The clouds had brought a distinct gloomy chill to the air, but no rain had fallen. The wind caused the ocean to ripple, frosting the otherwise coal black water with frilly whitecaps that glowed under the moon. Elsie's pound cake was so delightfully dense, the strings on the pink bakery box tightened on my fingers as I carried it with one hand in order to keep my coat collar bunched around my neck with the other. Winter was certainly whispering its arrival on this cold autumn night.
A single yellow porch light showered Marty's tiny front stoop with a warm glow. He'd had such a busy day with the photo session, it wouldn't have surprised me if he'd forgotten about our rather impromptu cake date. I knocked lightly, not wanting to startle him in case he had drowsed off on the sofa or forgotten I was coming.
I was wrong on both accounts. The door swung open and Marty's bright smile greeted me. "Lacey, I was hoping you didn't forget."
"Not a chance." I lifted the box. "I remembered the cake too."
"I put on a pot of coffee." He pointed at the box. "Lemon and poppy?" he asked. I'd worried that he'd forgotten we made plans, and it turned out he even remembered all the details.
"Of course. As soon as I left here, I texted Elsie to put one aside just for us." I stepped into the cozy interior.
Marty carried the box into his kitchen, from which the delicious earthy aroma of hot coffee was billowing. I took off my coat and hung it on an oak and brass coat rack standing near the door. The interior of the house was small and cozy, simply decorated with just the necessities for a comfortable life. Marty's small sofa had a faded spot right next to a side table that held a reading lamp, a book and a pair of metal rimmed glasses. An oil painting of the Pickford Lighthouse hung over a small stone fireplace that was filled with a crackling fire. The heat from the flames was enough to warm the entire room. A round table was set up beneath a picture window that overlooked the ocean. A half finished jigsaw puzzle covered most of the table. I walked over to a set of mahogany shelves that held several more books and an impressive collection of ships in bottles.
I was admiring the details of a miniature reproduction of the U.S.S. Constitution when Marty returned with a pewter serving tray. He had sliced off two slabs of the pound cake and placed them on white china plates. The coffee splashed about in two porcelain cups as he lowered the tray to a cherry wood coffee table in front of the sofa.
"That one is my favorite," Marty said.
I looked back at him, slightly confused.
He walked over to the bottle collection and picked up the one I'd been admiring. "Old Ironsides, that was what they called her back in her glory day. Bill, an old friend of mine, made all these. He's long since gone, like most of my friends," he said with just enough sorrow it made my throat bunch up. "That's the one big drawback of living to a very old age," he said. "You have to bear losing everyone you knew and loved." After a wistful moment, his smile returned. "Shall we have some cake?"
"Absolutely."
I sat down but Marty shuffled around the end of the couch. "I pulled out my mother's box of photographs." He reached down and picked up a small wooden box that had a lighthouse carved on the side. The paint had long since worn off.
I rose from the sofa cushion. "Can I help you with that?"
"No, no, you sit down and have your cake. I've got it. It's not too heavy," he said with a grunt as he lowered it onto the table next to the pewter tray. "Considering how cumbersome and inconvenient photography was back in my mother's day, there is quite a nice collection. She tended to label names on the back of the photos as well." He reached for a piece of cake. "Was there something in particular you were looking for?"
"Not something," I said between bites. "Someone."
Marty paused our conversation long enough to enjoy the bite of rich, lemony cake. He shook his head. "God bless Elsie and her baking talents."
"Amen," I said and took another bite.
Marty set his plate down and flicked open the tiny brass latch on the box. Its hinges creaked as he lifted the lid. I could almost smell the years, the joys, the sadness, the events that made up a family's long life.
Marty glanced over at his jigsaw puzzle table. "Now, where did I put those glasses?"
I put my plate down. "They are right here on the side table." I swiveled around and picked them up.
"Thank you." Marty's fingers had a slight tremble as he pulled on the glasses. The lenses made his soft gray eyes giant. He turned back to his mother's wooden chest of photographs. He fingered through a few, then pulled out one that was covered with a thin sheet of paper. He lifted the paper back to expose a picture of an attractive woman with dark wavy hair and an almost mischievous smile. I was no expert but it seemed she was wearing a Victorian era wedding dress.
Marty stared at the picture with admiration. "This was my mother, Elizabeth, on her wedding day. It was taken in 1880. This is a daguerreotype. Still looks good, doesn't it?"
"Like it was taken yesterday."
Marty chuckled. "Well, that might be pushing it."
"Maybe. She is lovely, Marty. And I must say, she looks as if she was quite the character. Most of the women in Victorian era pictures look so stern. Did she have a good sense of humor?"
"That she did. You're very perceptive." He lowered the protective sheet of tissue over his mother's photograph and reached into the box for another stack that was folded between some brown paper. "I have them organized by type of photos. These brown, blurry photos are all salt prints. Mid nineteenth century photographers used sodium chloride, better known as salt, to make the photos more light sensitive. This is a picture of what we now call Harbor Lane."
I pulled out my own glasses so I could get a good look at the picture. The police station was a square cement building with only one small window. The place where Franki's Diner now stood was merely a green space filled with a few carts from local fishermen selling the day's catch. One woman in a gray shawl and long layers of skirts held out a bouquet of flowers. There was a wagon filled with flowers next to her, and several women were looking over the blooms.
I pointed at the photo. "This woman was my predecessor. The first Port Danby florist."
Marty chuckled. "I suppose so. I wasn't born yet, so I don't remember this little open market area. Once the Hawksworth shipyard project was stopped, the town built the wharf. That way, fishermen could sell their catch right off the boats. I remember my mother would hand me a dime and say, 'Marty, go buy a nice piece of fish. Smell it first to make sure it's fresh.'"
"Good advice," I said.
"I guess your nose would smell a bad fish from a mile away," he added.
"I can smell a good one from that far too. I think that's why I rarely eat seafood. Just a bit too odorous for me." I scrutinized the photo more. "It looks as if the photographer was standing right about where Lola's Antiques is now. Harbor Lane was just a wide dirt road. There aren't any shops except for this barber shop. It seems to be sharing space with a fishing tackle shop. I don't even recognize that building." I looked up at Marty.
"No, I still remember when they knocked those old buildings down to put up some more modern shops. My friends and I stood all day on the side of the road watching as big men took sledgehammers to everything. Then they piled all the debris onto carts and dragged it away. The street was paved once horse carriages were replaced with motorcars. I think it was Fielding Price, our current mayor's grandfather, who decided to name it Harbor Lane. Not terribly original but then the Prices were never known for finesse."
"Our current mayor sure doesn't like me," I said. "I'm not quite sure what I did to get him in such a ruffle, other than that I was new to town and I had an unusual pet bird. I did somehow ruffle him more by asking him about a distant relative, Jane Price." I shifted on my seat to face him more. "Actually, Jane Price was the main reason for me to come here."
He pressed his hand to his chest. "Now I'm heartbroken. I thought you just wanted to spend some time sharing a piece of cake with ole Marty." He grinned afterward to assure me he was teasing.
"Well, if it helps, I am enjoying this little cake party immensely. Thank you for letting me take up your evening."
Marty placed his hand over mine. "The pleasure is all mine."