An Unexpected Suitor (4 page)

She sounded the final chords of the prelude and then leaned back, stretching her shoulders and splaying her fingers as she lifted her arms high above her head.

“I never appreciated how gifted a musician you are,” Starbuck said.

Nola whipped around to find him sitting alone in the last pew, one long leg crossed over the other and his arms stretched along the back of the pew in a posture that seemed to announce ownership over his domain.

“Thank you,” she replied rigidly and scanned for some way to occupy herself as a means of escape. In her peripheral vision, she saw the long legs unfold, saw the polished shoes beneath the tailored black trousers move down the aisle, and felt her breath grow shallow.

“Seriously,” he continued as he propped one foot on the platform that held the organ and rested his elbow on his knee, “you should think of doing a concert—classical music.”

“I do not perform for profit,” Nola said and was surprised when instead of being rebuffed Starbuck leaned even closer and grinned.

“Who said anything about paying you?” Then he pushed himself upright and turned to join other members of the choir who were beginning to fill the pews across from the organ.

As she walked back to the tearoom after church, Nola was still trying to work through the range of emotions that had come with the morning’s service. It was not the sermon that had touched her. The truth was she had barely heard Reverend Diggs’s lesson for that day and during the closing prayer she had asked God’s forgiveness for her inattention.

No, her consternation came from the fact that in spite of her reservations about Harry Starbuck, she could not help but relish the experience they had just shared with the entire congregation. She had been thrilled by the silence that had filled the little chapel as his last note floated to the rafters and out the open windows. And yes, she took some pride in the way she had improvised the hymn to complement his voice and style.

She was humming softly to herself when Harrison Starbuck fell into step beside her.

“Lovely day,” he acknowledged as if they had been conversing already. “Weather like this will bring out the tourists earlier than usual.”

Ah, so he was taking a circuitous approach to bringing up the subject closest to his heart—the idea of buying her property. Well, he wasn’t fooling her.

“Yes. I’m looking forward to quite a profitable season,” she assured him. “I might even consider expanding the services of the tearoom.”

To her surprise he nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an idea,” he said almost absentmindedly.

They walked along in silence for several more steps and Nola was keenly aware of others taking note of Starbuck appearing to walk her home.

“Was there something you wanted?” she asked finally.

He glanced down at her as if he’d quite forgotten she was at his side. “Yes, as a matter of fact. May I come in for a bit, Nola?”

It was the last thing she had expected. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

“I’d like to ask a favor,” he added.

“As I have said repeatedly, my rooms are not available to rent to your actors and my home and tearoom are not for sale. Nothing is going to change that.”

He blinked down at her and then grinned. “I can see where you might think that’s what this is about, Nola, but actually it’s something altogether different.”

Nola could not help wondering if there might not be charm schools for men like Harry Starbuck. That smile, that twinkle in his eye, the dimples that punctuated each cheek. No wonder half the women in town were constantly on the lookout for him.

“So, please may I come inside?” he asked.

“I have another engagement.” It was only partially true, for Nola had no other plan than to make herself a cold lunch and eat it while she went over the latest batch of bills for the tearoom. She mounted the steps of her house and realized with relief that Starbuck was no longer with her.

“Pretty please?”

She turned and saw that he had swept off his hat, placed it over his heart and was on bended knee at the foot of the porch steps. Across the street two women from the church
had stopped, their gloved hands covering their mouths as they obviously placed their own interpretation on the scene playing out before them.

“Get up, Harry,” Nola ordered. “This is not one of your plays. People are staring.”

Starbuck got to his feet but he was grinning as he turned and bowed toward the women across the street. When he turned back to Nola, he gave her a boyish shrug. “Might as well let me speak my piece, Nola. That way you can put to rest the rumors that we’ve started.”

We’ve?
Nola was speechless. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she muttered.

“Never took credit for being one,” he agreed amicably as he mounted the steps and indicated one of the wicker rockers that lined the wide veranda. “Shall we sit out here or go inside?”

“You will state your business and be on your way,” Nola muttered as she plopped herself down in the first rocker, forcing him to take one that was hidden from the street by a trellis lush with rosebuds ready to burst into bloom.

“Well?” She sat on the edge of her seat, back ramrod straight, gloved hands folded on knees pressed together under the smooth challis of her skirt.

He lounged, one ankle crossed over his knee, straw hat pushed back to fully reveal his clean-shaven face. “You are a talented musician,” he began.

Nola sighed. “I told you I do not play except at church.”

He ignored this. “I was chatting with some folks after services and Oliver mentioned that you’ve done some composing.” When her eyebrows shot up in surprise, he added, “Oliver also said you had planned to attend the conservatory in Boston but then your father died.”

