Bitter Sweet (27 page)
‘... one of the four. As you can see, I’m using the original light fixtures because they’re made of solid brass. I found out, after I started examining them closer, that they were all originally gas lights - did you know this town didn’t get electricity until the 1930s?”
‘Really?’
‘So everything’s been converted. I love the old fixtures because they’re authentic. When Mr Deitz gets the electricity back on, you’ll see how pretty they look, even in daylight.’
They stood beneath the gas fixture, looking up, close enough to smell each other. He smelled like crisp air and leather. She smelled like turpentine.
‘And didn’t my floors turn out beautifully? Wait till I show you the one downstairs in the main parlour.’
He glanced down. Her feet were bare below baggy denims rolled to mid-calf, familiar feet he’d seen tens of times aboard the Mary Deare that summer when they had practically lived in bathing suits.
‘They look just like new,’ he said of the floors, then glanced around the bare room. ‘The decorating’s a little austere though.’
Maggie chuckled and buried her hands in her front pockets. ‘All in due time.’
‘I heard you’d moved back. You sold your
Seattle
house?’
‘Yup.’
‘Where are your things?’
“In the garage. So far I’ve only taken out the kitchen furnishings and one bed for me to sleep on.’
“The kitchen looks great, by the way. I can see you have a touch.’
‘Thanks. I’m anxious to get all the woodwork redone so I can move the rest of the furniture inside.’ She lifted her gaze to the wide cove moulding overhead and he found himself studying the curve of her throat. ‘I decided to paint all the upstairs mopboards and ceiling mouldings white, and leave those downstairs natural wood. As soon as I get them finished I can start the wallpapering, but everything takes so long to get. Three weeks for most of the paper out of
Chicago
. I can get wallpaper there in one day.’
‘You’re going to do the papering yourself?.’
‘Uhohuh.’
‘Who taught you how?’ he asked, following her into the next bedroom.
‘Taught me?’ She glanced back and shrugged. ‘Trial and error, I guess. I’m a home economics teacher. Need I tell you how non-economical it is to hire paperers? Besides, I enjoy it, and I have all winter, so why not do it myself?.’
He thought about coming over sometime in the dreary days of mid-winter and helping her. Stupid thought.
“You know what I’ve decided?’ Maggie asked.
‘What?’
‘To name each bedroom after Thaddeus Harding’s children. This one will be the Franklin, that one the Sarah, and that one the Victoria. I’ll get a little brass plaque for each door. Fortunately for me, Thaddeus only had three children, so this last room will get the name it deserves.’ She led Eric into the fourth room. ‘The Belvedere Room. How could it be anything else?’ He stood beside her, surveying the room by daylight. Bright, white, furnished only with her bed which sat dead centre in the room. It had neither been neatened this morning nor overly mussed last night.
She slept - he noted - facing the window and the water. In one corner of the room a pair of vintage high-button shoes sat primly on the floor.
He grinned, glanced from her bare feet to the shoes and remarked, ‘Ah, so this is where you lost them.’
Maggie laughed and looked down, swishing a bare sole across the smooth floor. ‘These floors feel like satin. I can’t get enough of them.’
Their eyes met and memories bedeviled again - both of them, this time - of summer days aboard the Mary Deare, barefoot and in love.
She looked away first, towards the window, and breathed, ‘Oh, look.., snow!’
Outside great downy flakes had begun to fall, lining the maple branches and disappearing as they touched the water.
The sky was hudess, sunless, a great blending of white-on white.
‘I’ve missed it,’ Maggie said, moving towards the window. “In
Seattle
it snowed up in the mountains, of course, but I missed watching it change the yard like this, or waking up that first morning when your bedroom would be so bright even the ceiling was lit and you’d know it had snowed overnight.’
He trailed towards her and stood at her shoulder, watching
......... .y
enjoy together this way. For
Nancy
, snowy’ always signalled the beginning of the difficult travelling season, so she found little in it to appreciate, not even aesthetically. When she, was home it seemed they never took time for the quiet things like this.
What are you doing here, Severson, making comparison between Maggie and your wife? Give her the damned papers a get out!
But he stood at the window beside Maggie, watching the rough tweed of winter disappear beneath a powdery blanket of white.
“You know what it reminds me of?.’ Maggie asked.
‘What?’
‘A linen tablecloth the world puts on for Thanksgiving. It should be snowy for Thanksgiving, don’t you think?’
She glanced up and found him very close, studying her instead of the snow.
“Absolutely,’ he answered quietly, and for a moment they forgot the view, and the presence of the electrician downstairs, and the reasons they should not be standing so close.
Maggie recovered first and moved away discreetly.
‘Should we go downstairs?’
On their way down she explained, ‘I found me high button shoes in an antique shop in
Chicago
and I couldn’t resist them. They’ll add a quaint touch to one of the bedrooms, don’t you think?’
Her sensible chatter ended the threat they had felt upstairs, and if for a moment they’d been tempted, and if for that moment they’d recognized it as mutual, they moved on through her house pretending it had not happened. She kept up a lively dialogue while guiding him from room to room, showing him her walls and her windows and her floors, especially in the downstairs parlour.
‘I discovered this marvellous craftsmanship underneath musty rug.’ She knelt and ran a hand over the wood. ‘It’s quarter-sawn maple. Look how it’s isn’t it a lovely design?’
