“’Scuse me, sir,” Goran Pittlani spoke in his low, clear voice. “I was wondering if you want me to finish tilling along the fence or start on the kitchen garden in back? Ginny has been nagging me to plant lettuce. What do you say?”
Thinking it was a rather weak reason for the interruption and wondering how long the hired help had been standing at the front door listening to them, Edna was surprised when Stephen replied in an almost subdued manner. Was his arrogance reserved only for women?
“My wife is the authority when it comes to the grounds.” Turning to Peg, he raised an eyebrow. “Margaret?”
When his attention had been momentarily distracted, Edna had caught a motion to her right and flicked her eyes in time to see Peg slip the brooch into a pocket of her slacks. Out of sight, out of mind, Edna wondered before she glanced back at the gardener who was also looking at Peg with raised eyebrows.
Impertinent, Edna thought as Peg responded to the gardener. “That will be fine, Goran. Start on the kitchen garden. The other plots can wait until Virginia’s vegetables and herbs are in.”
With only a slight nod to acknowledge the order, Goran turned on his heel and headed out the way he’d come. How the world has changed since Peg’s mother’s day, Edna thought, watching the front door close with a loud click. Mrs. Graystocking’s gardener would never have entered through the front door and without even knocking.
Stephen’s interest returned to his wife. He studied her silently, apparently waiting for her to give him the brooch, although he didn’t go so far as to hold out his hand again.
After what seemed an interminable pause, Peg, who had been watching the front door as if wishing it would open again, finally returned his stare. Whatever humor had been left of the morning was gone.
“I am going to keep Mother’s pin with me for now, Stephen,” she spoke defiantly. “This is not a matter of worth. It’s a matter of sentiment. You might not understand, but I wish to have something of Mother’s, something personal, that I can touch and look at whenever I feel like it. You have all the other jewelry. I want this.”
“You can examine and touch everything we have at the bank, anytime. You know that.”
“Visiting possessions in a vault is not the same as having them here at home. Occasionally, I’d like to try something on with an outfit. If it doesn’t suit, I’d like the opportunity to pick out something else, without having to traipse to the bank. I don’t want to have to remember what was in Mother’s or my collection that might go with a particular dress or blouse. I want the option of changing my mind about what I might wear. Why can’t you understand that?” Peg’s voice broke slightly with her last words.
“You’re becoming emotional, Margaret. Pull yourself together. We will discuss this in my office ... privately.” This last was spoken with the briefest of glances at Edna.
She was certain Peg did not want to discuss the matter any further, but she heard her say, “I do not want to leave Edna lying alone in our foyer. I’ll go ask Virginia to come out here.”
“What difference does it make if she lies here alone or not?” He sounded annoyed at the delay.
“The difference is she might have a back spasm, if nothing worse.” Peg drew a deep breath before adding more calmly. “If you need to get to the bank, we can discuss Mother’s brooch another time.”
“Oh, very well. Go get Virginia. I’ll be in my office, but I don’t have all day, Margaret. I want to settle this before I leave.”
He must have turned his back because Edna saw Peg stick out her tongue. They both suppressed laughter as Peg glanced down at Edna and winked before heading off toward the kitchen.
Thank goodness, a spark of humor had returned. What was it about this morning that sent both of us back to our college days, Edna wondered. Was it the absurdity of her getting stuck in the fence or was it Stephen’s stiff, headmaster attitude that had them feeling like rebellious young girls? Lying on her back in the middle of the Bishops’ entryway, she could not decide.
Peg returned a few minutes later with Virginia Hoxie, a large, plain-looking woman who had been working for the Graystockings ever since Edna had known Peg.
“Hello, Virginia,” Edna greeted the woman from her position on the floor as if nothing were amiss.
“My goodness, Mrs. Davies.” Virginia gaped. “What have you gone and done to yourself?”
“Just a little back strain. I’ll be right as rain very soon.”
