The Tapestry in the Attic (13 page)

One of the local volunteers raised her hand and asked, “Couldn’t we get rooms at Maplehurst Inn? Surely we could make it across the street.”

“Mayor Butler called to check on that, but the inn is already full, and several of their employees had to stay over after their shifts as well, so they are in the same situation as we are here,” answered Professor Howell.

One young student who was helping as a stagehand raised his hand. “What about breakfast?” he asked.

“Good question,” said the professor. “Mayor Butler tells me that the owner of The Cup & Saucer across the street is staying overnight at his establishment and plans to be open for business in the morning no matter what. If the roads are still closed at that time, we should still be able to walk across the street.”

With those plans in place, the professor called for everyone to take their places to begin the second act. It had now been forty-five minutes since the beginning of the 20-minute break that they had planned. The excitement of the snowstorm seemed to have regenerated everyone, and the scenes seemed to go a little better than they had before the break.

It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time they had wrapped up the rehearsal and everyone had made their way up to the fourth floor. Stella and Dolores went into the conference room, and Stella asked Annie, Alice, Kate, and Peggy if they wanted join them in the large room.

Stella seemed exhausted, and sat down in one of the chairs around the table. “I think I’m going to try to sleep in this chair, girls. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a sleepover. I might not be able to get myself back up off the floor once I lay down.”

“Would you like to put your feet up in a chair?” asked Peggy.

“That might not be a bad idea,” replied Stella.

Peggy carried a chair over from along the wall and sat it in front of her elderly friend. Stella put her feet in the chair; she closed her eyes, opening them again as Peggy covered her with her coat. “Are you warm enough?” Peggy asked. “If you need more cover than your coat, you can have mine—I’ll be fine.”

Annie could see that Stella was touched by Peggy’s generosity. “No, Peggy. You cover up with that. I’ll be fine here. Maybe if you’d turn the heat up just a bit, that would be good.”

Dolores spoke, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a sleepover too, but I think I’m going to try sleeping on the floor anyway. You girls may have to help me up in the morning.”

Annie laughed. “I’ll help you, if you’ll help me.”

“I think I’m going to sleep next to a chair so that I can use it to pull myself up in the morning,” said Alice. She shook her head and said, “We should be fixing each other’s hair and gossiping about boys … that used to be fun, but here it is, Friday night, and I’m too tired to think about doing anything but sleep.”

Each woman, except for Stella, found her own spot on the floor and made herself as comfortable as possible. Kate was nearest the door, so she turned out the overhead lights. Annie’s eyes soon adjusted to the darkness, and from her place on the floor, she could make out the dim light reflected from the streetlights below into the snow above as it shone through the tall windows. She hoped there was no one out trapped in the snowstorm, and she began to silently say a prayer of protection for friends and strangers, and a prayer of thanks for the roof over her head and for warmth. It wasn’t long before Annie heard the steady breathing of the sleeping women all around her. She watched the swirling snow until sleep overtook her as well.

13

Annie awoke feeling stiff and not all that well rested. It wasn’t long after dawn because the room was still a little dark. She could still see snow falling outside, but it seemed a little less intense than it had during the night.

She sat up and did a few stretches to work the kinks out of her joints. Remembering a time when she could have just jumped up from the floor, she took Alice’s idea and reached over to place her hands on the seat of a chair to help raise herself to her feet.

The others were stirring as well. Annie then noticed that Stella’s chair was empty, and she was not to be seen. Peggy was gone too. “Did anyone see Peggy and Stella leave?” asked Annie.

“I did,” said Kate. “I heard the click of the latch and saw them leave about an hour ago, I think. It might have been longer—or not that long—I was still dozing off and on.”

“Oh, my aching back!” said Alice as she rolled over. “Remind me to never do this again!”

Dolores was doing a yoga stretch, her hands grasping the outer sides of her feet and her elbows on the floor; her forehead was resting on her knees.

