CHAPTER 1 #2
Something about his polite, calm manner soon put her at ease.
Judging by his weathered skin and full head of gray hair, she guessed he must be a few years her senior.
She extended her hand to introduce herself and told him that she was most definitely not going to sell this place.
Sam looked at her sharply and started to reply but stopped himself.
Then, to her own astonishment, she announced, “As soon as my taxi returns, I’m going to check out of my hotel and move in here.
Tonight. Permanently.” She reached for the banister, as if to steady herself, and turned aside.
What are you doing? she thought to herself.
You can’t just up and move here. Are you nuts?
What do you need with a six-bedroom house?
Your family is in California, and so is your work.
Maggie glanced back; Sam Torres was regarding her carefully. She wondered if he could sense that her decision to move into the house that night had been made impetuously on the spot.
“In that case,” he said, “I’d better give you a complete tour.
You’ll need to know where all the entrances, switches, and thermostats are located.
” He gestured toward the library and began by showing her how to unlock and open the cantankerous old French doors.
Sam nodded in the direction of the fireplace.
“You won’t want to start a fire until all of these chimneys have been cleaned and checked.
This house hasn’t been lived in for more than a decade.
” Sam paused and turned to Maggie. “Are you sure you want to move in here tonight? Once the plumbing is in use again, you’ll find almost everything leaks.
And the place hasn’t been cleaned in years.
Wouldn’t you like to get it fixed up first? ”
“No, I can live with all of that for a few days. As long as the furnace works and the electricity and water are turned on, I can cope.”
“This sleet is supposed to turn to snow. You might get stranded up here,” he cautioned as he produced a business card that read, “Sam the Handyman.” “Here’s my card.
My cell phone number is on there. Why don’t you call me when you get back tonight, and I can stop by to make sure that the furnace is still running and you’re all set? ” he offered.
“Thank you—very kind of you—but no need to drag out here later. I’ll be fine,” Maggie assured him with a confidence she didn’t feel. For some reason, she felt completely comfortable with this concerned stranger. “Truthfully, this is a rash decision on my part.”
Sam nodded.
“I can’t explain it. I’ve never done anything like this in my entire life. But every fiber of my being tells me this is the right thing to do. For once in my adult life, I’m going to follow my intuition.”
Sam regarded Maggie intently, and a slow smile lightened his worried expression. “In that case, moving in is exactly what you should do. Sounds like divine intuition. You should follow it. And you can always call me if anything comes up. My wife and I live about ten minutes away.”
“Thank you, Sam. That makes me feel more comfortable.” As they resumed their tour, Maggie was secretly relieved that Sam was making sure all the windows and doors were locked and all the thermostats were set.
His instructions were thorough and helpful.
It was evident that he knew the house well.
The first floor had warmed to room temperature by the time they returned to the front door.
“I appreciate all you’ve done,” Maggie said. “I’m not a dab hand at home repairs, so I’m sure I’ll need your help on a regular basis. What do I owe you for today?” she asked as she turned toward her purse.
“Don’t worry about that now,” Sam said as he reached for the door. “We can settle up later. Would you like me to have the driveway plowed tomorrow?” She gratefully accepted. They said goodnight, and he headed out the door.
***
Later, in the eerie brightness of the nighttime snowstorm, Maggie and the taxi driver wrestled her suitcases and three bags of groceries to her front door.
The driver helped her get them all inside and cautiously inquired if she would be okay there.
She assured him she would be just fine, but she knew he doubted it, and, frankly, so did she.
He had glanced at her in his rearview mirror occasionally on the drive out there and must have seen the waves of emotion surging through her.
She went from feeling confident, intuitive, courageous, and spontaneous one moment to terrified, impulsive, incompetent, and irrational the next.
She was known for her levelheaded, depend-able (and ultimately predictable) nature.
Paul said he never wondered what she was thinking, and her kids swore they knew what she would say before she said it—and they were usually right.
At times Maggie felt proud of this—she was understood, knowable, transparent.
At other times, she felt dull and unimaginative.
Well—this decision would surely make jaws drop.
As the taxi crept up the driveway toward her new life, fear and doubt were gaining the upper hand.
She cleared her throat and was about to instruct the driver to take her back to the hotel when they again rounded the corner, and there it was.
The house. Her house. Imposing, dependable, welcoming, strong. She would craft a happy future here.
She paid the driver, walked up the stone steps, and shut and locked the front door behind her.
She toyed with the idea of phoning one of her children to let them know she changed her plans but decided against it.
They could call her cell if they needed her.
She wanted to savor her brave decision and her first night in her new home without the intrusion of their opinions.
Maggie picked up her groceries and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
Dusty and in need of a thorough cleaning to be sure, but what a glorious kitchen!
Beautiful walnut cabinets adorned with furniture-maker details soared to the twelve-foot ceiling.
A huge window over the antique French sink and a smaller window over an old-fashioned copper vegetable sink would make the room irresistibly cheerful in daytime.
The appliances and fixtures were outdated and would need to be replaced, but it was still the most beautiful kitchen she had ever seen—much less owned.
People will really have high expectations of a meal fixed here, she mused.
I used to be such a good cook. I wonder if I can still muster up anything that does justice to this kitchen?
I’ll practice and get back on my game, she decided with a bit of her characteristic determination.
Maggie stashed her groceries and dug into the rotisserie chicken and coleslaw that she bought for her dinner.
She began a systematic reconnaissance of the kitchen.
To her delight, it was equipped with every specialty pot, pan, and utensil imaginable.
I’ve been lusting after some of this stuff in catalogs for years, she thought. What great fun to cook in this kitchen.
Along one wall was an enormous antique hutch.
Maggie found it contained five complete sets of china, including specialty pieces like eggcups, double-handled soup bowls, and tureens.
She recognized Colombia Enamel by Wedgwood and Botanic Garden by Portmeirion, but had to check the bottom of a plate to see that she had place settings for twelve of Derby Panel by Royal Crown Derby and a lovely blue-rimmed favorite called Autumn by Lenox.
A set of cheerful yellow Fiestaware completed the collection.
Good Lord—she felt faint. Maggie was a self-described china addict; now she had the collection to prove it.
She vowed to use the good dishes every day.
Maggie made herself tea in a Wedgwood cup and wandered through the house to find a place to tuck herself away to enjoy it.
The long day had taken its toll; she was exhausted.
As she passed through the archway into the library, she found an overstuffed chair in the moonlight by the French doors and knew she had found her spot.
Maggie dragged the sheet off the chair with one hand while waving away a cloud of dust with the other and settled into the chair’s protective embrace.
An unblemished blanket of snow in the garden looked like frosting on a cake.
At least four inches already, and it was still coming down hard.
For the first time in months, everything around Maggie was quiet and still, and she felt peaceful.
Thoughts of Paul were always crowding her, and they gradually settled on her now.
Who was the man that she had been married to for over twenty-five years?
On the surface, Paul Martin was the charismatic president of Windsor College.
Charming and handsome, with a killer smile.
And laser focus. When he turned his attention on you, you felt like you were the most interesting and important person in the world.
She had felt that way for years; had never doubted his integrity or fidelity.
Mike and Susan, now both grown and out of the nest, adored their father.
Paul’s unexpected death at the age of sixty-two had unearthed a number of betrayals.
Were there others yet undiscovered? He evidently thought he had plenty of time to cover his tracks.
Now Maggie was left to cope with it all.