An Unexpected Suitor (11 page)

“But if I hadn’t provoked you, you never would have been at the cabaret and none of this would have happened.”

“It was an accident. In fact I probably was at least partially to blame, not looking where I was going and…”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Take responsibility even when you are the victim?”

“I am hardly a victim, Harry. It was an accident. Please don’t concern yourself with…”

Harry grinned down at her. “Ah, yes, you’ve been warned not to take my concern seriously, I believe.”

So he had also heard that part. “Mrs. Gillenwater can be…” Nola searched for a suitable word while Harry leaped in with several suggestions.

“Overbearing? Autocratic? Domineering?”

Nola permitted a smile and she heard Ellie chuckle. “I was going to say ‘difficult.’ She can certainly make her opinions known but it is always done in the interest of maintaining decorum. She’s a pillar of the community and the church,” Nola reminded them both sternly. “And aside from all that she has been very good to my family and to me.”

“And she allows no room for alternative opinions or ideas,” Harry said. “Take faith, for example.”

“Surely you cannot question her devotion to the church,” Nola exclaimed.

Harry shrugged. “The way I see it the lessons in the Bible are all about love—loving your neighbor, loving people who are different, loving those less fortunate, less educated. Rose Gillenwater is certainly a pious woman, but she doesn’t strike me as a loving woman.”

And how do I strike you?

Nola suppressed that thought and instead said, “The Bible also suggests we not judge one another.”

Harry leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about when I wrote the play. God’s love is universal—it’s the very reason those who fall away always have the choice to return to God—but that all comes with responsibility.”

“You have this habit of changing subjects in the middle of a conversation, Harry. It can be most unsettling.”

“I am not changing the subject at all. Take you, for example. If I had known you then I might have been modeling the lead character on you. You take responsibility very seriously—some would say too seriously. You raise your siblings, you manage this business and Oliver says he can’t recall your ever missing a Sunday playing for services.”

“Honestly, Harry, you make me sound as regimented as some spinster schoolmarm.” Nola’s head was beginning to throb and she was having trouble concentrating. She reached for the glass of water on her nightstand.

Simultaneously Ellie and Harry rushed forward to get the
water for her, but Harry was closer. When he handed her the glass there was no choice but to brush his fingers with her own.

“I don’t think anything of the sort,” he said as he steadied the glass in her hand and then immediately stepped away, turning his back to give Ellie time to take the glass from her and then assist in rearranging the covers. “Look, I’m well aware that there are many people in this community who are less than thrilled to have the actors here. Some don’t even want me here, but this is my home, too, Nola, and I believe that what I am trying to do will not only enrich my life. It will enrich the lives of everyone who lives here.”

Nola opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She would not insult him with platitudes. “People don’t always care that much about money, Harry.”

“I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about progress, about change. It’s inevitable but it can be shaped to the best advantage of those it affects.”

“And yet people often struggle when things start to change too quickly,” she said.

“This isn’t just about changing old ways into new or bringing in more modern ideas,” he said. “It’s important that you understand that for me the theater is more than just a hobby or diversion, Nola.”

“Why?”

“Because live theater has the power to teach, to inspire, to provoke thought and action. It can change the way people decide to live their lives.”

“I suspect Nola is asking you why is it important that she specifically understand?” Ellie said, and it was clear from the curious expression in her eyes that she was also interested in that answer.

He glanced toward Ellie and then back at Nola. “I’m not
sure,” he muttered and Nola caught Ellie’s hint of a smile as she stood and put her mending aside.

“Well, the important thing for Nola at the moment is rest. Come along, Harry,” she ordered as she escorted him to the door.

“Of course,” Harry said, retrieving his hat from Nola’s dresser. “I’ll stop back tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

“I’d like that,” Nola replied and meant it.

Back in his office, Harry forced his attention to the pile of invoices and pending orders for supplies that were stacked in neat piles on his desk. Deliberately he set aside the most recent version of the script. He checked the charges from one vendor, then compared bids from three others, all the while forcing himself to concentrate against the memory of Nola’s wistful voice.

I’d like that.

“Hey, you there!”

