by Donna McLean
The artist nodded gently. His robust voice softened as he replied, “Ah, my beautiful Ada. She was gentle and sweet. Very much a southern lady. Compassionate. Kind. Generous. Delicate, but with a kind of strength. A strength of character, that’s what some would call it. I would call it wisdom. Yes, a wise and gentle lady. I can tell that you are very much like her, not only in appearance but in personality as well.”
“Thank you,” Addie said warmly. “Thank you for giving me this impression of my grandmother.”
Van Devlin asked, “Where is the portrait? I haven’t seen it since—I haven’t seen it in years. Did you bring it with you?”
Pearce Allen saw his chance to break up the one on one conversation and spoke up in a loud tone of voice. “Miss Dowd has it. Said that Dr. McRae gave it to her before he moved away. He couldn’t bear to look at it. Too many sad memories, I guess,” he said pointedly. He studied the artist with a searching gaze.
The artist threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Dowd! Is that frumpy old spinster still alive? Bless her heart, she was devastated when Ada . . .” His voice faltered and grew serious. “When we lost Ada. And she adored Dr. McRae too. They were all very close.”
His mood changed to a downcast one and he heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes, I can understand why James would give away the portrait. The last time I saw Ada on a Summer’s Day was in the church, at the funeral. It stood on a golden easel right beside her as she lay there surrounded by wreaths of lilies and white roses. Do you know that the entire town of Sparrow Falls turned out to say goodbye to Ada? That’s how much people loved her. Every one of them loved her.” He bent his shaggy gray head as though trying to erase a tragic vision from his memory. “That terribly heartbreaking day. I’ll never forget that day, no matter how hard I try. And I have tried, again and again.”
Addie leaned forward and touched the old man’s trembling hands. Her demeanor was kind. “Will you tell me about it? Please? I want to know everything about my grandmother, even the sad things and the things that aren’t easy to remember. Granddad never talked about her, and my Dad never knew her. You see, I have nothing else from Ada, only the memories of others who did know her.”
Edgar Van Devlin covered his face with both hands, and suddenly seemed less the passionate Viking and merely a very lonesome and very old man. After a few minutes of silence he placed his hands in his lap and began to tell the story they had been waiting to hear.
“I met Ada when she contacted me about painting her portrait. It was to be an anniversary present for James, Dr. McRae, to hang in their new home in Sparrow Falls. We kept it a secret from everyone in order to surprise him.” Van Devlin stood up and walked across the room, gazing at a brightly colored impressionistic painting of vivid flowers encircled with a delicate pink hair ribbon. With one long finger he began to trace the painted ribbon gently as though reaching into the past and touching some distant precious memory. He continued to speak in a faraway voice as though he had forgotten they were there, as if he were dreaming out loud.
Addie listened, still as a painting herself, afraid that the slightest movement would break the spell of the artist’s story. Pearce Allen listened with a more practiced ear. He studied the story from every angle, investigating each inflection, searching for answers to the nagging questions that played through his mind.
“She came here and we did some preliminary sketches, discussed the style she wanted, things like that. I showed her my other works. Ada was pleased with my ideas. She had a great understanding of art. Color and depth, light and expression of mood, the skill of saying something significant without using any words at all.” He picked up a dry paintbrush and ran his thumb across the bristles. Little chips of paint floated down to the floor. “Just images made of tiny bits of colored paint, but expressing so much.”
Edgar Van Devlin sighed and shoved the paintbrush back into place. “Well, it didn’t take long for me to fall head over hills in love with her. I hoped she would feel the same way. But she loved James, only James, forever and ever. Those were her exact words to me,” he said with a twang of bitterness.
He turned and looked at Addie and Pearce Allen. A wry smile crossed his face. “I was foolish to try, but I did ask her, you see, to come away with me. I knew she never would do such a thing. She was a true lady in every sense of the word. A well bred southern lady who believed in old fashioned things like honor and decency. And she loved someone else, not me, loved him dearly.”
