Chapter 11

“Thank you, Sarah dear.” Violet set the cup of tea on the table beside her and selected a cookie from the plate Sarah held. “Isn’t this lovely, Miranda? I don’t have to keep hopping up and down, thanks to this lovely girl. But you should sit, Sarah. You’re not a servant, after all.”

Sarah glanced at Miranda Hogbinder’s grimly set mouth and fished for a polite comment. Her plans to be elsewhere had crumbled and here she was, taking tea with “the girls.” Before she could say anything, Hilda clumped into the room pushing the hated walker in front of her. Sarah helped her to the sofa, poured her a cup of tea, and sank into a nearby chair.

“Thank you, dear,” her mother said. “Have you put the animals out? You know Miranda doesn’t care for pets.”

“In my room,” Sarah said through gritted teeth.

“How delightful. We’re all here,” Violet chirped.

“That girl you took in ought to be serving, not you,” Miranda stated. She fixed Sarah with a pale blue stare.

“She’s napping,” Sarah said, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “She needs extra rest these days.”

“Yes, her condition. Shocking,” Miranda pronounced. “The nerve of the girl. What were you thinking, Hilda?”

Sarah bristled, but before she could spring to her mother’s defense, Hilda replied in a gentle voice, “That she needed a friend, and some assistance.”

“And she’s a lovely girl,” Violet twittered. “Such a help in so many ways.”

Sarah sneaked a look at Miranda, who looked as if she’d bitten into a worm, and remembered that Miranda’s two children had fled years ago. She hadn’t had any help from them. Sarah wanted to feel sorry for her, alone as she was, but she just made it too darned hard.

“As is Sarah,” Hilda said. “I don’t know what we would do without them.”

Miranda scowled when Hilda said ‘we,’ but Hilda led the conversation smoothly into a discussion of an upcoming program at the church before she could say anything.

Tact, thy name is mother, Sarah thought. She set her cup and saucer on the coffee table and leaned back to watch the three older women.

A more diverse group would be hard to imagine. Her mother, so calm and ladylike, never showing extreme emotion, a woman everyone respected.

Violet, twittering and ditzing her way through life as though nothing touched her, enjoyed by everyone.

And Miranda, queen-bee-ing around town just as though the Crowleys still owned everything, the woman no one liked.

If Miranda were her mother, would she have been willing to do so much, to give up so much for her? The answer should be yes, child’s duty and so on. She was pretty sure the answer would have been no, and that didn’t help her self-image.

She wished for a moment that she could be inside each of those heads to see what they really thought about getting old. The conversation swirled around her as she looked at each in turn.

She knew her mother hid a lot of fear, and it cut her deeply to know that she couldn’t provide a feeling of security.

But what went on under Violet’s explosion of gray curls? Did she have any idea how lucky she was to have Rob? Rob was a rock, a solid man anyone could depend on. Dependable and gorgeous. Sarah sighed. Lucky, lucky Violet.

And did Miranda have any idea that she was universally dreaded and disliked? Did she care? She had no one. Well, except for Sarah’s mother and Violet, who inexplicably seemed to like her, no matter how much they complained about her. But didn’t she ever get lonely? Scared?

Sarah knew that when she got to her mother’s age, she’d be terrified because there’d be no one to care for her. She’d be alone. Alone and confused and at the mercy of people like Ms. Festerson and Miss Harkness, in a world where all the rules had changed. She shivered.

Christine slipped into the room. “Are you cold, Sarah?” she whispered. “Do you want me to get you a sweater?”

Christine had already gotten the message about things that cost money. Don’t leave lights on except where necessary so little old ladies don’t fall. Don’t take the elevator if the stairs would do. Don’t turn up the heat unless one of the moms requested it.

Sarah shook her head. “Just thinking.”

Christine grinned. “Bad habit. Shall I make more tea?”

“Good idea. And are there any more macaroons? They’ve pretty well demolished this plate.”

Christine took the teapot and cookie plate and melted out of the room.

“You’re training her very well, Hilda,” Miranda said. “She’ll make a fine maid for someone.” Her eyes were bright with greed.

Right. Like Christine was going to hire out as a maid.

Which brought up another problem. What was going to become of Christine? Stop. This was so not the time to worry about that. Sarah tuned back in to the conversation.

“...suppose I’ll have to let my maid go when I move,” Miranda was saying.

