Annie Cuvier clung to the ferry railing as the sea spat in her face. “Come away from there, Annie girl,” Captain Stroble called, his cheeks flaming above the scarf at his neck. “Come inside the cabin before you freeze your nose off.”
Annie waited a moment longer—just to prove she was no off-islander who couldn’t handle the wind—then tucked the collar of her coat tighter around her throat and ducked inside the warmth of the cabin. She grinned at the stalwart seaman who ran the ferry eleven months of the year. “Thought you and Mazie were heading south for February.”
“Ayuh, we are heading to Floridy,” Stroble replied, settling one gloved hand on the steering wheel as the boat pushed its way out of Perkins Cove. “Tomorrow morning, if Mazie’s feeling better. She’s been a mite squamish the last couple of days, and wasn’t up to the drive.”
Annie took a seat on the bench behind the captain. “Anything the doctor can do?”
“It’s just the usual stomach trouble whenever she thinks about leaving the house. No doubt a few days of sunshine will cure her.”
Annie smothered a smile as she turned to look out at the gray sea. A psychologist might say Mazie Stroble’s legendary attachment to her home bordered on agoraphobia, but with her husband at sea every day and three sons in the navy, Mazie’s devotion to the little house on the hill overlooking Perkins Cove seemed downright sensible.
“What brings you home this weekend, Annie?”
She transferred her gaze to the captain. “Nothing special. Aunt Olympia called to say she’s planning a little Valentine’s party next weekend, so I thought I’d come down to help her get a few things together.”
Ostensibly, the statement was true. But something more had drawn Annie home, an urgent feeling she couldn’t quite understand. Few of her friends would rush home if even a favorite aunt called with news of a piddling little party, but Olympia had acted as Annie’s guardian ever since her parents had died when she was seven years old. So she was coming home out of obligation . . . and concern.
She looked out at the ocean, where the water had turned the color of tarnished silver. Oddly enough, until last October she and Olympia had not been especially close—in fact, they usually yowled like two quarreling cats when they were thrust together. But last October Annie had come home to say farewell to Uncle Edmund, who died the following month, and since that time she had begun to catch glimpses of the island matriarch’s softer side. When Aunt Olympia called yesterday, Annie had felt the tug of responsibility.
One of Stroble’s bushy white brows rose. “Olympia de Cuvier, feeling sociable? In the dead of winter?”
Annie rushed to her aunt’s defense. “It’s sort of a thank-you gesture.” Because Olympia had been reared to be proper and cultured, outsiders often thought her chilly, but beneath that frail frame and shellacked veneer beat a vulnerable heart. “The island folk were so kind to her after Uncle Edmund passed, so she wanted to do something special for them. But December was too busy with Christmas, and last month was a nightmare—with the sickness and all. She thought the weekend before Valentine’s Day might be a fittin’ time.”
“Ayuh, so it is. Seems to me a Valentine is nothing but a gussied-up thank-you card to the folks who love us.”
“I only hope she’s okay.” Annie frowned out the window. “She was sick last month—along with Pastor Winslow, Floyd, and Stanley Bidderman—all on account of that horrible tomato hybrid I developed. Dr. Marc assured me everyone has recovered, but what if there are lingering side effects?”
Stroble sent a wink and a grin over his shoulder. “Don’t fret yourself, Annie. I heard they were right pretty tomatoes.”
“But completely indigestible—and, regrettably, digestion is important when it comes to food plants.” She sighed and crossed her arms. “Back to the drawing board, I guess. But I’m not sure if I should keep working with tomatoes or move on to another plant. I’ve been toying with the idea of a winter-hardy zucchini. . . .”
She let her words trail away as the island of Heavenly Daze came into view. Even in the dead of winter, when the winds pushed the waves over the pounding rocks along the southwestern shore, the sight of the church steeple rising from the town center had the power to warm her heart. Seven of the town’s structures had been built in 1798, when sea captain Jacques de Cuvier and a few of his cronies had decided to establish a retirement home for pirates who’d seen the light—or decided thievery on the high seas was no longer worth the risk.
As Captain Stroble cut the motor, Annie quirked a brow. Someday she ought to do a little research on old Jacques de Cuvier. As his only direct descendant still living on the island, Aunt Olympia would enjoy learning more about him.
Annie stood, then braced herself for the cushioned impact of the boat against the rubber on the dock. A breath of freezing wind nipped at her nose as the captain flung the cabin door open and stepped outside. Once he had tossed heavy lines around the mooring posts, he turned and tucked his gloved hands beneath his armpits.
“Have yourself a nice bit of neighborin’ then.” Stroble smiled her off the boat. “And give your aunt a hello from me and Mazie.”
“Have yourself a nice time in Florida,” Annie countered, pausing at the railing. “By the way, who’s going to run the ferry while you and Mazie are getting suntans?”
Stroble grinned. “The boat’s going in for maintenance— time to get the hull scraped and a new coat of paint slapped on. But Crazy Odell will be at your service . . whenever he’s of a mind to take his boat out. Better call his granddaughter before you make plans, just to make sure he’s running.”
Annie laughed. “And still breathing.”
Crazy Odell Butcher, who would take any customer out to Heavenly Daze for the right price, was ninety-two if he was a day. His granddaughter tried to keep him ashore, but he and his boat, the Sally, had helped many a desperate traveler cross to Heavenly Daze when the ferry wasn’t running. Last Christmas Annie had been grateful for the old daredevil because he got her home in time for Christmas Eve . . . and inadvertently reunited her with A. J. Hayes, the current love of her life.
“Thanks, Captain.” She waved goodbye, then crossed the gangplank and hurried down the wooden dock. Across the way, the lights of Frenchman’s Fairest gleamed like gold, welcoming her home.
Dr. Marcus Hayes rapped on the back door of Frenchman’s Fairest, startling the old butler who stood at the kitchen counter. Caleb Smith squinted to peer through the lace draperies over the window in the door, then smiled and waved the doctor in.
“Sorry to bother you,” Marc said, glad he had stamped the mud from his shoes on the stoop. Caleb’s kitchen gleamed as if he expected company.
Marc sniffed the rich aroma of coffee. “That’s a good brew.”
“You want a cup?” Caleb reached toward the cabinet where he kept the mugs. “We’ve plenty to spare. Missy had me brew a pot special for Annie, even though I kept telling her the girl prefers my cocoa.”
“I’d love a cup.” Marc dropped into the chair nearest the door, then peered around the corner that led into the hall. “Olympia around?”