Ian McAllister’s gruff voice interrupted Harry’s reverie. Harry stepped out onto his landing in time to see Ian chasing a gang of three older boys down the lane.

“Ian? Everything all right?”

Ian was breathing heavily as he gave up the chase. “Too much time on their hands,” he called up to Harry. “Used to be they’d just turn the rain barrel over or some such mischief at night. Now they’ve gotten brazen enough to pull that stuff in broad daylight.”

Harry went down to help Ian turn the barrel upright again and noticed a cracked pane in the rear window of Ian’s store. “They did this, as well?”

“Not sure. I found that a couple of days ago when I was opening up. Just haven’t had the time to get it fixed.”

“I’ll ask Jonah to stop by and replace the glass,” Harry offered. “Did you report the damage?”

Ian shrugged. “Yeah. I spoke to Officer Daniels and he said he’d step up night patrols, but I intend to make sure everything’s locked up tight and I’d suggest you do the same, Harry.”

As he returned to his office, Harry couldn’t help thinking that he was glad Nola was in the habit of locking up no matter what time of day it was.

T
here was one advantage to being forced to stay in bed. Nola had little to do but enjoy the view from her open window and think. The late June breeze stirred the lace curtains carrying the scent of roses and lavender her way. On the other hand, the open window also gave her access to the conversation of others who passed by on their way to the beach or to shop in town.

“We should go here for lunch one day,” a young female voice commented and Nola felt the usual glow of pride in her establishment.

“That place is for old people. My
grandmother
goes there,” the companion replied.

“Yeah,” a third voice chimed in. “We need a place where we can go with those Gillenwater boys we met on the beach yesterday.”

“My mother said I was to stay clear of those boys,” the first girl said.

“Parents always warn you to stay away from the interesting ones,” the first girl sighed. “If there were only something
to do—an ice cream parlor where we could go without having to make excuses,” she moaned as they moved on down the street and their voices faded into distant laughter.

Restless with the boredom of her confinement, Nola’s thoughts turned as always to business. The girls had a point. Although most of her patrons were summer visitors, she couldn’t help admitting that unless they came in with their parents or grandparents, she had seen almost no young people this season. Those who had come for lunch or tea had clearly been there under duress as their elders insisted on sharing the memories of their own youth.

Nola knew that word of mouth was everything for a business dependent on tourists. If the younger generation’s memory of Miss Nola’s was that they were forced to go there with their parents, then what did that bode for the future of her tearoom?

The girl had mentioned ice cream.

Somewhere in the attic was an old ice cream churn. Nola’s father had been famous for the strawberry ice cream he made each year for the church’s annual clambake. What if she could offer a monthly ice cream social? Perhaps on a Friday evening. In the garden. With paper lanterns strung among the trees. After a performance at the cabaret when the young people were on their way home. She closed her eyes and envisioned the scene—girls and boys in pastel clothing chatting together, sharing an ice cream soda, even falling in love.

Nola smiled. A boy and girl who met and fell in love in her garden would surely become customers for life, would surely tell others about the magical place where they had spent so many lovely summer evenings. She imagined a girl with hair braided to her waist sitting across from a tall broad-shouldered young man. They were sharing an ice cream soda and he was laughing at
something she said. His face was in shadow but she knew that laugh.

Starbuck.

Nola’s eyes flew open. This daydreaming was a pure waste of time. Of course, he would come to mind. He’d been in and out of the place on a regular basis ever since her accident. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her robe at the same time.

“Judy?” she called as she stood and tied the robe tight around her. “Judy?” she called again above the clang of dishes being washed in the kitchen.

“Oh, bother,” she muttered and walked barefoot into the front foyer and through the closed and deserted tearoom into the kitchen.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Judy demanded. “And no shoes? You’ll catch your death on top of everything else.”

“Do you remember Papa’s ice cream churn?” Nola asked, ignoring Judy’s protests.

“I remember he had one,” Judy replied, momentarily taken aback by the turn in conversation.

“I wonder if it’s somewhere in the attic,” Nola mused as she moved toward the back stairway.

