The Angel Whispered Danger (3 page)

“Ernest is downright lucky to have somebody like Casey want to live in that old rundown cottage,” Violet said. “Of course, he grumbled because he had to patch the roof and put in new plumbing.”

“Who’s Casey?” I asked as Burdette and the children raced across the lawn. Or at least the children raced; Burdette sort of lumbered, but I couldn’t help thinking how refreshing it would be if Ned loosened up that way with Josie. I wouldn’t care if he lumbered or not.

“Some kind of writer,” Marge said. “Sort of keeps to himself. Supposed to be working on a book, I think. Showed up back in February looking for a place to stay in exchange for keeping the grass cut and whatever upkeep Uncle Ernest needs for the shrubbery and such.”

“What shrubbery?” Violet made a face at Hartley, who made one back. “Why, if he doesn’t watch out, the woods are going to take over the whole place! Not much yard left, except that pretty little garden Rose planted, and the scrub pine and honeysuckle vines are pushing in on it.”

“Maybe Deedee can get the Belle Fleurs Garden Club to take care of it after they get through clearing off that old Remeth Cemetery,” Marge said.

My grandmother spoke up. “I’ll believe that when I see it! Why, that old church must’ve burned more than fifty years ago.”

Marge shrugged. “Supposed to begin sometime this week. Deedee’s even talked Burdette into helping.”

“Poor Ernest. I wouldn’t think he’d want any reminders of Rose after she left him like she did,” Violet said. “Still, it’s sweet of him to try to keep up her garden. She did have a way with growing things.”

“Pity that marriage didn’t work out,” Ma Maggie said, trying unsuccessfully to contain a wiggling Hartley on her lap. “All these years alone . . . how long’s it been now? Close to forty years.”

“Well, Ida’clare,” I said, mostly to Violet, as I rose to help Marge clear the table. “Imagine that!”

“Go on, you bad thing!” Violet giggled. “But I do wish Ernest had tried a little harder! If I remember right, Rose was right pretty. I always thought Goat Kidd had a crush on her,” she said, referring to our uncle’s longtime friend and sparring partner, Judge Barton Kidd. “She was awful young, though; too young for Ernest. I expect the loneliness just got to her, living way up there like that. Couldn’t boil water without scorchin’ it, and Lord, she had the biggest feet I ever saw—but Ernest sure seemed taken with her; never saw him so smitten. Why, I couldn’t believe it when I heard she’d up and left!”

“Didn’t like living so far away from town, is all Ernest ever told me,” Ma Maggie said. “We never did know where she went from here.” She sighed. “Sure knocked the stuffing out of Ernest. I don’t reckon he’ll ever get over it.”

“Then why didn’t he go after her?” I asked. “My gosh, they were only married a little over a year, weren’t they? Must not have been as dejected as you make him sound.”

“Guess he figured a little bit went a long way,” Marge hollered from the kitchen doorway.

“Marge!”
This from Cousin Violet.

“Naturally, I meant
marriage
,” Marge said, darting a look at me. Of course, I knew she hadn’t. “And I’m glad if Uncle Ernest has found somebody new. He’s entitled.”

Violet turned up her nose and grunted, and my grandmother waved her hand as if she could scat Marge’s opinion away. “Speaking of marriage,” she said to me, “what’s this ridiculous thing about you and Ned?”

My grandmother spoke in her “I’m so disappointed in you” tone, and reached for my hand as I passed her chair.

“I’m afraid it isn’t so ridiculous,” I said, resisting an impulse to pull away. “We needed some time apart, that’s all. And after that . . . well, we’ll just see what happens.”

From the look on my grandmother’s face, I could tell she thought that was nonsense with a capital N. “Surely it’s not something you can’t work out between you.”

I saw her glance at Marge as if she expected my cousin to back her up, but Marge disappeared into the kitchen so quickly she might have been an apparition. “Let’s go see what your brothers are up to out there,” she said to Hartley, and I heard the door shut behind them.

