Ed nodded, sharing her concern. He, too, loved Stone Brook. In years past, it had always been their own little Shangri La, reminiscent of the fictional peaceful valley in James Hilton’s novel, Lost Horizon. But that was then; this was now.
As they passed the old Mason cabin, Claire’s mood changed to sadness and anxiety. She remembered it as a welcoming landmark at the edge of her grandfather’s property. Now it was a run-down, dilapidated hovel, bearing no resemblance to the neat little cabin she’d known as a child.
Claire had never known the Mason sisters personally; she was born after their deaths, Ruth preceding Olive by several months, but she’d heard they were good neighbors and her great grandparents had loved them. In fact, she still had a few of the embroidered doilies the spinsters made for her great-grandmother. Despite their age and physical limitations, the elderly sisters kept the cabin and yard tidy, she’d been told. In the summer there were lots of flowers, a small patch of lawn and a garden of fresh vegetables, which they shared with their Endicott neighbors. And there was a large apple tree down by the well, laden with sweet, tart Jonathans, which “made the best pies,” Nanna Endicott told her.
But there were no flowers now, no vegetable garden, and an old tire hung from the gnarled apple tree by the abandoned well. Nor was there a blade of grass in the front yard. Instead it was now a rutted dirt parking area for a dingy red pick-up truck and a beat-up motorcycle.
The cabin had been abandoned for many years after the sisters died when a long-lost cousin returned from the war in 1947 and laid claim to the property. But he didn’t have the means nor the interest to restore and maintain it, and it continued its downward spiral. Now it was an ugly eye-sore occupied by the cousin’s daughter, Edna Hayes, a divorcee who moved into the cabin twelve years earlier with two small boys and a little girl named Melanie. The boys, Albert, now age nineteen, and Raymond, seventeen, were rebellious, foul-mouthed punks involved with drugs and petty thefts to support their habit. They had been arrested and served a short time in juvenile detention, but were back at the cabin and still getting into trouble. Although she’d never met anyone in the family, Claire, like many concerned villagers, worried about the little girl growing up in such a bad home environment.
But today 15-year-old Melanie wasn’t Claire’s only concern. Last April when she and Ed came up to open the Lodge for the summer; they were alarmed by what greeted them. Ed had considered installing a motorized gate that could be activated from the house or car, but since it was not their permanent residence, he decided against it. Instead, he bought a heavy padlock that operated manually, and all family members and a few trusted friends were given keys.
Although the gate was closed on that spring visit, the lock had been sawed off, indicating that intruders had been on the property. Ed felt the house had been ransacked and prepared himself for the worse. But nothing seemed to be disturbed, except in the kitchen where cabinet doors were left open and some of the dinnerware was missing.
When they reported the burglary to Sheriff Jack Redmond, Claire had described the set in detail.
“It was an English country-style bone china by Mikasa, all white with an embossed fruit design,” she said. “I ordered it from a catalog. It was exactly what I wanted, because it could be used for both casual and formal dining. I bought service for sixteen but, as you can see, there’s not that many pieces left. Good thing I still have the packing slip, which I kept to replace anything that might get broken.”
Sheriff Redmond was very familiar with the missing dinnerware. He and his wife, Sandy, had been guests at the Lodge several times for dinner. The handsome, six-foot, four-inch, no-nonsense lawman completed his notes and left. He went directly to the run-down cabin to interview the teenagers, but their mother said they were not at home. As he stood in the mudroom doorway talking to her, he looked into the kitchen and noticed the white plates drying in a strainer in the sink.
Sheriff Redmond returned several hours later when he felt the family would be having supper, and confronted the teenagers about the burglary. At first they denied it. But when he asked about the white china being used at their meal, they stuttered and, red-faced with guilt, finally admitted their involvement, naming another accomplice, Herbie Grogan. All three were arrested and taken to jail. Their trial date was scheduled for November 10. It concerned both Ed and Claire that now, five months after the incident, the boys were out on bond and no doubt, still causing trouble.
