Hearts at Home

by Lori Copeland

  Edith brought her hand to her mouth. Though serious, Caleb seemed perfectly at peace, even content. But perhaps the man was still in shock.

  “I need to get to the church,” the butler said, tightening the scarf around his neck. “I’m meeting with some of the others for prayer before the service begins. But I knew you’d want to know about Olympia as soon as possible.”

  Edith’s hand slipped and clutched the collar of her robe. Dear goodness. What more could go wrong at Frenchman’s Fairest? Annie must be suffering terribly. After losing her uncle in October and now, Olympia… .

  Winslow looked at Edith; Edith could do nothing but nod. A lifetime of pastoral emergencies had taught her to expect the unexpected.

  Winslow reached for his Bible and coat, but Caleb’s outstretched hand stopped him. “There’s no need to come now, Pastor, you have a service to prepare for. Besides, Miss Annie’s asleep. But if you’d be so kind as to announce Missy’s home-going in the service, I’ll minister to those at the house until you can come.”

  “I’ll come—” Winslow’s voice cracked—“this afternoon, soon as I can.”

  “That’d be fine.” Caleb moved toward the door. “Thank you, Pastor, for shepherding this flock. Your work meant a great deal to Missy.”

  Edith stood in the middle of the parsonage kitchen, stunned, as Winslow closed the back door.

  Olympia, dead?

  Surely this was a bad dream from which she would awaken soon.

  For the first time in recent months, Annie woke on a Sunday morning in Heavenly Daze and decided not to go to church. Caleb would inform the townsfolk of Olympia’s unexpected passing. Except, knowing Caleb, he wouldn’t use those words to describe her death—he’d probably say the morning had brought cause for celebration, because Olympia de Cuvier had been called to heaven, where she was enjoying fellowship with Jesus, her beloved Edmund, and all those who had gone before.

  Caleb could paint the darkest night sunshiny yellow.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, Annie braced her arms on the mattress and focused her bleary eyes on an odd object beside her bed. The object proved to be Tallulah, curled in a scruffy ball. The sight of the dog sent guilt surging through Annie’s bloodstream. Dr. Marc had ousted the poor pet from Olympia’s room, yet her bed and all her doggie toys were in there… .

  “Tallulah?” The dog woke, her ears twitching as she lifted her head. “You okay, girl?”

  In answer, the terrier stood on wobbly legs, then gave her tail a tentative wiggle.

  “Come on, sweetie.” Annie lowered her feet, shivering as the kiss of the cool wood raised goose bumps on her legs. Despite the clang and hiss of the old radiators, a chill lay upon the floor.

  After pulling on a pair of thick wool socks, she wrapped herself in the old chenille robe hanging from an iron hook on the back of the door. Whistling for Tallulah, she moved carefully down the slippery wooden stairs and went into the kitchen. Evidence of Caleb’s ministrations abounded—a plate of Danish lay under a glass dome on the counter, and a pot of coffee steamed beneath the gurgling coffeemaker.

  Her eyes moved to a note on the refrigerator: Am going early to speak to the pastor, then to pray with my brothers. Will tell the church of Olympia’s glorious home-going. Love and prayers, Caleb.

  Stumping forward on legs that felt heavy, Annie moved to the pantry, then sprinkled a handful of diet dog kibble in Tallulah’s dish. The dog sniffed at it, took one bite, then looked at Annie and purposefully spat it out.

  Annie snorted. “I don’t blame you, girl, but there’s no way I’m giving you one of these pastries. Olympia would kill me.”

  Tallulah cocked her head as if to say, Never mind, I’m not hungry either. Annie moved to the coffee pot, pulled a mug from the cabinet, and poured herself a cup. She had no appetite—who could eat with a shell-shocked heart, a dead woman upstairs, and a houseful of worries to consider?—but the coffee might jumpstart her addled brain.

