by Karen Kelly
Arriving at the bank during the late morning lull before customers came to do business on their lunch breaks, Annie was hopeful John would be available for a quick conversation. She approached the long prominent desk she knew to be John’s and looked around for him. The large main room was quiet.
A meeting room door across the lobby opened. Annie was relieved to see John, president of the bank, emerging and started to wave. Her hand dropped when he looked straight at her—almost through her—narrowed his eyes, and marched over to a teller’s booth. Leaning over the counter he spoke quickly to the teller. The employee nodded and placed a “window closed” plaque on the counter. As John marched back to the meeting room, the woman hurried over to Annie.
“Hello there, Mrs. Dawson. May I help you?” she asked competently.
“Uh, well, Melissa, I came to speak with Mr. Palmer on a private matter,” Annie stammered.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Palmer is very busy. He won’t be available all day.”
“Oh.” For a moment Annie was too startled by the obvious snub to put together a proper response. “Thank you. Have a good afternoon.” She turned to leave, working hard to keep a smile plastered on her face until she made it through the lobby area and out the front door.
15
Outside the bank, Annie leaned against the corner of the building, trying to draw strength from its bulk to deal with the shifting emotional winds of her morning. Closing her eyes, she hoped the breeze would cool the excessive warmth of her cheeks.
“That’s one way to be a pillar of the community,” the cheerful voice of Ian Butler spoke into her ear.
“You could call me Ms. Buttress, except it’s not true,” Annie said, keeping her eyes closed.
“What’s not true?” Annie felt Ian’s hand touch her shoulder.
Opening her eyes, Annie glanced at Ian’s concerned face before lowering her gaze. “I seem to have a knack for throwing things off balance, rather than being a support. Why do I keep doing that?”
“Before we explore that question, could I interest you in a cup of coffee?” asked Ian. “I just finished a meeting at the Community Center about the Harvest on the Harbor celebration, and I could use a cup. You can tell me what happened along the way, if you’d like. I was given these hearty ears for a purpose.”
Annie saw the wisdom of sharing the upsetting details before entering The Cup & Saucer. She moved away from the building where John, always a pleasant though slightly formal friend to her, in a moment had put up walls thicker than any New England fortress. Glancing back at the door of the bank and then around her to assure herself they were alone on the sidewalk, Annie described her experience with the Palmers to Ian.
“Sounds like your morning took a deeper plunge than the Excalibur,” said Ian, referring to the highest roller coaster in Maine and all of northern New England. “I’ve known John and Gwen all my life. Gwen has never behaved in that way, as far as I know.”
“Obviously, I haven’t known her very long, but I thought we had become good friends. She’s always enthusiastic whether encouraging me with my crochet or helping with my mysteries.” Annie paused to aim a distracted smile at a Stony Point couple walking past them, fingers entwined, laughing at some private joke. She lowered her voice to continue. “Gwen lives and breathes for community. What could I have done that she would run from me?”
“Annie, if you hadn’t told me about your visit to the bank, I’d be certain you weren’t involved in any way with Gwen’s emotional state,” Ian said. “As it is, I’m completely perplexed. But, no matter how tempting it might be, trying to force the Palmers to communicate with you right now would be futile, in my opinion.” Ian took one last step and then stood still. They had arrived at the diner.
“Ian, I know you’re right. I learned that the hard way during LeeAnn’s teenage years. Doesn’t make it any easier, mind you,” Annie said ruefully, lifting a hand to tidy her hair before going inside. “After thinking through all the contact I’ve had with Gwen or John over the last couple of weeks, I know I haven’t done anything to offend them. At least my heart can rest on that fact.”
“Good. Then my suggestion would be to come up with a nice distraction.” Ian reached out an arm to open the door. “I even have an idea for one.” Pulling open the door, he smiled into Annie’s green eyes, pleased to see some of the worry clouds drift out of them.
“Does it involve recruiting me for the Harvest on the Harbor committee?” Annie guessed. “Need another pumpkin carver?”
