Shadows on a Maine Christmas (Antique Print Mystery Series Book 7) (7 page)

She stopped in front of the wide-boughed Christmas tree to blink away a couple of tears. The tree was decorated with colored lights, tinsel, and ornaments of all sorts. Some were delicate Victorian blown glass, the sort collectors looked for at auctions or in antiques shops. Of course, when this house had been built Waymouth would not have celebrated Christmas with a tree. Christmas in early nineteenth-century Maine would only have meant a special church service on Sunday. A few gifts might have been exchanged on New Year’s Day.

No trees would have been decorated in this home until at least the 1850s. Queen Victoria’s Prince Albert had brought that custom with him from Germany, and it had spread rapidly throughout England and then to the States.

But the ornaments Maggie found herself drawn to weren’t the Victorian ones. They were the clumsy ones made with uncooked macaroni and papier-mâché and clam and mussel shells and construction paper; the ones Ruth’s and Betty’s children had made. They’d been treasured and saved, and although some were now faded and torn, they’d been hung here, next to the valuable Victorian ornaments, in an elegant, formal room. She looked for the crayoned signatures. Brian, she’d just met. Stacy. That must be another of Ruth’s children. Miranda, whose ornament was covered with glitter. And Noah, the third of Ruth’s children. Did the two who weren’t here tonight have children of their own? Were they remembering Christmases spent in this house?

Would her children come home for Christmas when they were adults, bringing their families, as Brian and Miranda had? Or would they, like Stacy and Noah, have reasons to stay away?

As a child she’d dreamed of living in a house like this, with a Christmas tree like this one.

With parents who’d treasure her awkwardly pasted snowmen and Santas instead of consigning them to the kitchen bulletin board for a day or two before they ended up in the trash.

For a moment Maggie grieved for the child she’d been. The child who’d been fed and clothed, but who’d longed to be cherished.

She shook her head slightly, trying to banish her thoughts. The past couldn’t be changed. Hers wasn’t a fraction as bad as that of millions of children in the world. Or even as bad as Will’s had been, with a father whose temper and drinking had convinced Will he could never be a good father himself.

No life was perfect. And now was not a time to feel sorry for herself. Now was the time to live the life she’d chosen. Which meant, tonight, that she’d better retrieve the drinks Will had promised her and Aunt Nettie.

“Merry Christmas, Nick!” she said, joining the two of them. “What are you two handsome men doing talking to each other and not to us ladies?”

Will grinned. Nick blushed from his cheeks up to the top of his thinning hair. “You look nice tonight, Maggie.”

“‘Nice!’ How’re you going to get a girl with words like that, Nick,” Maggie teased, as Nick’s face got redder. “I’d toast you if I had a drink.” She looked pointedly at the glasses Will was holding.

“Sorry. We got to talking.” Will handed her the glass of red wine and looked guiltily toward Aunt Nettie.

“And yes, I’ll take Aunt Nettie’s glass to her. No problem. You guys have fun.” She turned and walked back to the couch, where Doreen had taken her place, and handed Aunt Nettie her Old Fashioned. “Will got a little involved.”

“I saw. Thank you, Maggie.”

“You look wonderful, Maggie,” said Doreen. “I’m surprised Will even took the time to say hello to Nick.”

“I’m afraid I just embarrassed Nick. I was teasing him about having a girlfriend. Is there a special friend in his life?”

“My Nick? Heavens, no. I don’t think he’s had a date since his divorce was final, sixteen years ago.” Doreen shook her head. “A few women have been interested. But he’s always busy with his job, and with taking care of Zelda and me.” She leaned toward Maggie. “Truth be told, I think he’s a bit shy. Once burned, you know.”

“Is Zelda here tonight?” Maggie glanced around, but didn’t see any teenagers in the room. “I’d love to meet her.”

“No; she was going to come, but she had to be over at the church, practicing.”

“Practicing?”

“She’s in the choir. They’re part of the community carol sing on the Green at seven, and then singing at the Christmas Eve candlelight service at eleven. It’s lovely. You should come.”

“I’ll see what Will wants to do. I haven’t been to a candlelight service in years.”

Her thought was interrupted as a slight gray-haired woman Maggie assumed was Carrie Folk wheeled Betty in and placed her chair next to the couch. Billy was following them, still holding one of his cookies. Or maybe by now it was another one.

Carrie bent down and said something to Betty. Then she took Billy by the hand and went toward the buffet table in the next room.

