The Stolen Canvas (6 page)

“God is great, God is good …”

Emily, eyes closed and hands folded, had begun grace before the meal as she always did. Wally glanced at Jem whose fork was poised in midair ready to attack the meatloaf. He narrowed his eyes like he was surprised or embarrassed. Wherever Jem had been in the last 15 years, he wasn’t used to praying. They hadn’t been raised to think about a God who deserved their worship. Sundays had been for fishing and hanging out.

Jem recovered from the prayer and began talking about places he’d visited. Every now and then he’d throw in a compliment for Peggy or a wink for Emily.

“So, where are you staying while you’re in town?” Peggy asked while they ate pineapple upside-down cake for dessert.

“Actually, I’m staying over in Petersgrove.”

An odd choice, since Stony Point was by far the more attractive resort town in the area. But Wally wasn’t surprised that the town’s bad boy wouldn’t want to get too up close and personal. Still, it had been a long time, and few would really remember him. At least not the way he looked now. Besides, lots of kids sowed wild oats.

“If you don’t mind,” Jem said, as though he had read Wally’s thoughts, “I’d prefer putting some space between myself and the good citizens of Stony Point. That is …” He cleared his throat and said with a shrug, “… best if they don’t know the black sheep of the family is cooling his heels in these parts.”

Peggy frowned. That could be a tough call for his friendly wife, Wally knew. She liked to share the town gossip, but she’d be careful since that’s what Jem wanted. “Well, don’t be a stranger,” she said, that bloom in her cheeks rising again. Clearly, Jem had captivated her. “You’re welcome to come by for dinner anytime.” She glanced at Wally, her eyes bright, expecting him to second her invitation.

Wally wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Sure,” he said. Jem had been seventeen when he left Stony Point, and Wally was fourteen. They had gone to live with their grandmother when Pop died. Standing on her porch, he’d watched his brother climb into a glued-together rattletrap Ford and take off with a wave of his hand. “So long, bro.” And that was when Wally knew that fourteen-year-olds could weep.

“I won’t get in your way. I know you two are busy, but I wouldn’t mind a look around the old place … The Cup & Saucer, Butler’s Lighthouse, Grey Gables …”

Wally looked up. Peggy had rambled endlessly about The Cup & Saucer, but he had mentioned Grey Gables only in passing. Jem had asked about “that Victorian house on Ocean Avenue,” which was surprising enough, but he even knew its name. Maybe his brother remembered more about his old roots than anyone thought.

But Wally realized that his hands had once more balled into fists inside his pockets.

6

Annie sat on the porch with her crochet project and a pot of Earl Gray tea. It was late Wednesday afternoon, the day after Tara had shown up at Grey Gables. Alice was on her way. She would have been on Annie’s doorstep that morning if she had not had an important Divine Décor party that kept her busy all day. Annie put up a hand in greeting as Alice came up the walk. “About time,” she called.

“I came as soon as I could,” Alice said, collapsing on a wicker chair next to Annie. She peered into her face. “What? No black eye? No blunt-force trauma?”

“I’m perfectly fine. And keep your voice down.” Annie poured a cup of tea for Alice. “Tara’s resting upstairs.”

“Tara. Now there’s an earthy name. Who is she, and why is your houseguest in bed at this time of day. It’s nearly supper time!”

“The girl’s been through a lot, and I don’t think she’s well.”

Alice uncovered a foil-wrapped plate to reveal half a dozen muffins with a heavenly aroma. “Cherry cheesecake,” she chirped. “Tell all and I’ll share!”

“Ten pounds a whiff!” Annie mourned. She sighed and thought for a moment before replying. The “all” she knew about Tara Frasier wasn’t much, and explaining it was likely to be difficult. “Well, she recently lost her job. And her mother died. The poor girl doesn’t know what to do.”

Alice pushed up the sleeves of her green-and-pink plaid shirt, and her silver bracelets tinkled musically. “But how did she happen to show up here at Grey Gables?”

Annie took a few contemplative stitches in the doggy jacket she was making. Mary Beth, owner and champion of A Stitch in Time, had suggested that since they were launching a benefit for the local animal shelter, handmade pet products would be just the ticket. The single crocheted pet coat Annie had chosen hardly required close scrutiny; she could use the time spent on the undemanding pattern to sort out her thoughts. “Well, at first, she told me she just stumbled upon Grey Gables after her car broke down. But actually, she didn’t have a car, and she came here on purpose.”

“You’re harboring a prevaricator?”

Annie drew in her breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t think she lied exactly. Apparently she found some letters that Gram had written to her mother who just died. She said she had come to thank her, but then when she realized Gram was gone …”

Alice’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t she say so in the first place?”

“She came here right after her mother’s death and was pretty upset and confused. Actually, she nearly collapsed on the climb up to the house. She was in pretty bad shape. She thought that I wouldn’t help her if I knew she had hitchhiked all the way from Portland.”

“Hitchhiked?” Alice parroted. “All the way from Portland?”

