“Mmm, yes.” Carl pressed a button on the intercom. “Meg, I want you to find the source of these deposits,” he said, and gave her the information. “Coffee, Sarah? It’s fresh. And we’ll have a few minutes to wait.”
“I’d love some,” Sarah said. When they were settled with steaming cups, she asked, “How’s your son doing in school?”
Carl brightened. “Very well. I miss him, of course, but I think he’s getting a better education at Harker.” He gave Sarah a sideways look. “How is Mrs. Hogbinder?”
“I think you’d find her much changed since she’s moved into my mother’s house. I really believe she was simply and overwhelmingly lonely.”
“Yes.” Carl didn’t look convinced.
Sarah considered keeping her mouth shut. Oh what the heck. “I think she is very sorry for that incident,” she told him. “As well as hideously embarrassed. I do hope it didn’t cause any lasting problems for your son.”
“No. He was embarrassed also, but nothing really happened. Just an amazingly awkward occurrence.”
“Amazingly,” Sarah agreed.
“Something better not discussed, in fact.” Carl smiled. “Although that may be impossible in a place like Crowley Falls.”
Sarah laughed. Tempting to tell him the whole thing was pretty much forgotten, but she knew the incident would be dragged out and used as gossip fodder for the next fifty years. No point in telling Carl that.
Fortunately Meg came into the office and handed him a sheet of paper before he noticed Sarah’s distraction.
Carl scanned it and his face brightened. “Well, no mistakes here, Sarah.”
She hadn’t really thought there would be. “So tell me, where did the money come from?”
“Now you know I can’t tell you that.”
“I know you’re not supposed to.” And she’d leap over the desk and grab the paper if he didn’t. “But I really need to know. Was it Homer Macklin?”
“How did you know?” He clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Never mind, Carl. You didn’t tell me.” Sarah stood and hefted her purse onto her shoulder. “Thank you very much.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I won’t give you away,” she promised, and left.
Mr. Macklin was in his office, looking as sour as ever. He looked up when she tapped on the door. “Yes? Oh, Sarah.”
Well, that was a first. No frosty Miss Gault. She put her list of unexplained deposits on his desk. “Almost like old times, isn’t it?”
She’d never known Mr. Macklin to show any signs of emotion, but when he scanned the figures, the end of his nose turned pink and he looked away.
“It was you,” she said.
“Prove it, Miss Gault.”
Sarah had a dizzying sense of time looping around her. Those were the last words he’d said to her in this office. She looked across the desk at him, spare and old and lonely, and was suffused with pity. “I don’t think I can, sir,” she said. “I was just checking.”
He bowed his head, not looking at her.
“And the Fleider account. That was you, too.”
If she hadn’t known he’d been giving away money instead of stealing it, she’d have thought he looked guilty, terrified. “Why?”
“Because she was going to lose the business. She couldn’t have stood that on top of Ed’s death,” he whispered.
“I don’t understand why you’re so afraid people will find out that you’re a good person.” She knew immediately that she’d gone way over the line. “Never mind. I’m sorry, Mr. Macklin. I didn’t mean to intrude. I apologize. “
“You are the best accountant that ever worked here. Perhaps when time permits, we might discuss—” He stopped.
“A job?”
“Perhaps more of a merger, Miss Gault. A partnership. When you have time.”
Sarah tottered home, absolutely staggered by the encounter. Her mother was napping, so she fixed a cup of tea and carried it to the conservatory, where she sat staring into the back yard.
Christine trudged into view with a basket of laundry, Casey at her heels. Sarah jumped to her feet. Christine shouldn’t be carrying something that heavy.
Before Sarah could move, Miranda sailed up to Christine and took the basket. From Miranda’s frown and Christine’s guilty look, Sarah could guess at the scolding the girl was getting. Casey looked from one to the other, but didn’t bristle. Interesting. The dog had become very protective of Christine lately, so the conversation must not be hostile. Sarah would never have guessed that Miranda worried about the girl’s health.
