Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding

by Lea Wait

  Gussie’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, no. Poor Cordelia.”

  “You knew him, then?” Irons had said the man was a neighbor, but “neighbor” could mean proximity, not necessarily friendship.

  “We didn’t know him well,” Jim put in. “He’d only lived in Wins­low a couple of years. But his cousin Cordelia’s been here for—what would you say, Gussie? Ten or fifteen years? She was here when I moved to town, and that was more than ten years ago now.”

  Gussie nodded slowly. “I’d say closer to twenty years. I remember a young family lived in that house about the time my nephew Ben was born. I think they had a baby about his age. He’s twenty-one now. And dying to see you, by the way, Maggie. You’re his favorite unofficial aunt.”

  “None of that’s important now, Gussie,” Jim reminded her gently. “What’s important is that Cordelia’s going to be alone again, with no one to share her loss.”

  “What about his daughter?” Maggie asked.

  “What daughter?” Gussie looked at her.

  “Maybe I misunderstood,” said Maggie. “I thought the police chief said Dan Jeffrey’s daughter had called to report him missing a couple of days ago.”

  “There’s no daughter I know of,” said Jim, shaking his head. “Only his cousin, Cordelia West. Maybe Ike was confused.”

  Gussie turned to Maggie. “Cordelia’s a dear woman, but very shy. She’s deaf. She doesn’t read lips, she only signs. And very few people here in Winslow sign. So she’s alone.”

  Maggie frowned. “I wonder why she chose to live here, then. So many people do sign today. And there are lots of ways those who are hearing impaired can communicate.”

  Gussie shrugged. “I’ve wondered that myself. But she keeps to herself. Or she did until about two years ago, when her cousin Dan appeared and moved in with her. He signs, and he took her out with him places. She seemed to enjoy being with people more. And now he’s gone.”

  “He wasn’t like Cordelia, that was for sure,” said Jim. “He had a bit of a drinking problem, and from what I heard, could be a nasty drunk.”

  “It’s a small town,” Gussie added, “and he was new in town. So he was the one blamed when problems came up.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ike Irons had a file on him, that’s for sure,” Jim agreed. “But except for that fight he and Bob Silva got into over at the Lazy Lobster a while back, I don’t know of any real trouble he got into.”

  “Well, he won’t be able to blame Dan for anything that happens in the future,” said Gussie. “I only met the man a few times and didn’t see a lot in him, but I feel sorry for Cordelia. Tomorrow I’ll stop in and let her know I’m thinking of her.”

  “I’d be happy to go with you,” Maggie volunteered. “I can sign a little. We have ASL interpreters in classrooms at Somerset County for students who need them, of course, but I took courses so I could start to communicate a little with my students who were hearing impaired.”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Gussie. “We’ll do it.”

  “I hope you ladies won’t mind my leaving you alone tonight, but I have a lot of paperwork to catch up with,” said Jim.

  “Bless you, Jim,” said Gussie. “You’ll be missed, but somehow I think we’ll cope. Maggie and I have so much to talk about.”

  “I had a feeling that might be the case,” he said. “In fact, I arranged with the Winslow Inn to have a double order of your favorite steamed mussels and two stuffed lobsters delivered to your place,” he paused and looked at his watch, “about ninety minutes from now.”

  “No wonder you’re marrying this man!” Maggie said. “He’s perfect. Except for ensuring that we have wine chilling in the refrigerator there. You forgot that, Jim!”

  “Actually, I didn’t,” he grinned back. “I just forgot to mention it.”

  “Thank you, dear,” said Gussie. “I hope you don’t have to work too late.”

  “Not to worry. I’d rather work now than the first week after I’m married. I want to have a clean desk then. So I have an agenda, too. Shall we all be off?” He stood up, and Maggie followed.

  “Wait! Before we leave here, I want to give Maggie a preview of the wedding,” Gussie said, a bit slyly. “I thought I’d show her the dress your mother chose for her. And had shipped all the way from Atlanta.”

  “You haven’t told her?” Jim looked at his bride-to-be incredulously. “I can’t believe you haven’t told her.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” Gussie said, with a stern look at him.

