The Island of Heavenly Daze (19 page)

Olympia felt faint with relief. Finally, the ordeal was over. Pastor Wickam stood in the doorway shaking hands as the congregation filed by, complimenting him on his sermon.

“Lovely sermon, Pastor, very different,” Beatrice Coughlin said, slowly shaking the pastor's hand.

“Ayuh, and that prayer was a real topper,” Mike Klackenbush added, half grinning before Dana could give him a sharp jab to the ribs.

When Winslow spotted Annie and Olympia, his wide smile shrank to a more dignified expression.

Olympia made the brief introductions.

Winslow inclined his head. “Thank you for coming, ladies.”

Olympia nodded. “Reverend.”

She hurried Annie down the steps before the minister had a chance to inquire about their source of amusement.

“I have never been so mortified in my life,” Olympia scolded as they broke into a brisk walk. She felt as if she were dragging a fifteen-year-old Annie out for passing notes in church.

“I'm sorry, Aunt Olympia.”

“To ridicule Pastor Wickam, a man of God, during one of his sermons—”

“I wasn't ridiculing Pastor Wickam!”

“Then what, may I ask, were you doing?”

“Laughing at you.”

Olympia stopped in the middle of the street, her cheeks flaming. The truth stung. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Annie was apparently still trying to get control of her giggle box. “I would never be so rude or insensitive as to make fun of Pastor Wickam. It was you that got me tickled. You and that stunned look on your face. You should have seen yourself, Aunt Olympia! When the pastor came in with that bad toupee, you looked as stunned as a bug on a windshield.” She broke into a new round of laughter, drawing attention from other homebound churchgoers.

“Why—why—I did not. How ridiculous.” Olympia jerked the brim of her hat straighter. “I wasn't making any sort of face; I was just surprised to see . . . and then when that Graham boy yelled out—”

She broke off, struggling with the laughter bubbling at the back of her throat. What must Edith be thinking to let her husband wear such a rat's nest in public?

Setting off again, she quickened her pace. “Hurry along, we're making fools of ourselves. Caleb will have dinner on the table.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Annie quickly caught up. They covered a block in silence before she picked up the thread again. “Where do you think he got that ugly thing? Certainly they don't sell things like that in Ogunquit.”

“Maybe he ordered it . . . from Montgomery Ward.”

“Carpet World?”

Olympia snorted. “Or from Hair R Us.”

“The Hair Club for Men?”

“Faux Furs?” Olympia struggled to keep her composure; after all, she was the mature one in this relationship. But her stomach was about to bust from her imposed self-control, and before she knew it, another snort had escaped.

“And did you see the way Dana Klackenbush jabbed her husband?” Annie broke into laughter. “I bet he has three bruised ribs.”

“Serves him right for laughing so hard,” Olympia said, then the two giggled all the way home.

As they walked up the drive, Annie quietly said, “I am sorry, Aunt Olympia; I honestly didn't mean to embarrass you. Surely you know that you taught me to exhibit more sensitivity than to laugh at Pastor Wickam, or anyone for that matter.”

“But it was rude,” Olympia reminded, cringing when she recalled Bea's horrified stare. She wouldn't live this down anytime soon.

“You started it.”

“I did not.”

“You did, too—if you hadn't snorted I wouldn't have gotten so tickled.”

“I've had quite enough of this conversation, young lady. I'll hear no more about it, understand? The tea this afternoon will be trial enough without having to deal with this.”

“Yes, Aunt Olympia.” Annie meekly lowered her head as they covered the last few feet and climbed the porch steps. “But you did start it.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too!”

Winslow checked his watch. Three-thirty, and high time he was out of Edith's way. She had that infernal tea scheduled for this afternoon, and there was no way he was staying in a clucking henhouse, even with Hair.

He blew a kiss in Edith's direction and set out, walking briskly toward Frenchman's Folly. He'd called at least once every day this week to check on Edmund's condition, but it was time he paid the man a visit. Sometimes he just sat and read Scripture to terminal patients. Even when they couldn't communicate through the drug-induced haze, he believed the Word was still a comfort.

Olympia and Annie were on their way out when he arrived.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” He nodded, conscious of the way the wind ruffled the Hair in the sea breeze.

Olympia's eyes went as narrow as an ice pick. “Going to see Edmund?”

“Yes. It's been longer than I had intended since I last paid a visit.”

“Didn't see much of you this week. I guess you were busy.” Her gaze lifted to the Hair.

“Um,” Winslow cleared his throat. “I called, though. Didn't Caleb tell you?” Desperate to change the subject, he smiled. “I suppose you lovely ladies are on your way to the tea.”

Olympia's nostrils flared slightly. “Where else would we be going?”

“Well, then.” Winslow took another step toward the house. “Have a blessed time.”

He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn Olympia snorted as she moved away.

Shaking his head, he climbed the front porch steps. He had known lots of people like Olympia in his years of ministry. They grew up with strict opinions of what the world should be, and somehow those images influenced their opinions of what God should be.

They were not always accurate, of course, but you couldn't convince them to change, not for all the fish in the sea. Only God could work such miracles.

