Hearts at Home

by Lori Copeland

  “Yada, yada, yada,” she murmured into her pillow. “Sure, you wish me the best. Everyone wishes me well, including A.J.”

  The man hadn’t called all this week, not once. If she called him, he’d undoubtedly be pleasant and polite, but she knew her refusal to drop everything and move to New York had frosted his feelings. Any other girl would have been highly flattered by his invitation, but Olympia had always said Annie wasn’t like other girls.

  A drowsy smile curved her mouth as she drifted toward sleep. Olympia used to stand at the threshold of Annie’s bedroom and shake her head. Honestly, girl, what’s wrong with you? You’re too much like your mother, going around with your head in the clouds, without a lick of horse sense… .

  Weeks of frustration and indecision were bearing Annie down with an irresistible warm weight. Her mind went fuzzy, surrendering to the relentless pull of sleep, and her thoughts drifted amid memories of the day until a sharp voice called her brain back to attention: “Wake up, Annie. We need to talk.”

  Her eyes flew open. She was still curled in bed, the streetlights still fringed the edges of the window shade, but something in the room had changed. Another light had brought a pale luminescence to the room, for something glowed at the foot of her bed.

  A thrill of fear shot through Annie as she lifted her head and saw Olympia sitting on the edge of the mattress, her lips set in a firm line, her hands folded primly upon her lap.

  Annie squinched her eyelids tight. “Go away! I don’t believe in ghosts!”

  “Neither do I, so sit up and speak to me properly. I’m not a ghost, I’m your aunt.”

  “But you’re … gone.”

  “I’m spirit now, and I’m in heaven. But I see what’s going on with you, and you’re about to drive me crazy with all your teeter-tottering back and forth. For heaven’s sake, Annie, I didn’t leave you the house so you’d be miserable.” The visitor’s voice softened. “I meant it to be a gift, not a burden.”

  Annie opened one eye. Olympia no longer sat at the foot of the bed; she had moved to the empty chair by the nightstand.

  Right in Annie’s line of vision.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she repeated. “Go away.”

  The phantom exhaled loudly. “For the last time, Annie, I’m not a ghost. This is a vision the Lord’s allowing you to experience. Didn’t you pray for guidance?”

  Annie rose to one elbow. “Well … yeah, I guess I did. But I didn’t ask for this. And I don’t feel like I’m sleeping.”

  “Dreamers rarely know they’re dreaming until they wake. But I didn’t come here to talk about your sleep patterns. I came to talk some sense into your head.”

  Despite the bizarre quality of this dream, Annie couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. Whether this was a byproduct of sleep or hysteria, her subconscious had done a dandy job of replicating Aunt Olympia. The stiff image in her chair was somber and serious, but definitely not malevolent.

  “Okay.” Annie propped her head on her hand. “Talk away. I guess I’m a captive audience.”

  Olympia’s right brow arched. “If I’d known talking to you in your sleep would make you listen, I’d have done it years ago—”

  Annie cut her off with a yawn. “Aunt Olympia, I’m too tired for this, I need my sleep. Can you please get to the point?”

  Her glowing visitor drew back as if affronted. “Have it your way. I’m here to tell you that you’re making yourself miserable. The Lord doesn’t want you to be miserable; he wants you to rejoice in his perfect will. So find it, follow it, and you’ll be fine.”

  Annie guffawed. “That’s easier said than done. How in the world am I supposed to find God’s will? He doesn’t exactly carve life directions on stone tablets these days, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Olympia made a huffing noise. “Of all people, you should find it easy. You’ve got Caleb—”

  “Caleb’s talking nonsense these days. He wants to leave Frenchman’s Fairest and find another employer.”

  “—and you’ve got a town full of people who love the Lord and love you. They wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

  “I’ve been talking to people.” Annie sat up straighter. “I’ve talked to Dr. Marc and A.J. Neither of them will tell me what to do.”