Miranda set the basket down when they reached the clothesline. When Christine started to wipe off the lines, she snatched the cloth and finished the job. Sarah watched in surprise as Queen Miranda helped shake out sheets and peg them to the line. She talked steadily as they worked, and Sarah had to admit she’d really like to know what that conversation was about.
At one point, Miranda bent to pick up another sheet. When she straightened, she was almost touching Christine and the girl flinched away from her. Even at this distance, Sarah could see that she’d gone pale and shaky.
Miranda dropped the sheet back into the basket and slowly, gently, put an arm around Christine. To Sarah’s surprise, Christine burst into tears. Miranda gathered her close, talking the entire time.
When the storm seemed to be about over, Miranda said something, asked a question maybe. Sarah’s curiosity practically boiled over when Christine shook her head no. Violently, more gently, mildly, and then she turned away and covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook with renewed weeping.
Sarah got up and headed for the back door. In spite of the apparent friendliness, whatever Miranda was saying to the girl now seemed to be causing some problems, and Sarah wasn’t going to let that continue. Miranda wasn’t going to torment helpless people under Sarah’s roof.
When Sarah reached the kitchen door, Christine and Miranda had just come inside. She paused for a moment in the hall to hear what they were saying.
“...never told anyone,” Christine said in a tremulous voice. “I feel like someone just took a ten-ton weight off me.”
“You should have had someone to talk to long before this,” Miranda murmured.
At least, it had to be Miranda. There wasn’t anyone else present, but the gentle voice didn’t sound anything like the Miranda that Sarah knew.
****
Miranda set down the teapot and looked around the table with satisfaction. Afternoon tea was such a civilized custom. Hilda should be pouring, since it was her house, but she’d gotten too weak to lift the heavy pot, and of course she, Miranda, was the logical choice to preside.
Poor Hilda. She really was failing rapidly. And she was just Miranda’s own age. Age was an implacable enemy. Only Violet seemed to go on through life unchanged. She watched Violet hesitating over the cookies, and wondered if Violet would like to pour next week when they had their little tea party. She’d never thought to ask before, but it would be a nice thing to do.
Dear Violet. Even though she was wrinkled as one of those revolting apple dolls and her tinselly blonde hair was more tinsel than blonde, she clattered and chattered through life just the way they all had in grade school.
Miranda popped a macaroon into her mouth. Christine had an unexpected talent for cooking, especially baking the tempting little treats that made teatime such a pleasure. Such a dear child she was.
Hilda’s laugh caught her attention, a bit loud, as usual. She really should be using a hearing aid, but with her customary stubbornness, wouldn’t believe it was necessary.
“How nice this is,” Violet said, hovering over the plate of marzipan-coated tea cakes and finally selecting one.
Casey sat at Violet’s side, watching intently, and Miranda surreptitiously held out a scrap of macaroon below table level.
“These cakes are much better than the ones you used to make out of mud, Hilda,” Violet said. “Remember thos
e tea parties we used to have?”
Hilda continued to smile gently at no one in particular.
“Hilda,” Violet shouted.
“Yes?”
Violet repeated her question.
“Oh, my, yes.” Hilda sighed. “We must have been in kindergarten then. And we’d line up all our dolls and...” She continued to talk, clearly lost in memory land, one hand gently stroking the cat in her lap.
What a memory she had. Miranda couldn’t remember nearly that much detail. She’d forgotten the way Violet used to decorate the little mud cakes with flowers.
They’d been such nice little girls, sitting for hours in the yard making their little tea things. And how unlike herself she was being today.
Her musings were interrupted by a crash. She looked up. Hilda stared at her overturned cup, hands covering her mouth.
Sarah grabbed napkins to stem the flood of tea that threatened to overrun the saucer. “It’s all right, Mama,” she murmured.
Christine handed her another handful of napkins, and the crisis was over.
