A Christmas to Remember (8 page)

Oliver slung his arm around her shoulder. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Don’t ask me a question if you don’t want an honest answer.”

“I’ll remember that,” Oliver promised with a grin. “But for Otto’s sake, let’s hope the rest of the world isn’t as particular as you are.”

Lillian felt as if he was teasing her but in a good-natured way. Her mouth twisted as she fought off a smile, but finally she couldn’t help herself.

Oliver led them out onto the wide dock. The harbor was filled with boats, all shapes and sizes, many tied up to the dock for the day, and more anchored out in the harbor. Seagulls swooped and swirled overhead, occasionally coming to perch on one of the wooden pilings jutting from the water.

The far end of the dock was reserved for working fishermen and their sturdy, homely vessels. Lillian saw piles of nets and box-shaped lobster traps. A few men in black rubber boots worked together, loading buckets of fish onto a truck.

A fisherman sat by a shed on a wooden crate, smoking a pipe while he worked on a trap with a pair of pliers. He wore a stained work shirt, tattered dungarees, and big rubber boots.

As they drew close, Lillian could see he wasn’t much older than Oliver, though his long shaggy beard initially gave the impression of a man much older. He looked like the Ancient
Mariner, she thought, or what you would think the Ancient Mariner might look like.

Two big dogs lay at his feet, one a black Labrador, the other a shaggy brown hound of undistinguishable origin. They both had thick, wet fur and smelled badly. A little girl sat beside him, too, dangling her bare feet over the edge of the dock. She wore a yellow cotton sundress and had dark brown braids hanging down her back. Her skinny arms stuck out as she held a fishing pole over the water.

“Hello, Digger. Are you going after lobster now?” Oliver greeted the fisherman.

Digger shook his head. “Just working on this trap for a buddy. Nothing better to do until the tide goes out.”

“This is my friend Lillian. Lillian, this is Digger Hegman.”

Digger nodded. “How do you do, miss?”

“Digger is the best clammer in town. Maybe even in all of New England.”

Digger shook his head, looking embarrassed by the praise. “Not so loud, Ollie. The clams are always listening.” He glanced around, as if the bivalves were eavesdropping that very minute. “Haven’t seen you on the flats much this summer. You lose your rake?”

“I haven’t had much time for clamming lately, Digger. But I’ll meet up with you soon,” Oliver promised.

Lillian found it hard to picture urbane Oliver Warwick and this crusty fisherman digging up clams together, but Oliver did have an unexpected side.

“Don’t forget now. You rich boys need your exercise.” Digger patted Oliver’s flat stomach and laughed. Then he tapped his daughter on the shoulder. “Say hello to Mr. Warwick, Gracie. Show him your manners.”

The adorable little girl tipped her head back and smiled up at Oliver and Lillian. “Hello, Mr. Warwick.”

Oliver crouched down to talk to her. “Catch anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Fishing is hot work,” he said sympathetically. “You look like you could use an ice cream cone. Strawberry maybe?”

Grace considered the suggestion very carefully. Lillian could see she was a very serious child.

“I think I could,” she said finally.

Oliver laughed, reached into his pocket, and gave Grace a folded bill. The ice cream would only cost a nickel. The rest could buy a few bags of groceries for her family.
Very generous
, Lillian thought. But the girl and her father looked like they could use a little charity.

“You go ahead. I’ll hold the pole for you.”

Grace looked at her father, who nodded his consent. Oliver took the pole, and Grace jumped up and ran down the dock. The dogs lifted their heads, then the black one rose and slowly padded after her.

Lillian smiled. “I guess she likes strawberry ice cream.”

Digger nodded. “Females favor pink food. That’s what I’ve found.”

“Not me,” Lillian said.

“Then you must be the exception, miss.” Digger turned to Oliver. “Here, give me that.”

Digger took the fishing pole from Oliver, stuck it on the dock, then held it in place with his boot, while he kept working.

“I told Grace she wouldn’t catch anything out here this time of day. But she’s an awfully stubborn little girl.”

“Women can be that way in general, I’ve found.” Oliver glanced at Lillian, a teasing light in his eye.

They said good-bye to Digger and headed for the village green. The shady path under the tall trees felt like an oasis. They found an empty bench, and Oliver wiped it off with his pocket handkerchief, offering Lillian a seat.

The bench faced the harbor and they soon saw Grace return with her ice cream, skipping down the dock toward her father. The black dog followed, licking the trail that dripped from the cone.

“I enjoyed talking with your friend Digger, but clams can’t actually hear,” she said finally. “I doubt they have any senses at all.”

“Don’t tell Digger that. He’s sure they can even smell him coming.” Oliver looked so serious, Lillian had to smile.

His arm was slung over the back of the bench, not touching her but close enough. He leaned even closer when he spoke, face so near all she could think about suddenly was the way he had kissed her on the deck the night before.

“I’m not sure what to make of you, Oliver. Everyone has a different story. It’s hard to sort it all out.”

Oliver looked pleased. “At least you’re trying. I think you just have to spend more time with me and decide for yourself.”

Lillian looked out at the water. “I’m only in town for a few more days. It doesn’t make any sense to start dating. It can’t lead anywhere.”

“Boston isn’t so far away. I go into the city fairly often. I can come and see you anytime you like.”

Lillian glanced at him. He wasn’t going to be put off. Not like most men who would politely accept her excuses.

Even if half of the gossip Charlotte had related was true, Oliver Warwick was not the type of young man her family would approve of. For one thing, he was divorced. For another, despite all the Warwick money, her parents wouldn’t be eager to tie their good name to a bootlegger’s fortune.

Lillian knew there was something more—the strong attraction she felt was mixed with a feeling of…unease. She had always been able to hold her own with men and often took the upper hand, even with her former fiancé, George.