“There was a time when I had thought…” Nola stopped herself in midsentence, horrified at what she had almost revealed to this man.

“You had hoped for a career in music,” he guessed and leaned forward, elbows resting on knees as he searched for more. “You were going to but then your father…”

“My family’s history is none of your business,” she said tightly as she focused all of her attention on her clenched hands to avoid meeting his eyes.

“I remember now, Nola. Even after the whaling industry collapsed your father refused to give up. He made one last run but his ship was caught in a storm and all were lost at sea. That left your mother—and you—to manage the family. When she died you took over that parenting role even though your brothers were older by three years. You see? I know a great deal about you. Yes, now as I recall…” He frowned as if trying to retrieve a long-buried memory.

She looked up at him, curious in spite of herself. “What?”

“Well, it’s just coming back to me how your brothers were always at every school or church function. And your younger sister as well.”

Nola brushed the memory aside. “As was I. What’s your point?”

“They were there with the rest of us—the young people, the children. You were always with the adults.”

Nola fidgeted uncomfortably. “As usual you have moved us away from the topic at hand.”

Again he continued as if she had not spoken. “You gave up your dreams and ambitions for them.”

Someone had to take responsibility, she wanted to shout at him. What did he think? That it was easy? Keeping them all
together? Making sure there was some money coming in so the others could get through school and find lives of their own?

To her utter dismay, Nola felt the grief over her own lost youth that she had effectively stuffed inside for years threaten to explode.

“Nola?”

Starbuck leaned even closer, his hand hovering an inch from hers, his eyes watching her with concern.

“Please do not presume to understand anything about the choices I have made in my life. And now I must ask you to please leave,” Nola whispered.

He stood up but did not make a move to leave. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he said quietly. “Here’s what I came to say. You know the play I’m working on for the opening of the cabaret? Well, today during church it came to me that the message of the play would be more powerful if it were told in the form of an operetta. Time is short but I think if I set the lines to old classics—even some old hymns—it might just work, at least for the preview at the cabaret. Would you be willing to read over what I’ve written and see if you can perhaps suggest some classics that might work?”

She drew in a breath but said nothing. Did he truly think he could win her trust by asking her advice on his play?

“I’m not trying to pull anything over on you here, Nola, by flattering you. I was genuinely impressed with the way you adapted the accompaniment to fit my solo this morning. You have a natural gift—in the business we often refer to it as a natural ‘ear.’”

She soaked in his words, examining each for any hint of trickery.

He stood up and when she heard the creak of the top porch step, she risked looking at him. “Hey.” He half turned then added with that trademark boyish smile, “What could it hurt to have a look at it?”

Nola sat stone still.

“Okay,” he said, putting on his hat. “How about this? I’ll drop off a copy tomorrow. You take your time, but I’d be grateful for any thoughts you might have.”

And then he was gone.

T
ry as she might to make sense of the bills, the orders and how she could possibly stay open for business with no staff, Nola’s mind kept wandering back to the church service that morning and to Harry’s request that she take a look at his play. Under other circumstances she would have been flattered. But how could she possibly trust him? He had one agenda and that was to acquire her property. She had to keep her wits about her and realize that everything Starbuck did or said was somehow tied to business.

“Hello? Nola?”

Nola’s spirits lifted at the call of her friend, Rachel Williams. With everything else on her mind, she had forgotten that Rachel was stopping by. “In here,” she called as she hastily stacked the business papers and set them aside, realizing she’d been so disconcerted by Starbuck’s request that she’d left her front door wide open.

“More rain coming,” Rachel said as she entered the parlor and accepted Nola’s hug. “My hip is acting up again.” Using her cane she limped over to a chair.

“Have you had lunch?” Nola asked.

Rachel eyed the untouched tray on Nola’s desk. It had enough food on it to serve three people. “Perhaps I could just share yours?” Rachel suggested.

Nola laughed. “I’ll get an extra place setting. We can eat there by the fireplace. No need for you to move,” she assured her friend.

Rachel watched as Nola bustled about setting places, bringing the laden tray over so Rachel could make selections from its contents of small sandwiches, sweetbreads, fruits and cheeses. After Nola had poured glasses of iced tea for each of them she hovered, trying to decide if there was anything else she could do to make her guest welcome.

“Stop fussing about, Nola, and sit,” Rachel said as she spread a linen napkin over her knees and reached for a cube of cheese. “Now tell me what the trouble is.” Nola started to protest but Rachel held up one finger. “A woman does not prepare mounds of food for herself if there isn’t something troubling her. It’s that cousin of mine, isn’t it?”

