Chapter 27 Olivia
Olivia eyed the evergreen trim on the pristine residence near Winfield. Steep eaves framed its second story, the lawn neatly mowed. Her husband’s house, elegant and quite proper with the Pierce-Arrow likely stowed in the attached garage.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but for some reason, the classic Colonial Revival didn’t quite fit the man who enjoyed the quiet of her country home. Here in Winfield, he was a respected academic with a demanding schedule of teaching and writing. An entire life, separate from hers.
Floral curtains colored the glass, and daffodils brightened the base of a manicured hedge.
When Ruthie was alive, she must have had a tremendous influence on the design and care.
So much so, Olivia almost felt like a trespasser, intruding on the sacred space that Simon had shared with his first wife.
Wiping her damp palms on her skirt, she scolded herself for this sudden fit of nerves.
It was her husband, for heaven’s sake, on the other side of the door.
Not a stranger. While they didn’t see each other often, their hearts still beat as one.
They would settle this misunderstanding, and then have a delightful week with his parents and sister as they prepared for Easter.
Or maybe she’d stay an entire month, finally making Winfield her second home.
She should be excited at the thought of seeing Simon, not nervous.
If only someone—he or his housekeeper—had answered the telephone when she called yesterday, so her visit wasn’t a surprise.
But after five months of marriage, after more than a year filled with his visits to Haven House, it was time for them to truly become one in their merging of lives.
She’d step fully into Simon’s world and then find out why he’d asked her publisher for money.
As she followed the stone path up to the front door, her legs ached from the long drive through rainstorms yesterday and sunshine this morning, plus an additional three-hour delay after her error in reading the map.
Even though she’d stopped overnight at a roadside inn, her body still protested the journey.
How had Simon managed that drive so often? All those miles, and she’d never once heard him complain.
Standing on the stoop, Olivia knocked and then smoothed the loose strands of her neatly pinned updo, wishing she’d thought about lipstick before the door swung open.
The young woman on the other side wore trousers and a pink sweater, her floral apron dusted in flour and her hair wrapped in a kerchief. Even dressed in work attire, she was stunning.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Olivia said. “Is this the Farrow residence?”
“It is.”
Was this woman his sister or Isadore, the housekeeper who’d answered when she phoned last year? “Is Professor Farrow home?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s teaching this afternoon.” The woman’s eyes widened. “You’re Via Belle.”
“That’s right.” Simon should be the one introducing her to his family and anyone who worked for his household, but she was incredibly relieved that this woman knew her name. It would save her the awkward explanation. “But please call me Olivia. Are you Isadore?”
“Most people call me Izzy.” The woman matched her smile. “I’m surprised you remember. There were so many people at the panel . . .”
Now Olivia recognized her—one of the students who’d approached her afterward to sign a book. Was she working for Simon? Hopefully, she would graduate soon and find a nice young man to marry. “You were friends with Annabelle.”
Her smile fell. “Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right. We all went different ways after graduation. I heard one of your books was made into a movie.” Izzy’s smile spread again, lighting her blue eyes. “I haven’t seen it yet, but I will, as soon as—”
A cry echoed through the parlor, startling Olivia. “There’s a baby?”
“It’s my daughter,” Izzy said. “I’ll be right back.”
As she waited on the doorstep, Olivia slowly fit the pieces together.
A college student with a child, employed in a professor’s home.
She wouldn’t pry, of course, but she hoped Izzy had married the baby’s father.
Either way, it was kind of Simon to allow his housekeeper to keep her baby close while she worked.
There were so many things about her husband that she didn’t know. So many things she planned to learn. She’d been in a stupor after losing Hattie, retreating into the safety of her story world, but she needed to regain her presence now. Learn everything about the man she’d promised to love.
Izzy returned with a toddler on her hip, tufts of blonde hair wisping across the girl’s forehead as she rested on her mother’s shoulder.
When the child reached out, Olivia offered her hand, the girl clutching one of her fingers.
She was older than Annabelle had been when she fell asleep that last time but not by much.
“She’s my world,” Izzy said, kissing the girl’s cheek.
“What’s her name?” Olivia whispered.
“Greta, but the professor calls her Angel. Now she won’t answer to anything else.”
“Angel,” Olivia said, wishing she could take the child in her arms. “It suits her.”
