Hearts at Home (2 page)

“Sorry to bother you,” Marc said, glad he had stamped the mud from his shoes on the stoop. Caleb's kitchen gleamed as if he expected company.

Marc sniffed the rich aroma of coffee. “That's a good brew.”

“You want a cup?” Caleb reached toward the cabinet where he kept the mugs. “We've plenty to spare. Missy had me brew a pot special for Annie, even though I kept telling her the girl prefers my cocoa.”

“I'd love a cup.” Marc dropped into the chair nearest the door, then peered around the corner that led into the hall. “Olympia around?”

“She's upstairs, sprucin' herself up for Annie's arrival.” The old butler moved slowly, his hands trembling with the palsy of the aged. Noticing the tremor, Marc frowned. During his tenure as Heavenly Daze physician, not once had Caleb Smith been sick . . . in fact, if Marc had not known better, he'd think the Smith name had some value as preventative medicine. Out of the six men surnamed Smith on the island, not one of them had ever visited his clinic. Though Micah rasped occasionally after a full day of singing, Abner worried about his weight, and Elezar professed an allergy to cats, none of them had ever required medical treatment.

He tilted his head as Caleb set a steaming mug of coffee before him. “You feeling okay, friend?”

A gentle curve touched the old man's lips. “I'm fine, Doc, thanks for asking. We're all happy, you know, because Annie's coming home.”

“I'm sure you are. That girl is a gem.”

Stepping back, Caleb eyed the doctor with an uplifted brow. “How are she and your son getting along? She doesn't talk much about her love life when I speak to her on the phone.”

Marc laughed softly. “Alex doesn't volunteer much information, either—I suppose it's not cool for a thirty-two-year-old man to confide in his father about the woman he's seeing. But from what I can tell, they're still dating steadily . . . whenever Alex has free time. Unfortunately, surgeons have a fuller schedule than most doctors.”

He felt his smile fade as he stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. He'd worked hard to get Annie and Alex together, dropping broad hints that at first offended Annie and infuriated Alex. But he'd done it because from the first moment he saw Annie Cuvier, he knew the woman was something special. His son would be a fool to let her slip away.

Yet, if the truth be told, sometimes he worried about Annie dating his son. Life as a doctor's wife wasn't easy. His own wife had been as patient as Job, God rest her soul, but the early days had been hard for her. She'd been busy raising a baby while he was out trying to save the world one patient at a time. Only by the grace of God did they manage to renew their relationship before she died.

He would hate to see Annie endure the heartache his wife had known. She seemed to crave peace, and as much as he'd love to have her as part of his family, he wasn't sure she could cope with Alex's hectic New York life. As much as he loved his son, he wasn't certain Alex could appreciate the sweet and simple nature of Annie's island-bred soul.

Marc had come to Heavenly Daze to serve his fellow man and find rest for his weary soul. Over the last three years, in the intimacy of a small town and the power of the sea, he had found the reminders he needed to remember that he was only a servant, and God the Lord of all. . . .

Aware that he had dropped his half of the conversation, he gave Caleb a guilty smile. “This is good coffee. Thanks.”

A trace of unguarded tenderness lit the older man's eyes. “Are you worried for your son?”

“I'm worried more for Annie.” Marc spoke without thinking, then fumbled for words to explain the disloyal comment. “Long-distance relationships are difficult, and with Alex in New York and Annie in Portland, I . . . I just don't want her to get hurt. And I know my son—I know how busy he is, and how detached he can be at times. It's something a doctor has to develop, this detachment, or we'd go a little crazy. Alex is a fine young man, don't get me wrong, but when I think of all the times I begged him to make time for a visit and he never would, I . . . well, I worry for Annie. I don't want her to be hurt.”

Uncomfortable with what he'd just shared, he lowered his gaze to his cup, then took a sip. Delicious. Everything Caleb made was wonderful.

“You care deeply for Annie, don't you?”

Marc lowered his mug. “Of course I do. How could anyone not adore a girl like that? I want her to have the wonderful life she deserves. If she can find happiness by marrying my son, I'll be thrilled. I already love her like a daughter. Why wouldn't I be happy to have her as a daughter-in-law?”