  After a few slow sips of the fragrant liquid, she moved to the little desk in the kitchen and pulled the old rotary phone closer. Calls, she had to make calls. People needed to know what had happened, and she ought to be the one to tell them. Edmund Junior, Olympia’s only child, lived in Boston. Annie had few fond feelings for her cousin, for though he was a celebrated trial lawyer, and Olympia had always praised him, the man had barely made it home for his own father’s funeral. He had come to Heavenly Daze only a few minutes before the ceremony and left ten minutes later, with scarcely more than a hug for his grieving mother.

  Still, she needed to call him. And Effie, Edmund’s 103-year-old mother, who lived in a nursing home in Ogunquit. And A.J., of course.

  She made the most difficult call first, waking Edmund Junior from a sound Sunday morning sleep with the news that his mother had passed away. “When’s the funeral?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

  “Some time Tuesday, I think. We’re still confirming arrangements.”

  “Call my secretary with the exact time, and I’ll be there. I expect I’m the executor of the will?”

  “I—I have no idea,” Annie stammered. “I’ll have to ask Caleb. I don’t know anything about Aunt Olympia’s business affairs.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Edmund Junior grunted softly, then mumbled goodbye and hung up.

  Annie left a message for Effie with the supervisor at the nursing home. “I expect Mrs. Shots will be both sad and relieved,” the nurse said dryly. “She complained about Mrs. de Cuvier something fierce, but I think she looked forward to Olympia’s visits because each one gave her something new to complain about.”

  “We don’t expect her to come to the funeral,” Annie hastened to add, knowing the old woman couldn’t handle the trip in February’s frigid weather. “Just let her know, okay?”

  Finally, she called A.J. He answered on the third ring, his voice low and heavy, but she could hear a smile in it when he said her name. “Annie. I was beginning to think you’d fallen off the face of the planet.”

  “Sorry for not checking in last night. I was going to call you after I went up to bed, but then I found Aunt Olympia—” She bit her lip as fresh tears stung her eyes. “Oh, A.J., Aunt Olympia died, and it was awful! Your dad came as quick as he could, but he couldn’t do anything to help.”

  “Where is Dad now?”

  “He’s either upstairs or in the guest house, but I expect him to walk in any minute. The funeral home is sending a boat this morning to pick her up, and he said he’d handle all that for me.”

  He sighed into the phone. “That island—I don’t know how those people can stand to be so far removed from everything and everyone. If she’d had access to a proper hospital—”

  “No—your dad said even a hospital wouldn’t have helped. He thinks there was too much damage to her heart.”

  “We’ll never know, will we?”

  Annie grimaced, wishing A.J. were here. If he were, he’d know from the look on her face that he’d hit a sore spot. Guilt still roared within her, so debating the manner of Olympia’s death wasn’t going to help.

  “The funeral will be Tuesday,” she said, changing the subject. “Can you come?”

  “I’ll check my surgery schedule.” Warmth flooded back into his voice. “Dad would be happy if I could buzz up there.”

  “Sure, take the plane. I’ll get Odell to bring you over from the landing.”

  He laughed. “The crazy old coot in the rattletrap boat? I’m not sure I want to risk a winter crossing with him.”

  Annie wrapped the phone cord around her hand and studied the ceiling. A.J. hadn’t minded risking a winter crossing with Odell at Christmas … but maybe that particular visit had frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

  She sighed. “That crazy old coot is all we have right now. Captain Stroble’s on vacation and his boat’s in dry dock for maintenance.”

  He laughed. “All right, then. You take care of yourself and I’ll try my best to see you Tuesday.”

  Ann
ie nodded wordlessly, then slowly dropped the heavy receiver onto the phone. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the desk and pressed her hands to her face as old feelings of abandonment surfaced, threatening to drag her down into a chasm of memory and loss, the remnants of her childhood.

  Why did A.J.’s hesitation bother her so much? He was a doctor and in great demand. She’d be foolish and unrealistic to think he’d be able to drop everything to comfort her in her time of distress. Besides, she was a strong and modern woman; why should she need comforting? She had always taken great pains to let her friends know she didn’t need a man to make her life complete, nor did she want to be coddled. Her relationships were two-way streets; she expected to give and take, then take and give.

