Jane slid down in the seat. “This is terrible. How are we going to tell her it wasn’t Wendell?”
Alice sighed. “I’ll do it if you’ll put the car away.” She braked and put the car in park. Getting out, she walked across the lawn toward Louise while Jane came around to the driver’s side.
Alice could see the exact moment when her less-than-excited demeanor registered with Louise.
“Oh no.” Louise sank down onto the top step, uncharacteristically disregarding the possibility of getting dirt on her good skirt. “What happened? Is he dead?”
Alice was startled. “No, no, nothing like that. It wasn’t Wendell, after all.”
“But Aunt Ethel told me—”
“Yes. A man called and told us he’d found Wendell and taken him to the shelter. But when we got there, the cat was a female with two kittens. She did look like Wendell, but there is no way that man really thought he’d found our male cat. I suspect he was hoping I’d put the reward money in the mail before I ever went to the shelter.”
“What a miserable person,” Louise said indignantly. “How could anyone do that?”
Alice just shook her head and sighed. “We were so hopeful.”
The two of them sat on the steps until Jane came around the corner of the house.
“You heard,” she said unnecessarily to Louise.
Louise nodded. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, both of you.”
“If I ever meet that man—what was his name, anyway, Alice?” Jane asked ominously.
“I don’t remember.” Alice said a quick prayer that God would forgive her little white lie. But she didn’t think chasing down Trace Harnish and chewing him out would accomplish much. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“You’re right.” Louise rose from the step and brushed off her skirt. “We just have to accept the fact that Wendell’s gone.”
“I’m not accepting it yet,” Jane said vehemently. “He might still come home. The woman at the shelter said she’s heard of other animals finding their way home.”
Alice sighed. “I’m not going to put too much faith in that, Jane. Louise is right. We need to accept it. Wendell isn’t with us anymore.”
Jane had tears in her eyes as she regarded her sisters. “I’m not ready to accept it yet,” she said stubbornly. “He’s a smart cat. We might find him yet.” She started up the steps. “I need to return some telephone calls about reservations before lunch.”
Alice sighed as the screen door banged a little bit in Jane’s wake. “I wish I could turn back the clock, don’t you?”
Louise took a breath that sounded suspiciously like a stifled sob. “Oh, you have no idea how much I would love that.” Slowly, she turned to follow Jane inside. “Let’s have some lunch. After that, I’m going to the piano. I do have some practicing to do, and playing always soothes me when I’m upset.”
“I think I’ll walk to the library after we eat,” Alice said. “I have two books to return.” She followed Louise into the house. “Let’s try to get Jane to sit down with us for a few minutes.”
The walk that afternoon did Alice good. Although she still was sad, some of the anger and frustration from the recent experience faded with the exercise.
“Hello, Alice,” Nia Komonos said in a low voice as Alice entered the cool, hushed atmosphere of the library.
“Good afternoon, Nia.” Alice checked her watch. “I can’t believe it’s ten after two. Goodness, where did the day go?”
Nia laughed, her glossy dark hair shining as she moved her head. “I know that feeling. I’m usually so busy I’m astounded when I glance at my watch. Half the time I forget to eat lunch, and I carry home the one I packed in the morning and have it for dinner.”
Alice slid her books onto the counter. “I’m returning these.”
“Thank you. What would you like to read next? I just got several new bestsellers that are fabulous and I—”
“What on earth is that?”
Nia stopped talking as she glanced in the direction Alice was pointing. “Oh, that? I’m putting a new display in the case.”
“Yes, but—”
“I know, I know. Bigfoot is probably just a myth. But the whole idea is an excellent springboard for a display on fantastic creatures. I found a wonderful nonfiction children’s book about Bigfoot. And of course, there are all kinds of stories about Nessie, the Loch Ness monster. I have the DVD of Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer to go along with the Yeti references since the Abominable Snowman—a Yeti, by another name—chases Rudolph in the movie, and of course there are dozens of books about creatures like dragons and griffins and unicorns.” She drew in a breath and rushed on. “And this seemed the perfect opportunity to showcase C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia.”
