And Be My Love

by Joyce C. Ware

  Beth rose and crossed to the door.

  "Mrs. Volmar? I'm not coming to the wedding, and if you're expecting a present—"

  "Call your father," Beth said, looking back over her shoulder. "That's the only gift he wants from you. Shall I send Nick in?"

  Amity shrugged. "If he's still around." Beth closed the door quietly behind her. As she rounded the corner of the corridor, she saw Nick leaning against the wall, clothes rumpled, staring out the window. Oh, he's around all right. Beth stopped beside him to murmur goodbye, earning a distracted smile before he sped back to Amity.

  By the time Beth slowed for her driveway, second thoughts had begun to nibble away at her earlier satisfaction. Will Amity call Karim? Her foot fell off the gas pedal; the car rolled to a stop under the nearest crabapple tree. If she does, will he think I overstepped my bounds? Beth crossed her arms on the steering wheel and lowered her head onto them. Do I have any bounds to overstep?

  A series of sharp little taps on the window, as if mice were nibbling on the glass, roused her. She saw long red nails clicking impatiently for her attention. It was Monica Davenport. Beth rolled down the window.

  "I've been trying to reach you," Monica said, her voice high with anxiety. "I tried everyone. I finally decided I'd camp out on your doorstep."

  "What's up, Monny?"

  Monica brightened at Beth's use of her childhood nickname. "You got an offer on the house!"

  "Which one?"

  "Ralph's...yours.…" She raised her arms in a sweeping, all-encompassing gesture. "This house!"

  "How much?"

  Monica upped the wattage of her smile. "It's not quite what you hoped for, Beth."

  "I'm aware of the market, Monica. How much?"

  "One mil five hundred."

  "Five," Beth murmured. "That's a hundred thousand less."

  "It's the couple I told you about, Beth. The ones who couldn't decide between yours and another one over in Southbury? He's been transferred from the Midwest-Ohio, I think. Or Michigan. Anyway, he's obviously a big cheese. Drives a Jaguar. He's aware of the market, too, of course, but the company's moving them, and I got the distinct impression he hasn't got time to jockey around on this so—"

  Beth got out of the car. "Come on in, Monica. I have to look at some figures before I can make an intelligent counteroffer."

  "That means you'll consider it?" Monica bounced at her side like an eager puppy hoping to be thrown a stick, her high heels sinking precariously into the graveled surface of the drive.

  Down, girl. "Yes, Monica. I'll certainly consider it."

  Monica accepted Beth's offer of coffee, peering anxiously over the rim of the cup as Beth searched for her file on the house. As she set the gray metal box on the table, Monica cleared her throat.

  "Uh, Beth, I guess this is the time to mention one of their conditions."

  Beth sighed and sat down. "They want the pool filled in? Or, let's see, they want to move the house to a lot in another town?"

  Monica giggled. "Nothing like that although last week another realtor told me.… Well, that's another story. No, the thing is, they want to buy the house furnished."

  Beth gaped at her. "I thought you said he was a top executive! Surely they must have furniture of their own!"

  "Yes, but their house in Ohio—or was it Michigan? Anyway, it's one of those big old Victorians. Their ornate period furniture would look all wrong here, they said. I know it's probably too much to ask, Beth. Your gorgeous dining room and those custom made couches and drapes—they particularly liked the way you've done the master bedroom—but I told them—"

  "I think that could be arranged," Beth broke in, trying to hide her elation over this unexpected opportunity to shed the glossy trappings of a way of life that no longer satisfied her. "I'll want to keep some things, of course. A couple of the smaller oriental rugs, the furniture in my grandchildren's room—some of those pieces are genuine Shaker—and the antique bird bath Ralph bought for me. Oh, and I plan to transplant some of his favorite flowers into the little garden my mother has at Valley Fields."

  Monica beamed. If she thought Beth's easy agreement odd, she showed no sign of it. "No problem, Beth." She thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "Tell you what, let's marry the house and contents. Just give me a total figure, okay? An exact list of the furnishings can wait— you won't be taking enough with you to make a significant difference. They'll want to close in thirty days," she added briskly. "Can you manage that?"

  In Monica's mind, it was already a done deal, Beth realized. "I guess so. Yes. I can move into my mother's house temporarily." She laughed. "Unless you sell it out from under me, of course."