  “You’re not a child, Annie.” A faint light of reproof glowed in the visitor’s eyes. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions. All you lack is the courage.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Annie rose to a full sitting position, then bent her knees beneath the covers. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she lowered her head and sighed. “It’s not that easy,” she mumbled into her comforter. “This decision is such a big one; it will affect everything for the rest of my life.”

  “A crossroad,” Olympia said. “We all come to them. And the Lord promises to guide us if we listen.”

  “I’ve been listening!” Annie’s brittle laugh sounded more like a cry of pain. “I’m so confused, Aunt Olympia. I thought I loved A.J., but lately I don’t think I do. I was all excited when I first met him—he was handsome, successful, and wealthy enough to do exciting things—but now, I don’t know. He’s awfully focused on his career, he’s terribly busy, and I find myself wondering if he cares enough … for me, that is.”

  “Honey, listen to me.”

  Annie turned her head to better see the figment of her overactive imagination.

  “Sweetheart, love isn’t a feeling—feelings are the byproducts of love. Love is a choice. It’s a decision you make when you find someone you want to make precious to you.”

  Annie blinked slowly, wondering if she was losing the dream signal or something. The figment was beginning to speak in riddles. Soon Olympia would start to fade away, or maybe she’d morph into Birdie or Bea or the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz.

  “A decision?” she echoed.

  “Of course.” The preternatural Olympia leaned forward, her hands folded. “When you came to live with us, I didn’t love you all at once. But Edmund and I decided that you’d become precious to us, and you did. Love followed naturally.” A glow rose in the woman’s face, like a lantern burning behind an oilskin shade. “I still love you, Annie, and so does Edmund. Most of all, our Lord loves you. He cares for you more than you realize, and he is waiting for you to take a step. He’ll guide you … once you start walking.”

  Annie lifted her head. Why not promise this fabrication of her overtired brain that she’d make a decision? What would it hurt if she made a dream decision right now?

  “All right,” she said, nodding. “I’ll start walking. Tomorrow I’ll go into the office at school and tell them I won’t be back next term. Then I’ll call Caleb and tell him I’m coming home to stay. And then I’ll go to the island and be unemployed and lonely and broke.”

  “Oh, honey.” Olympia giggled so irrepressibly that Annie couldn’t help chuckling herself. “You won’t be lonely. Someone on the island loves you dearly, for months ago he decided you were precious to him. He has treated you with the respect and care he would show a priceless treasure, but you’ve been too blind to see.”

  Annie stared at her guest. “I love him dearly, but Caleb is not my idea of a soul mate, Aunt Olympia.”

  “Not Caleb.” Olympia stood, the glow of her smile brightening the corner of the room. “But someone close.”

  Then Olympia bent and embraced Annie with a touch as light as air. Annie closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma surrounding her aunt. The scent was unlike anything she had ever breathed—pure and sweet, light and vaguely floral.

  “Olympia,” she whispered, keeping her eyes closed. “You smell like heaven.”

  Something like a feathery kiss brushed her cheek, then Annie opened her eyes and saw … nothing.

  But in the morning, when she threw back the covers and breathed in the courage to face another day, she caught the sweet scent of eternity on her pajamas.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Standing before the mirror in her bathroom, Edith i
nhaled and tugged on the zipper in the side of the peach dress. Holding her breath, she pulled, biting her lip as the metal zipper slid smoothly over the plastic teeth … and the zipper went up!

  Suppressing a whoop of joy, Edith exhaled slowly, bracing herself for the sound of ripping fabric. The dress had been hanging in her closet for a while, and it wouldn’t surprise her if some of the seams had weakened … but the fabric held.

  Stepping back, she lifted her eyes to the mirror.

  Instantly, she remembered why she had bought this dress—the peach color complimented her golden skin tones, and the silver edging on the lace brought out the blue in her eyes. The bodice was a little snug, but that was okay, and the fitted waistline seemed smooth.

  But the hips. She frowned at the sight of ripples in what should have been a smooth drop to the floor. She carried a tire around her abdomen that would rival the Michelin man’s, and there was no hiding it in the fitted skirt.

