Hearts at Home (29 page)

She rapped on the open bedroom door. “Edith? You taking a shower?”

Silence from the bedroom and no sign of Edith, but the bathroom light was on, too. Stepping around the corner, Cleta opened the bathroom door wider—and gasped when she saw Edith Wickam lying unconscious on the bathroom floor, wet-haired and wearing nothing but a gaping bathrobe.

“Oh, spit!”

She lunged inside the room and placed two fingertips on Edith's throat. She knew less than nothing about such things, but this is what they always did on TV.

She felt nothing but cold and clammy skin. Cleta leapt to her feet and sprinted through the house, yelling as she ran past the church. Rounding the corner, she nearly tangled with Tallulah, out on her afternoon walk.

Yip!

“Sorry, Tallulah. Emergency!” she panted as her Nikes pelted the sidewalk.

Yipping in excitement, Tallulah raced by Cleta's side, keeping pace as the woman ran toward the medical clinic at Frenchman's Fairest.

Cleta and Tallulah flew around the corner to find Dr. Marc talking to Annie at the gate. “Come quick!” Cleta bellowed. “Edith Wickam just dropped dead.”

“What?”

Cleta waved her hands helplessly. “She's cold and wet and on the floor. Hurry!”

The doctor raced inside for his medical bag, then ran ahead of her toward the parsonage. Cleta followed, then halted at the church, bending low to clasp her knees as her lungs burned for air.

“You . . . go . . . on,” she panted, knowing he couldn't hear her. “I'll . . . get Winslow.”

An hour later, Winslow paced his living room floor as Dr. Marc examined Edith in the bedroom. Birdie, Salt, Floyd, Annie, and Cleta sat on the long sofa, all of them silently keeping vigil with pinched faces.

Dr. Marc stepped out of the bedroom and pulled the door closed behind him. Smiling at Winslow, he closed his medical bag. “She's fine, Pastor. She fainted. Probably the result of her dieting and fasting today.”

Winslow slumped into the only empty chair. “She was
fasting?”

Dr. Marc nodded. “Fasting, done properly, isn't harmful, but Edith wasn't doing anything by the book. But she's seen the error of her ways, and she'd like to talk to you.”

Winslow sprang out of his chair, gave the doctor a grateful hug, then ran into the bedroom.

The wintry shadows of late afternoon had settled across the bed when Winslow stepped into the room. He had expected to find Edith resting, but she was sitting on the edge of the mattress, mascara wand in hand. She halted when she saw him, then lowered the mascara brush.

“Win.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “I feel like such a fool. You won't believe what I've learned today.”

He sank onto the bed next to her. “What?”

She swiped at her eyes with the cuff of her robe. “I had this crazy vision—but it wasn't crazy, if you know what I mean. I was in this strange hospital, but I wasn't in my body.”

Concerned, Winslow pressed his palm to her forehead.

“Win!” Laughing, she caught his hand and held it. “I'm fine, I'm not delirious. I won't bore you with the details, but I learned this—I'm not going to diet anymore, ever. I'm going to trust God with my body and stop trying to micromanage it. I may never wear the size I wore as a young girl, but that's okay—I'm not a young girl anymore.”

Winslow slipped his free hand around her shoulder and brought her close. “I was hard on you this morning, honey. I'm sorry.”

“I was a fool, Win—hardheaded and proud. I'm the one who should be apologizing.”

She lifted her watery eyes to meet his. “How are our anxious bride and groom? I feel terrible causing all this commotion on their wedding day.”

Winslow checked his watch. “Everything's still on schedule—or it will be when I step into the living room and tell them you're okay.”

He smiled at his bride, and the peaceful look on her face moved something at the core of his soul. He reached out, tenderly grasping her chin, and was about to kiss her trembling eyelids when a wail from the living room chilled his blood.

Edith's eyes flew open. “What was that?”

“I don't know.” Winslow stood. “But maybe we should check.”

Holding Edith's hand, they moved into the living room. Birdie and Salt had left to prepare for the ceremony, but Caleb had come up the road to join the gathering. Trouble was, apparently he hadn't brought good news. Annie was weeping, and Dr. Marc had his arm around her shoulder, trying his best to comfort her.

