Hearts at Home (26 page)

She frowned. What in the world
was
all that stuff ? She took another swallow. Whatever it was, it wasn't bad.

Confident that she was finally getting somewhere, she downed the first can.

Marc was reading a medical journal when the ringing of the phone snapped his concentration. Hurrying to answer it, he stubbed his toe and nearly broke his neck. “Hello?”

“Dr. Marc, it's Annie.”

Suddenly his toe hurt much less. “Annie? Where are you?”

“In my car, driving to Ogunquit. I'm coming home.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, then, like a fool he blurted out the first thought to cross his mind: “You're coming for the wedding, I suppose.”

“Not entirely.” She laughed, the sound musical in his ears. “I'm coming because I need to give the house a good going over, you know, to see what needs to be done. And I want to be there for Caleb, to try to talk him out of leaving. I'm calling because I wondered if you'd ask him to have a room ready for me tonight.”

“Sure.” Biting back disappointment, Marc settled into his chair. So . . . she'd decided to sell the house. Which meant his world would soon be turned upside down in more than one way.

Oblivious to his pain, she kept rattling on. “If Caleb insists on leaving, I was thinking a little town get-together might be nice—you know, a reception in his honor. As long as it doesn't interfere with Salt's and Birdie's wedding.”

Marc looked at the ceiling. “I don't think Caleb would want you to make a lot of fuss. Why don't you discuss it with him when you arrive? I've a feeling he might enjoy a quiet dinner, just the two of you.”

“Would you come, too? After all,” she laughed softly, “you're part of our household.”

She saw him as part of her household . . . perhaps a genial father figure. Certainly no more.

“I'll come,” he promised, knowing it might be the last dinner they ever shared together. “Now you drive safely and come on home. We'll be waiting for you.”

Her heart singing, Annie clicked off her cell phone and dropped it into the passenger's seat. For the first time in her life, she knew what she wanted and felt right about pursuing it.

After her strange experience last night she had dreamed again, but the second dream had a more surreal quality. She saw herself sitting on the sofa with A.J. and Dr. Marc in the parlor of Frenchman's Fairest. Because she was weeping for Olympia and Edmund, someone had drawn her into strong arms and comforted her. She had opened her eyes, expecting to see A.J., but he was standing against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets, his wide eyes focused on the window and the world beyond Heavenly Daze.

And in that moment she knew.

Alexander James Hayes was a fine man, a wonderful surgeon, and a dutiful son, but he would not make her a good husband. On the other hand, the man who had instilled those fine qualities in A.J. was the one who understood her. Marc Hayes had comforted her and wiped her tears, he had given her wise advice and treated her—how had Olympia put it?—as a priceless treasure.

Love had been blooming along with the tomato plants all last autumn, but she'd been too preoccupied to see the tender bud.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Annie's voice rang through the foyer and echoed up the stairs. She dropped her purse and gloves on the table by the door, then ventured farther into the house. Nothing had changed physically in Frenchman's Fairest, but the place seemed empty without Olympia's formidable presence.

“Caleb?” She walked toward the kitchen and pushed on the swinging door, but the butler was nowhere in sight. For an instant she worried, then remembered the upcoming wedding. Caleb was probably at the church, offering his services to Birdie and Edith.

She had just begun to unbutton her coat when she heard a rap at the back door. Dr. Marc was peering through the glass.

She felt herself flush as she hurried to let him in. “Dr. Marc!”

“Welcome home, Annie.” He stomped his boots on the mat, then stepped in and rubbed his hands together. “Have any trouble getting here?”

“No. Floyd brought me over on the ferry. I'm afraid Captain Stroble is going to have to fight our mayor for control of the boat when he gets back.”

Marc laughed, and for the first time she noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. He had the kindest eyes she had ever seen in a man's face.

She motioned toward the refrigerator. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I'm fine. But if you're hungry, feel free—”

“I'm not hungry.”

For a moment neither of them spoke, then the doctor gestured toward the table. “Shall we sit? I believe we have some things to discuss.”