Peg motioned to the chair she had earlier brought from the dining room. “Sit here, Virginia, and entertain Ed while I go speak with Stephen, will you? I shouldn’t be long, but if she begins to feel worse in any way, come and get me immediately.”
“Right you are, Mrs. Bishop.” Virginia lowered her ample body onto the seat, nearly obscuring the chair from Edna’s view. “I’ll keep a close eye on her. Don’t you worry none.”
The ensuing silence was broken only by the sound of Stephen’s office door closing with a soft snick as the latch fell into place behind Peg.
As if she weren’t lying on the floor or Virginia staring down at her, Edna said, “How are you these days, Virginia. It seems ages since we’ve had a chance to talk.”
“I’ve been just fine, Mrs. Davies.” Peg’s housekeeper gently patted the left side of her chest. “Except for watching my old ticker, the doc says I’m fit as a fiddle.”
“Oh,” Edna was immediately concerned. “Have you been having heart trouble?”
“Nah. Doc says I should take it easy because I had rheumatic fever as a kid, but I’m okay as long as I don’t run any marathon races.” The plump Virginia chuckled at her own joke.
Searching for a happier topic, Edna said, “How long have you been with Peg?”
The woman smiled, obviously happy to talk about herself. “Fifty-two years, come June,” she said with a hint of pride. “My first job after graduating from high school. Mrs. Bishop was two years behind me.”
“That would have been the summer she broke her leg.” Edna remembered Peg making light of what was probably a painful and boring few months between her sophomore and junior years.
“Ay-yup,” Virginia answered, sounding like the old Yankee she was. “I was right there when she had her bicycle accident. Saw the kid who ran her down with his motor bike. He thought he was hot stuff, closing in on a pretty girl riding a two-wheeler, but he startled her so, she steered her bicycle straight off into a ditch. I ran to Miller’s store, yelling at them to call an ambulance and the police.”
“I didn’t know you were the one who saved her life,” Edna said, surprised to make the connection with a story Peg had told her years ago. Apparently, she had not only broken her leg, but also had gone into shock from internal injuries caused when she’d been pitched onto the upturned handle bars. Had it not been for her rescuer’s quick action, Peg could have died.
“Oh, pshaw,” Virginia said, turning pink with pleasure. “I’m sure someone would have come along, if I hadn’t been there.”
“But didn’t you also identify her attacker so the police could arrest him?”
“Well, yes,” Virginia admitted, pride winning out over humility.
“So that’s when you started working for the Graystockings.”
“That’s right. I was hired as a sort of personal maid for Mrs. Bishop, or Miss Graystocking, as she was then. I looked after her until she mended and went back to school that fall. Lucky for me, the upstairs maid ran off with her sailor boyfriend about that time, so I took her place. I had no real experience in anything and never had marriage prospects, so I count myself among the fortunate that a job came along when it did.”
While Virginia talked, Edna thought that, as many times as Peg or she asked Virginia to use their first names, the woman never dropped the formality of the “Mrs.” Now, Edna wondered if it might be because Virginia was in awe of the title, never having assumed it herself. A commotion behind her interrupted Edna’s speculations.
Stephen’s office door opened ab
ruptly, and his voice echoed around the large, high-ceilinged foyer. “You’ll regret it, Margaret.”
The words, so tight with emotion, sent a shiver down Edna’s spine. What was it besides anger? Fear? Was he that afraid someone would come into the house to steal an old brooch, valuable as it might be? Wouldn’t that presuppose word would get around of its existence? How absurd he’s being. Her concern turned to annoyance that Stephen could take such a pleasurable thing as Peg finding a treasure of her mother’s and turn it into a bitter quarrel. Honestly, the man should be shot, she thought.
At that moment, Peg stepped into view and spoke softly to Virginia. “Please take this back to the kitchen and don’t let Stephen know you have it.” Since Peg’s back was to Stephen’s office, Edna imagined he wouldn’t see his wife slip the pin to Virginia or hear the whispered instruction.
