Standing before the mirror in her bathroom, Edith inhaled and tugged on the zipper in the side of the peach dress. Holding her breath, she pulled, biting her lip as the metal zipper slid smoothly over the plastic teeth . . . and the zipper went up!
Suppressing a whoop of joy, Edith exhaled slowly, bracing herself for the sound of ripping fabric. The dress had been hanging in her closet for a while, and it wouldn’t surprise her if some of the seams had weakened . . . but the fabric held.
Stepping back, she lifted her eyes to the mirror.
Instantly, she remembered why she had bought this dress—the peach color complimented her golden skin tones, and the silver edging on the lace brought out the blue in her eyes. The bodice was a little snug, but that was okay, and the fitted waistline seemed smooth.
But the hips. She frowned at the sight of ripples in what should have been a smooth drop to the floor. She carried a tire around her abdomen that would rival the Michelin man’s, and there was no hiding it in the fitted skirt.
But she still had two days until the wedding. She’d just have to try something else . . .
Liquid meals. If it had worked for Oprah, it would work for her. Trouble was, Vernie didn’t carry liquid meal replacements at the mercantile, so Edith would have to slip over to Ogunquit.
Thank the Lord Floyd was operating the ferry.
Moving carefully, Edith unzipped the dress and returned it to the hanger. Placing it in the back of the closet, she stepped into her familiar stretch pants and a sweatshirt. The ladies were meeting this morning at the bed-and-breakfast, where Micah had miraculously coaxed all his orchids into bloom.
“They’re really beautiful,” Cleta had said when she called last night. “Best of all, half of them are purple or lilac! They’ll be perfect for Birdie’s bouquet and the pew ribbons; we just need a little help arranging everything.”
When Edith crossed the threshold of the bed-and-breakfast, work had already begun in the kitchen. Micah had set all the orchid pots on the table, and Cleta was passing out little tubes with rubber stoppers to water the flowers once they were placed in arrangements.
Edith gasped at the bounty of orchids—luscious purple cattleya blossoms, lovely phalaenopsis blooms, and a delicate cascade of lilac flowers she had never seen before.
“What is this one?” She slipped her hand beneath a spray of blossoms that reminded her of a bridal veil.
Micah smiled. “It’s called aerangis citrate. It will be beautiful trailing out of Birdie’s bouquet, don’t you think?”
Edith smiled her agreement as she moved through the room. Dana and Babette were making ribbon roses for the pew markers, while Vernie kept tramping in and out with ferns from her family room. In tourist season, her famous ferns hung from the porch of the mercantile; in winter, they crowded the windows of her back room, drinking in the shaded sunlight.
The most precious sight was Birdie, who sat in a chair with a rectangle of florist’s foam. She and little Brittany were creating the bouquet she would carry down the aisle.
While Birdie twittered with excitement, her sister sat silently at the table, one hand idly stroking an empty ribbon spool. Edith had never seen Birdie looking happier, or Bea more depressed.
Edith lifted her hands. “How can I help?”
Cleta welcomed her with a smile. “Play hostess, will you, Edith? My hands are full, and some of these ladies could use a cup of coffee to perk them up.” Cleta accented her words with a sly wink and a nod toward Bea, and Edith understood instantly.
After pouring a cup of coffee for the postmistress, Edith sat next to Bea and pushed the steaming mug toward her. “Enjoy the coffee, Bea. How be you this morning?”
Bea shrugged. “Fine.”
Edith knew she wasn’t fine; she was barely pretending. Her face hung in weary folds, and the creases under her eyes were deep enough to hold water.
“You know, Bea,” Edith began, “you’re not losing a sister— you’re gaining a brother-in-law and two wonderful children.”
“I know.” Bea pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to the corners of her watery eyes.
“Why, you never know what life has in store for you— one of these days some fine-looking gentleman might come along and you’ll consider matrimony again.”
Bea snorted softly. “When pigs fly.”
Edith lightly touched Bea’s hand. “You can come visit me anytime you like—and Birdie will be only moments away.”
“She’ll be too busy to go neighborin’ with me. She’ll have her new family to think about.”
“But you’ll see her every day in the bakery.”
“It won’t be the same.”
Edith knew Bea was probably imagining a long stretch of lonely nights in the living quarters behind the bakery. The two sisters used to spend hours knitting peacefully before the fire, laughing and discussing the day’s events.
Loneliness could be a painful thing.
Wiping her eyes again, Bea got up. “I ought to be helping Vernie with those ferns. After Micah ties a ribbon in them, we still have to carry them to the church.”
“We’ll both help,” Edith said. “And you know what? Winslow and I would love to have you come for dinner Friday night. It’s been way too long since you shared a meal with us.”
