A tremor scooted up the back of Salt's neck. “You bought children's medicine from Vernie Bidderman? What were you thinking, woman?”
“Relax.” Birdie grinned as she pulled off her gloves. “Your secret is still safe from Vernie. When she remarked on it, I told her I thought you'd like the taste.” She lifted a brow. “Won't you?” She turned to the children. “I have good things in my bag, but first I want a hug from each of you.”
Grinning, the children ran into her arms. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Salt stepped out the door and hauled in the groceries.
By the time he returned, Birdie had moved to the table, swept up the empty cereal bowls, and carried them to the sink. As efficient as a company supervisor, she began ordering them around. “Bobby, why don't you get those bedrolls put away so we have room to walk? Brittany, if you promise not to splash, you can help me wash the dishes. But first turn off the television. And when we're done with our morning chores, I have a little something special for you. Abner made us some delicious treats.”
Salt felt his stomach sway. While the children scrambled to do her bidding, he turned, his jaw tightening. “What did you tell Abner?”
“I didn't tell him anything.” Birdie twisted the faucet and held her fingers in the water, waiting for it to warm. “He's an odd one, though, and sometimes he seems to sense things. I don't think he knows about the children, but he must know something's up. But don't you worry, Abner's as loyal as they come. He won't say a word to anybody.”
Salt carried his heavy thoughts to the table, then sank into a chair. What he had to do next wouldn't be easy, and might be interpreted as ingratitude. But it had to be done.
“Birdie,” he began, not daring to meet her eyes, “I don't want you to think I don't appreciate your gentle care of me and the kids these last couple of days. If the truth be known, I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't come along. But I'm much better now, and the kids are okay. So I was thinking . . .”
She turned and bent to meet his gaze, then held it. “What were you thinking?”
He took a deep breath. “I was thinkin' that maybe you shouldn't be coming up here every day. Once a week is plenty and would keep me from having to go into town so much and leavin' the children alone. As soon as I get my strength back, I'm going over to Ogunquit and layin' in a store for the winter. The kids need heavier coats and shoes and socks and things.”
Birdie gave him the kind of smile you'd give a temperamental child. “And why shouldn't I come up here?”
“Because . . . people might talk.”
She stared at him a full ten seconds without changing her expression, then she tipped her head back and exploded in laughter. “Salt Gribbon,” she turned to plug the sink, “you are a silly! Why, people are already talking! Just this morning I had to run the gauntlet at the mercantile, and last night I had to endure a thousand questions from Beatrice. But you'd be proud of meâI answered as best I could, I told the truth, and I didn't let your secret slip.”
“But if you'll leave us be, you won't have to worry about anything.”
Shaking her head, she bent to open the cupboard beneath the sink, then pulled out a bottle of dishwashing liquid and squirted a stream into the water. “You need to understand,” she went on, “that I'm a grown woman and I can take care of myself. And this is a free country, last time I checked, so I aim to come up here as often as I like.” She turned and her eyes softened. “As long as I have an invitation, that is.”
Though his head spun in bewilderment, Salt forced a smile. She was barely five foot two and couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds, but when Birdie Wester got her wind up, he felt like a little dinghy, helpless before a gale.
A tremor touched her lips. “You wouldn't be denying me an open invitation, would you?”
Slowly, Salt shook his head. “No, ma'am.” He lifted a hand and feebly waved it as the children ran toward the sink, their giggles filling the air like an exotic sweet scent. “Right now I couldn't deny you anything.”
Vernie stepped over MaGoo and looked out the window. She'd been scouring the Internet for deals, and the morning had flown by.
A biting wind rattled the green-and-white striped awning outside, but she could see nothing but gray skies, wet leaves, and the detritus of winter. Her eyes scanned the deserted road to the ferry. Captain Stroble's boat had docked, but she didn't see anyone with a dolly coming up the hill. Just Buddy dragging a large sack of mail.
Scratching her head, she called out to Elezar in the storeroom. “Shouldn't those deliveries be here by now?”
The clerk poked his head around the corner, a pencil propped behind his right ear. “I'd think so. What time is it?”
Vernie glanced at the clock. “Twelve-thirty.”
