Bitter Sweet (21 page)
Sometimes you’ve got to talk to ‘er and coax ‘er a little.’
Putting his body into it, he opened the door. Climbing in, Maggie could feel her mother’s eyes dissecting every move from the living room window. Eric slammed the door, walked around and got in.
‘Sorry about the truck,’ he said, putting the vehicle in gear. ‘It’s kind of like an old family pet - you know you ought to put it to sleep, but it’s hard to make yourself do it.’
Maggie remained stiff and silent, glaring out the windshield.
As the truck began rolling, Eric glanced at her and said, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘My mother!’ she answered in a voice tight with indignation.
‘She’s a shrew.’
‘It’s hard to live with them, once you’ve been away.’
‘It was hard to live with her before I went away!’
‘I’ll admit, I’ve received warmer receptions in my life than I did tonight. Is she upset about us riding to Sturgeon together?’ At her stubborn silence, he realized he’d guessed right. ‘Maggie, you should have said something, you should have called and we could have gone down separately, I just thought as long as we were both going to the same place -’
‘Why should I say something? Why should I let her cast aspersions on a perfectly innocent meeting? We’re riding to the courthouse together and I refuse to let her make me feel guilty about it! Damn it, I have nothing to feel guilty about! It’s just her mind, her nosiness - she thinks everybody in town is like her, anxious to think the worst about people.’
Eric looked at her intently. ‘The trouble is, they probably are and I never considered it until this moment. Do you want to go back, Maggie, and get your own car?’
‘Absolutely not!’
‘Everybody in the county knows this old truck. Hell, my name is right on the door.’
‘I wouldn’t give my mother the satisfaction. And besides, like Brookie said, can’t two adults be friends? I need your help tonight. I’m happy to have it. Let’s leave it at that and let my mother work out her own hang-ups.’ Anxious to change the subject, Maggie glanced around curiously. ‘So this is your old truck.’ She took in the worn seats, the cracked side window, the dusty dash.
‘I have a name for her, but I’d better not tell you what it is.
It’s not very polite.’
Maggie grinned and said, ‘I can just about imagine.’
‘I didn’t stop to think about your being all dressed up.
Maybe you would have preferred to take your own car.’
‘My own car’s got no character. This does.’
Their banter eased the tension between them, and as they rolled south out of town beneath the great dome of evening, where the first bright star hung in the southwest sky, they spoke of other subjects: the autumn weather; the tourist trade which would reach its peak along with the autumn colours within two weeks; how the salmon were tougher to catch now that fall was here, but the brown tout were hot at
Then Eric said, “Maggie, I’ve been thinking a lot about Loretta McConnell and her ... shall we call it conservatism.
If anyone on the board raises objections to your permit, she’ll be the one. I’ve thought of a way to soften her up.’
“How?’
‘Have you come up with a name for your inn yet?’
‘A name? No.’
‘Well, I was talking to Ma, and it came out that Loretta McConnell is a shirttail relative of the original Harding who owned the place. As close as we can figure it, her mother’s side of the family would have been the third generation removed from Thaddeus Harding, though the lineage is somewhat obscured by married names. But my guess is, Loretta would know exactly, and if there’s anyone who’s rabid to preserve heritage, it’s Loretta McConnell. She’s an active member of the historical society, and gives them a good chunk of money every year. Supposing we appeal to her family pride. We tell her you’ve decided to keep the name Harding House to preserve as much of the place’s heritage as possible.’
‘Oh, Eric, that’s a wonderful idea! Harding House... I love it. And it’s so common sense. After all, everyone in town has called it that for years, so why change it now?’
‘I thought you might want your name on it.’
‘Stearn House .’..’ She pondered, then shook her head.
‘Uh-uh. It doesn’t have the ring that Harding House has. I can see it now, done in graceful copperplate on a swinging sign at the top of the walk. A wooden sign, I think, on a single post with a finial at the top.’ She gestured in the air as if the sign hung before her. ‘Harding House. A Bed-and Breakfast Inn. Maggie Stern, Proprietress.’
He chuckled, charmed by her enthusiasm.
‘You love it all, don’t you - planning it, working on it?’
‘Absolutely. I owe so much to Brookie for talking me into going there in the first place. I find myself fantasizing more and more about the day the first guest signs in. If this board says no tonight I’ll probably burst into tears.’
‘I have a feeling you’ll come out of that courthouse smiling.’
The courthouse at
th
Street
Inside, Eric knew his way to the correct room. Entering it, Maggie felt nervous and expectant. She recognized Loretta McConnell immediately, a singularly unattractive woman with two missing bottom teeth, crooked eyeglasses and straight undressed hair, crudely cropped like that of an Elizabethan page boy. ‘There she is,’ she whispered, taking a seat in a wooden folding chair beside Eric.
