Margery was enjoying a cup of tea and a second biscuit with Mrs. Loring when the phone call came. Moments later Richard Attison came tearing into the kitchen with tears streaming down his face. “There’s been an accident, but thank God they’re going to be all right.”
Margery clutched at her throat. “What are you saying? Oh, God, tell me it isn’t true.”
“No, no, Mrs. M. You don’t understand. There’s been an accident, but my wife and Olympia are going to be okay. Celia just called. She wants me to come and get them.”
“Margery, what’s the matter? You’ve gone all peelie-wally. I don’t think you heard right. They’re not hurt. They’re coming back. Do you need another cup of tea?” Mrs. Loring was on her feet now, hovering over the bookkeeper, who indeed had gone a sickly shade of grey.
Margery straightened up in her chair and took a deep breath. “It’s just the shock of hearing it, that’s all. I’ll be all right. I just need a few minutes for my heart to stop racing.” And then to emphasize it, she patted her chest and took a couple of deep breaths. “There, I feel better already.”
In San Jose, California, Olympia’s daughter, Laura Wiltstrom, was doing her best to set the table for dinner. She was high-stepping over and around little Erica, who was chasing after her yelling, “Me-do, mama, me-do,” at top volume. She pushed her hair back and handed two spoons to the little girl and bought herself a one minute respite from the din. Why do they always do this? Laura was having her first guest for dinner, and she felt like a teenager going to her first dance. But why on earth was that? Gerry was a sweetheart and totally easy going. She wouldn’t care if the plates matched or the fork was on the right side or the left and whether the napkins were paper or linen.
Earlier that week Laura had finally decided it was time she started entertaining, and Gerry seemed like the logical choice of a first real guest. They were near the same age, had several interests in common, and Laura felt ready to open her doors to someone besides herself and her daughter. Didn’t Gerry say she liked children? Would Erica pass muster? Why the hell was she so worried about what Gerry thought? Not worried, nervous. So what was there to be nervous about? Nervous that she might not measure up? Measure up to what? Who’s counting?
Laura’s internal wrangle was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. She whipped off her apron, smoothed her hair and went to answer it. When she pulled open the door, Gerry was standing outside with an armload of brilliant yellow chrysanthemums.
“Wow, “said Laura.
“My mother told me always to bring a hostess gift when you went to somebody’s house. You wouldn’t let me bring food, so I brought these.”
“They’re beautiful, thank you.”
“I hope you like yellow.”
“I like yellow, and I love chrysanthemums. They are one of my favorite flowers. The smell of them almost makes me homesick for New England. It’s sort of crispy and spicy all at the same time.”
“Uh, Laura?”
“What?”
“Can I come in now, or are you planning to have supper out here?”
Richard Attison was standing in the front entry when Frederick returned to The Moorlands.
“What have we here, a welcoming committee of one?” Frederick was all smiles as he walked up the path. He’d had a good day.
“I think you’d better come in and sit down, Frederick. There’s been an accident. Celia and Olympia took the old van to pick up some supplies in Ripon, and they went off the road. “
Frederick blanched, but before he could speak, Richard held up his hand and continued.
“No, it’s not what you think. They’re both going to be all right. Badly shaken up, a few cuts and bruises, and the van’s a total loss, but they were both belted in when it rolled over, and the police found them. Thank God they weren’t hurt.”
“Where are they now?” Frederick seemed to have lost control of his voice as well of his legs. It was shaking just as badly as the rest of him.
“They’re waiting at the local hospital, expecting to be picked up. I didn’t want to leave until you got back; that way I could take you with me. I knew you’d want to see them as soon as you could. “
“When did you find out?”
“The police called about an hour ago. They said they aren’t sure exactly what happened yet, but they did say it was the American woman who was driving.”
“Bloody hell,” said Frederick. He was beginning to regain his color.
“When the police and the ambulance got there, they were both hanging upside down in their seatbelts, shaken up but completely intact. I hate to think what might have happened.”
“Don’t say it,” snapped Frederick. “Let’s just get there. I want to see my wife.”
“Right-o,” said Richard, “I’m parked in front.”
Inside the building Margery was talking on the phone to her doctor. “That’s correct. So I can come in tomorrow morning. Right. I’ll be there. Thank you, I appreciate your finding time to see me.”
She hung up the phone and sat in her chair, looking around the office she’d worked in for the best part of the last thirty years. Would she miss it? Would she miss all that The Moorlands had become to her? Certainly not the people; they meant nothing to her. Robert? What about him? But then she wouldn’t be missing him, would she?
Margery had just set Plan B into motion, but she was the only one who knew. She had always had a Plan B. It was the only way she could do what she felt she must. Margery Mosely did not, could not, make mistakes.
