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The smell of coffee, leather, wood, and paper wafted into Maggie’s nose, sending her senses to another dimension. Bookstores were her sanctuary.
As always, Mrs. Kendall, the owner of Well Read, sat on her stool behind the counter to the left of the door.
“Hi, Maggie.” She waved her over to the desk. “How are you, dear?”
Mrs. Kendall’s bouffant hairdo sat about a foot above her head. Her reading glasses were connected to a dainty chain around her neck, but she was constantly sticking them smack dab in the middle of her hair, like a shelf. Her heavy makeup and brightly colored clothes matched. She used to be a librarian but didn’t enjoy the “old fuddy-duddy image they have,” as she said.
“I’m doing…fine,” Maggie answered.
“That’s good, honey. It’s wonderful to see you in here again. I’m glad to hear you’re sticking with your writing. Your mama would be so proud.”
They were quiet for a moment, the mention of Caroline hanging in the air. She used to bring Maggie in here all the time. Maggie would wander through the kids’ section while her mother and Mrs. Kendall talked.
Mrs. Kendall shooed Maggie away lovingly. “You take all day if you want and enjoy yourself. Get going. So many books, so little time, my dear.”
Maggie smiled at her and turned around. The entire place was made of wood. The floors, the bookshelves. Large tables adorned the downstairs portion of the store. A wooden staircase ran up the center to a balcony overlooking the entire downstairs. Bookshelves ran from floor to ceiling along every single wall and sat in perfect lines along the upstairs. There was a small area in the corner that had fresh brewed coffee and hot tea. The Kendalls didn’t want to put in a full coffee bar because they didn’t want to take away customers from Jamie’s Java.
Maggie wandered the shelves, preferring the used books section to the new. She walked through the aisles, inhaling the scent of time and history, running her fingers over a few volumes, and wondering whose hands over time had done the same. Finding a used edition of A Moveable Feast, she poured herself some coffee and went to her favorite spot in one of the large, oversized chairs that were scattered around the store.
She’d brought her laptop with her. Even though she was unsure of where to start specifically on finding information about adoption, she was a journalist and no stranger to research. Telling Kate about her dad had been like a weight lifted off her back. Maybe telling Josh about the letters would be a good idea too? She shook her head. No. She wanted some more information first.
After an hour or so of getting nowhere, but carrying the happy weight of a bag full of new books – well, used, but new to her – Maggie stood on the sidewalk, her head buried in her purse in search of her keys. Not paying attention, she ran smack dab into Lady Guinevere.
“Hello there, dear,” Lady Guinevere said, her voice pleasant. “I didn’t see you there. I beg your pardon.”
Maggie stared, open-mouthed but mute, surprised by how sweet Lady Guinevere sounded. And that she had actually spoken.
“Are you all right, dear? I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Thankfully, Maggie found her voice.
“Oh, I-I’m fine.” Her hand was still deep down in her purse on its quest for her keys. “I’m sorry too. I wasn’t looking where I was going and…well, I apologize.”
Lady Guinevere smiled. “Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?”
Maggie went from being surprised to downright stunned. Thinking Lady Guinevere meant at the coffee shop, she agreed.
“You know where my house is, right dear?”
Maggie nodded. Everyone knew where Lady G’s house was, if only to avoid it.
“Good. I will see you there in just a bit.” She shuffled off to her car, got in, and drove away.
Maggie had absolutely no idea how long she stood there on the sidewalk. Her brain was trying to catch up with what had just happened and it was a bit sluggish. Coming to her senses, she found her keys and made it to her car. She sat there, gripping the steering wheel and trying to get her bearings.
Did I really just agree to drive out to Lady Guinevere’s house and have tea? I must have been out of my mind.
She pulled up to Lady Guinevere’s and was hit with an overwhelming sense of sadness. Maggie may have lived alone, but she didn’t live alone in a place that looked like it could fall over at any moment. The paint was chipping so badly it was taking pieces of wood with it. The grass was overgrown and patchy with various wildflowers in a rainbow of colors popping up here and there. Lady Guinevere’s car was parked off to the side of the house and a shiver ran down Maggie’s spine at the thought of how many rumors ran around town about what just might be in the back, hidden under the blankets. Before she could put the car in reverse and peel out, which every instinct in her said to do, she saw Guinevere open the front door, smiling and waving her in. Reluctantly, she opened her car door and got out.
“Hello there, dear. You didn’t have any trouble finding the place, did you?”
“No, I… I didn’t.” Stop stuttering, Mitchell.
“Well, please come in. I’ve just put water on the stove for tea. Or would you prefer coffee? I know kids your age are so into that now. That coffee shop on the corner is always busy.”
“Tea would be fine, thank you.”
Maggie entered the front door and it was as if she’d walked through the wardrobe doors in The Chronicles of Narnia. Nothing was what it seemed from the outside view. The house was dripping with charm, immaculately clean, and surprisingly light. There were fresh wildflowers in vases on the small kitchen table and the coffee table. It was not a large space, but it was welcoming and comfortable.
Guinevere noticed her reaction and seemed amused.
“I know it’s a shock. Everyone assumes the inside will be as awful as the outside but, well, I’m not physically able to keep the house up on the outside. I do what I can on the inside. Please have a seat.”
Guinevere headed to the kitchen just as a chirp began to erupt from the teakettle. Maggie slowly made her way to a high-backed plaid chair with a green and orange homemade afghan thrown over the back.
Guinevere came back in the room, placing a hot, steaming cup in front of Maggie. She positioned herself on the couch to Maggie’s left and began blowing softly on her tea.
