“Uh, if you say so. Could you translate that into English?”
“In simple terms, that’s feline herpes, feline calicivi rus, feline panleukopenia, and the rabies you should know—that’s the core group. There are some others, like feline leukemia, feline immunodeficiency, but those are optional. The good news is, I can tell she’s already been spayed. But she did pick up some fleas.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Can you get that, Meg? I’ll hang on to the cat.”
Meg opened the door, and Vivian shoved a folder at her through the crack. “Here. You about done in there?”
“Just a few more minutes, Vivian,” Andrea said. When the door closed, she sighed. “That woman . . . Here, I’ll trade you. I’ll take the file, and you can keep Lavinia—Lolly calm.”
Meg approached Lolly cautiously, not sure of her welcome. The cat looked balefully at her, then decided not to protest when Meg stroked her back.
“Great, I thought so,” Andrea said. “Seth was right: she’s the Pendergasts’ cat, and she was current on her vaccines as of six months ago. Wonder why they left her behind? Or maybe she really didn’t want to go and jumped ship. Did you, lady?” Andrea scratched under Lolly’s chin, and the cat closed her eyes in bliss. “So we don’t have to do any more to you today, right, girl?” Andrea looked at Meg. “You want to know what the Pendergasts called her?”
“I suppose. I don’t have to change her name back, do I?”
“Kitty. Original, right? You should be fine with Lolly. Or Lavinia—Emily’s sister, right? The cat lover?”
Meg smiled. “You got it, except that Lavinia seems kind of formal, so mostly it’s Lolly. So we’re good?”
“We are. You can take her home. I’ll give you a monthly treatment for the fleas—it’s going to get worse when the weather warms up. You keeping her inside?”
“So far. Is that all right?”
“If you want to keep her around, I’d recommend it. It’s a mean world out there if you’re a house cat. She was lucky to find you. You want me to swing by sometime and take a look at the goats, maybe next week?”
“Sure, if it’s not too far out of your way. I wouldn’t have had a clue how to cart them over here.”
“I’ll walk you out. You owe me for a basic checkup, but no vaccines. And I’ll give you a sample of the flea meds. You might want to get a cat carrier before the next visit.”
“It’s already on my list.” Meg laughed.
Lolly was quiet on the trip home, to Meg’s relief. Back at the house, Meg lugged the box to the front door and struggled with her keys. As soon as she opened the flaps, Lavinia jumped out and disappeared up the stairs. Having a pet was a whole new experience, and Meg didn’t know what to expect. Still, she wasn’t surprised when Lolly later reappeared at the sound of a cat-food tin popping open, and by evening, as Meg sat reading in her parlor, Lolly relented enough to sit on her lap, although she remained stingy with her purr.
27
Wednesday morning Meg finished applying the last coat of polyurethane to the kitchen floor and stepped back through the kitchen doorway to admire her work. She thought that for an amateur, she’d done a pretty good job. No sanding gouges, no bubbles or clots of sawdust. Maybe she’d finally gotten something right the first time around. Reluctantly she shut the door behind her. The floor needed time to dry, one last time. Maybe by tomorrow morning she could tiptoe across it in stockinged feet, but she couldn’t move the table back in, or install appliances, until three days had passed, or so said the online experts she had consulted, and she didn’t want to risk messing up what she had worked so hard to accomplish.
Thinking of appliances, Meg realized she needed to call Seth for advice. Her apartments had always come fully equipped, and she had given them little thought, except when they stopped working. Seth had promised to help out, and much as she wanted to do this on her own, he was, after all, a plumber, and he had far more expertise than she did in choosing appliances—which wouldn’t be hard, since she had no experience at all. So even though she knew how busy he was, and even though this would put her even more deeply in debt to him, she didn’t see any way around it. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Meg. What’s up?”
“You have a moment to talk? I need to ask you about appliances.”
“Oh, right—well, this afternoon’s clear. Want to go shopping?”
