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Authors: Terri DuLong

Postcards from Cedar Key (16 page)

BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key
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22
A
few days later I got a call from Saxton asking if I was free late Sunday afternoon.
“Well, I normally don't close the shop till five, but I can close earlier. Why? What's up?”
“Miss Maybelle called and asked if we could join her for tea around four.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I'd love to.”
“Great. I'll pick you up about three forty-five.”
 
Saxton steered the golf cart over the airport bridge and took a right down a dirt road. He pulled into the driveway of the last house, which had an unobstructed view of the water.
“What a nice spot,” I said, getting out and following him to the front door. “The flowers were really sweet of you, by the way.” I nodded toward the large bouquet of vivid yellow and orange chrysanthemums.
Maybelle opened the door as soon as Saxton knocked, pulled it wide, and said, “Welcome, welcome. Oh, Saxton, you shouldn't have . . . but thank you.” She accepted the flowers and gestured for us to have a seat in the small but cozy sitting room.
The cottage made me feel like I was stepping back in time. Ornate deep brown velvet furniture was arranged to flank the brick fireplace. Vintage lamps with satin shades and fringe perched atop pale pink marble tables. An exquisite oval shaped Persian carpet, in shades of beige and tan, covered the white tile floor beneath the furniture. Large framed paintings covered the pale yellow walls, and all of it was surrounded by glass windows on two sides from floor to ceiling.
“What a beautiful room,” I said, as I seated myself in one of the cushy chairs.
“Thank you. It's my little sanctuary. Always has been. Let me get these in water and I'll just be a minute.”
Maybelle walked around the counter, which separated the sitting area from a kitchen that looked like it could have been taken from a fifties television show. A candy red refrigerator and matching stove stood along one wall, while the other three walls had white cabinets with stenciled red strawberries along the edges. I smiled and couldn't help but feel that perhaps Maybelle was stuck in a time warp.
“Lovely,” she said, placing the crystal vase on the counter. “Now I'll get our tea.”
“Let me help,” Saxton said, jumping up from the chair across from me.
He came back into the sitting room, placing a silver tray complete with silver teapot and Limoges cups, saucers, sugar, and creamer on the large marble coffee table.
Maybelle followed with another tray filled with bite-size sandwiches, scones, and pastries.
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, leaning over for a better look. “This reminds me of afternoon tea at the Plaza.”
“It is. Saxton, if you'll be so good as to uncork the champagne, we'll have a glass with the sandwiches.”
I noticed a bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilling in a silver ice bucket on one of the end tables and heard a soft pop as Saxton expertly opened it. He filled three flutes, passed one to Maybelle and one to me, and then held his in the air.
“To the illustrious Miss Maybelle, as bubbly as the champagne and as sweet as the pastries.”
She nodded, took a sip, and smiled. “Now then, help yourself,” she said, passing me a plate. “We have strawberry and cream cheese sandwiches, these are smoked salmon, and those are cucumber, radish, and basil.”
I was definitely beginning to feel I was back at the Plaza Hotel for my memorable tenth birthday. “I can hardly believe this,” I said, reaching for one of the sandwiches. “My mother took me to the Plaza when I turned ten and I had the Eloise Tea.”
“Really?” Saxton said, surprise covering his face.
“Ah, you were one of the lucky girls, weren't you? That's a memory that no little girl ever forgets.” Maybelle delicately placed a salmon sandwich on her plate.
“Did you go there and have an Eloise Tea?” I asked, after taking a small bite of the strawberry and cream cheese sandwich that was every bit as tasty as I'd remembered it being.
Maybelle laughed. “I did, but not as a little girl.” She took a sip of champagne and blotted her lips with a linen napkin. “I took my goddaughter there when she was eight.”
“So she has a great memory just like I do,” I said, fractions of a second before seeing the imperceptible shake of Saxton's head.