Claire’s somber mood lingered until they turned onto their drive with its beckoning Stone Brook sign and pulled up to the gate.
“I’ll get it,” offered Claire. Before Ed could stop her, she jumped out of the car, inserted the key into the lock and swung the ornamental gates aside to let the Lexus enter. When it was in, she retraced her steps, closed the gate, secured the padlock and returned the key to her handbag. Ed pulled the sleek sedan under the portico at the front entrance and pressed the button to open the trunk.
“Well, here we are, Sweetheart, another beautiful weekend ahead of us.” Leaning over, he brushed a quick kiss on her cheek. Claire smiled in response.
“There’s more where that came from,” he winked with a wide grin, and Claire laughed. After forty years of marriage, she knew exactly what he meant. They both enjoyed their relationship which was strengthened by intimacy and mutual respect. Ed often kidded her about being a lady in the parlor and a wench in the bedroom, but his words were meant for her alone, never, ever, anyone else. They knew and loved each other and valued their close marital bond. They would enjoy their time together before joining friends for the weekend, Claire at Stone Brook and Ed at Jack O’ Lantern.
After unpacking and putting things away, Claire heated two bowls of leftover vegetable soup she brought for their lunch, along with apple cobbler she’d made on Tuesday. Then she found work to do in the house while Ed checked the grounds to spruce things up for the weekend. Several small birch limbs had blown down in the back yard since their last visit, which Ed decided to cut up for firewood. As he walked to the shed, he looked across the lawn and decided it could use a final mowing.
Meanwhile, Claire was upstairs checking the bedrooms and baths. She made a mental note to pick fresh mums from the garden on Friday morning to brighten the guest rooms. As she opened the French patio doors onto the terrace to air the rooms, she was surprised to see Ed driving the lawnmower out of the shed since they employed landscaping services at both the Lodge and their home on the North Shore. She smiled to herself, knowing that he’d enjoy himself riding around the grounds on the lawnmower, if only to show her he could do it. But she knew he could. His years running the Boston Marathon and playing golf had kept him trim and in good health.
That night for dinner they drove over to Easton Valley and dined alone at the Franconia Inn. During their marriage, they had eaten in many of the world’s finest restaurants, but at this juncture in their lives they were winding down and opted for a relaxing ambiance and good food. Franconia Inn was just that. The owner/chef was Greek and the lovely colonial-style country inn was known for its international cuisine and casual elegance.
This night the Bensons began their dinner with lobster bisque. Claire, being a vegetarian, chose the mango salad and baked plantain loaf and Ed ordered a Delmonico steak, rare. As they ate, their conversation was pleasant and light-hearted, which was the norm for the loving couple who were also very best friends. They would enjoy their delicious dinner, the comfortable setting and the beautiful classical music playing softly in the background because they enjoyed each other. Following dinner they sat in the rustic Rathskeller lounge, holding hands over an after-dinner drink. Theirs was a romantic marriage. Both knew the evening would end in each other’s arms, the perfect ending of a perfect day.
Chapter 9
On Thursday morning Claire woke early and crept quietly out of bed to avoid waking her sleeping husband. Wrapping herself in a white terry velour robe, she crossed the room and slipped through the French patio doors onto the terrace. The
mountains were shrouded in fog, providing an eerie, ghostly scene before her. Atop the 6,288-foot summit of Mt. Washington, overnight temperatures had dipped to 20. At daybreak conditions were cold, foggy and windy, weather Yankee old-timers described as “raw,” but by noon it would give way to a mild, sunny day.
In the valley the fog created a misty stillness and tranquility that touched Claire deeply. Alone in the unbroken silence, she whispered a heartfelt morning prayer. Prayer to Claire was very meaningful. Hers was a very personal relationship with God, which began as a child of five, although she didn’t realize it at the time. Years later she would remember the first time she walked into the sanctuary of Boston’s Old North Church with her parents and was awed by the beauty of the huge mahogany organ, the polished brass chandelier, and the white box pews. And something else she couldn’t define, not at age five.
