Wynn in the Willows (10 page)

“You can start reading anywhere in the Bible. It's not like a novel where you have to start at the beginning. Just open it and read. Even I know that.” Her voice turned frosty. “It's obvious you have never been to church.”

“I have too been to church.” Wynn held Agatha's gaze. “But not in a while.”

“That explains a lot.”

The ladies squirmed and remained silent.

“OK, let's just start with Matthew13: 31-32 instead of where we left off the last time, shall we?” Roxie spoke up. “Wynn, follow along. You'll get the hang of it.”

“The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all your seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and perch on its branches.” Owl read.

“I have no idea what this means,” Wynn confessed.

“There are many elements. First we have the sower,” Roxie said.

“Who is Jesus,” added Faith. “He atones for our sins.”

“Then there is the mustard seed and the great tree which grows from it.”

“Which symbolizes the Gospel and the tree is rooted in Jesus.” Faith nodded at Roxie to continue.

“And lastly the birds perched on its branches.”

“The birds mean to hear and understand the Gospel while the tree offers a refuge for His faithful to rest in Him.”

“Thank you Aunt Roxie and Faith. Very nice image.”

A pretty waitress walked up to the table. “Hello, I'm Paris and I'll be your server today. What drinks may I get for you?” She paused. “By the way, I have to ask, is there a Wilda Reed here?”

“That's me, Paris!” Owl answered.

“Owl, I didn't know your real name was Wilda. You have a call holding at the front desk from Paul Reed,” Paris told her.

“Please tell my husband I'll call him back later.”

The women all chose different specialty drinks.

“Chef Frank will be out soon to personally tell you about his epicure dishes.” Paris gave a bright smile.

“The new owners of the Inn will be smart to keep Chef Frank,” Owl said.

“Keep him and give him a raise.” Faith added.

“Oh? Has the Inn been sold?” Wynn asked.

“Not yet, but it's up for sale,” Sheri answered. “Are you handling the property, Faith?”

“I am.”

“And here Chef Frank is now!” Owl announced.

Frank arrived at the table wearing his kitchen uniform; all white and starched. He was all belly and boastful as he greeted them. “I am personally preparing your dishes and will be ready for presentation in about twenty minutes. You are my guests. What appetizer may I bring you to enjoy as you wait?”

“How very thoughtful of you,”Roxie said.

“You know a plate of calamari to share might be a nice appetizer while we wait,” Faith suggested.

“Yes, and I hear your caramelized onion focaccia is wonderful.” Owl suggested. “Oh my—we're like lambs being lead to the slaughter aren't we?”

“Thank you, I take that as a high compliment. I hear we have a birthday girl lunching with us today.” Frank winked at Wynn.

“Yes, we do,” Wynn said, smiling.

“Wynn, I do believe my brother has his eye on you,” Faith murmured.

Faith's words made Wynn's stomach twist into a knot. She had come to the island on assignment, certainly not to be the fodder of the latest gossip.

“Well, Chef Frank must wait in line. Wynn has a date with my nephew, Doug.” Owl informed them.

“What? I do not have a date with Doug Reed!” Wynn protested. “Who told you that?”

“He did. Doug told me you were checking him out with a pair of binoculars, right after Boone's funeral.” Owl answered.

“Technically there really wasn't a funeral, remember?” Jackie pointed out. “So Wynn, tell us, did you like what you saw through your binoculars?”

“What else did he tell you?” Wynn ignored Jackie's questions.

“Nothing. “

“Is there more to tell?” Sheri asked Wynn.

“Of course not!” Wynn tried to smile. “Owl, when did your nephew tell you about the binocular incident?”

“The day after ‘the incident' occurred,” Owl answered. “He said you agreed to go sailing with him.”

“Doug did mention sailing, but I told him I was too busy.”

“That's the truth. You are too busy.” Roxie insisted.

“Since you don't have a phone, Doug told me he was coming by your place tomorrow morning at six and to let you know.” Owl grinned.

“Doug is a really nice guy. Go, have a good time, Wynn,” Jackie encouraged.

“And tell us all about it at the next club meeting during refreshments,” Sheri begged.