  Still … something in her yearned to curl up in a man’s strong arms, feel his lips brush against her hair. She would give anything to know someone was supporting her as she tried to make good decisions about the funeral, but instead it seemed as though every aspect of this undertaking was destined to fall upon her shoulders.

  She heard a creak from the back porch steps, then hurried to swipe a tear from her cheek. A moment later Dr. Marc came into the kitchen, rubbing his bare hands together. He hesitated when he saw her sitting by the phone.

  “Sorry, Annie. I should have knocked. But I saw Caleb on his way to the church—”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to knock. You’re like family.”

  His dark blue eyes searched her face. “Sleep well?”

  She released a bitter laugh. “Did you?”

  He gave her a rueful smile as he moved toward the coffee pot. “I’ve had better nights.”

  He took down a mug and poured a cup of coffee, then leaned against the counter and took a sip. His brow lifted when he spied Olympia’s open address book.

  “Did you call the off-islanders?”

  “Ayuh.” She cleared her throat. “Edmund Junior, Effie Shots, and A.J., of course. He said he’ll try to make it Tuesday.”

  An unusually blank expression settled onto the doctor’s face. “Pastor Winslow will tell the townspeople at church. Better brace yourself—I have the feeling they’ll come storming over here as soon as he dismisses the service.”

  “I know they will.” Annie pushed back her chair and stood, then raked a hand through her hair and forced a laugh. “I’d better take a shower and get dressed. If I don’t clean up Birdie will be declaring I look a mite streaked, and Cleta will be asking me to spend the night at the B&B so she can keep me under observation.”

  Dr. Marc chuckled, but his eyes were serious above his smile. “Before you go up, Annie, I have something I need to show you.”

  Hearing the somber tone in his voice, Annie slowly sat back down. The doctor walked to the desk, then opened a drawer and lif ted out the Ogunquit telephone directory. Beneath the phone book’s faded plastic cover, she glimpsed an envelope.

  Dr. Marc pulled out the letter, which bore Annie’s name, and tapped it against his open palm. “Olympia wrote this just after Edmund died, when she filed a revised copy of her will. She told me about it and said I should give it to you … whenever the need should arise.”

  Everything went silent within Annie as she accepted the envelope. “Did she know … this would happen?”

  Dr. Marc leaned against the wall. “She had no idea when the end would come, but no one lives forever. She believed in being prepared.”

  With trembling fingers, Annie ripped off the end of the envelope and pulled out the folded page. Inside was a note written in Olympia’s refined, spidery script:

  My dearest Annie:

  I know we have not always seen eye-to-eye, my girl, but you should know this—heaven knows I never wished Ruth Ann and Ferrell any harm, but God brought good from grief when he brought you to us so many years ago. You have been the daughter I was never able to have, and you have brought me more joy than a dozen sons.

  Edmund Junior does not need anything from me—indeed, I suspect he wants nothing from me, nothing I would value, anyway. That’s the trouble with young folk today—they yearn more for money than things that matter. Edmund cares only for cold cash, so that’s what he’ll receive as the beneficiary of my life insurance policy. He doesn’t need the money, but if he gets it, he will feel less inclined to contest my will, in which I have declared that my home and everything in it belongs to you.

  I don’t know why you care so much for the old stuff in this house, but I’m glad you do. What’s left is yours, dear, every last bit of it.

  Frenchman’s Fairest is more than an old house—it is a heritage and a home. I leave it to you, Annie, in the full hope that you will fill it with as much love as I have known within its walls. May the Lord, who has always watched over Heavenly Daze with special care, hold you in the palm of his hand until we are reunited in eternity.

  With all my love,

  Olympia

  “I never cared for the stuff—I cared about her.” Lowering the page, Annie met the doctor’s gaze. “She told me she planned to leave the house to me, but I thought she was just rambling. I mean, it’s not like we could agree on anything for more than fifteen minutes, so I was sure she’d change her mind.”

  “She didn’t. And it suddenly occurs to me that I should treat you with more respect—you’re my new landlady.”

  Annie brought her hand to her cheek. In her younger years she had dreamed of being a thousand things, but never a property owner.

