The Mill River Redemption Page 2

  The front door opened again, and another group of people filed into the house. He nodded to the Wykowski, Pearson, Burnham, and Lowell families as they passed him, but there were several people he didn’t recognize. He was caught up in conversation when he felt a friendly tug on his elbow. He excused himself and looked down to see Daisy Delaine smiling up at him.

  “Father, oh, am I ever glad you’re here,” she said in her familiar singsong voice. The little woman tossed her gray curls away from her face, revealing a large, port-wine birthmark that curled up onto her cheek. “You know, Josie was one of my best customers, and I feel so sad for her daughters. I made up a batch of my special grief potion for them. It’s the same kind I made after Mrs. McAllister died. Do you remember?”

  Daisy’s words awoke a great sadness in his heart as he remembered the recent loss of his closest friend, but he did his best to smile and focus on the present situation. “Ah, yes, Daisy, that was quite a potent brew.”

  Daisy looked delighted. “Wasn’t it, though? It helped me feel better, so I was thinking I’d give them each a big jar of it.” She leaned closer to him and opened the top of her purse wide enough to reveal two large Mason jars full of a greenish liquid. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m a little worried. I haven’t seen either of them in a long time, you know. They might not remember me.”

  Father O’Brien smiled and patted Daisy’s shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll remember you,” he said. “But, it’s tough at a time like this, when Josie’s daughters are sad and having to be good hostesses for all these people. Maybe you should wait to give them the potion until almost everyone else has gone home. That way, you’d have their full attention.”

  “That’s a good idea, Father,” Daisy said. “Thanks! I guess I’ll go see what’s in the kitchen while I wait. I heard Ruth brought some pies for refreshments.”

  He thought of Ruth Fitzgerald’s fabulous tart cherry pie … and how he hadn’t had any recently, since the bakery-café had been undergoing renovation. He turned to follow Daisy to the kitchen, but he found himself face-to-face with Ivy. She pulled him by the arm into the corner of the room, away from the clusters of mourners.

  “Father, I didn’t want to say anything earlier, in front of the girls,” Ivy said in a low voice, “but I need to meet with them privately before this is over, and I was hoping you might sit in when I do. It’s something their mother arranged, and it isn’t gonna be pretty.”

  Sure enough, he thought, he’d been right about Ivy. “I’m happy to help however I can,” he said. “If it’s a personal family matter, though, shouldn’t it just be between you and the girls? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Well, you know how they are, Father. And what I’ve got to tell ’em, well, I know it’ll go over like a frog in a punch bowl. Having you there will help them keep control of themselves and maybe even stay civil toward each other, because they’re still as far apart as the sun and the moon.”

  “I gathered as much when I first came in,” he said. “When and where will you have this meeting?”

  “Rose and her family will be driving back to New York this afternoon, and Emily has an evening flight back to California, so I suspect they’ll be itching to leave here as soon as they can. I thought I’d pull the girls aside once the crowd thins out.”

  Father O’Brien nodded. “Just let me know when.”

  Once most of the visitors had left Josie’s house, he saw Ivy go first to Rose, then to Emily. The women looked perplexed, but they excused themselves from their conversations and made their way toward Josie’s office, off the living room. Ivy looked up and caught Father O’Brien’s eye from across the room. It was time.

  He signaled his understanding with a small nod. As curious as he was about the reason for Ivy’s meeting, he doubted very much that it would be a warm family chat. In fact, something in his gut told him that he was being sucked into a very uncomfortable situation.

  CHAPTER 2

  1983

  LATE IN THE MORNING AFTER THEIR ARRIVAL AT THE BOOKSTOP, Josie was awakened by a giggle and a little hand squeezing her nose. She opened her eyes to see Emily’s smiling face two inches from her own.

  “Morning, baby girl,” she said, returning the smile. She reached over to tuck a strand of red hair behind Emily’s ear. For a moment after she opened her eyes and looked into Emily’s sweet face, all was well. There were no nightmares, no waves of sadness or nausea, no horrible memories. It took only an instant, though, for the serenity to be snuffed out and reality to settle in. Josie steeled herself for another day inside her emotional fortress.

  On the other side of Emily, Rose stretched and yawned. “Mommy?”

  “Yes, Rosie?”

  “This is the best bed I’ve ever been in. It’s huge!” Rose sat up and then flopped back down, flailing her arms and legs.

  “It is, isn’t it? Did you girls get a good sleep? Are you hungry?” The good smells of coffee and bacon wafted up into the bedroom. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Once she and the girls were dressed, Josie led them downstairs to the kitchen. Plates of bacon and buttered toast and a pitcher of orange juice were laid out on a small breakfast table, and Ivy stood at the stove cracking eggs into a bowl.

