Grace in Autumn (7 page)

Still, she could contact the Ogunquit library about buying some old books . . . and take them out to the lighthouse . . .

Her knitting needles clicked rhythmically. Knit three, yarn over, knit to the end of the row.

Even better—she could have Vernie order one of those lovely first edition copies of
Blueberries for Sal
from the Internet. She giggled, imagining the look on Captain Gribbon's face when she handed him the gift—assuming Bea was wrong and he could read, that is.

Sobering, she shook off the thought. There'd be no book ordering off the Internet. She would walk into an Ogunquit bookstore and place her order, thank you.

If she decided to order.

And buying Salt Gribbon a book wasn't a given.

Knit three, yarn over, knit to end of the row.

Not a-tall.

“Bea?” she called. “Remind me to take a loaf of fresh bread to Olympia. I'm thinking the oatmeal loaf would be nice.”

Head bent over her work, Bea nodded.

“And it's high time we took Olympia up on her offer. What must she be thinking? She baked those lovely muffins and sent them to us with a note to join her for tea. Nearly a month's gone by, and we've yet to pay her a visit.”

“We tried,” Bea murmured absently.

“You mean the morning we received the muffins? We went too early, Beatrice. From what I heard, Olympia must have been up half the night baking. Sent every woman on the island a basket of those friendship muffins—why, no wonder she was still asleep when we got there! No, we need to go back, tomorrow morning.”

When Bea didn't answer, Birdie lifted her gaze to look at her sister. Bea kept writing, her pen skimming back and forth over the paper in rapid succession. She had to be answering that boy's letter.

That boy—Birdie's thoughts returned to Salt Gribbon.

Books.

That'd set Vernie's tongue to wagging.

Dropping the knitting into her basket, she got up to wrap Olympia's bread.

Chapter Three

A
s a watery sun tried to penetrate the island's midmorning chill, Birdie joined Bea in the golf cart for the short ride to Olympia's house. She'd dressed for the occasion, more for Olympia's sense of propriety than her own, and hoped that the hour would be put to good use—

Bea veered sharply, barely missing Tallulah as the de Cuvier's terrier trotted across the road.

“Beatrice, you're going to kill us!” Birdie shouted, her heart in her throat. “You're worse than Vernie and that infernal motor scooter.” She held tight to her hat as the cart collided with the curb, then ricocheted back to the street.

“Olympia needs to keep that dog inside—she lets her run all over the island.”

Gunning the cart, Bea rounded the corner as Birdie turned to make certain Tallulah hadn't suffered. Apparently not. The little mutt was prancing toward the Graham Gallery as if she hadn't a care in the world.

Wheeling into the drive at Frenchman's Fairest, Bea hit the brake, pitching Birdie forward and banging her knee on the glove compartment.

She drew a breath between clenched teeth. “As I live and breathe, Bea, the Japanese could have used you during the war. You'd have made a dandy kamikaze pilot.” Easing out of the cart, Birdie hitched up her pantyhose, then frowned when she spotted a long run down her calf. “Look at this—another pair of hose ruined. That's two pairs this week. I'm going to start walking; it's cheaper.”

“Gripe, gripe, gripe,” Bea complained, taking Birdie by the arm and helping her up the row of concrete steps.

“Don't start that business with me, Bea Coughlin. Do you know the price of hose these days? Six pair cost me over twenty dollars. Break that down and it comes to three dollars and twenty cents a pair—that's six fifty in hose this week alone.”

Bea lifted the brass knocker and rapped sharply.

“Six dollars and fifty cents. On hose alone—”

“I don't know where you learned math, Sister,” Bea's voice was as sweet as honey, “but twenty divided by six comes to a little over three dollars and thirty-three cents, not three and twenty-five.”

Birdie gasped. “Three dollars and thirty-three cents? Why, that's highway robbery!”

The door opened. Caleb Smith, the de Cuvier's butler, greeted them warmly.

The sisters broke into synchronized grins.

“Good morning, Caleb,” Birdie chirped. “Is Olympia in?”

“Yes, in?” Bea echoed, straightening her parrot green felt hat.

“We thought perhaps she'd like to share a cup of tea.”

“Yes, tea,” Bea said.

The old butler's face lit with a smile. “Come in, ladies. It's blustery out.”

