Seaside Harmony Part 15

Caroline felt tears stinging her eyes. "And you?"

Sam shrugged. "Still a little sh.e.l.l-shocked."

"I can't blame Gracie for being mad at me, and I know you're worried, but really, Sam, I haven't made a decision yet. It's sort of like that song 'Torn Between Two Lovers.' I really do feel like a fool, but I just don't know what to do."

Sam smiled her wonderfully soft smile, the one that made her so easy to love. "You need to do what will make you the happiest."

"At the risk of hurting you and Gracie?"

"She'll get over it eventually, and I understand where you're coming from. You love Briar Rose."

"I love the inn too. I love you and Gracie more, but I'm afraid if I stay here I'll end up doing something wrong. That I'll disappoint you both."

"You could never disappoint me," Sam said, wrapping her arms around Caroline. "No matter what you do, I'll always be your biggest fan."

She stood in the back garden and looked out over the waves. The surf pounded against the sand, its gentle roar calming her tense nerves. Briar Rose sure didn't have a view like this. Then again, Briar Rose didn't have peeling wallpaper or dirt, dust, and who knows what living in places where you'd never expect. At Briar Rose she could curl up in her favorite overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace and read until she was bored silly; at the Misty Harbor she'd have to work day and night, dusting, cleaning, and washing bed linens. At Briar Rose, she could live just as she'd always wanted to-doing just as she pleased every day. Here in Nantucket, she'd have her sisters.

She would have put out both hands and pretend to weigh the two on a scale, but she didn't think there was much of a comparison at all between the two places. If you put the two side by side . . . oh bother! The two houses would never be side by side. One of them had to go.

She turned away from the ocean and meandered along the crushed sh.e.l.l path. The garden was beautiful this time of day, so peaceful and serene. She took her time smelling the roses, and she plucked a dark pink bud from one of the bushes and tucked it into her hair.

All of a sudden she was a.s.sailed by a familiar scent. Chanel No. 5. Her mother's favorite. It was strong and powerful. She tried to remember if Sam had been wearing the perfume when she'd hugged her. Maybe she had, and it was clinging to her now. But it seemed to be in the air. It was everywhere, as if her mother were walking with her now, admiring the flowers, trying to tell Caroline how to care for them. But Caroline didn't want to have a green thumb. She simply wanted to enjoy the beauty around her, however it grew.

When she reached the front of the house, she climbed the steps and peered through the leaded gla.s.s in the front door, and could see all the way to the back of the house. If she really strained her eyes, she might even see the ocean.

The dust covers were off everything now. The shutters were opened, and the boards that had covered other windows were gone. The house looked like it had more of a soul now. It looked almost happy, as if it knew a family might soon be living in it again.

A family.

"Come along girls, we don't want to be late for tea."

Rosalie's voice came to her so clearly, and she could see her mother now, dressed in her flowery Easter dress with a pink coat over it. She'd dyed her shoes to match and wore her own Jackie Kennedy pill box hat so she and her girls would look like a matched set.

Oh, how she'd wanted to hide that day. She had felt strange, a teenager dressed like an Easter egg. But Mom had been so proud. She'd ushered them into the inn and once they were in the parlor, she breathed deeply, as if she wanted to absorb the atmosphere inside and carry it with her always.

Her mother's spirit was in this house. Her laughter, her smiles. None of those things were in Briar Rose.

Caroline breathed deeply. She'd made her decision.

"You didn't tell me the Lobster Claw was in 'Sconset. It's a good thing I asked a local how to find this place, or I would have been totally late for dinner."

Gracie looked up from the dowdy window table inside the charming cafe housed inside an old fisherman's shack. Caroline was standing there, all smiles. She looked awfully pretty in her purple gauze blouse, her khaki shorts, and a seash.e.l.l necklace she'd told them had been made for her by some kids in the South Sea islands of Vanuatu. With Caroline, there was always a story.

Gracie couldn't help but wonder what her story was now.

"Table's awfully small," Caroline said, gesturing at the scarred wooden square between them. "I can pull up a chair. Or maybe we could find another table." She looked at Gracie. "Or maybe I can sit by myself."