“Hmmmâthe ferry must be running late today.”
“The ferry's here.” Vernie returned to the window, lifting the curtain. With her sleeve, Vernie wiped moisture off the thermal windowpane. The deliveryman rarely ran late, but with the holidays approaching she supposed she could forgive a single slip-up.
Speaking of slip-upsâher thoughts suddenly shifted to Stanley and his phone call. Why had he called? It couldn't have been the anniversary because he'd let twenty of those slip by without so much as a how-do-you-do. So if it wasn't the anniversary, and if he wasn't dying, then he must have called because . . . he wanted a divorce.
Vernie's pulse thrummed. That was it; the old geezer had found another woman and now he wanted his freedom.
Straightening, she turned from the window. Neither she nor Stanley had bothered to dissolve their marriage. She wasn't about to spend good money on a divorce lawyer, and Stanley had never notified her of any proceedings on his part. Legally, they were as much married as they'd ever been.
She lifted her chin. The Riche family did not condone divorce; the Good Book allowed few grounds and until today Vernie hadn't considered the possibility of adultery. Stan had his failures, but
adultery?
She shook the image of Stanley and another woman out of her head. If Stanley wanted a divorce, he was going to have to come to Heavenly Daze and face her like a man. And when he left, he could have not only his divorce, but his clothes, his spare bowling ball, and his stuffed moose head. She'd kept that stuff far too long, and it'd be nice to have extra room in her storage closet.
She shuddered as she remembered the day Stanley brought the stupid moose head home and hung it in the mercantile. He hadn't shot the moose; Stanley didn't know beans about hunting. He'd bought the smelly old head at a flea market. Said he'd always wanted one and this one begged him to find it a home. He said he liked the look in the animal's glass eyes, that it looked content.
“You'd be content, too, if you were deader than a doornail!” Vernie had shouted, then promptly draped a scarf over the animal's face.
Now she wished she could drape a scarf over her own face. Her head had begun to throb, and she needed an Excedrin Migraine pill.
“I think I'm going upstairs now,” she called to Elezar. “Can you handle things down here?”
“Yes, ma'am, you run along. Watch those stairs; they're real steep.”
Vernie's day wouldn't be complete without hearing at least a half-dozen of Elezar's loving admonitions:
Watch those stairs, now. Bundle up tight; it's cold out. Stay cool now, you hear?
At least Elezar was concerned about her welfare. She didn't know what she would have done without him all these years.
Stepping to the window a final time, she scanned the road. Georgie Graham was using a hockey stick to scoot a tennis ball down the street while Tallulah and Butch, the Klackenbushes' bulldog, tried to intercept it. But she saw no sign of a deliveryman.
Oh, well. Christmas was still weeks away.
Turning toward the stairway, she hesitated and reached under the counter, holding one hand to her throbbing temple. Caffeine helped a headache, didn't it? Pouring Coke into her favorite glass, she looked up with a furtive glance, then reached for the bottle of vanilla syrup and unscrewed the lid. After adding a generous shot of the sweet stuff, she shoved the bottle back into her private drawer and took a long swig from her glass.
Ah. The tastes were a delicious combination, nectar for the soul. Just what she needed on a trying day.
E
lezar! Will you please get that phone! It's ringing off the hook today.”
Vernie glanced down the stairs, then grumbled under her breath and returned to her desk in the spare bedroom. She didn't need to be told who was calling on a Saturday. Either Cleta or Babette would be on the line, doubtless in a blind panic because the nutmeg and cranberries hadn't yet arrived.
She signed off her AOL account, then sat silently as the mechanical man took his leave with a musical “good-bye.” The shrill ringing of the phone had distracted her so much she'd forgotten to check her Microsoft stock and visit her bridge loop. The holidays left little time for Web surfing and she would be glad when the hoopla was over. Too many folks forgot the true meaning of Christmas. They got all caught up in things like cranberries and nutmeg . . .
“No ma'am, Cleta,” Elezar was saying as she came down the stairs and entered the mercantile. “We haven't seen a thing of the deliveryman, but he'll be here, don't you fret. You need to watch that blood pressure. We can't have you sick during the holidays.”