“Ayuh, we do.” Gratefully, she sank into the nearest chair. She had so much to tell him, but how did you tell a good friend that your feelings had ripened into something that could lead to love? What if he didn't welcome the news?

“I'm glad you've come home, Annie.”

Her heart leapt. “Are you?”

“Of course. Caleb gets lonely rattling around in this big house. I can see why he's ready to move on.”

She smiled, though her heart felt the sting of disappointment. “Is he still talking about leaving?”

“Ayuh.”

“I wish he wouldn't.” She bit her lip. “I'd like him to stay.”

A flicker of a smile rose at the edges of Marc's mouth, then died out. “I suppose I'll be leaving, too. I was going to talk to Floyd about building a clinic at the north end of the island, but perhaps he and Cleta can put me up until we're able to afford that.”

She caught her breath. “Why would
you
leave?”

“Well . . . because you're selling the house.”

“Selling?” She stared at him in dismay. “Why would I sell?”

His brows drew together. “You
said
you were going to sell it. You're here to get the house ready for the realtor, aren't you?”

“I never said that.”

“You did.”

“I said I was coming home to look the house over— because I plan to live here. I don't know how I'm going to afford it, but sometimes you just have to step out in faith and do what you know is right. But Marc . . . I don't want to live here alone.”

“You don't?”

“No.”

He peered at her intently. “What did you have in mind?”

As a tingling numbed the pit of her stomach, she carefully met his gaze. “First of all, you'll stay put. Then, maybe a courtship. Six months, maybe eight. However long you think is proper . . . just to see where things might lead.”

He drew in a quick breath, but a flame smoldered in his eyes. “A courtship, you say.”

She nodded.

He looked away, but an easy smile began to play at the corners of his lips. “I suppose you're thinking I should court Beatrice, now that Birdie will be married to Salt.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Not exactly. Miss Bea is a nice lady, but she's not exactly your type.”

He tilted his head and looked at her. “And who, pray tell,
is
my type?”

“Someone,” she pushed her hair back, “who will decide to treat you as a precious treasure.” She placed one hand on his shoulder, then bent her head and looked up into his eyes. “Someone who is willing to be precious to you.”

“And who,” his voice sounded strangled, “might that be?”

“I'm a good candidate.”

He straightened in his chair, his brows rising like flags, but in that instant the back door opened and a breath of winter wind blustered into the kitchen.

Caleb appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Well,” he said, his smile broadening as his brows lifted. “Look what the wind blew in!”

Caleb felt his spirit warm as he beheld Annie and Marc together. God was good.

“Annie,” he cut off her flustered explanation with an uplifted hand, “I've been given another assignment. I'll be leaving Thursday, probably right before the wedding.”

Her face fell. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay? Caleb, you've been by my side for so many years—let me do something for you. I've decided to keep the house, so you don't have to go.”

He dropped his hand to the top of her head. “Do not hold me, child, or keep me from obeying the Lord's will. Thank you for the generous offer, but my orders come from on high. I must be off.”

Her chin wobbled then, as it always had just before she burst into tears, and Caleb closed his eyes to the sight of them. Placing both hands firmly upon her head, he lifted his face to the heavens.

“Bless this young woman, Lord, and hold her in the palm of your hand. Direct her in the path you have prepared for her, and fill her days with light and love. Give her joy enough to lighten her heart, and pain enough to make her sensitive to the needs of others. I love her, Lord, and it has been my privilege to serve her.”

At the sound of Annie's quiet weeping, for the first time in his ministry Caleb wished he had permission to fade into the wallpaper and avoid the pain of human sorrow.

Chapter Twenty

O
n Wednesday, Edith phoned Floyd as soon as the grandfather clock struck eight. Would he mind taking the ferry to Ogunquit this morning? She had an emergency she had to take care of in town.

She could almost see Floyd's skeptical expression, but he promised to meet her on the dock in twenty minutes. Grateful, Edith hung up the phone, then slipped on her dark coat, scarf and sunglasses. Winslow was singing in the shower, so he wouldn't hear her slip away. Soon he'd dress and go to his study to work on his sermon; with a little luck it'd be lunchtime before he noticed she'd gone out.

