by Donna McLean
The Ladies Garden Club nodded in simultaneous agreement.
“Are you sure there were two girls, Tilda? I heard it was two boys.” Hazel patted the soil neatly around the green shoots, dusted off her gloves, and removed them to signal that her work for the day was done.
Delcie Needles replied, “I heard that, too. Two boys, identical twins. Unfortunately it was all so long ago, and the mama did take them both and leave town so fast — practically in the dead of night, so they say — I guess it could be two girls after all. What were their names?”
Peggy, Magda, and Tilda thought long and hard about it. Delcie pondered the question, too. Hazel, a few decades younger than the other ladies, waited in respectful silence. She doubted that she had even been born yet when the twins and their mama had left town in a hurry.
Finally Tilda took off the floppy hat and tossed her gloves and trowel into it after knocking the dirt loose. She grasped the brim with both hands and stood up, carrying the hat like a basket, and shaking her head. “Land sakes, y’all, I do not recall the names of those babies. Don’t know if I ever heard the names! Maybe it will come to me later. Now I’m getting out of this hot sun. And you ladies had best do the same. Meet tomorrow morning for weeding old Mister Fellows’ vegetable patch? He’s not able anymore, bless his heart.”
TWO
Puddin’ barked ferociously when he heard quick footsteps crossing the wraparound porch, but the little terrier danced and scampered around Tilda MacArdan’s ankles just as soon as she stepped into the living room of her Victorian cottage. His tail wagged so fast that it blurred like hummingbird wings in motion.
“Puddin’, you fat old marshmallow! What would you do if I were a burglar, huh? Would you get me? No, you wouldn’t, because you are not a watch dog. You are spoiled rotten, that’s what you are!” Tilda laughed and patted the top of the dog’s head with affection.
She walked through the cool living room and kitchen and entered the screened porch at the back of the house, where her “inside potting table” was located. Tilda placed the floppy gardening hat, gloves and the trowel in their proper places, and glanced into the back yard.
Addie McRae, young tenant of the MacArdan carriage house, sat in a pale green metal chair under the shade of a tall oak tree. A matching metal table was beside her, and upon it lay some pencils, a large pad of notepaper, and a couple of paperback books. The redhead was intently scrolling through something on the laptop computer balanced upon her knees.
“Wonder if she has been there all morning. I’ll just bet she has. Near about one o’clock and she hasn’t had a thing to eat or drink since I left!” The spry senior lady took a pitcher of sweet tea out of the refrigerator. She opened the cabinet door and reached for the tall, colorfully decorated glasses, and then paused with a pang. Puddin’ watched her curiously. She said to the little dog, “Remember when I used to fix iced tea for two? Addie and Pearce Allen. She always wanted it with one little old twist of lemon on top but he preferred it without. Seems like a long time ago now.” She sighed. “Ah, well, I wouldn’t mind having a little bit of tea myself. It is right good on a warm day like today.”
Addie smiled when she looked up a few minutes later and saw Ms. Tilda approaching with a tray and two glasses filled with the sweet golden liquid and ice cubes. One slice of lemon balanced on each rim. “Thanks! That’s just what I wanted.”
Tilda brushed loose pine needles off the metal rocking chair and sat down next to Addie. “Been out here all morning?” she inquired with polite concern.
The redhead took a glass and sipped the tea. “Yes. It’s such a nice day and it’s so peaceful and quiet. The time just got away from me!”
“Must be looking at something purty interesting on that computer thing,” Tilda stated conversationally. She cast a curious eye in the direction of the paper and pencils.
“Just following up on some queries I sent out to magazines. A couple of them are interested in the article ideas I pitched.”
“What kind of articles?”