“She’s upstairs, sprucin’ herself up for Annie’s arrival.” The old butler moved slowly, his hands trembling with the palsy of the aged. Noticing the tremor, Marc frowned. During his tenure as Heavenly Daze physician, not once had Caleb Smith been sick . . . in fact, if Marc had not known better, he’d think the Smith name had some value as preventative medicine. Out of the six men surnamed Smith on the island, not one of them had ever visited his clinic. Though Micah rasped occasionally after a full day of singing, Abner worried about his weight, and Elezar professed an allergy to cats, none of them had ever required medical treatment.
He tilted his head as Caleb set a steaming mug of coffee before him. “You feeling okay, friend?”
A gentle curve touched the old man’s lips. “I’m fine, Doc, thanks for asking. We’re all happy, you know, because Annie’s coming home.”
“I’m sure you are. That girl is a gem.”
Stepping back, Caleb eyed the doctor with an uplifted brow. “How are she and your son getting along? She doesn’t talk much about her love life when I speak to her on the phone.”
Marc laughed softly. “Alex doesn’t volunteer much information, either—I suppose it’s not cool for a thirty-two-year-old man to confide in his father about the woman he’s seeing. But from what I can tell, they’re still dating steadily . . . whenever Alex has free time. Unfortunately, surgeons have a fuller schedule than most doctors.”
He felt his smile fade as he stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. He’d worked hard to get Annie and Alex together, dropping broad hints that at first offended Annie and infuriated Alex. But he’d done it because from the first moment he saw Annie Cuvier, he knew the woman was something special. His son would be a fool to let her slip away.
Yet, if the truth be told, sometimes he worried about Annie dating his son. Life as a doctor’s wife wasn’t easy. His own wife had been as patient as Job, God rest her soul, but the early days had been hard for her. She’d been busy raising a baby while he was out trying to save the world one patient at a time. Only by the grace of God did they manage to renew their relationship before she died.
He would hate to see Annie endure the heartache his wife had known. She seemed to crave peace, and as much as he’d love to have her as part of his family, he wasn’t sure she could cope with Alex’s hectic New York life. As much as he loved his son, he wasn’t certain Alex could appreciate the sweet and simple nature of Annie’s island-bred soul.
Marc had come to Heavenly Daze to serve his fellow man and find rest for his weary soul. Over the last three years, in the intimacy of a small town and the power of the sea, he had found the reminders he needed to remember that he was only a servant, and God the Lord of all. . . .
Aware that he had dropped his half of the conversation, he gave Caleb a guilty smile. “This is good coffee. Thanks.”
A trace of unguarded tenderness lit the older man’s eyes. “Are you worried for your son?”
“I’m worried more for Annie.” Marc spoke without thinking, then fumbled for words to explain the disloyal comment. “Long-distance relationships are difficult, and with Alex in New York and Annie in Portland, I . . . I just don’t want her to get hurt. And I know my son—I know how busy he is, and how detached he can be at times. It’s something a doctor has to develop, this detachment, or we’d go a little crazy. Alex is a fine young man, don’t get me wrong, but when I think of all the times I begged him to make time for a visit and he never would, I . . . well, I worry for Annie. I don’t want her to be hurt.”
Uncomfortable with what he’d just shared, he lowered his gaze to his cup, then took a sip. Delicious. Everything Caleb made was wonderful.
“You care deeply for Annie, don’t you?”
Marc lowered his mug. “Of course I do. How could anyone not adore a girl like that? I want her to have the wonderful life she deserves. If she can find happiness by marrying my son, I’ll be thrilled. I already love her like a daughter. Why wouldn’t I be happy to have her as a daughter-in-law?”
The butler’s eyes twinkled. “Why not, indeed?”
Half an hour later Annie sat at Olympia’s small kitchen table, her fingers laced around a cup of hot cocoa, her coat tossed across the desk against the wall. Caleb bustled at the counter, mixing a fresh batch of her favorite brownies, while Tallulah, Olympia’s terrier, squatted on the floor by Annie’s chair, her bright eyes begging for a treat. Olympia sat across from Annie, looking tired, but content.
“Thank you for coming,” Olympia said for the third time. “I am simply out of unique ideas for this little party I’m planning, and I do want it to be nice. I’ve had Caleb cutting recipes out of magazines for days.”
Annie sipped her cocoa, then smiled around the rim of her cup. Her aunt could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two about the proper way to host a party, and in more prosperous days she had hosted some of the most elegant affairs southeastern Maine had ever seen. Frenchman’s Fairest, though now showing its age, was a grand old house, rich in historical lore and stuffed with antiques . . . though every time Annie came home, she noticed one or two pieces were missing.
“EBay,” Caleb had confided on her last visit when she had asked about a lovely oil lamp that had once stood in a niche by the stairs. “The best place for quick cash. Mike Klackenbush has been helping Missy sell a few things.”
Annie had learned that any mention of missing items was likely to strike a spark. The one thing Olympia would always possess was a sensitive pride.
She set down her cup and peered out the black window of the back door. “Where’d Dr. Marc run off to?”
“Back to his place, I should imagine.” Olympia smoothed the lace at her throat, then gave Annie a frayed smile. “Caleb tells me he offered to run out and walk you home from the dock. That was kind—Caleb is getting too old to go out in this cold and windy weather.”
“I keep telling her the cold doesn’t bother me.” Caleb gave Annie a grin. “But you surprised us by coming in unescorted. I think Dr. Marc was looking forward to seeing you.”
Annie lowered her gaze as a blush burned her cheekbones. The entire town must be talking about her romance with A.J., otherwise known as Dr. Alex Hayes, son of the town physician. Since October, Dr. Marc had been badgering Annie about meeting his son, and finally, on Christmas Eve, their paths had intersected at the ferry landing in Ogunquit. In the ensuing five weeks they had seen each other several times . . . when they could find time to be together. With Annie living in Maine and A.J. in Manhattan, they weren’t together often, but what were cell phones for, if not long-distance dating?
“How is A.J., dear?” Olympia lifted her teacup. “We haven’t seen him since Christmas.”
“I haven’t seen him in two weeks.” Annie shrugged. “We try to get together, but, you know, things happen. He has a medical emergency to attend to, his plane is at the mechanic, or something else comes up. But he’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”
She fell silent as a touch of the old awkwardness crept into the conversation. Not so long ago, she and Aunt Olympia could hardly exchange greetings without venturing onto minefields of sensitive issues, and now she felt the ground begin to shudder beneath her feet. If Aunt Olympia answered with one of her “That’s the trouble with young folks these days . . .”