"Let's just pull up a chair," Sam said, scooting her chair closer to the multipaned window. She was practically sitting in the white linen curtain. "If we'd known you were going to come-"

"You had no way of knowing." Caroline borrowed a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up close to Sam. The cafe was so small, there wasn't much room for the waiter to walk around, "Have you been here long?" asked Caroline.

Gracie could only hope they weren't causing a problem.

"We'd planned to be here at seven, but we ended up haunting every art studio and pottery shack we found along the water," Sam said. "We even found a place called Dekker's, but it was closed."

"Do you think it was Bill Dekker's place?" Caroline asked.

"It's just a guess, but yes," Sam said. "He did say he's an artist, and what better place for an artist to work than here in 'Sconset."

"I wish we'd been able to see through the windows," Gracie said, trying to act something close to normal around Caroline. She only wished her sister would tell them she'd made a decision, so she could stop playing a guessing game in her head. "I'd like to know what kind of artist he is. For some reason, I can't picture him sitting out on the beach with an easel and palette full of oil paints or watercolors."

"I see him as more of a sculptor," Sam said, "standing over a flaming forge pounding out bronze or steel."

They all tried to laugh, but it seemed forced. The waiter came and took their orders, starting off with hot baby brie en croute. Each of them followed up with boiled live lobster-the only way to go, Gracie had thought-and they ordered a combination of onion rings and fries, coleslaw, and a lot of cheesy biscuits on the side. They chatted with the waiter, who looked like he had a couple of years to go before graduating from high school, and it helped ease the tension at the table. But Gracie still felt nervous.

Caroline took a sip of her iced tea and kept looking at something or someone across the room, as if she didn't want to look at her sisters. Sam tried making light conversation. Gracie couldn't stand it any longer.

"Have you made a decision, Caroline? If you're going back to England and buying Briar Rose, please tell us now and get it over."

Gracie wasn't sure, but she thought Caroline's eyes sparkled. For some reason she didn't see that as the best of news. It seemed to mean Caroline was going to go back to England, and the sip of water she'd just taken lodged in her throat. It wasn't the loss of the inn that was bothering her so much; it was the loss of her sister.

"I don't want to give up Briar Rose," Caroline said. Her eyes started to water, and she used the corner of her paper napkin to wipe a tear away. "But I can't give up the two of you. I left you once a long time ago. I'm not going to leave again."

Gracie, too, wiped a tear from her eye. So did Sam.

"I'm staying here," she said. "For good. Now let's just hope and pray we get the inn."

Caroline paced from one end of the living room to the other, back and forth, over and over. If the room had had carpeting, she would have worn it out.

"Haven't you ever heard the saying 'A watched pot never boils'?" Gracie asked, from her sunny spot in the cottage's living room, where she pretended to be reading a book. Sam knew better. Gracie had never been so anxious in her life. Even Max's antics couldn't calm them down enough to laugh.

"Their seventy-two hours is almost up," Sam said, staring at the jigsaw puzzle pieces spread haphazardly across the dining room table-a parrot claw here, a feather there. "The offer was simple. One hundred percent cash. An offer doesn't get better than that."

"But we offered almost twenty percent less than they were asking." Caroline continued to pace. She checked the clock on the wall. She paced some more. "They're probably making us sweat because we slapped them in the face with such a lowball offer."

"They slapped themselves in the face," Gracie said, looking up from her book, "by letting the inn get so run-down. If they'd cared for it, even a fraction of the way we care for it, they would have taken a few precautions to keep it and all the beautiful things inside from nearly getting swallowed up by the environment. They don't deserve full price. They don't deserve us worrying about whether or not they're upset about how much we offered. At least we made them an offer; that's far more than anyone else has done."

"What if we don't get it?" Sam said, trying to be the voice of reason. "What will you do then, Caroline? You won't have a home in England, and you won't have a place here."

"I refuse to think anything negative, Sam. It's going to be ours. I can't imagine G.o.d giving us the opportunity to make Mom's dream come true and then ripping it out from under us."

The phone rang, and Sam jumped. Every nerve in her body tensed.

"That has to be Deborah," Caroline said. "You get it, Sam. You've done more work than anyone else to put this deal together. You're the one who deserves to hear the news first."

"What if it's bad news?" Sam said. She stood up and moved toward the phone. She tried desperately to stop her heart from racing, but she couldn't.