Oliver was another type altogether. He was older than she was, about six or seven years, she guessed. He was much more experienced with women. Impulsive and unpredictable, exciting to be around, she never knew what he was going to do next. Which she didn’t like at all.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Lillian asked, turning to him again.

He gave a comical wince. “I have a feeling you’re about to be painfully honest with me. Go ahead. I can take it.”

“I think you’re bored and something about me amuses you. Maybe I’m different from other women you meet.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m really not your type. I think you know that. We had a nice day together. So why not just…let it go?”

He stared at her a long moment. “You are different, I agree with you there. But I’m as serious as I’ve ever been. I mean to keep seeing you, Lillian. You’re not going to get away from me that easily.”

He cupped her face with his hand. Then he leaned over and kissed her. Lillian resisted for a moment, trying to pull away. But it was no use. She felt herself melting toward him, as if she had no will of her own.

Southport Hospital, Present-day

E
MILY SAT BY HER MOTHER
’
S BED
,
WATCHING
L
ILLIAN SLEEP
. D
R
.
Bartow had decided to keep Lillian a day longer than he initially expected. He had some concerns about her blood pressure, which
fluctuated on Monday but had stabilized today. If all remained stable, she would be sent home tomorrow morning, he said.

The extra day had given Emily and Jessica time to get their mother’s house ready. Not much time, but somehow they had managed, bringing in a hospital bed and making a bedroom for her on the first floor in one of the many spare rooms. Like so much of the house, the room was drab and needed painting, but there hadn’t been any time for redecorating.

Emily was sure her mother would insist that she needed to be in her real bedroom. But there was no way they would be able to get her up the stairs. And even if they did, how would she get back down?

They had also hired a day nurse. Luckily, Sara was still planning on staying there at night. Emily knew that it was going to be a sacrifice for her daughter and thought it was very good of her to offer. She hoped Lillian wouldn’t be too difficult with the day nurse or Sara. But that was probably hoping too much.

Lillian opened her eyes and turned to stare at Emily. “What time is it?”

“Nearly six. I have to go in a few minutes. Jessica will be by later and you’re going home in the morning.”

“Yes, I know.” Lillian closed her eyes again.

Emily worried that her mother had been sleeping too much the past few days, drifting in and out. But Dr. Bartow said it was normal, the result of the pain medication she was still taking and the trauma of the fall.

“Ezra called. He wanted to come visit you here, but I told him you would be home tomorrow. He’ll probably call back later.”

“Ezra…he fought in the war. Korea. Went to medical school on the GI Bill…Did you know that?” Lillian spoke with her eyes closed, as if she were reporting from a dream.

“No, I didn’t,” Emily replied. She stood up and touched her mother’s arm. “Your dinner is here. Do you want some help before I go?”

Lillian shook her head, her eyes still shut. “The chowder is pasty and the clams are very chewy,” she complained. “I doubt that it will last.”

Emily smiled. Her mother was having a dream. And complaining about her food in it, obviously.

“It’s baked chicken, Mother, with carrots and rice.”

Lillian’s eyes opened. “Oh, never mind. I’m not hungry,” she grumbled, turning to her side. “Just let me sleep, will you?”

A knock on the door made Lillian turn around again. Emily turned, too, to see Reverend Ben Lewis step into the room, his coat draped over one arm. “I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time. I was visiting Vera Plante and thought I would drop by to see you, Lillian.”

Lillian frowned. “What’s wrong with Vera? Did she fall down a flight of stairs, too?”

Reverend Ben came closer to the bed. “Not at all. She had a dizzy spell and needed a test. It’s probably her blood pressure medication. Her doctor wanted her to stay overnight for observation.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Emily said.

“I don’t think so. But she does have that big house to take care of, and there are two people boarding there now. She’s doing too much for a woman her age. I’ve told her to drop out of the Christmas Fair committee this year. We don’t want her spending the holidays in here.”

“Vera works so hard on the fair. We’ll miss her.” Emily pulled an empty chair closer to her mother’s bed and offered it to the reverend.

“Everyone works hard. It’s a big job,” Ben said as he sat down.

Lillian shifted against her pillows. “Maybe the church should skip that silly fair altogether. Maybe it’s a sign from on high, Reverend. It’s much ado about nothing, if you ask me.”

Ben glanced at Emily.
Lillian is in fine form,
his look seemed to say.
Despite her broken bones.

“The community seems to enjoy our fair, and it’s a big fund-raiser for the church. It would be hard to meet our budget next year without it,” he admitted.

“Money, of course. The root of all evil,” Lillian reminded him tartly. She sat back and smoothed the sheet over her lap. “Perhaps I have a solution. I’ve been thinking of giving the church a gift, a special gift for Christmas. A sizable offering.”

He sat back in his chair, looking puzzled. “Oh. Well…that would be very much appreciated, Lillian. We would be very grateful.”

Emily knew why Ben was surprised. Her mother was a fixture at Sunday service, but she rarely participated in the church beyond that. She never joined any committees or became involved with the events. She claimed she didn’t have the patience for the meetings, but Emily knew her mother considered herself above such efforts. That was for the worker bees, not Lillian Warwick.

“When I get home, I’ll take care of it,” Lillian promised. “Then maybe you won’t have to worry so much about hawking those chintzy-looking crafts and tins of broken cookies. It’s just not dignified.”

Ben gave her a long, thoughtful look. “I don’t think we can call off the fair. But your gift, in any amount, will be greatly appreciated.”

Emily glanced at her watch. “Oh, dear. I’ve got to run.” She grabbed her coat and purse, and gave her mother a quick kiss on
the forehead. “Good night, Mother. I’ll see you tomorrow. I think Jessica will be by later. If you need anything, just ring the nurse.”