He squatted, too, knees snapping, and touched it. ‘It’s beautiful, Is this the room where you intend to have the candy bowl and the cordials?’
-‘Yes. We could have some now,’ she remarked gaily, ‘if I had any candy or cordials in the house. Unfortunately, I haven’t put in a supply. Would a cup of coffee do?’
‘I’d love one.’
Leading the way to the kitchen she detoured through the dining room where the electrician was working with a rewdriver at a wall switch. With the power still off and twilight settling in, the room was dusky. ‘Do you know ‘I don’t believe I do.’
‘Patrick Deitz, this is Eric Severson. He runs a charter boat out of Gills Rock. We’re going to have some coffee.
Would you like some?’
‘Don’t mind if I do, Mrs Stearn.” Patrick slipped the screwdriver into his pocket and shook hands with Eric. ‘But wait right here while I get the power back on.’
He was gone only momentarily, leaving Maggie and Eric standing in the gloaming facing a wide bay window. It was all right this time: Deitz was nearby and they had weathered the moment of captivation upstairs. They watched the snow, drawn together by the emptiness of the house and the change of season which was happening before their eyes, and by the very coming of twilight.
I’m going to love it here,” Maggie said.
“I can see why.’
Deitz returned, experimented with a dimmer switch on the wall, and said, ‘How’s that, Mrs Stearn?’
Maggie smiled up at the ornate fixture which gleamed from a recent polishing. ‘Perfect, Mr Deitz. You were absolutely right about which bulbs to choose. The candle-shaped ones add exactly the right touch. It’s a grand chandelier. Isn’t it a grand chandelier, Eric?’
Actually, it was a rather ugly piece of metal, but the longer Eric studied it, the more he was able to appreciate its antique charm. First the snow, then the floor, now the chandelier. Though he’d warned himself against making comparisons, it was impossible not to, for he realized while walking through this house how little time
Nancy
took to appreciate things - little things, simple things. Maggie, on the other hand, managed to make the mere coming of dusk into an occasion.
‘Well, how about that coffee?’ she said.
The three of them sat at the table where she served coffee in man sized mugs, tea for herself, and a plate of cinnamon cookies, which she replenished twice. They talked about the Green Bay Packers’ season; and how you couldn’t buy fuzzy peaches anymore because hybridization had made them smooth; and which was the best way to cook salmon; and about Maggie’s kitchen table which she’d found beneath the tools in her father’s garage. They had a lively discussion about which were the best antique stores in
After thirty minutes Patrick Deitz checked his watch, clasped his knees and said he’d better pick up his tools, it was five-thirty already.
As soon as he got up, so did Eric. ‘I’d better go, too,’ he said while Deitz went into the dining room.
‘Aren’t you going to show me what you brought for me?’
Maggie asked, pointing to the papers Eric had dropped on an empty chair.
‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ He handed them across the table to her. ‘It’s just some information about registering with the chamber of commerce. I’m a member, and we try to get around to all the new businesses as soon as possible. I guess you can consider this your formal invitation to join.’
‘Why, thank you.’ She glanced at the magazine. The Key to the
Door Peninsula
. On the cover was a summer lakescape.
Inside was a gathering of tourist information and ads for food, lodging and shopping in
‘That’s a copy of last summer’s Key and the extra sheet has information about what it costs to register. It would be impossible to run an inn in
Most of your referrals will come from the chamber so you’ll find it’s the best advertising money you’ll spend.’
“Thanks. I’ll look it over right away.’
‘I’d guess we’ll probably be going to the printer in February or March with next summer’s copy, so you’ll have plenty of time to have an ad laid out. I have mine done in
I’ll remember that, thanks.’
They moved to the door and paused. ‘The members of the chamber meet once a month for breakfast at different restaurants around town. Nothing formal, just a way of touching base with the other business-people. Next month - on the fourth, I think - we’re meeting at The Cookery.
You’re welcome to come.”
‘I may do that.’ ‘
Deitz came through the kitchen with his toolbox. ‘Well, goodnight, Mrs Stearn. Thanks for the coffee and cookies.
They were real good.’
‘You’re welcome.”
‘Nice to meet you, Eric.’ Deitz nodded.
‘Same here.’
Deitz moved between them and Maggie opened the door to let him out. When he was gone she stood in the cold air with the door still open.
‘Well, think about the breakfast,” Eric encouraged.
‘I will.’
‘And thanks for the tour of the house.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘I really love it.’
“So do
I.
’ The air continued blowing inside. She crossed her arms.
‘Well...’ He reached in a pocket for his gloves and drew them on slowly. ‘Good-bye, then.’
Neither of them moved, only their eyes, to each other. She hadn’t intended to say the words but they came out of nowhere. ‘Let me get my jacket and I’ll walk you up the hill.’
He closed the door and waited while she disappeared into the maid’s room and returned wearing a pair of Reeboks without socks, shrugging into a fat pink jacket. She dropped to one knee in the middle of the kitchen floor, rolled down her pants legs, then stood, zipping her jacket.
“Ready?’
She looked up and flashed a smile.
‘Aha.’
He opened the door, let her pass before him into the
dark where the softly falling snow created a halo around the back verandah light. The air smelled fresh, of first winter as they moved side by side in Deitz’s tracks.