  Monica's jaw took on a determined set. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

  When, not if. Beth gave a mental shrug. How did that Doris Day song go? What will be, will be.… She refilled Monica's cup and studied the papers she took out of the file. "Let's try the same figure we started with."

  "One million six hundred for the house and furnishings?" Monica absently tapped her nails on the table as she considered Beth's proposition. "Sure, why not? I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

  Monica's call came just as Beth opened the dryer to take out the clothes she had taken to Turkey.

  "Beth? I reached my client at his office. Five-eighty? Including the terrace furniture?"

  Beth hesitated. She'd never much cared for the elaborate iron furniture Ralph had made to order, and she was sick of whisking in those cushions every time rain threatened.

  "Beth?"

  Let someone else worry about the damn cushions. "Five hundred and eighty thousand it is, Monica. Terrace furniture included."

  Monica didn't bother to hide her sigh of relief. "Then I'll call your lawyers—Gallagher and Levine, right?—and get them started on the paperwork."

  After she hung up the phone, Beth looked at the clothes piled on top of the dryer. No point putting them away, she decided. Boxes, that's what I need—lots and lots of boxes. She picked up the receiver and dialed Andy's number.

  "Housa? I just accepted an offer on the house. Most of the furniture's going with it, so if you and Andy want anything.… What's that? Tea? Sure, come along, I'd love to see you. Bring the kids—it's a warm day for September and this may be their last chance for a swim in the pool."

  * * * *

  It didn't take long for Housa to choose the things she and Andy wanted.

  "I'd love to have some of Dr, Volmar’s wonderful gardening tools, and I know Andy wants his father's medical library and notebooks," Housa said as she and Beth stood in the doorway of Ralph's study. "He's been planning to write a paper for one of the medical journals about his father's contribution to heart valve replacement techniques."

  "Is he really? I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that. Nothing would have pleased Ralph more."

  Housa crossed to the big desk. "I suppose Dana will want these," she said fingering the golf awards Ralph had won over the years.

  "Yes. She already has his clubs. She keeps them under her bed, though I doubt she'll ever use them. She says her own are good enough for her."

  "Well, I suppose for Dana, it's kind of like having a fragment of the true cross." She shook her head. "I don't mean to make light of her feelings, Beth."

  "I know that, Housa. I'd already decided to let Dana come in here alone and take whatever she wants."

  Housa looked stricken. "If her heart's set on her father's medical papers, I guess Andy—”

  "Oh, no. She'll be as pleased about Andy's plan to write up Ralph's achievements as I am, but I hope you're aware she'll hound him until he does."

  Housa smiled and shrugged. "That's Andy's problem. I've already got enough to worry about these days."

  Beth looked at her daughter-in-law. She didn't look worried. If anything, she seemed more relaxed—no, more in charge of herself. "You're happy, aren't you, Housa?"

  Housa looked surprised. "I've always been happy, Beth. Happier, maybe?
" She cocked her dark head to one side. "Yeah, I guess you could say I'm happier—and a lot better organized, too." She grinned. "You want to hear something crazy, Beth? Since I started working with Georgina, I don't have time to be a slob. And yesterday evening when I told Andy about the idea I have for next year's catalog, he looked at me in that solemn way of his and told me I was interesting." Housa shook her dark cloud of hair. "Interesting. Nobody's ever said that about me before."

  "What is your idea, Housa?"

  "You know how most college catalogs have photos of fresh-faced students listening attentively to some guy lecturing? And full-page spreads of smiling kids scuffling through autumn leaves towards some space-age library building? Something a prospective student can identify with, right?"

  Beth nodded, laughing.

  "But, dammit, Beth, there's more to a college education than nice-looking kids and dramatic new buildings! I mean, whatever happened to inspiration? So I'm doing the section on the sciences in the style of Leonardo Da Vinci's wonderful drawings of his inventions, and I'm borrowing Picasso for the art department offerings—"

  "Mommy? Grammy? Hurry up!" Daisy's high voice screeching in from the pool made them wince. "If Jamie falls in and drowns it won't be my fault!"

  Beth and Housa joined the children and released Daisy from her reluctant role as lifeguard.