  It was the first time in years that Josie had gotten a good look at her aunt in the daylight. Ivy was six years older and quite a bit heavier than Josie’s mother had been. She was wearing faded flared jeans and a tie-dyed shirt with a matching headband. Her dark hair was shoulder-length and streaked with gray. When Ivy turned to greet them, Josie had a strange feeling of déjà vu. Although her aunt’s facial features were different from her mother’s, the smile was very much the same.

  “Good morrow to you, fair ladies,” Ivy said. “I’ve got paper plates in the cupboard there,” she said, gesturing with her chin as she whisked the eggs, “and there’s silverware and cups already set out on the counter. Come make yourselves at home.”

  “What’s a morrow?” Rose asked. She stared up at Ivy with large round eyes.

  “It’s an old-fashioned word that means ‘morning,’ ” her aunt replied. “It can also mean a new day or time ahead.” Ivy paused to meet Josie’s gaze and give a reassuring wink. “Did you all sleep okay? The insulation up there’s not the best. It can get nippy in the winter.”

  “Yes, it was very warm and comfortable. Thank you.” She felt awkward, standing in a strange kitchen with her children, having breakfast cooked for her by someone she barely knew. It was a relief that Ivy was so welcoming and easygoing.

  “Thank you for the big bed,” Rose said, while Josie smiled and Ivy chuckled with delight.

  “You’re welcome,” Ivy said. She poured the eggs into the hot frying pan, and the butter sizzled. “You girls and your mom will probably be here with me a while, so I’m glad you like it up there. It’s a nice big space, not like this little one-butt kitchen.”

  Josie raised her eyebrows. “A one-butt kitchen?”

  “Oh,” Ivy said, “that’s just what I call a kitchen so small there’s only enough room for one person to be working in it. More than that and you’ll have butts bumping into each other. Do you girls like scrambled eggs?”

  Rose nodded, and Emily yelled, “Eggs!”

  After breakfast, Ivy showed them around the house. “I have a garden out back, but you can’t see it on account of the snow.” She moved from the kitchen into the next room. “And this used to be a dining room, but I made it my sitting room so I could use the front part of the house for the store. I never needed much space.”

  Josie glanced around. There was a disorganized desk against one wall. On the other side, a mismatched sofa and armchair faced an RCA television set. A miniature Christmas tree stood on an end table next to the sofa.

  “I don’t really watch television,” Ivy said, “but the set works fine. You’re welcome to use it anytime.”

  “Mommy,” Rose said, tugging at Josie’s hand. “Can we watch Sesame Street?”

  “Sure,” Josie rep
lied. “And Mister Rogers, too.”

  After they had passed by the doors to Ivy’s bedroom and bathroom, Ivy unlocked a heavy door separating the sitting room from the rest of the house.

  “This leads into the store. Go ahead in.”

  Josie shepherded her girls through the door and gasped. The front room of the house was the largest, other than the attic, and every inch of space was occupied by books. Tall bookshelves lined the walls. There were stacks of books on the very tops of the shelves and in piles all over the floor.

  She looked nervously at the books crammed into the shelves, thinking how so much paper in such a small place surely posed a fire hazard. She wondered if Ivy kept a fire extinguisher within easy reach.

  The room smelled like warm paper and ink mixed with a faint aroma of breakfast that drifted in from Ivy’s kitchen. Interspersed among the books were several small tables and squashy-looking chairs in various colors. A small writing desk and chair were shoved into one corner, and the center of the room was covered by a multicolored, well-worn throw rug that read WELCOME TO THE BOOKSTOP.

  Ivy followed Josie’s gaze down to the rug. “I had that made special when I first opened this place,” she said, and then stooped down to speak to Rose and Emily. “Do you two like books? Look over there.” Ivy pointed to the far corner of the room demarcated by small, colorful beanbags, where a sign on the wall read KIDS’ CORNER. “There’s a big stack of ’em just for you.”

  Josie held her breath, fearing that perhaps the books would remind Rose of bedtime with Tony and upset her. Her eyes welled up as she remembered how Tony used to make a big deal out of bedtime with the girls, even on nights when he had to bring extra work home to finish after he tucked them in.

  “Time to pick your books,” he used to say in a booming voice that sent Rose and Emily scurrying to their little bookshelf. He would settle himself on Rose’s bed, and after jostling for positions on his lap the girls would sit, transfixed, while he read.

  For Rose in particular, those few minutes with her father were a highlight of her day. Josie had been amused and, at the same time, a little hurt when her older daughter told her one evening, “Hurry, Mommy, say good night and go downstairs so Daddy can read!” The playfully triumphant gleam in Tony’s eyes hadn’t helped.

  After she and the girls had been released from the hospital, they had stayed in a hotel paid for by the Red Cross. Josie had tried to maintain some sense of normalcy by buying some new books and reading to the girls at bedtime, but she hadn’t made it past the first few pages before Rose dissolved into tears, asking for her father. Now, instead of reading, Josie crawled under the covers with Rose and cuddled with her until she fell asleep.