Addie scrolled down the laptop screen, frowning a little as she concentrated, her eyes fastened on the images whirring by. She answered absent-mindedly. “An article for a pet magazine, that one is about a cat who dials phones and opens doors! It’s true! People love to read about pets. Another human interest article about an old miser, well, people thought he was a miser, turned out, after he died, that he had hoarded over a million dollars in gold! Nobody ever suspected a thing. And I got a good response from a senior living magazine about a couple of con artists who scammed an old lady out of her life savings, and a crooked doctor who overcharged his clients for years and got away with it. That is, until he met a spunky little old lady who figured out what was going on!” Addie grinned at Tilda with affection. She closed the laptop, placed it on the table and took off her sunglasses. “Might write an article about the current renovation craze. Seems like a whole lot of people are renovating their old homes now, instead of buying new ones.”
The women remained silent for a few minutes, watching a bumblebee scooting across the air. Puddin’ leaped to attention, barking, and chased it until the bee found shelter within the leaves of an azalea bush.
“Renovating . . . oh, that’s what Dane Donovan is doing to the old Ross house, isn’t it?” Tilda asked innocently.
“Yes, and it looks great so far! He really is talented.”
Tilda winced at the obvious admiration in the young woman’s voice. Silence settled over them again.
Presently Puddin’ strolled over to the green metal chairs and flopped down beside them. Tilda scratched the top of his head absent-mindedly, but her mind was racing.
She swirled the glass around, watching the ice cubes bounce against the sides. “Heard from Pearce Allen lately?” Ms. MacArdan tried to make it sound like casual conversation, but she couldn’t help noticing Addie’s shoulders tense.
The redhead shook her head and put the glass to her lips instead of answering the question.
Tilda MacArdan, that spry senior citizen detective, decided that it was time to take the direct approach. Enough was enough! It had been weeks since the handsome young newspaper editor with the golden-brown hair and blue eyes had visited the MacArdan house, and he was Tilda’s friend too, after all! She phrased the comment casually:
“I hope you won’t mind if I invite Pearce Allen over for supper one evening.”
Addie sat up straight and stared at Ms. Tilda.
The lady continued on in a nonchalant manner, as though she were speaking of just any old thing. “Used to do that a lot, and I think he appreciated it a lot, being a bachelor and his mama living so far off now and all that.”
Addie leaned back in the chair and looked straight ahead.
Tilda continued to drop casual hints. “Bachelors don’t eat right. Nobody to cook for them. Staying home by themselves most of the time. Not liking to go out to eat, since they’re all alone, and all that . . .”
“For gosh sakes, Tilda, it’s not 1940. Men do know how to cook these days, and believe me, Pearce Allen won’t be alone for long!”
There were bright red spots in Addie’s cheeks now, Tilda noticed. She asked gently, “Is that what happened, dear? He started seeing somebody else?”
Addie picked up the sunglasses and shoved them back on her face. “I don’t want to discuss it, Tilda. Please.”
“I respect your privacy, Addie, I really do. But I care about both of you very much. You’re like a member of the family now!” Tilda leaned forward. “Are you sure you and that nice Pearce Allen Simms are finished? Forever?”
Addie hesitated. She didn’t turn to look at Tilda’s sad face, but she heard the mournful tone of her voice. The redhead stared at the expanse of lawn stretching all the way down toward the little carriage house, white sandy soil covered with brown pine needles, sparse green grass struggling to make its way sunward. She sat in silence, thinking things over, and gave a weary sigh. “Pearce Allen is a great guy, he really is! Ti
lda, my relationship with him was kind of like . . .” She stretched both feet out in front of her. “Like these flip flops.”
Tilda screwed her face up into a baffled frown. “Uh huh,” she mumbled, trying to sound as though she understood what the heck Addie was talking about. The flip flops were bright lime green, a color Tilda had never cared for but the young folks seemed crazy about nowadays. There were tiny bright pink daisies imprinted all along the thongs, and bigger bright pink daisies on the flat part that stuck close to the sole of the foot! Tilda didn’t know why anybody needed such fancy decorations where nobody would see it, anyway. However, she managed to listen politely to the rambling explanation.
“These shoes are my favorite color,” Addie continued, flexing her toes in the warm sunshine as she admired the flip flops. “And I can wear them with anything! Jeans, shorts, a casual dress. And Pearce Allen is fun, and comfortable, like my favorite shoes. But there’s another pair of shoes in my closet, a pair of strappy high heels. Red! Only to be worn on very special occasions. And they make me feel like something special!”
