“You work too hard,” I said from the comfort of my warm cozy bed.
Connor leaned over and kissed me. “I work hard now so we—you and I—have a promising future.” He straightened up. “Besides, you work hard too.”
As well as being the mayor of our town, Connor was a dentist. He intended to return to full-time practice when his term was over, and to keep his hand in he did pro bono work one day a week. He’d not been in the office much over the winter because of the work on the house, so today, Sunday, he had a full schedule of appointments.
Charles eyed him from the floor. I suspected Charles was waiting for Connor to leave before leaping onto the bed and reclaiming his rightful place.
“Wedding planning is hard,” I said. “Harder than I would have thought. You have to balance everyone’s expectations and do it within the budget we’ve set. Not easy. Even Josie’s grandmother Gloria’s expecting an invitation. I agreed to invite her but no one else from the Louisiana Mafia, as Josie calls her father’s family. They’re not even my relatives, although Gloria considers herself to be my honorary grandmother.”
“My mom’s joining you today?”
“Can’t plan a wedding without involving the mother of the groom. My mom’s going to Zoom in. We’re meeting for brunch at Aunt Ellen’s, and after the wedding stuff’s done, she’s promised to give me some cooking lessons. Be prepared—you’re the test subject.”
“Sounds like a nice day.”
I sat up. “Connor. If the project’s getting too much for you, we could wait to complete some of the renovations or take out a loan and hire someone to do it.”
“But I like doing it. Besides, it would break Dad’s heart if he thought I didn’t need him.”
“Rubbish. It would break your heart. Just don’t try to do too much, okay?”
He gave me a smile so warm it set my heart to fluttering. His hair was damp from the shower, and he smelled of good soap and spicy aftershave. He leaned over and ruffled my curls. “I promise, Lucy. I’m looking forward to tasting what you learn to make.”
Connor and his father had gotten an enormous amount done on the deck yesterday while I was at work. I’d arrived home to find two highly satisfied men sitting on the semifinished deck, feet dangling through the opening where the railings will go, brown bottles in hand. Both men were covered in dust and sand and beaming.
Men, as I believe someone once said, are strange creatures.
I had an errand to run on my way to Aunt Ellen’s. Jo Harper couldn’t be considered a friend of mine, but she had been at my book club meeting, and she’d left highly disturbed. I wanted to pay a call on her, make sure she was okay. I will also admit, if only to myself, that I was hoping to gently probe her to see if she’d had, despite what she told everyone, recent contact with Jimmy or knew more about the confrontation between her brothers witnessed by their neighbor shortly before Jimmy died.
At the same time, I was aware that I needed to be respectful of her desire for privacy. Yesterday at work, I’d been dismantling the Nathaniel Hawthorne display and hit on the perfect solution.
A car I didn’t recognize was parked in the driveway. I hesitated, reluctant to intrude if the Harpers had a visitor. It was a pleasant day, although a big storm was expected to arrive later this afternoon, and I’d assumed Ralph would be on his boat and Jo home alone. Never assume, Lucy, I chastised myself. Oh well, I was here now.
As I walked up the path, I heard a girl’s laugh from the back of the house, so I changed direction and peered over the fence. “Hello?”
“Ms. Richardson, hi.” Phoebe Peterson waved at me. “Come on in. Ms. Harper, you’ve got more company.”
More company? Hadn’t I been told Jo never had company?
I unlatched the gate and stepped into the enclosed yard. The chickens rushed about the lawn searching for grubs and seeds. A couple of them ran up to me, demanding to know if I’d brought them treats. Phoebe had a wicker basket slung over her arm. “Look,” she said to me, “eggs. I collected them myself.”
I peered in to see five perfect brown orbs. “Nothing better than fresh eggs. I hope I’m not intruding.”
Jo Harper was crouched next to a row of clean, empty terra-cotta pots. She wore a sun-faded T-shirt and soil-stained and many-times-patched shorts. A trowel was in one hand, and a bag of potting soil rested on the ground next to her. She stood up in a quick, smooth movement and smiled in welcome. “Not at all. Phoebe and I are preparing the pots for planting the first of the annuals that’ll line the patio. It’s early, I know, but I get excited simply thinking about my garden.”
It was the perfect day to be working outdoors, warm but not hot and with none of the drenching humidity we get in the summer months. Clouds were gathering out at sea, but the sun shone cheerfully over our heads.
“Can I offer you a glass of tea?” Jo asked me.
“I don’t want to interrupt your work.”
