Hearts at Home Read online

  Marc made a mental note to stay close enough to help, should Annie need a hand.

  Music by the Vienna Boys’ Choir had filled the church during the processional; now Beatrice Coughlin sat at the piano, a small microphone on a stand next to her. At a nod from Edith, acting as funeral director, Bea tapped the microphone twice, then ran her fingers over the keys in a rippling arpeggio.

  “O think of the home over there,” she sang, her voice warbling over the sound system,

  “By the side of the river of light,

  Where the saints, all immortal and fair,

  Are robed in their garments of white.”

  “Mama,” Georgie Graham’s voice rang out, “why are the saints wearing their bathrobes?”

  Ignoring him, Bea sang on.

  “O think of the friends over there,

  Who before us the journey have trod,

  Of the songs that they breathe on the air,

  In their home in the palace of God.”

  Marc glanced at Georgie, but Babette had anticipated the break in the song. In perfect time to the music, she clapped her hand over his mouth until Bea began the final verse.

  “My Savior is now over there,

  There my kin and friends are at rest,

  Then away from my sorrow and care,

  Let me fly to the land of the blest.”

  Marc drew a deep breath, taking comfort from the lyrics of the old hymn. His dear wife, Alex’s mother, had been dwelling in the palace of God for nearly ten years. He still missed her, particularly when he worried about Alex … but now that Alex had found Annie, he would worry less.

  Annie Cuvier was a fine young woman, the best of Olympia and Edmund combined into one lovely personality. Like Edmund, she loved to give, devoting herself completely to causes ranging from tomatoes to homeless animals. Olympia had spent many hours telling Marc about Annie’s childhood—how the girl befriended wounded birds she found on the beach; how one summer she had adopted a puffin family and wept for hours when one of the babies died. Olympia could not understand that part of Annie—the mistress of Frenchman’s Fairest had been a fine person, but she’d definitely been more of a cold prickly than a warm fuzzy. Yet Annie had brought warmth and happiness to Olympia in the last few months, and the place wouldn’t be the same without her youthful enthusiasm.

  He felt his heart sink. He would miss Olympia because she had been a generous landlady and a faithful friend. He would also miss her because her passing meant Annie had no more reasons to visit the island. With no tomatoes, aunt, or uncle to draw her home, Annie would most likely remain in Portland with her work.

  There remained, however, the matter of Olympia’s bequest. He wasn’t sure what the woman was thinking when she left Frenchman’s Fairest to Annie; despite what she said in her letter, she may have intended to snub her son rather than endow her niece. But one thing was certain— Annie had no use for a house. As a young woman, she would want a home of her own with a husband like A.J. as its master. Together they would have strong, intelligent children. The prospect of having Annie as a daughter-in-law should have filled Marc’s heart with joy …

  So why didn’t it?

  With A.J.’s firm hand on her elbow, Annie dabbed at her eyes and watched as Beatrice ripped out one final arpeggio.

  When Bea had finished, Caleb stood. Annie felt the room grow quiet as movement and sniffling ceased. Everyone wondered what the old butler would say, for he had known Olympia better than anyone except Edmund.

  The man’s bright eyes swept the room. “Now, dear brothers and sisters, I want you to know what has happened to Olympia so you will not be full of sorrow like people who have no hope.” His soft brown eyes crinkled as he smiled. “For since you believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, you also believe that when the Lord comes, God will bring back with Him all the Christians who have died, including Olympia. I can tell you this directly from the Lord: You who are still living when the Lord returns will not rise to meet him ahead of those who are in their graves. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the call of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. first, all the Christians who have died will rise from their graves. Then, together with them, you who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air and remain with Him forever. So comfort and encourage each other with these words.”

  A murmur of “ayuhs” and “amens” rippled through the room as Caleb took his seat. Then Pastor Wickam stood and walked to the pulpit.

  “I do not think I can add anything to the words of comfort Caleb Smith has shared with us,” he said, gripping the edges of the pulpit. “But perhaps some of you would like to share a brief ”—he glanced at Floyd Lansdown, who had a tendency to be long-winded in community meetings—“ tribute to our dear friend Olympia.”