Miranda poured another cup of tea and passed it to Hilda, but her hands shook so hard that Sarah took the cup and set it on the table.
She leaned close to her mother and murmured something Miranda couldn’t hear. Much as she had disliked Sarah when she moved in, she had to admit that the girl was good to her mother. Not like her own children. Her hand clenched so tightly around the small frosted cake Christine had prepared according to her directions that it squished through her fingers.
She quickly excused herself and went to the kitchen to clean lemon sponge and frosting from her hand. Christine didn’t treat her like an ogre, as her own children did. Something shifted inside her heart, and she wondered how much of that might be her own fault. Maybe, just maybe, if Christine continued to like her, she’d try again with Seth and Eliza.
When she returned to the living room, Hilda was in the middle of another story from childhood, this time an adventure the three of them had had at Girl Scout camp.
Those were the days. She watched emotions dancing across Hilda’s face.
“And then Hilda picked up a stick and waved it right in that old goat’s face,” Violet said, taking over the story and making Hilda blush.
And she had done just that. Sweet, shy, retiring Hilda had leapt in front of the animal and defended her friends. Such a long time ago.
“You were wonderful that day, Hilda,” Violet concluded.
“Indeed you were,” Miranda said. “We had such fun in those days.” She sighed, and that new, unaccustomed softness gripped her when she looked at Violet, unchanged except for the gray hair and wrinkles, and at poor Hilda.
Longing for the past and—she could scarcely admit this even to herself—love for her sadly diminished friend threatened to make her cry. She took a deep breath and swallowed tears.
She wouldn’t cry. She never cried. But watching Hilda’s decline over the past few months had made it painfully clear that grief was bearing down on her. And she was going to be very lonely again in the near future. She would miss the closeness of this new family more than she could ever say.
Hilda and Violet had been the ones who had stood by her when she’d been the subject of the town’s gossip, the life-long friends who hadn’t given up on her. Violet was a love, of course, but Hilda had always been the sensible one, the one who had been her best friend.
Even after that good-for-nothing Hogbinder had humiliated her, shamed her until she’d tried to cut herself off from everyone, Hilda and Violet had refused to be cut off.
She missed Hilda, the Hilda she’d known all those years. Well, the golden years might be over, but the friendship wasn’t, and she was going to stand by Hilda now.
She hadn’t had a family for more years than she could count, and now that she’d found one, she wasn’t about to let it go. It didn’t matter how many times Hilda repeated her stories of years long gone, or how loudly one had to shout to talk to her, or how little she remembered of today.
Miranda had failed with one family. She’d do whatever she could to keep this one together.
****
“What happened to Miranda?” Beth hissed to Sarah as she prepared to set the table the next night. “She’s acting nice.”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “She was like that yesterday, too. Hurry up. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”
Beth disappeared into the dining room, and Sarah began transferring chicken and rice to a serving bowl.
Rob came through the kitchen door.
“Good timing,” Sarah said. “I haven’t heard anyone come downstairs yet.”
“I’m on it.” Rob headed upstairs to help Hilda to the elevator.
What would she do without Rob? She had come to depend on him the way she depended on air, or rose bushes producing roses.
“He seems right at home.” Beth lounged against a cabinet and fixed Sarah with a knowing look. “Just like he belongs.”
“We are a family,” Violet said. “It’s just like old times, only better. I’ve always depended on Rob, and now I have Hilda and Sarah and Christine and Miranda, too.” She picked up the paper napkins that Beth had overlooked and pattered down the hall.
Christine finished filling a pitcher with water. “It is like a family, Sarah. Better than I ever imagined.” She picked up the pitcher and waddled after Violet before Sarah could answer.
Odd. Everything about Christine said that she came from a good home. How could this be so much better?
Sarah picked up the steaming bowls of food and followed Christine to the dining room.
About halfway through dinner, Beth began questioning Christine about her childbirth plans.
