Hidden History (2 page)

“Not to mention the divorcées.” Louise started to laugh. “Do you remember Mrs. Paulson, Alice?”

“Phoebe Paulson!” Alice slapped her hand over her mouth to suppress her giggles. A frightened Wendell leaped from her lap to the porch. “Oh, my, I’d nearly forgotten about her.”

“What happened?” asked Jane with eager curiosity.

Both Alice and Louise were laughing so hard that neither of them could speak.

Jane frowned. “Come on, you guys, tell me the story of Mrs. Paulson.”

“You tell her,” sputtered Alice.

“Where do I start?” Louise pulled out a lace-trimmed handkerchief.

“Was that the lady who worked at the pet shop when I was little?” persisted Jane. “I remember I got a hamster there once, and it died the next day, but she wouldn’t give me my money back.”

“Yes,” Louise nodded as she dabbed her nose with her handkerchief. “That was probably after the incident with Father. She never did like us much after that.”

“It wasn’t long after that little incident that she moved away,” said Alice.

“What happened?” demanded Jane.

“Well, it was summertime,” began Louise. “As I recall, I
had recently come home from my first year at college. Alice must have been about sixteen. Apparently Phoebe Paulson had moved into town a few months earlier, and as you said, Jane, she worked at the pet shop.”

“The pet shop went out of business later on that year,” said Alice.

“Just a coincidence, I am sure,” said Louise.

“On with the story,” said Jane with increasing impatience.

“Right. Mrs. Paulson had started attending Grace Chapel services in the spring.”

“After she noticed what a good looking widower the pastor was,” injected Alice.

“Yes. I am sure that must have influenced her considerably.” Louise cleared her throat. “Well, I could tell right from the start that this woman was trouble. She was going for the Marilyn Monroe look. Her hair was bleached platinum blond, and her dresses were so tight that I thought she was going to burst right through the seams.”

“She was a bit plump,” injected Alice.

“She wore far too much makeup, and her perfume could knock you over if you were downwind from her.”

“She drove a brand-new red convertible,” said Alice. “I think it was a Pontiac, and I must admit that, at sixteen, I thought it was rather nice.”

“Yes, and she liked to park that flashy automobile right
in front of our house when she came over for church services,” continued Louise.

“She only lived a few blocks away.”

“She would slowly get out of her car, making a huge production of it. Then she would strut past our house and toward the church as if she were a famous movie star. I am sure she was hoping to catch Father’s eye.”

Jane laughed. “And did she?”

“Well, to be honest, I think most of the males in Acorn Hill were aware of her. She was not beautiful—certainly not in the way that Mother had been, but I suppose she was attractive in a flashy way.”

“In those days divorce was still a bit of a scandal,” added Alice. “But Father, as usual, was gracious and kind to her, and for the most part the congregation followed his example.”

“Actually that might have helped to give her the wrong idea,” said Louise. “It did not take long for her to start playing the damsel in distress. First it was a flat tire right in front of our house.”

“Convenient,” said Jane.

“Yes.” Louise rolled her eyes. “It was a
puncture.
Even in the summer’s heat, Father got down on his knees, still wearing his Sunday suit, and fixed it for her.”

“She thanked him by making a coconut cream pie,” said
Alice, making a face. “Worst pie we’d ever tasted. Crust just like cardboard.”

Jane chuckled. “Then what happened?”

“Well, it seemed that Phoebe decided to give a dinner party—to get better acquainted with people from town, she said,” continued Louise. “Naturally, she invited Father.”

“And?” said Jane.

“Father went.” Louise shook her head.

“What was wrong with that?” asked Jane, leaning forward.

“Well, when Father got to Phoebe’s there were no other guests.”

“Phoebe had this romantic-looking table set for two,” said Louise. “Father said she had candles and flowers everywhere.”

Jane shook her head in astonishment. “Wow, this woman didn’t beat around the bush, did she?”

“Not a bit. Well, Father was back home again within minutes. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. His hair was all mussed up and his bowtie was crooked.” Louise began laughing.

“Did he tell you what had happened?” asked Jane.

Louise stifled her laughter. “Actually, the first thing he said was to get him an ice pack.”

“An ice pack?” Jane looked confused.

“Apparently, he had been making some sort of excuse to Phoebe about why he could not stay for dinner after all. Knowing Father’s sense of integrity, he was probably trying to come up with something that was actually true. Well, as he was backing up, he ran up against an ottoman and toppled backward, thumping his head on a coffee table. He had a nice little lump, too.”

Jane was giggling now. “Oh, I can just imagine that. Poor Father.”

“So I fixed him an ice pack and insisted that he tell me the whole story.” Louise’s face grew stern with the memory. “After hearing what had happened, I was completely outraged at that silly woman. While Father was out of earshot, I telephoned her and gave her a serious piece of my mind.”

“You didn’t?” said Jane.

“I most certainly did.” Louise firmly nodded her head.

Now Jane glanced over to where Alice was quietly listening. “Where were you when all this took place?”

“I’d gone out with friends that night,” said Alice. “Where was I?” asked Jane.

“You were so little that we’d already put you to bed.”

“Always missing out on the good stuff.” Jane sighed and then continued her questioning. “How did Father feel about everything? I mean he was such a dignified gentleman, not
to mention a respected pastor … why, I’m sure he must’ve felt silly.”

Louise nodded. “At first, he seemed confused, and I thought perhaps it was a result of the blow to his head. But later on that evening, I found him sitting in his den looking so dejected.”

“Poor Father,” said Jane.

“I went in and talked to him about it some more. He felt guilty, as if he had somehow led that brazen woman on. I assured him that some women were just like that and that he must not blame himself one little bit.” Louise smiled. “It turned out to be one of our best father-daughter chats ever. I hugged him and told him that I was proud to have him as my father. Then I confessed what I had said over the phone. I felt certain he would be disappointed with me. I knew it was not a very Christian way to behave. And, goodness gracious, I was a minister’s daughter.”