  The women on the other side of the church looked at each other, then Dana Klackenbush stood. “Alst I know,” she said, holding tight to the back of the pew in front of her, “is whenever I wanted to know what a lady should do in any given situation, I would ask myself, ‘What would Olympia do?’ And then I had my answer. She was the classiest lady on the island, and I was honored to call her my friend.”

  Floyd waved his hand. “Hear, hear!”

  Ignoring Floyd, the pastor nodded at Birdie Wester.

  “Thank you, Pastor.” Pulling herself from the space beneath Salt Gribbon’s arm, Birdie rose to her full height of five feet and a few centimeters, then drew a deep breath. “Olympia had her share of struggles, but she bore them like a stalwart Christian. I never heard her complain about personal things, not even when her only son couldn’t seem to find the time to pay her a visit—”

  “Sister!”

  Birdie halted in midsentence, then looked down at her hissing sibling. She squared her shoulders as if she planned to continue her diatribe against Edmund Junior, then apparently thought the better of it when Salt Gribbon reached out and gripped her elbow.

  “Well,” she said, the touch of her man’s hand obviously settling her down, “Olympia was a class act, true. And when I see her in heaven, I’ll be sure to tell her so. I’m only sorry we didn’t get to do more neighborin’ here on the island.”

  As Birdie settled back in the crook of Salt’s arm, Vernie Bidderman rose and clomped up the aisle in man-sized boots. Annie pressed her hand over her face as Vernie turned by the portrait on the easel, then draped an arm over it as if she were good-naturedly resting her arm on Aunt Olympia’s genteel shoulders.

  “You all know Olympia,” Vernie said, “and you know me. We are two different kinds of people, and about as likely to mix as oil and water. If not for the Lord and this island throwin’ us together, I guess we’d never have mixed at all. But Olympia did bring a little culture into my life, and I’d like to think I brought a little grit into hers. But I’m especially happy to think the Lord gave her an honor we never would have thought to offer her.”

  Vernie paused, lifting a brow, and Babette Graham rose to the bait. “What did the Lord give her, Vernie?”

  As serious as a philosopher, Vernie thumped her chest. “A burial at sea.”

  For an instant no one spoke, then Birdie chirped: “I kinda thought it was fittin’, seeing as how she was descended from that sea captain.”

  A flutter of smiles appeared on Birdie’s and Bea’s pew. Charles Graham leaned forward, his chin quivering. “All we were missing was the twenty-one gun salute.”

  “I could start up the siren on the fire truck,” Floyd called. “If I let it wail twenty-one minutes, would that count?”

  Annie pressed her hand to her chest as Russell Higgs rose from his seat. “She had an honor guard escort—and Crazy Odell Butcher darn nearly had a burial at sea himself.”

  Vernie thumped her chest again. “Olympia would love that—she dearly hated to ride with that man. Said she wouldn’t ride with him if he were the last captain on earth!”

  Floyd
slapped his knee. “Well, I guess she didn’t! Bailed out on him, didn’t she?”

  The remarks continued flying, thick and fast, and through the rising din Annie felt Edith Wickam’s gaze meet hers. A moment later Edith was shooting daggers at Winslow. “Win! Stop them! This is disgraceful!”

  Pastor Winslow, who had been gamely smiling at the spontaneous comments, now blushed crimson and gripped the pulpit with both hands. “Um, quiet,” he called, knocking on the pulpit for emphasis. “This is, ah, a time of reverence and respect. We should not be laughing at the, um, unfortunate cruise—I mean news—that no one has found dear Olympia’s casket.”

  A wave of giggles followed his slip, with outright whooping from Vernie and Stanley Bidderman. Dana Klackenbush, who was Annie’s age and hadn’t known Olympia as long as the others, was trying to hold her face in composed lines, though her cheeks and forehead had gone as red as a woman strangling on a fried clam.