But she didn’t. Giving Caleb a smile, Olympia stood, her hair gleaming in the light from the overhead fixture. “Let’s adjourn to the parlor.” She bent to pick up her teacup. “Caleb, will you serve the brownies when they’re ready? Annie, you may bring your cup, of course.”
Feeling a little like a lamb on its way to the slaughter, Annie obediently lifted her mug and followed Olympia down the hall.
Though Olympia usually took the wing chair by the fireplace, tonight she purposely sat on the sofa to be closer to Annie. Her niece followed, a little reluctantly perhaps, but settled into her usual place at the opposite end of the couch. Careful to take a coaster from the stack on the polished coffee table, the girl set her mug on the sandstone, then reached for a velvet pillow and propped it against her side.
Olympia studied the pillow leaning against Annie’s arm like a wall. She’d just finished a Ladies Home Journal article about body language, and this pillow-propping gesture indicated that Annie still felt less than comfortable with the woman who had sheltered and succored her for all those years. . . .
Olympia closed her eyes in resignation. Sometimes the young were blind to things they would not understand until they had lived through the same situation.
Opening her eyes, she forced a smile. “Did Captain Stroble bring you over, or have we been reduced to traveling with Crazy Odell?”
Annie laughed. “The captain’s still in town. He said Mazie is a bit under the weather, probably from nerves. But as soon as she’s better, they’re heading off to Florida. Then you’ll have to wrangle with Odell.”
Olympia shuddered slightly. “I’d rather be island-bound an entire month than travel with that nutty old man. He’s as reckless as a teenage boy in that boat of his— in fact, sometimes I think he is a teenage boy. Between the ages of fourteen and twenty, you know, the logic circuits in a child’s brain become disconnected. I think Odell’s circuits never got plugged back in again.”
Annie snorted. “What psychologist have you been reading?”
Olympia sniffed. “No psychologist, it’s just common sense. That’s what’s wrong with young people today; nobody places any value on plain common sense.”
As Annie leaned forward and reached for her cocoa, Olympia saw her roll her eyes.
She sighed. All right, so this visit wasn’t off to a great start. If they couldn’t discuss the boyfriend or common sense, what could they talk about? Certainly not Annie’s tomatoes—Annie didn’t bear failure easily, and that wound was bound to be fresh. They could plan the Valentine’s party, but what if they exhausted that topic tonight? Annie wouldn’t go back until late tomorrow, so they’d have to bear each other’s company through breakfast, lunch, and the afternoon with nothing whatsoever to talk about.
Annie suddenly stiffened and gestured to the vacant spot near the fireplace. “Aunt Olympia, what happened to the beautiful secretary that used to stand over there?”
“Olives.” Olympia brought a fingertip to her lips. “I bought five cans last month from the mercantile, and from what I hear, Vernie Bidderman nearly noodled herself into an early grave wondering what I planned to do with them. I told Caleb not to let on, though, and you need to keep my secret, too. I want my little party to be a surprise. An unexpected gesture of gentility and good will.”
Annie narrowed her eyes. “You sold that secretary, didn’t you? Why on earth would you sell that lovely piece?”
“The Vienna sausages, on the other hand, I picked up in Ogunquit.” Olympia lifted her saucer, perfectly balancing her teacup so the delicate china wouldn’t rattle. “I knew if I bought too many supplies at the mercantile, Vernie would know something was up and broadcast the news. So I’ve been buying things on the sly, taking a guilty pleasure in my little mystery—”
“Don’t ignore me, Aunt Olympia.” Annie pushed the pillow down and leaned toward her, her eyes as direct as headlights. “What did you do with the secretary?”
Pulling back, Olympia blinked. “What does it matter?”
“It matters to me. You loved that piece, so why’d you sell it?”
Olympia shook her head. “It was just another thing for Caleb to dust.”
“It belonged to your grandmother!”
“See? A worthless old thing.”
“It wasn’t worthless, Aunt Olympia, it was probably worth a small fortune. Haven’t you ever watched Antiques Roadshow?”
“Is that on TV? I don’t like TV. Young people these days spend entirely too much time in front of the television watching claptrap and whatnot—”
“Ayuh, it’s a show, and it’d do you good to watch it. People are always bringing in junk from their attics and finding out their stuff is worth thousands of dollars.”
Straightening, Olympia smoothed the folds of her dress. “I’d never have figured you for a gold digger, Annie.”
“Wh-what?”
“Don’t play coy with me. You know I’m not going to be around forever. But if you’re concerned about your inheritance, well, you needn’t worry. You know the house will be yours, so I can’t see why you’re worried about me selling a few dusty old pieces riddled with worm holes—”
“Time out.” Annie made a T with her arms, then gaped at Olympia. “What do you mean, the house will be mine? I didn’t know that—and I certainly would never ask for it! You and Caleb will probably be living here another fifty years, so keep the things you love. If you’re determined to be rid of your antiques, call me first. I’ll buy them and at least we can keep them in the family.”
Olympia snorted. “That meager teacher’s salary is barely enough to support you. How are you supposed to afford antiques?”
“I’m a professor, Auntie,” Annie countered. “I make a decent living.”
“You’re a twenty-eight-year-old part-time teacher and researcher who’s never had a success in her life. When everybody was talking about how wonderful those tomatoes were, I told Caleb it would just be a matter of time before something—”
“Look what I found, ladies.”
Distracted, Olympia looked up as Caleb entered the room, a plate of brownies in one hand and a leather-covered album in the other.
“I was cleaning out a chest upstairs the other day and came across this. Since you two gals have nothing pressing to do tonight, I thought you might enjoy a trip down memory lane.”
Olympia drew in a breath as he placed the heavy album on her lap. His timing was impeccable, as always, for she’d been about to tell Annie that her dreams were too big. Things never went well when she was honest with the girl. That was the trouble with young folk these days: you had to pussyfoot around them and use nothing but gentle words. In her youth, people said what they meant and meant what they said, and things were a lot simpler.
Annie’s hurt expression softened when Caleb gave her a smile. “Thanks, Caleb,” she whispered.
As Annie took a brownie, Olympia opened the first page. On a sheet of heavy black paper someone had mounted a sepiatoned photograph of her mother and father standing tall and proud on the front steps of Frenchman’s Fairest. Her mother carried a baby dressed in ribbons and ruffles.
“Look at that!” Annie leaned closer, her face hidden by her swinging hair. “Are you the baby, Auntie?”