“Stop right there, Nola Burns,” Judy demanded. “If you are so intent on finding this ice cream churn I will send Jasper or Billy to look for it tomorrow after they get through with their play practice. Now you just get yourself back to bed while I finish closing up here. I made you some nice chicken soup for your supper and…”

“I have a new idea,” Nola said as she started gathering a bowl and spoon as well as a plate and knife and setting a place at the kitchen table. She glanced over at Judy, who was
observing all of this with her hands planted disapprovingly on her hips. “I’m fine,” she assured her.

Judy rolled her eyes and relieved Nola of the bowl as she slid the cover off the simmering soup. “Sit,” she ordered.

While Judy served up soup and cheese and a slice of her crusty wheat bread, Nola told her about the overheard conversation and her idea to expand the tearoom services to include an ice cream parlor. The more doubtful Judy looked, the more entrenched in the idea Nola became. She was well used to people telling her she couldn’t do something. It had the effect of only making her more determined to prove herself.

“Nola?” Judy placed the back of her hand to Nola’s forehead. “You all right?”

“Of course.” Nola shook herself free of her revelry and expanded on her idea for adding an ice cream parlor to the tearoom.

“What is this really about, child?” Judy asked.

Surprised at Judy’s weary tone, Nola gave the older woman her full attention. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“I mean, look around you. It’s you and me, my girl. Cooking, cleaning, serving—and you want to start an ice cream parlor on top of that?”

“Ellie and the others are still helping.”

“And look at them. They run to rehearsal then come here then back to rehearsal. When do they sleep? They can’t keep that up, Nola.”

“I know,” Nola admitted. “But…”

“If you ask me—and I know you didn’t—you need to stop trying to put one over on Harry Starbuck and maybe think about what he offered you that first day he stepped onto the porch here.”

“And what is that?”

“A way off this island. I’ll admit I never would have
thought he’d be the one to bring you that. That boy was always going against the grain, always testing the waters and stirring things up.”

“Harry has nothing to do with this.”

“Harry has everything to do with it.” Judy reached across the wooden table, warped by decades of rolling out dough and kneading bread, and patted Nola’s hand. “You don’t have to keep fighting, Nola. You did what you promised your mother you would do. You kept the family together. You made sure they were all educated and set out on paths of their own choosing. You paid the bills and kept this house in the family.”

“And now,” Nola protested, “I am simply suggesting a way we can sustain the good life we’ve built. After all, one must keep up with the times and for young people in this day and age a tearoom is simply not fashionable.”

“Don’t you want something more? You are twenty-seven years old, Nola. Isn’t it time you went out into the world and found out if Nantucket is truly where you want to spend your whole life before you just give yourself over to it?”

Nola leaned back and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. “This island is my home,” she grumbled. “Besides, if this life is good enough for Rachel Williams, surely—”

“Rachel Williams knew exactly what she was choosing. You don’t,” Judy replied bluntly. “Oddly enough it’s her cousin who’s giving you the possibility to see for yourself if indeed you’re like Rachel.”

“Harry is interested in one thing—getting his hands on this property so he can…” She swallowed. “So he can turn it into some monstrous opulent palace for his rich friends and make even more money than he already has.”

Judy got up and began clearing the table. “You don’t believe that—and neither do I. Seems to me that you’re being as childish about this as Harry is. The two of you are
like kids in the schoolyard, each determined to show up the other. Well, this isn’t a game, Nola. This is life—your life. I don’t think God intends for you to keep wasting that precious gift by trying to beat Harry at his own game. Now eat your supper and get yourself back to bed and I’ll have Jasper or Billy check on that ice cream churn tomorrow.”

Chastened by Judy’s outburst, Nola ate her supper and watched the woman who had been like a mother to her move around the kitchen. She couldn’t help noticing how from time to time the older woman grimaced as she reached to replace a dish on a high shelf or hoisted a heavy water-filled pan onto the sink counter to soak. It was true, then. In her zeal to avoid change, Nola had failed to consider the effect her stubbornness might have on Judy. What would she do when Judy could no longer bake and cook? When Nola herself could no longer keep up with the large house? Why had it never occurred to her that Judy and Jonah might be ready to take some time to themselves without having to work?