  “You have a dress for me?” Maggie asked. “When we talked about dresses a month ago you said the wedding wasn’t going to be formal, and I should bring my favorite cocktail dress. I brought a couple with me; I thought you could choose whichever one you thought would work best with whatever you’d decided to wear.”

  Gussie shook her head. “Remember, I said I needed you to come to the Cape early?”

  “Of course. I had to pull in a lot of favors to get people to cover all my classes for ten days,” said Maggie. “I assumed you needed help getting the house ready before the wedding.” She gestured at the unpacked boxes.

  “I do. Believe me. At my old home, and here, and at both the old and the new Aunt Agatha’s Attics,” said Gussie. “I still can’t believe that in this housing market my dear sister Ellen managed to sell the building with both my house and store, so I need to move both before the wedding.” Gussie paused for a moment and shook her head, as though still trying to convince herself it was true. Then she looked back at Maggie. “But, no, those little details are only the beginning.” She headed her scooter toward the closed door to the future guest room. “Follow me.”

  Maggie glanced at Jim, who had suddenly become fascinated by the view out the window, and followed Gussie.

  “That,” said Gussie, throwing the door to the guest room open dramatically and pointing, “is the dress Jim’s mother sent for you to wear to the wedding.”

  For a moment Maggie said nothing. She stared in horror at the pink-green-and-yellow-flowered, off-the-shoulder, Scarlett O’Hara-style dress, complete with flounces, stays, and a hoop skirt, that was hanging from the wrought iron chandelier in the middle of the empty guest room. The dress occupied a space that might have been filled by a table seating eight.

  “You’re my best friend in all the world, Gussie,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “You know I’d do anything for you. But you cannot expect me to wear that.”

  Gussie’s knuckles on the hand control of her electric scooter were almost white. “I told you it was an emergency. That is only the beginning.”

  Maggie took a deep breath. “I brought you and Jim a case of special champagne as a wedding present. I’d thought maybe tonight, after dinner, you and I could break out a similar bottle, so I also brought a couple of extras. When we get to your old house I’m going to put them in the refrigerator. While we’re eating dinner I want you to tell me what’s really going on with this wedding. And then, after a few more drinks, I want you to tell me everything you won’t have told me over dinner.”

  Gussie grinned. “Have I told you how really, really happy I am that you’re here?”

  “Just keep saying that, my friend. Because I have a feeling that before the next ten days are over you’re going to owe me. Big time!”

  Chapter 4

  Picturesque New England Industries: Lobstering Off Scituate. (From Sketches by Joseph Becker.) Full page from Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, May 21, 1887, including a paragraph on the lobster industry, and sketches of setting the traps (“lobster boats are a species of small lugger, with one large sail and one small one”), measuring the lobster (“none less than 10½ inches long may be kept”), pegging the claws, and arriving at a boiling and canning factory. Black and white. The way life used to be. 10.5 x 16 inches. Price: $65.

  “Don’t panic about the dress I showed you,” Gussie said after she and Maggie were settled at her old home and the wine was flowing. “It’
s being shipped back to Atlanta tomorrow. I told Lily, Jim’s mother: this is my wedding, and Jim’s. I only kept the dresses this long because I wanted to show you the sort of challenge we’ve been facing.”

  “Along with the painters and carpenters and moving your home and store, and basically, changing your entire life,” Maggie added.

  “That’s all!” said Gussie. “Now, let’s relax and enjoy the mussels. They should be eaten while they’re still warm.”

  “No problem here,” Maggie agreed. “There’s no place to get decent food on the road, and the ‘everything’ bagel I bought at the Bridgewater Diner this morning was gone a long time ago.”

  The wine-and-herb-steamed mussels disappeared much too fast, and they dug into their baked lobsters stuffed with crabmeat with gusto.

  “Mmmm. Nothing like this in Jersey. Just promise you won’t tell Will I ate a lobster caught outside Maine waters,” Maggie said, leaning back and taking a sip of her wine. “He won’t even consider Massachusetts lobsters.”