“And Dane makes you feel pretty special, too, I guess.” Tilda MacArdan sounded dejected. “Well, I can understand that well enough, I reckon. You’re still a young woman, and young folks have different ideas of romance and love and being sweet on each other. Now folks my age, well, we tend to prefer our comfortable shoes! Always warm and soft, always there for us when we need them.” She smiled and leaned over to pat Addie’s shoulder. “You go on and have your whirlwind romance, but be careful, child. A man like that Dane Donovan, turning up out of the blue and coming from who knows where, well, you can’t be too careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Addie said politely. She felt relieved that Tilda seemed to be taking it so well . . . considering.
Tilda asked with bright cheerfulness, “Finished with your tea? Want some more? I’ll take these indoors now so you can get back work.”
Addie quickly swallowed the last sip of sweet tea, handed the empty glass to Tilda, and said, “Oh, I almost forgot! Hannah stopped by this morning right after you left. She said that Mr. McGrady is about the same, and that if you want to pay him a visit this afternoon to come on. Said she will be there later today and if he’s awake she knows he would love to see Ms. Tilda.”
“Well thank you, Addie, I believe I will. Ever met Mr. Lachlan McGrady? Most people just call him Lach and he is a catbird!”
Addie laughed. “I take it that means he’s a real character!”
“That he is,” Tilda MacArdan stated firmly. “Has some odd ways about him, and that’s a fact.”
“For example?”
“Well, for one thing, the terms of his will. It’s been said that the only way anybody will inherit all that money is if both twins are still living, because they have to inherit it together! That’s if Sarah, the mama, has passed on and can’t inherit.”
“So no one knows what became of her after she left Sparrow Falls?” Addie inquired curiously.
Tilda shook her head. “No, as far as anybody can tell, she disappeared off the face of the earth and took the twins with her. A sad story, really. Bad blood between the daughter and that stubborn old Lach McGrady! It’s a shame when that happens to families. I feel right sorry for Mr. McGrady sometimes. He’s been all alone ever since Sarah left, except for Hannah and Mr. Frederick.”
“Good and faithful servants?” Addie asked.
“Yes, that’s a perfect description of those two. Been with the McGrady family as long as I can remember. Mr. Frederick is the family lawyer, not a servant, although that cantankerous old man treats him like one at times! Hannah, bless her heart, is as good as gold.” Tilda laughed. “Addie, you are about to meet someone you will never forget!”
THREE
The little blue convertible turned off the narrow road and swung deftly into the long, winding driveway. Addie slowed it down a bit so that the two ladies could enjoy the stately view of the beautiful old home as they approached an antebellum mansion straight out of the olden days. Tall white columns rose up three stories high along the front of the house, and long windows with black shutters beckoned graciously to visitors. The driveway was edged by tall pines on both sides, all the way up to the manicured lawn that fronted the mansion.
“This place is gorgeous!” Addie gasped. “I thought you said Mr. McGrady was a miser from a long line of misers!” She parked the car and they got out, and strolled toward the house.
Tilda laughed. “Well, they are right stingy. The first McGrady, his name was Donal McGrady, who built this place, had a wife from up north. It’s said that’s where a lot of their money came from to begin with. She had some citified ways about her, and she insisted on a purty house where they could have visitors and live the gracious life, I guess. She got her way, too!”
“Looks like it,” Addie commented. They were now approaching the long porch, where big cement vases were filled with newly green plants, not yet in bloom. A stone lion held court on either side of the tall wooden double door. “Wonder if the doors to these old houses were so wide because of the ladies’ hoop skirts?”
“Yes, I would say that’s a purty good assumption!” Tilda agreed. “Can’t imagine wearing something like that day in and day out, myself.”
“Me, neither. I like blue jeans!”
The door was opened to the visitors as soon as they rang the bell. Hannah Smith beamed at the ladies. She was a late middle-aged, slightly plump woman with short gray hair and a warm smile.