“Who are you?” asked Betty, looking up at Maggie.

“I’m Maggie,” she answered.

“Oh,” said Betty. “That’s a nice name. Where is this? It’s a lovely room. It looks like Christmas.”

“This is your living room,” said Maggie. “And it’s Christmas Eve.” She turned as Ruth joined them. “I saw Jonas. You have a handsome young grandson. And what a cute Christmas outfit.”

“Jonas? You saw Jonas?” said Betty. “He should be here to see his baby, you know. He has a beautiful baby.”

“Yes, Betty,” Ruth moved a step away from Betty before she answered Maggie. “The baby is cute, isn’t he? I bought that outfit for him. Jenny and I don’t always see eye-to-eye. I’ll admit I preferred wife number-one. But I was real pleased to see she’d put that red suit on him this afternoon.” She turned to the others. “Have you all tasted the buffet? I think I overdid it a bit with the food, and I don’t want any wasted.”

“Why don’t I go and get you a plate now, Aunt Nettie,” said Maggie, putting her glass down.

The buffet table was as generous as Ruth promised, although not many people were taking advantage of it yet. Maggie had almost filled a plate with bites of shrimp, mussels, sausage, stuffed mushrooms, oysters, pasta salad, deviled eggs topped with caviar, and a few slices of different cheeses when she sensed Will at her shoulder. “Is that for Aunt Nettie?” he asked. “Make sure you add some of the crabmeat. She loves that.”

He was topping his own plate off generously and didn’t seem to be skipping anything. “Then be sure to come back and get enough for yourself.”

“I will,” she promised, keeping an eye on the lavish tray of Damariscotta and Pemaquid oysters. “By the way, do you know who the two women in the corner are? They’re not mixing with anyone else.”

Will glanced in their direction. “The taller one, wearing the patchwork-quilt skirt, is Betty’s daughter, Miranda, and the other one is her spouse, Joan. They’ve been together for years. Live in Portland. They got married as soon as it was legal here.”

“I remember hearing Betty’s daughter lived in Portland. And I think that ‘patchwork-quilt skirt’ is made of hand-embroidered silks and satins. Gorgeous. I’ve been admiring it. They’re the ones I think Ruth said would be staying at an inn instead of here at the house.”

“Portland isn’t far, but I guess because of the holiday they’re staying in town overnight. Aunt Nettie once mentioned that Miranda and Ruth had a falling out about how Betty was being cared for. That could be another reason they’re not staying at the house.”

“Families!” said Maggie. She picked up a napkin and fork and headed back to deliver Aunt Nettie’s plate.

Her second trip to the buffet was for her, and since Aunt Nettie seemed settled with friends, she and Will walked and peeked at the downstairs of the large house as they nibbled.

In the back of the living and dining rooms (the hunting prints turned out to be Henry Alkens, as Maggie had suspected), were a large kitchen and pantry. On the other side of the first floor were a more formal parlor and an area that had been turned into two rooms; one for Betty, and an adjoining one seemingly designed for her caretaker. It included two single beds, a small television, and a shelf of trucks and picture books, perhaps for Billy.

Betty’s room was equipped with a hospital bed, a larger television set, and an adjacent handicapped bathroom. A tall bookcase held shelves of DVDs, and the walls were covered with framed photographs of family and friends. Near Betty’s bed a large chalkboard read TODAY IS DECEMBER 24. CHRISTMAS EVE. WEATHER IS COLD AND SNOWY. An infant-sized baby doll sat in a chair near the bookcase.

Everything in the room—every picture, every wall and light switch—had an attached yellow sticky note identifying it. The names of the people in the pictures. TV. LAMP. BED. CEILING. REMOTE CONTROL.WINDOW. REFRIGERATOR was on a small refrigerator in the corner. Perhaps it held Betty’s medications.

At first neither of them spoke. The reality of dementia was very close in that room.

Maggie shuddered. “Two other beds. It must be hard enough to have a nurse with you at all times. But to have Billy as well… It would drive me crazy to have no privacy.”

“But how much does she still understand? I assume Betty wants to stay at home, and needs someone close at hand. But I don’t think Carrie and Billy are here all the time. Ruth takes care of her most nights, and when Carrie has time off.”

Maggie nodded.

“Taking care of a loved one doesn’t have to be horrible, you know.”

