get a call to pick up my kids. I want you two to have as much time as possible inside.”
“You have children?” Maggie blurted as she and Will followed Jo up onto the wide porch that circled two-thirds of the house. Jo looked about twenty-two. At most.
“Three, actually,” said Jo. “Christa’s ten, Joey’s eight, and Sophie’s five. Full house.”
“Sounds like it,” Maggie agreed, taking another look at Jo.
“Jo’s husband was in the Army Reserves,” said Will quietly. “He was deployed to the Middle East. Didn’t make it back.”
Maggie’s guilt went into high gear. How could she suspect anything of an armed forces widow with three children? “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
“No way you would,” said Jo, glancing at Will. “You’re here to see the house. Will shouldn’t have bothered you with my problems.” She punched the code in the lockbox and took out a key. The two f
ront doors were paneled with beautiful nineteenth-century stained glass. “Will’s been real nice to me the past couple of months, when I’ve had rough days. He’s a good listener.” She pulled the door open and led them inside.
“I’m glad to hear he’s been helpful,” said Maggie, wondering just how helpful Will had been. “I imagine with three children you have your hands full.” He didn’t want to be a father, but he was happy to be a good listener to someone with three young children?
“I do. But you’re here to see this wonderful home. Or business,” Jo added quickly. “I always think of this place as a home, but of course, it was set up as a business and that’s what Will has in mind, too.” She hesitated. “The electricity is on, but the heat is turned just high enough so the pipes don’t freeze. Will, you’ve been here so many times before. Would you like me to leave you here by yourselves for an hour or so? I could come back and lock up then.”
“Thank you. I’d like that, Jo,” said Will.
“Then I’ll go and do my grocery shopping before they’re all sold out of the kids’ favorite cereal and popcorn. That always seems to happen when we get a snow day. And I have a couple of errands for Santa to do, too. See you in about an hour. If you finish before then, turn off the lights so I know you’ve left, and close the door.” She touched him on the arm (does a businesslike realtor do that?) and left.
“She seems…nice,” said Maggie.
“She is. She’s a friend of my cousin Rachel’s. And she’s been very patient with me. I’ve been in and out of here for a couple of months now. Luckily, no other buyer has been as interested, so I haven’t had pressure to make up my mind. But if I’m going to get any kind of business up and running by next summer I have to make an offer soon.”
“You’ve done some serious thinking about this,” Maggie said, resolving not to make any other comments about Jo unless she knew more. No matter how tempted she was. But the way Jo Heartwood had looked at Will definitely had put her on high alert.
She swallowed hard and walked into the room on the right. “I remember this place when it was crammed with antiques. It looks a lot bigger empty.”
Will grinned. “Enormous, isn’t it? Almost every room has a fireplace. None of them are lined so they’re not safe to use now, but they’d be showcases for my fireplace and kitchen inventory. And come back to the main hall again.” He pointed up. “The front staircase goes all the way to the third floor, and then a smaller staircase goes to the tower room above that.”
“I remember that.” Maggie smiled. “I loved that little room. Glass all around, and a great view of the harbor and the village. If I’d lived in this house that would have been my hideaway.”
“All the rooms on the second and third floors on the south side have great harbor views. Walter English squeezed as many dealers as possible in here, so no one ever noticed. If each dealer had one room, we could emphasize the views.”
Maggie walked down the hallway, peeking into what had been the dining room and the sitting room. “But the work these rooms will need, Will. Taking down the layers and layers of wallpaper. Removing the heavy paint on the wonderful old woodwork so you can really see it. And the size and numbers of windows are wonderful, but dealers would want even more light. The place might have to be totally rewired.”
“It would. I’m thinking of starting on the first floor, and trying to get that, and the new roof, taken care of so I could open at least a few rooms by summer. The second floor could be worked on more gradually, and other dealers added later.”
Maggie found herself getting more enthusiastic as they walked through the house, and Will pointed out details like the laundry chute and the dumbwaiter, both of which went all the way to the third floor. “Probably to serve the needs of a nursery,” said Maggie, musing about why such things would have been installed. “I can’t imagine servants being provided with a dumbwaiter.”
“There are only a few closets, of course,” Will pointed out. “But for a business, that isn’t a problem. And I keep hoping to find a secret passageway. But so far I haven’t pressed the right spot on the woodwork.”
Maggie looked at him. “Of course, if the business doesn’t do well…”
“If the business doesn’t do well, I’ll have to deal with the lack of bathrooms and closets,” Will agreed. “But for now, adding shelves to meet the needs of specific dealers should be all that’s necessary. Supply houses will rent display counters and cases.”
“I assume you’ll leave that up to the dealers you rent space to.”
“Unless they pay me a premium to handle it.” Will grinned.
He’d thought this out. On the third floor, Maggie went straight to the little staircase and climbed up to the crow’s nest room high above Waymouth. Will followed her.