Alice was still staring at the display case, which Nia had decorated with huge cardboard footprints; several enlarged illustrations of oversized, hairy creatures with long arms; and a huge banner asking, HAVE YOU SEEN BIGFOOT?
“You don’t really believe there’s a creature like that running around here, do you?”
Nia chuckled again, her dark eyes twinkling. “You never know. Oh, Alice, of course not,” she added when she saw Alice’s expression. “But it’s exactly the kind of excitement that brings people—young people, in particular—into the library to research things in the stacks and on the Internet. I have to take advantage of that.”
“That makes sense,” Alice said slowly. “I just feel that someone’s playing a great joke on us all. I mean, Ronald and I both saw that footprint and I swear it was far too large to be human. If that isn’t the work of a prankster, then what could it be?”
“Alice.” A masculine voice behind her called her name. “Hello. Are you walking back to the inn?” It was Maxwell, coming toward her with a computer case slung over one shoulder.
“Yes. I just returned some books,” Alice told him.
“Did you find your cat? Ethel told me you went to the humane society to pick him up this morning.”
Alice shook her head sadly, touched that he remembered to ask. “No. It wasn’t ours.” She almost smiled. “In fact, it was a mother with two kittens, although she did have coloring similar to Wendell’s.”
Maxwell’s eyes widened. “Even I wouldn’t have made that mistake,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s terrible,” Nia said. “How could the humane society confuse things like that?” She indicated the bulletin board behind the desk, where Alice had dropped off another one of Jane’s flyers. “This clearly says it is a male.”
“It wasn’t the humane society’s fault. We received a call from a man who wanted the reward. Either it was an honest mistake or he was hoping I’d give him the money before I saw the cat. Either way, the end result is the same. It wasn’t Wendell.”
“Oh, how disappointing.” Nia looked sympathetic. “But you keep thinking positively, Alice. Don’t give up yet.”
Alice nodded and said a polite good-bye, thinking that if one more person told her not to give up, she was going to bean them with the nearest object. Then she immediately felt mean-spirited. Here she was, attempting to be a Christian role model for Maxwell, and her own thoughts were far from Christian.
Lord, she thought, mold me, shape me, help me embody Your commandments and example.
Maxwell, walking at her side, said, “You’re very quiet, Alice. I’m sure that false alarm must have been a terrible blow.”
“It was,” Alice said quietly. “It was.” Then, making a conscious effort to shake off her morose mood, she said, “Louise told me she gave you a Bible and study aid. If you want to discuss anything, I’d be happy to do so.”
Maxwell smiled at her, and she was struck by how pleasant he looked. Usually, he gave the impression of being aloof. He was perfectly friendly and polite—really perfectly, she thought wryly—but he often seemed to be more of an observer than one truly engaged in a conversation.
“I started with the historical background,” h
e said. “There were selected Bible readings to accompany an encapsulated look at how the Bible came to be, and then it went on to the Old Testament. Thank goodness, all those begats were summarized.”
Alice laughed. “Thank goodness, indeed.”
“I like the way that study guide is organized, so I intend to keep working through it in the order the chapters are presented.”
“It’s a wonderful book,” she agreed. “It was one of Father’s favorites.” The moment she said it, she immediately thought of Wendell. He’d been one of Father’s favorites too. A lump rose to her throat and she let the topic slide.
They walked in companionable silence for a while. Then Maxwell said, “Hey,” as they walked along Chapel Road. “I know just the thing to make you feel better.”
“Oh?”
“June’s pie,” he said triumphantly.
She had to smile. “If anything can do it, June’s pie probably can. Have you been in yet today? What kinds has she made?”
He nodded. “I had lunch there. She’s got blackberry, blueberry, pumpkin and peach today. I had the blackberry.”
“Yum, peach pie. I haven’t had that in ages.”