“Oh, have you found a new place?” Violet asked. “I do hope you find something as wonderful as I did. I just love it here. My room is so gorgeous. That wonderful wallpaper with the roses is perfect. I feel right at home. And it’s one of the real historic houses in Crowley Falls, you know. I feel as though I’m part of history when I walk through these rooms.”

From the look on Miranda’s face, she did know. Sarah suppressed a snort. The well-known feud between the Gaults and the Crowleys had started in Gold Rush times, and Sarah wasn’t sure it was over yet. She certainly didn’t care, nor did her mother, but one could never be sure of Miranda.

Miranda had always considered the Crowley mansion to be head and shoulders, or roof and chimneys, above the large, comfortable Gault house. It had been the town’s showplace until it had burned down twenty years or more ago. Sarah had been living in Kansas City trying to be happily married, but her mother had written all the details.

“So nice that you’re content here, Violet,” Miranda said.

She didn’t really sound pleased at all, Sarah thought. If only she weren’t such a prickly person, they could invite her to move in and their financial woes would be over.

“I’m still looking for something suitable,” Miranda continued. “I’ve been considering buying a house, but I don’t really want all the work that would go with it. Really, you know,” and she looked down her nose in that obnoxious I’m-accustomed-to-the-best-and-you’re-not way she had, “If only there were a really decent apartment building in town, I’d be happy to buy a penthouse.”

“Oh, goodness, Miranda,” Violet said with one of her titters. “You haven’t found anything yet? I think every apartment in town has been rented already. Such a rush, you know, when we were evicted.”

“We were not evicted, Violet.” Miranda drew herself up and looked down her nose at Violet. “We were told that the building was to be destroyed. And I cannot believe that my banker did not inform me of this nefarious plot. But then, he’s new in town, and I suppose one can’t expect real service from an outsider.”

An uncomfortable silence greeted this statement, and Sarah wondered if her banker told Miranda details about his other clients. Or if his failure was revenge for that incident with his son. His son, who had suddenly been enrolled in boarding school and wasn’t around town these days.

“But what are you going to do?” Violet asked. “You’ll have to move in a couple of weeks. They’ll have those great big bowling-ball things crashing right through your living room wall whether you’re there or not.”

“I am well aware of that.” Miranda sat a bit straighter and put her nose in the air. “I have been considering all the possibilities. I would really like, I think, to live in a house again. I am a bit tired of the apartment house milieu.”

Sarah swallowed a snort. Oh dear me. Perhaps Buckingham Palace would do. Oh, but that’s not in Crowley Falls. No, be nice. She’s a poor—well, a rich—old lady with no one to care for her. What else does she have but her pretensions?

“But you don’t want to buy. Very wise, I think,” Hilda said. “I know that the upkeep here drives Sarah to distraction at times.”

“But it must be so much easier here, when the burden is shared,” Miranda said.

Oh my God. It hit Sarah like the proverbial ton of bricks. Of course. Miranda was angling for an invitation to move in.

But why would Miranda want to live here? Sarah stared at her, fascinated as a snake watching a snake charmer, and realized that it was simple. Miranda was lonely.

“Oh, Miranda, don’t be silly,” Violet tittered. “I don’t share any of the work. Hilda, and Sarah, of course, are just doing me the greatest favor by letting me live here.”

“But you must pay them something,” Miranda said, making a kind of question out of it.

“Well, I share expenses, of course, but it’s not like rent, or anything, because I don’t know how legal that would be, and I certainly don’t want to get Hilda and Sarah in any kind of trouble when they’re doing me such a favor, and it’s really so wonderful to be here. And I can give them extra money as a non-taxable gift. Rob explained that all to me. So you see, it all works out.”

“I see.” Miranda’s scowl deepened.

Sarah frowned and wondered if Miranda had planned to blackmail her way in if all else failed. The thought wiped out some of the pity she’d been feeling.

“Oh! Hilda, Sarah, you must say if you thing this is a bad idea,” Violet burbled. “But why couldn’t Miranda move in here? There are several empty bedrooms on the second floor, and an extra bathroom, and oh, Miranda, wouldn’t it be delightful to have you here? Just like the sleep-overs we had when we were schoolgirls. I know you’re looking for someplace more elegant, but this really is quite comfortable, and it’s so wonderful here...” Violet ran out of breath and looked around with wide eyes.