The falling snow blurred the view, making them feel as though they were inside a snow globe. Maggie turned slowly, seeing the harbor and town below her. She ended her turn in Will’s arms. “I give up being practical. Buy this place if you can, Will. It’s wonderful. Magical. It will be an incredible amount of work. It will eat up your time and your money. But it’s a great project, and, I hope, will eventually bring in a good return. For whatever reason you want my approval, you have it.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her. Softly, and deeply.
“I shall, of course, expect email and telephone updates, complete with pictures, as the work progresses,” she added, as she moved out of his arms and took one last look down at the transformed town. Seen from this height, the snow cover was complete. It could have been the model for a large-folio Currier and Ives New England Winter Scene if it weren’t for the lone lobster boat on the river strung with Christmas lights and a few cars moving on Main Street. And Currier and Ives would have added a skating pond, of course.
Waymouth, Maine. How could anything bad ever happen in a place as beautiful, as perfect, as this one?
9
Christmas Post. Black-and-white wood engraving by Thomas Nast (1840–1902) for cover of Harper’s Weekly, January 4, 1879 showing a young boy with his dog in a snowstorm, putting an envelope addressed to “St. Claus, North Pole” into a United States post box. A toy store with a Christmas tree in front of it is in the background. Thomas Nast, often called “the man who invented Santa Claus,” produced Christmas drawings for Harper’s regularly from the 1860s until 1886. Although he based his “Santa” on Clement Moore’s poem, he added details such as Santa’s living at the North Pole and having a toy workshop, and children writing letters to Santa. Nast also popularized the Democratic donkey and created the Republican elephant, and his political cartoons helped take down Tammany Hall in New York City. 10 x 15 inches, including Harper’s Weekly: Journal of Civilization masthead. Price: $225.
Despite the snow, the U.S. postal carrier had made his or her appointed rounds. Aunt Nettie was opening mail at the kitchen table as Maggie and Will stomped back into the house, scattering clods of snow as they shook off their jackets and took off their boots.
“Glad you’re home,” she said, looking up from a pile of Christmas cards and letters. “I was beginning to worry about you two. It’s really coming down out there.”
“We noticed,” said Will, giving Maggie a fast hug. “We were inside the house most of the time, though. I see we got a lot of cards today.” He peeked over his aunt’s shoulder at her collection of Christmas trees and angels and photographs of families posed with family dogs, cats, dead moose, and in one case, a newly purchased home in San Diego.
“From family, mostly,” she said. “Quite a few were addressed to both of us. Do you want to look at those? I’ve separated them. I put your mail on the counter.”
“I’ll look at mine first. You go ahead and put the cards on the mantel. I’ll look at them later.”
“Do you need any help, Aunt Nettie?” Maggie asked.
“I’ll be just fine, dear. Thank you.” Aunt Nettie stood up and slowly walked with her cane toward the living room carrying a stack of c
ards, while Will started looking through his mail. Maggie poured herself a Diet Pepsi and then followed Aunt Nettie.
The elderly woman glanced through the cards, hesitated, and then slipped one envelope into her pocket before carefully arranging the others on the mantel among the pine boughs.
Maggie smiled to herself. Even Aunt Nettie had her secrets. Perhaps an old admirer? Or a special card she’d kept to put in her own room.
“The cards look very festive there,” she commented. “You’ve gotten so many you’ll need to find another place to put them soon.”
“They do look nice, don’t they,” said Aunt Nettie, standing back a bit. “I always do enjoy getting Christmas cards. It’s like seeing all your old friends and family at the holidays, even if they’re not with you in person. Every name on a card brings back memories. At my age, what more can I ask for?”
“Now, that’s not true!” said Maggie. “As long as you’re still alive, you’re still having experiences. Making new memories.”
“You’ll see, the older you get. At every age you experience life differently. When you’re a child all you can think about is growing up. Every hour seems to last forever. Then you’re a teenager, like Doreen’s granddaughter, Zelda, full of horrible and wonderful emotions, all at the same time. You’re sure no one else has ever felt the way you do. Then, all of a sudden, you’re grown up. You still have hopes and dreams and all the crazy plans you had as a teenager, but now you also have responsibilities. Some people ignore the responsibilities and refuse to grow up. Some people ignore the dreams.”
Maggie listened.
“Neither of those ways works in the long run. You’re grown up a long time. You need those dreams to keep you focused. But the responsibilities you take on…they’re what earn you your place in this world.”
“Do you still have dreams, Aunt Nettie?”
“At my age, they’re more like hopes. But, oh my, yes.”
“What do you hope?”
Aunt Nettie paused. “I hope I’ll live a bit longer, but not be in pain. I hope when my end comes it’ll be quick, and I won’t be a bother to anyone. And I hope I’ll be around long enough to know what happens to people I care about. People who’re making decisions that will make a difference to the rest of their lives.”