‘Don’t be misled by her looks. She’s a brilliant woman, privy to the doings of more politicians, musicians and artists than you’ve probably ever heard of. She’s a great supporter of the arts and gives enormous endowments to everything from violin prodigies to our own Ridges Nature Sanctuary.
Her name is as familiar in
Just remember that if she challenges you.’
They waited through a variety of appeals - a landowner unwilling to move his new fence although it would cause problems for the county snowplough; the owner of lake shore property seeking a variance to have a new well drilled; a woman applying for a permit to open an antique shop in one of the county’s original log cabins; a restaurant owner seeking a liquor licence; a seedy, emaciated young man demanding that the county buy him a new pair of glasses because his had been sat on by the operator of the county bookmobile. (The latter was advised by Lorretta McConnell that he was barking up the wrong county tree.) Then it was Maggie’s turn.
‘Margaret Stearn,’ the chairman read off her application.
‘Wants to open a bed-and-breakfast inn on Cottage Row in Fish Creek.’
Maggie rose and moved to the front of the room. The chairman lifted his eyes from the paper. He was a rawboned man who appeared much more suited to riding a tractor than sitting on a board such as the one he chaired.
Obviously, he was the farmer from
Sevastopol
. He had large ears with tufts of hair springing from them. His suit apparently a concession - was liver brown and dated; the knot in his tie, beneath a crinkled yellowy collar, skewed to one side. Maggie took one look at him and thanked herself for wearing her hair in a tidy downsweep.
‘You’re Maggie Stearn?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. My maiden name was Pearson. My father is Leroy Pearson. He’s been a butcher at the Fish Creek General Store for forty-two years. I was born and raised in Fish Creek.’
‘Yes, of course. I know Roy Pearson.’ His glance passed over her suede jacket and returned to the paper.
‘You’ve been living elsewhere?’
‘In
Seattle
for eighteen years. My husband died a year ago and my daughter is a freshman at
Chicago
, so I decided to move back to
‘It says here you’ve already bought the property in question.’
‘That’s right.’ Since homes in Fish Creek had no street addresses, only fire numbers, she identified the house by its common name. ‘The old Harding house. I hired an architectural engineer to assess the house for soundness. Here is his report.’ On the table before the chairman she laid the letter from Thomas Chopp. ‘I’m investing sixty thousand dollars in refurbishing the house, and the work is already under way. Here’s a copy of the contract between myself and the Lavitsky Brothers of Ephraim, who are doing the renovation on the structure itself. Here’s another from Workman Electric who’ll be replacing the furnace and bringing the electrical up to code. And this one is from Kunst Plumbing who’ll be putting in an extra bathroom to meet state lodging codes for bed and breakfasts. This is a copy of the legal survey showing that the property covers one and a half acres, which would mean, if my rooms were full, and I had one hired hand and myself, we would more than meet the density requirements. The ratio, as you can see, would be one person to every point-one-five-zero acres. I also have an estimate from J & B Blacktopping for tarring the tennis court on the opposite side of the road, which will provide ample parking for my guests. And here, from the Door County Chamber of Commerce, I have figures on the number of inquiries for lodging which they cannot accommodate - you’ll notice it works out to approximately ten per cent annually, which represents a significant loss of revenue not only for the hotel- and motel-keepers but for other retail businesses as well. Next I have a letter from the office of the county health inspector outlining what requirements I’d have to meet to pass inspection - not all of them are met at this point, but I assure you, they will be. Next - fire code regulations. You’ll note in the estimate from the Lavitsky Brothers that an additional exit and exterior stairway is planned on the second floor to meet fire code. Here I have a room by room estimate for wallpaper, towels, bed linens, curtains and furnishings. And I’ve done a breakdown of daily costs for laundry services which would be provided by Evenson’s at
Maggie retreated one step and stood waiting. The courtroom was so silent you could have heard the hair growing in the board chairman’s ears. A titter sounded at the rear of the room. The chairman blinked once and seemed to draw himself out of a daze.
‘How long did you say you’ve been back in
‘A little less than three weeks.’
He angled a wry grin to his constituents, both left and right, then said with a glint of humour in his eyes, ‘I imagine by now you know whether any of the members of this board have had a parking ticket in the last year.’
Maggie smiled. ‘No, sir, I don’t. But I know how much you make for sitting on the board. Since I’m a taxpayer here now, I thought it prudent to find out.’
Laughter broke out throughout the room, even at the front table.
‘Do you mind my asking, Mrs Stearn, what you did in
Seattle
?”
‘I was a home economics teacher, which I consider an additional advantage. I know how to cook and sew and decorate- all prerequisites for running an inn, and I think I’d have little trouble learning to manage the business end of things.’