by Lea Wait
Maggie grinned at her. “You know a lot, don’t you?”
“I keep my eyes and ears open, young woman. Life would be pretty boring if I didn’t. You’d be wise to do the same. And,” she looked directly at Maggie, “if an old woman can be forgiven one bit of advice. Don’t be foolish. You’ll regret the things you didn’t do, not the things you did. Now—what’s that man in the kitchen going to suggest we have for lunch on this snowy day? Or is he going to leave that to us women?”
Lunch turned out to be grilled ham and Swiss sandwiches with potato chips. Will declared he’d become addicted to Cape Cod chips after his October trip to the Cape. Maggie grated carrots, cabbage, and a bit of red onion, and made coleslaw while he was grilling.
After lunch she cleaned up while Will helped Aunt Nettie settle in for her afternoon nap. She’d almost finished when she heard Will on the telephone.
Maggie couldn’t hear every word, but she was pretty sure he was talking to Jo Heartwood, making an offer on the Walter English house. She crossed her fingers that it was the right thing for him to do, and that the emotions of the moment hadn’t pushed her too far when she encouraged him. And that the only offer he was making to Jo was for the house.
It truly was a majestic house, full of possibilities. His possibilities.
“Offer made?”
Will had come back into the kitchen.
“I couldn’t help hearing you on the phone.”
“Offer made, to Jo, anyway. She’ll call Walter’s realtor. If the deal looks as though it’ll go through I’ll have to get a lawyer,” Will said, almost as though he was talking to himself. “I don’t want to use Aunt Nettie’s lawyer. He’s a strange old guy, and at some point there might be a conflict of interest.”
Maggie nodded. “I was thinking about making hot chocolate. You?”
“Coffee, I think.”
A few minutes later Will had a fire burning in the fireplace, the Christmas tree lights were on, and Will and Maggie were snuggled on the couch, their cups almost forgotten on the coffee table in front of them.
Will was the first to speak, softly. They both knew Aunt Nettie’s room was only a wall away. “I know I’ve done a lot of the talking since you’ve arrived. I wanted you to see what I’ve been doing. What I’ve been thinking about for the future, here in Waymouth. How Aunt Nettie was doing.”
Maggie held his hand tightly and reached up and kissed his cheek. “I understand that. I didn’t know what you were coping with. I’d imagined she was back the way she was before the stroke. And I hadn’t realized you’d had to make as many changes in your life. I’m impressed, and frankly, a bit overwhelmed with everything you’ve had to do.” She squeezed his hand. “I honestly don’t think I could do what you’re doing. Aunt Nettie’s very lucky to have you in her life.”
“I’m lucky, too. Since my mother and father died she’s been a sort of surrogate parent to me. Someone who’s known me all my life, and who’s listened and given me sound advice when asked, and kept her mouth closed when I haven’t asked.”
Maggie felt a twinge of envy. There was no Aunt Nettie in her life. And, she thought, Will’s aunt had been giving her advice, too. What advice had she been giving Will? “She’s special, that’s for sure.”
“She’s ninety-two, Maggie. Our family has good genes, but I won’t have her in my life forever. I want to give back a little of the comfort and care she’s given me over the years. Plus, of course, I’ve always wanted to live in Maine, so being here is not exactly a sacrifice. It will take time to figure out how everything’s going to work. One of the big questions is the financial one. I don’t want to make any commitments until I have that figured out.”
Will needed to feel he could support himself. Maggie got that. But in the meantime, her life was moving on. Her decision to adopt was a final one; one that would change the rest of her life.
“But all that’s me. Remember what we said in October. No more holding back.” Will squeezed her hand.
Maggie could feel her heart beating. Was this going to be a repeat of the scene they’d had on the Cape when she’d said what she wanted, and Will had walked out?
That time she’d talked him into coming back. They were still together. Here. In Maine. At least for now. This was another chance.
She could feel his arm around her tighten, very slightly.
“So—I want an honest answer.”
She didn’t let go of his hand. She thought of what Aunt Nettie had said. “I love you. I don’t doubt that for a minute.”