  "Will you have a pool where you're going, Grammy?" Daisy asked a half hour later as she sat, purple-lipped and towel-wrapped, at Beth's feet.

  "That depends on where I end up, Daisy."

  Housa looked up from the shallow end of the pool where Jamie, holding one of her hands, splashed and chortled under her watchful eye. "There's a wonderful pool at the college, sweetie. Maybe I can take you there."

  "When?" Daisy demanded.

  "Not until next summer, I'm afraid. The fall term opens next week, and once the students return I imagine the pool is reserved for their use. Are you coming to orientation day, Beth? It's a big deal this year, what with greetings from the new president—but I imagine you already know all about that."

  "I don't.… I doubt if I'll have time," Beth said.

  Her subdued, uncertain tone caused Housa to look at her more closely. "Look, Beth, it's none of my business, but—"

  "Mommy?" Clara, who was dog-paddling around her brother, tugged at her mother's hand. "Can Grammy come with us?"

  "Grammy's always welcome to come with us, Clara, but what exactly do you have in mind?"

  "The plants you're s'posed to water. If she helps, we can stay here longer."

  "Ohmigosh," Housa said. "I clean forgot. Out of the pool, Clara. Daisy, take her in and both of you get dressed. I guess I'm only a half-reformed slob, Beth. These friends of mine, they built this house up on Blueberry Hill? They left two weeks ago for a year in Italy—he's an artist, applied for a grant, never dreaming he'd get it—and they didn't want to get tied up with a long-term rental, so I promised I'd see if someone at the college might be interested."

  "Blueberry Hill," Beth murmured. "I haven't been up there in years." She hooked her arm through Housa's. "Sure, let's go!"

  They went in Housa's wagon. Daisy, erect and important in the front with her mother; Beth in the back with Jamie in her lap and Clara snuggled close beside her.

  "There used to be a colony of pink lady slippers back in there," Beth said, pointing to a grove of hemlocks.

  "According to my friends, there still is," Housa said. She laughed. "They told me on pain of death not to tell anyone."

  "You told me, Mom," Daisy piped up.

  "You're family, Daze."

  "So's Clara, but she tells everyone everything."

  "I do not!" Clara protested.

  "Do too! Your real name is Clara Tattletale."

  "Is not," Clara whimpered. She looked up at Beth, her blue eyes starred with tears. "It's not, is it, Grammy?" she whispered.

  Beth ruffled Clara's blonde curls. "Of course not, sweetie. Look!" she said, pointing at a hillside dotted with expensively landscaped houses. "We used to pick blue-berries there—what a lovely tangle it was!"

  "Wow! I lo-o-ve blueberries!" Daisy exclaimed. "Could we go this weekend, Mom?"

  "It's private property now, Daze."

  They passed an impressive fieldstone entrance above which a large carved and painted sign was suspended. "Blueberry Hill Estates," Daisy recited.

  "I'm afraid all that's left of those berry bushes are memories," Beth said. She pointed again as the wagon negotiated a steep pitch at the top of which was an abrupt curve. "See there? Where the trees are smaller and thinner?"

  Housa slowed, peering. "I guess so—it looks like there used to be a road there once."

  "Oh, there was! An old farm road that led to a wood lot with a steep drop-off beyond it and cow pastures below. I suppose it's all grown in by now, but the view was glorious! Not that we paid much attention to it," she added laughing. "In those days it was Eastbury's most popular lover's lane."

  "Sounds to me as if you knew it well," Housa teased.

  "I was forever falling in love," Beth admitted. "I can't remember the names of half the boys I kissed there."

  Daisy scrambled around to face her grandmother. "You kissed boys'?"

  "Indeed I did, Daisy. I bet your mother did, too—even you will someday."

  "But you're so old!"

  Old madam is best.

  Beth looked out the window. Who could have imagined that silly young Turk's words would bring her the happiest time she'd ever known'? She cleared her throat and forced a smile. "I wasn't old then, Daisy. Besides, age is a relative sort of thing."

  Daisy looked puzzled. "So? You're my relative, aren't you?

  Housa laughed. "She's got you there, Beth—and here we are," Housa announced, turning through a gap in a roughly sheared hedge of hemlock.

