Eyes on the Prize Page 10

  They sat near the back. Alice settled in, prepared for a traditional service like the ones she was accustomed to. When the worship leaders got onto the platform in front, she knew she was in for a different experience. Two guitarists, a violinist and a flutist began playing. The music was pretty, but very modern. Three singers in front led the congregation, and the words to the music were projected onto a screen behind them.

  Alice glanced at Vera, who returned the hymnal to the pocket in the pew in front of her. She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at the screen.

  Alice didn’t attempt to sing. The song was unfamiliar, and she wasn’t a musician like Louise. She enjoyed listening and silently reading along with the other worshippers. The lively music made her smile. It called for the people to praise the Lord in the words of a Psalm. Alice wished she could remember it to teach the ANGELs at Grace Chapel. The preteen girls in her Wednesday night group would love the song and the lyrics.

  Before the message, the worship leader invited the congregation to greet each other and welcome visitors. The room became noisy as parishioners left their seats and wandered around. A young man shook Alice’s hand and bid her welcome. He moved quickly on. A tall, slender woman, dressed stylishly in black slacks, a turquoise silk tunic and pointy, spike-heeled, black dress shoes came up to Alice and Vera.

  “Vera Jamison!” She drew Vera into an exuberant hug.

  “Suzanne,” Vera said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “I knew it was you. I told Larry I was sure that was you sitting back here. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Suzanne, this is my friend Alice from Acorn Hill. We came to see my Aunt Agatha.”

  “I know. I told Larry that was why you’d come.” She shook her head. “Poor old thing. Such a shame. I think her accident rattled her brain, you know? Reggie says she can’t remember him sometimes.” Her voice lowered. “We had to put Larry’s mother in a nursing home. I just hate seeing them get old.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about his mother,” Vera said.

  “Oh, it’s all right. They take good care of her. I tried, you know. I just couldn’t handle things. It’s better this way. She’s up there with Larry.” She pointed toward the front of the church. “We take her out to eat after church. Why don’t you come with us?”

  “I’m sorry. I promised Reggie we’d have lunch with him.”

  The instruments started playing again, and the people scrambled back to their seats. Suzanne said, “Later,” and hurried away. She slid into a pew next to a tall, distinguished-looking man with wavy, salt-and-pepper gray hair. A short, stooped lady with a red pillbox hat sat next to the man. His mother, Alice assumed.

  Alice liked the preacher. He talked about making choices, even when they go against popular opinion, and he used Rahab, out of the book of Joshua, as an example. She had exhibited courage in defying the authorities and helping Joshua and the Israelites. God saved her family and blessed her for sheltering His people.

  It struck Alice that she had come with Vera to help decide Agatha Jamison’s future. As the preacher offered a closing prayer, Alice prayed that Vera would have the courage and wisdom to make the right choice for her aunt, and that her aunt would have the grace and courage to accept whatever was to come next in her life.

  Sunday afternoon, Jane slipped the skin off of a ripe tomato and cut the tomato in small chunks into a large soup kettle. Nearby, several tomatoes bobbed in a pan of scalding water to loosen their skins.

  Sterilized canning jars in a variety of sizes sat inverted on clean towels. Louise sat at the kitchen table, dicing sweet peppers.

  “I’d better hurry and get these finished. Craig will be here in half an hour to measure the pumpkin.” Louise shook her head. “I still can’t believe all this fuss. I should have tried growing something simple, like cucumbers.”

  “Mercy. I’m glad you didn’t plant them. With your success, we’d have to open a pickle factory.”

  Louise laughed. “I saw you try to chase down Patsy Ley at church last week. When she saw you coming with a sack of vegetables, she took off.”

  “I only wanted to help. She usually puts up vegetables and pickles.”

  “Yes, and you gave her two whole sacks several weeks ago. She must have had her fill.”

  Jane sighed. “I hate to have good, fresh produce go to waste. I’ve offered vegetables to everyone in town, I think. I’ll have to give the rest to Samuel for his hogs, I suppose.” She finished the tomatoes and picked out a large onion to peel.