“I’ve been going to the free clinic at the Center,” Christine said. “And I want to have a midwife and have the baby here. If it’s all right with everyone. I’ll try real hard to be quiet.”
“Of course,” Hilda began, but her words were cut off by Miranda’s strident, “You can’t do that.”
“Of course she can,” Sarah said. “But only if the doctors at the clinic agree.”
“Nonsense.” Miranda was adamant. “She needs to be in a hospital.”
“Who would pay the bill?” Violet asked.
“Any possibility you’re still on your parents’ medical insurance?” Rob put in.
Christine looked stricken. “No,” she whispered.
Rob lifted an eyebrow.
“I’m sure one of the first things my father did when I left was to take me off everything. Health insurance, car insurance, all that. He cancelled my credit cards. And I’m sure he changed the locks on the house. He wouldn’t want me back.” Her hands shook so badly that she put her fork down.
“Is that wishful thinking, dear?” Miranda asked. “I would have thought he’d do almost anything to have you back.” Miranda gave Christine a meaningful look that puzzled Sarah. “Wouldn’t he?”
Christine hung her head. “Maybe.”
“Time to face the real world, child. Your father probably has not removed you from any of his insurance, nor is he likely to have changed locks. He almost certainly would do anything to have you back. Am I right?”
Christine nodded, not looking at anyone.
Sarah glanced from Christine to Miranda and back. Definitely something odd going on here.
“But if you’re still on his insurance, that should pay. You don’t have to make do with a midwife,” Violet said.
“It isn’t any of our business, Mum,” Rob said.
“Certainly it is,” Violet replied. “Anything that affects one of us affects us all. And if Christine has substandard medical care when she could have good care, well! Not to mention that if she uses up a lot of money, there’s that much less for things like food.”
“Mum,” Rob said. “That’s terrible. I would never have expected you to react like that. You always taught me to live by the Golden Rule. Would you want Sarah to treat you like that?”
&
nbsp; “I’m only being sensible, Robert. Have some more chicken. You’re too thin. I’m going to get more biscuits. No, no, Sarah. Don’t get up. I’ll do it.”
Sarah looked at Rob. He looked more like lean muscle than too thin to her. Lots of muscle. Don’t go there. “That’s a good point about your father’s insurance,” she said. Her mother had, of course, insisted on paying for that first hospital stay of Christine’s. If they could get reimbursed for that it would be a big help.
Before she could say what she was thinking, Christine burst into impassioned speech. “Oh, no, please, Sarah. I’ll pay you back, honest I will. Just don’t—if my father finds me—if anyone makes a claim, he’ll—oh, please don’t.” She had gone dead white.
“Christine. Calm down. It’s all right. You can certainly do anything you want, as long as the doctor approves. No one’s going to do anything you don’t want.” Unless... Sarah glanced at Rob. Unless Violet meddled again.
Violet came back into the room and took her seat. Sarah saw Rob give her a narrow-eyed glance. Surely Violet wouldn’t take it upon herself to interfere.
“I really want a midwife and a home delivery,” Christine reiterated.
“If your doctor approves,” Sarah repeated.
Christine nodded jerkily and went back to shoving food around on her plate.
Sarah looked around the table. Her mother ate steadily, looking up only occasionally, but taking such small bites that she ate little. Not wearing her hearing aids again, Sarah imagined. “Mama?” she said experimentally. No response.
Miranda shot her a sharp glance and began to talk loudly enough to get Hilda’s attention.
Thank heavens she had them all, Sarah thought. Even though her life seemed like herding cats these days, she’d come to rely on Miranda and Violet almost as much as Rob.
****
Hilda finished her breakfast and struggled to her feet. She couldn’t manage the dirty dishes and the walker at the same time, so she left the dishes on the table even though it offended her to do so.
Sarah came into the room. “Finished, Mama?” she asked.
“Don’t shout, dear,” Hilda said. “Yes, I am.” She peered at her daughter, trying to make out what she was wearing. “Are you going out?”
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