The silence that followed was anything but comfortable. Sarah closed her eyes, imagining Miranda in the house twenty-four seven. No. No, no, a thousand times no. But the money... She opened her eyes and looked at her mother.

“Well, that certainly is an idea, Violet,” Hilda said. “But Miranda is used to far more luxury than she would find here.”

“This is a very comfortable house, Hilda,” Miranda said. “Nothing like Crowley House was, of course, but quite one of the nicest homes in Crowley Falls.” She did that looking-down-the-nose thing again, the one that drove Sarah up the wall. “Very comfortable indeed.”

After an uncomfortable pause, Hilda said, “Miranda, do you actually want to move in here? You’ve never had a kind word to say about this house, as I recall.”

Good Heavens. Was Miranda blushing? Hard to tell under all the powder on her face, but Sarah thought she just might be.

“Perhaps I was a bit hasty, Hilda,” she said now.

Sarah was afraid she would choke on the words. It was the closest thing to an apology anyone had ever heard from Miranda Hogbinder. “But what about Fred and Casey? They are part of the family here, you know.” She looked up and met her mother’s gaze. Damn Violet anyway. They should have had a chance to discuss this. At length. In private.

Hilda raised one eyebrow.

“Fred and Casey? Oh, yes.” Miranda paused and Sarah thought she looked uncertain. “But of course they are. Such well-trained animals are a joy to be around.”

Sarah swallowed a snort. When she’d come in, Miranda had whisked her skirt away from Casey as though the dog were rabid, and she’d walked a wide circle around Fred.

“Of course I would expect to make a small contribution to expenses. Not rent, of course, but...” Miranda named a figure that sounded like a small fortune.

Sarah thought about the pile of bills on her desk, about the new stack of bills that would come with Christine’s baby. “It’s your decision, of course, Mama,” she said, but she nodded. Just a tiny tilt of her head, and just once, but enough to seal their fate.

“Of course you’d be welcome, Miranda,” Hilda said. “And if you’re not comfortable here, you could find something better at your leisure.”

“How very kind of you, Hilda,” Miranda said. “Do you know, I think that is rather a good idea. Yes, I believe I would like to come here. Just as a trial, of course.”

Sarah and her mother exchanged glances. Yeah, right. Once Miranda had her foot in the door and her belongings upstairs, she’d probably be here forever.

****

“So today’s the day, huh?” Beth said over the breakfast table two weeks later.

Sarah set an omelet in front of her and turned away to get the toast. “Yep.”

“You’ll excuse me if I eat and run, then. You know Queen Miranda the Only. She’ll have me carrying a piano or something if I stay.”

“She’s not bringing any furniture.”

“Right. And then there would be all the insults.”

“Coward. Anyway, you don’t have to rush. She isn’t due until ten.”

“And I’ll bet anything she’ll be early.”

“Oh, Beth. Help me here. This isn’t fun.”

“I’m sure. But I have to run. I hope Rob will be here to help.”

Sarah shook her head. “Out of town.”

Beth frowned. “Well, good luck. You’re gonna need it. Anyway, it’s nine fifteen. I’m outta here.”

Sarah’s hopes that Beth had been wrong about Miranda’s intentions were shattered at nine thirty, when a huge moving truck pulled into the driveway.

“Oh, dear.” Her mother came out on to the porch and stood at Sarah’s side. “I was afraid of this.”

Thank goodness this was one of her mother’s good days. “I thought you talked to her.”

“I did, of course. She agreed to put most of her furniture in storage, and I agreed to let the movers clear the Frau Karl rooms to make room for a few of her pieces.”

“I think you and Miranda might have different definitions of ‘a few,’” Sarah said. “And why are you giving her all three rooms? Violet only has one.”

“No one is using those rooms, dear, and our furniture can easily go in the attic. Not to mention the fact that Miranda agreed to pay a great deal extra to have the other two rooms and her own furniture. I would imagine she’ll describe it as a suite.”

Sarah gazed at the wicked glint in her mother’s eyes and the little smile that turned up one corner of her mouth in an expression that could only be described as sneaky. “Well, aren’t you the Machiavellian one? And just how much extra is she paying? And were you going to tell me about this?”

“Of course. And I was going to tell you as soon as I could do it privately. I don’t want Violet to feel badly because she’s paying so much less than Miranda.”