During childhood she studied Bible stories in Sunday school at Old North and was confirmed into the Anglican Communion at thirteen. But, to the young rich girl who lived in the land of plenty, surrounded by people who loved her, they were just stories of people who lived long ago in far-off lands and rode on camels. There was no personal connection to the ancient foreigners she read about; the stories were just history lessons. An attentive student, she learned about an invisible God who lived in heaven and His Son, Baby Jesus, who was born to a virgin, whatever that meant. She knew He grew up to be her Lord and Savior and died on a cross to take away her sins and everyone else’s.
Claire could not honestly say exactly when she started to feel differently about these stories and their relationship to her personal religious faith. It was sometime in her early twenties that she began to understand intellectually what she had been experiencing spiritually since that long-ago Sunday morning in the Old North sanctuary when she came away awed by a childish wonder she didn’t understand but surely felt. She now understood certain things that had mystified her, such as the still, small inner voice that had been comforting and guiding her all these years.
At the time of her spiritual awakening, Claire sought answers. She believed in the God she and her family had been worshiping all her life, but she wanted to know more about her Christian faith. She began a serious study of the Bible, especially the New Testament. She had learned about Jesus in Sunday school, but she wanted to know more about the Apostle Paul. Exactly what happened to him on the road to Damascus that changed his life so dramatically? How did he learn so much about the teachings of Jesus after His death that he could articulate them so forcefully they would be adopted as sound doctrines of the budding Christian Church, and henceforth for two thousand years? Did he also hear the still, small voice that she heard from deep within her psyche? She remembered that Jesus had promised his disciples when he left them, that he would send a comforter who would “teach them all things.” During her studies, she found it exhilarating to realize that the God of those Ancients was the same spiritual nuance that was, and always had been, her constant companion. It was a bond that influenced and enriched her life as she grew into a woman of integrity, strength and compassion.
There was never a time when this Boston Brahmin to the manor born took her privileged life for granted. Now, as she stood alone on the terrace of her ancestral mountain home in the morning mist, she whispered a prayer of gratitude for all that that life meant to her. She reflected on her parents and family, the opportunities and luxuries that were hers from birth, the many loving friends she’d had throughout the years, and perhaps most important of all, her life-long good health, which gave enjoyment to everything else.
Deep in her private thoughts and reminiscence, she didn’t hear the door open and Ed approach her from behind. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled his unshaven face into her neck.
“It’ll burn off soon,” he predicted, referring to the heavy fog blanketing the mountains. They were both well aware of the region’s changeable weather and its infamous unpredictability, which prompted the well-worn quote by Mark Twain. “If you don’t like the weather in New England, wait a few minutes; it’ll change.” It was a legendary saying they’d heard all their lives. They were even guilty of saying it themselves on occasion.
“In fact, it should be a perfect weekend for golf and all the activities you have planned,” he told her.
Then, surveying the lawn below that he mowed yesterday, he squeezed her and teased, “Not bad if I say so myself.”
“Any soreness?”
“No, not at all. John Deere did all the work. I just went along for the ride.”
“Good, because there’s something I’d like you to do for me before the girls get here.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he asked, kissing her tenderly on her cheek.
With Ed’s arm still around her waist, they returned to the bedroom to shower and dress for the day. As they prepared breakfast together, Ed learned that the last item on his wife’s “honey, do” list that day was repairing a loose rung on one of the wicker chairs on the sun porch. It was an easy task that didn’t take him long to finish, after which they spent the rest of the day and evening relaxing and enjoying their time together.
There was no fog on the mountains Friday morning when they woke just before eight o’clock. Instead, bright sunlight splashed across their bedroom floor, bringing warmth and radiance into the room. Ed rolled over and planted a kiss on Claire’s forehead.
“Today is the start of a busy weekend for both of us, Sweetheart. Up and at ‘em.”