Violet, thank goodness, followed suit. “I’m going to see if Marge will let me take home some of her hydrangea blossoms,” she said, pushing back her chair so quickly it almost tipped over. “Have you noticed that bush out by the porch? Such a rich color this year—almost violet.”

If my grandmother expected me to dump all my domestic problems in her lap, she was going to be disappointed. It just wasn’t something I wanted to share just yet, although God knows I needed to talk with somebody, but divorce was frowned upon in our family, and Ma Maggie could frown bigger than anybody. Even Uncle Ernest’s long-ago attempt at matrimony was never discussed in his presence.

My grandmother clung to my fingers as I stood beside her. (If I sat, she’d put me through the inquisition!) “Is Ned dissatisfied with his new job? I know he went through a bad time when that company he worked for . . . what do you call it . . . downsized, but I thought things would be easier now.”

“No, it’s not the job,” I said. After months of unemployment and what seemed like endless interviews, my husband had landed a position in the marketing department of a large medical supply company. “He really likes his work.”
Why else would he spend more time away than at home?

“Do you think he might resent yours?” she asked.

“Resent my what?” I freed my hand and began to gather up the tablecloth, concentrating on collecting all the chocolate crumbs. I didn’t look at my grandmother.

“Your job, Kate. Some women prefer to stay at home, and I just thought it might be nice if you were there when Ned came home.”

“Ned seemed to be perfectly okay with the paycheck I brought home during all those months he didn’t have one, and I don’t remember him ever complaining about my working at the college.” I had taken a job as assistant to the registrar at our local community college when Josie began the first grade, and as far as I knew, none of our family had suffered because of it.

My grandmother rose and went to the window, and she didn’t speak for a moment; when she did, all I could see was that beautiful white hair twisted into a coil at the back of her neck. “I was just wondering if things might have been different if you hadn’t been working when—”

“I have to go,” I said. I knew where she was going with this, and I didn’t plan to join her.

“Kate, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . please, you don’t have to leave.”

“We still have sand in our clothes from the beach,” I said. “I’ve loads of wash to do, and I don’t want Josie up too late. She’s had a busy week.” I brushed her cheek with a good-bye kiss.

But Ma Maggie wasn’t through. “Have you thought of talking with Burdette?” she said. “He’s so good in situations like this. He might be able to—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said on my way out.

Don’t cry, Kate. Don’t you dare cry!
I swallowed the boulder in my throat and stood on the back porch for a minute to blink the moisture from my eyes. If I could just get to my parents’ house and go to sleep, maybe things would look brighter in the morning.

Marge knelt by the sandbox, patting damp sand around Hartley’s bare foot. “Now stand still and I’ll show you how to make a frog house,” she said to her three-year-old, but her enthusiasm vanished when she turned and saw me standing there.

“Kate, are you all right?”

“Just tired. Dinner was great, Marge, but I think we’ll head on out. I’m afraid I got too much sun at the beach this morning, and it was a long drive up here.”

“It’s Ma Maggie, isn’t it? Oh Lordy! What’d she say this time?”

I tried to smile. “I’m afraid I failed the June Cleaver test.” I felt in my shorts pocket for my car keys, then remembered I’d left them in the car—along with my purse.

Marge dusted sand from her hands and put a grainy paw on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kate. Sometimes she goes too far, but you know I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

“Right now all I want to do is sleep,” I said, “but thanks.”

I found my daughter hanging upside down from a tree limb. “Oh, Mom, do we have to go? Cudin’ Bird’s built Darby and Jon a two-story tree house, and he’s gonna tell us ghost stories out there when it gets dark. Can’t I stay?”

Beside me, Marge spoke softly. “Why not let her stay, Kate? The sofa in that little upstairs sitting room makes into a bed, and the boys love having her here.”

“Please, Mom! Can’t I?” Josie, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, tugged at my shirt. She looked happier than I’d seen her in weeks. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“You’ll mind Marge and Cudin’ Bird and not argue about bedtime?” I said, and my daughter nodded, grinning.