“No. Yes. Not really. Actually he has the perfect solution to my troubles. He is willing to buy me out.”

“So I heard. Ridiculous idea. The man has his finger in far too many pies if you ask me. Of course, no one did, least of all him.” She studied Nola closely. “You aren’t seriously thinking of selling to him, are you?”

“I don’t want to—I don’t want to sell at all. I mean, what on earth would I do?”

“You could travel?”

“I suppose,” Nola replied without much conviction.

“But the truth is this is your home—not just the building itself, but ’Sconset. So don’t sell.”

“If only it were that simple. You must have heard by now that I’m short staffed?”

Rachel nodded.

“Well, even with business being as slow as it is now, Judy Lang and I can’t manage alone. Anyone locally who might be available is already employed for the season.”

Rachel popped a finger sandwich into her mouth and chewed it slowly. “John Humboldt and I shared a lovely dinner just the other evening,” she said.

Nola was used to Rachel’s flights of fancy that seemingly had little to do with the subject at hand. She knew that Rachel was mulling over an idea that she would share in time.

“Our server was a lovely young man—a musician. He and his young family rent one of the cottages here in ’Sconset.” She glanced at Nola.

Nola understood that there was a point to all of this, one she was not yet grasping. “That’s nice,” she ventured.

“How large is your summer staff, Nola? Normally, I mean.”

“Five or six people—two to help in the kitchen, two to serve and one or two to clear and set up the tables.”

“What a coincidence. I believe Harrison mentioned he was hiring an additional six performers to complement the talent already in residence for the opening of the cabaret.”

“He didn’t mention a specific number when he inquired about renting my upstairs rooms for his group but yes, I believe that Jonah mentioned there were six.”

Rachel grinned. “Then it’s perfect. His performers stay here and work in the tearoom for the interim.”

“That’s not possible, Rachel. People of the theater? I’m already losing local business. If I actually employ actors? And that doesn’t even begin to address the eyebrows that would be raised if I were to house them as well.”

“Yes, you have a point. On the other hand, it is my understanding that people of the theater are quite used to supplementing their spotty incomes by waiting tables or performing kitchen duty, and it isn’t as if it’s for the entire season.”

“Even so…”

“And it would give you the upper hand with Harry. He needs your rooms, Nola. Everything else is booked solid. You can set terms to suit your needs, such as offering the rooms on one condition.”

“That his performers staff the tearoom for as long as they reside in my upstairs rooms,” Nola murmured.

“Precisely. It buys you the time you need to secure a more suitable staff.”

“But what of their rehearsals and.

“There are twenty-four hours in every day, Nola, and this place is open—what—seven of those hours? Harry is a resourceful man. He can surely figure out a rehearsal schedule around that.”

“It might just work,” Nola said, warming to the idea as she devoured a slice of melon.

“Of course it will work and you mustn’t delay. First thing tomorrow you should march yourself over to that office my cousin keeps above McAllister’s store and present the offer. If he has any sense at all, Harry will leap at this opportunity and your problems will be solved as well as his.” Rachel dusted crumbs off her lap and reached for a cluster of grapes. “Now, how else can I improve your day, my dear?”

The following morning Nola made a detour from her normal routine. She walked to the post office and then she climbed the stairs outside the general store to Starbuck’s office. She saw his bicycle parked in its usual place under
the stairway and forced herself to take several deep breaths to calm her nerves at confronting Starbuck on his own territory. After all, up to now, he had always come to the tearoom. Somehow the shift in venue gave Nola pause.

At the top of the stairs, she knocked lightly on the door. It surprised her that there was no sign or lettering on the frosted glass panel in the door. She would have thought a man like Harry Starbuck would be inclined to exclaim his accomplishments to the stars. She rapped again.

“He left early this morning for town,” Ian McAllister shouted up at her as he stood on the landing outside the back of his shop below her. For people on the island, town meant the larger community of Nantucket Town. “Said he’d be back by noon.”

“Thank you,” Nola said and prepared to leave.

“If you like, you could leave him a note. He never locks up,” Ian said.

Nola considered the appropriateness of entering the office when Harry was gone. If she left the note, he would come to the tearoom and she could state her case and she would lose no more time. She waved at Ian and stepped inside.

Harry’s presence was everywhere in the small room. The swivel desk chair was pushed back and turned to one side as if he’d just stepped downstairs for a moment. Next to the window stood a wooden hall tree with four metal hooks. Two held the familiar sack jackets—one a light fawn linen and the other a charcoal serge. On the third hook hung the black woolen scarf he often wore on cooler days, one fringed end thrown casually over his shoulder. And on the very top hook was a straw hat, battered and shaped to the imprint of Harrison Starbuck’s head. But it was his desk that drew her closer, or rather the contents of that desk.