Tossing the covers aside, he jumped out of bed and headed for the shower. Claire stretched lazily and gazed out the patio doors at the sunlit mountains beyond. The Boston meteorologist had predicted perfect weekend weather throughout New England, which meant Ed and his friends could get in plenty of golf and Claire could enjoy shopping and sight-seeing with the girls.
After making the bed, Claire showered and pulled on a pair of dark brown boot-cut jeans and a tan monogrammed shirt. She then selected a floral cashmere cardigan from the top drawer of her dresser and joined Ed in the kitchen for breakfast.
After enjoying a breakfast of orange juice, western omelet, English muffins and coffee, Ed rose from his chair and put his dishes in the sink. Returning to the table, he bent down and kissed his wife on the lips.
“The car is packed. If there’s nothing else you need me to do, Hon, I’ll be off to meet the guys at the Jack O’ Lantern. Since your friends will be along shortly, I’ll close the gate but not lock it. In fact, I think it will be alright to just leave it closed and unlocked until you all leave for dinner.”
“Thanks, Dear. I’ll do that. No, there’s nothing else to be done before they arrive. I think I’ve got everything covered. Anne and Rosemary will be here in time for lunch and Meg will be along a little later. We’ll just relax and visit awhile, then catch the dinner train at five.”
Together they walked arm in arm to the front door. An embrace and another shared kiss. Claire watched as the Lexus backed out of the portico and Ed turned to wave goodbye. She then gathered her own dishes and washed both hers and Ed’s and placed them in the cabinet. The kitchen, like every other room in the large house, was warm and inviting, reflecting the tastes of several generations of Endicott women. Claire always felt comfortable entertaining at the Lodge, as had her mother and grandmother before her.
Picking up a copy of Yankee Magazine from the coffee table in the living room, she returned to the kitchen and made herself another cup of tea. She then sat at the table beside the large bay window, which gave her a clear view of the long tree-lined drive from the entrance gate. There she read about all things New England as she waited for her weekend guests.
Chapter 10
Anne was the first to arrive. Shortly before eleven o’clock, Claire glanced out the window and saw the white Mercury Sable making its way along the drive up to the portico. Putting the magazine down, she walked quickly to the foyer and stood in the doorway awaiting her friend.
As the attractive octogenarian cli
mbed out of her car, Claire greeted her with a warm embrace. Like Claire, she was smartly dressed in comfortable casual clothes. She wore stylish gray pants and a light blue pullover sweater, which highlighted her soft blue eyes. All the women were fashion conscious and, as they matured, kept up with changing trends in both clothes and hairstyles. They were contemporary women in every sense of the word. As the world changed, they changed with it: learning to use computers and cell phones with all the bells and whistles, keeping active, and caring for their health and appearance. In other words, enjoying life to the fullest. None had any desire for cosmetic surgery: face-lifts, tummy tucks and breast implants weren’t necessary for any of them.
“What you see is what you get,” Claire had laughed at her sixtieth birthday luncheon.
“And what you don’t see is better yet,” quipped Anne, sending gales of laughter through the Danversport Yacht Club dining room. Not only because of her witty comment, but because Anne, the oldest in the group, was a very refined prim and proper lady who, in Paul Newman’s words, “had no truck” for sexual innuendo or vulgarity of any kind. Those attending the luncheon that day would long remember the incident because the witticism was so out of character for the soft-spoken, gracious lady Anne was known to be.
“Welcome to the Lodge!” exclaimed Claire with enthusiasm and genuine sincerity. “I’m thrilled that you could come. I’ve wanted to get us all up here together for a long time, and now it’s happening. It’s going to be a perfect weekend — beautiful weather, gorgeous foliage, and my very best friends. I love it!”
As she helped Anne unload her things from her car, Claire beamed, “I can’t wait to dig into your chocolate raspberry trifle.”
Anne laughed, “I think the only reason you invited me was because you knew I’d bring it. It’s in the cooler in the trunk. I’ll get it.” She opened the trunk and took out a large white Styrofoam box.
The Mystery Trip Page 5
