The next afternoon Maggie took one last look in the mirror. For the umpteenth time she asked why she had done this to herself. No, she didn’t want to go to the Bremmers’, but, at the same time, she didn’t want Sheila to get away with doing a number on her.
“Oh, well,” she said philosophically to the mirror, “I have to wear these pantyhose once before they rot in the drawer. And it’ll feel good to wear a skirt for a change.”
Downstairs she waved good-bye to her grandfather and backed The Bluebird down the short driveway. All the way to the Bremmers’ she worried about what she would do at their gate. Maybe they’d have an electronic gate opener, but if they didn’t … Did she honk? Or park and try to open it?
The gate was open. She drove up the narrow asphalt road to a parking area in front of the big sprawling house. At the door she smoothed her hair, checked her fingernails, and took a great gulp of air. “Here goes,” she muttered and raised the large brass knocker. What will I say when the door opens? One vassal waiting to visit the queen, she thought, and giggled.
What she said when the door opened was, “It’s you, Amparo! Am I ever glad.”
Amparo, wearing a crisp white apron over a colorful skirt, smiled widely. “Come in, Miss Maggie. They are waiting for you.” She led the way through a plant-filled entry and down a narrow hall to a closed door at the back of the house. “This is the sitting room of the family,” she whispered. “They have decided not to be formal with you.”
“Then stop calling me Miss Maggie.”
“Sh-h-h. I have to.” Amparo opened the door quietly and said, “She is here, Mrs. Ivy.”
Maggie felt four pairs of eyes on her as she stepped into the room. Two pairs were directly in front of her. They belonged to the white-haired sisters she had seen in the back seat of the black Cadillac. They were identical twins. They were seated on a brocade-covered love seat, their long thin legs extending from beneath identical beige skirts. Maggie held back a giggle. The Toothpick Twins. Sheila’s name for them might not be nice, but it was absolutely right. She could not remember meeting any skinnier, more colorless people.
On upholstered chairs on the far side of a round coffee table sat Mr. and Mrs. Bremmer. A fire was snapping cheerily in a large brick fireplace on the wall near them. Mr. Bremmer rose stiffly, and Ivy Bremmer waved an arm toward a chair facing them.
“Sit down, my dear. You’re right on time. We do appreciate punctuality, don’t we, A.J.?” Mr. Bremmer, who was in the act of seating himself, nodded briskly as he sank into his chair. Ivy Bremmer turned back to Maggie. “Now, Margaret … may I call you Margaret?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, please. I know that’s what Mr. Wagner insists on calling me, but my name is Margarita and nearly everyone calls me Maggie.”
“Well … well …” Mrs. Bremmer looked a bit shocked. “Well, then, Maggie, I don’t believe you’ve met my dear sisters-in-law. Gertrude on the left and Gretchen beside her.”
Gertrude nodded and Gretchen nodded, too, but a little smile came and went quickly on her lips.
Maggie sat down as Mrs. Bremmer went on talking. “Aren’t they remarkable? Now don’t even bother trying to tell them apart. Only A.J. and I can do that.”
Maggie gave a little shrug of acquiescence, thinking she’s not very nice to talk about them as if they weren’t here. She smiled at them. “I always wanted to be a twin,” she said. “It must be fun.”
Gertrude said, “Not recently,” in a dry, squeaky voice, and Gretchen giggled.
Mrs. Bremmer rang a little china bell that was on a round coffee table before her. In a moment Amparo appeared, rolling a teacart with a silver tea service and a bowl of flowers. She rolled the cart close to Mrs. Bremmer and said, “The little sandwiches, they are ready. I should bring them, no?”
Gretchen said, “And the ones with sweet basil and dill, Amparo. Don’t forget those.”
“And the herb tea,” Gertrude added. “Make sure it has steeped for a full five minutes.”
“I will bring all,” Amparo said and left the room.
“Now, my dear,” Mrs. Bremmer said. “How do you like your tea? Cream, I would guess and how many lumps of sugar?”
“I’ll … I’ll wait for the herb tea,” Maggie said, giving the sisters a glance. “That is, if it’s all right with you.”
“Of course, it’s all right if you wait,” Gertrude said. “But does that mean that you want some?”
“Oh, yes,” Maggie answered quickly.
“Well, then, you should have said so,” Gertrude said. “It’s a special blend of sister’s. Rosehips, blackberry leaves, lemon grass, and chamomile.”
“Tea? Fiddlesticks!” Mr. Bremmer sputtered. “That’s just medicine.”
“Well, brother,” Gertrude said, “call it what you will, but it certainly is tea. Tea made from Gretchen’s homegrown herbs, and it’s very good.”
“And so are the sandwiches,” Gretchen said. “Oh, look, here they are.” Amparo appeared, carrying a tray with a ceramic teapot and several small platters.
There was a general commotion while Ivy Bremmer directed the white-haired sisters to bring up chairs to the table. Once they were settled, Gertrude (at least Maggie thought it was Gertrude; she wasn’t sure who was on whose left anymore) checked the herb tea while the other twin passed sandwiches. Maggie took those with fresh basil and dill. The twin she thought was Gretchen beamed.
“Here’s your tea,” the twin at the teapot said, handing a steaming cup to Maggie.
The other wailed, “Oh, Gertrude, you’re dripping.”
Maggie smiled. Now she knew which twin was which.
“I am?” Gertrude said.
“Not you, of course. The teapot. All over the table.”
“Never mind,” Ivy Bremmer said. “Just move over. Amparo will wipe it up.”
Mr. Bremmer sputtered a bit, left his chair, and went over to sit on a straight chair by his wife.