  Tears of dismay flooded Annie’s eyes. This wasn’t what Aunt Olympia would have wanted for her funeral at all. The people who knew and loved her better than anyone on earth were howling at the final little joke life had played on the mistress of Frenchman’s Fairest— Dr. Marc stood and whirled to face the crowd. “Hush, now, all of you! Can’t you see you’re upsetting Annie?”

  Annie lowered her eyes as her cheeks burned. While it had been thoughtful of him to notice her discomfort, she wished he hadn’t singled her out.

  “We’re sorry, Annie,” Vernie called, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, “but you have to admit the thought of Olympia being buried at sea is downright comical.”

  “She was always so proud of being related to that captain,” Cleta added. “So it’s purely fittin’ that things went down the way they did.”

  Another wave of laughter rolled across the sanctuary as Annie hunched lower in the pew.

  Without fanfare, Caleb stood and walked to the front of the room, then climbed the steps to the platform. Pastor Wickam stepped aside, vacating the pulpit, but Caleb merely turned, closed his eyes, and lifted his hands. The noise in the church subsided; after a few last whoops, the sound of laughter ceased.

  When every cackle and giggle had faded away, Caleb looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Father, for laughter. I thank you that my dear friend Olympia is now experiencing joy unlike anything she knew on earth. I rejoice in knowing you have reunited her with her dear husband Edmund, her brother Ferrell, her sister-in-law Ruth Ann, and her beloved parents. Many are the souls she knows in your house, and they care for her with a love surpassing earthly affection. But most of all, loving Savior, we are grateful that you are there laughing with our Olympia, sharing your joy so her time of waiting will be full and rich. Thank you, Lord, for your goodness and bountiful grace. Thank you for the laughter and love in this room. Please let Olympia know how much we miss her, and that we honor her with our laughter in her name.”

  With Edmund by her side, Olympia peered over the balcony of heaven and witnessed the funeral gathering. She saw her friends seated in the pews, she saw her son stand and slip his arm around Caleb’s frail shoulders, guiding him back into his seat.

  She laughed. If only Edmund Junior knew the true strength in that frame.

  Her soul warmed at the thought that everyone in Heavenly Daze had come to pay his or her respects. “That does my heart good, Edmund,” she said, bending to rest her arms on the balcony railing. “And doesn’t the church look lovely! Vernie has brought some of those nice candles from the mercantile, and it looks like Babette has dusted off the silk flowers. That girl always did have a passion for cleanliness.”

  “The setting is beautiful,” Edmund agreed. “But no more beautiful than the smiles on their faces. You will be missed, Olympia, until we are reunited at the Resurrection.”

  “May it come soon.” Olympia fell silent as Pastor Winslow stepped forward to close the meeting in prayer, then she frowned. “Edmund?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “There’s no casket at the church. Do you think Annie had me cremated? I didn’t want to be cremated; ovens are for cherry pies.”

  “Annie would never do anything but honor your wishes.”

  “Then what do you suppose they did with me?”

  A smile flitted over his glowing face. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” If she’d been mortal, she would have blushed. “Where’d they put my body?”

  He laughed. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

  “Why in heaven not?”

  “Because sometimes the best-laid plans go awry.”

  She stared at him, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “I don’t see how anyone could be confused about my plans. I gave specific instructions in a letter I left with my will. I wanted to have a quiet closed-casket ceremony, and I wanted to be buried next to you in the Heavenly Daze cemetery. I picked out lovely plots for both of us, only a stone’s throw from Jacques de Cuvier’s monument—”

  “Your casket went into the drink when Crazy Odell Butcher’s boat went down. Annie’s got the Coast Guard out looking for it.”

  For a moment Olympia could not speak, but something in her shriveled in horror. Olympia de Cuvier, riding aboard the Sally? Why, she’d not been willing to board that rust bucket when she was alive, so why in heaven’s name had she been traveling in it after death?

  “The entire town watched you drift out to sea,” Edmund continued, relentless in his needling. “Vernie Bidderman tactfully refers to the accident as your ‘last cruise.’”