“Hey, I like that idea, the first one. I’m not completely comfortable with the idea of you and large carving knives. I heard about what you did to those window screens last spring.” Ian gestured toward an empty booth. Peggy hurried over to them as soon as they were settled.
“Hi, Annie. Mr. Mayor. What can I get for you?”
“Tea for me, Peggy.” Peggy waited, but Annie added nothing more to her order.
“Is that all?” Peggy peered down at her friend. “Annie, you’re going to shrivel up lighter than one of those tumbleweeds from your home state, and we’ll have to hang lobster traps over your shoulders to keep you from being blown into the sea!”
“Now there’s a New England fashion statement for me!” Annie said. She gave Peggy what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. As soon as I’m hungry I promise to eat enough to keep me grounded.” Never mind that she expected that her appetite would be slow to arrive after this morning.
“You’d better,” Peggy grumbled, and then shifted her eyes to Ian. “Mr. Mayor, you’d best not disappoint me.”
“How about coffee and a tuna salad on rye?” answered Ian.
“With lettuce and tomato. It’ll do.” Peggy gave a short nod. “Cook just pulled a huge apple-cranberry crumble from the oven. Should I get you some for dessert?” Peggy’s look dared the mayor to decline her offer.
“I have a long afternoon of work, and it would be a shame to tackle it without apple-cranberry crumble.”
“Wise man, our mayor. Be right back with your drinks.” Peggy left the table to hurry to a booth where a man in a chambray work shirt was waving his coffee cup at her.
As soon as she turned around, Annie leaned forward and wagged a finger at Ian. “I’ll have you know window screening is a very temperamental material compared to pumpkins.”
Ian caught Annie’s hand as it moved in front of him and gently turned it over between his two hands. He brushed a thumb over the faint white line that ran vertically from the middle of Annie’s wrist to the bottom of the palm. “Where did this scar come from?” He kept his voice low.
Pretending to ignore the bright flush fanning over her features, Annie answered stubbornly, “Not a pumpkin.” Ian continued to hold her hand between his, waiting for her to continue. “It wasn’t a suicide attempt or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The soft brush of his thumb began to stir up tingles she’d just as soon not have in the middle of The Cup & Saucer. “OK! It was a watermelon. I was slicing a watermelon. And I was a teenager!” She glanced wildly over Ian’s shoulder to see Peggy heading their way again. “Peggy’s coming. Please give me my hand back,” she whispered in a panic. Ian moved his hands upwards and for one terrifying moment she thought he was going to raise her hand to his lips. She would never hear the end of it from Peggy.
Then she realized her hand was free. And Peggy was placing her cup of tea where three hands had been a moment before. She attempted to speak normally. “So I won’t be on pumpkin-carving duty,” she blurted. “That leaves me more time for my crochet.”
“Oh, Doc Witham and Chessey Cushman always do the carving, Annie. Wait until you see what they can do! Makes me feel a lot better about having surgery, if I ever need to.” Peggy set Ian’s coffee in front of him. “Your sandwich will be out soon.”
“Thanks, Peggy.” Ian smiled at her. Annie paid extra attention to the process of lemon squeezing and honey dripping so that she didn’t come across as rude to Peggy. If she looked i
n her direction, it might encourage Peggy to continue the conversation. She might even have an observation on what had just happened, and Annie definitely did not want to go there. But Peggy surprised her by bustling off without further comment to take another order across the room.
“Annie, I’m sorry I teased you. I wasn’t thinking about how it might look to Peggy.”
“Teasing doesn’t bother me, Ian,” Annie responded. It was those pesky tingles she couldn’t handle. She wondered how he had noticed the small, shiny scar on her wrist, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask. “I’m still wobbly and not acting like myself.”
“You’re acting just fine.” Ian took a gulp of his coffee. “Are you still interested in hearing what I actually do have in mind for your distraction? It involves no volunteerism of any kind.”
“Sure.” Annie clasped the teacup between her hands, willing the warmth of the ceramic to calm her.