The first thing she noticed was that everything was in perfect alignment. The blotter was precisely even with the edge of the desk. The lamp centered on the blotter’s back edge stood behind a brass inkwell, a matching tray holding three pens and a letter opener. She wondered why he chose to use the old-fashioned pen and ink rather than the more popular self-filling fountain pen and found it charming that he did.

To the right was a stack of clean white paper and to the left a smaller stack of the same paper filled with a masculine scrawl. Nola picked up the top sheet.

SIMPLE FAITH
An Operetta

For the next hour Nola sat on the edge of Harry’s chair and read. The pages laid out the story of a family living on Nantucket and then moving to the city where they faced a life like none they had ever known or could have imagined. It was the story of how that family faced their fears and opened their hearts to what they came to accept as God’s will. It was a play about differences between people. By the final page the members of that family found love and purpose away from the safe surroundings of life on Nantucket by simply remaining true to the traditions and the faith with which they had been raised.

When Nola reached the last page, the handwritten margin notes trailed off after several lines that had been scratched through. This was Harry’s first attempt at converting the lines to lyrics, she realized.

She leaned back in his chair, still holding the last page. In so many ways this was her story. She had lived her entire life on Nantucket. As a child she had dreamed the same
dreams other children dreamed. She had thought she would go to Boston and study classical music. She had even imagined that one day she would give concerts in recital halls across America—perhaps in Europe.

But everything had changed for her. She had promised herself that once her siblings were off on their own, there would be time enough for her to…what?

Follow dreams? Find love?

Hearing footsteps outside and the muffled voice of Ian calling out to Harry, Nola hastily stacked the pages of the play and placed them on the side of the desk. Then she pulled a clean sheet from the other stack of papers and picked up the pen just as Harry stepped through the door.

“Well now, this is indeed a surprise, Miss Nola,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit at an hour I believe you usually reserve for marketing?”

Nola’s hand shook slightly and a blob of ink splashed onto the paper. She quickly wadded the soiled paper and replaced the pen in its holder, buying the time she needed to steady her nerves now that Starbuck himself was standing before her.

“I was going to leave you a note,” she said. “Mr. McAllister suggested it. I…”

“And the note would say?”

“I was asking you to stop by the tearoom at your earliest convenience.”

Harry grinned and tossed his hat expertly onto a rung of the hall tree. “My earliest convenience is now, so shall we take a walk back to the tearoom or conduct your business here?”

“This is fine,” Nola said and she stood up as Harry sat down in the other chair in the room.

He crossed one ankle over the other as he stretched his
long legs out in front of him, then folded his arms over his chest and cocked one eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Nola had rehearsed what she would say at least two dozen times and yet now her throat closed and her mouth felt as if it had suddenly been filled with sand. She cleared her throat and looked at him, then away. Part of the problem was that he was sitting with his back to the window. The sun was streaming in and his face was completely in shadow. She moved around the desk and out of the glare of the sun and faced him.

“Your company of performers may occupy the rooms on my upper floors,” she began. “With several conditions.”

Starbuck slowly uncrossed his feet and arms and sat taller in the chair, his attention riveted on her. “You do have a way of getting my attention, Nola. Okay, what are your terms?”

“One, this is a temporary arrangement until I can hire the staffing I need for the tearoom or you can complete repairs on the housing you rented—whichever comes first.”

“Seems fair. What’s number two?”

“I will not tolerate raucous behavior, spirits or card playing under my roof.”

Harry nodded. “Goes without saying. Three?”

“You will need to arrange whatever rehearsal schedule you have planned around the open hours of my tearoom.” Nola took some pleasure in seeing that she had managed to surprise him once again.

“And that would be because?” he asked.

“That would be because in exchange for their room and board your performers will be staffing my tearoom.”

Starbuck burst out laughing and Nola’s heart sank. She steeled herself for his derision and for his rejection of the entire idea. But to her amazement he stood up and stuck out his hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Nola.”

Unsure of what to say in response to that, she placed her hand in his and fought against the awareness that his was twice the size of hers and yet his grasp was gentle but firm. “Very well, then,” she managed. “I’ll ask Mr. Humboldt to draw up an agreement.”

Starbuck frowned. He was still holding her hand. “Is that really necessary? I mean a gentleman’s—and lady’s—agreement surely…”

“This is business, Harry,” she replied and withdrew her hand from his, then headed for the door. “If you’ll just let me know when you are expecting the company?”

“Day after tomorrow,” he replied as he moved around his desk.