“Wynn is new on the island and Doug knows it like the back of his hand. He can help her with research,” Faith said.

Doug was the only person Wynn had met who listened without offering platitudes or Bible scriptures.

A Monarch butterfly with delicate patterned wings landed on the white linen tablecloth in front of Wynn, immediately causing her blood pressure to drop by ten points. Then the insect moved its wings together before it took to the air again. Wynn's gaze followed as it flittered across the veranda before heading to the purple butterfly bush, soon disappearing from sight.

The sound of a cart on squeaky wheels broke Wynn's concentration as Frank placed the appetizers on small plates in front of everyone.

Just as Owl filled her bowl with the soup, Paris handed her a phone message. Her eyes widened and she fell back, dropping the note into the onion bouillabaisse right on top of the rouille toast. Her right hand flickered to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

Immediately Jackie leaned over the table waving a napkin. “Stand back everyone! Owl needs air!”

“Oh, no. It's Mae!” Roxie grabbed the note and read it.

The women gasped.

“Mae's had a heart attack. I must leave right away and go be with her,” Owl spoke through tears, hoisting herself up.

“Owl, you're too upset to drive. Let me take you.” Wynn reached for her purse.

“No, no—I'll just go by myself. Paul will meet me. I'm all worried up. Remember to pray for Mae?”

“We will,” Sheri promised.

Owl left in a flurry of goodbyes.

 

 

 

 

13

 

Paris returned with the entrees; Red snapper sautéed to perfection, served with pine nuts and fresh asparagus, and arborio rice cake salad with a parmesan caper dressing.

“How sad Owl is missing such wonderful food,” Sheri said.

“I'll take a to-go box to her later.” Faith promised.

“Poor Owl, poor Mae. Is Mae Owl's mother?” Wynn asked.

“Oh no, dear, Mae is Owl's pet pig,” Aunt Roxie explained.

“Pig!” Wynn exclaimed.

“When Owl was young, she was quite beautiful. I've seen pictures.”

“I bet it was the reason that man kidnapped her and took her off the island,” Faith murmured.

“Rumors. That never happened,” Sheri said.

“Folks on the island seem to think it did happen, Sheri. Besides, wasn't she gone for a while? Reeds aren't known to be gone from the island for more than a few days at a time,” Jackie insisted. “It's bad for them. Brings on bad weather, they say. Even though weather is in God's hands.”

“The reason Owl left the island was to learn a trade.” Sheri continued.

“Oh? What trade was that?” Wynn wanted to know.

“Belly dancing.”

“No, no, no. That's wrong, too,” Roxie insisted.

“It's the truth!” Sheri said.

“Wouldn't it be simpler to just ask Owl?” Wynn inquired.

“No, that is downright impolite,” Faith told Wynn.

“We don't ever pry into anyone's life,” Sheri said.

“No, never,” Jackie agreed.

A chorus of Happy Birthday wafted over the restaurant, sang by servers waving sparklers. Chef Frank carried a cake in the shape of a flower. Candles burning, he placed it in front of Wynn. “Go ahead and make a wish.”

Twenty-six year old Wynn closed her eyes and blew out the candles. “Do you know what just chemically happened here?”

“Yes, you're going to get your wish. Now open your presents!” Jackie urged.

Wynn looked around the table at the women, grateful for their acceptance. The gifts were thoughtful, too. Natural soaps made from goats milk, a book about Willow Island, a personal invitation to go walking with Owl, and a beach snow globe with a backscratcher attached.

“When you scratch, you make it snow!” Sheri illustrated her gift.

“A two-in-one gift. Thanks!”

Last was Jackie's, a gift certificate for a day at a spa for a massage and full facial.

After lunch, only Faith, Roxie and Wynn remained to drink tall glasses of cranberry juice while watching the sailboats in the harbor.

Frank returned with an invitation to show Wynn around the Inn. They started the tour in the gardens.

“Doug Reed designed the gardens and picked out every plant.”

“It's beautiful.”

Each garden was like a separate outdoor room with a different theme, but somehow it all tied into one another and flowed beautifully without obstructing the remarkable view of the lake.