“Wow, Dolores,” said Alice. “How can you do that?”

Dolores slowly sat up, curling her back one vertebrate at a time, and smiled. “I’ve been doing stretching exercises every morning since I was in my teens. My mother was an acting teacher, among other things, and she told me that if I wanted to be an actress, I had to always take care of my health. She used to say, ‘If your body and your voice are not in good shape, your acting cannot be in good shape!’” When Dolores repeated her mother’s words, she said them with a cute French accent.

“So, your mother was French, I take it,” said Alice.

Dolores smiled. “Yes—she was a war bride. She became an American citizen, but she remained French, if you know what I mean—she cooked
pot-au-feu
and baked brioche, and she dressed in the French style—very chic and feminine. She spoke French to me and my brothers and sisters when we were small, and she spoke it to us when we were older if she wanted to get our attention. She always had café au lait with breakfast and drank a glass of wine with dinner. She loved flowers and beautiful things, and she was a very gentle woman—unless we misbehaved. Then she could be quite stern. She had to be that way with five children to care for. My father simply adored her, of course.”

“Are your parents still living?” asked Annie.

“No, they died some years ago,” said Dolores. “My father went first, and my mother lived several years after he passed away. I miss them, but, as my mother would have said, ‘
C’est la vie
’—such is life—it is the way of things.”

Annie debated whether to mention Dolores’s daughter, Ophelia, to say how sorry she was for her loss, but she didn’t want to bring up the sad memory. It was Dolores who mentioned Ophelia first. “My daughter was so much like my mother. They were great pals. When Cyril and I worked with touring companies and were traveling from city to city, Ophelia stayed with her grandmother here in Maine at the little house Cyril and I live in now.”

“I spent summers with my grandparents in Maine,” said Annie. “I’m glad that I had a chance to do that. Those are wonderful memories, and my grandmother taught me so many things.” Annie paused and then added, “So did my grandfather, of course, but it was Gram who took me in hand to make sure I always had something to do. She was the one who taught me to crochet.”

“Then you understand how strong that bond can be between a granddaughter and her grandmother,” said Dolores. “I think my mother and Ophelia understood each other better than Ophelia and I ever did. That is my regret.”

Kate said, “I heard that you have a granddaughter.”

“Yes,” said Dolores, her countenance brightening. “Isabelle. She’s beautiful and intelligent—that is my absolutely unbiased opinion.”

“How old is she?” asked Kate.

“She’s thirteen,” said Dolores.

“That’s just a couple of years younger than my Vanessa,” said Kate. “Do she and Jacob still live in California?”

Dolores’s face suddenly clouded over. “Yes, they do. Isabelle attends a boarding school there so her father can do what he wants. I’d rather have her here with us, but it appears I have no say in the matter.”

An awkward silence followed in which neither Annie, Kate, nor Alice knew quite what to say.

Dolores apologized, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up our personal squabbles.” She stood up easily, unaided by a chair. “I hear people in the hallway. Maybe we should see what everyone else is doing.”

****

After a trip to the restroom to freshen up, Annie and the others took the elevator down to the lobby of the theater where many of the cast and crew were milling about. Several long folding tables had already been set up, including a food and drink table along one end. Ian, Jacob, Stacy, and Felix were setting up folding chairs around the other tables.

Dolores saw Cyril talking to Professor Howell and excused herself to join her husband. Annie watched as she gave her husband a brief good-morning kiss. It was a sweet moment. Professor Howell looked away. Annie couldn’t tell if he was giving them a moment of privacy or if he was embarrassed—that didn’t seem characteristic of the professor, but his expression was strange. Annie just couldn’t read it.