Awkward silence filled the room for a few moments, and then Maybelle cleared her throat. “I'm honestly not sure if Victoria remembers that event or not. Her mother, Dorothy, was my best friend since my Copa days, but when Victoria was about ten . . . well, we had a falling out.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” I said.
“Yes. So am I. I adored that child, but it's been many years since we've been in touch.”
It was obvious that whatever had caused the parting with her friend was a source of sadness for Maybelle.
“These sandwiches are just delicious,” I said, in an attempt to change the subject.
“I'm glad you're enjoying them, and when we finish I'll show you some of my costumes as I promised.”
Saxton reached for another sandwich and smiled. “And I think Maybelle has a story to go with each one of them.”
“Had you always wanted to be a dancer in New York?” I asked.
Maybelle laughed, and I was glad that the mention of Dorothy and Victoria hadn't ruined her jovial mood. “Oh, my, yes. Always. By the time I was thirteen, I'd pretty much made up my mind that eight years of dance classes was going to be my ticket to fame. I left upper state New York and headed to the Big Apple the day after I turned eighteen. And I never looked back.”
I'm sure there was a lot more to her story. It was obvious that she was a determined woman, and with her talent and motivation, she acquired whatever she set her sights on.
Conversation flowed about island stuff as we enjoyed the delicious scones, Devonshire cream, and raspberry preserves. The citrus flavor of the tea added to the overall experience.
Maybelle then brought out four of her costumes, covered in protective plastic. I sat beside Saxton on the sofa and momentarily felt like I was attending a Paris fashion show as I oohed and aahed over each one.
It was easy to understand how each costume set the tone and mood of each production. The combined texture, line, and shape of each garment must have been magnificent with the stage lighting.
I sighed as Maybelle brought out stunning gowns covered in beads, pearls, and jewels, along with white furs and stunning headpieces.
I had no doubt that she enjoyed every second of her display for us.
When she finished, she said, “Isn't that the wonderful thing about memories? They're with us forever. Now then, time for some pastries with a fresh pot of tea.”
I was astonished when she brought out a platter filled with small squares of lemon tea cake and French macaroons. There was no doubt that Maybelle was back in her element and also that she had enormously enjoyed the baking and preparation for our tea.
 
When Saxton and I got back to my apartment four hours later, I let out a deep sigh.
“I hope she knows how much I enjoyed our time with her.”
Saxton pulled me into an embrace as he kissed my forehead. “I'm pretty sure she does, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.”
“Can I get you coffee, wine?”
He patted his stomach and smiled. “Oh, no, but thanks. They might call it
tea
but it's really a meal.”
I laughed and joined him on the sofa. “I know. All of it was really wonderful. What a great person she is. So you know her pretty well?”
“Maybelle was one of the first people I met when I moved here. She had been reading my books for quite a few years, it seems. Used to order them special from England. So when she found out I had moved here, she wasted no time showing up on my doorstep to introduce herself as one of my biggest fans.”
“No! Did she really?”
“Yes, she really did. Maybelle isn't shy. But she was so delightful that I asked her if she'd like to join me for a cup of tea on the deck. She accepted, and the rest is history. I consider her a very good friend.”
“What
is
her history? Was she ever married? Any children? Do you know what caused that rift with her friend Dorothy?”
“Except for her Copa days, she doesn't talk about herself much. I do know she was never married, no children, but she did adore that goddaughter, Victoria. And no, she never told me why she and Dorothy parted ways.”
“And Victoria hasn't been in touch with her either? Gosh, she'd probably be in her thirties or forties now, wouldn't she?”
“Probably, and no, she never saw or heard from Victoria again. Rather sad, and I'm sure it bothers her. By the way, I had no idea your mother took you to the Plaza for a birthday celebration.”