“That’s my little brother Ferrell—your father.” Even after all these years, a lump rose in Olympia’s throat at the mention of his name. She and Ferrell had been close as children and even as adults until Ferrell’s wife, Ruth Ann, had come between them. Ruth Ann was soft like Annie, preferring insincere nonsense to plain-spoken truth.
“I can’t get used to seeing little boys in ruffles.” Annie ran her fingertip over the old photograph. “When I have a little boy—I mean, if I have a little boy—I’m going to dress him in blue jeans and overalls. No kid of mine is going to be confused about his sexual identity.”
Olympia blanched at the word sexual, but Annie didn’t seem to notice. That was the trouble with young people these days: They shamelessly tossed around all kinds of private words without regard to who might be listening. Olympia couldn’t say the word womb without feeling faint.
Quickly, she turned the page. “This one is me.” She tapped the photo of a somber-faced girl holding a kitten. “I still remember that cat. I called him Mr. Jingles.”
Annie laughed softly but offered no comment, so Olympia continued through the pages, pointing out landmarks on the island and people related to some of the island’s current residents.
“Heavenly Daze has changed.” Annie nodded at one of the pictures. “I can’t imagine the Gallery without the Lobster Pot standing next to it.”
“That restaurant is a positive fright.” Olympia pointed to a black and white photo of the church and parsonage. “And so is the municipal building they put up next to the minister’s house. My parents protested loud and long, but even they couldn’t stand against progress.” She sniffed. “At least, progress is what they called it. I call it plain ugly.”
Sensing a lag in Annie’s interest, she turned a few more pages, wondering when Caleb had taken the time to assemble this book. The last time she’d seen these photos, they’d been cluttering up an empty shoe box at the back of her closet.
“Here.” She pointed at a picture of another little girl, this one thin and somber, with dark curls trailing down the sides of her face like tangled ivy. “That’s you, Annie. Taken during your first week with us on Heavenly Daze.”
Annie bent closer, almost low enough for her nose to touch the paper. “That’s me? Good grief, what a mess I was!”
Olympia pressed her hand to her heart as a well of pain bubbled up from memories long suppressed. She’d been a mess, too, in those days, grieving over Ferrell and frightened to death at the thought of raising another child—especially one as odd and fanciful as Annie. She’d passed several nights on her knees, begging God for answers, pleading for strength and wisdom.
Somehow, he had supplied both.
Olympia drew a deep breath, then made an effort to lighten her voice. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Annie. You were a mite upset and confused in those days. Wouldn’t have been natural if you’d been a sunny little thing.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment, then Annie looked up and met Olympia’s gaze. “I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you properly, Auntie, but I’m grateful you took me in back then.” Her brown eyes gentled. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
Olympia swallowed hard. “Worthwhile things generally aren’t.”
From the foyer, Caleb leaned forward, unabashedly eavesdropping on his charges. He’d been alarmed earlier when Olympia’s tone had gone frosty, and he could almost see Annie’s temper rising. But the photograph album had done the trick and reminded them of how far they’d come together . . . and how much they needed each other.
His preparations were nearly complete. Earlier that day Gavriel had appeared in the kitchen to relay a special assignment from on high. The mission had been years in the making, but tonight it would finally be fulfilled.
The butler glanced at the clock. The women still had time to reminisce. And gentle words shared in the next few hours would last, like apples of gold, throughout eternity.
As the mantle clock struck eleven, Olympia closed the album, the image of the last picture still floating upon her retinas. The photo had been of her and Annie, locked in an embrace at the dock. That frozen moment had taken place during Annie’s parting after Christmas, when their hearts had never been fonder or more united.
She didn’t want to lose that closeness, yet time and distance would inevitably take its toll. But if she’d learned one thing from watching Annie nurse those spindly tomato plants, it was that growing things needed frequent doses of water and sunlight.
Relationships needed affirmation.
“I love you, girl.” Tears stung Olympia’s eyes as the words tumbled over her lips, and for an instant she couldn’t look at her niece. Annie would never understand how difficult it was to say such things. Such endearments were against Olympia’s nature and everything she’d been taught as a child. Properly brought up women did not emote in public, wear their feelings upon their faces, or wallow in sentimentality. But young people today were more open about their feelings, and if Annie could only meet her halfway . . .
“Oh, Olympia!” Annie reached out and drew her into an embrace. Olympia stiffened at first, from surprise and the use of her name without a title. So she was no longer “Aunt,” but merely “Olympia,” as if they were no longer guardian and child, but two women bound by affection and friendship.
Slowly she relaxed, then rubbed the younger woman’s back. “Shh,” she whispered, though Annie hadn’t said another word. “I’m glad you’re home. Tomorrow after church we’ll plan the menu for my party and Caleb will make us a nice brunch. You can say hello to all the townsfolk, and I’m sure some of them will come down to the dock when it’s time to see you off—”
Annie pulled back, but kept her hands on Olympia’s shoulders. “I don’t need hellos from the entire town to feel welcome. I only need you.”
“Well, now.” Olympia forced a smile, then pulled out of Annie’s grip and stood. She took a step forward, then hesitated as the room spun slightly before her eyes. If she’d known hugging could make her feel lightheaded . . . she’d have done it more often.
She glanced back at her niece. “I’m going to bed. You coming up now?”
Annie shook her head, then pointed to the flickering flames in the fireplace. “It’s so cozy here, I think I’ll stay awake and read a while. I’m not sleepy, anyway. Too much caffeine on the drive down.”
“Tallulah?” Olympia spoke to the dog drowsing on a pillow near the fire. “You coming up?”
The sly old dog opened one eye, then shut it again, pretending to sleep.
“She can stay down here a while,” Annie said, turning to rest her legs on the sofa. “I’ll let her into your room when I come up.”
“That’d be nice. Thank you, dear.” Olympia nodded, then made her way to the stairs, noticing how much brighter the house seemed with Annie in it.
Annie had read only two pages of her book when Caleb tiptoed into the parlor, a serving tray in his hand. “Don’t let me bother you,” he said, reaching for her empty mug. “I just want to put these things away before I go to bed.”
“Let me help you.” She picked up Olympia’s teacup and saucer and set them on the tray, then caught the older man’s eye. “The album was a great idea. Thanks.”
Smiling, he dropped his hand to the top of her head. “I thought so.”
“Sometimes it’s a little hard to talk to Aunt Olympia, you know. She’s so opinionated.”
“Missy is strong in many things, including her beliefs.”