Maggie had an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle. There was something vaguely familiar about all these goings-on.
Everyone sipped tea and ate sandwiches for a few minutes, and then Mr. Bremmer said, “I do believe I’ll go back to my own chair, Ivy. You know this one makes me stiff.”
“Well, dear, then why did you take it?”
Mr. Bremmer started to say something, sputtered instead, and settled himself in the upholstered chair once again. He leaned forward and spoke to Maggie. “And where did you come from, young lady?”
This time Maggie did giggle, if only a little. She knew now why things seemed so familiar. This was as weird a tea party as the one in Alice in Wonderland. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Bremmer,” she said. “I’ve been here all the time.”
“No, no,” he said impatiently. “Before you came to Twisted Creek.”
“Oh. Los Angeles. But I thought you knew that.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line and sat back.
Gretchen held a platter in front of Maggie. “Here, have another—”
“You mustn’t think us rude, my dear,” Ivy Bremmer said right over Gretchen’s words. “We are merely wondering why you came to our town. A young person like you.”
Maggie sighed and put her sandwich down. She might as well stop eating. The interrogation had begun. “I came to Twisted Creek because my grandfather’s here and because it’s such a super place to live,” she said.
Mr. Bremmer made a sound suspiciously like a snort. “Come now, young lady, you don’t expect us to swallow that.”
“Why, brother,” Gretchen said, her face as pink as a cherry popsicle, “how unkind.”
Ivy Bremmer gave Maggie a shrewd look. “What A.J. means, my dear, is that it is hard to believe you would prefer our little town to your city.”
“I can speak for myself, Ivy,” Mr. Bremmer said. “What I want to know is what you’re doing here. Did someone send for you?”
“Send for me? My grandfather didn’t even know I was coming.”
“No one comes here without a reason,” Mr. Bremmer insisted. “Come now, what’s yours?”
Maggie stared at the suspicious little man across from her. His breathing was quick and shallow. He seems frightened, she thought. She had a sudden impulse to reach over and pat him on the arm. Instead, she said, “Two months ago my father died and I didn’t want to live in the city anymore. So that’s why I’m here. I really do love Twisted Creek. I hope it never changes.”
Ivy Bremmer expelled her breath. “There, A.J., now will you relax? Margaret … Maggie isn’t here under false pretenses. Let’s all relax now. Gertrude, pour Maggie more of your tea. Gretchen, pass the cookies, please. And girls, when we’re through here, why don’t you show our guest your greenhouse?”
“But we’ve never shown it to anyone,” Gertrude said dryly.
“No one at all,” Gretchen echoed. “No one was interested.”
Maggie jumped up from her chair. “I am,” she said enthusiastically. “I’d love to see it.” This was her chance to escape Mr. and Mrs. Bremmer. She wasn’t going to lose it. The twin called Gretchen rose immediately, and Gertrude, more stiffly, followed suit.
Maggie went with the twins down a long hall and into a large kitchen, where Amparo was busily washing dishes. She grinned at Amparo and followed the older women through a door at the far end. The smell of damp earth and flowers told Maggie that they were in the greenhouse. It was the size of a small classroom, only long and narrow, with three glass-paned walls built against the south side of the main house. One of the twins closed the door quickly.
“The temperature must be just so,” she said and went on explaining about soil moisture and humidity without moving until the other interrupted.
“Fiddledeedee, Gertrude,” she said. “That’s enough. Let’s show her the garden.”
“Well,” said Gertrude, “we’ve managed to grow one cymbidium … that’s an orchid, you know … and we have a few begonias that—”
“Not those, Gertrude. Come here, Maggie. My garden’s over here.”
Gretchen’s garden was at one end of the greenhouse, built in steps on tiered benches. Boxes of rich loam held tomato plants, some green, some ripe and red. Other boxes held rows of beets, carrots, and little green onions. Below them were radishes and lettuce.
“And these are my dear herbs,” Gretchen said with an excited little laugh. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
On rows against the wall of the house were boxes and pots filled with well-nourished herbs. The basil leaves were large and brilliant green. Spearmint grew next to them. Parsley, coriander, and dill filled other boxes.
“Oh,” said Maggie, pointing to a large ceramic pot, “that little shrub is rosemary, isn’t it? What sweet blue flowers.” She turned to face Gretchen. “Your herbs are beautiful and they smell heavenly.”
Gretchen clapped her hands. “Gertrude, isn’t this wonderful? She loves our little garden.”
“Yes,” Gertrude said. “Brother had this built for us. It has the very latest in sprinkling systems and the temperature control is—”
“Fiddledeedee!” Gretchen interrupted. “That’s not at all interesting. Never in all my put-togethers, Gertrude, have I seen anyone so taken by old water pipes as you.”
“It’s just that I appreciate all that brother has done for us,” Gertrude said huffily.
“And what has he done, indeed?” Gretchen said. “It’s our—” She stopped abruptly. “Well, he’s a good man, that I’ll say for him.” A little smile stole across her lips as she added, “Even if lately he’s been acting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. I don’t know what he was thinking, getting after Maggie that way.”
“That’s all right,” Maggie said. “I guess he just loves Twisted Creek and wants to protect it. But what harm could I do?” A picture flashed in her mind: six of her new schoolmates sitting in a circle on a flat rock in Elk Meadow. Mr. Bremmer must know about them, she thought, and he thinks I’m here to help them somehow. “I hope he knows I love Twisted Creek just as it is.”
A look passed between Gertrude and Gretchen.
“What he doesn’t know,” Gretchen said, “won’t curdle his whey. Here, Maggie, have some mint.”