“She’ll be fine. Go home and take a long soak in the tub. Come on, I’ll help you get Josie’s things from the car.” Marge lifted long reddish-gold hair from her neck as we walked. It was so fine she couldn’t keep it pinned up and moist strands plastered her forehead. Hartley, chasing after us, clung to her long legs. My cousin was the one, I thought, who needed a relaxing soak in the tub, yet she didn’t seem nearly as tired as I felt.

Guilt nagged at me as I pulled into my parents’ driveway, then dragged my suitcase from the trunk. I was actually
glad
Josie would be staying with her cousins, glad to be away from her obvious resentment. Her dad wasn’t around, so I was the one receiving her ten-year-old’s version of punishment for the shaky state of our family. And I was tired of it!

The house where I grew up was a yellow Cape Cod that had been built sometime in the 1960s and looked much like a lot of the other houses on the street, except for the wide porch Dad had added in the back and the huge oak out front where our rope swing once hung. I could see that my dad had planted his usual vegetable garden behind the house with tomatoes, bush beans and summer squash, although it would be weeks before they were ready for the table.

The emptiness of the house assailed me from every room. I had expected to experience loneliness, but not to this extent. Maybe it was the dusk-dark, which could sometimes be a melancholy time. I turned on lights as I walked through, wishing with all my heart that I hadn’t told Mama I’d represent our family at this reunion. I didn’t want to be here. What’s more, I didn’t even want to be
me
.

My mother had promised to call as soon as my sister’s baby arrived, no matter what the hour. Maybe she’d left a message on the voice mail! I hurried to the phone in the small study off the front hall, but the only message was from the dentist’s office reminding Mom of an appointment. Apparently everybody else in Bishop’s Bridge knew my parents were in England.

Upstairs in the room I had shared with Sara, I sat in the dormer window and watched Miss Julia Arnold across the street take her cocker spaniel out for its evening “squat,” as Dad liked to call it, usually in somebody else’s yard. Just thinking of Dad made me smile. If only he were here, he would make me feel better. But he wasn’t here.

Miss Julia, I knew, would be glad to see me; would probably invite me in for dessert or at least a glass of tea. And of course, she’d ask a hundred questions: “And how is that dear Ned? What a shame he couldn’t come . . . and don’t tell me you didn’t bring Josie . . .” My husband, Miss Julia claimed, reminded her of a young Jimmy Stewart, except he was better-looking. I couldn’t argue with her there. But I wouldn’t think of that.

Coming here had been a big mistake. Tomorrow, I thought, I would collect my daughter, give my excuses and head back home. But back home to what?

I kicked off my shoes and had started into the bathroom to fill the tub when I heard something downstairs that turned me into an ice sculpture. It was the sound of breaking glass and it seemed to have come from the room below. Somebody was trying to get into the house! Or, worse still, maybe they already had.

My parents had never had a telephone installed upstairs.
The one we have is one too many
, Dad had said during my chatty high school years. And naturally I’d left my cell phone in the car. Whoever was downstairs apparently planned to take advantage of my parents’ absence and help themselves to the family silver—and anything else they could carry away.

But not if I could help it! Anger surged inside me as I slipped shoeless into the hallway, hugging the wall like a shadow. I was almost sure the sound of broken glass had come from the living room, but there was nothing there of much value. If I waited quietly until they moved to the other part of the house, I could slip out the front door before they suspected my presence. Unless they decided to try their luck upstairs.

I crept to the landing and listened, glad of the huge potted fern my mother kept there. Not only did it partially screen me from view, but if anyone approached, I could shove it down the stairs like a great bowling ball with fronds. And for the second time that day, I was relieved that Josie had chosen to stay at Marge’s.

Unless the burglar was in the habit of talking to himself, I was almost certain there were two of them, as I could hear muted fragments of conversation, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Probably just as well. I would risk being seen if I tried to make it to my car, but if I could dash across the street to Miss Julia’s and call the police, they might be able to nab them before they got away.