Time Is a River (26 page)

T
he rain persisted through the afternoon and into the evening. Mia prowled the cabin, restless after her visit with Maddie. She missed her already and kept checking her watch, wondering if Maddie had made it home all right in the rain. Her cell phone was useless in the cabin and she couldn’t climb the white rocks in the rain. After a light dinner of leftovers she went upstairs to the garret and found some comfort lying on the new bed she’d bought for her sister and read Kate’s diary for the hundredth time. But she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Her mind kept drifting back to her conversation with Maddie.

Mia was disturbed by her sister’s honest portrayal of the pre-cancer Mia. Her sister had been nearer to the truth than she cared to admit. But Maddie had no idea what a roller coaster her body and emotions had been on. Her sister was forty-two and hadn’t gone through menopause yet. Even though Mia was only thirty-eight, the chemo treatments had brought on its symptoms. She no longer felt as young and attractive as she did before the cancer. On the other hand, Maddie was right that she was too young to write off any intimacy. For a long while she’d had no interest. Now she had hope, especially lately, that her body was reawakening. When she was with Stuart her senses were heightened and her sexual desire went to hyperdrive.

That night she fell asleep upstairs, wrapped in the new crazy quilt. But her dreams were old ones, filled with searching and longing, and they had her tangled up in her sheets. Sometime before dawn she woke, groggy and thirsty. She lifted herself on her elbows and tried to sew together the elusive pieces of her dreams. Stuart was there, and Charles. She was fighting her way through thick fog, both chasing someone and being chased. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the sense of it already slipping away. The pale light of approaching dawn poured through the row of windows, coloring the wood floors pewter gray. Mia rose and made her way down the narrow stairs to the bathroom, then to her own bed.

When Mia woke later, the light at her windows was bright and she heard the chattering of birds in the trees. Yawning, she stretched, knowing without looking at a clock that it was late. She smiled as she kicked off her sheets, then lay flat on her mattress, her legs and arms spread wide while the soft morning breeze slid like water over her skin. For months after her surgery she’d felt perpetually tired. Even though she slept a lot, she never felt rested. How delicious it was to lie here feeling thoroughly refreshed, she thought. She reached up to run her hands through her hair, then let her finger slide down her neck and down her chest.

Maddie had called her beautiful, she recalled with wonder. In the light of morning, Mia believed her.

She rose, bathed, and dressed in her usual khaki shorts and cotton shirt. Then, grabbing her purse, she drove directly to Watkins Mill. She parked in front of Shaffer’s and followed the scent of coffee and hot bread and chocolate into the bakery. The bell chimed but she didn’t hear Becky’s cheery greeting. Glancing to the back, she saw that Becky wasn’t sitting in her usual spot at the post office counter.

“Hey, Katherine,” she said as she came to the glass counter.

Katherine spun around from the coffee machine. “Morning, Mia,” she called back with her mother’s smile. “Sorry, I was fighting this damn machine.”

“Where’s your mom this morning?”

“She has a doctor’s appointment today.” Mia’s face must have shown her worry because Katherine followed up with, “No need to worry. It’s just the usual. But the doctor wants her to take it easier. Not push herself so hard.”

“This is the first time I’ve walked in here and didn’t hear her call out my name. Does she want visitors?”

“Maybe not today. Those appointments wear her out.” Katherine’s bright smile wobbled, but she rallied. “Want your usual coffee?”

“Thanks,” Mia replied. She would respect Katherine’s request but follow up tomorrow. She looked down through the glass at the pastries. The selection had dwindled this late in the morning but there were a few of the day’s special bismarck left.

She carried her pastry and coffee to a table for her late breakfast and phone calls. She took a bite of the bismarck, licked the chocolate icing from her fingers, then checked her cell phone. Multiple voice mails awaited her.

Beep.

Hi, baby sis. Well, I’m home. I was lucky and only caught up with the storm when I hit Summerville. I had such a great time this weekend. We’ll have to make a trip to the mountains a yearly event for sisterly bonding. Call me.

Beep.