Meg laughed. “Seth, I never thought I’d hear that coming from a guy, but at least it involves machinery. Sure, let’s say one o’clock.”
Seth arrived promptly at the front door at one. “Do I get a preview of the floor?” he asked as he came in.
“Sure. Just look, don’t touch.”
“Yes, ma’am. I have done this a few times, you know.”
“I know, but I haven’t, and I’m playing by the rules.” Meg led the way to the kitchen and flung back the door. “Voilà!”
Seth studied the floor for a moment. “Looks great. Nice and even. You done good, lady. So, you ready for appliances?”
“Stove and refrigerator, I guess. I think a dishwasher’s going to have to wait. And let’s keep them simple. Or maybe I mean cheap. This is another one of those ‘extra’ items in my budget.”
“Are you seriously short of money? Because—”
“Stop right there. I have to be careful with my money, that’s all. I can’t go running around throwing money at things I don’t need.”
“Don’t worry—I can get you a good deal. And if it makes you feel better about replacing it, that stove of yours probably wasn’t safe.”
“Gee, thanks—just what I wanted to hear.” Meg followed him out to his van and clambered into the high seat. She waited until they were on the road before asking, “Anything new about Jason’s death?”
“Wish I could say yes. I talked to Art yesterday, but he hasn’t got anything more than he told you. No big surprise there.”
“You know, almost nobody seems to have liked Jason much, and everyone I’ve talked to seems relieved that he’s out of the way. Isn’t that a terrible way to go?”
“ ‘Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind,’ ” Seth said, his eyes on the road.
“John Donne, isn’t it?” When Seth nodded, Meg went on. “I guess that about describes it. Only this is smaller than all mankind—it’s one closed community, in a way. The university, the farmers, the towns.”
“I won’t tell you that you shouldn’t feel bad about his death. Jason may have been a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
Choking in his own vomit, alone in a field in the dark. Or maybe he hadn’t been alone; maybe there had been a witness. Meg suppressed a shudder. “Amen to that. So let’s talk about more cheerful things. What do I need to look for in a stove?”
“For a start, do you want gas or electric?”
“I don’t know. What are the pros and cons?”
“Depends on how you like to cook. But if you go for gas, we’ll have to run a line to the house. You’ve got an oil furnace. You do know that, right?”
“I guess. I figured it wasn’t coal.” When Seth cast a bemused glance her way, she said, “Joke. I know I’ve been paying someone or other for oil deliveries, although I can’t say I’ve seen anyone come by.” Meg thought a moment. “I assume it would cost me more money if I had to install a gas line?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then let’s go with electric.”
Meg had expected Seth to lead her to a major store at a local mall, but instead he followed a two-lane country road for a few miles and pulled into the parking lot in front of what looked like a dilapidated warehouse. A peeling sign identified it as Anderson’s Appliances. The parking lot was all but empty. “We are buying new, aren’t we? This place looks like it hasn’t done business in years.”
“Trust me. Bob’s a good guy, and I throw a lot of business his way. And he owns the building, so it keeps
his overhead low. Come on.”
Seth led Meg into a dim and somewhat dusty warehouse where appliances in varying shades of white, black, and stainless steel marched off into the distance. Bob said hello and then had the good sense to leave them alone, and an hour later they emerged from the drafty depths of the building with what Seth assured Meg was an excellent deal on a midprice stove and refrigerator. Meg’s checkbook was seriously depleted, again, but she thought she was getting good value. Bob had guaranteed delivery on Saturday, and Seth had promised to come by on Sunday to move them into the kitchen—the extra day would give the finish on her floor a little more time to cure. Meg felt that at least she had made progress.
“Lolly’s certainly been taking all this upheaval well,” Meg said as she watched the fields roll by, the newly turned earth now showing hints of green. “How come you don’t have a pet, Seth?”
“I did—a Golden Lab. Lost him a couple of years ago, and I just haven’t met the right replacement yet.”