Pearce Allen spoke abruptly. “Were you jealous of Dr. McRae?”
The artist paused and studied Pearce Allen’s expression. “Jealous?” he repeated, his tone flat.
The young man nodded. “A person can be jealous of many things. Another artist’s talent, another man’s wife. Unrequited love can sometimes lead to tragedy.”
“Ah. I see. So that’s why you’re here.” Edgar Van Devlin turned his back to the curious pair who waited for his reply. Long moments passed in tense silence. When he turned to face them again his expression was sad. “Yes, I’ll admit that I was jealous. But I wanted her to be happy more than anything in this world. I had to face it. She never would have been happy with me. Her heart, her soul, her entire being would always be wrapped up in James McRae, no matter where she was.” His hand reached out and touched the windowpane, the palm flat and the long fingers spreading apart against the glass as though reaching for something intangible that could not be captured. He stared outside at the rolling green hills and bright blue sky dotted with soft white clouds floating by. “Her heart is reunited with his heart now, somewhere beyond life’s misty veil. She must be very happy there.”
He fell silent again and ignored the visitors, his shoulders drooping, his hand feeling only the coldness of glass.
Addie stood up, walked over to the artist, and gently touched his arm. “Thank you for telling me these things. I’m sorry it hurts you so. But you’ll never know how much it means to me.” Her voice was tender.
The old man gazed at her kind, pretty face and nodded. He patted her hand. “You come to visit me again, young lady. You will always be welcome here.” He shifted on one foot and tossed over his shoulder gruffly, “Oh, and your friend too.” His eyes didn’t quite match the friendliness of his words as he glared at Pearce Allen.
The young man grabbed Addie’s elbow and he sauntered to the door, dragging the young woman with him. Pearce Allen tossed a curt goodbye over his shoulder as they left the house.
At the bottom of the stone steps Addie jerked her arm free of the tight grasp and asked, “What’s your problem? He’s just a nice, lonely old man.” She hurried to keep up with the young man’s long strides as they walked toward the pickup truck at a fast clip.
Pearce Allen Simms opened the vehicle’s door for Addie, waited for her to sit down, slammed the door with force, and then slipped into the driver’s seat. He snapped the ignition and the engine hummed to life. The truck jolted forward when Pearce Allen shoved the gas pedal. He snapped, “Why would any woman in her right mind find that man attractive?”
“Any woman in her right mind wouldn’t mind it,” the young woman retorted.
“My professionalism as an editor compels me to correct the grammatical structure of your statement. I think you mean that no woman in her right mind would mind it.”
“You got that right,” Addie quipped.
Pearce Allen turned his head toward the driver’s side window so she wouldn’t see him grinning.
They rode in silence for a few miles and then Addie said thoughtfully, “You know, I believe Edgar may have been the mysterious stranger people saw the day of the town picnic. That’s probably how that rumor got started.”
She paused, gazing at the scenery passing outside the window, absentmindedly noticing that barely perceptible change that took place when the land transformed from low hills covered with thick green grass to the flat, sparse blades of green struggling to poke their way through fine white sand and brown pine needles. She spotted a rectangu
lar mile marker that proclaimed the town of Sparrow Falls to be fifteen miles ahead. After they sped past it she remarked, “And I also think we can safely cross ‘jealous lover’ off our list of motives and suspects.”
“I’m not so sure of that.” The terse tone was back. Irritation edged Pearce Allen’s ordinarily easygoing demeanor.
She cast a sideways glance at the young man’s chiseled profile. His eyes were set firmly upon the road ahead. The jaw line was stubborn.
Addie crossed her arms. “Edgar Van Devlin seemed absolutely smitten to me. I don’t believe someone who loves like that could ever hurt anyone. Especially not the woman he loved!”
“Oh, he could have done it, all right,” the young man replied with a touch of impatience in his voice. “Love, jealousy, wanting someone or something you can’t have. Those are all standard motives for crimes of passion. We all feel those kinds of emotions at some time or other.”
