“I’m going out,” Ray calls to Willy on her way down the street. “I’ve left some cinnamon rolls on top of the oven for everyone, and there’s a fresh pot of coffee on.”
“All right,” he says. “I’ll let folks know.”
It’s been eight weeks since Hilda closed her door to the world, and Ray thinks it’s time the woman showed her face. She’s been spying on the delivery boy from Barbour’s Grocery who drops a package off at the back of Hilda’s house every Wednesday morning, and today she’s got about an hour where she can duck down in the pittosporum bushes and wait for Hilda to open the back door. She’s just got to lay eyes on her and see what kind of condition she’s in, and if she can get a word in, she knows she can convince her to open her door for Little Hilda, who’s in town for Thanksgiving weekend and Angus’s wedding.
Just like clockwork, the young man walks through the wrought iron gates and around the back of the house with two bags full of groceries. She can see a half carton of milk peeking out of the top of one of those bags, and she knows Hilda won’t let that sit outside for long. When the boy leaves, Ray shimmies through a doorway in the brick wall that runs alongside the house and she crouches behind one of the larger bushes. She waits for fifteen whole minutes without blinking an eye, but she doesn’t see any movement on the back porch.
It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and the children have descended for the holiday and the wedding. Except for Priscilla. She’s on the way to Ridgefield, Connecticut, to meet Donovan’s parents. If Ray weren’t so worried about Hilda, she’d be on top of the world, thanks to the hormone replacement therapy and her daughter’s imminent engagement.
She skipped yesterday’s vestry meeting to pick up Priscilla’s ring from Croghan’s. Then she took it to the Charleston airport where a special courier will deliver it to Donovan in Baltimore tomorrow.
Vangie’s voice was on her answering machine when she got home last night. “Ray,” she said. “We need to talk. The revival healing day is only six weeks away, and I need you to help me with the sign-up sheets.”
Ray rolled her eyes. Too busy for that nonsense. Then she pushed the delete button on the machine and started polishing the silver for her Thanksgiving feast.
She’s offered Priscilla’s room to Little Hilda and Giuseppe, and they arrived last night looking so grown-up. It was awfully strange for Ray to show them to Priscilla’s peach and white eyelet room where Little Hilda spent many a night during her childhood. It gave Ray a funny feeling—the realization that her daughter’s best friend is officially allowed to spend the night in the same bed with a grown man. But the way Giuseppe picked up Little Hilda’s bag and carried it up the stairs made Ray well up with a kind of hope and excitement about their union. And Priscilla’s future one. Hilda would be so proud. It’s time for her to come out of her shell and see her daughter, and Ray is not afraid to wait her out.
The bushes poke at Ray’s ribs as she pushes back into them. Maybe she should have worn some of Willy’s camouflage. She rubs her neck and stares at Hilda’s back door. It’s awfully hot for November, and she should have brought some of that bottled water Justin brought home the other day from that Costco in Charleston.
Suddenly, she feels something creeping up her neck. It’s some kind of bug or spider, she is sure, and now it’s crawling down her back.
“Ahh,” she shrieks as she feels it bite her skin.
Before she knows it she has to strip off her sweater and her blouse and swat at her back until it’s gone.
By the time she gets her blouse back on, she looks over at the back piazza, and the groceries are gone. Well, doggone it.
“Hilda!” she screams.
She comes running out from behind the bushes with her sweater buttoned wrong and her hair sticking out in all directions and bangs on the glass door of the back piazza.
“Hilda Prescott, open this door! I need to talk to you!”
She peers through the window, but all she can make out is the sofa in the den and the corner of a grocery bag on the kitchen counter.
“Your child is in town, and she’s staying at my house!” Ray hollers. “Don’t you want to come out to see her?”
The house seems more still than ever. Like it’s holding its breath. Ray can’t detect the slightest sound or movement, and she wonders where in the world Hilda is hiding—in the linen closet or the kitchen cupboard or maybe behind the sofa.
“Come on out now,” Ray says. “I just want to lay eyes on you.”
Her forehead is up against the glass. “I really might call the fire department this time. Or maybe I’ll get Willy and Justin to climb up to the top piazza and open the door. I know that one has never had a working lock.”
She paces the moss covered bricks, but the house doesn’t even creak. There is no sign of Hilda. That stubborn old mule. How long does she expect to pull this off? Ray will find a way to get her out of there. But how?
“Fine,” Ray hollers at the door and takes a step back. “You’re going to miss your daughter and your son-in-law and a whole lot of other things unless you get your nerve up and step out here. Do you hear me, Hilda?”
Now Ray sees her reflection in the glass, and she quickly rebut-tons her sweater. Then she licks her palms and tries to flatten her hair. She’s got to call Sylvia Crenshaw for an emergency appointment. She can’t have Thanksgiving dinner or attend Angus’s wedding with this bedraggled do.
Of course, Sylvia won’t be available the day before her sister’s wedding, but Ray’s going to drive over there right now and beg her to do it. Sylvia’s got a soft spot, and she won’t be able to turn Ray away.