A Marriage in Middlebury. Anita Higman
and set it around her shoulders.
“I’ll put you where it’s extra warm.” Charlotte seated Sam and his fiancée in the coziest spot and handed them some luncheon menus.
Audrey whipped out an iPhone from her Prada bag. “You know, Sam has been raving about your cooking. He calls you Julia Child with Southern roots.”
Charlotte smiled but didn’t dare look at Sam.
“Sooo, would you cater the reception for our wedding? It’ll be in June.” Audrey held up her iPhone as if she were already keying in some information.
Charlotte tried to smile, but she feared it came off lame. Never had she been so lacking in words, and never had the stone in her pocket felt so heavy.
Chapter 3
3
If life were a hotel, Charlotte thought this would have been a great time to check out. She sifted through a few reasons to refuse Audrey’s request to do her wedding reception, but this time her vocal cords refused to engage. Apparently, though, Sam hadn’t had a problem using that word in his vocabulary or his life—since he was fully engaged! “I don’t have anything booked for June,” Charlotte heard her mouth utter against all good horse sense. “I’ll do the food for your wedding.”
Audrey popped up from her seat and wrapped her arms around her. “Thanks, Charlotte. Now I know it’ll be wonderful.”
Charlotte patted Audrey’s back as if she were burping a baby. Her scent was elegant and expensive. Guess she lived a Chanel kind of life.
Over Audrey’s shoulder, Sam smiled and mouthed the word, “Thanks.” But he suddenly looked itchy rather than delighted. It reminded her of an incident in the twelfth grade when they’d traipsed through a creek full of deep grass to go fishing. Later he’d broken out with the worst case of poison ivy the doctor had ever seen. And now, minus the calamine lotion, Sam squirmed just as he had back then. Perhaps he’d realized that Audrey’s request was preposterously thorny and problematic and quite a few other flamboyant adjectives come to think of it.
“Now,” Audrey whispered in her ear, “We’ve got another favor to ask of you.”
Charlotte swallowed a sigh. Another favor? What was it now? They probably wanted her to bear their children for them too. God help me. She was a much finer Christian woman when she wasn’t being emotionally ravaged. Charlotte eased out of Audrey’s hug and looked at Sam. “What do you need?”
“It’s about my father.” Sam set the menu down. “To be honest, Charlotte, he’s dying. In fact, I’ve taken a leave of absence from work. I don’t think he has much longer to live. We’ve been at the house since yesterday. And now, well, he’s been asking for you.”
Charlotte choked on her saliva.
Audrey patted her on the back.
“Asking for me?” Charlotte gave her head a shake to try to process his news. “But why? I don’t understand.” She had to be the last person on earth Percy Wilder would ever want to see.
“He never told me why. I guess you two didn’t really get along, but the details have always been a mystery to me.” Sam laced his fingers together, and his thumbs wrangled with each other as if they were in a skirmish. “My guess is he wants to make peace with the people he’s slighted over the years. It’s something he needs to do. Something he should do. I hope you’ll give him one last chance to make things right.”
When worded that way, what decent human being could refuse? Charlotte rummaged around in her spirit, hoping for a nugget of courage, but none was found. In the end, she nodded. “Of course, I’ll go and see him.”
Sam tilted his head, gazing at her with his old affection. “I knew you would. In fact, if it’s all right, since Audrey and I ate two hours ago, do you mind if we go now? Can you take a little time off?”
“Right now?” Charlotte slipped her hand into her pocket and squeezed the stone until she could feel her heart pulsing in her fingers.
Audrey grasped her arm. “Sam, look at her. She’s gone all pale. Maybe we should suggest another time. I don’t think this is—”
“No, it’s all right.” Charlotte wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. “I have enough staff today. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Audrey bobbed on her toes. “Maybe we could chat about the wedding plans as we drive you over.”
Charlotte smiled. After giving Eliza and the rest of the staff instructions, she buttoned up her sweater and headed out with Audrey and Sam toward the Wilder house. The drive was wearisome, watching Audrey fawn all over Sam as if he were a little boy who’d just fallen down and scraped his knee, and it became equally mind-numbing listening to Audrey chatter on about the upcoming wedding. Somehow she survived the trip, though, and soon they were parked in front of the Wilder house. It was more of a stone monstrosity than a home, but it rested on two hundred acres of the loveliest property she’d ever seen. Hard to believe, though, except for the hired help, Mr. Wilder was the only person living there.
As they walked the path up to the front door, their shoes chewed their way across the crushed granite—Sam’s loafers, Audrey’s knee-high boots, and Charlotte’s China doll shoes—all of them together creating some kind of erratic beat.
Charlotte hadn’t been on the Wilder estate in almost two decades, and she’d only seen the older man a few times over the years. She’d gotten glimpses of him at the local cemetery where he stopped to feed the birds. He’d never really acknowledged her existence during those years, let alone had a friendly conversation with her. To be summoned to his deathbed was no less than a shock. But Charlotte was the last one to discount God’s interference into the affairs of men.
Sam pulled out a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. He looked back at them both, but Charlotte wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he was giving her one last chance to run.
A plane flew overhead, taking out the sun as if the earth’s bulb had lost power for a second. It was a good thing Charlotte didn’t believe in omens.
Sam turned the key and let the three of them in through one of the heavy oak doors. Charlotte glanced around in the dimly lit entry hall. The house was just how she’d remembered it. Dark. Dusty. And foreboding. Mr. Wilder had not filled his home with elegant furnishings as would most people with his wealth; instead he had spent his fortune on relics. If memory served her, the house possessed artifacts from the Titanic, display tables full of old coins, military pieces, tables and chairs adorned with the horns of animals, mineral collections, and art and antiques from all over the world. In other words, Mr. Wilder’s home was a museum.
But rarely was anyone ever invited into his world.
A birdcage filled one corner of the room, and while Audrey held Sam’s attention over a statue, Charlotte leaned toward the bars of the cage for a closer look inside. No living bird squawked or fluttered its feathers, but a stuffed parrot sat lopsided on an inner branch. How odd.
When Mrs. Wilder was alive, had she no input in the furnishings and décor? Guess not. Mr. Wilder did tend to control life around him with such a military grip that it would make the government look slack. To say the least, Mr. Wilder was an eccentric man. The only other certainty about Mr. Wilder was that for some reason unknown to Charlotte—he had grown to hate her. She wiped the perspiration off her forehead with the back of her hand.
Audrey coughed, startling Charlotte. The three of them disengaged from their curiosities and without much falderal, they moved as one down a long corridor as if they were about to face a firing squad. Neither the house nor the circumstances seemed conducive to chatter.
Audrey touched an item here or there as they walked along. Perhaps she’d resigned herself to living in the house and was making an effort to find her place among the relics. Somehow Audrey Anderson must have found a fissure in the old man’s heart.
Charlotte didn’t feel resentment toward Audrey.