"It won't be bad news," Caroline said. "Think positive."

Easier said than done, Sam thought. She took a deep breath. Her voice stuck in her throat, and she could just barely say "h.e.l.lo" when she answered the phone. She cleared her throat a couple of times. She breathed hard as she listened to Deborah go on and on and on. If only she'd get to the point.

"Thank you, Deborah," Sam finally said when Deborah told her the sellers' answer.

Sam hung up the phone. She set it on the table and clutched her stomach, which was tumbling over and over.

"What did she say?" Gracie asked. "Spit it out, Sam."

Sam swallowed and swallowed again, trying to get rid of the lump that felt permanently lodged in her throat.

"Please, Sam. Tell us."

Slowly Sam smiled. "It's ours."

You look just like Mom."

Caroline sat at the bottom of the curving staircase and watched Sam at work with her feather duster, stirring up a hurricane of soot, cinders, sand, and dirt. Her hair was wrapped in a red bandanna that looked just like one their mother had worn when she cleaned house back in the fifties and sixties. Sam had been at it all day. For the past two days, actually-ever since they moved lock, stock, and barrel into the inn. Just two weeks after they signed the escrow papers and wrote their ma.s.sive check.

Caroline hadn't stopped smiling since that wondrous moment. Even Bill Dekker's less-than-perfect inspection report hadn't dampened her smile. There was a lot of work to be done-a little wood rot, a busted pipe in one of the upstairs bathrooms-but nothing critical, nothing that would kill the deal. The Misty Harbor Inn was in business, or would be as soon as it looked like its old grand and glorious self.

Sam struck a pose for Caroline, aiming her can of lemon wax toward the banister and shaking out at least the twentieth dust rag she'd used so far this morning. "Mom would have had this place spick-and-span by now."

"I doubt that." Caroline laughed. "Considering where we started, I'd say we're making good progress. As far as I know, she never had to get rid of an abandoned wasp nest inside the oven, or have to take the stove apart piece by piece to make sure she got out every creature that had crawled inside and died." Caroline smiled at her little sister. "Try to put things in perspective. In reality, we're making great progress."

"At least we'll have a place to sleep tonight."

"Thank goodness! It was nice of Megan to loan us sleeping bags and air mattresses, but I'm eager to get the bedrooms cleaned up so we can sleep inside instead of out on the back porch." Caroline swished her dust mop into the corner of a stair tread.

"I would have thought you'd be used to sleeping under the stars."

"I outgrew my love of that a good ten years ago. Now that I've grown up, I long for comfort. We have to buy top-of-the-line mattresses for all the rooms."

"We'll get the best we can afford," Sam said mildly.

Using her dust mop for leverage, Caroline pushed up from the stairs, feeling every one of her sixty-one years. The aches and pains in her back, knees, shoulders, elbows, and hands made her want to give up, but there was still so much to clean, and so much more to fall in love with.

"I hope Gracie doesn't mind sharing a room with me. I toss and turn and-"

"She'll be going back and forth to Maine so much, it probably won't matter." They had decided that when Gracie was in town, she would split the larger bedroom that looked out over the back garden and the beach with Caroline, while Sam took the smaller room toward the front of the house.

Caroline applied the mop to another step, working her way up to the second floor. "I really wish she'd decide to stay full time."

"She'll be here for the rest of the summer," Sam said. "There's no telling how she'll feel when it's time for her to head back to Portland. She might decide it's okay to sell her home-or rent it out like I'm going to do-and stay here permanently."

There's still so much to be worked out, Caroline thought as she leaned the mop against the banister at the top of the stairs. They weren't sure how they would split up the ch.o.r.es once they had guests with Gracie gone much of the time. She guessed they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

The loud thump on the front door took them both by surprise. Caroline whipped around when the second thud hit the door. She stared at Sam. "Are you expecting company?"

Sam shook her head. On the third thwack, Caroline bounded down the stairs and tugged. Still swollen from the elements and age and neglect, it didn't open on the first try or the second. Through the leaded gla.s.s window Caroline saw the wavering image of someone short, with white hair. It could only be Mrs. Addison-Shirley, she'd call her, and why not, since she was of an age? On the third tug, the door flew open. Shirley held her cane at an angle, on the verge of banging the door once again. She had a paper bag clutched in her hand.