Chapter Three
Good old Virginia. As the housekeeper rose, she surreptitiously dropped the brooch into an apron pocket, asking at the same time, “Shall I help you get Mrs. Davies up off the floor, Mrs. Bishop?”
“No. Thank you, Virginia. We can manage.” After watching the woman disappear through the dining room and into the kitchen, Peg bent over Edna. “Do you think you’re ready to get up?”
Even if her back hadn’t been feeling better, Edna would have made a supreme effort to rise. She’d had quite enough of people coming and going and talking above her. She was beginning to feel like a part of the rug.
Taking hold of Peg’s hand, she had reached a sitting position when she heard Stephen shut the door to his office, turn a key in the lock and stride heavily across the parquet floor. She caught a quick glimpse of his back as he slammed out the front door without uttering a word. She looked up at her friend. “Very childish behavior,” she said, ignoring her own behavior of only moments before. “I don’t know how you put up with him. Is he that upset just because you didn’t want him to take your Mother’s pin to the bank?”
“Oh, he’s blown things all out of proportion.” Peg replied, helping Edna to stand. The concern on her face belied the lightness of her tone. More seriously, she said, “He had an odd reaction when he saw the brooch, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for an answer before adding, “I can’t put my finger on just what it was. I felt as though he recognized it, but he couldn’t have. It was stolen … lost, I mean, long before we met.”
Edna noticed the slip and wasn’t about to let her friend glide over it. “You said ‘stolen,’ Peg, and you yourself have been acting strange since I spotted that darn thing. What is the matter? What’s this all about?”
Ignoring her questions, Peg continued with her own string of thoughts, “He’s not been himself for several months, but he refuses to talk about it. Keeps denying anything’s wrong. Frankly, I’m getting tired of being his punching bag. Figuratively speaking, of course,” she amended hurriedly, probably seeing Edna’s eyes widen in alarm.
“How are you and Stephen getting on?” The hint of all not being well prompted Edna to pry.
“Some days better than others.”
A non-answer, Edna thought. That was true of most relationships. She waited. She knew her friend well enough to realize Peg had more to say and would do so in her own good time.
Peg lifted the chair and returned it to its place near the wall before she turned and spoke. “Sometimes I think I married Stephen because he was so different from Joey.” She gave a shaky laugh as tears brimmed in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. Pulling a tissue from a pocket, she dabbed at her eyes. “Joey was so impetuous, such a spendthrift, I used to worry all the time that we’d lose this house.”
“When, in fact, he left you better off than ever,” Edna interjected.
“Yes,” Peg said, smiling through her tears. “Isn’t it ironic? I’d trade all of it to have him back. That stupid accident ...”
Edna thought it best not to dwell on the automobile accident that had claimed Joey’s life. She patted her friend’s arm. “But we can’t see into the future. You had reason to worry when Joey was spending so recklessly. After all, this house has been in your family for five generations and ninety percent of the furnishings have been accumulated by your predecessors.”
Peg nodded. “And I do so want to leave it intact for Geoffrey and his children. Since they’re expecting their fourth, it looks like the family will go on for a while. It’s taking more money than ever to keep this old boat afloat, so I’ll want to leave him plenty.”
Hoping to keep Peg from getting too maudlin, Edna hurriedly said, “You don’t have to worry for a very long time.”
“We’re getting up there, aren’t we.” The question was rhetorical.
“Sixty-eight isn’t so old,” Edna insisted, pretending indignation.
Peg giggled. “Who would have thought a man ten years my junior would have asked me to marry him.”
“Well, why not,” Edna exclaimed. “You’re still a very attractive woman who doesn’t look anywhere near her age. Stephen is a lucky man.”
It was true. Peg had kept her slender figure and, with the help of her hairdresser, her strawberry-blonde hair which she always wore up in a French twist. Her skin, smooth and nearly unlined, was as free of blemishes as when she was twenty. Edna was sure strangers who saw them together would think her older. She’d let her curls go gray and had to watch her weight regularly, but she didn’t resent her friend. They had been too close for too long to hold petty jealousies. These thoughts went fleeting through her mind before she stopped them both from becoming overly sentimental.
