It Happens in the Hamptons(37)
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“They were stalwart seafaring folk who left a legacy of leather log books of each voyage, lances, duck decoys carved by sailors on long days at sea, what have you,” explained Poppy proudly.
“Huck would love it.”
“In the summer, we bring the kids from the women’s shelter—it’s a place where ailing single mothers, many with cancer, some local people, some immigrants, live with their children.” She leaned across the table. “I thought Huck might like to learn how the scrimshaw was made from whale teeth, etched with a needle and ink and polished. Apparently, Miles Coffin was quite the artist.”
“Well, perhaps I can put your family history into the summer curriculum work for my students.” The people Katie knew back in Hood River didn’t discuss relatives further back than grandparents.
“Now about that cottage,” Poppy instructed. “I ask everyone to pull their weight. We do need a fair amount of weeding, and if there’s a repair, I need to know if you or George can fix it. I prefer that because a squanderer I am not. No one in my family was, going way back to my great, well, I don’t need to bore you with my family history,” Poppy stated, apparently unaware of the sole lunch topic since Katie sat down. “And there’s a bird feeder. George and his father first put it up about forty years ago; he’s no longer here to see it. Please, keep that feeder full. He would want that.”
“George and Huck are on it. Your husband passed away ten years ago, right?”
Poppy pursed her lips tightly. “George’s father was a fine man. He had some faults. We had our issues, but then, yes, he was gone before we could resolve them formally.”
“I’m sorry . . . that must have been difficult. I lost my father when I was a young child. I don’t remember him. My mother did it all alone. Like me.” Katie smiled. “But you are still so young.”
“Well, I’m getting on.” Poppy took a huge gulp of her Arnold Palmer and pushed her sunglasses tighter onto her face. “And as for your chores . . .”
Katie choked a bit on her bread stick, soft and stale from the sea air. “I did repair a bunch of very small things in the house. I put some geraniums in the window planters, I caulked the tub . . .”
“I did not mean chores in your cottage.”
“Then your cottage, you want me to tend to what?”
Poppy laughed out loud. “Who do you think I am? No, not my cottage either. You’re the potential girlfriend, not the hired help! I meant here!” And she pointed her finger at the hallowed club grounds. “We have an annual garden party at the library; we call it the Patio Party. It takes place on a Saturday afternoon at the end of summer.”
“Happy to help, Poppy,” Katie wisely answered.
Poppy leaned across the table again and squinted her eyes. “Don’t forget, the hallmark of clubs like the Seabrook is civic duty. For over a hundred years, we’ve served Southampton by preserving historic homes, keeping the library and hospital coffers full, and maintaining town codes. All of our activities are crucial to the functioning of the town. We run can drives and soup kitchens in churches. I know we might look a little elitist from the outside, but that charitable element is the foundation of our values. I won’t let anyone at this club forget that. And I’ll be leaving here feet first!”
“Well, I’d be happy to pitch in. I’d be helping the other cochairs?”
“Yes. I must warn you they are not the most decisive women. I tend to stick with my age group, women who, frankly, seem more modern than some of today’s scattered housewives”—and she whispered, cupping her mouth—“Social climbers, a little too excited about seeing themselves in society pages!
“But hopefully you can help them decorate the tables with flair. You’re an educator, you must be good with arts and crafts.” Poppy wagged her finger at Katie, and stared at her from under the brim of her ridiculous hat. “There are tables to dress, cocktails to choose, décor to arrange, and it’s all to benefit the young children,” she whispered, “many, you know, illegal immigrants. I don’t mind helping them one bit. Their families are just trying their best to earn a living—God knows what kind of education they get in the public schools!”
Katie decided not to remind Poppy she was honored to be considered for a job in that very public education system.
“I’d be glad to,” Katie answered. “If George would want me helping in any way, I’ll do anything.”
“My son isn’t the easiest person in the world, but he’s very, very dear,” Poppy said. “I’d love him to get married one day. I’m not suggesting anything here, darling, just a family would settle him down. And I’m not averse to arrangements people have these days. Not to pry into where your son Huck’s father is, nor do I need to know, it’s just . . . well, actually, I’d love to know . . .