Olivia obeyed, peeling away the brown butcher paper enveloping a canvas. When she saw the image, she cried out in surprised delight. “Haviland!” She put her fingertips on the layers of dried paint Rawlings had used to form her poodle’s black curls. There were Haviland’s intelligent, smiling eyes, the color of golden caramel, and his toothy grin. His seated posture was somehow as dignified as a king’s and as jaunty as a rogue’s.
“It’s amazing!” Olivia exclaimed, her throat tight with emotion. When she spoke again, her voice was a mere breath, barely audible above the multitude of tourists. “It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen, let alone been given.”
Jeannie’s eyes, which were the same shape as her brother’s but more green than hazel, sparkled with pleasure. “He’ll be glad to hear that.”
Tenderly rewrapping the small painting in its protective layer of butcher paper, Olivia moved closer to Jeannie. “Why didn’t he give this to me himself?”
“Oh, some stuff and nonsense over having to be on duty right up until the start of your writer’s meeting and that wasn’t the time or the place to give it to you anyhow and blah, blah, blah.” Jeannie shook her head in exasperation. “The man cares for you. It’s plain as day, but he’s afraid of having feelings for anyone after what he went through with his wife.”
“If he doesn’t feel, he won’t get hurt.” Olivia understood his rationale.
Jeannie nodded. “I suspect you know a bit about that fool notion.”
She began to tape the corners of the butcher paper together and then slid the painting into a grocery bag. She set the bag gently on the table and smoothed the paper as though she were petting a cat.
“I was a teenager when your daddy went missing. I remember seeing your grandmother’s fancy car motoring through town. I figured she must be a movie star to have her own driver.” Jeannie smiled at the memory. “Do you know what? I was actually jealous of you. You rode off in that big, black car and it seemed so glamorous to me, like you were going to live a real life while the rest of us stayed here and rotted.” She reached out and touched Olivia’s arm. “I was a silly girl then. But after you came back, I wish I’d had the guts to walk up and tell you that I’d wondered about you over the years, that I’d always prayed you were okay.”
Embarrassed by the other woman’s sincerity, Olivia looked away. “I did lead a glamorous existence to some extent. I ate croissants at a sidewalk café near the Eiffel Tower, climbed on the pyramids at Giza, felt the spray of Victoria Falls on my face . . .” She trailed off. “But I would have traded it all for another day with my mother or to have had a brother or sister. Someone to share a bedroom with, to whisper to when we were supposed to be asleep.”
The loneliness of her childhood—all those years spent with only imaginary playmates as she drifted from room to room or wandered the grounds of one of her grandmother’s several mansions—came back in force. Jeannie must have recognized the sadness flit over Olivia’s features and immediately sought to dispel the gloom.
“Well, you’re back where you belong now,” she declared brightly. “And I hear you bought the old cotton mill.” Jeannie gestured vaguely in the direction of Olivia’s new property.
Grateful for the change of subject, Olivia nodded. “Yes. My offer was accepted yesterday. I plan to open a crab house this spring.”
“That’s good. More jobs for the locals and another of the town’s landmarks that won’t slide into the sea.” Jeannie’s attention was caught by a girl dancing to a bluegrass tune coming from the radio at the next booth. “Are you going to have music?”
Olivia smiled. “Oh, yes! Live bands, a cappella groups, jazz ensembles, all kinds of music.”
Jeannie scrawled something on a piece of scrap paper. “You call me when you’re ready to book bands. My son’s been doing church gigs for the past two years and he’s pretty good. His band can play anything from The Rolling Stones to Jimmy Buffet to Dave Matthews. Cody’s a high school sophomore but has been putting away money for college since he was in the third grade.” Her eyes shone with pride. “Me and his father had two years of junior college and that was enough for us, but Cody wants to be like his uncle Sawyer.”
“Not a bad role model,” Olivia answered and then stepped away to allow a new wave of customers to view the chief’s paintings. “It’ll take months to get the place ready, but I promise to put your son’s name on the top of the audition list. What’s his band called?”
“Excelsior,” Jeannie said and then shrugged. “Whatever that is.”
A man in overalls seemed frightened to approach the table where Haviland stood so Olivia put a hand on the poodle’s collar, drawing him closer to her side. “Excelsior means ‘ever higher.’ I wonder if Cody’s read the Longfellow poem with that title.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. My brother is always buying that boy books and CDs and sports gear. Spoils him rotten.” Olivia wasn’t fooled by Jeannie’s pretense of disapproval. “Sawyer would have made a fine daddy, but I guess that just wasn’t part of the Lord’s plan.” She met Olivia’s eyes. “But I hope you are.” And with that, she turned to assist an eager customer.
Clutching her painting, Olivia wandered toward the harbor and the launching area of the cardboard boats. Her mind was full of thoughts of Sawyer. What did she really know of his private life? Of his childhood? Had he lain in his bed reading Longfellow? Somehow, she could picture him doing just that, for the poem was a tribute to the courage and perseverance of a young man. Did Rawlings see himself as that boy, trudging onward and upward through the frigid night, his throbbing arms refusing to lay down the banner of Excelsior?
Before her grandmother shipped her off to an exclusive all-girl boarding school, Olivia had had to memorize the poem for one of her many tutors. The words tiptoed back into her memory.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed,
A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
Haviland barked, drawing Olivia back to the present and the thick knot of people gathered to witness the start of the first race.
“You’re right, Captain. That’s a poem for a cold winter’s day.” Seeing Laurel waving to her from the dock while keeping a tight hold on her double stroller, the lighthearted mood Olivia had felt when she first arrived downtown returned.
Laurel gave Olivia a shy smile. “You seemed kind of lost in thought.”
“I was mumbling poetry. Haviland is particularly fond of verse,” Olivia answered and rubbed the fur on the poodle’s neck. She then apologized to Laurel for being so abrupt the last time’s they’d spoken.
“Sure. It’s already forgotten,” Laurel said as she handed each of the twins a soft pretzel. “Harris told me about the cliché clues. Do you have any idea what they mean?”
Olivia shook her head and wondered whether Steve had told his wife about being questioned by the police. From the serene look of Laurel’s face, she doubted it. “So far, the only common denominator is that all the families have kids that play sports and attend area private schools.”
“And the messages the thieves leave behind. What are they trying to tell the people they’ve stolen from?” Laurel asked and then sighed. “I miss the feeling that I had something to contribute to the Gazette, to this town.” She gave a self-effacing laugh. “My cooking attempts have certainly been a disaster! Steve has begged me to go back to culinary school more than once. If only he realized there isn’t one!”