“How about a day out on a Butler boat for some whale watching? It would get you out of town, as well as give you a chance to take photos to send to John and Joanna.”
Ian’s proposal set off two warring voices in Annie’s head: The woman who thrilled at the idea of exploring more of the Maine waterways and sharing it with her grandchildren cheered, but the woman whose wrist still felt the gentle brushing shied away from the thought of a day in close floating quarters with no way of escape. Annie raised her cup and took a slow sip of tea, biding her time.
Ian continued. “Todd can take us out tomorrow afternoon, after the lobster run, and I was thinking of also inviting Cecil Lewey, if you don’t mind.” This new piece of information brought comfort to her second, more reticent voice and changed everything.
“Don’t mind at all; taking Cecil is a wonderful idea,” said Annie. “Tomorrow afternoon is fine with me. Do you want to call Cecil right now before your food comes?”
Ian pulled his cell phone from the clip on his belt and located Cecil’s number on his contact list. Annie continued to focus on her tea, but she couldn’t help feeling relief when Ian’s next words indicated Cecil had answered the call. The call ended with Ian saying, “I’ll pick you up at noon. Yes. I will.” He hung his phone back on the clip as Peggy brought his plate of food.
Peggy stood still for a moment after setting the plate down, a sure sign a question was coming. “Annie, did you talk to Gwen? Is she OK?”
“No, Peggy. I wasn’t able to get a hold of her, and John was not available when I stopped in at the bank.” Annie chose her words carefully.
“Huh. How strange. I’ll have to ask Mary Beth, if she comes in later.”
“Maybe she just had one of those days,” said Ian before taking a bite of his sandwich.
Peggy cocked her head to the side. “You know, I never thought Gwen had ‘one of those days’ like the rest of us. Kinda silly of me.”
“Not silly, Peggy,” Annie assured her. “Not everyone is as obvious in their imperfections as, say, me.”
“Ah, go on!” Peggy chuckled. “I’ll get you some more hot water, Annie.”
“It sounded like Cecil will be coming tomorrow,” Annie said after Peggy had gone.
“Yes, he enjoys being on the water,” responded Ian. “I can pick you up on my way to Ocean View, if you like.”
“Can I meet you at the dock? I’ll probably walk.”
“Sure, we should be there by twelve fifteen. Do you know where Todd keeps his boat? We’re using the lobster boat, so I hope you weren’t expecting a yacht.”
“I’ve seen Todd’s boat at the dock. I’m sure I can find it. John would be more excited to see photos of a real lobster boat, or any kind of working boat, than a luxury one. I’m glad we’re not going fancy.”
“At least we don’t have the same problem at the harbor as some waterfront towns. Some places with ledges too shallow for boats to dock used to need a bos’n’s chair to bring people ashore.”
“What’s a bos’n’s chair?” asked Annie.
“You’ve seen those big swings at carnivals that move in a circle, haven’t you? The faster they go, the higher they swing out.”
Annie smiled at the thought; she had loved riding them as a child. “Yes, I do. They always had them at the county fair.”
“Picture one of those swings chained to a large boom. People would sit in the chair to be swung to and from the boat.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Annie, grinning as she pictured the process. “Though I’d be less than thrilled swinging around in the layers of long skirts and corsets women had to wear a hundred years ago.”
“So you won’t be working at any living-history museums any time soon?”
“No, sir! The closest thing to living history I’m going to do is use Gram’s recipe to make rose-hip jelly.” Annie glanced at her watch. “In fact, I should get going. I think the hips might be ripe enough today, and I don’t want the day to get away from me. I might end up picking with a headlamp strapped to my Aggies cap.” Annie stood.
Ian stood to escort her to the door. “Thank you for keeping me company while I ate. I’ll see you tomorrow, Annie. I’ve got your tea.”
