The Chesapeake Diaries Series (89 page)

Four streets formed the second oldest section of St. Dennis: Parish House Road, St. James Street, Cannonball Road, and Olive Street. All the houses on these four streets had been built in time to see the British shell the town in 1814, during the War of 1812. Many of the houses were brick, but a good number were clapboard. Steffie had always thought that Olive Street was the prettiest street in town, because it had a nice mixture of both.

Stef stopped in front of the red-brick house that had the numeral “32” in black letters on one of the porch columns. Rhododendrons rose two stories high on either side of the porch, edging out what might have been hydrangeas and possibly a rosebush or two. Dead stalks of hosta lilies poked out from beneath a network of ivy, and ferns grew uncontrolled along the driveway. A white fence was missing some of its pickets and most of its paint.

“It is a bit overgrown,” Shirley noted as they got out of the car. “Nothing that can’t be cleared away.”

“I think it’s beautiful.” Steffie stood at the front gate, her eyes glistening. “I think it’s the most beautiful house in town.”

“Let’s go see what’s going on inside, shall we?” Shirley reached around Stef and pushed the reluctant gate aside. “You have the key, sugar?”

“Right here.” Stef paused on the front steps and studied the porch columns where the paint had weathered and peeled. “I guess it could use a little paint.”

“Hmm, yes. A little.”

“But paint is pretty cheap, right?” Stef said as she fitted the key into the lock and pushed open the wide oak door.

“Relatively speaking, yes.” Shirley stepped into the foyer behind Stef.

“Oh.” Steffie stood inside the door and gazed starry-eyed at her inheritance. “I’d forgotten how big the entry was, and how cool the steps were, the way they wind up to the second floor. And that chandelier … how beautiful that is.”

“I imagine it could be cleaned up.” Shirley assessed the finish on the overhead light fixture. “It looks a bit tarnished.”

“I guess it wouldn’t take much to pull that old peeling paper the rest of the way down the wall, right?”

“It looks like it will come right off with a good tug.” To demonstrate, Shirley pulled on a strip that was hanging from the wall. It kicked up a bit of dust on its way down the wall, but it did in fact peel off with very little effort on her part.

“That’ll be an easy job,” Steffie assured her mother—and herself—as she followed the hall to the back of the house. “Oh. Looks like the kitchen could use a bit of paint, too.”

Her mother stepped in behind her. “I think paint is the least of what this kitchen needs.”

Stef quietly surveyed the room. “It’s a big space, and the cabinets are fine. I like those big old doors. I’m just going to paint everything white.” She nodded as she studied the space. “Maybe I’ll put in an island. And maybe replace those counters with something
really good, like granite, because I work at home a lot.”

“The linoleum is older than I am,” Shirley noted.

“I wonder what’s underneath it.” Stef went to the threshold and tried to peel up a bit of the flooring, but it cracked and pieces came off in her hand. “I’m betting it’s wood. We just need to rip it up.”

“Maybe you should wait until you know for certain what’s under there,” her mother cautioned.

“Too late.” Steffie pulled a jagged strip of flooring off. “And it looks like pine. Super. I just need to peel this all off and refinish the floor and it’ll be like new.”

“Will that be before or after you paint all the cabinets, install the island, and replace the counters?” Shirley leaned her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her palm.

“I guess I should slow down for minute.” Stef felt an urge to pinch herself. “But, oh, Mom, it’s just the way I remember it. The old stove—I’ll bet that’s still a good working stove, Mom—and the old refrigerator, though I will need to replace that for one with a bigger freezer.” She reconsidered. “I could make more ice cream at home if I had a really big freezer.”

“Horace cooked many a pot of soup on that old stove,” Shirley remarked.

“He never married, did he?”

Shirley shook her head. “He always said there was only one girl he’d share his house with, but she’d never cross the threshold. Not sure what that meant, but that’s what he used to say. I don’t remember him ever bringing a lady friend to dinner, even for holidays, so who knows.”

Stef unlocked the back door and went through an
unheated space to a second door that opened onto the back porch.

“Horace called this the shed.” Shirley trailed behind Stef. “He used to store stuff out here in the winter. Potatoes, onions, things like that.”

“Who did you say you hired to cut the grass?” Stef stood on the top step, her hands on her hips.

“One of the Anderson boys. Why?”

“It looks like that’s all he did.” Stef moved down to the next lower step when her mother came out the door.

“That’s all I paid him to do.” Shirley followed Stef’s gaze around the yard. “Oh, you’re looking at all the overgrowth? It does appear that things have gotten a bit out of hand, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing that a good pair of shears can’t handle. I’ve never pruned before, but I’m sure I can learn.”

“If you get stuck, I’ll give you a hand.”

“I might take you up on that.” Stef motioned for her mother to go back inside. “Let’s check out the rest of the house.”

They poked their heads into the butler’s pantry, then went up the back stairs, past more peeling wallpaper and no small amount of crumbling plaster, to the second floor.

“The wallpaper is definitely early last century,” Steffie observed after she’d gone through each of the corner bedrooms. “And the bathrooms are right out of
Psycho.
”

She turned a faucet in one of the bathroom sinks. Dark water trickled out.

“I think you’ll want to let that run for a time,” her
mother said calmly. “Clean out the pipes, and all that.”

Steffie nodded.

“I suppose I should make a list of everything that needs to be done, then decide which are the priorities.”

“Good idea.” Shirley started down the front stairwell. At the landing, where the steps turned, she looked back over her shoulder. “You might want to have someone go through the place and tell you what should be done first and how much it’s all going to cost.”

“Cameron O’Connor is a contractor. I can give him a call.”

“Good idea.” Shirley turned and went down the steps to the first floor, Stef behind her. “Cam did some work on our house about six years ago and he did a terrific job. He wasn’t inexpensive, though.”