Bea nodded absently, and Edith knew she’d have to remind the postmistress of the invitation. But that was okay.
By Friday the wedding would be over and life would be back to normal.
And she’d be able to cook an ordinary meal and eat sensibly.
After every available orchid had been set into a bouquet, an arrangement, or a pew marker, Edith went home and slipped into her bedroom. Before leaving the B&B she had asked Floyd if he’d be willing to take the ferry out at two, and to her delight he’d agreed to make a run to the mainland.
Moving quietly so she wouldn’t disturb Winslow in his study, she pulled on an old coat she hadn’t worn in years, then tied a scarf over her head and donned a pair of dark sunglasses.
Dieting had turned her into a crazed criminal. But Winslow would put his foot down if he knew about her plan, and Edith couldn’t let anything stop her when she was this close to success.
“How be you this afternoon, Edith?” Floyd called as she came aboard the ferry. Floyd was obviously having a ball driving the boat.
“Afternoon, Floyd.” Edith stepped into the warmth of the cabin, then settled on a bench. Floyd began checking things off a printed list at the helm, and Edith crossed her arms as he checked everything from mooring lines to the oil in the engine. When he was convinced the boat was ready—the instant that coincided with the moment Edith nearly screamed in impatience—the motor roared to life and the boat pulled away from the dock.
Wind rattled the windows of the cabin as the stately boat plowed through the waters. Finally Perkins Cove loomed into view, and Edith stood up, ready to make a quick dash to the pay phone to call a cab.
The docking was rough—apparently Floyd hadn’t quite mastered the trick of cutting the engine before coasting up to the dock—but Edith exited the boat on shaky legs and wobbled toward the phone.
“You gonna wanna go back soon?” Floyd called, the brisk air carrying his voice.
She turned and pointed toward the phone. “I’m going to run to the grocery. Will you wait thirty minutes?”
The mayor snapped a salute to the brim of his new captain’s hat. “Will do. But—” his cocky grin softened, “I kind of like to take a nap around three, if you wouldn’t mind hurrying a bit.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Edith trudged toward the phone, wondering how much a case of diet shakes weighed. Maybe she should ask Floyd to come along and help—but Floyd might tell Cleta about her shakes, and once Cleta knew a secret, the whole island knew. She’d just have to carry the case herself. After all, lifting and toting was bound to burn off a few calories.
The image of the peach dress sliding loose and easy over her hips drove her on.
Once she reached the store, she tossed an assortment of delicious-sounding diet shakes into her cart: Dutch Chocolate, Mocha, Passion Fruit, French Vanilla. This diet would be heaven compared to the cabbage soup and wieners.
She paid for her purchases, loaded all the cans into a box, then hauled the carton into the waiting taxi. The driver rolled his eyes at her approach, but didn’t lift a finger to help either at the store or at the ferry landing.
She tossed him the exact fare without a tip, then wrapped her arms around the box and waddled to the boat. Floyd eyed the case when she came aboard and offered to set it in the cargo hold.
“No, thank you.” She sat on the bench and kept the box on her lap.
Shrugging, Floyd turned to the helm. Twenty minutes later (another checklist), the ferry began to churn back across the water.
At the Heavenly Daze dock, Floyd offered to carry her package to the parsonage, but Edith politely refused his help. Setting the heavy box on her left hip, she made it as far as the B&B. Shifting it to the other hip, she managed to pass the church and the parsonage.
She had a special hiding place in mind for these beauties—the public restrooms. Floyd kept a key on the doorframe above the women’s restroom, and nobody ever ventured up here in the off-season. The rooms were vented, too, which kept a stream of fresh, cold air moving through the place—ideal for chilling diet milkshakes.
She had no sooner set the box down to reach for the key when Tallulah and Butch appeared, sniffing at her box.
“Go away, doggies,” she said, protecting her treasures with her foot.
Tallulah growled at the container, and the bulldog began to bark.
“Hey!” Edith stomped her foot, sending the dogs back a half-step. “Go home, you two!”
She pulled the heavy door open, then bent to pick up the box. Some muscle in her back—she wasn’t sure which—complained about having to pick up a heavy load, but Edith ignored the twinge and lifted the shakes to her hip.
The concrete bathroom was as cold as an arctic tomb. Butch preceded her into the building, poking his nose into corners and sniffing. Edith ignored him and set the box on the floor, then selected six cans and stuffed them in her large purse. That should last her a couple of days—and Thursday she would eat lightly before the wedding.
After the wedding she would devour everything on the buffet table and eat two pieces of wedding cake as a reward for getting into her peach dress. The next week she’d be sensible and take in a Pound Pinchers meeting.