“I would think it would be more important to keep the Queen Bee from finding out that she’s paying more than Violet,” Sarah observed, visualizing the possible tantrum.

“Oh, she knows,” her mother said.

“She knows? What could possibly make her accept that?”

Hilda smiled, a gentle, self-satisfied curve of her mouth. “Well, of course having three rooms is bound to cost more. Or possibly it could have something to do with the little talk that we had, in which I convinced her that she was doing a noble thing, helping her good but somewhat impoverished friend.”

Sarah closed her mouth with a snap. “Unbelievable. You got Miranda Hogbinder to do something generous?”

“You’re being unfair. She’s always generous to friends. And of course, she’s not really renting a room from us. She’s generously helping with household expenses.”

“She’s only generous if she gets enough good press out of it.”

Hilda smiled.

“Well, good job, Mama. Now I’d better go do something about the furniture upstairs.” Because Sarah surely didn’t want to be the one who confronted the dragon and told her she couldn’t have it all. Geez, it looked like the woman was planning to furnish the whole house.

Sarah cravenly melted back indoors, leaving her mother to deal with Miranda, and took two movers upstairs to show them the rooms to be cleared, and the attic. She stayed to make sure they treated the old furniture with at least a little of the respect it deserved.

Hilda and Miranda were sitting on the porch when Sarah came back down with the moving men, who went out to the truck to start unloading.

“So you see, Miranda,” her mother was saying. “This arrangement will work very nicely for you, but if you put all of that furniture upstairs, you’d have to crawl across several tables and a sofa to get to your bed.”

“Well, if the rooms were a decent size,” Miranda huffed, “Like Crowley Hall...”

“But of course they’re not,” Sarah’s mother said smoothly. “Such a shame, but I know the moving company has storage for antiques.”

“I thought some of it could go in the living room. After all, these are, as you said, antiques, and they’d be ever so much more lovely than the things you have.”

Apparently only Sarah noticed the quiver of her mother’s nostrils .

“Miranda,” Sarah’s mother said in the quiet voice that Sarah had always dreaded. Sarah backed into the hall.

“Now, Hilda.”

“No. Perhaps it’s best that we have an explicit agreement, Miranda. You know that I will not allow you to run rough shod over me, or to change things in my house.”

Sarah knew the look that went with that voice. Stern, implacable, immovable. She had never in her life been able to get her own way when it was turned on her. And amazingly, Miranda Hogbinder had the same reaction.

Sarah had to hand it to her mother. Just a few quiet words and Miranda was standing on the sidewalk pointing out which pieces were to come into the house and which were to go into storage.

Sarah tiptoed out onto the porch. “How do you do that, Mama?”

“Do what, dear?” Her mother’s innocent question was belied by her smug smile. When Sarah folded her arms and waited, she added, “Miranda and I have some history, you know.”

This was interesting. “I know you went to kindergarten together. Is there more? Stuff no one else knows?”

“Of course everyone knows. They’ve just mostly forgotten.” At Sarah’s raised eyebrow, her mother leaned closer and whispered, “I punched her lights out in second grade.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped. “You?” she gasped.

“And don’t you forget it.” Hilda laughed at her astonished expression. She struggled to her feet and wobbled into the house, leaving Sarah stunned in the porch swing.

That had been such a normal exchange, her mother at her witty and sparkling best. Nothing like the vacant-eyed woman who had labored to conceal that she’d forgotten her daughter’s job only a few days ago.

****

Two days later, George Arliss came striding up to the back door, Casey bouncing around him, barking and wagging a welcome. Sarah saw him from where she stood at the kitchen sink, and his grim expression sent her heart plummeting to where her boots would have been if she hadn’t been barefoot. Quickly, she dried her hands and went to let him in.

“Morning, Uncle George,” she said. “Coffee?”

“Please.” He sat heavily at the table, Casey curled at his feet and Fred taking instant advantage of the lap. Sarah set a steaming mug in front of him and turned to get cream from the refrigerator.

“Sit down, Sarah. I got to talk to you.”

“Official?”

“’Fraid so.” He poured a dollop of cream and stirred, not looking at her. “Miranda Hogbinder and Violet Henderson live with you now, right?”