“But we don’t act on them. Just because he’s a passionate man and an artist, you think he could do something terrible like that! Lots of artists never kill anyone!” Addie spat back at him.
“I can’t believe you’re defending him! She was your own grandmother for gosh sakes!” Pearce Allen floored it and the car hopped forward, adding ten miles an hour to their speed.
“You’re crazy if you think he did it. Just plain crazy!” Addie turned to look out the side window and a freezing silence fell over the car. It remained until he pulled up in front of Tilda’s house twenty minutes later.
Addie reached around to unbuckle her seat belt and suddenly Pearce Allen’s hand was gripping hers, tightly. She looked up.
His eyes were bright like she’d never seen them before. He said urgently, “Look, Addie. All I’m saying is that you should play it safe. You never know what someone could do, anyone, if that someone were pushed far enough.”
His grip was strong. It tightened around her hand and made Addie wince. She jerked the hand free, jumped out of the car and ran up the steps to the front porch.
Pearce Allen sped off, tires squealing in the darkness. As she watched the red glow of the taillights succumbing to the dark night, Addie suddenly felt afraid.
twelve
Sunday morning proved to be beautiful. A soft breeze was blowing already so the day promised to be cooler than the one before, and the birds were singing in joyous bursts of song. Addie pulled the long blue and white wrap dress over her head, tied the belt into a stylish knot, and slipped into crisp white sandals. She checked her reflection in the antique mirrored dressing table and decided to add a necklace of colorful wooden beads strung on a long silver chain.
Addie McRae combed the loose strawberry blond curls once more and dabbed on a light shade of lipstick. She studied her reflection, wrinkling her nose, not very pleased with the final appearance but accepting that it would have to do for the moment. The blue wrap was the only dress she had packed for the trip, a last minute thought. She hadn’t planned on attending church while in Sparrow Falls but didn’t want to turn down Tilda’s friendly invitation. And, she thought, it would give her another opportunity to get to know the residents of the small town.
Puddin’ followed the young woman downstairs, as had become his usual custom since the houseguest’s arrival a week earlier, and he sat down at the front door obediently when the women started to leave.
“You be sweet, Puddin’, and we will be home real soon,” Tilda said cheerfully and scratched the little terrier’s head. He responded by wagging his tail.
Addie offered to drive the convertible and Tilda agreed on condition that the young woman keep the top up. “I don’t mind these fancy automobiles without ceilings,” Tilda said, “but I just had my hair done yesterday at the beauty parlor and I don’t want it getting all messed up on my way to church!”
The interior of Sparrow Falls Chapel was small but comfortable. All the walls and the ceiling were painted milky white and the floors were of smooth dark wood with dark red plush carpet softening the center aisle. Addie gazed at the simply arched gothic windows, the plain high beams of the ceiling and the rows of long wooden pine pews and thought that the chapel had probably looked exactly this way since being built over a century ago. She could easily imagine the female descendants of the Scottish settlers attending church every Sunday in long gowns and bonnets, many of the dresses trimmed in bright plaid patterns that reflected their Highland heritage, accompanied by gentlemen wearing suits or long coats with tails.
The service was simple but thought provoking, the pastor reading Scripture from a huge old Bible. He read aloud the prayer list of those who were sick or experiencing trying times carefully and with genuine concern, and Addie noticed that most of the names mentioned were Scottish. At the conclusion of the list Delcie Needles stood up and boomed in a loud voice, “I would like to remind the ladies of the church to meet here at four o’clock today for the visitation of the shut-ins.” It seemed less an invitation and more an order, but the pastor nodded his head, smiling, and then raised both arms as Morwenna Goss began to play the ancient piano. People stood in unison and the music of the old hymns filled the tiny sanctuary; voices joining together in songs so familiar that everyone seemed to know the words without consulting the worn hymnals.