Annie shrugged, and prepared herself for Alice’s chiding.
You’re such a pushover, Annie, especially when there’s a mystery afoot
.

Alice made the charge only with her eyes. Looking sidelong at Annie, she said, “What do you think is wrong with her?”

“I don’t know. She was real unsteady on her feet—especially last night. And she was pale as chalk. I think I’d better take her to the clinic.”

“Annie, what are you saying? She’s not your responsibility.”

Annie studied the stitches in her crochet project and waited. She didn’t want to sound all pious about being a brother’s (or a sister’s) keeper. But surely a young woman who lands on your doorstep and needs you …

“I mean, she could be anyone,” Alice said more quietly. “She could be—”

“She has no job and no family. She’s all alone. I think Gram would want me to help her; she seems so lost.”

Alice sighed. She took a muffin from the plate and held one out to Annie. They munched silently for a few seconds before the sound of the screen door halted their reverie. Tara stood on the threshold, paling at the sight of Annie’s guest.

She took a step back to retreat into the house. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

“Alice isn’t company. She’s my best friend from next door. Come on out and have a cup of tea and one of her homemade muffins. Fair warning. They’ll probably spoil our dinner!” Annie gestured toward an empty wicker chair at the table. “No one makes muffins better than Alice. Alice MacFarlane … Tara Frasier.”

Tara took the chair Annie had indicated. Her wild crop of curls had been tamed with a headband, and she wore a pink top under an oversized white shirt. She held out a thin hand and met Alice’s gaze briefly before dropping her eyes. “Hello,” she said softly. She took a muffin and watched the steam rise from her cup of tea. Her eyes roamed over the ocean and sky and the flowers blooming in a riot of color. “It’s so beautiful,” she said wistfully.

“Did your mother visit here, Tara?” Annie asked after a few moments of silence while the three of them gazed into the distance appreciatively.

“I—I think so, only I don’t know for sure. She didn’t talk much about herself, and I left home when I was pretty young.”

Annie and Alice listened to Tara’s account of an unhappy childhood, of loneliness, and of her struggle to make ends meet on a meager income. Tara didn’t know anything about her father other than the name he’d given them. She told them she herself had once been married, but that the union had ended unhappily. “My mother and I were never close. I always wanted to be …” She broke off and caught her lower lip in her teeth. “I didn’t realize how sick she was. I’m afraid I wasn’t there for her when she—” Her chin trembled, and tears began to fall quietly down her cheeks.

Wordlessly, Annie pulled a tissue from her tote bag. Tara dabbed her eyes and blew her nose, and then played with the tissue in her lap before speaking again. “I really need to know about my mother. You see …” She looked out over the bay, suddenly earnest. “I wasn’t there for my mother. I think in some ways I felt she hadn’t been there for me, and I was angry. But there was someone who helped her—your grandmother, Mrs. Dawson.”

Annie nodded, then said softly, “Please, Tara, call me Annie.”

Tara pulled something from the pocket of her jacket. A packet of letters tied with a pink ribbon. She untied the ribbon, and pressing out the folds, handed a letter to Annie.

Annie read silently, her fingers tracing the pale blue stationary along the familiar handwriting. The letter was dated April 4, 2009. She read the flowing lines that conveyed Gram’s poetic expression. Gram wrote that she was glad to hear from Claire “after all this time.” Following was an artful description of Stony Point, the blossoming of spring, and the ocean view from Grey Gables. She ended by urging Claire to take care of herself and assuring her that she wasn’t forgotten.

Annie’s eyes blurred when she read her grandmother’s name at the end of the letter. It was so like Gram to reach out to people who were lonely or ill. It sounded as though Tara’s mother had been both. Claire Andrews, the mother of this fragile young woman, had once been right here at Grey Gables, perhaps on the very porch where they were sitting.

“How did your mother know Mrs. Holden?” Alice asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“I don’t know.” Tara frowned. She looked off toward the ocean and was quiet for a long moment. “I have another letter,” she said then and handed Annie a second sheet of the pale blue linen stationery. Annie scanned the letter and began to read out loud, hoping she could keep her voice steady:

Dear Claire:

I was sorry to read you have been ill… That grieves me very much.
She skipped over more news about Stony Point, a description of summer roses, and an invitation to Grey Gables. Softly, she read the final lines:
I pray for you every day and for Tara. … Write to me soon and tell me all your news.

This time the signature read “Love, Elizabeth Holden.” Annie folded the letter, and swallowing hard, gave it back to Tara.

“I found these letters after she died,” Tara said. “I was clearing out the apartment and …” She broke off, near tears once more, and then in a rush of words said, “You can see why I needed to come here. I really want to know about my mother, to talk to someone who knew her, to … . Oh, I know it won’t make up for the years. She’s gone, and I never told her …”

Annie poured tea into Alice’s cup and refilled her own. She saw that Tara’s had not been touched. She cleared her throat, feeling desperately sorry for the young woman and wanting to defuse her anguish. “It’s not unusual to feel guilty after someone dies, Tara. Perhaps your mother knew how you felt …”

“No, I don’t think she did, and that’s what really gets to me.” Tara sounded a bit stronger, or perhaps self-recrimination gave an edge to her voice. “But I want to know her, you know? I want to understand …” But once again she broke off.

