Leave? she wondered wrenchingly. Was that what this was all about? Did he want her to leave? Toss away nine years of marriage… She couldn’t. She just couldn’t, no matter how he felt-or what he didn’t feel for her any longer. Not this minute, not just like that, like the blind turn of a card…
What she needed, she told herself, was work. And the work was there, waiting for her in the shop. The new building was almost finished; very soon everything would have to be moved, which meant packing all the small items… There were bills to pay and invoices to make out, orders for materials to check through…
She sat at the ancient desk with her coffee cup and buried herself for almost two hours-succeeding, almost, in putting a share of her problems on hold until she felt better able to cope with them. Weary finally, she stood up and stretched, then wandered idly to the window.
Her eyes widened in surprise. A pickup was pulling up outside the door, a decrepit old thing that had been painted a shiny yellow and was decorated with decals shaped like bright orange-and-green flowers. In the back was a huge table secured with ropes. Beside it stood a monster of a dog, woofing, his nose jutting out precariously to catch every last vestige of wind on his dark, furry face. In spite of herself, Erica managed a smile and hurried outside.
“Hi there!” The speaker was a little sprite of a woman, with brownish-gray curls fringing her forehead and snapping gray eyes. Perhaps forty, the lady had the kind of wrinkles on her face that said she’d never been as careful about staying out of the sun as she should have been and a smile that never did quit. “Down, you ornery old thing, and stop all that barking!” she scolded the huge shaggy dog, then turned to Erica. “I’ve got a problem I’m hoping you can help me with. You’re Kyle’s wife, aren’t you?”
Her step was as sprightly as the brilliant orange blouse she wore, never minding the arm encased in a heavy plaster cast. She offered her left hand for Erica to shake instead of her right, which obviously couldn’t do the job. Her hand was warm and welcoming, her handshake firm. “I’m Martha Calhoun; we’re neighbors. Got a dairy farm about five miles down the road. We were friends of Joel McCrery’s once upon a time. He used to stop for dinner once a month and take us all at poker. All right, get down,” she shouted to the whining animal. “But don’t go scaring everyone all over the place!”
Erica blinked when the dog promptly vaulted over the side of the pickup. “He’s half horse?” she questioned dryly.
The lady laughed. “He’s half rabbit. Likes raw carrots. Intimidates half the countryside with the look of him. I never did know whom he belongs to, but he’s got a thing about riding in my truck. We call him Lurch.”
“I can see why.” The dog had a loping, crooked gait as if his legs didn’t quite know how to accommodate his size; he also had ears that flopped, the soft eyes of a spaniel, the tail of a setter and the thick, soft coat of a St. Bernard.
“He’s the stud of the neighborhood,” Martha Calhoun said disgustedly. “If I were a female dog, I’d take one look at him and turn my nose in the air. But I know of four litters in the last two years, and one of the bitches was a prize English setter. Nancy Chase hasn’t talked to me since.”
Erica gathered that Nancy Chase owned the setter. The dog bounded close enough to sniff her, and she extended her palm for him to check out. The dog promptly washed her whole hand, sitting down next to her to do a most concentrated job of it.
“He doesn’t like people,” Martha offered sadly.
“I can see that.”
Martha laughed, motioning to the bed of the daisy-yellow pickup. “I should have come over here to meet you before! Come and look, would you, while I tell you all about my aunt Beatrice.”
With Lurch dogging her heels, Erica made her way to the back of the truck. The table was mahogany and had perhaps been intended to stand in someone’s castle hall a century or so earlier. The legs were intricately carved, an N in an upholstered wreath dominating one drop leaf, a carved eagle on the other. At one time, the top must have been faced with leather, but sometime in the recent past it had simply been finished and varnished-and, unfortunately, all but destroyed. Huge whitish rings, apparently caused by potted plants, scarred the wood…
“I’m sure it’s very valuable,” Erica said tactfully.
“Very. The N is for Napoleon. The period is Empire French, just so you can avoid it in the future. I covered it with plants so I wouldn’t have to look at it, but now you can see what I’ve done.”
Erica nodded with another glance at the water spots.
“It’s all right,” Martha said cheerfully. “Go ahead and say it.”
“I never thought a table could actually look pompous…”
Martha laughed again. “But then, you’ve never met my aunt. And I got a letter from her this morning saying she’d be here in ten days from England-”
“So you’ve got ten days to get the table back in shape?” Erica viewed the piece with a critical eye. Finally, she shook her head. “I’d love to help you, honestly. But the antiques I’ve been working on have all been American, nothing this old or valuable. Kyle would know what to do, but he’s so tied up-”
“Honey. I know what to do; it’s this broken arm that won’t let me do it. I can see you’re not dressed for messy work at the moment, but…”
No, she wasn’t; however, Martha’s eyes were bright with pleading. Just seeing her gave Erica enormous pleasure. How long had it been since she’d chatted with another woman?
“We might not even have to refinish it,” Martha coaxed. “Have you got a smoker around the house?”
“Smoker?” Erica asked blankly. “No…”
“Well, we need ashes.”
Within an hour, Erica had found laughter she had never expected to find that morning. Ashes and lemon juice were what Martha had in mind for removing the water spots, spurning all the scientific preparations stored in Kyle’s shop. While Erica changed her clothes, Martha made coffee for both of them. Then they discussed the ashes…and along the way, hair styles, clothes, living on a farm, cooking and animals. Martha had a lively sense of humor, and by the time they headed back outside they were chattering like friends of long standing.
They shelved the lemon and ash mixture temporarily in favor of another old-fashioned preparation for removing water stains: vinegar and cold water. Erica sat in the bed of the truck, wearing a halter top and shorts, working there because the table was too heavy for them to lift down. Occasionally, she glanced up to the sound of hammering and sawing where the new building was going up. Lurch was lying in the middle of the fray, being stepped over frequently, completely oblivious.
“He’s unbudgeable,” Martha said ruefully. “I should have left him home. And I never meant to take up your whole morning-”
“No problem,” Erica assured her. She added absently, “The vinegar’s good, but not good enough.”
“I’ve heard a little alcohol on a fingertip rubbed really hard-”
Finally, they gathered paper and a small stack of twigs and crouched over them in the driveway, Erica waving her hands furiously to get the fire going. “This is ridiculous,” she said idly.