  But she still had two days until the wedding. She’d just have to try something else …

  Liquid meals. If it had worked for Oprah, it would work for her. Trouble was, Vernie didn’t carry liquid meal replacements at the mercantile, so Edith would have to slip over to Ogunquit.

  Thank the Lord Floyd was operating the ferry.

  Moving carefully, Edith unzipped the dress and returned it to the hanger. Placing it in the back of the closet, she stepped into her familiar stretch pants and a sweatshirt. The ladies were meeting this morning at the bed-and-breakfast, where Micah had miraculously coaxed all his orchids into bloom.

  “They’re really beautiful,” Cleta had said when she called last night. “Best of all, half of them are purple or lilac! They’ll be perfect for Birdie’s bouquet and the pew ribbons; we just need a little help arranging everything.”

  When Edith crossed the threshold of the bed-and-breakfast, work had already begun in the kitchen. Micah had set all the orchid pots on the table, and Cleta was passing out little tubes with rubber stoppers to water the flowers once they were placed in arrangements.

  Edith gasped at the bounty of orchids—luscious purple cattleya blossoms, lovely phalaenopsis blooms, and a delicate cascade of lilac flowers she had never seen before.

  “What is this one?” She slipped her hand beneath a spray of blossoms that reminded her of a bridal veil.

  Micah smiled. “It’s called aerangis citrate. It will be beautiful trailing out of Birdie’s bouquet, don’t you think?”

  Edith smiled her agreement as she moved through the room. Dana and Babette were making ribbon roses for the pew markers, while Vernie kept tramping in and out with ferns from her family room. In tourist season, her famous ferns hung from the porch of the mercantile; in winter, they crowded the windows of her back room, drinking in the shaded sunlight.

  The most precious sight was Birdie, who sat in a chair with a rectangle of florist’s foam. She and little Brittany were creating the bouquet she would carry down the aisle.

  While Birdie twittered with excitement, her sister sat silently at the table, one hand idly stroking an empty ribbon spool. Edith had never seen Birdie looking happier, or Bea more depressed.

  Edith lifted her hands. “How can I help?”

  Cleta welcomed her with a smile. “Play hostess, will you, Edith? My hands are full, and some of these ladies could use a cup of coffee to perk them up.” Cleta accented her words with a sly wink and a nod toward Bea, and Edith understood instantly.

  After pouring a cup of coffee for the postmistress, Edith sat next to Bea and pushed the steaming mug toward her. “Enjoy the coffee, Bea. How be you this morning?”

  Bea shrugged. “Fine.”

  Edith knew she wasn’t fine; she was barely pretending. Her face hung in weary folds, and the creases under her eyes were deep enough to hold water.

  “You know, Bea,” Edith began, “you’re not losing a sister— you’re gaining a brother-in-law and two wonderful children.”

  “I know.” Bea pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to the corners of her watery eyes.

  “Why, you never know what life has in store for you— one of these days some fine-looking gentleman might come along and you’ll consider matrimony again.”

  Bea snorted softly. “When pigs fly.”

  Edith lightly touched Bea’s hand. “You can come visit me anytime you like—and Birdie will be only moments away.”

  “She’ll be too busy to go neighborin’ with me. She’ll have her new family to think about.”

  “But you’ll see her every day in the bakery.”

  “It won’t be the same.”

  Edith knew Bea was probably imagining a long stretch of lonely nights in the living quarters behind the bakery. The two sisters used to spend hours knitting peacefully before the fire, laughing and discussing the day’s events.

  Loneliness could be a painful thing.

  Wiping her eyes again, Bea got up. “I ought to be helping Vernie with those ferns. After Micah ties a ribbon in them, we still have to carry them to the church.”

  “We’ll both help,” Edith said. “And you know what? Winslow and I would love to have you come for dinner Friday night. It’s been way too long since you shared a meal with us.”

  Bea nodded absently, and Edith knew she’d have to remind the postmistress of the invitation. But that was okay.