“Oh, it is.”

“Some blustery.”

The sisters breezed through the doorway, unbuttoning their wraps. Caleb hung their coats in the hall foyer, then ushered them into the large front parlor where a rosy fire blazed in the hearth. “I'll tell Missy you're here.” He left a moment later, closing the double doors behind him.

Sighing, Bea clasped her hands behind her back and meandered through the room, admiring various vases and knickknacks, murmuring an occasional, “Will you look at that” and, “Mercy, that must have cost an arm and a leg.” Birdie, on the other hand, found herself drawn to the massive oak bookcases lining the longest wall of the room. Edmund's vast collection of books, ranging from beloved classics to volumes on the law and philosophy, never ceased to fascinate her. On the rare occasions she had been invited into the home, she'd spent most of her time perusing the titles and drinking in the scents of old leather and yellowed parchment.

As her gaze fell upon the children's section, she thought about Captain Gribbon and wondered what books he might like. What wonderful stories would capture his heart the way they had captured hers? Reading opened a whole new world, swept a body to far-off places. Why, in a book you could sail the open seas, fly to the moon, or visit a lazy stream on a hot summer afternoon. Ah, the delights reading brought—a pity so few people took the time to enjoy it these days.

The women turned when the door opened and Olympia appeared, a confused look on her face. Her eyes skimmed the two sisters, taking in every detail of their dress. “Good morning, ladies. Caleb said you wanted something?”

Crossing the room, Birdie smiled. “I told Bea yesterday, ‘Beatrice, we're long overdue for tea with Olympia.' We were hoping you'd have time to share a cup this morning—though of course we've eaten the muffins long ago. And they were delicious.”

“Delicious,” Bea corresponded.

Olympia's eyes shifted to the mantel clock. “You want to have tea at 10:15?”

Birdie looked back at Olympia. “Is the hour a problem?”

One never knew about Olympia. Some days she seemed friendly, but other days she was about as personable as a public monument. Now she seemed uncomfortable with the idea of tea, yet last month
she'd
sent the invitation and muffins, not Birdie.

Olympia's right hand flew to the faded lace at her collar. “I'm not dressed for company, and look at you. All fixed up—”

“Oh, fiddle, don't worry about etiquette.” Birdie took Olympia by the arm and ushered her toward the sofa. “Goodness, it's just me and Bea—and I have a runner in my hose.” To prove it, she hiked up her dress and pointed to the run.

“Well . . .” Olympia glanced toward the door, where Caleb had reappeared. He carried a large silver tea service, laden with cups, cream and sugar, and a plate of what looked like lemon tea wafers.

He sent a smile winging across the room. “Would you ladies like to have your tea by the window?”

“Oh, that would be delightful, Caleb. Thank you.” Birdie sighed with contentment. “What a perfectly glorious way to spend a gloomy, overcast morning.”

“Yes, delightful,” Bea agreed. “Perfectly lovely.”

After casting Caleb a look—whether mystified or irritated, Birdie couldn't tell—Olympia proceeded to the small table in a south window and took her seat.

Birdie and Bea followed, smiling pleasantly as Caleb shook out linen napkins and placed them in the women's laps.

“Will you have lemon with your tea, Birdie?”

“Cream and sugar, please. Thank you, Caleb.” Birdie preened under the pampering. Caleb was such a gentleman, mannerly to a fault. If only more Heavenly Daze men exhibited Caleb's fine breeding.

“Did I mention I nearly blew out a tire on the golf cart yesterday?” Bea asked, her eyes going wide. “Big rut on the corner of Main and Ferry. Floyd needs to do something about these roads—maybe he should spend more time on street maintenance and less time hoping for a fire.”

Olympia nodded, some of her former stiffness slipping away. “Floyd is fond of crises, isn't he?”

Birdie offered a gentle rebuke. “We shouldn't be speaking ill of Floyd. He's a good man.”

“Oh yes, a good man.” Bea stared thoughtfully out the window. “He kept us in cucumbers all summer.”

The conversation fell into a lull.

Reaching for the cream pitcher, Birdie stretched for a new topic. “Olympia, Bea and I haven't told you how much we appreciated the muffins you sent last month. They were simply delicious. You must share the recipe— Abner would love it.”