“I thought you seemed like a dog person. Although I’m not sure I see myself as a cat person. You know, one of those crazy old ladies who lives alone and talks to her cat. Lolly and I are still getting used to each other, and all the noise and smells from this floor project haven’t made that any easier.”
“I thought she seemed remarkably well adjusted, all things considered. Cats are adaptable.”
They drove on for a bit, and then Meg asked, “What’s going into Granford Grange?”
“We haven’t firmed up a lot yet. We’re hoping for some sort of café, maybe a card shop. Or a gift shop. Or a bookstore. Or some combination of the above.”
Meg laughed. “Yeah, sounds really organized. But you’re not going after the major chains?”
“No. Too expensive, and the town’s not really big enough for them. And that’s fine with us. I’d like to see it keep a local feel. Maybe that’s old-fashioned, but I like to know the people I’m dealing with.”
“Hear, hear.”
Seth pulled up to her house, and Meg hopped down from the van. Before she closed the door a thought struck her. “You think you’ll have everything up and running Sunday morning?” she asked.
He smiled. “Since all that’s involved is wrestling the appliances into place and plugging them in, I think so. And before you ask, yes, you do have the correct electric lines. I checked.”
“Thank goodness you looked. I totally forgot. But what I was thinking was, maybe I could have a dinner party, sort of a christening for the new floor and appliances? There hasn’t been a whole lot to celebrate lately.”
“What, you can cook?”
“You’ve eaten my food and survived. And I’m told I make a mean spaghetti sauce.”
“Sounds good to me. Sunday night?”
“Make it early. Say, sixish?”
“It’s a deal. I’ll bring some wine.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the help.” Again. She shut the van door and watched Seth pull away, all the while wondering if she would have gotten anything done in the last two months without his help. When she walked into the house, she found Lolly curled up in one of the old overstuffed chairs in the parlor; she opened one eye, then went back to sleep.
She had just volunteered to host a dinner party. How odd was that? Meg had almost never entertained when she was in Boston. It was so much easier to eat out in one of the many restaurants there. But that wasn’t an option in Granford. She felt a momentary panic: what if the appliances didn’t work? She didn’t have enough plates or glasses or cutlery. Heck, she didn’t have enough guests to call it a party. Who else should she ask? Christopher? Bree, certainly. Rachel? Gail? No, she seemed to recall that Gail had a husband and kids, which would just complicate things.
Half an hour later, she had left Christopher a message on his office phone, Rachel had told her she had two book ings for the B&B and couldn’t get away, and Bree had agreed to come, then asked shyly if she could bring Michael, to which Meg had agreed promptly. It was coming together. She started jotting down a market list, then backed up and made a note to herself: inventory pots and pans.
She realized she was smiling. She could picture the dining room with its old woodwork gleaming in candlelight, the broad table set with china. Happy people, enjoying her food. Maybe she was her party-loving mother’s daughter after all.
What would her mother make of all this? Certainly she hadn’t foreseen Meg’s decision to settle down in Granford, though Meg was still rather amazed that her mother hadn’t already descended on her with a fistful of fabric swatches and paint samples in hand, once she’d heard Meg’s plan to stay. But her mother didn’t do country or winter—and maybe she realized that her daughter needed a little time to lick her wounds in private. But Meg had a suspicion that once the weather warmed up, Mom would put in an appearance.
In any event, the house deserved a housewarming, or maybe she meant a rewarming. It had survived neglect and abuse, and she wanted to welcome it into the twenty-first century with laughter and warmth.
28
Thursday passed in a blur. Meg dutifully attended her class in the morning. On her way she ran into Christopher, rushing in the opposite direction. He stopped when he saw her and said, “Thank you, my dear, for your kind invitation, but I fear I have a prior commitment. I hope I may look forward to a rain check?”
“Of course, Christopher. I’m sorry you’ll miss my little party, but I certainly hope there will be more. I get the feeling that the house wants more people in it. It must have seen quite a history, when it was a more active farm.”