  By Friday the wedding would be over and life would be back to normal.

  And she’d be able to cook an ordinary meal and eat sensibly.

  After every available orchid had been set into a bouquet, an arrangement, or a pew marker, Edith went home and slipped into her bedroom. Before leaving the B&B she had asked Floyd if he’d be willing to take the ferry out at two, and to her delight he’d agreed to make a run to the mainland.

  Moving quietly so she wouldn’t disturb Winslow in his study, she pulled on an old coat she hadn’t worn in years, then tied a scarf over her head and donned a pair of dark sunglasses.

  Dieting had turned her into a crazed criminal. But Winslow would put his foot down if he knew about her plan, and Edith couldn’t let anything stop her when she was this close to success.

  “How be you this afternoon, Edith?” Floyd called as she came aboard the ferry. Floyd was obviously having a ball driving the boat.

  “Afternoon, Floyd.” Edith stepped into the warmth of the cabin, then settled on a bench. Floyd began checking things off a printed list at the helm, and Edith crossed her arms as he checked everything from mooring lines to the oil in the engine. When he was convinced the boat was ready—the instant that coincided with the moment Edith nearly screamed in impatience—the motor roared to life and the boat pulled away from the dock.

  Wind rattled the windows of the cabin as the stately boat plowed through the waters. Finally Perkins Cove loomed into view, and Edith stood up, ready to make a quick dash to the pay phone to call a cab.

  The docking was rough—apparently Floyd hadn’t quite mastered the trick of cutting the engine before coasting up to the dock—but Edith exited the boat on shaky legs and wobbled toward the phone.

  “You gonna wanna go back soon?” Floyd called, the brisk air carrying his voice.

  She turned and pointed toward the phone. “I’m going to run to the grocery. Will you wait thirty minutes?”

  The mayor snapped a salute to the brim of his new captain’s hat. “Will do. But—” his cocky grin softened, “I kind of like to take a nap around three, if you wouldn’t mind hurrying a bit.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Edith trudged toward the phone, wondering how much a case of diet shakes weighed. Maybe she should ask Floyd to come along and help—but Floyd might tell Cleta about her shakes, and once Cleta knew a secret, the whole island knew. She’d just have to carry the case herself. After all, lifting and toting was bound to burn off a few calories.

  The image of the peach dress sliding loose and easy over her hips drove her on.

  Once she reached the store, she tossed an assor
tment of delicious-sounding diet shakes into her cart: Dutch Chocolate, Mocha, Passion Fruit, French Vanilla. This diet would be heaven compared to the cabbage soup and wieners.

  She paid for her purchases, loaded all the cans into a box, then hauled the carton into the waiting taxi. The driver rolled his eyes at her approach, but didn’t lift a finger to help either at the store or at the ferry landing.

  She tossed him the exact fare without a tip, then wrapped her arms around the box and waddled to the boat. Floyd eyed the case when she came aboard and offered to set it in the cargo hold.

  “No, thank you.” She sat on the bench and kept the box on her lap.

  Shrugging, Floyd turned to the helm. Twenty minutes later (another checklist), the ferry began to churn back across the water.

  At the Heavenly Daze dock, Floyd offered to carry her package to the parsonage, but Edith politely refused his help. Setting the heavy box on her left hip, she made it as far as the B&B. Shifting it to the other hip, she managed to pass the church and the parsonage.

  She had a special hiding place in mind for these beauties—the public restrooms. Floyd kept a key on the doorframe above the women’s restroom, and nobody ever ventured up here in the off-season. The rooms were vented, too, which kept a stream of fresh, cold air moving through the place—ideal for chilling diet milkshakes.

  She had no sooner set the box down to reach for the key when Tallulah and Butch appeared, sniffing at her box.

  “Go away, doggies,” she said, protecting her treasures with her foot.

  Tallulah growled at the container, and the bulldog began to bark.

  “Hey!” Edith stomped her foot, sending the dogs back a half-step. “Go home, you two!”