  “Maine lobsters are pretty darn good,” Gussie acknowledged, savoring a particularly sweet piece of the tail, “but I believe in comparison eating. Especially when you can get lobsters locally.”

  “And this restaurant really knows how to prepare seafood,” Maggie agreed. “Fresh, and not overcooked. Too many chefs have a heavy hand with shellfish.”

  “Which is why we’re having our reception at the Winslow Inn,” said Gussie. “No baked lobsters, I’m afraid, but we think they’ll do a great job. We’re taking over a room for about seventy-five, which should be the number of guests.”

  “You don’t know yet?”

  “People are notorious about not returning those RSVP cards. Every­one who warned us was right. We’ve only heard from about half those we invited.”

  “That’s incredibly inconsiderate,” said Maggie.

  “Indeed,” agreed Gussie. “Another day and we’ll have to start telephoning people. We’ve just had too many other things to do.”

  “Well, I’m here to help now. And Jim gets major points for having a scrumptious feast prepared that the two of us could eat in peace this first night.”

  Maggie looked around the living room of what had been Gussie’s home for as long as they’d been friends: the second floor above Aunt Augusta’s Attic, the shop where Gussie sold her antique dolls, toys, and children’s books. Several years ago the progression of Gussie’s Post-Polio Syndrome had convinced her to add a chairlift from the downstairs to her apartment. She still used her old wheelchair, and sometimes a walker, to go a few steps when she was at home, but doctors had told her to stress her muscles as little as possible, and at forty-nine, she knew it was time to listen. Two years ago she’d moved to an electric scooter for when she was at the shop or “out in the world,” as she put it.

  “It looks as though you’ve packed most of your things,” Maggie commented. “Your bookcases are empty, and except for the furniture we’re using, this room is empty.”

  Gussie nodded. “Except for the biggest pieces of furniture, and those in my bedroom, we’ve been moving things to the other house. But the closets are still full. I need your help packing seasonal things, and treasures like the Limoges dinner set my Great-aunt Jane left me that I’ve never used, but never could bear to sell. A lot is stored higher than I can reach.”

  “I hear my marching orders,” Maggie said, nodding between bites. “No problem. Just tell me what you want packed, and what you don’t want to take.”

  “At this point, pack everything. I’ll make decisions at the other end,” said Gussie. “I’ll finish the packing in the shop so I’ll know exactly what’s in each carton. I have to get the new store up and running as soon as possible.”

  “I’m impressed that you have a new location for the store already.”

  “I’ll show you tomorrow. The economy was on my side, and I actually had a few choices. Several businesses in Winslow failed recently.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I know. But it meant I got a good price on a shop that’s closer to the center of town, so traffic should be good. It’s bigger than the one I had, too, with a back-room office that will be a big help.”

  “And it’s accessible?”

  “Carpenters are working on that. Plumbers have already put the fixtures in a handicapped-accessible bathroom. The new shelving and counters are about done, and the whole space is being painted. I’m hoping you can help me unpack and set up while you’re here. I’m aiming at opening the new and improved Aunt Augusta’s Attic the week after the wedding.”

  “In time for the Christmas season.”

  “In time for Thanksgiving, if all works out. My busiest time of the year is October through December. I’ve lost most of October this year, but I’m hoping the new space will help me catch up. That’s one reason Jim and I aren’t taking a honeymoon right now. We want to get our house in order, my shop opened, and then, maybe in January or February, when everything’s slowed to a frozen snail’s pace on the Cape, we’ll take a cruise to somewhere warm.”

  “I can’t get over how much you’ve done, so fast,” said Maggie. “When I was here in July for the Provincetown show you and Jim were just a—dare I say, comfortable?—couple! And now…everything’s changed.” The shadows of where paintings and prints had once hung were now ghost-like shapes on the muted wallpaper, empty cartons were stacked next to full ones, and the room where she and Gussie had sat and shared dreams and confidences so many times already looked vacant. Maggie felt a little queasy. Maybe it was the mussels. Or maybe it was Gussie’s life, changing so quickly.

