Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(21)
I’m saying Missus Sweetwater, because the thought of having a grandma hasn’t settled in my head yet. I keep wondering about that first moment, when she opens the door and sees me standing there. Do I say, Hi, Grandma, or Good afternoon, Missus Sweetwater?
Maybe she’ll be the first to speak; then I can just go along with whatever she says.
The Arrival
Wednesday night sleep was impossible for Ida to come by. The excitement of having a granddaughter made her heart flutter with anticipation. It brought the kind of happiness that wiggled in the tips of her fingers and made her feet feel like dancing. At times it almost took her breath away. When she closed her eyes, instead of drifting off she started picturing all the things she and Caroline would do together: leisurely lunches on the back porch, long conversations and shared dreams. She could already envision the girl peeling apples for a pie as she rolled the dough.
Ida had created her own image of Caroline. It was a softened version of James, his dark hair and eyes, his happy-go-lucky laugh, his charm—yes, the girl would definitely have his charm. This old house will come alive again, Ida told herself, and she believed it.
Were she to look at the situation through other eyes, Ida might have noticed that the house was already alive. It overflowed with people who had developed a fondness for one another, and on any given evening you could hear the laughter circling the dining room table from miles away.
In the wee hours of the morning Ida began to think through the list of things that needed to be done. It had all been taken care of. The bedroom where James once slept was now transformed. It was bright, cheerful, and styled for a young woman. Peter Pennington was right; the room didn’t need a new bed.
Ida breathed a sigh of relief. She was definitely prepared. If Caroline arrived early she’d serve a lovely lunch of stewed peaches and sliced ham. And if she didn’t get there until suppertime, it would be the most festive meal imaginable. Ida had laundered the Irish linen tablecloth and napkins, even though they’d never once been used. She folded the napkins into triangles and with a hot iron pressed them flat. As she thought through her checklist, Ida could almost smell the sizzle of the roast beef she’d cook. And for dessert she’d made her specialty: a three-layer chocolate cake with frosting so rich a single bite could carry a person to utopia.
After she’d reviewed the checklist for the ninth time Ida closed her eyes, but seconds later the thought came to her: What if Caroline didn’t like chocolate? What if she was a vegetarian? Ida bolted up and climbed out of bed. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she hurried down to the kitchen and started mixing up a carrot cake. Before she put it in the oven, a sleepy-eyed Wilbur stumbled into the room.
“What’s all the noise about?” he asked.
“I got to thinking,” Ida said, then explained her fears.
“Nonsense,” Wilbur replied. “If she doesn’t like chocolate, give her a slice of that wonderful peach pie you served at supper.”
“Serve leftovers to my granddaughter?” Ida said incredulously.
“That pie’s not just leftovers, it’s the best peach pie I’ve ever tasted.”
Ida slid the carrot cake into the oven and turned back. “And what if she’s a vegetarian?”
“Ida,” Wilbur said, chuckling, “you worry about the most foolish things. Caroline coming here has nothing to do with the food. She’s coming because she wants to be with you.”
Wilbur poured himself a glass of milk and stood watching Ida bustle across the kitchen. “This Caroline’s a lucky girl,” he said. Then he drained the glass and returned to his room.
It was almost dawn when Ida climbed back into bed. She’d baked and frosted a carrot cake and prepared a casserole of creamy potatoes and vegetables. Now she was prepared for anything—so she thought.
Most mornings Ida woke when the first rays of light filtered through the blinds, but then most nights she was sound asleep by ten o’clock. On Thursday when the sun rose, Ida didn’t. She was sound asleep and having the loveliest dream, a dream in which she walked hand in hand with Big Jim and shared the sweet kisses they’d shared in their youth. It was the kind of dream from which no one wants to awake.
~
It was after eight o’clock when Louie hollered up the stairs, “Hey, Ida, there’s no breakfast!” He called out three times with no response. Finally Harriett Chowder, who couldn’t start the day without a cigarette and a strong cup of coffee, volunteered to go rap on Ida’s door.
Twice Harriet gave a soft knock on the door, but there was no response. The third time she banged hard with her fist and yelled, “Wake up, I need coffee!”
Ida woke with a start. Casting one sleepy-eye at the bedside clock, she saw it was twenty minutes until nine. “Good grief!” she shouted and jumped out of bed. Pulling on a robe and slippers, she hurried downstairs.
The first thing Ida did was set a pot of coffee on to brew. Then she pulled the eggs and bacon from the refrigerator. Eggs and bacon took time to make, but she had no choice. A week ago she’d tried setting out a breakfast of cereal but there’d been a considerable amount of grumbling, especially from Louie.
“This ain’t hot,” he’d said. “I signed up for hot, and that’s what I’m expecting.”
It was the last time she’d given them cereal.