“Your first night in your new home. Three nights to go! If you need me, call.”
“I think I’ll collapse, thank you. Everything looks beautiful. I’m sorry Jim isn’t staying here tonight. But he’ll be here soon enough.”
“And forever.”
They smiled at each other.
Maggie headed toward the B and B, a couple of miles north of town. As she drove she saw windows boarded up on two homes. Funny, she thought. I hadn’t noticed those this morning.
And in the center of town plywood boards covered the windows of a gift shop.
The Six Gables Inn, a brown-painted bed and breakfast, was just outside of town. It had an elegant but weathered look, sheltered by tall pines, and located far enough off the main road to have the illusion of country.
Maggie draped her garment bag over her arm and picked up her suitcase. No other cars were parked outside. She must be the only guest tonight. Fine. Quiet sounded good after a long day of toting and carrying.
And trust Gussie to ensure there was a ramp as an alternative to the staircase leading up to the wide porch. Tonight she didn’t feel like hoisting her suitcase up stairs.
The inside of Six Gables was elegantly late-colonial. Maggie realized she was truly exhausted when she didn’t even care how authentic some of the décor was. She rang the brass Indian elephant bell on the desk.
Mrs. Decker, the owner, appeared almost at once from the door on the left of the entrance hall. “Good afternoon, and welcome to Six Gables. You must be Ms. Summer.”
“Yes, I am.”
Mrs. Decker smiled at her, with a glint of amusement in her eyes. What did she find so funny? Maggie reached up to pat her hair. Part of it had come undone, and she knew her sweatshirt was smudged with dust. But considering she’d been packing and moving boxes and unpacking all day, she didn’t think she looked that strange. “Would you like me to sign in?”
“You can take care of that later. I believe you are who you say you are. I’m glad to see you. Ms. White specified that you were to have the yellow room; it has a king-sized bed. Number one, the first door on your right, at the head of the stairs. Go right up. Here’s your key. It opens both the front door and the door to your room. If you have any questions, my room is number nine on the intercom.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Decker.”
Maggie took the key and started toward the staircase. “Oh, and Mrs. Decker? What time is breakfast?”
“Seven-thirty, dear, unless you specify another time.”
She headed up the flight of stairs to the second floor. That was one disadvantage to bed-and-breakfasts. She’d never yet stayed in one where there was an elevator.
She put her key in the door to number one and threw open the door.
A man was in the room.
Chapter 26
“Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting.”Tipped in lithograph (from a painting by Arthur Rackham), an illustration for John Milton’s Comus, written in 1634; this edition published in 1921. Milton’s poem about a water nymph was later quoted in a Broadway comedy by Samuel Taylor (1953,) a Billy Wilder movie (1954), and its remake (1995). Here Sabrina is pictured braiding her hair with lilies, under a wave. Rackham was known for his sinuous young women and his fairies, trolls, hidden images, animated trees, and other fantastic creatures painted in muted watercolors. 5 x 7.25 inches. Price: $65.
Maggie dropped her bags. A dozen thoughts filled her mind. Had she confused the dates? Mrs. Decker downstairs had known! How bad did her hair really look?
And then she didn’t think at all as Will pulled her into his arms and she felt safe and warm and as if they’d never been apart.
After a few minutes, she pulled back, stood on her toes to kiss him on his nose, and reached down to pick up the garment bag crumpled at their feet. “I love you, but I want to look decent for Gussie and Jim on Saturday! My dresses for the wedding are in there. Where’s the closet, before we get back to more important issues?”
Will threw back his head and laughed. “That’s my girl. Even prioritizing her love life. Closet’s over there.” He pointed at the corner of the large room. Maggie took approving note of the promised king-sized bed, which even had a canopy, and the fireplace, with stacked wood waiting beside it. “This place is like a picture in one of those ‘romantic getaway’ travel brochures.”
“I was thinking of having the fire started when you arrived, but I wasn’t sure when that would be, and I thought we might want to save the wood for later tonight,” said Will, nuzzling her ear as she managed to hang her garment bag in the closet. “Perhaps after we have a quiet dinner somewhere. And you have some of your favorite sherry.”
“Mmmm,” said Maggie, sitting on the bed. “You’re tempting me. Successfully. When did you get in? And how did you get here? I didn’t see your RV in the driveway.”
“I didn’t bring the RV. I knew I had a room at a wonderful B and B. I borrowed Aunt Nettie’s car. It’s in back of the building, in case you might have recognized it, or wondered about a car with Maine license plates. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Which you did. Although clearly Mrs. Decker knew,” said Maggie.
“And Gussie,” said Will, joining her on the bed.
“Gussie, too?”
“I wanted to be sure you’d be here tonight.” Will kissed her forehead and unfastened the section of her hair that was still pinned up, so it tumbled down her back. “I got the house and Aunt Nettie set for whatever Hurricane Tasha brings, and Tom was able to come a day early after all, so I couldn’t wait any longer. Besides, they’re talking about closing bridges Thursday, so I might not have been able to get through tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to miss the wedding.” He started to ease her down onto the pillows, gently combing his fingers through her tousled hair.
“Wait a minute.” Maggie popped up. “Hurricane Tasha? You mean there’s really a hurricane that close?”
“You really don’t have a clue? It’s been all over the TV for days. The storm went east of Florida and is traveling up the coast, aimed directly for Cape Cod, the Islands, and Maine.”
“But…what does that old mariner’s rhyme say? About when hurricanes hit?”
“‘June, too soon; July, stand by; August, if you must; September, remember; October, all over.’”
“Right! And this is the end of October. There are jack-o’-lanterns on porches! This is not hurricane season!”
“Well, if you stopped thinking about bridal dresses and wedding cake, you might have noticed that global warming has changed the climate considerably since mariners wrote that rhyme, and most people in the northeast have taken their pumpkins inside in preparation for the storm. The National Weather Service now says hurricane season is from June until November. And Hurricane Tasha appears to be trying her darnedest to be getting in under the deadline.”
“Gussie’s TV was disconnected and she hasn’t got service in her new home yet. Is there a television in this place?”
“Oh, Maggie. A man drives all the way from Maine to the Cape with a hurricane on the way to see the woman he loves, and the first thing she wants to do—”
“I want to listen to the Weather Channel!”
Will shook his head. “The TV’s hidden behind the picture over the fireplace. The remote is in the drawer next to the bed. I checked it out before you got here.”
Maggie reached over and opened the drawer.
“The white remote moves the painting; then press the power button on the other remote.” Will said patiently, the glint of an amused smile on his face. “And, my romantic love, the Weather Channel is number seventeen.”
A serious young man was standing at the map. Below him were the scrolling words STAY TUNED FOR HURRICANE TASHA COVERAGE. “…fierce winds, storm surges, and power outages. Tasha continues barreling up the Eastern seacoast, its high winds and heavy rains anticipated to be affecting the New Jersey shore later tonight. Evacuations are underway on Long Island, where it will hit early Thursday morning. As it crosses Long Island Sound it will most likely pick up speed before continuing up the Connecticut shoreline. Thursday night into Friday morning Tasha should be causing heavy tides and rains in Rhode Island and eastern Massachusetts. Tasha is anticipated to cause heavy damage to islands such as Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard, where visitors have already been asked to leave, and Cape Cod, where harbormasters are requiring boats to be put in dry dock by tomorrow morning. In New England there are already shortages of bottled water, flashlights, batteries, plywood, and in vulnerable shoreline communities, sandbags. Stay tuned for the latest coverage, as the Eastern United States hunkers down and waits to see exactly what path Tasha will take. And what destruction she’ll leave in her wake.”