Embers (14 page)

****

"
Well, it can
'
t stay in the sitting room, that
'
s for
damn
sure.
"
Everett Atwells didn
'
t know much about decorating, but he did know that normal knickknacks didn
't run four by
five by two-and-a-half feet.

"
I know, Dad,
"
Meg said, smiling at her father
'
s consternation. The house could
'
ve been a horse, as far as he was concerned.
"
I
'
ve
been cleaning out the back shed; it will fit in there."

"
And a filthy mess you
'
ve made of yourself, girl,
"
he said, surveying his smudgy offspring.
"
So, what
'
re your plans? You gonna run an ad, or just bring in someone to auction it?
"

"
Dad! I
'
m not
selling
it!
"
Meg said, scandalized.

"
Well, what the heck else can you do with it? Give tours?
"

"
I don
'
t know. But it stays. At least for now.
"

"
Okay, noodle.
"
He leaned over and kissed the top of his daughter
'
s head.
"
You know the situation best.
"

The situation. That would be their financial situation, of course. Precarious at best, terrifying at worst. This year was better than some but worse than most. It was interesting, the way her father assumed that the proceeds from any sale of the dollhouse would go into the general pot. In his mind it was one for all and all for one. But then, anyone who
'
d ever been there on Chicken Pie Night would know that.

She tapped the deck of cards sticking out from his shirt pocket.
"
How
'
d you do tonight?
"

Instantly he reached behind for his wallet.
"
Ten bucks. Are you short?
"

She laughed and shook her head and sent him on his way. It was late, eleven thirty, but Meg was too tired to shower, so she brewed herself a cup of tea and went out to the sitting room to just
...
look, for a while, at her inheritance. Comfort had managed to recover the purloined pillar; Meg rolled it between her fingers, clucking softly over Coughdrop
'
s teeth marks in it, and fitted it gently into place on the miniature veranda.

It was designed to slip in easily, a nice little feat of engineering. The whole thing was so beautifully, enchantingly constructed. Meg would
'
ve liked to turn on its lights, but apparently she needed a transformer, and that was arriving with the furnishings. Tomorrow. She felt as impatient as a new homeowner waiting for moving day.

She and Paul had never quite managed the down payment on a home of their own, of course. At one point they were almost there, and they had gone to Uncle Billy for the rest of the money. But he
'
d just shaken his head and said,
"
Don
'
t like the house; don
'
t like to lend.
"

Well, everyone knew Uncle Billy was tight as the bark to a tree. But Meg had embarrassed Paul by convincing him that they had a chance, and he never quite forgave her for it. She smiled, remembering Paul
'
s fierce pride. How he
'
d hated working in Uncle Billy
'
s hardware store. And yet she
'
d never have met him otherwise. When they moved to
Trenton
, she hoped Paul might be happy with his new job as a contractor, but the recession had nipped those hopes in the bud.

Finally, when he landed the job at the boatyard in
Southwest
Harbor
, his life turned around. He loved working on boats, loved everything about them: their exactness, their beauty, the wonderful freedom they promised.
"
Better than the bike,
"
he decided, which astonished her. The Harley- Davidson had been bought with down-payment money. It was a dumb thing to do, but he
'
d been so unhappy.

The ad to sell the Harley was still running, and Meg was still pregnant, the weekend Paul lost control of the bike on the
Park Loop Road
.

After that: no bike, no boat, no house, no baby, no Paul. Meg went numb, and then she went home, because
—
as Cornfort had so simply put it
—
"
home is where they have to take you in.
"
When she got there, she found Allie in a mess and Comfort overwhelmed with the job of caring for twins. Somehow the three of them managed to survive. Nowadays Meg, at least, was content. Maybe not joyful, but content.

And now, at last, she was a homeowner. The irony was that the dollhouse was probably worth as much as some starter home outside of town. She
'
d told her father that she wasn
'
t going to sell the dollhouse, and she meant it. Maybe what she needed was a piece of
Alice
'
s mushroom, to shrink herself down to fit inside.

Meg stood up and stretched wearily, then circled the exquisite shingled structure, still holding her half-drunk cup of tea. The house wasn
'
t the same without its interior lights lit, no doubt about it. It was like a jack-o
'
-lantern with no candle, a Christmas tree with the plug pulled out. And yet even now
— she could feel it; it wasn
'
t her imagination
—
the dollhouse had an undeniable
presence.
Something, somehow, was beckoning to her from within. Call it magic, call it soul; the house had it.