"Thought you'd never let me in." She stepped into the foyer.

"I'm so sorry about that, Mrs. . . . Shirley." Caroline smiled. "The outside doors are all tough to open, but we'll have that fixed in no time."

Shirley looked around, taking in the faded wallpaper and the layers of dust that still covered the fine woodwork in the foyer. Her lips were set in a thin line. "I hear you've hired Bill Dekker. Good man. He's done work for me on occasion. Doesn't try to rob you blind like some of the newcomers to the island. He's been here forever, but I'm sure you know that already."

"Actually-"

Max charged through the door, a streak of buff-colored flying fur, and almost knocked Shirley off to one side. Caroline instantly grabbed Shirley's arm, keeping her upright. "Hold it right there, Max."

"I've got him," Sam called out, wrapping her fingers around Max's collar. "What on earth have you got in your mouth?" Sam asked the pooch. She tried to yank the white Styrofoam package from his mouth and ended up in a game of tug-of-war.

"Oh my goodness! What have you got there, Max?" Caroline asked, letting go of Mrs. Addison and taking the package from Sam's hands. Caroline's eyes widened. She felt a bit sick to her stomach. "Naughty dog! Where did this come from?"

Max looked at Caroline with innocent eyes, as if he hadn't a clue what she was talking about.

"This wouldn't by any chance be yours, would it?" Caroline asked Shirley, holding out the one-pound package of ground turkey. The plastic and Styrofoam were covered in teeth marks.

Mrs. Addison's lips pursed. Her already pink cheeks turned nearly scarlet. "I was wondering where that got to."

"I'm so terribly, terribly sorry." Caroline swallowed hard. "If he got into your house-"

"I believe he got into the trunk of my car while I was taking groceries into the house. I didn't buy all that much, but I had intended to make myself some turkey burgers for tonight. It appears that won't be happening now."

Sam stepped forward. Smiling, she stuck out the hand that wasn't holding Max's collar. "We haven't formally met yet. I'm Sam Carter, Caroline's youngest sister."

Mrs. Addison took Sam's hand reluctantly and gave it a perfunctory shake.

"I'm making my mother's maple-glazed chicken Sunday night. The inn won't be spick-and-span by then, but we'd love to have you join us."

"That doesn't exactly make up for my pound of ground turkey."

"Oh, we'll replace that as soon as we get to the store," Caroline said. "We'll be going every day for a while, since we're waiting for a repairman to come out and look at the refrigerator, and it's nearly impossible to keep much of anything cold in an ice chest this time of the year."

Shirley nodded. "Thank you very much for the dinner invitation. I'll bring dessert. I make a mean cranberry cobbler." Caroline met Sam's eye. Apparently Shirley liked to do things her way. "And don't use an ice chest. I have an extra refrigerator in my garage. As long as your dog"-she aimed tightened eyes at the pup-"doesn't get it in his head to rob me blind again, you're welcome to use it. The last thing I want is to come here for dinner this weekend and end up eating spoiled chicken. If I die from salmonella, it won't be good for your fledgling B and B."

"We're so glad you'll come," Sam said, graciously ignoring her comments. "Come by around seven, and if you don't mind, we'll come by this afternoon and put a few things in your fridge. Thank you so much for your offer."

"Don't mind at all. Now"-she leaned on her cane-"I did come over here for a reason, not that I can remember what that was." She frowned. "Oh yes, I wanted to welcome you." She held out the crinkled paper bag.

Caroline took the bag from Shirley and reached inside. She pulled out a heavy rectangle. It was wrapped in paper that was dotted with angels, and it was rather bent and faded, like it had been used many times over the years. The bow was made from one stringy piece of curly ribbon that didn't have much curl left in it. Of course, as Rosalie Marris had always taught her girls, it's the thought that mattered.

Caroline was careful with the paper, making sure she didn't tear even one little corner. She'd regift it to Shirley someday. She could tell from the feel of the gift that it was a book, and when she finally had the paper removed, all she could do was stare. It felt almost holy in her hands.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"A hymnal."

"Look inside," Shirley said. "Read what it says."