  The house was long and low, its weathered cedar siding half-hidden by a massive lichen-encrusted rock ledge that dominated the entrance. Moss and ground pine flourished in the acid soil, eliminating all but a small area of mowable grass. A graveled walk edged with railroad ties led them to a front door rectangle out of cedar boards fastened with handsome wrought iron fittings.

  "Chris had them made at that forge in Woodbury," Housa said, producing a key from her shoulder bag. "Ohmigosh!" she blurted as the opened door revealed the pots of drooping plants on a bench beneath a long row of cedar-framed windows. "Daisy? Clara? Give me a hand with the watering, please, and Beth? Feel free to look around. One of those windows is a door leading out on the deck; if you go out, keep an eye on Jamie. The drop-off is wicked!"

  Beth hoisted Jamie in her arms and strolled though the large, airy, white rough-plastered room out on to the wide wraparound deck. Below, a wild pond rimmed with cattails reflected the sun's late afternoon rays angling in over the wood-shingled roof. A bog, crimsoned now with swamp maples, stretched beyond the pond through a wide rock-rimmed gap that framed a distant blue lift of hills to the southeast. If I lived here, I'd put a table in front of the windows and have the morning sun with my breakfast. "Of course, if I had you," Beth murmured to her squirming grandson, "I wouldn't dare live here at all."

  "I imagine your friends see a lot of wildlife," Beth said when she returned inside.

  "Deer, fox—even coyotes," Housa said. "They've got twenty acres, most of it wild. Only three were buildable—the rest are either bog or ledge rock."

  Beth was enchanted. "It's not really suitable for a young family, though, is it?"

  "Not with that deck it isn't," Housa said.

  "Hmm-mmm. How many rooms are there?"

  "There's a nice kitchen—not in the class of yours, of course, but well-planned. Two bedrooms, one big, one small. Oh, and a really funky bathroom you've just got to see. Chris designed and built it. And there's a two-car garage tucked away in the hemlocks with a studio above it. Chris didn't like to be disturbed when he was working. It's a pretty basic space, but it's heated and insulated."

  "What do they want for it?"r />
  "Nine hundred a month. That's under the going rate, but most people want at least three bedrooms."

  "And it's available for only one year?"

  "As a rental, yes. They were talking about relocating in North Carolina, so they don't want to be tied to a long-term lease if they decide to sell. Why? Have you got someone in mind?"

  "Yes. Me."

  Water slopped out of the can Housa was tilting over the last of the dry pots. "You? My gosh, Beth, this would practically be like camping out compared to what you're used to!"

  "I'll be going to school—1 won't need the kind of place I'm used to."

  "It's pretty isolated, Beth. Are you, I mean, will you.…" Distress creased Housa's smooth brow.

  Beth took pity on her. "You're wondering if I'll be living alone." Housa nodded. "I wish I knew, dear."

  "If you want, I'll come live with you, Grammy," Daisy offered. "But only for a while, because Daddy would miss me."

  "I'd miss you, too. Daisy!" Housa exclaimed.

  "Yes, I know, but not as much as Daddy."

  Daddy's little girl. The smile Beth exchanged with Housa over Daisy's head faded as she thought of Dana.

  "Housa, I really should be getting back," she said. "I haven't spoken to Dana yet, and I don't want to chance her hearing about the sale of her father's house from anyone but me."

  "Her father's house?" Housa herded the children together and fumbled for the house key. "I thought he built it for you, Beth."

  Beth's smile was rueful. "So did he, Housa, but things aren't always what they seem."

  Dana was silent for a long moment after Beth phoned her with the news.

  "There isn't much time, is there?" she finally said. "Look, I'll be leaving the office in ten minutes—if I come now could you give me some supper?"

  "Of course, Dana. Would a salad suit you? It's a warm day, and I still have a couple of cans of that Alaskan salmon one of your father's patients sends me every Christmas, heavens knows why."

  "Don't knock it. Gratitude's in short supply these days." Dana's tone was very cool. "Look for me in about an hour."

  "I hope this wasn't too short notice for you," Dana said as they sat down for supper. She broke off a piece of the Italian bread she had picked up at a bakery in New Haven. "I thought I'd better come now because next week I'm going to Bermuda for ten days."