“So the money I saved to buy a place will go for the repairs on this one.”

“I’ll bet you spend every penny of it.” Shirley looked as if she was mentally tallying up the cost of the renovations.

“I remember that the dining room was so pretty,” Stef said, her flip-flops flapping on the wooden floor from the foyer to the dining room. “Oh, and it still is.”

“It looked different with the furniture in it, didn’t it?” Her mother stood in the doorway.

“But it’s still a pretty room.” Stef ducked to avoid the crystals that dangled from the chandelier. “It has lovely leaded glass windows and the fireplace and all
that nice wainscoting …” She stared at the walls. “Mom, that paper has to go.”

Shirley laughed. “With any luck, it’ll come off as easily as the paper in the front hall.”

“I can deal with that,” Steffie murmured.

“I’m sure you can, sweets, but don’t fool yourself into thinking you can do everything at once. Go step-by-step, and by the time you’re ready to move in—”

“I’m ready to move in now. As soon as I get back to the shop, I’m going to call Cam and see when he can meet me here. I know exactly what I want to do, and I want to get started as soon as possible. I can’t wait to move in.”

“You should call Jesse first, get all the papers signed. His card is in the envelope I gave you.”

“I left that back at the shop.” Stef glanced at her watch. “I need to get back there anyway. I don’t feel right leaving Tina and Claire to deal with all those rowdy schoolkids on their own. Claire’s only supposed to be working part-time this week.”

She took one long look into the living room, and remembered there was a room off to the right that had glass windows on three sides—Horace had called it the “conservatory”—and a small library that they hadn’t looked at. Well, she knew what the rooms looked like, and besides, she’d be back soon enough.

She turned the key to lock the door and took her mother’s arm as they strolled back to the car. She looked over her shoulder as she went through the gate, and smiled.

Good-bye, my house, my very own wonderful, beautiful house. I’ll be back soon
.

Early the following morning, a tap on Scoop’s door sent Steffie’s pulse racing.

“What is it with him and his early-morning visits?” she muttered. Clearly expecting Wade, she fixed her most bored and disinterested expression before venturing from the back room to the front of the shop.

She couldn’t decide whether she was happy or disappointed to find her brother at the door.

“Oh, hi.” She unlocked it and let him in.

“Great to see you, too.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Sorry.” She gave him a quick hug and closed the door behind him.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “Come on in the back room. I was just finishing up today’s batch of lemon meringue.”

“I was right about Cousin Horace, wasn’t I?” He followed her into her workroom. “He did like you best.”

“Well, of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Everyone else does.” Stef teased. “Jealous?”

“Nah,” he assured her. “Horace, bless his big heart,
left me cash. Enough to finish the renovations on my house, so I’m happy.” Grant paused. “Are you happy?”

“Are you kidding? I’m delirious.” She broke into a huge grin. “You know, I have always loved that house. If anyone had given me a choice of any house in St. Dennis, I’d have picked that one. I spent half the night last night over there, just sitting on the living-room floor, thinking about how I’m going to do every room, and pinching myself. It’s a dream come true for me, Grant.”

“Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy.” Grant pulled over a stool and sat at the end of the worktable.

“Thanks, bro. But are you sure you wouldn’t have rather have had—” Stef looked up from the lemon rinds she was grating.

“Nope.” He held up a hand to stop her. “I’m exactly where I want to be. Don’t give it another thought.”

“It was nice of Horace to remember us, don’t you think?” she said softly.

“Damned nice,” he agreed. “By the way, where’s your helper this morning?”

“Tina will be in by eleven.” She glanced up at Grant. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “I have a surgical appointment in about an hour—a boxer with a tumor on its leg—but I thought I’d just take a few minutes to stop in and say hi before I headed into the clinic.”

She stopped what she was doing and studied his face. “You okay? I mean, with Paige gone, and all.”

“I hate that I can’t have my kid with me, I’m not going to lie.” He watched her dip a tasting spoon into the thick yellow froth in the machine.

She grabbed another spoon, filled it, and passed it over to him.

He tasted it, then nodded. “Nice, Stef.”

“Thanks.” Steffie rested her forearms on the table-top. “I guess Krista would say the same thing, though, don’t you think? Her mom would miss Paige just as much as you do.”

“Well, that’s the thing with divorce where kids are involved. One person is probably going to be unhappy at any given time. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes it’s Krista. Sometimes, it’s Paige.” He made a face. “During the school year, it’s me
and
Paige.”

“You know that she would rather be here than in Ohio, Grant. She told me she wanted to stay here, oh, at least five hundred times over the summer. She doesn’t understand why what she wants shouldn’t take precedence over what her mother wants.” She debated for a moment before adding, “I think she wishes you’d fight harder for her.”

“If I were one hundred percent certain that it was in Paige’s best interests for her to be living in St. Dennis year-round, I would, in a heartbeat.” Grant shook his head. “I just don’t know, though. Krista insists that Paige is better off staying in the school where she started kindergarten, where she has lots of friends, knows the routine and all the teachers. She really believes that it’s best for Paige to stay in the town where she’s always lived, that it’s better to keep at least that much consistent in her life.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Is it better for her to be there during the school year than here? Better here for the summer than there?” He shrugged. “And if she were to spend the school year here, she’d have to give up summers here to go to her mom’s for those three months, and I
doubt very much that Paige would like that. The bottom line? I don’t pretend to know what’s best.” The circles under Grant’s eyes were clear evidence that he’d been losing sleep over the situation. “I just know that when she’s here, Paige is a happy and seemingly normal almost-thirteen-year-old. As soon as we cross the Ohio state line, she turns into a moody, miserable caricature of herself.”