Spreading the handkerchief—all white except for a small navy blue monogrammed “CH” for Charles Holden, her grandfather’s name, in one corner—on the quilt, Annie placed the beaded strip on it and took several photos. The box with the lid received the same treatment. Last, she took photos of the poem to highlight the style of handwriting. Boots remained a bored witness to her photographic efforts, renewing her interest in fur hygiene. After returning the camera to the sitting room, Annie sat down at the small writing desk to copy out the lines of the poem. Finally, she tucked the box, with its treasures nestled inside, into her tote bag.
A glance at the clock surprised her with the news that it was well past dinnertime. Too excited to sit nibbling crackers and cheese alone, she punched Alice’s number into the phone. At Alice’s cheery “Hello!” Annie blurted out, “Have you eaten dinner yet? I have something amazing to show you!”
“Lobster soufflé? Baked Alaska?” Alice replied.
“I said show you, not feed you. Besides, I’ve been in the attic all afternoon and totally forgot to plan for dinner,” Annie admitted. She heard her friend chuckle.
“It just so happens that I made a delicious lemon tarragon roasted chicken earlier, and I’d be glad to share it.”
“You are too nice to me, Alice. But why would you make a whole chicken if you weren’t already planning to have people over? Testing a new recipe for a Divine Décor party?”
“No, I actually made it for myself. See, this way I cook one night, and then I have several meals done for the rest of the week. And the recipe tastes as delicious cold as it does right out of the oven. It really comes in handy for those days when I’m double-booked with demonstrations.”
“It also comes in handy when you have absent-minded friends next door. So when can you come?”
“Turn on the porch light, put on some tea, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
While Alice was spooning up the chicken, roasted potatoes, and vegetables, Annie brought the box down to the living room and put the kettle on to heat. She slipped out onto the porch to enjoy the sights and sounds of early evening, including the crunch of gravel under foot as Alice made her way to Grey Gables.
“So what is this amazing thing you have to show me?” Alice asked before she even made it to the porch steps. “I forgot to ask you on the phone. I’m far too easily distracted by food conversation.”
“Something I found in the attic while I was organizing. And that’s all I’m telling you until the tea water has boiled.”
“Betsy’s attic strikes again! Sounds like we might have spoken too soon this morning at the meeting.” Alice grinned as she climbed the steps, holding the dish in both hands.
“I should know better by now, shouldn’t I?” Annie said sheepishly as she held the door open for Alice. “But I have to admit, the timing of this is pretty cool. I’m making chai for myself. Would you like that or something else—chamomile, decaf Darjeeling, oolong?”
“I’ll have the decaf Darjeeling. I don’t know if I’ve seen a decaf variety before.”
“The twins gave me a wonderful tea sampler for my birthday. I suspect they had a little help picking it out. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about them every time I have a cuppa.” The friends could hear the kettle whistling as they entered the kitchen. On the counter next to the stove stood two small ceramic teapots, one blue with sailboats, and the other a soft green, dotted with dainty flowers. “Can you tell which twin picked out which pot?” Annie filled each infuser with tea and poured water from the kettle over it.
“Joanna definitely strikes me as a boat gal.” Alice feigned total seriousness. “Now, are you going to show me the amazing find or not?” Alice tapped a foot and put her hands on her hips.
“It’s in the living room,” Annie gestured for Alice to follow her. “After a few hours of sorting and rearranging I came across Gram’s old oak baker’s rack. Remember that?”
Alice paused to think and then nodded. “Yes! She had it in the kitchen for years, loading it with jars and jars of food from her garden. That is, until after Charley died, and she became too weak for all that work. I think she had it moved to the attic so she wouldn’t feel guilty about not being able to fill it up.”
“That sounds like Gram, definitely,” Annie agreed. “And she would never have been able to sell something that had such a large place in her daily life for so many years. Well, I want to bring that old rack back to the kitchen where it belongs and do my best to at least put up some rose-hip jelly in Gram’s honor.”