“So, how did he react?”

“Well, he just threw back his head and laughed. Honestly, I do not think I had ever heard him laugh so hard. Then he grew sober and thanked me, but he also made me promise to forgive her, as well as not repeat the events of the evening to anyone.”

“But it was too late,” said Alice. “I had just come home and heard Father laughing in the den. So I popped my head
in and insisted upon hearing what was so funny. We sat in the kitchen until fairly late that night, enjoying a good laugh over ice cream and berries.”

“And I slept through the whole thing?” Jane looked dismayed.

“Oh, Jane, you were only about four or five—too young to understand something like that. If it makes you feel any better, you are now the only other one, besides us, who knows the whole silly story,” said Louise with a firm nod. “Even Aunt Ethel never heard about this.”

“That’s right,” agreed Alice. “I suppose we should keep it that way.”

Jane grinned, then winked. “Don’t worry. The family’s scandalous secret is perfectly safe with me.”

Louise waved her hand. “Phooey, Jane, the Howard family does not have any scandalous secrets.”

Jane’s eyebrows lifted mysteriously. “Oh, every family has its secrets, Louise. They just don’t realize it until they stumble over them.”

Chapter Two

M
ore than ever before, Alice looked forward to her days off from the hospital. While she loved her work and was devoted to her job, having her sisters at home and an inn to run had made her time off much more interesting than it had been.

Guests would be arriving by noon and there was much to be done before then. To Louise’s pleased surprise, all four guest rooms were booked throughout the weekend. Alice thought perhaps it was a blessing that Vera, afraid that she was coming down with the flu, had called early in the morning to cancel their usual walk.

“Goodness, I hope it’s not that horrible end-of-summer flu that’s been going around,” Alice had told her best friend. “Make sure to drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest.”

“Shall I take two aspirins and call you in the morning too?”

“This is the morning,” Alice had reminded her, laughing, and then hung up the phone.

Jane came down the stairs wearing her running shoes and sweats, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Alice thought, not for the first time, how her fifty-year-old sister could almost pass for a college coed, if one did not look too closely at the tiny sets of crow’s-feet that crinkled the edges of her clear blue eyes.

“I feel guilty,” said Alice. “You’re going running, and I didn’t even walk this morning.”

“That’s too bad.” Jane grinned. “You could always go with me.”

Alice firmly shook her head. “It’s one thing for me to walk several times a week, but I’m afraid jogging would play havoc with these joints of mine. Besides, I thought I might use this extra time to get an early start on things this morning. How about if I begin gathering some blooms for your floral arrangements?”

“That’d be wonderful, Alice.” Jane leaned over to stretch her calves on the stairs. “Aren’t the roses looking spectacular these days?”

Alice nodded. “I’ve never seen them so magnificent. Don’t worry, Jane, I’ll be careful to put them straight into water just as quickly as I cut them so they don’t wilt.”

“Oh, I know you will, Alice. You’ve become a real expert at cutting blooms.”

“Thanks to your helpful instructions.” Alice bent down
to straighten the hallway runner. “Want me to start a pot of coffee too?”

“Oh, you’re an angel.” Jane was jogging in place now and Alice could tell she was eager to begin her morning workout.

“Enjoy!” called Alice with a wave of her hand. Then she went off in search of the flower bucket and cutting shears.

The yard and garden truly did look splendid—better than it had since Alice’s childhood, when her mother lovingly tended the garden. Even so, Alice realized it was only a matter of time before the first autumnal frost would change everything, and not long after they would be entrenched in winter. In the meantime, she was thankful simply to enjoy the end of summer. Taking time actually to smell the fragrant roses as she cut, Alice recalled how different this all had looked before Jane took charge. Alice had not paid much attention to the yard back then as there were too many other things that demanded her attention—her full-time job, taking care of her father, church-related responsibilities and just the everyday chores of living.

Alice vividly remembered the way she had seen the garden exactly a year before, the day her father had died. Although bright and sunny, the day had seemed gloomy. After attending to the details of her father’s funeral, she had walked through this same garden and looked sadly at
the beds overgrown with weeds and the brown patches of lawn, scorched by summer’s heat and lack of water. She had felt guilty and depressed as she had observed its neglect.

But now to witness firsthand the amazing results of Jane’s restoration efforts, to gaze upon the greenery and the colorful blooms and the fresh garden produce, well, it seemed nothing short of a miracle—as did their life together at Grace Chapel Inn. Indeed, Alice had much to be thankful for.

Wendell sashayed up to her with his tail held high as he rubbed himself against her legs, back and forth, before he contentedly settled down in a sunny spot and stretched himself out to take full advantage of the warmth and enjoy a sunbath.

Alice smiled at the silly cat and, despite the anniversary the day marked, she resolved to be happy. She would rejoice over a life well lived. She truly believed that death was merely a transition into the next stage and that it was nothing to fear. So, as she cut the full blooms and quickly slipped them into the cutting bucket of cool water, Alice expressed her sincere thanks to God.

“Dear Heavenly Father, You are the blessed Redeemer of all things,” she prayed. “And I thank You for how You have breathed Your life and love into this old house and garden. I also thank You for my dear sisters, and I pray Your
blessing on the guests who will be arriving here today. I ask that You will refresh them during their visit with us. Amen.”

Soon her bucket was overflowing with flowers. Alice took them into the kitchen and set them on the maple counter by the deep soapstone sink. She knew that Jane was the true artist when it came to floral arrangements, or anything artistic for that matter, but Alice felt the roses looked perfectly lovely just as they were, hither and thither, in the rusty old bucket.