“Muffins?” Olympia glanced at Caleb as he freshened her tea.

“Oh, they were wonderful,” Bea echoed. “Friendship muffins, what a nice thought.”

Olympia frowned at her butler, who promptly changed the subject. “Did you ladies happen to see Tallulah out and about this morning?”

“Bea nearly ran her over at the corner,” Birdie said.

“Quite nearly,” Bea agreed.

“Perhaps if you'd watch the road instead of yakking to your sister.” Olympia lifted her head to stare out the window. “After all, Tallulah's always had the run of the island.”

“That explains why she thinks she owns the place,” Bea said, the corners of her mouth lifting. “She's a de Cuvier.”

Birdie flinched, but Olympia seemed to take no offense. She looked exhausted, as if she'd spent another sleepless night with Edmund—which she probably had.

Leaning over, she covered Olympia's hand. “How is Edmund today?”

Moisture filled Olympia's eyes, then she looked away. “Growing very weak now.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“So sorry,” Bea echoed. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Nothing.” Straightening, Olympia cleared her throat. “Is this visit in regard to the quilt show? Because if it is, I've already given a donation, and I don't have the time to—”

Birdie stopped her. “No, dear. Bea and I are here to have tea, nothing more.”

“Well”—Olympia leaned back, her tea sitting untouched before her—“I don't have a quilt to offer this year.”

“Of course not,” Birdie said. “Edmund's needs come before any old quilt.” Taking a sip of tea, she searched for a more agreeable topic. “I suppose Annie will be home for the holiday. Thanksgiving's, what, three weeks away? How can that be possible? The months come and go so quickly—”

“Annie comes home every weekend, Birdie. You know that. Remember the tomatoes?”

Birdie blushed. “Ayuh, I knew that.”

“She knew that,” Bea offered in an apologetic tone. She lifted the plate to Olympia. “Won't you have a cookie? They're simply delicious.”

“No, thank you.” Olympia glanced at the clock. “I've just had breakfast.”

Birdie sighed and picked up her teacup. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Bea echoed.

The two sisters swapped uncertain looks.

“Well,” Birdie drew a deep breath, “Vernie says Dr. Marc's son is coming home for Thanksgiving. Wouldn't it be delightful if he and Annie hit it off? Your niece is such a sweet girl and so bright! Imagine, tomatoes growing in the winter, why—”

“Annie hasn't the least interest in men.”

“Oh?” Birdie arched a brow and looked at Bea over the rim of her teacup.

Olympia didn't notice. “Her job keeps her sufficiently busy; she has no need for a man in her life.”

Bea met Birdie's gaze and spoke in a disappointed tone. “Oh.”

From where he stood, Caleb cleared his throat. “Olympia, perhaps Birdie and Bea would enjoy seeing your violets. They're so beautiful right now.”

Olympia smiled in what looked like relief. “Lovely idea, Caleb.”

The women obediently got up and trailed Olympia onto the sun porch. Bending over the delicate plants, Birdie and Bea breathed in unison, “Oh, they are lovely.” Birdie had never had a green thumb; she killed nearly every green thing she encountered. But Bea was a bit more knowledgeable about gardening.

“My word,” Bea whispered, “do my eyes deceive me? Is that a Swandley White?”

“Marie Louise.” Olympia glanced at her watch.

Bea touched a velvety green leaf. “A sweet plant derived from Viola odorata.”

“V. alba,” Olympia corrected stiffly.

Bea smiled. “Well, it's gorgeous.”

“Simply exquisite,” Birdie concurred.

Consulting her watch for a second time, Olympia frowned. “My, my, look at the time. I don't want to keep you from . . . whatever you do every morning.”

It's time to go, her eyes clearly stated.

Birdie straightened. “It is late, isn't it? I'd better get back to the bakery.”

Bea took her cue. “And the mail's waiting. As the feller says, the mail never stops.”

Birdie moved toward the door. “I didn't know it was so late, did you, Bea?”

“No idea.”

The women strolled back to the parlor and obediently gathered their personal belongings. Olympia saw them to the front door, and her parting smile was the most relaxed expression she'd worn all morning.

“Do stop by the bakery some afternoon,” Birdie called over her shoulder as Olympia briskly ushered the two women through the open doorway.