Peggy was busy pouring a full pot of coffee into a brown insulated carafe, like the ones Annie had seen used at The Cup & Saucer. When Peggy finished pouring up the coffee, she replaced the pot on the coffeemaker and began to make another pot of coffee. Next to the coffee area were three tall stacks of Styrofoam, cups and next to those were rows of individual containers of milk and orange juice. After Peggy had started the next pot of coffee, she set to work opening up bakery boxes full of freshly baked muffins, the kind that Annie often ordered at The Cup & Saucer, and a variety of other baked goods. The smell of coffee and muffins made Annie’s tummy growl.

Annie saw that Stella also was helping to prepare for breakfast, setting out Styrofoam bowls—some full of sugar and sweetener packets, and others full of little creamer tubs—in the center of each table. Alice and Kate went to see if they could help Peggy, and Annie was about to offer to help Stella when Ian looked up and saw her, and walked over to speak to her.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said Ian with his characteristic smile. He seemed to have combed his hair that morning, but his five-o’clock shadow from the previous evening had turned into salt-and-pepper stubble. This time, Annie had the urge to reach out and run her hand along his jawline, but of course she didn’t, and she silently berated herself for thinking such things.

Ian appeared to be taking in the condition of her hair. She had brushed it—fortunately she carried the basics in her purse—a small brush, and a little zippered case with a tube of face cream, a concealer stick, a small container of cream blush, an eyeliner pencil and a tube of lip gloss—but she was aware that she had not slept well, and that her hairstyle had suffered along with the rest of her. She reached up to run her fingers through her hair.

“You look gorgeous this morning,” said Ian.

“Well, I know that’s a lie, but thanks anyway,” said Annie with a laugh.

Ian’s smile disappeared, but his eyes were still bright. “I never lie, Mrs. Dawson—you do look gorgeous.”

Annie smiled and shook her head. “I think we need to change the subject. Are you the one who arranged all this?”

“Not just me—Stella is the real organizer,” Ian said. “She had us bring up the tables and chairs from the main-floor classroom, where they do presentations for school groups that visit the museum. The coffeemaker, coffee, sugar, and creamer, and the cups, bowls, plastic forks, and napkins are from the volunteers’ break room on the main floor. When I called Jeff at The Cup & Saucer last evening, I did arrange to get a few things—the baked goods, and the milk and orange juice, and he let us borrow a few carafes too. Jacob and Peggy and I walked over there earlier to pick up everything.”

“How is it outside?” Annie asked.

“Still not good,” said Ian. “The wind is fierce. Main Street is pretty much buried, and I’m sure that’s the general condition all over. I called the county commissioner earlier, and he said that as soon as the code white is lifted they’ll be sending out crews to get the main arteries cleared first.”

“So, I guess we’ll be here for a while,” said Annie.

“I don’t doubt that,” said Ian.

Annie excused herself so she could help get things set up. When it was evident that all the cast and crew had made it to the lobby, it was Ian who got everyone’s attention to organize them to begin.

“Morning, everyone,” said Ian. “I hope you all slept well.”

Several in the rumpled-looking group laughed at that.

“Before we have breakfast, a word or two—let’s form two lines, and I think we should let the ladies go first.” A few of the younger men grumbled at that a bit, including Trent Bodkin, Annie noticed, but Ian ignored it and continued. “Let’s have a brief prayer before we begin.” Ian closed his eyes and bowed his head, “Heavenly Father, we thank you for the food we are about to share and for the safety and warmth of this building. We pray for our families, our friends, and our neighbors who are not here with us today, that you would grant them food and safety and warmth as well. These things we ask in Jesus’s name. Amen.”

A few, including Annie, chimed in on the “amen.” Ian looked up and said, “Ladies—please go ahead.”

Annie walked over to Peggy, who was starting another pot of coffee, and said, “You’ve already done more than your fair share. I’ll take care of coffee if it’s needed.”

“I don’t mind, Annie,” said Peggy.

“Neither do I,” said Annie. “Please go ahead.”