Lifting his chin, he rang the bell.

The wind picked up as Olympia and Annie made their way to the parsonage. Dark clouds covered the island, and a lowering sky promised more rain by dark.

“You aren't obligated to attend the tea with me, Annie. Your visit is brief, and it's perfectly understandable that you would want to spend your time with Edmund.”

“After this morning, we'd both be better off staying at home. But we're going. I spent an hour with Uncle Edmund this afternoon, then I baked this perfectly wonderful pan of brownies. Someone has to eat them.”

“Waste of sugar, flour, and chocolate. Caleb put you up to this, didn't he?”

“No. I didn't want you embarrassing me, Olympia de Cuvier. You should take something.”

Olympia turned to her, confusion and surprise warring within her.

Annie leaned closer, poking Olympia's ribs playfully. “I've got my eye on you, Auntie, and if you misbehave, I'll pull a Dana Klackenbush on you.”

Olympia snorted, lifted her chin, and picked up the pace.

The parsonage was ablaze with light, the mellow warmth welcoming the ladies sporting afternoon tea frocks. Olympia shoved her growing dread aside and climbed the ivy covered porch steps. Annie caught up with her and rang the doorbell.

“Do you come to the tea every year?”

“If I must.”

“I can see you're about as excited as a woman going to the chair,” Annie murmured. She handed Olympia the plate of brownies.

“That's an unkind and tacky remark, young lady. Here, you take—'' The door opened and Edith Wickam welcomed them. “Good afternoon, ladies! Oh, Annie, I'm so glad you could make it. And, Olympia, is that a new dress?”

“No,” Olympia said curtly, holding the brownies as if they were poison. “Here.” She shoved the plate at Edith, who accepted them with a cheerful smile.

“Brownies! You didn't have to!”

“Good, because I didn't. Annie made them.”

Bustling through the door, Olympia clarified her position. “We'll only stay a minute, Edith. I have other things to do.”

“Of course, Olympia.” Edith's smile was as warm as the scent of the cinnamon candles burning in her foyer. “I'm delighted you've come.”

Annie milled through the group, chatting pleasantly with women she hadn't seen in years. Edith walked up to Olympia and offered a tray of her celebrated cinnamon raisin scones. “No, thank you,” Olympia said, her voice as sharp as ice crystals. “I'm only having one cookie.”

Edith, bless her heart, kept at it. “That's a lovely dress.”

“I've worn it before.”

“Your hair—are you doing something different with it these days? A new cut?”

Edith's smile could have melted the Titanic iceberg, but Olympia didn't thaw. “Worn it like this since high school.”

Shaking her head, Edith moved on to the next guest. “Hi, Vernie,” she said, “that's a lovely dress.”

Keeping an eye on her aunt, Annie returned to the punch bowl. Her aunt wasn't mingling; instead she sat alone on Edith's sofa, nursing the cookie.

Annie hurt for her aunt. Her brusqueness towards others encouraged cold shoulders; no one knew that better than Annie. Did Olympia really want to be left alone and cut off from other women her age? Annie doubted it. Beneath Olympia's stony exterior beat the heart of a lonely woman, and Annie was powerless to help.

As the island women stepped gingerly around the sofa, so as not to ruffle Olympia, Annie's mother's voice came back to her through a fog of memory: “I'd rather die than talk to that woman, Ferrell,” she'd said as they were packing to leave for their fateful last trip. “I will not subject my daughter to her, too.”

Sometimes Annie wondered if God listened closely to what people said, and then granted their wishes. But why would he punish Ruth Ann by sending Annie to live with the woman her mother resented more than anyone in the world?

If God had a purpose in her mother's death, Annie couldn't see it.

“Birdie, your luncheon Thursday was wonderful,” Babette Graham called across the room. “You'll have to share that marvelous seafood salad recipe.”

Birdie moved closer to the group of women standing with Cleta Lansdown. “It was divine, wasn't it? Well, you take a head of iceberg lettuce, a pound of shrimp . . .”

Annie knew Olympia could hear the conversation as well, but her aunt did not move from her position on the couch. The women's friendly chatter and witty banter filled the crowded parlor. Judging by snatches of conversation, Annie surmised that every woman in the room had been invited to Birdie's party except her aunt.

Yet Olympia sat on Edith's sofa, sipping a cold cup of tea, pretending that she didn't hear or see. But she had to hurt. Annie had put on enough brave fronts to recognize one when she saw it. She had more in common with her aunt than she would have guessed, for she had been in similar situations, pretending to be unaware of friendships and happy babble all around her while inside she heard, saw, and felt . . . deeply.

These women, like Annie's acquaintances in Portland, meant no harm; they were friends enjoying each other's company. But Annie wondered how much nicer the world would be if people stopped to think before they inflicted pain. Olympia gave the women no reason to include her; knowing her aunt, Annie figured she had most likely given them ample reason to ignore her. But behind that façade a soul cried out for acceptance. The pain in Olympia's eyes belied her indifference and revealed another woman, a tortured soul that not one person in the room had taken the time to discover.