Authors: Gloria Repp
“A week from Saturday,” he said. “We think.”
They looked at her and she said, “I’ll have to see.” Hedging, wasn’t she?
“Hoo-rah!” Connie said. “Now Doc has to keep his promise.” She grabbed Madeleine in a hug, then turned and hugged her sister.
The doctor stepped back. Didn’t he want a hug too?
“What’s this promise?” she asked.
Bonnie said, “He takes the guys canoeing, and he never takes us. He told us we had to find a lady who’s good at canoeing and can swim too.”
“I’m no expert,” Madeleine said.
Connie was bouncing up and down. “You’ll be great. Better than Mom. She hates the water.”
The doctor said, “All right, girls. Let’s wait until next week. If everything works out, we’ll make some firm plans at SING.”
They nodded, and Connie grabbed her sister’s arm, taking her off to discuss something vital with one of the other girls.
Madeleine looked at him. “Thank you for giving me a bit of breathing space.”
“Only for the moment. Don’t let them pressure you.”
“Dad and I did some canoeing. I kind of miss it.”
He glanced at the girls, now huddled on the sofa. “This won’t be a peaceful trip, not with those two along. I’ve got to admit I made that rule so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. Especially the rattle-brained one.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “I’d have thought you could deal with anything.”
His smile had an edge to it. “They’re all yours.”
“I’m used to teens,” she said. “As far as the trip is concerned, let me think about it.”
Did she want to get involved in something like this again? With him? Maybe. Maybe not.
The question followed her home, but it wandered off as she was getting ready for bed. Her father’s Bible caught her eye, and she remembered Timothy saying she should read—what? A psalm. Was it the eighteenth? She sat down to find the passage.
I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my
deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge.
It sounded like the sign on the inside of Timothy’s doorway.
Both verses were underlined. Had her father walked through that doorway too? The word
rock
was circled, with an arrow pointing to a note in the margin: Ps. 73:26
She turned to it, knowing what she’d find:
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
He had underlined the word
strength
, and in the margin he’d written:
See Ps. 18:2. Means ROCK.
She’d always liked rocks. When they went hiking, her father would tease her about bringing home the mountain, piece by piece. Somewhere she still had the chunk of granite she’d carried back from Mill Mountain.
“The Lord is my rock.” She said it aloud, and the cat stopped washing his face to gaze at her. She glanced back at the psalm. “And my fortress and my deliverer.”
God would show her what to do, even about a little thing like a canoe trip. And about . . . the fearful things too. Perhaps He would make them disappear—
poof
!
She opened the window to let the night air cool her face, and while she finished getting ready for bed, the two verses cycled through her mind. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered.
The next morning, Aunt Lin stepped out of her office to say that she’d invited Dr. Parnell for tomorrow’s supper and he’d agreed. Meanwhile, she’d be working in her darkroom for most of the day.
Madeleine packed up more of the dining room clutter, and, wanting to match her aunt’s efficiency, started on Timothy’s signs and put the turkey into the fridge to thaw. Later, during her run in the woods, she plotted the rest of tomorrow’s menu.
That evening she finished her first draft of the paper on French bread—she’d print it out the next time she went to Timothy’s—and read about the historical background of Challah. Now all she had to do tomorrow was cook.
On Friday, except for a short walk, she spent most of her time in the kitchen. Aunt Lin was still working, but she said she didn’t mind music, so Madeleine put on a Mozart CD and filled the room with trumpets.
She’d begin with the Challah, to make sure it didn’t bomb again. This one looked better, so she brushed on an egg-white glaze and sprinkled it with sesame seeds. In the afternoon, when Jude came to help, she rolled out the pastry for tarts and let him make the cranberry filling. Next, she’d put the turkey into the oven and check her list.
She was finishing up when the phone rang. A minute later, Aunt Lin came out of her bedroom. “That was Dr. Parnell. He’s got an emergency, so he can’t come. He apologized. Said he hoped I’d invite him another time.”
Her aunt gave her a sidelong glance. “Too bad, isn’t it? I’d have loved to see him and Kent interact.”
Disappointment flickered, but only for an instant. She hadn’t expected him to show up. Such a busy person.
Kent and Remi arrived just after the turkey had popped its timer, and the kitchen smelled deliciously of roasting meat. The dining room still looked cluttered, but the long table was clear. She should have put candles or flowers at one end, not that these two would notice. Well, Remi might.
The boy ate swiftly, as if he hadn’t seen food for a week, and after emptying his plate for the second time, he sat with his head tipped back, examining the chandelier over their heads.
Aunt Lin and Kent were talking about the eastern pine looper worm, discussing whether it caused more damage than a forest fire. Apparently Kent had spent a couple of summers fighting fires at Yellowstone and considered himself an expert. Remi, from the look on his face, had heard it all before.
Madeleine leaned toward him and said in a low voice, “You read Shakespeare? I’m curious about that.”
He grinned. “My senior year in high school, we had this English teacher who made us watch the BBC videos. A couple of them were cool. Our drama club put on
Macbeth
. I guess it kind of rubbed off on me.”
She started to say that she knew how he felt, but Kent asked him a question, and the conversation turned to the recent fires in the Barrens, continuing amiably enough until she served dessert.
Remi ate his cranberry tart with evident pleasure and accepted another. “So you made these little pies?”