He hesitated, closing his eyes, and Annie saw his lips move. Caleb had always been given to moments of spontaneous prayer, sometimes audible, sometimes not, and she suspected he was praying now . . . for her. But though she strained to listen, she couldn’t understand a word he said.
After a moment, he opened his eyes, looked down at her, and smiled. “You’ll be fine, Annie.”
She watched him shuffle away, his slippers slapping the polished wooden floors, and wondered what he meant.
“That’s the problem with older people these days,” she told Tallulah, who had lifted her head at Caleb’s departure. She grinned as she picked up her book. “Sometimes they speak a language I just can’t comprehend.”
Seated at her dressing table, Olympia pulled the last hairpin from her bun, then ran her fingers through the hank of her hair, setting the strands free. Birdie and Bea and Vernie had taken to wearing their hair short, but she never could stand the thought of having hair as short as a man’s.
Her hair was still dark at the ends, followed by inches of steel gray. Around her forehead the hair had gone snowy white, and she liked to think the effect becoming. Edmund had always said lighter colors brightened a woman’s face.
Her husband had loved this part of the day. Even when his snoring necessitated that they sleep in separate bedrooms, he had often entered her room to share the last few moments of the evening. He would stretch out on her bed, propping his head on his hand, and watch her reflection in the mirror as she picked up her tortoiseshell brush and began to pull it through her hair.
“My, my,” he’d say, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Miracles do happen. Despite my contrariness, somehow I managed to marry the town beauty.”
Olympia had always ignored his silly remarks, for no woman of good breeding went around thinking of herself as beautiful. Such an attitude led to pompousness and conceit, while a lady kept herself above those things. As a young woman she had wanted to spend her life giving to the poor, helping orphans, being an example of all a Christian woman should be . . . then she had fallen in love with Edmund Shots, a man twenty years her senior whose ancestors didn’t rate even a footnote in the social register. The situation had rocked her family and scandalized the townsfolk, but her sterling reputation had saved her from total disrepute.
Lowering the hairbrush, she looked at the bed reflected in the mirror. “Oh, Edmund, how I miss you.”
She had not lived the life of her dreams, but she had lived. And in the living she had hurt some people and helped some others; she had been loved and feared, admired and criticized. As mistress of the largest and most imposing home on the island, she had taken pains to maintain a certain standard of propriety—employing a butler, making a regular habit of afternoon tea, and keeping the horse and buggy long after everyone else had bought golf carts to traverse the island. She had worked hard to maintain the grand and historic legacy of Heavenly Daze, but all the while she knew the other townsfolk were laughing behind her back.
They loved her, she knew that—she’d seen evidence of their affection immediately after Edmund’s death and she felt the warm support of her neighbors every time she attended church or the ladies’ quilting circle. The gulf between her and the others was of her own making, she knew that as well. But as the only direct descendant of Captain Jacques de Cuvier, the responsibility of maintaining both his legacy and his town fell upon her shoulders. If not for her vigilance, Vernie would have everyone riding noisy motor scooters, Birdie would be trying to open a bakery franchise up at the point, and Charles Graham would be selling Heavenly Daze landscapes down on the dock. . . .
She caught her breath as a sudden spasm gripped her chest. Nerves, probably. She’d been a little squamish about Annie’s visit, nearly sick with worry that a gale would blow up and prevent the ferry from running. With Captain Stroble due for his vacation, transportation to and from the mainland was iffy, and Olympia shuddered at the thought of Annie riding with Crazy Odell Butcher.
Rubbing the painful spot within her chest, she stared into her mirror, studying the image of an aging woman, eyes red-rimmed with weariness and pain. The mirror was lying again, for Olympia felt no kinship with the woman in the looking glass. In her inmost heart she was a mature woman of about Annie’s age, with nearly as many dreams and hopes as she’d nurtured in her younger years.
She made a face at the mirror, then moved her hand to her temple. The headache that had come and gone for weeks had welcomed itself back to her brain, and this time it brought chest spasms for company. Fine, then. She’d ask Caleb to brew a pot of chamomile tea . . .
As if he’d read her mind, she heard Caleb’s voice. “Missy?”
Adjusting her gaze in the mirror, she saw Caleb standing behind her—odd, since she had not heard the click of the door—but this was a Caleb she hadn’t seen in years. His face was full and unlined, his head framed by thick auburn hair, his eyes bright and energetic. Vigor had erased the stoop from his posture, his skin glowed with health and light, and behind his back two amazing wings flexed with power and strength—
She turned on the bench, her eyes widening to take in the unbelievable sight.
A glow surrounded the man who had served as her butler for over fifty-five years, a tangible, bright light that seemed to pulse with every breath she drew.
Caleb gave her a lovely, warming smile that reached clear to her heart. “It’s time.”
Her lips whispered, “Time for what?” but her heart knew. The one who had met her needs and watched over her, who had ministered to her and spoken words of Truth nearly all the years of her life . . . he was no butler, he was not even a man.
He was . . . an angel.
The truth came in a dazzling burst of mental illumination, and an instant later she could not understand how she could have been so blind all her life. Seeing him in the center of that unearthly living light, she would have understood his nature even if he were stooped and frail and cocking his head as if his ears were failing.
His mortal body might have weakened over the stretch of years, but the being before her now was clothed in immortality. And as he held his hand out to her, she felt another pain in her chest, sharper this time, but she had no thought for the pain, only joy and gladness that Caleb stood ready to help her pass one more milestone.
“It’s time for you to go home, Missy.”
Home—the word vibrated with depths of meaning she’d never fathomed before.
Smiling, she took his hand and stood, then felt her soul break free. On the wings of love and compassion she rose with him, her spirit expanding and her senses quickening as the walls of her room and the house seemed to fade into insignificance and the last sound she heard with earthly ears was the sound of her tired body hitting the floor.
Annie heard the thump and looked up from her reading, her eyes searching the ceiling. Aunt Olympia’s room stood just over the parlor, and she could have fallen . . . or dropped a book. Sounds could be deceiving in a house as old as this one; the smallest object could sound like a boulder hitting the wooden floors overhead.
Tallulah whined softly. Lifting her head, her eyes seemed to focus on something beyond Annie’s field of vision.
Annie studied the dog. “What is it, girl? Should we go up and check on Aunt Olympia?”
Barking, the dog sprang to her feet, then spun in a small circle, finally settling back upon the cushion of her doggy bed. She propped her chin on her forepaws, but her eyes kept darting toward the ceiling.