He threw Winslow a look of male helplessness.

“I'm so sorry, Annie,” Caleb was saying. “She doesn't usually get into closets.”

Winslow's gaze shifted to the old butler. He held a bit of purple fluff over his arm, and after a minute Winslow realized he was staring at the remains of a dress. An expensive one, if a man could judge by the amount of fluff and sequins attached.

“Tallulah,” Caleb whispered, when Winslow caught his eye. “She got into the closet and started tugging on the chiffon. Next thing I knew, she'd pulled it off the hanger and had herself a rip-snorting time in all this fabric.”

“It's my only nice dress,” Annie wailed, burying her face in Dr. Marc's chest. “I don't have anything else with me.”

Edith stepped forward and gently turned the weeping girl to face her. “Wait here,” she said, the sweetness of her smile making Winslow's heart pound in a double beat. “Don't move.”

She stepped into the bedroom, and when she came out a moment later, an elegant peach dress, lacy and sparkling, hung over her arm.

“I think this is just your size,” she said, placing the garment on Annie's arm.

A look of sheer wonder bloomed on the girl's face. “Oh, Edith! I couldn't! This is so pretty, you should wear it—”

Edith stepped back and slipped her arm around Winslow's waist. “It's for you, Annie. I think it's been meant for you all along.”

At three o'clock, with an hour until the wedding of the year, Annie checked her reflection in the mirror one final time. The peach dress did wonders for her complexion, and the dress fit like a glove. She had promised Edith that she'd serve at the reception table; it seemed only right that she'd be doing a favor for the woman who'd stepped in and given so generously to her.

The day had been a busy one, and she and Marc had not had a chance to speak about personal things since their meeting in the kitchen. Though Marc had seemed to welcome her news about staying in Heavenly Daze, Annie feared she had said too much, too soon. But words were like feathers flung into the wind; once spoken, they could not be called back. Marc now knew how she felt . . . the next move would have to be his.

She heard a creak outside her door and glanced up to see Caleb walking down the hall, a cordless telephone in his hand. She frowned at the phone, “Does that thing work? I thought the batteries were dead.”

A guilty look flitted over the butler's face as he halted in mid-step. “I replaced them.”

“Why?”

“Well—”

The word had scarcely left his lips when the phone rang. Annie stared at it, her mind whirling, as Caleb smiled. “I brought it so you wouldn't miss this call.”

He handed her the phone, then paused. “Annie?”

“Hmm?”

“The Lord will not leave you comfortless.”

She shook her head as the phone rang again. It could wait, the important thing was Caleb slipping into bizarre mode again. “What do you mean?”

“I plan to see Olympia very soon. And I will give her your love.”

An eel of fear wriggled in Annie's belly. What was he talking about? He was elderly, but healthy. Surely he wasn't thinking about death.

She forced a light laugh. “Caleb, you're going to live thirty more years.”

“I'm going to live forever, Annie. But before I leave, I want to tell you something.”

The phone rang; she ignored it. “What?”

“Don't worry about Olympia's body. The Lord has heard your prayers, and he knows the intent of your heart. I can assure you of this—Missy no longer cares about such trivial things. Now—” he nodded toward the phone. “Aren't you going to answer that?”

Staring at him in bewilderment, Annie pressed the talk button. “Hello?”

The caller identified herself as Nancy Lipps, from the Nu-Skin Beauty Company.

“I'm sorry,” Annie said, watching Caleb in the mirror as she reached for a tube of lipstick. “I really don't have time to hear a sales pitch.”

Nancy Lipps laughed. “I'm not a telephone solicitor, Ms. Cuvier. I'm the vice president in charge of product development.”

Annie's hand froze in midair. “And why are you calling me?”

“You may have heard about a new line of cosmetics that use foods as principal ingredients. All-natural makeup is very hot right now—cucumber eye soothers, banana fade creams, lemon hair rinses.”

Annie glanced at the mirror. She could use the cucumber eye soother right now; her eyes were still bleary from weeping over the destruction of her favorite dress.

“I've read something about them.”

