18. Becks A Little Something Extra
FRIDAY, JULY 16, 1976
Tip: I know it is overdiscussed to the point of cliché, but, my darling, the saying is true: the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And, well, most women’s too. I have found that anything I need to accomplish can be done with a basket of muffins, a warm chicken potpie, or a delicious dinner party meal. A woman must use every tool at her disposal.
Becks pulled two tins of perfectly plump, browned-on-top blueberry muffins out of her oh-so-chic green oven and inhaled their fragrant scent. She didn’t cook that much anymore, thanks to lovely Chef Evelyn, who did most of it now. Evelyn’s weekday meals were simpler than her extravagant summer suppers—usually casseroles or things she had frozen ahead of time. But when the mood struck, Becks would still whip up a batch of chicken salad or pimento cheese, her famous chicken potpie, and she did enjoy baking ever so much. Of everything she made, she thought her blueberry muffins might be her most popular treat. Everyone asked for her recipe, but a lady had to have a few secrets, didn’t she?
Still, the first secret was a little obvious—at least in Becks’s mind. Each summer on their annual trip to Maine, she and Townsend shipped home buckets of wild blueberries. They were small and sweet and a little firmer than the local blueberries. She hated biting into a muffin and an over-juicy berry bursting in her mouth. Now, she couldn’t resist the scent of those warm muffins, which made her happy; she had so little appetite these days. She closed her eyes and took a bite so warm it almost burned her tongue.
The sound of Townsend’s footsteps down the stairs made her turn. “Blueberry muffin day! My favorite!”
Becks smiled as Townsend kissed her cheek and reached for one of the muffins. He made a noise of pure delight as he chewed. He swallowed and paused, as if thinking and savoring at once. “Oh, Becks, that fresh zing at the end is just heavenly!”
As Townsend wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist from behind to plant a kiss on her neck, Becks turned and looked out the window at the Meyer lemon tree on the far side of the gate that Townsend had planted when they first moved into the house. It was so overwhelmingly thoughtful that Becks knew then and there she would always be happy with Townsend.
“Those lemons, darling,” she said softly, gesturing outside, “are the best gift you’ve ever given me.”
He smiled and pulled away when a knock sounded at the front door. “Are you expecting company?”
Becks bit her lip. “The girls and I are going canvassing for Old Homes Tour houses, dearest.”
She didn’t ask him if he remembered because he obviously did not. “Oh, right,” he said. “Of course.” Muffin in hand, Townsend walked toward the front of the house. My, he was getting forgetful lately. Becks pushed her worries aside and divided the muffins between three white wicker baskets with perfectly pressed linen napkins lining them.
“Your wife is truly insane,” she heard a voice say from the living room. Oh, Ellen. “If she thinks she is going to make a go of this homes tour, she has really lost her marbles. I agreed to be nice, but…”
The voices were drawing near the kitchen as Townsend said, “Well, Ellen, I think we both know that one should never count Rebecca Saint James out.”
Then “Yoo-hoo! Becks, dear!” rang from the back door. Patricia, right on time.
“Come in!” Becks called, wiping her hands on her apron and leaning over to kiss her friend as she entered the kitchen. She was wearing a darling, floral print A-line dress in shades so happy Becks couldn’t help but smile. She was similarly clad, and grateful that the style hid her dwindling frame. And with colors so vibrant, who would even notice a woman’s sallow skin?
“It has happened!” Patricia exclaimed. “After more than a dozen interviews, Daniel has finally found a doctor he believes is competent to serve the town of Beaufort.”
Ellen and Townsend entered the kitchen and, Patricia amended, “He’s no Townsend Saint James, of course. But he will do.” She winked.
“Well, I cannot wait to meet the fellow,” Townsend said.
“He starts next week, so I’m hoping Daniel can get some much-deserved time off,” Patricia said.
Becks wanted to ask more, but Ellen chided, “Come on, now. The day is wasting.” So she handed each of her friends a basket and kissed Townsend goodbye. As they walked out into the bright morning sun, the birds were chirping, the sea alive, and everything felt fresh and new—even Becks, if only for a moment.
Ellen lit a cigarette as they walked and looked over at Becks questioningly. “Well, just one wouldn’t hurt,” Becks said, taking the cigarette her friend offered.
Patricia shook her head disapprovingly, but Becks ignored her. She was confident that if her friend knew the truth she would allow her this indulgence, and so she made her peace with that. Plus, Becks felt quite certain that the diet pills Patricia downed like Tic Tacs weren’t particularly healthy either.