“It only took one season for the completion. The owners were thrilled to snag him when he moved back from Chicago. It sure jump started his business here.”

“Doug lived in Chicago?”

“He had a successful architectural business, but something pulled him back this way, and he started creating gardens.”

“Not a bad choice.”

“Next stop is the kitchen,” Frank held open the side door. The short corridor opened up into a large kitchen filled with activity. Cooking pans and fat boiling pots sizzled on top of burners alive with open flames. Loud voices shouted at one another about a customer's order being late.

“Some people say the kitchen is the heart of the home, but I call this my command center. It's the heart of the Inn.”

They reached the meat locker. Hesitantly, she slid into the over-sized jacket Frank handed her, and stepped into the freezer to have a look at the dead animals hanging on meat hooks.

“We get our beef, pork and mutton locally from farms on the mainland.”

Wynn stopped in front of one carcass that wasn't farm raised. She scrunched her nose, looked closer, and then drew back. “Bear?” Wynn read the tag on one hunk of meat.

“Very good. Bet you don't know what kind of bear.”

“Tell me.”

“The carcass you behold is polar bear,” he admitted proudly.

“But polar bears are listed as a threatened species.” Wynn was aghast. She looked at him, struggling to associate the image of a well respected chef with a man who would serve up an exotic for the price of a meal.

“Threatened or not, they are not under federal protection in Canada and can still be legally hunted there. Each winter a select group of hunters provides the inn with a single carcass to be served to a specified elite clientele. We don't have it on the menu, but members know to order it when they arrive. By the way, I have a wonderful recipe. It would be my pleasure to serve polar bear to you in the private dining room some night soon.”

“By no means!” Her estimation of his character took a nose-dive.

“You say that now, but once you taste it, you'll change your mind completely; threatened, or not.” Lifting his fingers to his lips, he kissed them.

“It'll never happen.”

They came out of the freezer in uncomfortable silence.

A pastry chef was filling a tray of small tarts. The men tipped their mushroom hats in greeting. It was obvious there was rivalry between the two. When introduced to Mario Barilla, Wynn was greeted cordially, but coolly.

“What was that about?” Wynn asked as they walked away.

“Competition. Mario wanted to be Head Chef, the position I now hold. To hold a spot like mine, you need to be able to create a wider spectrum of foods. He is only a pastry chef. You'll have to excuse his discourtesy; he may have mistaken you for a perspective buyer of the Inn, and wasn't happy that it was me, not the present owners, showing you around. Come Wynn; I want to show you the Inn's front entrance.”

The foyer was splendid. As large as the reception area, it was surprisingly warm and cozy. A twenty-foot, one-hundred-year-old, hand carved oak counter greeted guests. The rest was divided up into smaller areas defined by couches and chairs. Palms and other exotic plants were thriving in huge pots artfully placed around the room. The windowsills were made of exquisite, foot wide, Italian marble that matched the fireplace in the grand entrance. Every window framed an exquisite view of the sea.

This used to be someone's private residence.
Wynn marveled. She went to the grand piano at the far end of the room, sat on the bench and stroked the ivories.

“You play?”

Her answer came with her fingers dancing across the keys. Wynn played a popular song. When she finished everyone clapped. She looked up, gazing around the room, still dreamy with song. A particular painting caught her eye.

“Captivating, don't you agree? That is how the Inn looked when it was built in the 1800's as a home.”

On top of the tallest peak of the cliffs which overlooked the western coast of Willow Island was the Willow Mansion, perched like a crown on a king's head. The stained glass windows glowed like rubies, diamonds and emeralds.

“It's breath-taking.” Wynn ran her fingers over the gilded gesso edge. “This frame looks to be original.”

“I wouldn't know about that. Antiques aren't my specialty.”

The house was a deep purple whereas now it had white siding. The color was more practical, but not as charming. Although the mansion had several verandas, they had been enlarged since the time of the original design. Oversized parking lots for patrons had eaten into the landscape, as well as a newly minted golf course. The painting portrayed twilight and one of the windows on the top floor glowed. A female figure stood in the lighted room. In the bottom right corner there was a signature, Anna Reed.