After saying good-bye, the clerk hung up the receiver, his eyes swiveling to Vernie. She waved at him in a who-cares gesture and stared at her candy display. Someoneâ probably Georgie Grahamâhad mixed all the green peppermint sticks in with the red ones, and the sixteen saltwater taffy flavors had been completely confused.
She began to straighten out the mess, then snorted and walked away. She had enough on her mind these days. Why should she worry about candy? With that strange phone call from Stanley and the wholesaler being slow to deliver her order, she hadn't slept much the past few nights. If the nutmeg didn't come today, Cleta was threatening to buy her baking supplies in Ogunquit. Ordinarily Vernie wouldn't care, but in the off-season she needed every bit of business she could get.
Stepping to the window, she peered out. Nothing moved on Main Street but feathery lines of soft snow pushed by the cold wind. The ferry sat at the dock, tethered by heavy rope lines, but there'd been no sign of a deliveryman.
Where was that order? She could only restrain Cleta and Babette for so long. Even Dr. Marc was getting frustrated. If he'd reminded her once, he'd reminded her thirty times that eggnog without nutmeg might as well be milk.
Behind her, Elezar had busied himself stocking canned goods he'd brought up from the basement. Though he was as worried as Vernie about that delivery, she appreciated him for having the good sense to keep quiet. Yessir, Elezar Smith was good as gold and kept his opinions to himself unless she asked for them. The world could use more men like Elezar.
As the front door opened, Buddy Franklin came in, tracking mud on Vernie's spotless floor. He paused before the candy display, eagerly scanning the selection as if something new might have materialized, but it offered the usual fare: Skybars, Mallo Cups, nonpareils, Necco Wafers, Heath Bars, and Fralinger's saltwater taffy in every imaginable hue.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Vernie smiled at her customer. She liked Buddy Franklin, though the boy had about as much sense as a tick on a dead dog.
“What can I do for you, Buddy?”
He looked up, a sly grin creasing the corners of his mouth. “Whatever.” His eyes focused on the box of Necco Wafers. “Does them have a marshmallow taste to 'em?”
“No, no marshmallow.”
His eyes moved from the Necco Wafers to the Mallo Cups. “Reckon I'll have a Mallo, then.”
Vernie handed him the candy, then took his dollar. “Seen anything of a deliveryman out there?”
Buddy ripped the wrapper, then took a big bite of chocolate-covered marshmallow. “No, ma'am,” he mumbled.
Vernie shook her head as she moved to the register for his change. “I don't understand it. I sent that order in over a week ago.” She pressed a quarter into his palm. “Would you mind running down to the ferry and asking Captain Stroble if he has a box marked for the mercantile?”
Buddy nodded as he slipped the quarter into his pocket, then took another huge bite of candy. As he closed his eyes, savoring the taste, Vernie crossed her arms and watched him chew. After a long moment she said, “Today, Buddy?”
His eyes flew open and a flush crept up his neck. “Um. Sure.”
Elezar stepped away from the shelves to look out the front window. “Ferry's just pulling away, Vernie. And there's no sign of anything on the dock.”
“Shoot.” Vernie bit her lip. Now she was going to have to call Cleta and Babette and Dr. Marc and beg for an extension.
“I don't understand,” she fretted, pulling her ledger from under the counter. “I know I placed that order.”
She opened the large book, then felt her heart stop. The order lay inside the cover, half-completed and unsubmitted.
Great day in the morning, she hadn't placed the order! How could she make such a mistake? She always faxed the order the first Sunday of the month. She'd done the same thing this month, working with Elezar in the quiet of a blustery Sunday afternoon. She clearly remembered ordering extra nutmeg, cranberries, sugar, chocolate chips, baking powder, candied fruitâ
Powdered sugar and eggs.
Stanley.
Her eyes narrowed. She'd been in the process of filling out the order when the louse called and got her all flustered.
“Anything wrong, Vernie?”
Elezar's voice jarred her from her thoughts. Clearing her throat, she abruptly folded the order and slipped it into her sweater pocket. Forgetting an order wasn't the end of the world; she could fax it into the wholesalers this afternoon and they would deliver by midweek.