“My treat,” he said instantly, stopping and pushing open the door of the Coffee Shop for her. “One piece of peach pie coming right up.”
They barely had taken seats in one of the booths when Florence Simpson came rushing over, her husband Ronald right behind her. “I have a proposition to put to you. And to your sisters. You, too, Maxwell, if you’re interested.”
Alice braced herself. With Florence, you never knew what was coming next. “A proposition?”
Ronald nodded. “Florence has decided that our community must confront this Bigfoot menace.”
“Confront?”
“Menace?”
Alice and Maxwell spoke in quick succession.
“Exactly.” Florence drew herself up importantly. “Ronald is going to lead expeditions into the wild to seek the creature.”
Alice wrinkled her brow, thinking the Simpsons had truly lost it. “What sort of expeditions?”
“Oh, just a few hikes,” Ronald said, “around Fairy Pond and the woods, places where an animal might have left signs of its presence.”
“Not just hikes,” Florence insisted. “These will be significant in that the participants will be evaluating any signs they find.”
“I see.” Alice found it hard to believe that Ronald and Florence had taken the Bigfoot sightings so seriously. “We intend to start tomorrow,” Ronald said. “Are either of you interested?”
“I work tomorrow,” Alice said with relief.
“I’m afraid I must continue working on my paper,” Maxwell said. “But perhaps another time. Thank you for asking me.”
“Anytime,” Ronald said jovially. “You’re starting to seem like one of the locals.”
“Thank you,” Maxwell said, and Alice was surprised to see his cheeks turn pink. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
“I’m not just saying it,” Ronald insisted. “You’re becoming a fixture here at the Coffee Shop.”
“That’s true.” The younger man smiled. “June’s pies are irresistible.”
“That’s what we all say.” Ronald grinned. “I’ll let you know if we do a second expedition.”
“All right.”
Alice gazed after Florence and Ronald as they pounced on another customer who had just stepped through the door. “Goodness!”
“They certainly seem to have swallowed the Bigfoot theory hook, line and sinker,” Maxwell said with a bemused smile.
Alice just nodded.
“I suppose I can understand how unsophisticated people might believe it, but I’m really surprised that both the librarian and the newspaper editor have bought into the Bigfoot theory,” Maxwell said.
“I wouldn’t say they’ve bought into it,” Alice defended Carlene and Nia. “It’s more that they saw an interesting angle to play up.”
“So you don’t think they believe there is such a creature?”
“I sincerely doubt it. However, you should ask each of them if you really want to know what they think.”
“I must do that. Ronald and Florence certainly seem convinced, don’t they?”
“Florence surely does,” Alice confirmed reluctantly.
“Perhaps I will go along on one of Ronald’s expeditions. Nothing like firsthand observation, you know.”
Chapter Ten
As soon as breakfast was over on Wednesday morning and the kitchen was restored to its usual spotless state, Jane put on her jean jacket and met Ethel and Clothilda in the hallway.
Ethel was wearing a springy pink jacket with a flowered skirt. Clothilda was wearing a navy skirt but also had on a pink jacket.
“Good morning,” said Jane. “Shall I change? I feel like a third wheel.”
Clothilda’s brow wrinkled. “A third wheel?”
Jane laughed. “I was teasing. It’s an expression that means I feel out of place beside you two.”
“Ah.” Clothilda looked down at herself and then over at Ethel. “Yes. We laugh when first we see each other.”
Ethel smiled. “It’s up to you, Jane. If you have a pink jacket, you may wish to join our pink club. We could start a whole new fashion.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stick with this. Are you ready?”
“Yes. I am excited to find my family tree.” Clothilda’s voice carried a lilt.
Jane found her thick German accent charming. Family was pronounced “fom-ee-lee.”
As she drove the familiar roads, Jane forced herself to stop thinking of Wendell. She passed the gas station from which the businessman had called that day and continued on to the center of the town, and although there was an ache in her heart, she smiled brightly when they arrived.