She left the house and hurried to the public restrooms. Only two shakes remained in the cardboard box— two out of twenty-four.

My heaven. Had she really drunk
twenty
shakes since yesterday?

She popped the top of a strawberry can and drained the contents like a lobsterman guzzling beer. As she exhaled a contented sigh, she looked at the can and lifted a brow.

Funny, how they'd gone from being “not bad” to “delicious” in the space of a few hours.

Fortified by another dose of fake food, she tied the scarf under her chin and set out for the ferry.

An hour later she stood in the Ogunquit grocery, watching the clerk ring up another two dozen drinks. The young woman behind the cash register eyed the cans as she ran them through the scanner. “Are these any good?”

Edith couldn't lie. “They're delicious, but I get a little hungry on them.”

The woman laughed. “I don't see how you could. Didn't you buy a case yesterday?”

Her cheeks burning, Edith searched for her checkbook. “I'm concerned the weather will turn bad and I might not get back over for awhile.” She paid for her purchase and picked up the box.

This time she didn't possess the energy for pride. When Floyd offered to take the box from her at the dock, she handed it over without a word. He scowled as he shifted it to his hip. “What have you got in here? Lead?”

Edith didn't answer; she trudged into the cabin, then sank to the seat and stared straight ahead. She ought to be feeling great—according to her calculations, yesterday she'd ingested five thousand calories. She ought to have energy to spare, so why did she feel so listless and unsatisfied?

Maybe the wedding was to blame, or the emotional rollercoaster she'd been riding this month with Olympia's funeral and Birdie's wedding coming so close together. Maybe the problem was Win's lack of sympathy . . . and the fact that he had lost weight on her diet without even trying.

Life wasn't fair, and it certainly didn't make sense.

After safely docking at Heavenly Daze (he was getting the hang of it and had timed this landing perfectly), Floyd Lansdown watched Edith trudge up the hill with her heavy box. Rubbing his whiskered chin, he glanced down at Butch, who had boarded the boat when they landed.

“I don't know, old boy, but I think that woman's in trouble.”

Butch whined, his tail wagging, until Floyd fished a doggie treat out of a canister Stroble kept at the helm. He tossed the cookie to Butch, then leaned on the wheel and stared at Edith's retreating figure. “I ain't one for buttin' in anybody's business, you understand, but I am a mite concerned for the preacher's wife.”

Butch crunched the biscuit, showering crumbs on the fiberglass floor.

Floyd squinted as the pastor's wife moved past the parsonage and kept walking. Where in tarnation was she taking that load? To the
bathrooms?
He pulled back, his dignity affronted, and Edith disappeared through a brick doorway. Why, those were public restrooms, not community lockers. Nobody used 'em in winter, so she wasn't doing any harm, but if everybody decided to hide their goodies in the bathroom, they'd have a real mess come tourist season.

Floyd pulled his pipe from his pocket, then thrust it between his teeth. He usually minded his own business; didn't like to stir the waters, but he could spot trouble a mile away—in this instance, fifty yards off.

Something had to be done. Edith hadn't looked herself this morning, and it was a sure bet Pastor Winslow didn't know about her gallivantin' around in a Jackie O disguise.

As mayor of Heavenly Daze, he had an obligation to look after his constituents.

Ayuh.

He did.

Strains of the “Wedding March” drifted from the church as Floyd climbed the hill just before dusk. He'd meant to visit the pastor as soon as possible, but then Babette and Dana had wanted to run over to Ogunquit to shop. After he had taken them over, Stanley had called and asked if he could ride with Floyd just to get out of the house— Vernie was getting anxious about her wedding solo, and Stanley was afraid of getting his head bit off.

So Stanley had come over and they'd taken the ferry to pick up Babette and Dana, but he was no further than half-way across when Cleta had called him back to pick her up because she had to get her dress from the dry cleaners . . . and so it went. Before he knew it, the day had faded away, and he'd lost count of how many times he'd piloted the ferry to Ogunquit and back.