I nodded. “Yeah, to be honest, although Maybelle said that's something a little girl never forgets . . . I hadn't thought about that in years. My mother and I took the train from Boston to New York. We certainly didn't stay at the Plaza. She had booked us into a small hotel for three nights. We did all the usual touristy things. Took the carriage ride around Central Park, went to the top of the Empire State Building, a boat ride around Battery Park, but the highlight was the Eloise Tea at the Plaza. I had read the Eloise book, and I strongly related to her. An only child, spent more time with a nanny rather than her mother, and a bit precocious, as I could be. I didn't have a nanny, but I spent a lot of time with my grandmother.”
Saxton reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.
“So you do have some nice memories of time spent with your mother.”
I did, and wondered if it was
resentment
that kept me from thinking about them more often.
23
T
wo days later Saxton and I left Cedar Key and headed to the northeast Georgia Mountains. I knitted for much of the eight-hour drive as we kept up nonstop conversation.
Adding another skein of yarn to the emerald green cable sweater I was working on, I said, “Gee, I hope Chloe remembers to give Sigmund the ice water in the fridge. He likes his water nice and cold.”
“That was good of her to offer to watch him while we're away, and you left her a list, so I'm sure she'll refer to it.”
I nodded and kept knitting.
A little while later, I looked out the windshield and could now see mountains in the distance. “Oh, look. We must be getting close.”
“Yup. We should be at the cabin within the hour.”
After driving down a dirt road between Ellijay and Blue Ridge, we pulled up in front of the log home about five-thirty, and as soon as I stepped out of the car I inhaled the fresh, cool mountain air.
“This is great,” I said, looking around. Huge trees were filled with leaves of yellow, orange, and red, and I could just make out a pond in back of the house.
Saxton came over, stood behind me, and wrapped his arms around my waist as he nuzzled my neck. “I think we'll enjoy our stay here.”
I turned around and his lips met mine. When we broke apart, I wondered if we'd be utilizing both bedrooms after all.
Saxton took a deep breath and popped the trunk open with his remote. “We may as well take in one piece of luggage,” he said, reaching for one of his bags.
“Good idea.” I pulled out my black canvas bag containing toiletries before following Saxton up three steps to the deck.
He unlocked a double set of French doors and we stepped into a gorgeous living room with both a pitched ceiling and walls covered with honey-color wood. A cushy sofa filled with pillows faced a fieldstone fireplace that reached to the ceiling. I glanced at the paisley fabric club chair with matching ottoman and thought it would be a perfect spot for knitting.
“Very pretty,” I said as Saxton led the way to a beautiful kitchen with cherrywood cabinets and granite countertops.
Another set of French doors led out to a screen-enclosed deck where I saw a wooden swing, a large hot tub, and a patio set, all of which overlooked a pond surrounded by trees.
“Bedrooms and bath must be down this way,” he said, heading down a hallway.
I stepped into the first bedroom on the left and saw an oak four-poster king-size bed. Very nicely decorated and cozy. Off the bedroom was an elegant bathroom complete with Jacuzzi tub.
“Why don't you take this one?” Saxton said, and walked across the hallway.
“Oh, this is nice too.” I stood beside him and saw this room also had a king-size bed and attached bathroom.
“Okay,” he said, pulling me into an embrace. “I think the sleeping arrangements are sorted out. Let's get the rest of the stuff out of the car and then we can settle in.”
We made two more trips and I placed the picnic basket on top of the kitchen counter.
“That'll do it. I'm glad I thought to bring our supper for tonight. Now we don't have to leave to go out to eat.”
“You're a good planner,” Saxton said as he removed three bottles of wine from a bag.
I smiled and nodded. “So are you. I'm going to get unpacked.”
“Me too, and I'll have a glass of wine waiting for you when you're finished.”
 
When I walked into the living room, not only was a glass of wine waiting for me, but Saxton already had the fire roaring.
“Oh, that looks great,” I said, walking up beside him. I reached my hand out toward the flames. “Nice and warm too.”
“Yeah, as soon as that sun goes down it begins to get pretty nippy here in the mountains. Here you go,” he said, passing me a wineglass. “Here's to our first getaway together and here's to us.”