“Here we go,” she announced as Ethel and Clothilda climbed out of her car. Clothilda carried a large black leather handbag in which she had placed copies of all the family records she had brought along.
The Potterston Historical Society was housed in a beautiful Victorian building that once had been a private home. Like Grace Chapel Inn, it had been painted in period colors. The body of the house was soft, rosy beige. The trim and shutters were done in two complementary shades of green, a soft, blue-green mossy color and a deep forest green. The imposing front door was the same forest-green shade and bore a handsome brass knocker in the classical rope design popular in Victorian times.
Inside, a delightful hostess in period costume greeted them. Her day dress was a beige-and-blue plaid taffeta with a long-waisted, close-fitting bodice. It was long-sleeved and had the high neck that Victorian modesty had demanded. The skirt was split in the front to reveal underskirts of contrasting colors and was bustled up in the back and adorned with black and blue lace trim. A tidy line of brass buttons marched down the front. Her hair was pulled up into a complicated chignon. Looking closely, Jane was almost certain it was all the woman’s own hair. How long had it taken her to learn to create that hairdo? Jane couldn’t imagine successfully styling her own hair that way.
“Welcome to the Potterston Historical Society,” the woman said. “My name is Elizabeth. Would you like a tour?”
“Oh yes,” said Clothilda. “We have the questions about finding family, but first we would enjoy to see your beautiful home.”
“A short tour, perhaps, if you please,” Ethel said decisively.
“Gladly.” Elizabeth smiled. “It is not my home, or anyone’s, anymore. It belongs to everyone in Potterston. If you’ll follow me, I’ll point out a few things as we go. Please feel free to ask questions at any time.” Her long skirts rustled about her as she moved.
“The home is an example of Victorian architecture, built in 1871 by Edward Garling Potter, a member of one of the founding families of the town. It was owned by successive generations of the Potter family until 1979, when Miss Adelaide Potter passed away and bequeathed the home to the town with the stipulation that it house the hi
storical society, which at that time had no permanent headquarters. After careful research, colors very similar to the original were selected…” She went on to explain the home’s exterior before returning to the interior décor.
“All floors throughout the home are the original ones. In the foyer, front hallway, living room and dining room, the flooring is quarter-sawn Siberian oak, quite expensive in the Victorian era. The kitchen floor is composed of unglazed red quarry tiles laid in a staggered brickwork pattern. In Victorian times, the lovely patina on the tiles would have been created by hard-working servants frequently applying linseed oil and rubbing it in. Today,” she said with a wink, “we cheat a little and use modern floor products to produce the same look with far less investment of time.”
“I don’t blame you a bit,” Ethel said.
In the dining room, an ornate six-armed chandelier of brass had been converted to electricity from the original gas but retained its period ambience.
“Many of the furnishings came from the Potter family,” Elizabeth told them. “They are the Rococo Revival, or Louis XV style, which remained very popular in the United States until shortly after the turn of the century. Rococo Revival is a graceful style reminiscent of eighteenth-century France. In general, pieces are extremely ornate and intricate. Natural figures such as flowers, vines and fruits are carved into the wood and the style includes cabriole legs. Most pieces are constructed of rosewood and black walnut…”
The bedrooms were stunning, with pieces like a tiger-oak washstand in one, and in another, a beautiful double highboy chest with the two upper doors left ajar to display several ladies’ bonnets as they originally would have been stored.
The artist in Jane immediately took a flight of fantasy as she imagined what her own home would look like fully restored in a similar manner. She came back to earth, though, when Ethel cleared her throat and said, “We do have several questions for you but they pertain to genealogy rather than period homes. Not that this isn’t lovely,” she added hastily.
Elizabeth smiled graciously. “Let me take you to our office. All our genealogical information was catalogued electronically over the last four years by two college students with a grant from the National Genealogical Society. We also have access to the NGS Project Registry, which is composed of thousands of genealogical projects by researchers all over the country. It’s an extremely powerful tool that truly has transformed the way we conduct genealogical studies today.”
Talk of the Town Page 10
