Lending a Paw(65)

I resisted her light tug. “You sure you want me with you? Do I know her? Him?”

“It’ll be fine,” she said. Which, of course, made us both laugh again.

• • •

She was right—it was fine. The bag she carried held hand clippers, a dandelion puller, a hand cultivator, and a pair of gloves. She took us straight to the oldest part of the cemetery and held out the clippers.

“Do you mind?”

We stood facing the headstone of Mary Alvord, born 1815 in London, England, died 1877 in Chilson, Michigan.

“It’s the oldest headstone in the cemetery,” Aunt Frances said. “There’s no one around any longer to tend her grave, so I take care of things for her.”

Tears sparked in my eyes. “I had no idea you did this. It’s . . . really nice of you.”

“I just hope that maybe somebody will do the same for me someday. Ready?”

Fifteen minutes later the grass was trimmed, the weeds were gone, and the marigolds Aunt Frances said she’d planted on Memorial weekend were looking tidy again.

“Now.” She took the clippers from me. “As a reward for your labor, I will treat you to a complete explanation of my odd reactions to comments about Stan Larabee. To be honest, I was being an idiot. I just didn’t . . . couldn’t . . .” She sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning.” I led her to Alonzo Tillotson’s bench, looking around with mild trepidation. One Eddie was wonderful, but if there were two, and if they met, the universe would surely explode. Or I would.

We settled down and sat in comfortable silence watching the waters of Janay Lake. Boats went this way and that. The wind blew a light breeze. The sun was on our faces.

My eyes were starting to close for a little nap when Aunt Frances started her story.

“It was a family feud,” she said, sighing. “A very private, very old feud inside Stan’s family, and Stan had made me promise not to say anything to anyone about it.”

“That’s not a beginning,” I said. “That’s more like an explanation.”

“I suppose.” She watched a seagull soaring past, her eyes slits against the sharp sun. “Stan stayed with me the winter before you moved up north.”

I made a squeak of surprise, but managed to keep my mouth shut.

Aunt Frances was still focused on the seagull. “He hated hotels. Hated them with a serious kind of hate. He stayed with me while that house of his up on the hill was being renovated. He moved out of my place and into his just a few weeks before you moved up.” She shifted her gaze from sky to me. “He had the corner room near the stairway,” she said. “Just to be clear about things.”

“Crystal,” I said.

“Good.” She looked at me a moment longer, then returned to the lake view. “As far as I know, no one realized that Stan stayed with me that winter. He didn’t want his relatives knowing he was in town and I was willing to keep his confidence.”

At that time of year it would have been easy enough to keep his presence a secret. The houses surrounding the boardinghouse were all summer cottages. The closest year-round residence was almost a quarter mile away, and that was occupied by a couple who worked in Traverse City and were willing to drive the hour-long commute, one way. As long as Stan had a vehicle no one recognized, he could have driven out to the old highway, headed up to U.S. 31, and blended with the traffic before anyone paid any attention.

“The only thing,” Aunt Frances said, “is I’m good friends with one of Stan’s nieces. Gwen’s the daughter of his oldest sister and isn’t much younger than Stan.” She went quiet. Stayed quiet.

“That’s not the end of the story, right?” I asked.

She watched another seagull wing past. “No. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I connected Stan and Gwen. He never talked about his family and she didn’t mention that Stan was her uncle until he donated the money to the bookmobile. That’s when . . .”

“When . . . ?”

“I decided to play master of other people’s lives.” Her voice was harsh. “I talked to Stan, over and over, on the phone, at the Round Table, at his house, trying to convince him to call his sisters. Tried to convince Gwen to see Stan. All in the name of trying to make people happy.”

She shoved at her hair, trying to push it into a place out of the wind. “It’s not enough that I think I can help people find their true loves. Oh, no. I have to try to end a family feud that has been going on for decades. And look what happened. So stupid.” Creases appeared around her lips.