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“Wow! I guess I’m home,” she said, feeling emotional. There was a rusty cast-iron pot on the porch, filled with red geraniums. “Oh, look at that. Thank you.”
“The missus done that, just like Greta used to do. She got in a few groceries for you, too.”
“Yeah, it’s not like I can run to the store at the drop of a hat.”
“You can take the skiff into town,” he said. “It’d take you five minutes tops.”
“Where is it?”
He pointed to the cove, the dock and to the metal boat tied up.
“It be a might quicker than a car ride, but you can call the taxi whenever you need a lift if you don’t want to take the boat.”
“I’ll do that,” she said.
“Course, I’m the taxi,” he said, chuckling.
Anxious to get settled, she got out of the car and placed her bags on the porch. The simple action made her feel at home. This was home.
She helped Floyd empty the back of the car. One box had books, but the rest of her books would come later, and she couldn’t wait. He showed her around the first floor, and it was clear he and his wife had prepared for her return. Eggs, milk, cream, butter, packages of meat, and fresh veggies for salad filled the fridge. In the cupboards she found all the staples she’d need. It was a good start, so she could concentrate on settling in.
The old slipcovers had been washed and replaced. The lace curtains were so delicate, she wondered if they’d fall apart if she touched them, but when she did, they were clean, recently washed and rehung. The windows had shutters inside and out. Newly installed ceiling fans in each room would have to do until she could get a window air conditioner. At that moment it was stifling.
“I think I’ll open up,” she said, pointing to the living room window.
“Good idea. I’ll get the other rooms.”
With the back windows open, there was a nice breeze coming through.
Now she was really anxious for him to leave.
“Floyd, thank you again so much,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you longer than necessary.” She waved her checkbook. “What do I owe you?”
From his pocket, he produced an invoice. A little shocked at the amount, she understood then that nothing had been completed for her out of the goodness of their hearts. It was all documented with its price. Wondering how much her aunt had shelled out, too, she wrote out the check. It was worth it, to have had so much done to prepare for her arrival. She’d be careful about what she asked of Floyd after that.
“I’ll close the gate,” he said. “There’s a lock and key in that kitchen drawer if you want to secure it at night. And the skiff is locked to the dock by a chain.” He fingered a key on a key rack in the kitchen. “Here’s the key to the skiff lock.”
So it appeared that everything needed to be shut and locked and secured. She hadn’t been prepared for that.
Standing on the porch, Maggie willed him to leave, with a smile on her face. He maneuvered the big car around the yard and drove off. The car slowed down in the distance, and after it went through the gate, she saw the car door open and Floyd get out and shut the gate. She’d walk down at dusk and lock up. It would become part of a comforting routine. In all the years that she’d come here with her aunt Elizabeth, she never remembered feeling frightened, nor did her aunt give her the impression that she was leery of strangers or needed to lock everything up. She’d call her later to let her know she had arrived, but first, she wanted to explore a little bit.
The narrow staircase to the second floor was flooded with light from a dormer window at the front of the cottage. A short hallway led to the left and the right. At the right was the bedroom that had been hers during childhood visits, a smaller, cozier room that overlooked the back of the property. The room smelled of mouse. Flicking the light switch on, she examined the coverlet and sheets. Before the day was over, she’d strip the bed and wash everything.
She peeked out the smudged window at the backyard. A brick walkway led from the back of the house to a circular terrace. Formerly white-painted wrought-iron chairs and a table, now rusty and unused for years, sat in wait for her afternoon tea. Moss-strewn trees lined the edge of a lawn. Boxwood in need of a haircut outlined a formal garden that her grandfather had planted forty years before. The flowers were spent from the heat of summer, but soon new growth would appear with the cooler weather.
She remembered playing back there with her cousins, but as an adult, she knew the front screened porch would be where she’d spend her time, that view of the water enticing. She couldn’t wait to get out there with a glass of wine later. That reminded her; she ran down the stairs to the living room, where the largest of the suitcases lay on its back. Unzipping the top, she smiled at the contents. An ice pack, still cold, covered several well-packed bottles of wine. Cheese, crackers, cookies and other snacks filled this suitcase, and she chuckled, thinking that her clothing and personal effects took up less space in the smaller cases than her provisions.
Once the food was put away, she climbed the steps again, this time taking the next suitcase. Wheeling it into the room that had formerly been Aunt Elizabeth’s, this would be her room now. It was larger, facing three sides of the house, so she had a view of the water, the marsh and woods to the north, and the back gardens. It appeared the bedding in this room had been washed. Digging the invoice out of her pocket, she read down the list and saw it,washed and replaced bedding, master bedroom. She recalled the conversation she’d had with her aunt.
“You can buy bedding and towels when you get there. The cottage has drawers and drawers of that stuff, but you know mice have probably gotten to everything by now. If it’s too much to wash everything, just get new.”
She’d wait and see, remembering the stacks of fluffy white towels in the bathroom when she was a kid. The sheets in the bedroom had been ironed with a mangle; Maggie remembered watching Aunt Elizabeth’s housekeeper ironing, the smell of the heated fabric, and the feel of the cool, smooth ironed sheets on her bed.
“The mangle is still there,” Aunt had said. “In the laundry room off the kitchen with the washer and dryer. They are as old as the hills, but Floyd said they are working just fine.”
She’d check out the laundry room when she was done exploring the second floor. The handyman had taken care of the place, but with a man’s eye. In her super-organized way, Maggie made a list of things that she would do right away, including sweeping up the plaster dust he’d left behind after installing the ceiling fans.
The bathroom was grimy, evidently not one of the things the Guidrys thought was necessary for her comfort. She looked through the cupboards for cleaning supplies but couldn’t find anything, so she went back down the stairs. Everything she needed was in the laundry room, along with that mangle.