“Ms. Tilda! I’m so glad you came! And Addie McRae, so nice of you to come along. Mr. McGrady will be thrilled to have two nice ladies visiting.”
“Is he doing all right today?” Tilda asked. There was genuine concern in her voice.
“Not so good. About what we can expect at this point.” Sadness briefly crossed the housekeeper’s countenance, but she tried to cover it with a smile.
“Bless his heart,” Tilda murmured. “We will only stay a minute. Just long enough to say hello.”
Hannah led them up a long flight of worn wooden steps. The spindles of the banister were intricately turned. All along the walls of the staircase were fading portraits of men and women, many generations of McGradys who had lived in the house and traveled that same staircase countless times before them. There was a faint odor of mustiness befitting a house nearly two centuries old, but Addie was impressed with the spotless cleanliness, and noticed not a speck of dust anywhere, a testament to Hannah’s efficiency and dedication.
They paused outside a door in a long, dimly lit hall. Hannah whispered, “I believe Mr. Frederick, the lawyer, may still be with Mr. McGrady.” She bent her head to listen.
Addie and Tilda looked at each other, surprised. They were both thinking the same thing – of a housekeeper listening at doors!
“Nothing.” Hannah grasped the doorknob, knocked lightly, and opened the door.
A tall, elegantly dressed man was standing a few inches away, just inside the room. He looked very surprised to see three women staring at him from the hall.
“Oh! Mr. Frederick! I’m so sorry. I thought you had already left,” the housekeeper gushed awkwardly.
“That’s quite all right, Hannah. I just finished getting a few signatures and was about to leave.” The elderly man with the calming, confident manner instantly put everyone at ease. He extended his hand and grasped the spry senior lady’s hand warmly. “How are you, Ms. Tilda? So nice to see you. It has been awhile.”
“Yes, it’s been a long time, Mr. Frederick. How are you?”
“Well, it’s a sad time right now, Ms. Tilda. Sad, indeed; but I am doing just fine, under the circumstances, thank you. And who is this young lady?” He turned to Addie with a kindly smile as polite introductions were made.
Hannah asked, “Is Mr. McGrady awake? He’s not too tired for company now that you’ve finished working, is he? I know he specially asked me to fetch Ms. Tilda for him.”
“No, no, Mr. McGrady is doing well today. Th
is would be a good time to visit.” He stood aside to allow the ladies to pass. “There may not be many other chances, I’m afraid,” he said sadly.
Hannah tiptoed through the sitting room. Addie and Tilda paused to wait for the lady to check on her employer. Large overstuffed and very old-fashioned chairs were carelessly arranged around an empty fireplace. A built-in bookcase covered one wall, laden down with numerous books that had tooled, leather bindings. Heavy velvet curtains hung at the windows, but they had been drawn aside to allow the southern sunshine to brighten the gloom, although the windows remained shut against the early spring air.
The housekeeper opened the bedroom door and peeped inside. A hoarse voice spoke from within:
“What you want, Hannah?”
A muffled response by Hannah.
The hoarse voice sounded more cheerful this time. “Yes, ma’am, I want to see Ms. Tilda! And the new one in town, too.”
The spry lady laughed, her eyes twinkling. Hannah held the door open and motioned the visitors ahead.
Lach McGrady was a tiny, withered old man who exuded a powerful presence even from among the pillows and blankets of his vast bed. His dark brown eyes were clouded by cataracts, but they held a shrewd expression. Although obviously ill and not long for this world, Addie sensed that his mind was as quick and formidable as it had ever been.
“This here’s Addie McRae, Lach. She wanted to come along for a visit. You remember the McRaes, don’t you?”
“Nice to meet you,” Addie said politely.
The old man squinted and tried to focus his gaze on Addie’s face. “You are right young, at that. Can’t see too well but I can hear it in your voice. I spy a bit of red hair like your Grandma Ada. I can still detect a bit of old Doc McRae in you, too. Kin always tells. Hope you are as decent and honorable a lady as he was a gentleman.” He fixed her in a forceful stare, and she nearly withered under his gaze.