Peggy thanked Annie and got in line with Kate and Alice. It wasn’t long before everyone had something to eat and drink, and had found a seat. The coffee situation seemed well in hand, so Annie grabbed a bowl and put a muffin in it, and then poured herself a cup of coffee. Most of the seats were full, but there was a place open next to Jacob Martin. Annie sat down next to him.

“We’ve never had a chance to talk before,” she said. “My name is Annie Dawson.” She shook his hand.

“I remember you from the meeting in the conference room,” said Jacob. “You’re the prompter—right?” Annie had just taken a bite of muffin, so she just nodded. “I hope that’s going well. Some people find that rather tedious.”

Annie swallowed and said, “Sometimes it is, truthfully, but most of the time, I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve never seen a play come together. It’s been a real eye-opener. I’d have never thought there were so many ways to say the same line.”

Jacob laughed. “That’s true. I remember one actor who performed in an earlier play of mine; he would say a key line of the play a different way every night, just to see how the reaction of the audience changed. It was amazing. That was one of my first plays, so I went to most of the performances. I don’t really do that anymore—for one thing, I just don’t seem to have the time.”

“I’ve noticed that we haven’t seen you here that often. Is that because of work back in California?” asked Annie.

“It does have to do with my work there and with my daughter, Isabelle, too. She goes to boarding school, but it’s not that far from my house, so I pick her up and bring her home most weekends. Professor Howell asked me to come here this week for the Friday and Saturday rehearsals, so I took the red-eye to New York and caught a flight up to Portland Thursday morning—he wanted me to be here for a dinner party he was giving that evening. Anyway, Isabelle knew that I would be away, and since she is at the school, I know she is well looked after. It’s a great school, and she’s getting a wonderful education. It’s kind of expensive, but it’s something that Ophelia and I discussed before she died. Ophelia wanted to be part of those decisions even though she knew she wouldn’t be around to see her daughter grow up. We talked about the future a lot. That’s the way Ophelia was; she was more concerned for Isabelle and me than she was for herself.” Jacob paused and took a deep breath; Annie saw a look of pain cross his face momentarily. “If Isabelle hadn’t liked the school, we had a back-up plan, but it turns out that she really loves it there. She’s smart, and it challenges her, and she’s made a lot of good friends.”

Annie thought about the way that Dolores had characterized her son-in-law’s motive for sending Isabelle to boarding school—so that he could “do what he wants.” It didn’t sound to Annie like Jacob had sent his daughter to a boarding school because he wanted to be free of his responsibility, or because he didn’t care about his daughter. Annie was sure that both Jacob and the Fortescues only wanted the best for Isabelle. How had they come to be at odds?

Jacob pulled out his wallet and opened it. “This is Isabelle’s school picture from this year.”

Annie smiled as she looked at the photograph. Isabelle had brown hair like her father, but her face reminded Annie very much of Dolores—she had the same up-turned nose and the twinkle in her eyes. “She’s adorable,” said Annie.

Jacob flipped to a different photo. “This is a family picture we had taken a couple of years ago. You can see how much Isabelle has changed since then. She was just a little girl, but now she’s growing into a young woman. I just wish that Ophelia were still here. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll know how to handle a teenage daughter.”

Annie looked at the photograph of the young family—mother, father and child smiling broadly for the photographer. Ophelia was blond and very lovely—a pleasant blend of her parents. Annie asked, “What about your mother, or Ophelia’s mother—couldn’t you ask them for advice?”

Jacob continued looking at the photograph as if it were hard to tear his eyes away. “My mom passed away when I was still in college. My dad still lives here in Stony Point though. I stay with him whenever I come here. It’s been nice to see him more often. As for Dolores—we aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now. I’d hoped that when she and Cyril agreed to do the play, that we could sit down and talk about … well, everything, but I still can’t seem to get through to them. They seem to think that I put Isabelle in boarding school because I didn’t want her, and I can’t seem to get them to understand that Ophelia and I both agreed that it would be the best thing for her.”