“I’m glad.” Will bent down and kissed her. “In fact, I’m happier than that. I’m delighted and relieved. And I love you, too. But that’s not the answer to my question.”
She turned to look at him, steeling herself. He was going to ask about her adoption plans. This was it.
“Maggie, if I buy the Victorian house—would you exhibit your antique prints in it?”
“What?” The bubble of tension she’d built up collapsed. That was his big question?
“I know you’ve never exhibited in an antiques mall, but I think it would be a great venue for you. You could design one of the rooms, or the hallway, the way you wanted to. And I’d give you a special rate.”
Maggie turned away from him and started laughing.
“What? You think that’s such a crazy idea? If you do, I need to know why.”
“No. It’s nothing. I guess I’m tired.” She turned back toward him. Maybe this was a message. A sign they were on very different wave lengths. “I agree. My prints would look wonderful in one of the rooms. Or in the hall, if the lighting were much better. Of course, I’d need to see your contract to make sure I could afford to be a tenant in such an upscale establishment,” she teased. “But assuming all terms were to my liking, I think you have your first dealer.”
She reached out her hand and they shook on it. Which might have led to further words…or interactions…if Will’s telephone hadn’t rung.
“Drat,” he said, disentangling himself. “But it might be Jo.”
It wasn’t. It was Nick Strait.
“Nick gets off at four o’clock this afternoon. He wanted to know if we’d meet him at The Great Blue for a drink before dinner. I told him we would,” said Will, returning to the couch.
“In this snow?”
Will shrugged. “It’s Maine. The plows are out, and I can dig out the car. The Great Blue will be open. And I thought I’d make a light Alfredo sauce and throw the leftover shrimp from yesterday’s party together with pasta for dinner tonight, so that will be easy. Aunt Nettie will be fine for an hour or two.”
Conversation about adoption…postponed. “All right, then. I’d like to see Nick.”
“Then I’ll go and clear away the snow that’s fallen since we came in.”
“I have Christmas wrapping to do, so I’ll finish that while you’re shoveling,” replied Maggie, looking wistfully at the fire and cozy couch.
Will kissed her forehead. “We’ll only be gone for a while. The evening and night are still ahead.” He winked at her. “Partner.”
The snow wasn’t falling as persistently as it had been earlier. Streets and parking lots were plowed, stores were open, and the weather didn’t seem to have slowed commerce in any major way. About a dozen customers were at The Great Blue, at the bar or at tables near the welcoming fireplace, ablaze with warmth.
Maggie walked over to the windows overlooking the Madoc River. “In the summer I’ve looked out these windows and seen sailboats and lobster boats and cormorants drying themselves on the pilings and herons on the mud flats at low tide. Seeing the flats covered with snow and crackled ice is like being in an entirely different place.” She turned to Will. “Through the flurries the weathered gray pilings from the old wharves are like a veiled forest of bones sticking out of the mud flats. But it’s still beautiful, isn’t it?”
“And when the sun comes out tomorrow and all that ice sparkles, it’ll be spectacular. Not that I’m prejudiced
or anything.”
“Trying to sell Maggie on Maine winters?” Nick had come up behind them. “Welcome to Maine, Maggie.”
“Good to see you again, Nick. If he’s trying to sell me on Maine, he’s doing a pretty good job,” Maggie admitted. “Although tramping through your field to get to the woods to cut a Christmas tree wasn’t my favorite part of the week.”
“Her boots weren’t high enough,” Will explained.
“Ah. Feet got a bit soggy, then,” Nick said. “But you found a right good tree?”
“We did,” Maggie agreed. “It’s up and decorated, in the living room. You should come and take a look.”
Nick shrugged. “I’ve seen a few Christmas trees. But glad you found a good ’un. Bar or table, Will?”
“Since Maggie’s with us, why not table? It’s easier for three to talk there.”
Maggie ordered a Sam Adams, Nick a Shipyard, and Will a Gritty McDuff’s, and three bottles quickly appeared on the table.
“So, how’s the crime business, Nick?” Will took a long slug of his beer.