“No doubt. And the kitchen would have been the heart of it, as at any farm. I’m glad you’re working on that room now.”
“It’s turned out quite well, if I do say so myself. Although there’s more work to be done, as always. I’d love to have you over sometime.”
“That would be grand. Oh, and I needed to speak with you anyway. I’m planning on spraying the orchard tomorrow morning, weather permitting. We had a small problem with apple scab last season, and I’d like to ensure that it doesn’t persist this year. We’re using a fungicidal spray, but if we act now we can minimize later applications. I can explain in more detail in the morning, but I thought you and Bree should be involved.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks for letting me know.”
They went their separate ways, and as Meg walked into the lecture hall, she felt pleased that Christopher had included her in this task. It occurred to her that in fact, she probably had some legal obligation to know what was going on. She realized that she had forgotten to ask Christopher what chemical they were using, but she would find out in the morning. Maybe she could learn something about apple scab, just to be prepared.
After class, on a whim she drove to Northampton, where she knew Hampshire County public records were kept. She was eager to find more information about her property. The deeds might be interesting, but since she already had a good idea of who had owned the property—generations of the Warren family—Meg figured that wills might give her some better insight into the actual people who had occupied the house, what they owned, how they lived. Wills it was, then.
She made her way through the security screening at the door, then headed to the Registry of Probate on the second floor. Posted instructions made it clear that Meg would have to identify what wills she wanted by official number, then request those documents from one of the women behind the long counter. Next to the entrance there were banks of old-fashioned card files—apparently the earlier documents hadn’t been put into a database yet. She pulled out the first of the “W” drawers—and quickly realized how daunting her task would be. There had been a lot of Warrens in Granford over the centuries. Maybe she should content herself doing a trial run and just request one. She riffled through the card files again and decided on Eli Warren’s will; Eli had been a carpenter, and he’d done the last major remodeling of the house, more than a century earlier. Meg filled out the call slip and presented it to a clerk, w
ho retrieved it in under two minutes, handing Meg a folded bundle of brown paper in a small manila sleeve.
Meg took her prize and went to the lone table, where she sat down and unfolded the brittle document with care. The will was dated 1892, and its handwritten script was easy to read. Eli had left his wife the right to use the house for the rest of her life, and he had divided the carpentry tools between two of his sons. A third son would inherit the house and land after his mother’s death. That must have been Lula and Nettie’s grandfather. Then as she read further, she came upon a section that made her laugh out loud, much to the surprise of the few other pa trons in the office. She followed the lines with a careful finger, incredulous:
To my daughter Ellen I give the right to occupy and use during her lifetime two rooms in the dwelling house I now occupy with the right of ingress and egress to and from the same and the right to use the privy and well on the premises in common with the other occupants. She shall have the right to select the rooms for her occupation in case she and the other devisee of the premises or his representatives do not agree as to the rooms suited to her needs.
Oh my. Father Eli had found it necessary to give his daughter the right to use the privy and water from the well. Which rooms had she chosen? Where had the privy been? And just how dysfunctional had the Warren family been that Ellen could have been banned from the privy without written permission? Alas, nothing else in the document was as interesting, and Meg returned it to the clerk with a smile.
Meg made a list of the other wills to check out when she had more time, and left with regret. Out on the sidewalk again, she found she was still cheered by the silliness of the will. She mused over the details as she drove to the supermarket outside of Granford to stock up on what she needed for her party. Food, obviously. She was going to stick to something safe and easy: spaghetti with homemade sauce, green salad, garlic bread, and for dessert, an apple crisp. She debated with herself for maybe three seconds about baking an apple pie, but she knew that rolling out piecrusts was not her strong suit, and it didn’t seem right to buy ready-made crusts. Better to go with simple. She didn’t expect to find local apples at this time of year, so long after harvest, so she’d have to make do with imported ones. Still, it was a symbolic gesture, a salute to her own crop to come.
Rotten to the Core Page 20