  Olympia snorted. “Vernie Bidderman doesn’t have a tactful bone in her body, Edmund, and furthermore—” She paused, seeking the indignation to fire her words, and found … nothing.

  Edmund was right. Her worn-out physical body was not important now that she lived in heaven, and neither was her pride.

  Looking at the man who had known her best on earth, Olympia began to laugh.

  Chapter Five

  The scents of yeast rolls and coffee filled the church basement as Annie moved down the impromptu buffet line. Every woman in town had brought a covered dish or two, and the folding tables groaned beneath the weight of their generosity.

  She smiled as she filled a Styrofoam bowl with a ladle-ful of Vernie’s clam chowder. According to the mistress of the mercantile, there was no heartache a warm bowl of chowder couldn’t mend.

  Annie’s heart was aching. Not only with the loss of her aunt, but with the knowledge that two men who should have accompanied her down the church stairs had fled right after Pastor Wickam said “amen.” Edmund Junior had given her a quick hug and run for his helicopter while A.J. had headed for the boat he’d hired to bring him to the island. The first defection didn’t surprise her, the latter astounded and hurt her.

  After a death in the family, shouldn’t a man stick around to comfort the woman he loved? She considered the question as she scooped up a serving of Dana Klackenbush’s green bean casserole, and had her answer before the beans and onions hit her paper plate: Olympia would say a hasty exit was not proper behavior for a young man in love.

  Because Annie had lingered in the sanctuary, seeking a few moments of silence, she was the last to go through the serving line. By the time she filled her plate, all the other townspeople were already seated and eating, though their conversation seemed unusually subdued. Annie slipped into the empty seat next to Dr. Marc.

  Before she could sip from her glass, she felt Pastor Wickam look her way. “Annie? I don’t mean to interrupt your lunch, but you didn’t speak during the service. We were wondering if you had a word or two you wanted to share.”

  Inwardly, she grimaced, though she took pains to keep a pleasant expression on her face. She hadn’t been able to speak at the funeral; she’d been petrified that she’d break down and bawl. But the others obviously wanted to know how she was coping, so perhaps this was the best time and place to tell them.

  Drawing a deep breath, she stood. “Thank you all for co
ming and furnishing this wonderful meal.” She looked down the table, smiling her thanks to Babette Graham, Cleta, Edith, Dana, Vernie, Birdie, and Bea. “Aunt Olympia would be so pleased to know you cared enough to honor her this way. I’m certain she’s in a better place now, and I know she’s with Uncle Edmund. I only hope I can please her by carrying out her final wishes.”

  “I heard she left Frenchman’s Fairest to you,” Vernie said, propping her elbows on the table. “What are you going to do with the house?”

  Annie shrugged. “I haven’t decided. Since I live in Portland, I’m not sure what good a house on Heavenly Daze will do me.”

  “You can’t sell it.” This came from Birdie, whose bright blue eyes were like twin laser beams at the end of the table. “Not as long as Caleb’s living. He’s like family, and you can’t evict family from the house.”

  Annie lifted her chin and glanced toward the end of the table, where Caleb was eating with the other Smith men. Fortunately, he seemed oblivious to their conversation.

  “I wasn’t thinking of evicting Caleb. I guess I was thinking he’d stay with the house.”

  “Like a pair of draperies?” Vernie shook her head. “Honey, you can’t treat people that way.”

  Annie felt herself flush. “I wasn’t going to leave him with the house. I thought I’d—well, I haven’t really thought it through. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  Glancing down, she caught Dr. Marc’s gaze. He sent her a reassuring smile that gave her the courage to meet Vernie head on. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I want to be sure I honor Aunt Olympia and Uncle Edmund, but I’m not sure that means I should keep the house. If I keep it, I don’t think I can afford to maintain it. But if I sell it, the house moves out of my control.”

  “No telling what kind of riffraff might move in if you sell it,” Birdie said. “Best keep the house in the family.”