“My grandmother knew a lot of people, Tara. She was especially kind to young people and tried to help where she could. She was just that kind of lady. But
I
didn’t know your mother. Perhaps she met Gram when she was very young herself; it could have been a long time ago. I’ve never come across any letters from your mother, though Gram never threw anything away. Still, there may be some folks in Stony Point you could talk to.”

“She could come to the Hook and Needle Club meeting next week!” Alice interrupted. “I bet someone in the group knew her mother.” She had directed her words to Annie but looked back and forth from one face to another. Obviously, Alice had changed her mind about harboring a liar and fearing for her best friend’s life. But clearly she hadn’t been thinking about Stony Point’s reluctance to welcome strangers in their midst. Still, they were a fair bunch, and they cared about people, even “outsiders.”

Annie nodded and said somewhat gravely, “That’s certainly possible. You see, Tara, the Hook and Needle Club is for women who do needlework. We meet at A Stitch in Time, a store that sells supplies and provides instruction in all sorts of needlecrafts. You’d be welcome to come with Alice and me to our next meeting. It won’t be until next Tuesday, but you’ll need a few days to rest and get your bearings.”

Tara looked from Annie to Alice with a mix of hope and disbelief. She shook her head of kinky curls and said, “I’m very grateful. But you’ve done so much, Mrs. … Annie.” She corrected herself.

Annie nodded. “And you can just stay with me for a while.”

“I—I don’t want to intrude. The lease on my apartment in Portland is good for the year, but I’d like to stay in Stony Point a little while, or long enough to find out what I can about my mother. I’d like to work, though, if I can find a temporary job. At least part-time.”

Annie studied her, wondering at Tara’s compulsion to learn about her mother’s connection to Stony Point. Perhaps the girl had some resources, but was she strong enough to work, even if there was anything available? The only ad she’d seen in
The
Point
was for someone to assist Carla Calloway at the animal shelter—again. The turnover was pretty frequent. No surprise there, given Carla’s disposition. Even Vanessa, who loved being with the animals, steered clear of Carla when she could.

“You could check the paper to see if anyone’s hiring right now,” Annie suggested, “but you haven’t been feeling well. Perhaps you ought to see a doctor.”

“I was treated for anemia a year or so ago; it could be related to that.” Tara seemed to consider her own diagnosis, and little lines appeared in her forehead. “I think it’s just that I’m overtired, but I’ll see someone; I don’t think my health insurance has expired yet.”

“I’ll be happy to give you a ride into town,” Annie said.

Suddenly there was a heavy thud, the sound of something hitting the ground.

“Is Wally working out back?” Alice asked.

A swooshing sound followed, as though something had fallen into the bushes. Annie got up, dropping the crocheted pet coat. Alice and Tara followed her around the porch where huge hydrangeas bloomed in pink and purple abundance. They walked to the rear of the house, scanning the area for anything unexpected. But they saw nothing to account for the noise.

“A deer looking for food, perhaps,” Annie said. Or maybe it was a raccoon, though they usually prowled at night with their beady, ringed eyes. Beyond the yard lay a virtual forest, lush with pines and a variety of deciduous trees. She felt her pulse quicken and a memory returned as she surveyed the woods. She had once hidden in them—she and Amy, Mary Beth’s niece, when Dorian Jones—also known as a jewel thief—had been chasing them.

“Oh, look here!” Alice said.

Annie turned to see Alice bending over a big pot of geraniums, one of several that lined the wraparound porch at the rear of Grey Gables. The pot was broken and soil lumped on the ground amid broken stems of bright red flowers. Boots suddenly hopped down from the porch and sat on the grass, curling her tail around her in her best innocent pose.

“Boots!” Annie intoned. As they rushed toward her, the cat leaped away into the hydrangeas.

Boots was nothing if not curious, and she could get into things. Once she’d unraveled an entire ball of tweedy yarn that took hours to restore, but she had never knocked one of those heavy pots off the porch rail. She was notoriously light on her feet. She might be guilty, but it was more likely that a deer or small animal that had caused the ruckus.

Alice began extracting flower stems from the soil and broken clay, her Divine Décor bracelets jingling. “Don’t bother now, Alice. I’ll get it later.” Annie took Tara’s hand to direct her back to the porch and was surprised to find it sweaty and cold. Her face was drained of color, and her eyes wide with fright. “It’s nothing, Tara. Come on, the tea will be getting cold.”

She was certainly a high-strung young woman to be unnerved by such a small thing, Annie thought. But then she was in a strange place among people she didn’t know. But as they walked back to the front porch, Annie saw Tara glance over her shoulder, her lips set in a pale line. High-strung indeed.