The butler's eyes twinkled. “Why not, indeed?”

Half an hour later Annie sat at Olympia's small kitchen table, her fingers laced around a cup of hot cocoa, her coat tossed across the desk against the wall. Caleb bustled at the counter, mixing a fresh batch of her favorite brownies, while Tallulah, Olympia's terrier, squatted on the floor by Annie's chair, her bright eyes begging for a treat. Olympia sat across from Annie, looking tired, but content.

“Thank you for coming,” Olympia said for the third time. “I am simply out of unique ideas for this little party I'm planning, and I
do
want it to be nice. I've had Caleb cutting recipes out of magazines for days.”

Annie sipped her cocoa, then smiled around the rim of her cup. Her aunt could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two about the proper way to host a party, and in more prosperous days she had hosted some of the most elegant affairs southeastern Maine had ever seen. Frenchman's Fairest, though now showing its age, was a grand old house, rich in historical lore and stuffed with antiques . . . though every time Annie came home, she noticed one or two pieces were missing.

“EBay,” Caleb had confided on her last visit when she had asked about a lovely oil lamp that had once stood in a niche by the stairs. “The best place for quick cash. Mike Klackenbush has been helping Missy sell a few things.”

Annie had learned that any mention of missing items was likely to strike a spark. The one thing Olympia would always possess was a sensitive pride.

She set down her cup and peered out the black window of the back door. “Where'd Dr. Marc run off to?”

“Back to his place, I should imagine.” Olympia smoothed the lace at her throat, then gave Annie a frayed smile. “Caleb tells me he offered to run out and walk you home from the dock. That was kind—Caleb is getting too old to go out in this cold and windy weather.”

“I keep telling her the cold doesn't bother me.” Caleb gave Annie a grin. “But you surprised us by coming in unescorted. I think Dr. Marc was looking forward to seeing you.”

Annie lowered her gaze as a blush burned her cheekbones. The entire town must be talking about her romance with A.J., otherwise known as Dr. Alex Hayes, son of the town physician. Since October, Dr. Marc had been badgering Annie about meeting his son, and finally, on Christmas Eve, their paths had intersected at the ferry landing in Ogunquit. In the ensuing five weeks they had seen each other several times . . . when they could find time to be together. With Annie living in Maine and A.J. in Manhattan, they weren't together often, but what were cell phones for, if not long-distance dating?

“How is A.J., dear?” Olympia lifted her teacup. “We haven't seen him since Christmas.”

“I haven't seen him in two weeks.” Annie shrugged. “We try to get together, but, you know, things happen. He has a medical emergency to attend to, his plane is at the mechanic, or something else comes up. But he's fine. We're fine. Everything's fine.”

She fell silent as a touch of the old awkwardness crept into the conversation. Not so long ago, she and Aunt Olympia could hardly exchange greetings without venturing onto minefields of sensitive issues, and now she felt the ground begin to shudder beneath her feet. If Aunt Olympia answered with one of her “That's the trouble with young folks these days . . .”

But she didn't. Giving Caleb a smile, Olympia stood, her hair gleaming in the light from the overhead fixture. “Let's adjourn to the parlor.” She bent to pick up her teacup. “Caleb, will you serve the brownies when they're ready? Annie, you may bring your cup, of course.”

Feeling a little like a lamb on its way to the slaughter, Annie obediently lifted her mug and followed Olympia down the hall.

Though Olympia usually took the wing chair by the fireplace, tonight she purposely sat on the sofa to be closer to Annie. Her niece followed, a little reluctantly perhaps, but settled into her usual place at the opposite end of the couch. Careful to take a coaster from the stack on the polished coffee table, the girl set her mug on the sandstone, then reached for a velvet pillow and propped it against her side.

Olympia studied the pillow leaning against Annie's arm like a wall. She'd just finished a
Ladies Home Journal
article about body language, and this pillow-propping gesture indicated that Annie still felt less than comfortable with the woman who had sheltered and succored her for all those years. . . .

Olympia closed her eyes in resignation. Sometimes the young were blind to things they would not understand until they had lived through the same situation.