“Luckily, Homicide’s pretty quiet now. Around holidays it can pick up fast, though, so I’m on call pretty much twenty-four/seven. People drinking too much. Families finding reunions aren’t all they’re cracked up to be in the movies. Old quarrels being revived. The usual.”
“What made you decide to be a state trooper, Nick? I’ve always been curious about what would draw someone to a profession like that,” Maggie asked.
“You mean a job dealing with the rotten sides of people?” Nick asked. He paused. “Funny. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that. My grandpa farmed; my dad lobstered. Mainers through and through, both of ’em, though one took to the land and one to the sea. When I was growing up they each tried recruiting me. Telling me why his way was best.” He smiled and drank. “Guess I was more like ’em both than they wanted to know, ’cause I chose my own way. Decided to be a cop, or a trooper—whoever solved murders—when I was about eight or nine. That’s when a girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, was found dead a few blocks from here, in the cellar of an old building that’d burned down years before.”
Maggie stared at him. “The ‘hidden garden’?” She’d visited that peaceful place. In summer chipmunks chirruped and raced along and between the old granite stones in the walls. Stone chairs and benches had been set along paths so visitors could relax and enjoy the perennials and thick plantings several feet, and a world away, from the street.
“Ayuh. That’s what they call the place now. The Waymouth Garden Club claimed it and planted it real nice some years back. But when I was a kid it was a wild, dirty place where teenagers went to smoke and hang out. Other things happened there, too, I suspect. I was only a kid, but I heard stories. Ghost stories, mostly, but still. And then a girl’s body was found there. People talked about it for weeks. But no one ever found out who she was, or where she came from.”
Nick paused. “I used to go and look at that cellar. Imagine her body there. Thought if I were a cop, I’d be the hero who’d figure out who she was. And get the guy who killed her.”
“Did they ever identify her?” Will asked.
“Nope. First thing I did, once I was a state trooper, was read her case files. She’s still a Maine State cold case. All these years later.” He paused. “When I have extra time, between cases, I still go over that file. I’ve read it hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. I’ve fed the information we have, such as it is, into every new state and federal database that comes on-line. Talked to everyone around at the time. Zip. Nada. I always figured someone in Waymouth knew something. That eventually it would come out.” He shook his head. “The town buried her, but we still don’t know who she was, or where she came from. Or who killed her. Or why.”
“Wow,” said Maggie. “There must be a family who’s missed her for, what—thirty years or more?”
Nick shrugged. “You’d think so. But she never matched any reported missing persons. That might be the saddest part.”
“But you’re still investigating,” said Maggie. “You haven’t given up.”
“I’m still looking,” said Nick. “I’ll admit, after all this time, I may never close the case. But at least I’ll know I tried. And I’ve solved a few other murders along the way. So I’m still glad I chose this profession. I’m just too stubborn to give up on that one case.”
“I’m glad,” said Maggie. “And glad you told us.”
Nick took a long drink. “Hey, Maggie, you’re a girl. Here’s a question for you. What would a teenage girl want for high school graduation? My Zelda’s a senior, and her mom wants to buy her a piece of fancy jewelry.”
“Jewelry’s a lovely idea,” said Maggie. “It would be something for her to remember the occasion by. Maybe to pass down to her own daughter someday.”
“Don’t mention her having kids any time soon. That’s not going to happen if I have anything to do with it.” Nick raised his fist. His eyes didn’t smile. Then he seemed to relax. “That heirloom idea? Could work for some girls. But Emily—that’s my ex—she sent Zelda a real pearl necklace for her sixteenth birthday last year. And you know what my kid did with it?”
Maggie shook her head.
“Pawned it. Gave it to a friend who was over twenty-one and he pawned it. I don’t know what she did with the money. Maybe new clothes.” Nick looked at Will. “I don’t pay attention to what jewelry she’s wearing. I wouldn’t even know what she’d done if the pawnbroker hadn’t called to tell me he’d had her in his place and figured the necklace didn’t belong to the guy who pawned it.”
“What did you do?”
“I got it back, and put it in my safe deposit box. There could come a time when she’d want it. And I skinned her alive for what she’d done.”