  “What are you going to do with your pumpkin, Louise?”

  “I don’t know. My thoughts never went beyond keeping it alive and producing at least one decent pumpkin. What do you think I should do?”

  “I’d give it double or triple doses of whatever you’re feeding it, then enter it in a weigh-off. Those who know about such things, like our guests on Friday, seem to think it stands a chance of winning.”

  “I don’t know. The logistics of transporting it boggle my mind. Honestly, Jane, growing such a magnificent pumpkin is very satisfying, but I don’t intend to repeat this next year, so wouldn’t it be unfair to enter against those who try every year?”

  “By that reasoning, I shouldn’t enter the Harvest 10K Run because I might compete against people who race all the time.”

  “That’s different. You’re racing for charity, to help others, not to win a prize.”

  For a moment, Jane stared at her sister, speechless. Her motives weren’t as altruistic as Louise implied. Jane planted her fists on her hips, still clutching a paring knife and a chunk of onion, and faced Louise. “You’re missing my point. You grew those pumpkins from seed and nurtured them through spring frosts and extreme heat in August. You pruned and trained and weeded and handpicked bugs off the plants. You’ve done everything any gardener or professional farmer would do and perhaps more. You deserve to win as much as Delmer Wesley or Harry Gladstone or anyone else.”

  Jane thought about a few people in Acorn Hill who bragged about their expertise in the vegetable garden, people like the irritating Norman Traeger, who thought he knew all there was to know about agriculture. She raised a respectable garden and entered a few items in the fair each year, but she claimed no special prowess. She tended a garden for the pure joy of watching things grow and the pleasure of serving fresh food to their guests. “I’d like to see Norman Traeger’s face when you win a prize for the biggest pumpkin in Pennsylvania.”

  Louise smiled. “That would be something to see. I’ve heard him lecture you on what he thinks you’re doing wrong and I’ve heard him giving advice down at Fred’s Hardware. He told the Bellwoods that they were making mistakes in raising their field crops. Can you imagine? Sam and his sons have college degrees in agriculture and very successful farms. I doubt Norman has any formal training. But that’s off the subject. I’m not likely to have the largest pumpkin.”

  “You never know unless you enter. Think about it.”

  “I did check on the contest. It’s the first Saturday in October. I can’t go off across the state and leave you alone to run the inn.”

  “You most certainly may. I’m perfectly capable of handling things. Besides, Alice will be back. If we get desperate, I’ll call someone to help. So you have no excuse.”

  Louise diced the last strip of pepper and scraped it into a large bowl with the other peppers, celery and carrots she’d chopped. “That’s just one obstacle. There are plenty of others.”

  “Nothing that we can’t handle,” Jane said. She nodded her head once. As far as she was concerned, that settled it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A mile past Agatha’s house, Vera drove through a stately stone entrance with a discreet sign announcing the Madison Golf and Country Club. Fancy wrought-iron gates stood open, but Alice guessed the club required membership. The long, wide brick driveway passed beneath overhanging maple trees bordering expansive manicured lawns to a large brick building similar to Agatha’s home.


  Off to one side, golf carts were parked along a pathway. A valet in crisp white pants and a white polo shirt stepped forward to open Vera’s car door. As she thanked him, another young man opened Alice’s door.

  “Thank you,” she said. She had a fleeting thought that perhaps she should tip him, but Vera came around and he stepped back. Vera looked as if she’d been visiting country clubs and using valet service all her life.

  As they climbed the wide steps to the massive oak double doors, an attendant stepped forward and opened one of them. “Mrs. Humbert?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Jamison is awaiting you in the lounge.”

  “Thank you, Walter.”

  Alice was surprised and impressed that Vera knew the man’s name, then realized he was wearing a name badge. She thanked him as well. He responded with a nod and a polite smile. “You’re welcome. Enjoy your lunch.”