“The professor will be thrilled to see you.” Izzy waved her inside before locking the door behind them. “He hasn’t been quite the same since Ruthie died.”
“Did you know Ruthie?”
Izzy shook her head. “She passed before I moved in.”
Moved in . . . “You live here?”
Izzy appeared equally confused. “Of course.”
Even though Simon needed someone to help with his cleaning and meals, it didn’t seem right for her husband, a professor at that, to have a young woman living in as a housekeeper. They would discuss it when she reached his office.
“Do you mind if I wash up before I walk over to the college?” If she saw Dr. Kinsley or another professor or a student who’d attended the panel, it wouldn’t do to look so disheveled.
“Take all the time you need.” Izzy led her to the powder room, and Olivia quickly rinsed her face and applied a peach lipstick and dab of powder before repinning her hair.
She much preferred Simon visiting her in Catawba than the pressure of meeting his colleagues, but she would honor him well as the new Mrs. Farrow.
They could wait to talk about the nasty business of money, after she surprised him. With the war and uncertainty in the world, everything was messy right now. They would quickly iron things out between them.
After slipping back into the hall, she stopped by the parlor to gaze at a family portrait above the mantel.
Simon was much younger in the painting, probably twenty or twenty-one, his chin lifted high, handsome eyes focused on something in the distance like he was deep in thought.
Or annoyed. Perhaps he’d been forced into standing for the portrait.
His mother was seated in a chair upholstered at least a century past, wearing an elegant dress with pearls. His father stood tall beside the chair, quite distinguished with a trimmed beard and formal suit.
Where was his sister?
Simon rarely spoke of his family. His parents lived near Winfield, he’d said, but she wasn’t sure where or how they felt about their only son marrying again, especially at a courthouse in Pennsylvania.
After their whirlwind wedding, she and Simon needed to start over.
Expand their relationship to include his family and her small circle of friends.
She searched the walls for a photograph or portrait of Simon and his first wife—even just a picture of Ruthie alone—but saw none. Perhaps he’d taken them down after she died. Or maybe he’d stored them when he remarried.
She and Simon needed to hire a photographer soon. Then they could frame and display their portrait in both homes.
Izzy directed her to Simon’s office, promising to send the professor over if they missed one another. Olivia walked two blocks to the stone administration building and asked the tidy secretary—Mrs. Vane, according to her nameplate—for Professor Farrow.
“He’s teaching for the next hour, but I can give him a message when he returns.” Mrs. Vane reached for a memo pad. “What is your name?”
Olivia took a deep breath and then smiled. “Mrs. Farrow.”
The woman looked horrified, like Olivia was making light of the professor’s loss. Didn’t Simon tell her that he’d remarried? He’d have to introduce them properly the moment he returned.
“Could you direct me to Dr. Farrow’s classroom?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
Because a professor’s wife should know such a thing. Mrs. Vane didn’t believe her, and why should she if Simon hadn’t told her about their marriage?
Olivia stepped toward a couch between office doors. “I’ll wait for him.”
The woman eyed her skeptically until Olivia looked away. While she’d packed a small tablet in her handbag, she was too nervous to write. Too nervous to do anything as the minutes turned into an hour.
Then Simon rounded the corner. “Where’s my fa—?”
Olivia sprang from her seat. “Thank heavens.”
Simon’s gaze darted between her and Mrs. Vane, bewildered. Then Mrs. Vane stood beside him, an arm thrust in front of Olivia as if she had to defend the man. “This woman says—”
“I’ll handle it, Mrs. Vane,” he said, quickly regaining his composure.
The woman lowered her arm. “You know her?”
“Of course. Thank you.” He reached for Olivia’s elbow, directing her toward the door. “Let’s find a private place to talk.”
Her purse strapped over her shoulder, Olivia nodded at the secretary before accompanying Simon outside.
He pointed to a grassy plateau filled with tables, most of them occupied by students. “We can sit in the courtyard.”
But she was tired of sitting and even more tired of waiting for answers. “I want to keep walking.”
They circled the courtyard, Simon nodding at several students before he asked, “Why are you in Winfield?”
“As many times as you’ve visited me, Simon, I thought you’d be moderately pleased that I’d be willing to drive the opposite direction.”