“You know they do.” She closed her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“Well.” He drew the word out into three syllables. “Could be, Sarah, could be. I’ve had a complaint that you’re running an unlicensed nursing home here.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” she said, squeezing the words past the ball of panic in her throat. “You know better than that.”

“Acourse I do. But it’s an official complaint, so I’ve got to investigate and make an official report. With any luck that’ll keep the state licensing board out of it.”

A vision of huge fines levied by unsympathetic, hatchet-faced and hatchet-wielding bureaucrats loomed large in her mind. “But who would do that?” Homer Macklin’s vindictive face rose in her mind.

“Now, honey, you know I can’t tell you.”

Sarah sighed. “I know. And you don’t have to. I appreciate you doing this yourself instead of sending one of your men.” Appreciation wouldn’t keep her from staying awake nights worrying, though.

“So what kind of arrangement do you have with Violet and Miranda? Oh, and Christine, too. She wasn’t mentioned in the complaint, but we might as well get it all ironed out right now.” His gaze sharpened. “She isn’t under age, is she?”

“Well, I can’t prove it, but she swears up and down that she’s eighteen, and her driver’s license agrees.”

“Thank goodness for small favors. What about the other two?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re both over eighteen.”

“Sarah.”

“They help with household expenses. And they each give Mama some money as a non-taxable gift.”

“You don’t charge them rent?”

“No. I checked on line to see what might be legal and sharing expenses seems to be at least quasi-legal.”

“And you don’t provide any care?”

“No. Anyway, the only one here who needs much care is my mother, and I can’t believe anyone’s going to tell me that taking care of her is illegal.”

“Of course not,” George soothed. “Now give me details. What do you do for them, and what do they do in return?”

Everything, and precious little, respectively, but she shouldn’t be cynical. So she explained in detail about sharing expenses, and cooking and cleaning.

“Well, Sarah,” George said when she’d dragged out every detail of their lives. “I reckon that’ll do. But you’d better get a good tax lawyer to go over your returns from now on. If I know Ho—” He broke off with a cough. “The complainant, that is, he’ll try siccing the IRS on you next.”

“Well, thanks, Uncle George. That should help me sleep nights. Thank heavens I don’t cheat on my taxes.”

“I figured you didn’t. Just be extra careful from now on.”

“Do you think he’s really going to be able to make trouble for us?”

“Nope. I’m going to write a report that will keep Social Services in Susanville where they belong, and out of Crowley Falls. Don’t reckon they’ll pay any attention to Ho—him if he files any more complaints.”

“Thanks.” And she was grateful.

And scared.

****

A few days later, the chime of the front door bell startled Sarah. Not many people used the front door these days. Probably a salesman. She padded barefoot down the hall and opened the door. If it had been Santa Claus or the devil himself she couldn’t have been more surprised. “Mr. Macklin!”

Reluctantly, she pushed the screen open in tacit invitation to enter.

“No, thank you,” he said, somehow managing to suggest that he would rather wade into a garbage dump than enter her house.

Well, okay. So much for being polite. Sarah let the screen swing closed between them and waited.

“I understand that your old family friend, the chief of police, has managed to keep you out of trouble this time.”

“Oh, you mean those unsupported charges about me running a nursing home? How ever did you hear about that?”

“I want you to be aware, Miss Gault, that your future actions will be watched.”

“By you? Why? I’m not your employee any more. Not that that would give you the right to ‘watch my actions.’”

“You were in my employ for fifteen years. If you are arrested, it would reflect badly on the company.”

Tough. “And you expect me to care? Anyway, you fired me. That should get you off the hook. But perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me why you are so intent on persecuting me.”

He drew himself up to his full, meager height. “I certainly am not persecuting you.”

“You opposed hiring me. As soon as your partners were gone, you began putting a steady stream of bogus complaints in my personnel file. You fired me. Now you’re filing charges against me because of Violet and Miranda. What is your problem?”

He took a step backward.

“Is this some kind of vendetta against me? Against my mother? What?”

His face might have been carved of stone, it was so expressionless.

“What’s next, the IRS?”

By the way he flinched, she knew that’s just what he intended.

“What are you shouting about, Sarah?”

Oh, great. Violet was just what the situation needed.

“My goodness. Homer. What are you doing here?” Violet said. “I didn’t think you’d ever set foot in this house again, not after the way Eldon—”

Macklin turned red, turned on his heel, and fled.