  Golden hardwood paneling lined the library walls. Soft light from amber-and-bronze wall sconces glowed against the wood, creating an atmosphere of warmth and serenity. The building was both beautiful and finely crafted, but Vera didn’t appear to be particularly impressed. Noting Vera’s confidence and poise, Alice realized her friend had stepped back seamlessly into a world of privilege in which she was at ease. Alice felt strangely off-kilter.

  They entered a lounge where people sat at small tables talking and laughing. At the far end, large windows provided a view of a fairway with golfers evaluating their next shots. Alice had golfed a few times in college and enjoyed the outdoor exercise, but Acorn Hill had no course and she’d had no one to golf with. She wondered if Vera played. There was a nice public golf course in Potterston.

  The tall, husky man with thick sandy-blond hair who rose from a stool by a window table made Alice think of a Viking. He set down a coffee cup and sauntered toward them. Vera’s eyes lit up. “Reggie!”

  When the man grinned, his tanned face creased into deep wrinkles. As he and Vera hugged, Alice saw the obvious affection between them. She searched her memory for references to Reggie and Shelton Cove. She’d heard mention of both over the years, but knew very little. It surprised Alice to realize that she and Vera had been friends for more than twenty-five years, and in all that time Vera rarely talked about her past.

  “Reggie, this is my friend Alice.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Alice.” Reggie’s large, weathered hands enveloped hers. He gave her a warm smile. She couldn’t help smiling back.

  A uniformed maïtre d’ approached them. “Your table is ready, Mr. Jamison.”

  They followed him to the dining room, where they sat at a table overlooking the golf course, a small pond and the Delaware River beyond.

  “Do you still serve the Sunday buffet?” Vera asked as their host handed them leather-bound menus that looked liked books.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s wonderful,” she told Alice. “It was always fun driving over for it years ago. Afterward, my father liked to play a round of golf.”

  Alice set down her menu. “I’ll have it too.”

  A waiter took orders for coffee and tea, and the threesome filed over to the buffet. It looked delicious. All the items had small placards. Alice surveyed the abundant array of offerings: Black Forest ham, beef Wellington, rosemary roast squab, wild salmon and a wide variety of salads, fresh fruits, breads and pastries. She wondered how she would manage to choose.

  “There’s a fabulous dessert bar too,” Vera whispered to her.

  “Oh my. It’s a good thing I’m famished,” Alice said, picking up a plate.

  She insisted Vera go first. Then she went through, picking tiny portions, until her plate was filled. She followed Vera back to the table. Reggie didn’t offer to say grace, so Alice said a silent prayer. Vera did the same.

  When Alice raised her head from prayer, the waiter, who’d been standing quietly beside their table, took the swan next to her plate and gave it a single shake, transforming it into a linen napkin, which he draped across her lap. Alice was charmed. She knew how to fold napkins in creative ways. Jane had taught her and Louise. They set a beautiful table at Grace Chapel Inn, but they let the guests unfold their own napkins.

  She took a bite of beef and Yorkshire pudding. It was tender and succulent.

  “Want to go out on the river this afternoon?” Reggie asked. “I have a new power yacht that needs trials.”

  “I’d like to see Aunt Agatha this afternoon,” Vera said.

  “You could visit her at dinnertime.”

  “All right. Would you like to go for a boat ride, Alice?”

  She swallowed a bite of spinach soufflé. “I’m happy to do anything you’d like,” she said. “This is wonderful. I’ll have to remember everything to tell Jane. My sister is a professional chef,” she explained to Reggie. “We serve gourmet breakfasts at our inn, but not this kind of extensive menu.”

  “I always thought this was more of a Sunday dinner than a brunch,” Vera said. “We won’t need more than a snack tonight. We can stop at the store later and pick up a few things.” Vera had eaten only a few forkfuls.

  “Reggie, what’s going on with Aunt Agatha? You called me to come help. That’s why I’m here. So let’s talk about her situation.”

  “You saw her last night, didn’t you? It’s obvious she needs to be in a facility where she can be taken care of.”