“I hadn’t planned on this surprise visit, so I’ve probably upset your morning’s schedule. Let me hobble back to the car and get out of your hair.”
Peg laughed and protested. “Oh, Ed, since when do you need an invitation to stop by? Next time, though, you might try just walking up to the door and ringing the bell.” Brushing her hand lightly over Edna’s shoulders to smooth the dress, she went on, “As for my schedule, I have nothing better planned for today than to watch Goran till garden plots. It’s probably better that I spend time with you than stand over his shoulder while he churns up the lawn. Joey is probably rolling over in his grave at the destruction of his beautiful grass. Remember how he liked having the entire yard free of obstacles when he had to do the mowing?”
Edna chuckled at a memory of Peg’s first husband racing around on his ride-on lawn mower. “He certainly had fun trying to break speed records for cutting the grass.”
Smiling ruefully, Peg shoved her hands into the pockets of her khaki slacks. “I miss him, Ed, but not his nerve-wracking pranks or his hair-brained schemes.” Shaking her head as if to clear the memory, she voiced the first doubt Edna had heard about the latest project. “I hope all this turmoil will be worth it. The gardens were so beautiful when Mother was alive. I hope I can make them look half as lovely, especially since I’ll have to substitute for varieties no longer available.”
“I’m sure they’ll look wonderful, Peg, and keep an open mind. You don’t have to be exact, you know. There are so many new hybrids from which to choose. A mixture of new and old will make it a combination of your garden and your mother’s.” Feeling better now that she was able to stand upright, Edna stepped over to a wall mirror near the front door and poked a few loose curls into place, preparing to leave.
“Do stay for lunch, Ed. I know you said you were on your way to the Art Club, but the exhibition will be there for another three weeks, and I’d like to show you the design I made for the herb garden from those old photos I found.”
Edna turned, tempted by the offer. “I’d love to see your designs and the old pictures. You said your father took them?”
“I think he must have. At least, most of them. They’re a bit faded, I’m afraid, which is why I’d like you to look at them, too. I could use a second opinion in identifying some of the plants.”
“That sounds like fun, Peg. And lunch sounds good, too, if it won’t be any trouble.”
&
nbsp; “Not at all. You know Virginia. She always cooks too much. Still thinks I need fattening up. I’m sure there’ll be plenty for both of us without her having to do a thing but put out an extra plate.” Looping her arm through Edna’s, she said, “Maybe you could talk with Goran afterwards. Give him some pointers.”
Edna chuckled self-consciously at the implied praise. “If he’s a professional gardener, I’m sure it’s he who could give me some instruction, rather than the other way round. I can hardly be called an expert when I’ve been working with herbs barely a year.” She allowed Peg to pull her toward the kitchen.
“Well, you’ve got those old journals of Mrs. Rabichek’s, not to mention her plants, a shed full of remedies and rafters dripping with bunches of dried stalks.”
Peg’s words brought images to Edna’s mind of the abundant gardens surrounding the house that she and Albert had bought the summer before. The previous owner, having moved to a retirement community near Salem, Massachusetts, to be closer to her children, had left behind several hand-written notebooks and many apothecary bottles, filled and carefully labeled. Full of notes and recipes, the journals had inspired Edna to learn all she could about the plants and shrubs she’d inherited. Already an excellent cook, she was enthusiastically combining her new knowledge with old skills, a hobby that had almost landed her in prison for murder the previous fall. She shuddered at the thought and quickly put it from her mind, as she turned her attention back to the present.
The two women settled themselves at the kitchen table in the solarium extension of the kitchen at the rear of the house, in front of wide windows with a view to the back yard where the Bishop’s gardener was busily rototilling patches of earth in an otherwise manicured lawn. As Peg had predicted, Virginia had enough split pea soup to feed half a dozen very hungry people. She served the hearty, homemade soup with squares of hot corn bread and a small lettuce salad before announcing she was off to the grocery store, if they didn’t need her for anything else.