“Come and join me, then,” a voice called. “I’m not working.” Mr. Snyder was relaxing in a lounge chair, glass in hand, cane hooked over the back of the chair. He lifted his glass in greeting.
Clearly Jo didn’t need a wellness check from me.
“Thank you, but no,” I said. “I was passing and I wanted to drop something off.” I held up my offering and showed it to Jo. “Ralph told me your mother loved Hawthorne, and it was nice of you to come to book club on Thursday. I saw this at the library and thought you might enjoy it, if you haven’t read it already. It’s one if his lesser-known works, The Blithedale Romance.”
“I have read it, but it’s been a while. Thank you.” Jo took the book out of my hand and passed it to Mr. Snyder.
“I stopped by,” he said, “to pay a social call, and I found Jo and her young helper there working in the garden. I’m afraid my old hips don’t allow me to do much these days other than sit in my chair and drink sweet tea, so I’m happy supervising.”
I laughed. “I’m sure that’s much appreciated.”
He began flicking through the book. Phoebe dragged a bag of potting soil over to the waiting pots.
“We enjoyed having you at book club the other night,” I said to Jo in a low voice. “I’m sorry you were … upset. I dropped by to say I hope you’ll consider returning. All the books we read are chosen by the club members, so if you have a favorite or something you’ve been wanting to reread …”
“Thank you for the invitation,” she said. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Sure,” I said, although I could tell by the tone in her voice she wouldn’t be back. That was a shame. She loved classic American novels, and our book club was so casual and welcoming, it would be the perfect place to help her get back into the world.
I glanced at Mr. Snyder, sipping his tea, flicking through the book.
Maybe coming to the book club had done her some good after all.
“I have to be going,” I said. “Please drop into the library anytime.” A red chicken pecked around my feet.
Jo watched the chicken. “I’ve heard that Fred McNeil is working on my family’s house.”
“That’s right. He and Connor are doing a great deal of the work themselves. The house is in good condition, but it needs some fixing up and modernizing.”
“That’s good. I guess.” She dug the toe of her grass-stained sneaker into the ground. “I’m … sorry what I said to you about Fred. Ralph told me that wasn’t fair. He says Fred grew up into a good man. That his son’s a good man.”
I chose my words with care. “Fred’s sorry about what happened that night. He wishes he’d checked on how you were doing after, but you moved away, and when you came back … time had passed and he was with Marie.”
Jo nodded. “I knew Marie at school. She was nice.”
I didn’t extend an invitation for Jo to come around to my house one day and see Fred. She wouldn’t come, and that was probably for the better.
“I have to be off,” I said. “I hope you enjoy the book.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. “Time passes. And now Jimmy’s gone. It’ll be my turn soon enough.”
“Not for a long time to come, I’m sure,” I said politely.
I don’t think she even heard me. “Poor Jimmy. All he ever wanted was Grandfather’s approval. He tried so hard to get it, but nothing he could do was ever good enough. I was fifteen when Grandfather died. He didn’t like me. He didn’t like my mother.”
“Your mother? He didn’t like his own daughter?”
Jo lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. Her eyes were very far away. “She married Albert Harper, and our grandfather didn’t approve. I was quite young when Grandma died, and from then on, my grandfather didn’t have anyone to tell him to behave. That’s what my mother told me, anyway. He used to go on and on, telling her she could have done better than a Nags Head fisherman. Ralph was our father’s favorite because he wanted to go to sea, so Grandfather pretty much left him alone. Dad and Ralph were close, but Jimmy adored our grandfather. Even when he had to go away, Grandfather said it wasn’t his fault.”
“Go away where?”
“To jail. The first time. He stole that ring from the jewelry store, but Grandfather said it was her fault. She put him up to it. Grandfather never liked her.”
I was well and truly confused now. “Who’s she?”
“Jimmy’s girlfriend in high school and for a few years after. Nasty little thing, she was. She was always ordering him around, and whatever she said to do, he did it. Grandfather told Jimmy not to have anything to do with her. That Klaus family were no good, he said, but by that time Grandfather was in bad health and Jimmy wasn’t spending much time at our house anymore.”
Jo was staring into space, lost in the past.
“That’s sad,” I said.
She almost visibly shook the memories off. “I suppose so. But it was a long time ago. I was wrong to tell you to leave the house, and I’m sorry about that. I hope you’ll be happy in our house, Lucy. We were happy there. Some of the time. I hope he doesn’t bother you.”
“Who?”
“Grandfather.”