Addie glanced all around as the people sang and realized that she had already met most of them. Delcie Needles, Magda Moseley and Peggy McAlister sat together on a pew at the very front of the church. Frank and Frances Dowd were present. Pearce Allen Simms sat toward the back. He caught her eye and nodded hello, smiling, but she looked away quickly. She noticed that he was sitting alone, although there were a few pretty young women scattered throughout the congregation. Addie wondered if golden boy had ever dated any of them, or all of them, she thought with a wry smile.
The songs drew to a close and the pastor dismissed the congregation. As people filed out of the little chapel, Delcie Needles, followed by her constant companions, hurried over to the two women and asked, “You are planning to go visiting with us today, aren’t you, Tilda?”
“Yes, yes, I am, Delcie. Don’t you worry about that!” The gossipy trio surrounded the little woman, everyone babbling at the same time, and Addie stepped back to allow them some room.
She felt a sudden tug at her elbow. Addie looked up into startlingly blue eyes. Golden boy was smiling at her.
“Are you free this afternoon, Addie?” he asked eagerly.
Tilda popped up from among the crowd of chattering females and said, “Oh, yes, she is! I won’t be home all afternoon and so you don’t want to stay there all by yourself, now do you, Addie?” She winked at the flustered young woman and disappeared back into the crowd.
Pearce Allen grinned. His hand was still clamped on Addie’s elbow and he guided her a few steps away from the exiting throng. “Good. I thought you might like to visit the homeplace. My Grandpa’s house.” He lowered his voice and said, “It will give us a chance to go over the secret files together.”
Addie hesitated at the thought of being alone with him again. She remembered the urgency of his voice and the warning he’d given her the last time she saw him, just after visiting Edgar Van Devlin. She remembered the tight grip on her hand and the strange look in his eyes, and it made her uneasy. But she also wanted to see what was in those files.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”
“How about two o’clock? Tilda can tell you where the old Simms place is.” He looked up and saw the lady herself approaching them cautiously as though not wanting to intrude. He called out, “Can’t you, Ms. MacArdan?”
She hurried toward them and asked, “Can’t I what?”
Pearce Allen explained that he wanted Addie to see the old Simms homeplace, and Tilda’s face lit up. “Oh, yes, I can show you just where that is, Addie, on the way back to the house. Or is Pearce Allen taking you out to lunch?” she inquired, her hazel green eyes large with innocence.
Addie said hurriedly
, “No, we’re getting together after lunch. So we’d better go to your house right now and eat. I’m getting so hungry!” She shot Tilda a pointed look.
Pearce Allen laughed and walked away, pausing long enough to cast a charming grin over his shoulder just before he turned the corner of the little chapel and disappeared from her sight.
An hour later Addie and Tilda finished eating a wonderfully light lunch of cold sandwiches and iced tea. Tilda picked up the plastic wrap and covered the platter of cold cuts. “Got to get these leftover sandwich fixings in the refrigerator just as fast as I can on a hot day like today.”
Addie remarked, “There was a nice breeze blowing this morning. I thought the day would be more comfortable and less humid than yesterday. Guess I was wrong about that!”
The women laughed. Tilda said, “You just never know what a day will be like, this time of year. The morning starts out good and ends up stormy. Sometimes it starts out with thunderstorms and ends up just as nice as nice can be! Summertime is a moody time of year and that’s a fact.”
Her houseguest sighed, and Tilda noticed the sudden dejected look that appeared on the young woman’s pretty face. “Something troubling you, dear?” she asked, her voice kind.
Addie hesitated. She balled up the paper napkin and tossed it into the wastebasket next to the back door of the kitchen. She picked up her empty iced tea glass and dumped the ice into the sink. Then she turned to Tilda and said, “You mentioned the word moody. It reminded me of Pearce Allen, that’s all.”
“Oh, Pearce Allen.” Tilda tilted her head and studied Addie curiously. “Why do you say that? He’s always seemed like such a nice young man to me. I wouldn’t call him moody.”
“He seems nice enough most of the time, sincerely nice. But every now and then his mood changes all of a sudden. He goes from being kind, and funny, and interesting—”