  Vera sighed. She poked at her salmon with her fork. “It looks that way.” She looked up. “You said you visited an assisted living center and talked to them?”

  “Yeah. Nice enough place. She’ll have her own apartment. It’s small—nothing like what she’s used to, obviously—but it’s sufficient. She doesn’t need all that space to rattle around in. She only uses a couple of rooms now.”

  “True, but they’re her rooms.”

  “I’d take you to the place, but I’ve got a buyer coming tomorrow. Unless you want to wait until Tuesday, you can go on your own.”

  “We’ll go tomorrow,” Vera said.

  “So what about that ride? It’s a perfect day for it.”

  “All right, as long as we’re back early enough to spend time with Aunt Agatha.”

  They finished up and agreed to meet at the marina. Alice hadn’t realized that the boatyard together with the marina next to Agatha’s home was the family business—Vera’s family’s business.

  The Shelton Cove Yacht Club shared the driveway that led to the Shelton-Jamison Boatworks and Marina. The stand of evergreen trees from Agatha’s property spread out around the upper end of the yacht club, hiding it from view. As they drew up alongside the building, Alice craned her neck to get a full look at the amazing three-story, gray weathered-cedar mansion. The red roof had multiple levels and angles that extended on and on, finally disappearing into the trees. The combination of towers, grand arches, gingerbread trims and green-and-gray striped awnings over the windows gave the building a fanciful appearance.

  “What an amazing building. It looks old.”

  Vera stopped the car and looked over at the clubhouse. “Eighteen fifty-three to be exact,” Vera said. “My great-great-grandfather built it. He was a Shelton. I grew up in that house.”

  “Oh, Vera, how remarkable. When did it become a yacht club?”

  “When my parents retired, they moved to a retirement village in Florida. I didn’t want the house, so the company acquired the house and land when my parents sold their part in the boatyard. The club leases it from the company.”

  “You had no desire to come back here?”

  “Are you kidding? All our friends and our church family are in Acorn Hill. I never really liked the house. Too big and dark inside. I liked playing in the towers, but we hardly used most of the house.”

  Alice loved her family’s home in Acorn Hill, which her great-grandfather had built. She loved being surrounded by family history and knowing her ancestors had lived their lives in the same house. That gave Alice a sense of belonging and security and comfort. She�
�d always considered it a large home, but this house made Grace Chapel Inn look small.

  Vera drove on, passed the marina and parked in front of the long, tall building that housed the boatworks.

  “We’d better take our sweaters,” she said as they got out of the car. “It can get chilly out on the river.”

  Alice took her sweater and followed Vera around the side of the boatworks. In front, the building extended over the water. A large opening and hoists allowed for boats to pull right into the work area. Reggie met them and unlocked the entrance gate that blocked the way to the private docks.

  At the end of the dock, a gleaming white, sleek yacht bobbed gently on the water as the slow current in the cove lapped against it. Reggie went up a set of steps first, then helped Alice climb aboard.

  The Nest Egg was a fifty-foot luxury yacht with teak decks and rails. Vera helped Reggie cast off. Then he climbed to the flybridge while she and Alice went inside the salon to explore. The boat moved from side to side beneath Alice’s feet. She grabbed the handhold on top of the built-in cabinet beside a blue leather settee to get her balance. The boat accelerated slowly. Alice was surprised how smoothly it moved through the water, even when they crossed the wake of other boats.

  The designer salon was furnished with the finest, butter-soft leather furniture and mahogany tables and cabinets. Forward of the salon, the galley had a small refrigerator, stove, microwave oven and a trash compactor. The dark-blue granite countertops matched the furniture.

  They moved aft and found two staterooms below deck. The master stateroom had its own bathroom, or head, as Vera called it. Alice was surprised at how roomy and comfortable the craft was.

  “You could live on this boat,” Alice said.

  “It certainly has everything you’d need, doesn’t it?” Vera ran her hand over the smooth railing as they walked around a side deck to the front of the boat.