Annie leaned forward, listening. The bump had been followed by silence—she heard no cry for help, no call for Caleb. So Olympia had probably dropped something. Calling attention to her clumsiness would only annoy her, especially if she were trying to sleep.
Annie settled back and picked up her book, but her caffeine rush had worn off. And the hour was late.
“That’s it.” She snapped the book closed. “Come on, Tallulah, let’s go up to bed. Auntie is probably missing you.”
Obediently the terrier sprang to her feet. Together they climbed the stairs, the dog’s toenails clicking against the worn wooden steps. Annie smiled in relief when she saw a line of light at the bottom of Olympia’s door.
“Here, Tallulah.” Annie opened the door a few inches, not wanting to intrude on Olympia’s privacy. “Go on in and get some shut eye.”
The dog scooted through the opening, but she did not round the corner as if she were going to the spot where her doggie bed lay. Instead, she trotted to the left . . .
“Aunt Olympia?”
With one finger Annie pushed the door. Her aunt would probably squawk if Annie so much as glimpsed her in her nightgown, but perhaps she was reading in bed.
“Auntie?” She opened the door wider. “You asleep?”
No answer, so Annie thrust her head through the opening in the doorway, then felt her heart do a double beat. Olympia lay on the floor, one hand outstretched, the other clutching a tortoiseshell hairbrush. Worst of all, the smell of death filled the room.
Through some ability she did not yet understand, Olympia looked down and saw Tallulah and Annie kneeling by the side of a woman on the floor. For an instant she wondered who the woman could be, then the truth crashed into her consciousness like surf hurling against a rocky cliff.
“This is death?” She looked at Caleb, who had not left her side.
“It is transition,” he answered, his hand firmly wrapped around hers. “From the physical plane to the spiritual. From earth to the highest heaven.”
“I don’t understand.”
His smile softened. “You don’t have to.”
Soaring, her spirit lifted like an imprisoned bird that had finally been set free. She looked down again, but the bedroom scene had been replaced by the dim outline of the island of Heavenly Daze, recognizable by the streetlights that formed the shape of a cross. Then that image, too, receded into darkness, and she found the courage to look up into a sea of blackness populated by white stars that moved past her at a dizzying rate.
A tingling sensation sparked in her head and flowed along her arms and legs until she looked down and realized she didn’t have arms or legs—not like she had previously known, anyway. She could see her limbs—and never had they looked stronger or healthier—but they were as ethereal as air.
Caleb must have noticed her glance and her look of puzzlement, for he was smiling when she met his gaze. “You are spirit now,” he said simply, his strong arm holding her as they whizzed through the atmosphere. “Your mortal body has worn out, so it is best you leave it behind. You will receive a new one at the Resurrection.”
Speechless, Olympia brought her hand up before her eyes and saw the translucent outline of fingers. “If I don’t have a body, Caleb, what am I seeing?”
“Memories. Because living on a spirit plane will be new to you, you will relate to others much as you did on earth. I know it seems confusing now, but soon everything will be clear. Your physical body has died, your soul has flown, and your spirit lives in Christ Jesus our Lord. Until the Resurrection you will live in heaven as a spirit being, seeing and hearing with spiritual eyes and ears. You will recognize others you knew on earth, but they will be spirit, too. Only One possesses a physical body here—the Son of Man, who lives in glorified flesh. You will know him by the scars he bears in his hands and feet.”
Olympia fell silent as the significance of those words registered. She would see her Savior . . . the thought left her quivering.
She fell silent as they flew through a space devoid of landmarks, but the air around them vibrated with sound. Words zipped past her spirit ears with the ferocity of bullets, and after a moment of listening she realized she was hearing petitions and praises from people on earth.
Now, too, she noticed they were not alone. Other forms traveled with her and Caleb—bewildered, delighted souls safe in the embrace of angelic escorts, many of whom picked up other angel guardians along the way. The heavens here pulsated with celestial singing, anthems of wonder and praise.
As the sky around them went from violet to black, Caleb tightened his grip upon her. His eyes narrowed in concentration as four other angels appeared at his side, all of them intently focused upon something Olympia could not see. She wondered at their concern and caution. Only when she saw another approaching light, sparkling and bright, did she begin to understand.
“We want her!” A voice, high and reedy, came from the center of the whirling ball of brilliance. “She doubts, she fears, she is not worthy!”
“You cannot have her!” Caleb’s voice echoed like thunder through the heavens. “She has been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb, and he has clothed her in his righteousness! Now go, you disobedient and rebellious servant!”
Olympia watched the light quiver before the authority in Caleb’s voice, then it fled away into darkness. Her soul thrilled with a sudden rush of emotion.
Oh, how wrong she’d been to think she could do anything to prepare for this journey. For the demonic adversary was right—she did doubt, she did fear, and she was not worthy of heaven. The frail strength she had tried to cultivate shriveled to weakness in the onslaught of that gleaming enemy, but Caleb was strong and the One he served even stronger. . . .
Shivering, she nestled closer to Caleb’s strong frame. “How long will it take?”
He chuckled softly. “Time does not exist here, dear one. You are still thinking in terms of human reference.”
“But we’ve been flying for a while, haven’t we?” Instinctively, she looked for her watch, then laughed at the sight of her translucent arm.
“In the span of earthly time, we’ve just left your bedroom. Annie is kneeling by your side. In a moment, she will call for me . . . and I will answer.”
Panic surged through her. “You’ll leave me?”
“You have nothing to fear, Missy.”
Struck dumb by such authority from the butler who had always been so quiet and subservient, Olympia stared upward as they traversed yet another boundary. The skies brightened to the purest aqua in which a million sparks of diamond light twinkled. In the distance she glimpsed the tall verdant canopies of a rich forest, while in the foreground rose a gleaming temple of the purest white stone.
A host of angelic messengers greeted them outside a shimmering gate. As the gates opened, she and her escorts passed through on a tide of song that carried them toward an open area where spotless columns stood upon alabaster stairs she could not feel beneath her feet. An assortment of angelic harpists sat upon these steps, playing instruments unlike any she had ever seen or heard. They looked upward as they played, and she followed their gazes and beheld yet more harpists gathered around a throne. Behind the musicians, four astounding creatures sang, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come!”
Olympia trembled as she beheld the throne of the Almighty, lifted high behind a crystal sea that shimmered with the light of a thousand suns. Waves of glory shone from the throne, and she felt her spirit tremble before the power of the being who sat upon it. Around the throne, scores of angels waved palm branches, and something in her wanted to fall to her knees with these lovely creatures, waving whatever sprig of greenery or feathering she could happen to find.