  The doctor arched his brows into twin triangles. “Her letter may sound strange to you, but Olympia shared her reasoning with me. As much as she loved Edmund Junior, she knew he had made a life in Boston. Since leaving Heavenly Daze, he has never looked back. You, on the other hand, have begun to turn your heart toward home. Olympia thought you had begun to understand how deeply you are connected to the island.”

  Annie stared at him as a tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed her. “But I don’t belong to the island! I live in Portland! I don’t have time to maintain this house and give tours like Aunt Olympia did.”

  Dr. Marc dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Calm down, hon; don’t get yourself worked up. Take a few days, get past the funeral, and settle things with Edmund Junior. Tourist season doesn’t begin until late April, so you have a few months to decide if you want to stay.”

  “If I don’t stay … what on earth am I supposed to do with the house? The heating bill alone would drain my bank account. I know it was draining Aunt Olympia’s. But Caleb still lives here, and you-”

  “You could always sell.”

  “Sell … the house?” Annie blinked. “I couldn’t. Aunt Olympia would die if I even-” She caught herself. “I mean, Aunt Olympia wouldn’t want me to sell. What did she say? It’s my heritage.”

  Sighing, the doctor sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “Olympia made her wishes clear, but there are no stipulations attached to the will, Annie. The house is yours to do with as you think best. If you really don’t think you can handle it—well, Olympia might not have approved, but in the end she would agree that you shouldn’t keep an obligation that will strangle you financially.” He gave her a small smile. “I only hope the new owner will allow me to continue using the guest cottage for a medical clinic.”

  Annie stared down into her coffee cup, where the brew had gone cold. “Maybe I could rent the house to someone, but sell it? Who on earth would want it?”

  “I think you’d be surprised at the market for older, well-kept homes. I also think you’ll be surprised at how expensive a house like this would be to spruce up for selling. Your instincts about the heating bill were right, and you’ve probably noticed that the exterior is sorely in need of painting and caulking. The windows leak, so do the sinks, and the electrical system needs updating.”

  Annie closed her eyes. “Why would Olympia leave me a house I can’t afford? Her decision makes no sense at all. Edmund Junior has money. He could fix up the house and spend his summers here, then go back to Boston a
fter the tourist season.”

  “Olympia wanted you to have everything she owned. The furniture, the bank account—it’s all yours.”

  She shot him a quick glance. “And Edmund Junior is the executor of the will?”

  Dr. Marc shook his head. “I am. I know where every cent of your aunt’s money is, and I know where it’s supposed to go. That’s the good news. The bad news is there’s less than two hundred dollars in her bank account. Olympia was living on Social Security and Edmund’s pension. Now both of those will stop.”

  “But I thought she was okay. I thought Uncle Edmund’s life insurance was covering her expenses—”

  “The proceeds of your uncle’s life insurance went to cover his medical bills and funeral expenses.” Dr. Marc’s lips thinned. “I’m sure Olympia was too proud to tell you. She didn’t want you to worry about her.”

  Breathing deeply, Annie lowered her head into her hand. This was too much to absorb in one sitting. She loved Heavenly Daze, but in her teenage years the island had seemed hopelessly isolated and outdated. She’d fled Frenchman’s Fairest after her high school graduation, and until a few months ago she had tried to avoid the place whenever possible.

  But last October life had begun to teach her that maturity meant taking time to appreciate those who had opened their hearts and home to you … even when you didn’t appreciate them.

  Now she would own that home, a lovely, antique house that was—

  “An albatross,” she murmured.

  Dr. Marc frowned. “What?”

  “That poem—the one about the sailor with the bad luck bird around his neck. I wonder if this is how he felt.”

  Leaving the doctor in the kitchen, Annie stood and moved wearily toward the stairs.

  Edith wasn’t certain how, but news of Olympia’s passing had spread over the island like a grassfire. The parsonage phone had her on the run even before church. Vernie Bidderman called—could she do anything? Wasn’t it awful? Who would be next?

  Cheerful thought. Edith sighed as she hung up the receiver.