Maggie leaned against Will for a moment. “I know.” That was what he was doing. But somehow here, with Betty in her wheelchair, not sure of where she was or who she was talking to, caretaking seemed much worse than helping Aunt Nettie, who could still do a lot for herself, and knew exactly what was happening.

Back in the living room, Ruth was feeding Betty.

Aunt Nettie had disappeared.

“Will? Maybe I should go and look for Aunt Nettie. Make sure she’s okay, in case she needed to use the bathroom or felt a little weak.” She handed her empty plate to him.

She paused outside the parlor that had been empty a few minutes before. Aunt Nettie’s voice was coming clearly from inside. Maggie didn’t want to interrupt.

“I’ve known you since you were a child. This isn’t like you. I don’t know what’s wrong, but this isn’t going to help. It’s going to get you into trouble. Tell me what you need. If I can help you, I will,” Aunt Nettie was saying.

“You don’t understand! You’ve always had everything you wanted and needed. You’ve never been in my situation. I don’t have any choice.” That was another woman’s voice.

“We’ve all had times when it didn’t seem as though there were any good choices. But there are always options. If you don’t want to talk to me, have you thought of talking to someone else you trust? A minister? Or doctor? A counselor?”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone. There’s no time for that nonsense. I know what I have to do. Clearly you don’t want to help me. If you did, you’d give me what I asked for.”

“I can’t do that, Carrie. I don’t have it.”

“I don’t believe you. Rich folks think they can get away with anything. But they can’t. Not always. It’s time for payback. You think about it. You think hard.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else —”

“I told you. There’s nothing. So, all of you, stop acting like you know better than me. Because you don’t know nothing. What I know, I know, and I’m not keeping my peace any longer.”

Maggie pretended to be studying a group of hand-colored Bartlett steel engravings of Boston in the hallway.

Carrie Folk hadn’t met her. She hoped she wasn’t even noticed as Carrie left the parlor and walked quickly down the hall and into the dining room.

She’d overheard a strange, but clearly private, conversation.

A minute or so later Aunt Nettie came out of the parlor. “Maggie! What are you doing out here in the hall?”

“Looking at the engravings,” Maggie lied.

“Hmm,” said Aunt Nettie. “Well, why don’t we go back and get another drink from that bar instead of standing around by ourselves? We’re at a party.”

Carrie had taken over the task of feeding Betty by the time they reached the living room. “Is Betty all right?” Maggie asked Aunt Nettie softly. “She didn’t need that much help to eat the other day at your house.”

“Ruth said she’s very tired today. The baby cried most of the night and a lot today, too, and it upset Betty. She wasn’t able to sleep. When she’s tired, she loses muscle control. They thought it would be best if Carrie helped her.”

Maggie looked around for Billy. She found him in a corner of the dining room with a plate of food, pushing it into his mouth with his fingers. “Billy!” she said. “Does your mother let you eat like that?”

“This food is really, really good.”

“Yes, it is,” said Maggie. “Why don’t you take the rest of your plate into the other room where your mother is and eat your food there.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Here,” she said, handing him a napkin and a fork. “Wipe your hands and mouth first. And then take another napkin. You don’t want your mother to see you like that.”

“No. Then maybe Santa Claus wouldn’t come.” Billy wiped his fingers carefully and handed the dirty napkin back to Maggie. “You won’t tell him, will you?”

“I won’t. But I don’t want to see you eating with your fingers again.”

Billy nodded. Then he picked up his plate and left.

“Well done, Maggie,” said Ruth, who’d come into the room in back of her. “Not many people can cope with Billy. You did that just right.”

“I hope I wasn’t interfering. But his mother looked so tired sitting there and feeding Betty, and I was sure she wouldn’t have approved of the way he was eating.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” said Ruth. “It’s hard sometimes to watch Billy. Carrie doesn’t discipline him the way…well, the way I disciplined my children. I know he’s different. But, still. I try not to interfere. Carrie’s so good with Betty, and we’ve known them both for so long. Betty’s comfortable with her. It’s hard to find a competent and caring nurse you can trust in your home.”

“You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you. I’m so glad you could come this afternoon.”

The baby’s screams interrupted them. “There Jonas goes again. I swear, if any of my children had cried like that I wouldn’t have had three.” Ruth smiled. “But here I am, telling you how I’d discipline Carrie’s son, or my grandson. Poor Jonas has colic. I think he just needs to be burped a little more, and perhaps he shouldn’t have been put on the bottle so early. But he’s not my child. Do you have children, Maggie?”