The Stolen Canvas(15)

Annie rose and came around to her chair. Tara felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and heard the quiet voice. “Perhaps you’ll show me those letters. I’d like very much to see them. But right now, I think you need more rest. Why don’t you go back upstairs and lie down while I clear up the breakfast dishes.”

Tara rose, allowing Annie to steady her. “I—I shouldn’t impose any longer, Mrs. Dawson,” she began weakly.

“It’s Annie, and you are not imposing. Now, go along and do as I say.” She spoke gently but guided Tara to the steps with a firm hand. “When you feel better, bring the letters out to the porch. I’ll be working on a crochet project for the animal shelter. We’ll soak up the sunshine.” She paused and then added with emphasis. “And we’ll talk then.”

Back in her bedroom, Tara lay on the soft white coverlet and wondered what would happen next. Perhaps it was the weariness washing over her that made her want to cry, or it might have been the unexpected kindness from a stranger who had no idea what she was getting into.





5

Wally Carson steered his boat toward the dock, enjoying as always the feel of sun on his back and the wind in his hair. His peapod had a shallow draft and maneuvered like a dream. He’d only had an hour after finishing up a project for Stella Brickson, and time had passed too quickly. It always did when he was fishing.

He and his brother, Jeremiah, had spent much of their youth on their father’s sixteen-foot Swampscott dory. Wally knew that if he hadn’t become so good with wood and tools, he might well have become a lobsterman—like his father. But unlike his father, he’d found that peace and significance came from something more powerful, more profound.

He was lucky to live in this place that he’d loved all his life, and he was lucky to have work to do. And besides, he had a family of his own now. He and Peggy, a waitress at The Cup & Saucer, had made a good life for themselves. They had waited a long time for Emily, but she was worth every anxious moment of the wait. Wally felt himself smiling. That morning she’d flung her six-year-old arms around his neck and begged for a story.

“Tonight, Miss Twinkletoes!” he had chided. “Our stories are for bedtime. Today, you’ve got things to do—and so do I.”

Emily loved his stories—mostly made-up tales about a ballet dancer who got into all sorts of adventures but continued to wow audiences with her graceful art. Madeline had to be in the stories too. The cloth doll Emily loved had a mop of yellow hair, a pink tutu and ballerina slippers that crisscrossed up her stuffed ankles.

Between Peggy’s tips at The Cup & Saucer and his handyman jobs, they’d been able to get lessons for Emily at Myra’s School of Dance. A recital was coming up, if memory served Wally right.

“You ready?” Peggy had come streaming into the front room of their cottage, clutching her apron and purse. Her short hair was hastily moussed; her vivid blue eyes sparked with light. “My customers will be waiting!” She grabbed Emily by the hand.

Their summertime routine included taking Peggy to The Cup & Saucer and Emily to day camp. As a handyman, Wally could work at his own pace, freeing him to cope with all their schedules. They had only the one vehicle, a slightly feeble pickup truck with more speed than dignity, but it got them where they needed to go.

The hour on the water had flown, but it had restored his peace. Peggy would be expecting him for supper soon. He pulled the peapod into the trawler bay that belonged to Todd Butler, who operated the town’s best fleet of lobster boats. The summer Wally had broken his arm, Todd had hired him to do odd jobs while he healed and now let him tie up at his docks whenever he wanted to. Todd’s brother, Ian—Stony Point’s ubiquitous mayor—had put a good word in for him. Ian Butler looked out for Stony Point citizens.

Wally smiled. Soon he would be working at Grey Gables again. Annie Dawson had told him she wanted her pantry refurbished to match the cabinets he’d recently done. He loved helping Annie restore the old Victorian house she had inherited from her grandmother. Yes, he was a lucky man to have a place here with neighbors who cared.

Reluctantly, he tied up his peapod, left the wharf and headed down the beach. It was a spectacular Maine afternoon. The sand was warm beneath his feet, and a soft breeze cooled his face. The tourist season was in full swing, but most people had left the beach area and had gone in search of supper. Wally liked this time of day when a man could be alone with his thoughts. It was quiet and peaceful as he walked toward town.

“Hey mister, can you spare a dime?”

He hadn’t heard anyone behind him. The out-of-the-past cliché was odd, but there was something familiar about the question—as familiar as the voice, rich and deep with a slight twang. Wally whirled around.