“Becks,” Ellen said, “I do agree that Sarah and Laura will likely be able to talk the Morrises and the Henegars into including their houses on the Old Homes Tour, especially with this blueberry muffin bribe. But if you think Walter Allen is going to agree…”
Becks only smiled as she inhaled her cigarette. No one would tell her no. She walked through the world with a supreme confidence that usually got her what she wanted—well, until this dreadful cancer, of course. Becks was working very hard to ignore it as best she could and hope it would go away. As of yet, very little luck.
As they reached the home of Mr. Walter Allen, Becks paused for a minute to admire it. It was a huge white house with the most imposing columns in all of downtown Beaufort.
“I can’t believe this came in a kit,” Patricia whispered.
The reason Becks was so dead set on having this home on tour was because it was one of the original Sears kit houses, which was hard to believe. With its beautiful widow’s walk, stunning glass sunroom, and gracious porches, it did not seem possible it had been shipped here in boxes and assembled on-site in the early 1900s.
Becks took a deep breath and opened the gate of the white picket fence that surrounded the property. When they reached the front door, she knocked.
When Walter came to the door, slightly stooped but still well put together for a man of almost ninety, his hair combed, his face clean-shaven, his short-sleeved blue oxford shirt tucked smartly into his elegant black trousers, Becks smiled warmly. “Rebecca!” he said, brightening.
But when he spotted the other two women, he looked suspicious, pausing in the doorway. “Well… come in, I suppose,” he said.
Becks stifled her laugh as the women followed him inside. The other reason she wanted this house on tour was because it was so elegantly decorated. With thick oriental rugs, huge, shining crystal chandeliers, and antiques from the early 1900s, it was as authentic to the period in which it was built as any house in Beaufort. Walter’s wife, Catherine, had come from money and, as such, spent considerable time traveling the world to furnish her home. She loved to entertain royally, just like Becks. But since her death five years ago, Walter had mostly kept to himself. Becks was privately relieved the house hadn’t suffered.
“Walter,” Becks started, handing him the basket, “we aren’t just here to give you muffins.”
He sighed. “I didn’t expect that you were.”
“We are starting a new fundraiser for the Beaufort Historic Site,” Patricia started.
“So you’re here for money,” Walter said. He scooted toward the edge of the red crushed velvet Victorian sofa on which he was sitting and sighed. “Let me get my checkbook—”
“No sir,” Ellen interrupted, somewhat delighted. “You are so generous with the Historic Site already.”
He sat back, waiting.
Becks suddenly felt nervous. “Well, you see,” Becks began, “many of us around town are going to open our houses for a tour to the public and—”
“Absolutely not,” Walter interjected.
Ellen gave Becks an I told you so look. “Before you say no,” Patricia said, “just think about what a wonderful cause you’d be supporting.”
“I already said no,” Walter said. “I write my checks. I do my part.”
“Certainly,” Becks said, getting an idea. “No one could argue that, Walter. You are one of the town’s most dedicated philanthropists by far. We only thought it would be such an honor to Catherine if people could really marvel at her beautiful taste in antiques. Give them a sense of appreciation for what goes into the upkeep of a place like this, the preservation of not just the building but also for what’s inside it. What makes it not just a house, but a home.”
A look of warmth crossed Walter’s face. “My Catherine did have beautiful taste.”
“She did,” Ellen agreed.
“And she loved opening this gorgeous home so much,” Patricia chimed in.
Walter was silent for a moment. “I don’t know…”
“Walter,” Becks said, “you have done such a fantastic job preserving what Catherine did here.”
He reached into the basket and took a bite of one of Becks’s muffins. “Rebecca, this muffin is delightful.”
“Well, thank you, Walter. We could have trays of them here if you like, make you a fresh batch for the tour.”
“You think a muffin is going to change my mind?” he asked. But the corner of his mouth twitched.
Becks smiled coyly at him. “Not thought, Walter. Only hoped.”
He stood up, and Becks, sensing the conversation was over, stood as well.
“Well, you were right. Fine, fine. Put the house on tour. Let me know what I need to do.”
Becks hugged him impulsively. “Oh, Walter, thank you!”
“Well, it seems to mean a lot to you girls. Go on, now.” He pointed at the other two baskets. “Go swindle your next victims out of their good sense.”
They said their goodbyes and, back on the street, Ellen said, “Well, I stand corrected. Townsend was right. Never count Becks Saint James out.”
Patricia laughed. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Never fails.”
Becks’s muffins had saved the day once again. And, with the sun on her face, laughing with her friends to champion her latest cause, she could forget she was sick; she could forget all this goodness was coming to an end. For a moment, basking in the glow of the boats lazing up and down the creek, the children passing by on bicycles, and the neighbors waving from porches, Becks felt like perhaps she wouldn’t have to suffer an inelegant ending. She was already in heaven.