Mia, this is Charles. Just checking to make sure the money transfer went through all right. Listen, we’d really like to hang on to the Pratt-Thomas marsh painting. I think it’s only fair that I keep one and since we bought that one together and well, it looks so great where it is, I’d really like to have it. Let’s talk.

Mia cursed under her breath. Of all the contents in the condo, including the china, crystal, and heirloom silver, she’d wanted only the paintings. She didn’t think that was asking much. Art was her passion and Charles didn’t know a thing about art. It wasn’t like they were museum-quality paintings that were worth a fortune. Most of the paintings were done by local artists she knew and admired, so each addition to her collection was personal. That particular marsh painting depicted a moody view of the marsh at sunset and was her favorite. It was also the largest. It hung over their fireplace mantel in the living room. And he’d said “
We’d
like to hang on to it.” Mia snorted. If Charles was going to start backpedaling on the agreed-upon divorce settlement, she’d have to get a lawyer, she thought with resignation.

Beep.

Hello, Mrs. Landan? This is Lucy Roosevelt, Mrs. Minor’s granddaughter. She’s feeling poorly. I don’t reckon you should come by today. Is tomorrow OK?

Beep.

Morning, Mia. It’s Flossie. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner about that dinner. Why don’t you come by Thursday night? About seven? I haven’t forgotten about that pie, neither.

Beep.

Hi, Mia. Stuart here. I followed up with the front desk at the Manor House about seeing the murals. The couple in the room is checking out today. So if you’re free sometime after three o’clock, I can bring you up for a look-see. Call me when you think you can come. Oh, and put on a pretty dress. I’d like to take you out to dinner. We have a four-star restaurant here.

She pushed save with a smile. That message brought the sun back into her day after Charles’s dark cloud. Then she realized she didn’t have a pretty dress up here. Glancing at her watch, she figured she’d have just enough time to buy a dress, do her errands, catch up with Nada at the
Gazette
, and make it to Watkins Lodge before five.

It was nearly five o’clock when Mia passed through a security gate onto the grounds of Watkins Lodge. It was an impressive country estate with a rolling green lawn, meticulously maintained with large beds of flowers. The humidity had subsided so she rolled down her windows to the sweet-scented air. She breathed deep as she drove the narrow, paved road past a medley of historic trees. At the beginning of summer she couldn’t have named one. Now she identified each one she passed: beech, sugar maple, tulip poplar, hemlock, Fraser fir. She made a wide curve around a hillside, catching a glimpse of water. Then suddenly before her, rising above a still, blue lake, loomed the steeply pitched, gabled roofline of the Manor House.

The Queen Anne estate sat on top of the hillside like the grande dame of Watkins Mill that she was. The mansion was romantic in design but not fanciful, elegant but not pretentious, regal yet harmonious with her natural surroundings. Ancient magnolias were her ladies-in-waiting, tall, proud, and glossy with creamy white blossoms to adorn the front entrance. An imposing porte cochere that once upon a time gave shelter to carriages that delivered guests to the Watkinses’ events now served as the lobby entrance for the Manor House. Behind the house on another hillside she saw a much larger, newer wood-and-stone building. This was Watkins Lodge. To the left of the house was a stone carriage house that was under reconstruction. She supposed that was where Stuart’s Orvis shop would be located.

She pulled up under the portico and had no sooner turned off the engine when a uniformed attendant trotted to her door. It had been a very long time since she’d lived in the world of doormen, attendants, maids, and maître d’s, and she cursed herself for not washing her mud-streaked Jetta. Slightly embarrassed, she handed over the keys, then took a deep breath and climbed the stone steps to the front porch.

She stepped inside and instantly felt transported back into the previous century. Straight ahead a very wide, bold staircase of dark wood rose to a half landing under a skylight. Rich tapestries, carpets, and upholstery fabrics in gold and neutral tones appeared burnished against the highly polished floors. She could smell the lemon soap and the pungent, clean scent of eucalyptus from the glorious spray floral arrangement at the front desk.

“May I help you?” an attractive young woman at the desk asked.

She opened her mouth to speak when she heard Stuart’s voice behind her.

“That’s all right, Victoria. She’s with me.”