Stepping out of the bathrooms, she locked the door, then turned toward the parsonage. As far as she knew, no one from Heavenly Daze had seen her but Floyd and the dogs. Her secret was safe.
She hadn’t gone ten steps when she spied Tallulah . . alone. Her hand flew to her throat. She had locked Butch in the bathroom!
Hurrying back to the restroom, she fished the key from the doorframe, then freed the grateful bulldog. Edith slumped in relief as she locked the door again. If Butch had remained locked in, after an hour or two he would have started howling. The entire town might have come running, and Floyd has been known to bring out the fire truck for less crucial situations. What a fiasco that would have been!
The house was empty when she got home. Kicking off her flats, she dropped into the wing chair and ripped the tab off a can of Chocolate Mocha. She took a sip, then ran her tongue over her lips. Not bad.
Not bad at all.
Slowly lowering the can, she rested her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Two more days. She wouldn’t eat anything on the morning of the twenty-eighth— and maybe she could bundle up and go out for a run. She might lose a pound of water weight. An inch from the tire riding her hips.
Sighing, she leaned back and savored another sip. Winslow had his last counseling session with Birdie and Salt tonight. When he got home she’d feed him a can of Beefaroni. If he asked why she wasn’t eating she’d tell him she’d already had dinner—which would be the truth. A delicious, highly nutritious—
She turned the can around to read the ingredients: fat-free milk, water, sugar, gum Arabic, calcium casenate, cellulose gel, canola oil . . .
Canola Oil?
. . . potassium phosphate, soy bean lethicin, cellulose gum, mono and diglycerides, maltodexitrin, artificial flavor, carrageenan, and dextrose.
She frowned. What in the world was all that stuff ? She took another swallow. Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad.
Confident that she was finally getting somewhere, she downed the first can.
Marc was reading a medical journal when the ringing of the phone snapped his concentration. Hurrying to answer it, he stubbed his toe and nearly broke his neck. “Hello?”
“Dr. Marc, it’s Annie.”
Suddenly his toe hurt much less. “Annie? Where are you?”
“In my car, driving to Ogunquit. I’m coming home.”
A moment of silence stretched between them, then, like a fool he blurted out the first thought to cross his mind: “You’re coming for the wedding, I suppose.”
“Not entirely.” She laughed, the sound musical in his ears. “I’m coming because I need to give the house a good going over, you know, to see what needs to be done. And I want to be there for Caleb, to try to talk him out of leaving. I’m calling because I wondered if you’d ask him to have a room ready for me tonight.”
“Sure.” Biting back disappointment, Marc settled into his chair. So . . . she’d decided to sell the house. Which meant his world would soon be turned upside down in more than one way.
Oblivious to his pain, she kept rattling on. “If Caleb insists on leaving, I was thinking a little town get-together might be nice—you know, a reception in his honor. As long as it doesn’t interfere with Salt’s and Birdie’s wedding.”
Marc looked at the ceiling. “I don’t think Caleb would want you to make a lot of fuss. Why don’t you discuss it with him when you arrive? I’ve a feeling he might enjoy a quiet dinner, just the two of you.”
“Would you come, too? After all,” she laughed softly, “you’re part of our household.”
She saw him as part of her household . . . perhaps a genial father figure. Certainly no more.
“I’ll come,” he promised, knowing it might be the last dinner they ever shared together. “Now you drive safely and come on home. We’ll be waiting for you.”
Her heart singing, Annie clicked off her cell phone and dropped it into the passenger’s seat. For the first time in her life, she knew what she wanted and felt right about pursuing it.
After her strange experience last night she had dreamed again, but the second dream had a more surreal quality. She saw herself sitting on the sofa with A.J. and Dr. Marc in the parlor of Frenchman’s Fairest. Because she was weeping for Olympia and Edmund, someone had drawn her into strong arms and comforted her. She had opened her eyes, expecting to see A.J., but he was standing against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets, his wide eyes focused on the window and the world beyond Heavenly Daze.
And in that moment she knew.
Alexander James Hayes was a fine man, a wonderful surgeon, and a dutiful son, but he would not make her a good husband. On the other hand, the man who had instilled those fine qualities in A.J. was the one who understood her. Marc Hayes had comforted her and wiped her tears, he had given her wise advice and treated her—how had Olympia put it?—as a priceless treasure.
Love had been blooming along with the tomato plants all last autumn, but she’d been too preoccupied to see the tender bud.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
Annie’s voice rang through the foyer and echoed up the stairs. She dropped her purse and gloves on the table by the door, then ventured farther into the house. Nothing had changed physically in Frenchman’s Fairest, but the place seemed empty without Olympia’s formidable presence.
