Hidden History (17 page)

“I know it’s hard.” Alice bustled around the living room, picking up old newspapers and folding the afghan and plumping the pillows. “I hate sounding like Pollyanna, but you’ve got to look at the bright side.”

“The
bright side?”
Vera frowned. “And what, pray tell, is
the bright side?”

“Well, your tests are negative. You have the whole community praying for you. That has to be some consolation.”

Vera’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Alice, everyone has been so kind, but this is weighing me down. Sometimes I wish that I could just close my eyes and not wake up.”

“Oh, Vera, you don’t mean that.”

“Maybe I do. We all have to die sometime.”

“But think about your daughters. Don’t you want to be around for their weddings … and then for grandchildren? Can you imagine what fun it will be to have little ones running around your house at Christmastime?”

Vera closed her eyes, leaned back on her pillow and smiled ever so slightly. Then, looking at Alice, she said, “You are a Pollyanna, Alice, but you’re sweet and I love you.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Now, do me a favor and skedaddle. I need to take a nap.”

Alice straightened up Vera’s kitchen and bathroom and then, discovering Vera fast asleep or doing a good imitation of sleeping, Alice quietly exited. Outside it was overcast and chilly, which probably had not helped Vera’s spirits much. Alice prayed for her as she buttoned up her sweater and headed back toward home. As she walked by the park, she slipped her hands into her pockets and discovered her still unread letter from Mark Graves. Despite the nip in the
air, she decided to take a moment in the park to read it. It was not that she wanted to hide anything from Jane, but her younger sister’s curiosity about Mark Graves was unsettling. Alice sat on a bench and opened the envelope. A small handwritten note was inside.

Alice reread the note and then read it a third time. Finally, she folded it and slipped it back into her pocket,
thankful that she had chosen to read it in private. She could not begin to imagine what Jane would say. Of course, her sister would probably encourage her to write back immediately and nag her until she did so. Alice did not know what she would do. Certainly, she liked Mark and was glad that he had given his heart to God. Still, she was not sure of much else.

She stood up and stretched, glancing up to the trees overhead. She was surprised to see that they were finally beginning to turn color. The green leaves tinged with russet and gold contrasted prettily with the dull gray sky. It would be only a matter of days before they would be ablaze with color. Too bad the Parkers had not planned their fall foliage tour just a week or two later. On the other hand, Alice was relieved that they had already come and gone, and she hoped they would not decide to come again. But if they did, she would do her best to be hospitable. Perhaps she would even stock the inn’s library with a few western titles.

As Alice walked home, she tried not to think about the letter in her sweater pocket. Part of her wanted simply to pretend that it had never come. She imagined herself tucking it deep into a drawer and forgetting about it. Yet another part of her felt a sense of nervous excitement. She felt almost giddy. Alice smiled to herself. Now, that would be something—sixty-two-year-old Alice Howard, spinster, nurse and church board member, acting giddy. No, she
thought, giddiness would definitely not become her.

“Did you read the letter?” asked Jane before Alice had even a chance to hang her sweater on the hook by the back door.

Alice nodded. “Do I smell ginger cookies?”

“Yes. It’s almost time for the first batch to come out.” Jane tossed her sister a mischievous grin. “Wanna trade? Cookies for information?”

Alice decided to play. “I’ll have to see the cookies first.”

“Right this way,” said Jane. With a flourish, she slipped on a black and white gingham oven mitt and opened the oven door. “Voilà!” She held out a sheet full of generous sized, red-brown cookies that smelled heavenly. She waved the tray in front of Alice in a tantalizing way.

Alice caved in. “All right, all right, you win.”

“Win what?” asked Louise as she came into the kitchen.
“Hmm
, those look good, Jane.”

“Come join us,” offered Jane. “And you can hear the latest about Dr. Graves.”

Louise’s brow lifted with interest. “Dr. Graves? What is there to hear?”

“Alice got a letter.” Jane put the cookies onto a cooling rack.

Alice pretended not to listen as she filled the teakettle.

“From Mark Graves?” asked Louise.

“Uh-huh.” Jane went for another cookie sheet. “Is it serious?” asked Louise.

Alice turned on the gas under the kettle, still not answering.

“That’s what I want to find out,” said Jane. “I’ve bribed Alice with cookies.”

“Yes.” Alice turned around and faced them both. “You can be sure that I would never tell you without the cookies.”

Jane smiled. “Oh, I knew you’d give in, Alice, I just thought they would sweeten the deal.”

Louise sat down at the kitchen table. “Why is Mark Graves writing you letters, Alice?”

Alice put three cups and saucers on the table and then sat down. “Just being friendly.”

“Just friendly?” Jane turned from where she was putting tea leaves into the pot.

“Yes, it was simply a friendly letter, saying that he enjoyed his visit and would like to come again sometime.” Alice thought that was mostly the truth.