She just didn
'
t know what to do about it.

****

The dollhouse was still in the sitting room and Meg was still in the back shed preparing the site when Allie came in to invite her sister to, of all things, a séance.

"
Gee, I
'
m afraid you
'
re too late,
"
Meg said dryly.
"
I just signed up for AT&T
'
s Reach Out program.
"

Allie picked up a broom and poked her sister in the behind with it.
"
I
'
m serious. Julia
'
s having a séance at the Elm Tree Inn. Actually, they don
'
t call it a séance; it
'
s a
'
darkroom session.
'
It turns out Julia Talmadge has a friend, some college pal from
Wellesley
, who channels
.  Y
ou know
—
who has one of those spirit guides helping her get in touch with the beyond? The friend lives in
Philadelphia
, and every Tuesday night she and a dozen friends get together to peek on the other side of the veil.
"

"Tarot
must be too down-to-earth for them,
"
Meg quipped good-naturedly.

"
Meg! We
'
re really lucky to be asked. Normally the group is closed to outsiders.
"

"
What
'
s this channeler person doing so far from
Philadelphia
?
"

Allie held the dustpan while her sister swept a mound of dirt onto it and said,
"
Julia told me one of the group happened to visit
Acadia
last summer and got strong psychic vibrations in the park, especially near Thunder Hole. So the group
'
s taken over most of the Elm Tree Inn through the weekend. And tonight they
'
re going to test the spiritual waters around here.
"

"
I see. Kind of a New Age group tour. Well, I hope a spirit or two obliges them,
"
Meg said.
"
Maybe they should just stick to whale watching.
"
She shook her head thoughtfully.
"
I wonder how they can afford this junket? I mean, it
'
s definitely cheaper to go to church.
"

"
Different strokes for different folks, Meg. Julia says three or four of them are wealthy widows looking for their husbands.
"

"Gee
. Why settle for old when you can afford new?
"

"
Meg!
"

"
I know, I know,
"
Meg said without contrition.
"
Sour grapes.
"
She sighed and took another sweep with her broom into Allie
'
s dustpan.
"
But some of these women make wealth look so
...
natural.
It
'
s like magic money just falls from the sky on them.
"

Allie cocked her head up at her sister.
"
What about the dollhouse, Mrs. Hazard? Didn
'
t that fall from the sky?
"

Meg sucked in her breath and blushed to the neck of her dark blue T-shirt.
"
God, you
'
re right. I keep forgetting I
'
m an heiress.
"

"
Don
'
t worry; no one around here will ever let you do that. So what about it? Wanna come?
"

Meg wrinkled her nose.
"
I don
'
t think so. I
'
m due to visit Orel Tremblay in an hour, and the taxpayers
'
committee is having a meeting this afternoon. So I won
'
t be able to move in until tonight
—
move the furniture in, I mean,
"
she said quickly.

"
Okay, then. I
'
ll drag Tom. He
'
s never been to a séance.
"

"
You
'
re just looking for an excuse to hold hands,
"
Meg teased, but there was a brittle edge in her own voice that surprised her.

"
You laugh,
"
Allie said with a woeful look,
"
but a séance is about what it will take. I
'
ve never seen anyone look so interested and do so little about it. I thought he was going to kiss me, that night we had the full moon. Everything seemed so right. And yet
—
nothing.
"

"
I remember that night,
"
Meg said quietly.

"
He absolutely fascinates me, Meg. I
'
ve never met anyone else who
'
s had the willpower to
—
"

"
—
resist you?
"

"Yes, that
. I feel like a piece of candy during Lent. I don
'
t know what he
'
s waiting for. He seems to
'
ve drawn some line for himself that he just won
'
t cross. He wines me and dines me
—
well, he seltzers me and dines me
—
and seems up for anything I want to do. He laughs at my jokes. He tells plenty of his own. He
'
ll stroke my cheek or caress my shoulder, but that
'
s as far as it goes. Do you think maybe his wound
'
s a little higher than he
'
s told us?
"

Meg laughed out loud.
"
Now,
you
have what I call a healthy ego,
"
she said, hanging up the broom.
"
Did it ever occur to you that there might be other reasons for him not to be throwing himself on you?
"