Richard Attison was clutching the wheel with both hands and driving at or above the speed limit and Frederick, seasoned English driver that he was, found himself periodically gasping and covering his eyes. In less than an hour they pulled into the visitor parking area, and five minutes after that they were sitting in adjoining cubicles with their bruised but bravely smiling wives.
Olympia had a nasty black left eye and a rather large plaster on her forehead over the right eye. Those, a brace for her sprained wrist and the promise of one hell of a headache and stiff neck for the next couple of days were the extent of her injuries.
Celia appeared to be more shaken and disoriented than Olympia, but she too sported only a couple a cuts from flying glass, a rather large purple lump on her forehead and, of all things, a twisted ankle. There were two wooden crutches leaning on the wall beside the bed with the name Attison written in black marker along the edge.
Both men were in tears, and both women were trying to reassure them that they really were okay, honest, and could they please go home now.
Once they were in the car Olympia and Celia did their best to relate what happened, but even they were fuzzy on the details. As it turned out, Olympia’s reflex lunge to the right is what probably saved their lives. The truck was so far out of its lane that if she had pulled left, they would have crashed. They rolled over because once the van was on the other side of the road, there was nowhere to go but up the embankment, and given the center of gravity in the van, there was nowhere to go after that but over … and over again.
“Thank God for those seatbelts,” said Celia.
“Wait a minute,”
“What it is, love?” Frederick could not keep from stroking her hands and rubbing her back as she curled against him in the rear seat. He was still weak with relief.
“I remember something else. When I put my foot on the brake, nothing happened.”
“That probably helped save you as well,” said Richard.
“Hang on,” said Frederick. “You stepped on the brake, and nothing happened?”
“The brakes were working when I was driving it,” said Celia.
“And they were working, or at least I got resistance, when I stepped on them before I took the wheel,” said Olympia.
“Do either of you know where they towed the van?” asked Frederick.
“The police will know, but what good will that do? It’s a total loss.” Richard had the steering wheel of Celia’s Fiesta in a strangle hold, and he wasn’t letting go.
“First the brakes worked, then they didn’t. Does that tell you anything?”
“It’s an old car. Things break down all the time,” said Richard.
“But Robert Mosely was out working on it just yesterday, and Margery told me this morning that it was running well.”
“Celia, why did you take the van this morning?”
“Margery asked me if I could pick up some food and kitchen supplies in Ripon. She said the cook needed them for tonight, and there was too much to fit in a passenger car.”
“Why didn’t she ask Robert?” asked her husband?
“She said he was off on another errand,” said Celia.
Richard shook his head. “That’s strange. I saw him down at the end of the garden, working on the tractor. He was there most of the morning.”
“I think we need to go see that van tomorrow,” said Frederick.
“What good’s that going to do?”
“It may answer a few lingering questions,” said Frederick. “Happens I know the odd bit about motor vehicles.”
“If you don’t mind, let’s keep all of this between us right now. I’m going to let you and Olympia off at The Moorlands, but I’m taking Celia home, and I’m staying the night. I’ll miss the banquet, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Please tell everybody we’re fine, but I just need to be with my wife.”
“I’ll do that very thing,” said Frederick.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a dead rat,” said Olympia.
Frederick shuddered. “How delicate of you, my love. Would you like chips with that?”
“We missed our lunch, and they only gave us tea and cream crackers in the hospital,” added Celia.
“All will be made well. Special retreat feast at The Moorlands for Frederick and Olympia, and Indian take-away out of the cartons for us. Bon appetit!”
When Frederick and Olympia came through the front door, the two were greeted by a cheering crowd. Everyone wanted to hear the details and see for themselves that their favorite American really was relatively unscathed.
“She’s still a bit wobbly on her pins, but I’m sure a glass of wine would do her a power of good.”
“Mind reader,”whispered a grateful Olympia.
When they were seated at dinner, Olympia relayed Richard’s message. She assured all present that Celia was bruised and shaken up but, like herself, grateful to be alive to tell the tale. Olympia added that she only wished she could say the same for the van.
After the meal and the speeches, Gillian suggested they all take a wander out to the pub for a celebratory pint. This was received with cheers all around except for Olympia who was already yawning and rubbing her eyes.
“I’m prescribing a long hot bath for my wife while you all go out on the town. We’ve both had a long and rather, ahem, adventurous day.”
Frederick, as always, was the master of the understatement.
After the mandatory bath Olympia was still too agitated to sleep, so she turned the bedside light away from Frederick’s side of the room and picked up Miss Winslow’s diary.
November 28, 1862
It is snowing and looks as though it will continue throughout the day and into the night. Little Jonathan still does not understand snow, although he can say the word and often tries to eat it. He still is amazed at the cold wet whiteness on his face and tongue.
With Louisa here my blessings are twofold. I have more time to write, and my dear friend Richard is free to visit whenever he fancies. The village tongues are wagging again. If they only knew!
More anon, LFW