I touched the rim of his glass with mine. “To us,” I said before taking a sip. “This is very good. What is it?”
“It's a Barbera. Originated in the hills of Monferrato, in central Piemonte, Italy.”
I took another sip and allowed the robust flavor to touch my palate. “I definitely like it.”
“Good, I'm glad.” Saxton took my hand, leading me to the sofa.
I curled up next to him and gazed at the flames flickering in the fireplace. The log house, the wine, the fire, but most of all Saxton, gave me a secure feeling—a feeling of permanence and stability.
“Thank you,” I told him. “Thank you for inviting me here with you.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I'm glad you agreed to come. I think we'll have a nice five days here.”
“Where are we going tomorrow?” I asked, sitting up straighter. All of a sudden, I felt like a kid on a summer vacation.
“Anywhere you'd like. There's lots of great towns around and we can explore all of them. Murphy, North Carolina, is a short drive from here. A cute little place that reminds me of Mayberry R.F.D.”
“Sounds like fun. Then Murphy it is.”
We finished our wine and I headed to the kitchen. “Why don't you get some nice music going on that CD player and I'll set out our supper,” I told him.
I reached into the basket and removed a cooked ham before popping a dish of scalloped potatoes into the microwave to heat. I found placemats, plates, and silverware and got the table set. After removing the scalloped potatoes, I placed a bowl of green bean casserole into the microwave and then lit the candles on the table. Stepping back to assess my work, I smiled. All of a sudden I felt like a proper housewife arranging a seductive dinner for her husband.
Strains of Vivaldi filled the room as Saxton joined me.
“Looks great,” he said, placing a kiss on my cheek before we sat down.
It
was
great, and when we finished, Saxton helped with the cleanup.
“Maybe we can finish our wine on the deck,” he said, tugging a black sweatshirt over his head. “But you'll probably need a sweater or something.”
I grabbed an Irish knit sweater that I'd knitted years ago from my bureau drawer, and on the way out of my room, I paused outside of Saxton's door and peeked in. Good Lord! We'd only been in the house a few hours, yet his bedroom looked like a mini-tornado had swept through. Pants were flung across the bed, shirts and sweaters were stacked on the bureau, and one piece of luggage lay open on the floor, empty but not put away. I shook my head and let out a deep sigh. I might be falling in love with this man—but I wasn't at all sure I could cope with his messy lifestyle.
I joined him on the deck and sat beside him on the swing, reaching for the wineglass he held out.
“Thanks,” I said as my body caught the synchronized motion.
After a few minutes Saxton put an arm around my shoulders. “Anything wrong?”
I debated whether to be honest or push aside my concerns. I went for honest. “Well . . . I was . . . kinda wondering.... Is there any reason why you didn't unpack properly and hang up your clothes and use the bureau?”
He threw his head back laughing. Was nothing serious to this man?
“Ah, got a peek in my room, did you?”
When he didn't offer an explanation, I shifted to face him, waiting for an answer.
“Well, I'm on vacation,” he said, as if that accounted for the condition of his bedroom.
I resisted telling him that based on the clutter I'd observed in his house, he must be on a permanent vacation.
“Does it bother you?” he asked.
“I guess it does. Otherwise, I wouldn't have mentioned it.”
“Hmm, you really are a bit compulsive with orderliness, aren't you?”
“It doesn't have a thing to do with being compulsive,” I said, annoyance lacing my words. “It has to do with simply being tidy.”
He pulled me close as his lips touched mine. Damn. The man might surround himself with clutter, but he was a great kisser.
“I promise,” he said, between nibbling on my lower lip, “I'll get . . . everything . . . straightened up . . . in there.”
I nodded as I lost myself to the passion of his kiss.
When he pulled away, he buried his face in my neck. “Good thing,” he whispered in my ear, “that we're not sharing the same room, huh?”
I smiled. After those kisses I wasn't so sure about that.
And a few hours later when I got into my bed—I was less sure.
BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key
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