“I … uh …”
“Ralph says there’s no such thing as ghosts, but I know that’s not true. Despite what anyone says, I saw him, and I heard him. But he’s gone now, and that’s a blessing.” She smiled broadly. “Thank you for coming around and bringing the book. Have a nice day.”
She returned to her garden planters, leaving me to let myself out.
I was thinking so much about the dynamics of the Harper family that it was only as I merged into traffic on the Croatan Highway I remembered I’d intended to gently probe to find out if Jo had had any recent encounters with Jimmy she hadn’t told anyone about.
I got home from Aunt Ellen’s in the late afternoon, bearing a huge casserole dish full of piping-hot lasagna. Once I arrived at the beach house, I was able to put the history of the Harper family and current goings-on at my house out of my mind and enjoy the day. The wedding planning had gone well. My mother and her sister are total opposites in almost every way imaginable, but when it came to my wedding, they were on the same page: it was up to me—with perhaps a little input from the erstwhile groom—to decide what I wanted. Which was nothing elaborate or over-the-top expensive, just a joyous celebration in the company of our families and close friends. My mother might be thinking of a fancy country club or (even worse) a yacht club, but as Connor and I were neither golfers nor sailors, I wanted to have the reception at Jake’s restaurant. If the weather was suitable, we could take advantage of the substantial deck overlooking Roanoke Sound, and if not move the party inside. Thank heavens Josie’s grandmother Gloria was not my grandmother; she’d made Josie’s wedding planning such a nightmare Josie had threatened to elope. Marie McNeil was also on board with my ideas.
A delicious brunch finished, wedding plans made (for now), Marie and Josie left, and Aunt Ellen and I got down to the serious business of making lasagna. A few hours later I let myself into the house, the product of my labors tantalizing my nose with the scent of beef, tomatoes, melted cheese, and herbs.
I put the casserole in the fridge while Charles watched me from the floor. I gave him a rub behind his ears. “Sorry to leave you alone all day. I hope you’re not bored living here, old friend. I’m taking you to work, but it’s not the same, is it?” He washed his whiskers. If Charles ever decided he didn’t want to come home with me, all he had to do was not be found at quitting time.
I went in search of my sandals. A storm front was moving in, but it hadn’t arrived yet, and Connor wouldn’t be home for an hour or so. A walk on the beach would do me good.
The steps from the deck to the beach hadn’t been installed, so I let myself out through the kitchen door and walked around the house. It was early in the season, and a cool wind had come up since I’d been at the Harper house, so not many people were around. I slipped off my sandals and dug my toes into the cool sand. Dark clouds were gathering over the ocean and moving fast, heading landward. The wind whipped my hair, and I clutched my sweater around me. Farther down the beach people were flying kites; colorful cloth and long bright ribbons swooped and soared in the strong wind. I walked across the beach to the water, enjoying the feel of the sand on my feet and the wind on my face, watching sandpipers scatter at my approach. At the waterline, I turned to have a look at the house—my house—from this angle. It was truly beautiful: the strong lines, the weatherworn shingles blending with the beach and with the dark sky above. A gust of wind whipped my hair into my face, and when I’d brushed it out of my eyes, a figure was standing next to the deck at about the location of the living room door. It was wrapped in a dark, sweeping cloak, arms held straight at the sides, not moving. The cloak fluttered around it and the hood covered most of the face, but I knew he—it?—was watching me. It didn’t move. A shiver ran up my spine. A rogue wave rushed to shore and cold water washed over my feet. I kept my eye on the figure at my house and took a step forward. Slowly, it lifted one arm, the cloak fell back, and a pale finger pointed directly at me. My heart climbed into my throat, and I thought of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come beckoning Ebenezer Scrooge to his doom.
Behind me a child screamed. I yelped and whirled around, ready to protect myself from this new danger.
Two boys ran through the surf toward me, their hair blowing in the wind, the hems of their pants soaking wet, screaming with laughter, chasing sandpipers and each other. Farther down the beach a man and a woman followed, watching the children, arms around each other, smiling. The woman held her free hand on the top of her head, keeping her broad-brimmed hat in place.
When I turned back to face my house, the beachfront was empty. Whoever’d been there had disappeared. I gave my head a shake. What nonsense. My imagination was running away with me again. This was a public beach, and although our property is private, we understood that people would occasionally wander up to have a look at an interesting old house. As long as they didn’t disturb us or try to peer in the windows, we were okay with that.
My mood was ruined and I no longer felt like a walk. Just as well; as I headed home, the first drops of rain spattered on my head.