Louise nodded. “Sort of a thank-you note then?”

“Yes,” said Alice as she fingered the fringe of the red and white placemats on the table. Had he not expressed appreciation over her help with the surgery? Besides, why did she have to tell her sisters everything? After all, this was something she did not completely understand
herself.

“That was all?” Jane set a plate of cookies on the table with a look of disappointment.

“What more did you want?” asked Alice.

Jane shrugged. “Oh, I just thought maybe….”

“Maybe Dr. Graves had notions of romance?” Louise asked.

“I don’t know.” Jane returned to the stove for the teakettle.

“Despite what Jane says sometimes,” said Louise in a slightly lowered voice, but loud enough for Jane to hear, “she is a hopeless romantic.”

“So what if I am?” Jane set the teapot on the table and pulled up a chair for herself. “I think that Mark Graves is a nice man.” She winked at Alice. “If I didn’t think Alice was interested, I might even go for him myself.”

“Jane!” scolded Louise.

“I’m just kidding. Besides, he’s
way
too old for
me.”

“Yoo-hoo,”
called Ethel from the back porch.

“Come join us, Auntie,” said Jane. “You’re just in time for cookies and tea.”

Ethel grinned. “So nice living next door to one of the best cooks in Acorn Hill.”

“One of the best?” said Alice. “I thought Jane
was
the best.”

“Oh, we don’t want to go getting the big head now,”
said Ethel as she sat down.

“Jane’s head will never get big,” said Alice. “She does everything beautifully and yet she never even seems to notice.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Jane as she poured her aunt a cup of tea.

“So what are you girls gossiping about today?” asked Ethel.

“Gossiping?” said Louise raising her brows. “We were simply discussing Alice’s friend.”

“Alice’s friend?” repeated Ethel with interest. “Are you referring to that nice veterinarian who was here last week?”

“That would be the one,” said Jane.

“Well, let me tell you, Clara Horn thinks that young man is the next best thing to sliced bread.”

“Young man?” said Alice. “Mark Graves is sixty-five years old.”

“It’s all about perspective,” said Ethel. “So why exactly are we discussing Mark?”

“We’re not discussing him,” said Alice. “We’re simply having cookies and tea.”

“He’s a fine-looking man,” said Ethel with a slight nod of her chin.

“And distinguished in his field,” added Jane.

“Yes,” said Ethel. “According to Clara, he’s the best vet in the country.”

“One of the best,” said Alice.

“The word around town is that Clara’s pig would be bacon by now if not for that valiant rescue last week,” said Ethel.

Jane nudged Alice with her elbow. “See, he’s even a hero.”

“Not necessarily, Jane.” Ethel set her teacup down with a clink.
“Tsk, tsk.
The truth of the matter is most folks would’ve been relieved to have seen the last of that little porker.”

“Oh, Aunt Ethel,” said Jane. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s the truth.” Ethel nodded vigorously now, causing her chins to tremble with the motion. “Like it or not, your hero has only managed to prolong the inevitable.”

“How so?” asked Alice.

“Lloyd is already working with the town council to get something on the books forbidding farm animals within the town limits.”

“That won’t necessarily apply to Daisy,” said Jane. “She was here before the law was enacted. I’m sure Clara Horn could get some sort of grandfather clause to exclude her.”

“She shouldn’t need to,” said Alice suddenly. “I’d almost forgotten that Mark said Daisy will only grow to the size of a mid-sized dog. She’s a
miniature
potbellied pig. Surely, the town should have no problem with a pet of that size.”

“She’s still a pig,” said Ethel.

“She’ll only be this tall,” said Alice as she held her hands about a foot apart. “And Mark says they make excellent pets. Better than cats and dogs.”

“Mark says….”
Ethel sighed dramatically. “Well, the fact is your Dr. Mark Graves doesn’t have to live in our little town. If he did, he might be singing another tune.”

What kind of a tune he would be singing was a complete mystery to Alice. She glanced at her sweater still hanging by the back door and thought of the letter tucked safely in the pocket. Would she read it again? Or answer it? Or would she simply hide it away and forget all about it? She still was not sure.

Chapter Fifteen

S
aturday had been hectic, even though Mr. and Mrs. Hanley were the only guests. By evening, life had finally slowed down enough for the sisters to meet in the library to continue the reading of the journal.

“I thought the Hanleys would never stop talking,” said Jane as she flopped down in an easy chair. “They’re really nice, but that woman can go on and on.”

“No time to waste,” said Louise as she glanced at the clock on the bookshelf. “Go ahead and get started, Alice.”

Alice turned on the desk light and opened the journal to where they had left off.

“That is wonderful,” said Louise.

“It’s kind of sad too,” said Jane. “To think that he was only sixteen and taking on such responsibilities.”

“Maybe,” said Alice. “But I think it made him happy.”

“I suppose.” Jane shook her head a bit doubtfully. “But to give up fishing.”