“Thanks for the tea, Ian, and thank you for your help.” Waving to Peggy, Annie left the diner and walked to her car. She lowered her car windows for the drive back to Grey Gables, craving the sea air against her face. Once home she paid a quick visit to the beach roses to check the ripeness of the hips. What looked like thousands of them were now bright red and firm, no longer hard, and Annie could see plenty were free of blemishes—perfect for her first batch of jelly. Returning to the house, she called Alice to let her know picking time had arrived. As she waited for her helper, she rummaged around for a couple of buckets and gardening gloves. Rose-hip harvesting was a thorny job.
Strolling to the rose bushes, Annie realized she had forgotten to tell Alice to bring gloves. She set the buckets down and turned toward the house to call Alice again, but she had only taken two steps when her friend appeared.
“Oh, good, you brought gloves,” Annie said as Alice approached. “I was going to call you again.”
“The autumn months are my busiest months for Princessa jewelry shows. I can’t demonstrate my samples with my hands scratched from fingertips to wrist, can I?” Alice also wore her anorak, a smart choice to protect her arms from the bite of thorns and the chill of late afternoon. She slipped her Princessa-worthy hands into her gloves. “Let me at ’em.”
Annie handed her a bucket and pointed to a large bush a few yards downhill. “Let’s start with that one,” she said, as she put her gloves on too. “It’s so hippy we could call it voluptuous.” They positioned themselves on opposite sides of the bush and began picking the bright red hips, leaving the orange ones behind to ripen more.
Alice placed a juicy hip in the bottom of her bucket. “Are you going to make the jelly tomorrow? I’m thinking of making scones for the big taste test.”
“In the morning,” Annie said, cupping a hand around a hip and pulling until, with a faint pop, it came off the stem. “I have to have it done by noon.”
“Why?” asked Alice. “Are you going somewhere in the afternoon?”
“Yes, I am. I’m going whale watching with the Butler brothers and Cecil Lewey.”
“That sounds fun. I’m a little surprised Ian is taking off during the week, though,” Alice said, the bottom of her bucket covered with rose hips. “Uncharacteristic of him.”
Annie reached deeper into the bush for a particularly delicious-looking hip, glad for her thick denim jacket. “Not as much as you might think. First, Ian said he and the commissioners just finalized the budget. He racked up tons of comp time, as you can imagine. Second, he was characteristically being kind to one of his townsfolk.”
“Would that folk be Cecil or you?”
“Probably both, actually, but me in particular.” Annie drew in a deep breath of sea air before continuing. “I had a bizarre experience after the club meeting, and Ian happened to see me while I was still upset.” She
told Alice the story of Gwen and John in full detail as rose hips plopped into their buckets at a steady rate. They moved to another bush when red hips grew scarce on the first bush.
Alice listened intently, not interjecting comments or questions as she often did. When Annie had brought the story to an end, Alice continued to pick the seed pods in silence for a few minutes. Then she paused in her reaching and plucking to look Annie in the eyes.
“Now I’m really puzzled,” she said. “Last night, after I left your house, one of my hostesses called and begged me to meet her at the diner to bring her more catalogs. She insisted it couldn’t wait until today. If it means more sales, I’ll sacrifice, you know. When I was walking back to my car from the diner, I saw Gwen. We chatted for a few minutes, mostly about how helpful the people at Abbe Museum have been. But she wouldn’t let me weasel out of her what Kezi had said about my design before the meeting. I teased her a little, saying that even though she was making me wait, I was not going to make her wait to hear your news. Then I told her about Clara Stewart and the year on the bottom of the poem. Her only reaction was, ‘Oh.’ That’s it. I noticed Gwen’s face go pale, and then she mumbled something about needing to go. Off she went like the town was burning down again.” Alice shook her head and resumed picking.
“It certainly goes against the usual way information flows through our community,” said Annie. “You told Gwen last night about Clara Stewart, and yet no one else mentioned it at the meeting before I said something. Peggy didn’t even know!”
“Peggy had already left for the night, or I would have told her,” Alice confessed. “Whatever the reason for all this strangeness, hurray for Ian for whisking you away for a change of scenery. Whale watching will fascinate you, unless you get seasick easily. Uh, you don’t, do you?”