“Caleb?” She walked toward the kitchen and pushed on the swinging door, but the butler was nowhere in sight. For an instant she worried, then remembered the upcoming wedding. Caleb was probably at the church, offering his services to Birdie and Edith.
She had just begun to unbutton her coat when she heard a rap at the back door. Dr. Marc was peering through the glass.
She felt herself flush as she hurried to let him in. “Dr. Marc!”
“Welcome home, Annie.” He stomped his boots on the mat, then stepped in and rubbed his hands together. “Have any trouble getting here?”
“No. Floyd brought me over on the ferry. I’m afraid Captain Stroble is going to have to fight our mayor for control of the boat when he gets back.”
Marc laughed, and for the first time she noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. He had the kindest eyes she had ever seen in a man’s face.
She motioned toward the refrigerator. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine. But if you’re hungry, feel free—”
“I’m not hungry.”
For a moment neither of them spoke, then the doctor gestured toward the table. “Shall we sit? I believe we have some things to discuss.”
“Ayuh, we do.” Gratefully, she sank into the nearest chair. She had so much to tell him, but how did you tell a good friend that your feelings had ripened into something that could lead to love? What if he didn’t welcome the news?
“I’m glad you’ve come home, Annie.”
Her heart leapt. “Are you?”
“Of course. Caleb gets lonely rattling around in this big house. I can see why he’s ready to move on.”
She smiled, though her heart felt the sting of disappointment. “Is he still talking about leaving?”
“Ayuh.”
“I wish he wouldn’t.” She bit her lip. “I’d like him to stay.”
A flicker of a smile rose at the edges of Marc’s mouth, then died out. “I suppose I’ll be leaving, too. I was going to talk to Floyd about building a clinic at the north end of the island, but perhaps he and Cleta can put me up until we’re able to afford that.”
She caught her breath. “Why would you leave?”
“Well . . . because you’re selling the house.”
“Selling?” She stared at him in dismay. “Why would I sell?”
His brows drew together. “You said you were going to sell it. You’re here to get the house ready for the realtor, aren’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“You did.”
“I said I was coming home to look the house over— because I plan to live here. I don’t know how I’m going to afford it, but sometimes you just have to step out in faith and do what you know is right. But Marc . . . I don’t want to live here alone.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
He peered at her intently. “What did you have in mind?”
As a tingling numbed the pit of her stomach, she carefully met his gaze. “First of all, you’ll stay put. Then, maybe a courtship. Six months, maybe eight. However long you think is proper . . . just to see where things might lead.”
He drew in a quick breath, but a flame smoldered in his eyes. “A courtship, you say.”
She nodded.
He looked away, but an easy smile began to play at the corners of his lips. “I suppose you’re thinking I should court Beatrice, now that Birdie will be married to Salt.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Not exactly. Miss Bea is a nice lady, but she’s not exactly your type.”
He tilted his head and looked at her. “And who, pray tell, is my type?”
“Someone,” she pushed her hair back, “who will decide to treat you as a precious treasure.” She placed one hand on his shoulder, then bent her head and looked up into his eyes. “Someone who is willing to be precious to you.”
“And who,” his voice sounded strangled, “might that be?”
“I’m a good candidate.”
He straightened in his chair, his brows rising like flags, but in that instant the back door opened and a breath of winter wind blustered into the kitchen.
Caleb appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Well,” he said, his smile broadening as his brows lifted. “Look what the wind blew in!”
Caleb felt his spirit warm as he beheld Annie and Marc together. God was good.
“Annie,” he cut off her flustered explanation with an uplifted hand, “I’ve been given another assignment. I’ll be leaving Thursday, probably right before the wedding.”
Her face fell. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay? Caleb, you’ve been by my side for so many years—let me do something for you. I’ve decided to keep the house, so you don’t have to go.”
He dropped his hand to the top of her head. “Do not hold me, child, or keep me from obeying the Lord’s will. Thank you for the generous offer, but my orders come from on high. I must be off.”
Her chin wobbled then, as it always had just before she burst into tears, and Caleb closed his eyes to the sight of them. Placing both hands firmly upon her head, he lifted his face to the heavens.
“Bless this young woman, Lord, and hold her in the palm of your hand. Direct her in the path you have prepared for her, and fill her days with light and love. Give her joy enough to lighten her heart, and pain enough to make her sensitive to the needs of others. I love her, Lord, and it has been my privilege to serve her.”
At the sound of Annie’s quiet weeping, for the first time in his ministry Caleb wished he had permission to fade into the wallpaper and avoid the pain of human sorrow.