Mia turned to see Stuart, and yet it wasn’t. She had to do a double take at seeing him in his dress trousers, an ironed tartan plaid shirt, and a green tie. He smiled and as always her gaze was directed to his eyes. They shone with appraisal.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

Mia basked in the compliment. Earlier that day she’d shopped at the only women’s clothing store in Watkins Mill. The salesclerk was a young woman about Mia’s age, and when Mia told her she needed a dress for dinner, something classic and not showy, the salesclerk brightened. She hurried to the rear of the store, where long dresses with sequins and satin bows hung. Mia’s heart sank, expecting to see something fit for a mother of the bride or a prom.

“I thought of this dress the moment I saw you. It’s very Audrey Hepburn,” the clerk exclaimed as she carried out a slim-cut, black, sleeveless, silk sheath dress. Mia tried it on and felt as chic as Audrey wearing it. She bought the dress and black strappy heels, and, at the clerk’s insistence, a strand of faux pearls. Before ringing up the sale, the clever clerk showed her a rose-colored pashmina shawl. “The nights get cool in the mountains,” she warned. Mia bought that, too.

She fingered the pearls and looked around the entrance. “It’s a magnificent house,” she said. “Much more grand than I’d expected. I can’t help but imagine how Kate and Walter must have felt living here.”

“Did you catch the view they had?”

“The lake? I did, it’s lovely. Is it stocked?”

“What do you think?” He took her elbow. “Let me show you around.”

He escorted her through the rooms of the main floor.

“I talked to the manager to get a little history. They gave me this,” he said, handing her a four-color brochure depicting the history of the property. “In a nutshell, this house has eight bedrooms. The lodge has another fifty and there are condominiums on the other side of the lake.”

“I had no idea it was so big.”

“They’ve been mindful of keeping the essence of the estate as true to the original as possible. A lot of the land was put into conservation. That was a condition of the sale, I believe. This is the library,” he said, guiding her to a wood-paneled room with arched, paned windows that overlooked the grounds.

Mia imagined she was Kate, born at the turn of the century and living here as mistress of the house at the height of the town’s wealth and social life. She would have walked into this room to speak with her father in his paneled library. She’d have read Mr. Nelson’s letter of introduction for DeLancey in the living room, perhaps sitting on the blue velvet sofa. The Queen Anne house was asymmetrical. She enjoyed the surprise patios, balconies, and window seats.

Stuart took her for a walk through the house gardens and across the small footbridge that led to the lake. A pair of white swans glided across the serene water against the bluish-black mountains, like a painting come to life. Even knowing that the estate and grounds had been greatly improved by the resort compared to when Kate had lived here, Mia was in awe of the privilege it must have been to be local aristocracy and to live in this idyllic spot.

After the tour Stuart took her back to the house to see the paintings on the bedroom wall. “There are eight bedrooms and each of the rooms is named after a Watkins family member,” he explained as he led her down the hall of the second floor to the corner room. Over the door it read
Katherine Watkins.

“Well, this has to be it,” Mia said.

Stuart had the key and opened the door. He stepped back to allow Mia to walk through. The room was bright and cheery with lots of windows that afforded a spectacular view of the lake and grounds. Yet she couldn’t help but be disappointed. It was not the young girl’s room she’d imagined. This was a typical upscale hotel room, with more local decor. The furniture, though nice, was all reproduction. Still, looking at the queen bed positioned under the steeply angled roof, Mia couldn’t help but think young Kate’s bed would have been placed in the same spot.

“Over here,” Stuart called from across the room.

Mia hurried over and with a gasp of delight zeroed in on three murals of wildflowers on the wall. They were done by a young girl, anyone could tell. Yet Mia’s trained eye saw the talent in its execution that Walter Watkins had seen. The rest of the walls had been painted a soft yellow color, but the owners had been careful to preserve these murals and had protected them with Plexiglas. Beside the mural was a small framed card identifying them as being painted by Kate Watkins. Mia reached out to place her hand on the Plexiglas over Kate’s favorite—the Turk’s cap lily—then traced the outline of the six petals. Her mind was filled with the voice of young Kate in the diary, so indignant at having been punished.