“Jude did the filling.”
“That dark-haired kid?”
“He’s fourteen, older than he looks,” she said. “His interest in cooking is unusual, but he’s good at it.”
Kent interrupted himself to say, “Not surprising. He has to do all the cooking at home.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about that bunch, my dear.”
Madeleine sent him a look. The glacier one.
Her aunt caught it. “Don’t be upset, Mollie. You have such a soft heart, giving them food and all, but they’re—”
“Losers,” Kent said.
He licked the whipped cream off his fork, looking as if he enjoyed the sound of that condemning word. “The father disappeared, probably took off with one of his students. The mother lives in an alcoholic daze. The grandmother has lost half her marbles, and the kids run wild. They should be put in a foster home.”
“Not Bria!” Aunt Lin exclaimed. “She’s at least twenty. And Jude is quite capable of taking care of himself.”
Kent drew his knife out of its sheath and studied its shining length. “That boy,” he said, “is a menace.”
“Hey,” Remi said, “I asked if there were any girls my age around here, and you said no. What about this Bria?”
“Not that one,” Kent said. A flush colored his cheeks. “She’s got claws. Wouldn’t trust her for a minute. Another loser.”
Remi fingered the band of white coral at his neck and shot him a glance that said, ‘Maybe for you, old man.’
Madeleine put down her fork. “You’re wrong about Jude. And especially about Bria. She’s hardworking and talented.”
To Remi she said, “Her father was a Shakespeare buff. He named his dog Shylock.”
Remi raised an eyebrow. “Mmm. Got her phone number?”
She turned back to Kent, anger simmering. “How can you talk about your cousins like that?”
“Distant cousins.” His eyes had narrowed to slits. “Very distant cousins. I do what I can for them, but there comes a point . . .”
He sheathed his knife, giving her a dark glance, and she knew that for once she’d succeeded in breaching his affable façade. “Stay away from that trash,” he muttered. “They’re nothing but trouble.”
He glanced at Remi. “You too, kid.”
“Let’s get rid of these dishes,” Aunt Lin said quickly, “and Kent can show us the photos from Widow Bentley’s Attic.”
Madeleine helped to clear the table, reminding herself that Remi had taken those photos for her and she’d better pay attention.
Yes, the glassware was beautiful. And yes, the decanter and sugar bowl looked like ones they’d found here, but it was hard to concentrate. Remi had brought double prints, so she’d look at her set later.
What was the matter with her? Was she being overly protective of Jude and Bria? She rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms. Or was it Kent? Something about him?
Remi was saying that Widow Bentley’s Attic had the most authentic display of Jersey glass, unless you went to the museum down in Millville.
“A museum? We should go there,” Aunt Lin said, and asked him for directions.
They played Monopoly again, as doubles this time. Madeleine tried to be a good partner for Remi, tried to be clever and enthusiastic, but they lost. He murmured encouragement to her, and she liked him for that.
Would they be leaving soon?
Yes, Kent was standing up.
He put on his jacket, said the usual charming farewells, and started into the hall. He sprang back into the kitchen, cursing under his breath.
Madeleine looked past him. The cat was crouched on the desk, eyes glaring yellow, ears laid back. He bared his teeth and hissed.
Remi chuckled. “Kent looks like he’s seen a ghost.” He stepped into the hall and she said, “Careful . . .” but Remi was smart enough to move slowly with his hand outstretched.
He spoke in a soothing voice. “Are you the new kitty? I think you’re a very handsome guy.”
Madeleine followed him. “It’s okay,” she said to the cat. “It’s okay.” The fire went out of the cat’s eyes, and his ears swiveled forward.
Remi looked back at Madeleine and gave her a conspirator’s grin.
“Hence, horrible shadow. Unreal mockery, hence!
Do you think perhaps it’s Banquo’s ghost?”
“Enough clowning!” Madeleine said.
She glanced at Kent’s furious face and moved to stroke the cat’s head. “I’m sorry,” she said to no one in particular. “I’ll get him out of the way.”
After their guests left, Madeleine thought Aunt Lin might say something about the cat, but her aunt strolled back into the dining room. “All this
stuff
is asphyxiating my brain cells. I could hardly stand to eat in here tonight. Keep clearing it out and we’ll think of what to do next.”
She yawned. “But not tonight.”
Madeleine agreed and headed for her bedroom, wondering why she was so tired. She found the cat curled up on her bed, and had to smile at the memory of Remi’s intervention. Banquo’s ghost indeed!
Her smile faded at another memory: Kent’s malicious words. The things he’d said about that family were insulting. Way out of line, even if he thought they were true.
She snapped the curtains shut. First chance she got, she was going back to visit Paula Castell, no matter what Kent said. She had a lot to learn about decoys, for one thing. But . . . Paula an alcoholic? Dan’l didn’t seem to think so.
Later, as she drifted off to sleep, a question slid into her mind, stealthily, as if it had crept out from under the piled-up events of the evening.
Saturday, Aunt Lin said, they would take a day off from Manor work, so Madeleine made plans. Timothy was first on her list. She’d take him the signs and the Challah braid—and some of the leftover turkey and a couple of those tarts.
Maybe she’d have a chance to talk to him about Kent, get his thoughts, and silence the questions inside her. Better take her laptop, too. She could print out her paper and start revising it.