“Look,” Caleb commanded, and she obeyed. The throne of the Almighty rested upon two pillars, the left bearing inscriptions in many languages, including English. The Creator had carved the word righteousness into the left pillar, while the right bore the word justice. Above the throne hovered a pair of mighty angels, their wings softly stirring the air.
Suddenly she was transported over the sea, over the harpists, over even the seraphim. She knelt at the foot of the throne, close enough that she could have reached out and touched the all-too-fleshly foot that rested inches from her trembling hands.
Drawn by a force she could not deny, Olympia lifted her eyes to the One who sat in the center of the universe. She expected a being so bright and powerful that one glance would shatter her into a million atoms, each particle too tiny to ever be of use again, but when her gaze lifted she saw . . . Jesus.
She saw holiness reflected in his white robe and his gleaming hair. She saw power in the strength of his hands. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw compassion and love.
The altogether lovely One leaned forward and smiled when she finally met his gaze. “Olympia, my beloved.” He spoke in the warm voice of a father who has spent years yearning for a long-lost child. “I have waited so long to welcome you home.”
Olympia lowered her arms to the floor, prostrating herself in the presence of Majesty. Hundreds of other human spirits bowed in various places around the throne. For each the Savior had a smile and a personal greeting, but still she felt utterly cherished and adored. The Lord of Glory had chosen her; he had brought her home.
She wasn’t sure how long she knelt in adoration and gratitude, but Caleb’s gentle touch roused her to movement. “Come,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Others are waiting to greet you.”
An instant later she found herself standing on a large balcony suspended above the azure heavens. Hundreds of people milled about her in transparent forms that had the features and shapes of human bodies without the substance. “They are incorporeal,” Caleb said, apparently reading her thoughts, “spirit beings, like you.”
Suddenly, Edmund stood before her. Even if she had not seen the outline of his former self, she would have recognized the warmth of his smile, the joy in his heart, and the kindness of his spirit.
“Olympia!” Love warmed his voice. “Welcome to the kingdom of God!”
“Edmund!” She hurried to hug him, then felt an instant’s frustration when she realized she could not. But Edmund had mastered life in the spirit realm, and when she closed her eyes his spirit drew near to hers, enveloping her in a way that left no room for doubts or frustration. Breathing in his essence, Olympia realized this was the warmest embrace she had ever experienced. Two spirits united in love and holiness. . . . As close as she and Edmund had been on earth, this was far more thrilling.
Edmund was smiling when she opened her eyes. “Welcome, darling. So many people have been waiting for you.”
Speechless with amazed joy, Olympia shifted her gaze in time to see her mother, her father, Ferrell, and Ruth Ann gathered in a small half-circle. She embraced each of them as she had embraced Edmund, and as she drew near to each of them she marveled that such closeness could exist between two human souls.
She smiled after greeting her former sister-in-law, realizing that her feelings of antipathy had completely vanished.
“We have no place for resentment here,” Ruth Ann said, a smile lighting her features. “Resentment is a product of competition, and here there is no need to compete. We are all loved by the Savior, all redeemed by his precious blood. We are one in the Lord, and as one, we are equal.”
Again, she felt Caleb’s touch. “Someone here would like to meet you.”
Olympia turned to see another man, tall and white-haired, but full of life. His eyes snapped as he stepped forward to embrace her in love. “Olympia! I’ve heard many things about you, and I’ve seen you offer worthy service in the name of the Lord. I am pleased to have you as a descendant.”
She gaped at the stranger. “And you are . . .”
He bowed slightly. “On earth I was a humble sea captain. I am the Lord’s servant, Jacques de Cuvier.”
If she’d had a mortal body, Olympia knew she would have fainted.
“We have so much to tell you.”
Dazed, Olympia swiveled as someone else spoke. “Mama?”
Her mother, who’d been in heaven over fifty years, stepped forward, light sparkling in her eyes. “I know it was hard for you to be parted from me when you were so young, but you were never far from my thoughts. I have watched you so many times over the course of your life. I’ve prayed for you in your struggles, hoping you would lean on the Spirit for understanding rather than fight your way through your trials.”
Olympia felt her spirit sink. “You watched . . . everything I did?”
Her father laughed. “Not everything. In his wisdom, the Spirit shields us from certain sights. We are not omniscient, after all. But we saw your tribulations and your victories. Occasionally we saw your failures.”
“But we did not despair for you,” her mother quickly added. “For we knew the Lord would use your failure to teach you and mature you. And those were the occasions we saw you grow, dear one.”
Olympia sighed. “I’m afraid I still have a lot to learn.”
Edmund chuckled. “Of course you do, and you will have many opportunities to learn and serve. What do you think we do up here, sit on clouds and play harps?”
As the others threw back their heads and made the heavens ring with laughter, Olympia shifted her gaze to the glowing temple on the horizon. “There is only one thing I want to do now,” she said. “I want to sit at the feet of Jesus and drink in his beauty.”
Edmund stepped forward, offering her his shimmering hand. “Come, my love. Let us worship together once again.”
Annie drew Olympia’s inert form into her arms, then pressed her fingertips to her aunt’s slender throat. She could not find a pulse, but the flesh was warm, so perhaps there was time to save her.
“Caleb!” she screamed, startling the dog. “Come quick!”
A moment later the old man appeared, his eyes wide. “Are you all right?”
“It’s Aunt Olympia! She’s—I think she’s in real trouble. Can you get Dr. Marc? Can we get her to the hospital?”
“Do not fear, Annie. I’ll get the doctor.”
The man’s eerie calm rattled her; she could have sworn he was more concerned for her than for the woman on the floor. Annie bent closer to her aunt, holding her tight as if she could compel the spirit of life to remain in the room, to return to this frail frame.
What on earth could have happened? Olympia hadn’t been eating, so she couldn’t have choked. If she’d had a stroke, surely she would still be breathing . . .
The swift answer came on the wings of reason, followed by memories of Caleb’s constant admonitions: No butter, no red meat, Missy, watch the salt intake, try and get some regular exercise. . . .
Olympia must have had a heart attack.
But now? She’d never heard anything about Olympia having a heart condition. If she’d had a problem, Dr. Marc should have been more vigilant, he should have come into the house and forced Olympia to eat right and take her pills or whatever. She could be so stubborn, and never more than when she wanted to eat as she pleased.