“But it was hers,” said Will.
“Yeah. It was,” said Nick.
“Is she going to college next year?” asked Maggie.
“She’s smart enough. But I don’t know about college. I don’t want her to go far away, you understand. I don’t want her getting in any trouble.” He leaned over. “I don’t think she’s applied anywhere, and that’s fine with me. Biggest reason I’d have to tell her to apply is this boy, Jon Snow, she thinks she likes. She needs to get away from him.”
“What kind of a boy is he?”
“Just a kid. No one she should be planning her life around,” said Nick. “So what should I tell Emily about the jewelry?”
“Is Emily in touch with Zelda? Do they see each other?” asked Maggie.
“Nah. Not for a few years. When Zelda was eleven or twelve Emily came up to Maine for a weekend and bought her a fancy lunch and a pile of clothes she didn’t need. Now she sends her cards and money for her birthday when she remembers. Not close.”
“Why don’t you suggest she invite Zelda to go and visit her for a week or so? As a graduation present. Maybe it’s time they got to know each other better,” Maggie suggested.
“I don’t think you understand. I let Zelda go, she might never come home. Speaking of which,” he stood up, “I should be getting home now. I’m expected. We’re decorating our tree tonight. Maybe I‘ll see you both tomorrow night at the Westons’ party.”
Maggie looked at Will as Nick left. “That was abrupt.”
Will shrugged his shoulders. “You were telling him what to do about Zelda. He’s a little touchy about her.”
“He asked me!”
“No difference. It’s just his way. Don’t worry. Next time we see him he won’t even remember. We need to be getting back home anyway.”
Maggie finished her beer. “Nick makes me curious to meet Zelda, though.”
“Better not tell him that,” said Will. “He’ll think you’re trying to recruit her for your college in New Jersey and planning to take her away.”
“You’re joking?” said Maggie, as Will helped her on with her jacket.
“I’m not sure, actually,” said Will. “Nick’s a little prot
ective about Zelda. I’ve found it’s better to keep your peace when it comes to her.”
10
’Twas The Night Before Christmas—A Chance to Test Santa’s Generosity. 1876 black-and-white wood engraving by Thomas Nast from Harper’s Weekly. Nast, a German immigrant, began working as an artist for Harper’s when he was fifteen. Later, using his own five children and his home in Morristown, New Jersey, as subjects, each year he drew at least one Christmas illustration for Harper’s. He based his ideas on Clement Moore’s poem “The Night Before Christmas,” but his drawings give us the vision of Santa we have today. In this engraving one of his young sons is in pajamas, hanging a stocking almost as long as he is from the mantel of Nast’s home. Santa’s face and a circle of holly are pictured on the fireplace screen. 10 x 14 inches. Price: $225.
By midmorning on Christmas Eve wrapped packages were appearing under the Christmas tree. Maggie added several boxes of her own to the pile, resisting peeking at the tags, but feeling like a child. She hadn’t had a tree with unknown gifts under it since she’d been a little girl.
Christmas was for children. Next year. Next year …
Will’s telephone rang several times about the offer he’d made on the Victorian house, but he didn’t volunteer what was happening, and she didn’t ask.
Aunt Nettie’s suggestion that it was a perfect day to make gingerbread people solved the problem of what she was to do, and soon they were cutting out and decorating gingerbread boys and girls with a vengeance, focusing on lining up silver buttons and raisin eyes.
Aunt Nettie was looking forward to the party at her friends’ house, no matter the weather. “Did you bring a nice dress, Maggie? Ruth and Betty will expect us to dress up a bit. You’ll see.”
Maggie bent over the last tray of gingerbread children. “I have a dress,” she answered. She’d brought a silky red dress with a fitted top and swirly skirt she’d seen in a boutique window in Flemington and couldn’t resist. It wasn’t her usual style, but it fit perfectly, and she’d hoped she and Will might go to a nice restaurant for dinner, maybe in Portland. Or even go out New Year’s Eve. But it looked as though the party at Ruth’s and Betty’s house would be the dress-up occasion for this trip.