Maggie noticed the frailty of Guinevere’s hands, yet there was something able and strong about them. Guinevere sat quietly, apparently not bothered at all by the silence between them. Maggie decided to drink her tea. Maybe the steam would help to clear her head somehow. Just when she had relaxed enough to believe this could easily be a dream Guinevere said, “I know you must wonder why I asked you to tea.”
Maggie was again surprised and oddly comforted by the soothing tone in Guinevere’s voice.
“I know that everyone around here is afraid of me, but I really don’t understand why.” She sounded as agitated as if some cookies she had just baked turned out all wrong. Not as if an entire town shunned her on a daily basis. “I may not look perfectly put together all of the time but…well, I don’t know. I guess some people just need to have their own little picture of the world to feel comfortable. If I don’t fit in it, then I’m not so sure I want to be there in the first place.” She looked at Maggie with a sense of finality and acceptance in the matter and took a sip of tea.
Maggie did the same.
“Your mother never treated me like something foreign.”
Maggie choked, her tea heading the wrong direction at the woman’s comment.
“There, there, dear,” Guinevere said as she patted Maggie on the back. “You can’t drink that too fast. It’s still a bit hot.”
Maggie composed herself and wiped her mouth with the napkin Guinevere offered her.
“How did you know my mother?” she whispered.
“We were friends, dear. She was a wonderful woman. But you already know that, don’t you?”
She got up and went to the kitchen, came back with a glass of water, and handed it to Maggie.
“Lady Guinev…..” Maggie stopped, horrified that she called this sweet woman the old nickname to her face.
Guinevere laughed. “I just love that you kids call me that. Makes me sound regal.” She sat straighter in her chair. “Your mother called me Gwen for short. You can call me that too.”
“So, how well did you know my mother?” Maggie was finally able to say after a few sips of water.
“We got talking one day on the street and hit it off right away. My husband, Larry, was alive then and, well, we loved your mother like a daughter. It broke both our hearts when Larry died of a heart attack. Your mother would come out here and try to help me fix things, but I finally just gave up and let it all go.
“Your mother was a great comfort to me. After Larry died, I had the hardest time just wanting to even get out of bed in the morning. I guess you could say that was when the rumors began flying about me. ‘So disheveled all the time.’ I even hear the tourists now say that I’m the famous homeless person around here. Homeless,” she chuckled. “I have a perfectly good home right here, as you can see. But I don’t have a lot of money. I guess that’s what’s important these days.”
Maggie’s head was now swimming with information and mental pictures. This woman was actually a friend of her mother’s? How come her mother never told her? Why would she keep that a secret all these years? Maggie glanced at the well-worn Bible that sat on the coffee table.
As if reading Maggie’s thoughts, Gwen continued. “This was a place Caroline knew she could come and freely talk about her life. Your mother never told others about me, because I asked her not to. I knew your father would never approve, so I protected her. But after Larry died, I guess I holed up in my own little shell and only let her in. You can imagine how devastated I was when I heard of her death. I could hardly bring myself to come to the funeral.”
Maggie was shocked. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have, my dear. I’m getting quite good at blending into the background. I stayed out of sight and kept quiet. But I did want to bid her good-bye. What an angel she was.”
A long silence fell. Gwen’s words seemed to be swirling around Maggie’s head in small puffs, like from a cartoon. Her head felt fuzzy and she couldn’t seem to think straight.
Maggie picked up her teacup again. “I apologize if I haven’t been too chatty, Gwen, but this has been quite an overload of information for me. I had no idea that you and my mother were friends. Or, that my mother even had any friends, really. I always knew she was acquainted with people in town but I never thought she spent time with anyone. My father was so…”
“I know. Your father was a tough one, wasn’t he?”
That was a nice way of putting it.
“How much did she tell you about my father?”
*
“Oh, she needed someone to chat with as much as I did, dear.” Gwen took a long sip of tea. “She loved your father, although I know that’s probably hard for you to understand.”
“I found some old pictures of them when they first got together. He couldn’t have always been so difficult, could he?”
Gwen patted Maggie’s knee. “Your father was strong and in control when your mother met him. She needed that in her life. Her parents weren’t really there for her and ….well, your mother was a strong woman, but it was a quiet strength. I think she liked how your father took charge of things and led the way.”
This was not how Maggie ever imagined her parents to be. Her mother was always the one in control, taking care of everything. Her father was lazy and unpredictable.
She decided she wasn’t ready to ask Gwen about the letters yet. She needed time to think.
She stood up and set her cup on the coffee table. “Thank you so much for having me over, Gwen. Really, it’s been….enlightening, to say the least.”
Gwen got up slowly with a little help from the arm of the sofa and smiled. “I’m so glad you came, dear. I hope I didn’t overwhelm you too much. I’ve always wanted to get to know you better, but I wasn’t sure if you would be afraid of me or not.”
“I’m sorry that we’ve all been so unkind to you, Gwen. It was poor judgment on our part and lack of making the effort to simply know someone. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, dear. I learned a long time ago to not worry too much about others’ opinions.”
Gwen walked Maggie to the door and watched as she got into her car. She waved from the doorway as Maggie drove away, calling to her to come and visit any time.
*
When Maggie got home from Gwen’s house she was emotionally spent and her head was throbbing. She went to the kitchen for some aspirin and a glass of water. Leaning on the counter by the sink looking out the window, she thought about how different her life was than just a few days ago. And now, to imagine her mother being close friends with Lady Guinevere. It was almost comical.
A sense of bitterness crept into her throat, however, and for the first time in her life, she was angry with her mother. There were too many secrets and no answers whatsoever. And to add insult to injury, Caroline was not there to resolve anything.
Gripping the glass tighter and tighter as anger rose up inside her, she threw it across the room, the crashing sound against the wall defining her anger, the shards of glass on the floor resembling her life now – so many pieces scattered and no way to put them back together. She sank to her knees in tears.