A few minutes later she heard heavy pounding on the stairs, then Dr. Marc appeared in the doorway, his doctor’s bag in hand. He had been in bed, for he wore a chenille robe over striped flannel pajamas.
Annie couldn’t speak. Thankfully, she didn’t have to, for the doctor dropped to his knees and knelt over the body.
Annie scooted back to the wall, then looked up to find Caleb watching her. She turned away, but continued to feel the gentle pressure of his gaze as he began to pray. “Father,” his words were a warm whisper in the room, “be with Annie now and comfort her heart. Help her be strong at this time, and let your peace surround her.”
Annie lowered her lashes in gratitude, then opened one eye as a thought struck: Why wasn’t Caleb praying for Olympia?
Dr. Marc pressed his fingers to Olympia’s neck, then laid her flat on the floor. After checking her heart with his stethoscope, he slowly pulled it from his ears.
“I’m sorry, Annie.” He glanced at the clock on the bureau, his face grim. “Time of death is eleven-thirty PM. That’s what we’ll write on the death certificate, but I’d guess she’s been gone fifteen minutes or more.”
Annie pressed her hand to her chest, where her own heart was pounding like a trip hammer. “You can’t—can’t you do CPR or something and bring her back?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. “If, as I suspect, her heart failed, she would have first experienced a sense of confusion, then lost consciousness and fallen. From that point she entered the state of terminal apnea when her breathing stopped, then she passed into the agonal state— at which point we might have been able to revive her if we were in a hospital. Brain death followed within minutes.”
“So I could have saved her if I’d rushed up here when I heard her fall?”
He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “No, honey. A massive heart attack would damage her heart, and nothing short of emergency surgery and a possible heart transplant could make her well again. Olympia and I have talked about this sort of thing, and she didn’t want to be resuscitated in a situation like this. She knew she was at risk for heart trouble, and she was ready for whatever came. She missed Edmund, you see.”
Tears, hot and angry, spilled over Annie’s cheeks. “But that’s not fair! Why didn’t she watch her diet more closely? I know she missed Edmund, but she still had me. We were just beginning to understand each other.”
She fell into his arms, one fist weakly pounding his chest as a torrent of words and emotions poured out. “I needed her. Who else do I have, if not her? I know she missed Edmund, but I needed her, too. I don’t have anybody else, Dr. Marc, not anybody.”
His gentle hand fell on her head and smoothed her hair. “Shh, Annie, I know it’s hard.”
“She is home now.” Caleb’s voice rang with conviction. “She’s with Edmund and her loved ones, and together they are rejoicing in the presence of the Lord.”
“Oh, Caleb.” Straightening, Annie swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “You make it sound so real.”
“It is real, honey. More real than anything in this room.”
Annie sniffed, wishing she could believe him. She wanted to believe, but sometimes heaven seemed like a fairy tale invented to ease children’s fears about death and what lies beyond. . . .
She would face the unknown alone now.
“I never knew,” she repeated, turning to the doctor, “that her heart condition was so serious.”
“She didn’t have a serious problem, but unfortunately sometimes these things are unpredictable, particularly in women.” The doctor frowned as he glanced at Olympia’s still form. “You could request an autopsy.”
Annie considered a moment, then shook her head. “No. If you say it was a heart attack, I trust you.”
“I’ll call her doctor in Ogunquit. And the funeral home, if you want me to handle that part of . . . the arrangements.”
Annie leaned her elbow on the stool by Olympia’s dressing table. She had never planned a funeral. Uncle Edmund had slipped away after a long illness, and he and Aunt Olympia had preplanned his funeral and everything associated with it.
She suddenly realized she didn’t have the faintest idea where to begin what must come next.
“Would you do that?” Her eyes fixed upon the doctor’s face. “The same funeral home that took care of Uncle Edmund would know what to do.”
Dr. Marc nodded. “They’re good people. If they pick up the body tomorrow morning, I’m sure they can return her Monday for a viewing. You can talk to Pastor Winslow about a funeral on Tuesday.” He frowned. “Olympia would want to be buried next to Edmund, but I’m pretty sure the ground is too frozen to be broken with shovels. We’ll have to get someone to bring in a backhoe, and that might take a while, given that Captain Stroble’s on vacation. We’ll probably have to send Olympia back to the morgue until the machine can be brought over.”
Annie clapped her hand over her mouth, mortified by the thought of her aunt lying in a refrigerated drawer while they tried to track down a backhoe to break through the frozen ground. Olympia would roll over in her grave . . . if they ever managed to get her into one.
“Aunt Olympia, as you know, was very . . . refined.” Annie gave the doctor a careful smile, certain he could read between the lines. “She would want everything to be handled in just the right way. The right flowers, the right music, the perfect mix of ceremony and sentiment—”
“She wrote a letter with her wishes, and left it with her will.” Caleb scratched his head. “Seems to me she wanted the boys’ choir from that Episcopal church in Wells to sing at her funeral.”
“Whatever she wanted, we’ll have to get.” Annie lifted her chin, determined to take charge of the ceremony and her own emotions. “We’ll announce her passing tomorrow at church, and then—”
She clutched at the doctor’s arm as a sudden thought struck her. “Good grief, Dr. Marc, could my tomatoes have killed her? You said they made her sick, and that happened only a couple of weeks ago. If they weakened her immune system or something—”
“Annie.” The doctor placed his hand over hers. “Don’t do this. It’s normal to blame ourselves when something like this happens, but none of this was your fault. Olympia had a history of high blood pressure and elevated cholesterol. I’m almost certain an autopsy would show that her heart simply gave out. It was her time.”
“The Lord called her.” A smile lit Caleb’s face as he crossed his arms. “She was happy to go home. You should have seen her face when she knelt before the throne.”
Annie frowned. The old butler had to be delirious with grief. The bond between him and Olympia had been deep and strong.
“You go on to bed now.” Dr. Marc spoke in a firm and final voice. “Caleb and I will take care of Olympia tonight. You need to get your rest.”
Nodding slowly, Annie pulled her hand free of Dr. Marc’s grasp, then stood and walked toward the door, patting Caleb’s shoulder as she passed.
The men were probably right in saying she shouldn’t feel guilty. But if she’d gone up to bed with Olympia, or if she’d flown upstairs when she heard that thump—would Olympia be alive now?
“Thank you,” she called, turning to glance at the two men in her aunt’s bedroom. “Thank you for . . . everything.”
She pressed her lips together to stifle a sob, then moved toward her old bedroom, knowing she wouldn’t sleep.