  “It’s good, Maggie. It’s good not to get so set in your ways that you can’t allow your world to be shaken up a little,” said Gussie. “Jim had to push me, I’ll admit. But he was right. The new house is going to be wonderful, and the new shop is better than I dreamed. I needed that push.”

  “You’re making a lot of decisions, fast.”

  “Maybe. But it all makes sense. Jim was the right guy, and it was time to move on. And I finally admitted it to myself,” agreed Gussie. “He doesn’t seem to mind that I come equipped with wheels and can’t do everything I’d love to do. It bothers me a lot more than it seems to bother him. It took me a long time to believe that, but now I do.”

  “I’m so happy for you!” said Maggie. “I am.” She stood up. “In fact, I think it’s time to open the first bottle of that champagne I brought for us. Then we can talk about whatever wedding issues are pending. Besides that hideous dress you showed me, which I’m very glad to hear will be heading south tomorrow.” She went toward the kitchen, hoping for a minute to take a deep breath. She was happy for Gussie. She was. Gussie was her best friend, and now she had everything she wanted. It all sounded so easy. Why wasn’t life as easy for her?

  “Maybe all this talk about weddings will give you and Will some ideas,” Gussie called out to her.

  Maggie yanked the cork out of the champagne bottle and bubbly wine ran down the sides.

  “Will and I are fine,” said Maggie, returning with the bottle and two glasses. “He’s moved himself and his business from Buffalo to Maine so he can keep an eye on his Aunt Nettie, who’s in her nineties. He has his hands full, and I have my teaching.”

  “There are schools in Maine. You’re not wedded to New Jersey, Maggie, any more than I was wedded to this building.”

  Maggie handed Gussie a glass and then raised her own. “To us. And to decisions. The ones we’ve made, and the ones we’re making now. May they enrich our lives!”

  They touched glasses, and each took a generous sip.

  Gussie looked at Maggie quizzically. “All right, old friend. We’re here tonight because of my wedding. But I’ve known you long enough to know we just drank to something else, too. What’s happening? What decision?”

  “You mustn’t tell Will. It’s between you and me for now.”

  Gussie put her glass down. “Oh, Maggie! You’ve met someone else? Tell me. I promise. I won’
t say anything.”

  “No! Nothing like that. Or,” Maggie hesitated, “not exactly like that. I’ve finally decided to go ahead and adopt a child. Or children. As a single parent. I filled out my application last week. My home study should be finished by Christmas.”

  “Oh, Maggie!” Gussie put down her glass and looked at Maggie. “What should I say?”

  “Say you’re happy for me! You know I’ve wanted to be a mother for years. I’ve finally gotten up the courage to do something about it. I’ve applied to Our World, Our Children, the agency that benefitted from the antiques show we did last May. I’ve told them I’d like to adopt a girl between the ages of five and nine, but two sisters would be fine, too.”

  Gussie hesitated. “Are you sure, Maggie? That’s a big step. Especially when you know Will doesn’t want to be a father.”

  “I’m sure,” said Maggie, holding tightly to her glass and taking another, deeper sip of champagne. “I’m getting older. I need to make this decision now. Will moved to Maine to take care of his aunt. That’s important to him, and I love Aunt Nettie, too. But being a mother is important to me. I don’t want to wake up and realize I’ve given up something I really wanted to do because someone else didn’t want to do it. This decision is mine. Will’s decisions, whatever they are, are his.”

  “I have to ask. Is there any chance he’ll change his mind about parenthood?”

  “I hope so. He’s told me he likes children. Oh, hell, Gussie, he used to be a high school teacher! But his wife had an ectopic pregnancy and bled to death, and he got it in his mind that he didn’t want children. He stopped teaching after she died, and decided he didn’t wanted the responsibility of being a father. He’s been clear on that point. Believe me. But I keep hoping.”

  “When will you tell him what you’ve done?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if my home study will be approved.”

  “You’ve been involved with that agency for almost a year. They know you. The chances are very good you’ll be approved, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said quietly. “I think I’ll be approved.”