“Good. Since you're in a hurry, I'll get right to the point. We read about your new hybrid in
Tomato Monthly,
and one of our researchers obtained one of the plants from your college lab.”

Annie snorted. “I'm sorry, Ms. Lipps, but those tomatoes were a colossal failure. They're inedible.”

“We don't want to eat them, Ms. Cuvier. They have an unusually high acid content, high enough to exfoliate the skin but not so high as to be harmful. Your tomato will be the perfect primary ingredient for our new all-natural facial peel.”

Annie's jaw dropped. “You want to use my plants—”

“We want to buy the patent from you so we can have exclusive use of your hybrid. No one else will be able to grow them, of course, but we'll mass-produce them in our greenhouses and manufacture the peel in our laboratories. I'm sure you're not ready to discuss details at this moment, but have your lawyer contact ours. I believe negotiations will begin with a number in the high six-figure category.”

Annie clutched the edge of the antique vanity. Six figures? Why . . . that was hundreds of thousands of dollars!

“My lawyer,” she whispered, thinking of Edmund Junior. “Certainly, I'll have him contact you Monday morning, if that's okay.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Ms. Cuvier. We're very excited about this product.”

Annie hung up the phone, then braced herself against the edge of the vanity. Money . . . from one of her experiments! Why, she'd be able to repair the house, live in it, even restore it to its former grandeur! With that kind of money in the bank, she could live on the island and conduct other experiments on Heavenly Daze. Marc could keep his clinic in the guesthouse, and she could use the barn for her greenhouse. And Caleb could stay—

She looked up, eager to share her news, but the butler had slipped away.

“Caleb?” She stood and ran to the door, then took the stairs two at a time. She checked the kitchen, the parlor, the dining room, but the butler had vanished. His bedroom was as neat as a pin, the sheets stripped from the mattress and the closet . . . empty.

“Caleb!”

Running through the foyer, Annie threw open the front door and scanned the porch. No sign of the butler anywhere, not in the yard, on the street, or even at the dock. He might be in town, but Annie had a sinking feeling he had kept his word and left the island.

Caleb had never broken a promise.

Annie tucked the last silk flower into her hair and smoothed her peach dress, then descended the stairs . . . and saw Marc standing in the foyer.

“I wondered,” he turned at the sound of her steps, “if you would allow me to escort you to the wedding.”

Her heart in her throat, she nodded. “If you really want to.”

He smiled up at her. “I do.”

Her heart warming, she went to the bottom of the stairs, then reached for her coat on the hook by the door.

“Allow me.” Marc pulled the coat down, then held it open for Annie. “You look beautiful. Peach is your color.”

“Thank you.”

“But you also look a little sad.”

“I am. Caleb's gone—he slipped out this afternoon, without even saying good-bye.” Her voice wavered, and she drew a deep breath to steady it. “I can't believe he'd leave like that.”

“Annie.” Marc's voice was gentle. “He's been saying good-bye for weeks. You just didn't want to listen.”

Pressing her lips together, she nodded. “People have been telling me things all my life. . . . I'm not the best listener.”

“Then hear this.” He turned her to face him, his hands resting squarely on her shoulders. “Are you quite sure you wouldn't rather have me as a father figure in your life? We are quite a few years apart, you know. We are at different places in life, and as dear as you are to me . . . well, I want what's best for you.”

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze head-on. “I've had three fathers, Marc—my dad, Uncle Edmund, and Caleb, in his way. I don't need a father now—I need a partner, a companion, and a friend. I need someone who loves Heavenly Daze as much as I do, someone who will be happy to make a life here.” She stepped closer to whisper in his ear. “I think you might be that man. Is that wrong?”

With a suddenness that surprised her, he drew her into his arms. When they kissed, it seemed to her as if she had finally and completely come home.

After a long moment, their lips parted. Still they stood together, foreheads barely touching, breathing each other's breath.

“Is that wrong?” His voice went hoarse. “Let's proceed carefully, and see where the Lord leads.”

With Marc trailing behind her, Annie slipped into a row and found herself sitting next to Babette Graham. “The church looks lovely,” she said, gazing at the orchid-studded ferns around the platform. Floral sprays, sprinkled with ribbon roses, adorned the end of each pew.