Opening her eyes, she forced a smile. “Did Captain Stroble bring you over, or have we been reduced to traveling with Crazy Odell?”

Annie laughed. “The captain's still in town. He said Mazie is a bit under the weather, probably from nerves. But as soon as she's better, they're heading off to Florida. Then you'll have to wrangle with Odell.”

Olympia shuddered slightly. “I'd rather be island-bound an entire month than travel with that nutty old man. He's as reckless as a teenage boy in that boat of his— in fact, sometimes I think he
is
a teenage boy. Between the ages of fourteen and twenty, you know, the logic circuits in a child's brain become disconnected. I think Odell's circuits never got plugged back in again.”

Annie snorted. “What psychologist have you been reading?”

Olympia sniffed. “No psychologist, it's just common sense. That's what's wrong with young people today; nobody places any value on plain common sense.”

As Annie leaned forward and reached for her cocoa, Olympia saw her roll her eyes.

She sighed. All right, so this visit wasn't off to a great start. If they couldn't discuss the boyfriend or common sense, what could they talk about? Certainly not Annie's tomatoes—Annie didn't bear failure easily, and that wound was bound to be fresh. They could plan the Valentine's party, but what if they exhausted that topic tonight? Annie wouldn't go back until late tomorrow, so they'd have to bear each other's company through breakfast, lunch, and the afternoon with nothing whatsoever to talk about.

Annie suddenly stiffened and gestured to the vacant spot near the fireplace. “Aunt Olympia, what happened to the beautiful secretary that used to stand over there?”

“Olives.” Olympia brought a fingertip to her lips. “I bought five cans last month from the mercantile, and from what I hear, Vernie Bidderman nearly noodled herself into an early grave wondering what I planned to do with them. I told Caleb not to let on, though, and you need to keep my secret, too. I want my little party to be a surprise. An unexpected gesture of gentility and good will.”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “You sold that secretary, didn't you? Why on earth would you sell that lovely piece?”

“The Vienna sausages, on the other hand, I picked up in Ogunquit.” Olympia lifted her saucer, perfectly balancing her teacup so the delicate china wouldn't rattle. “I knew if I bought too many supplies at the mercantile, Vernie would know something was up and broadcast the news. So I've been buying things on the sly, taking a guilty pleasure in my little mystery—”

“Don't ignore me, Aunt Olympia.” Annie pushed the pillow down and leaned toward her, her eyes as direct as headlights. “What did you do with the secretary?”

Pulling back, Olympia blinked. “What does it matter?”

“It matters to me. You loved that piece, so why'd you sell it?”

Olympia shook her head. “It was just another thing for Caleb to dust.”

“It belonged to your grandmother!”

“See? A worthless old thing.”

“It wasn't worthless, Aunt Olympia, it was probably worth a small fortune. Haven't you ever watched
Antiques
Roadshow?”

“Is that on TV? I don't like TV. Young people these days spend entirely too much time in front of the television watching claptrap and whatnot—”

“Ayuh, it's a show, and it'd do you good to watch it. People are always bringing in junk from their attics and finding out their stuff is worth thousands of dollars.”

Straightening, Olympia smoothed the folds of her dress. “I'd never have figured you for a gold digger, Annie.”

“Wh-what?”

“Don't play coy with me. You know I'm not going to be around forever. But if you're concerned about your inheritance, well, you needn't worry. You know the house will be yours, so I can't see why you're worried about me selling a few dusty old pieces riddled with worm holes—”

“Time out.” Annie made a T with her arms, then gaped at Olympia. “What do you mean, the house will be mine? I didn't know that—and I certainly would never ask for it! You and Caleb will probably be living here another fifty years, so keep the things you love. If you're determined to be rid of your antiques, call me first. I'll buy them and at least we can keep them in the family.”

Olympia snorted. “That meager teacher's salary is barely enough to support you. How are you supposed to afford antiques?”

“I'm a
professor,
Auntie,” Annie countered. “I make a decent living.”

“You're a twenty-eight-year-old part-time teacher and researcher who's never had a success in her life. When everybody was talking about how wonderful those tomatoes were, I told Caleb it would just be a matter of time before something—”