She wasn’t even aware of the tears that were staining the satin lapels of her robe until Judy paused on her way out to the sideboard in the tearoom, her hands filled with clean cups.

“Oh, honey,” Judy said softly as she set down the cups and pulled Nola to a standing position and embraced her. “If you want to make ice cream, then order the berries and I’ll search the files for your father’s recipe.”

“This is all I know, Judy,” Nola blubbered against the older woman’s soft shoulder. “Losing this place would be like losing a part of myself.”

Judy rubbed her back and held her close. “You can’t lose what you never had time to look for, darling girl. That’s all I’m saying.”

On the Sunday before the church’s annual clambake, Nola was back in church, but she left so quickly Harry didn’t have a chance to talk to her.

“One can only hope that the blow she suffered has brought her to her senses,” Harry heard one choir member whisper as she watched Nola say her goodbye to the minister and hurry off.

“Well, I do think it was nice of Mr. Starbuck to allow his actors to help out while she was convalescing,” the woman’s husband replied.

“Still, the sooner she cuts those ties, the better. After all, she has to live here long after those people pack up and leave.”

The woman had a point. Harry could not deny the improvement in attitude he’d seen toward Nola once he decided to move the actors to the cottages and hold rehearsals at the hotel. And maybe this woman was right. Now that Nola was up and around again, maybe it was time to cut those ties. Since he was still in the habit of dropping by the tearoom daily to check on her progress, he decided that he would have to stop that, as well. He would call on Nola later in the afternoon just to be sure she was truly recovered and if so, then he would end it.

While he was at it, he could return a sheet of music that had fallen from her loose-leaf binder at services. He’d seen the page drift to the floor and realized that in her haste to leave, Nola had failed to notice the loss. Of course, he could have given it to someone else to take to her. He could have let it lie. But instead he retrieved the music, folded it neatly and placed it in his pocket.

At his cottage, he prepared himself a cold lunch of leftovers from his supper the night before at the hotel and
carried the plate out to the side yard. Sitting at the rustic table he’d inherited from the former owner, he ate without really appreciating the food or his surroundings. He pulled out the paper and pressed out the folds with his palm. As he chewed on his lunch, he mentally played out the notes, beating out the time with his hand.

A fugue, vaguely familiar and yet different. He hummed aloud, following the rhythm on the page. And then he smiled. Nola Burns was trying her hand at composing. He was certain of it and if these few lines were any indication, she was quite good at it. And then in light pencil at the top right corner of the page he saw two words that had been erased.
Simple Faith.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured as he left the remains of his lunch for the birds and headed back down the lane toward town. “So, you’ve had some thoughts about my operetta after all, Nola Burns.”

The tearoom was closed and yet the place seemed alive with distant chatter—even laughter—accompanied by a percussion that sounded like someone grinding rocks. Harry followed the sounds around to the side porch and saw Nola sitting in a wicker chair under an arbor of roses, her face alight with laughter. In front of her, Jasper sat on the ground arduously turning the handle of an old-fashioned ice cream churn while Billy fed the thing chunks of ice. At a side table Ellie and the Kowalski sisters were surrounded by full bowls of capped strawberries. Olga observed the activity with her usual expression of disdain.

Billy spotted Harry first. “Come on, boss, give it a turn,” he called. “Our arms are about to give out.”

Harry liked Billy Andrews. He was a talented actor without the usual insecurities that caused other performers
to fall back on haughtiness as protection against the outside world. His love for the theater matched Harry’s own and the truth was that Harry was keeping Billy in mind for the role of leading man if his operetta ever made it to Broadway.

Harry strolled the rest of the way down the side porch, removing his jacket and tossing it onto one of the rocking chairs. He rolled back his sleeves as he approached the churn. He could feel Nola watching him closely but he did not meet her gaze. “Looks like hard work to me,” he commented.

“Yeah,” Billy replied, “but the pay is great. Fresh strawberry ice cream on top of Mrs. Lang’s lemon pound cake capped off by whipped cream.”