  In the front room of The Bookstop, Josie was relieved when Rose squealed with delight and ran toward the children’s area. Emily toddled along after her. Maybe being in Ivy’s little store will help them heal, she thought, as the girls plopped down on the rug and began going through the colorful picture books that were piled there.

  “There used to be another bedroom up front here,” Ivy said, “but I knocked out the wall to expand this room. It’s a little more cramped in here during the winter. When the weather’s nice, I move some of the books onto the porch.” Josie could see the front porch through the windows on either side of the front door. “People seem to like sitting out there and browsing through the new titles, especially in the summer.”

  “It’s lovely,” Josie said, “all of this. Your home, the store. They’re very inviting and comfortable. I can see why people like to come here.”

  “It’s not easy keeping the place going,” Ivy said. “Speaking of which, it’s almost opening time. Books aren’t the most profitable thing to sell, not by a long shot. And I can’t stock everything I’d like to, since I don’t have the budget or the space. But I try to cater to the folks who come here, and they come from all over—not just Mill River.”

  “I expect people appreciate having a bookstore here,” Josie said as Ivy went to the writing desk and removed a calculator and a pad of receipts from the top drawer.

  “They tell me that all the time,” Ivy replied. “I can order pretty much any title, if someone is willing to wait a few days for it, and I buy and sell used books, too. People can bring books they’ve already read, and if they’re in good shape, I’ll give them some credit for ’em. Whatever works, you know. That’s what I do. I’m not a fancy person, so I don’t need much. As long as I can pay my bills, I’m happy.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the porch door opening and closing, followed by a loud knocking. For a moment, Josie was overcome with fear that she and the girls had been followed from New York. She relaxed when Ivy peered out the window and smiled. Her aunt flipped a sign hanging in one of the windows so that OPEN faced out and answered the door. A man in a winter postal uniform and a fur hat stood in the doorway.

  “Hey there, Larry,” she said. “Whatcha got for me today?”

  “Looks like more inventory. You must be stocking up for last-minute shoppers.” The mailman picked up the first of several boxes stacked on a hand truck next to him.

  “I suppose I am,” Ivy said. “Let’s set them over here. Maybe I’ll get them unpacked before people start showing up.”

  “Sure thing,” Larry said. He hefted three large boxes into the front room of The Bookstop before picking up the last box, which was smaller and lighter than the others. “There might be some mistake with this one,” he said as he examined the shipping label. “It’s an Express Mail package with your address, but it’s …” His voice tapered off, and an odd expression came over his face. He cleared his throat. “It’s addressed to a Mrs. Josie DiSanti.”

  “That’s me,” Josie said quietly.

  “Oh, how rude of me,” Ivy said, looping her arm through Josie’s and pulling her forward. “Larry, this is Josie, my niece. Josie, meet Larry Endicott, the nicest mailman in Mill River.”

  “The only mailman in Mill River, since the rest of ’em are ladies. The ones who cover the delivery routes, anyway.” Larry smiled at Josie. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Josie and her girls over there will be staying with me a while,” Ivy said. “So you might see some more things addressed to her.”

  “Ah. Well, here you are, then,” Larry said, handing Josie the package. “I hope you like our little town. I’ve got to get going. The truck’s really loaded today. Holiday rush. See you Monday!”

  “See ya, Larry,” Ivy said. “Keep warm!” She closed the door and turned to Josie. “That was weird, don’t you think? Sort of a hasty exit? He was acting so awkward there in the end, and—”

  As she clutched the package she had been handed, Josie didn’t register her aunt’s voice stopping mid-sentence. She stood staring at the box in her white-knuckled hands.

  “Josie, what is it?” Ivy asked. Her aunt walked over to her and squinted to read the package. “Oh,” was all she said.

  “I can’t … can’t deal with this … not now. Not until after the girls are in bed,” Josie choked out. She glanced at Rose and Emily in the Kids’ Corner. They were blissfully unaware of her distress.

  “Here,” Ivy said in a low voice, and she gently pried the box from Josie’s grasp. “I’ll put this away until later. It’s definitely not something the girls should see.”

  CHAPTER 3

  WHEN HE REACHED JOSIE’S OFFICE, FATHER O’BRIEN SAW that Rose and her family were already seated on the long sofa against the wall. Emily had backed herself into a corner of the room, and Ivy sat at Josie’s desk holding a folded piece of paper in her hands. Father O’Brien was surprised to see that Jim Gasaway, a local attorney and an old friend, was in the room as well.

  “Jim, it’s good to see you,” he said. “You must’ve slipped past me earlier. I didn’t see you come in.”

  “What in the hell is going on, Aunt Ivy?” Rose demanded. She glared at Ivy with her arms tightly crossed.

 
“Would you mind closing the door, Father?” Ivy asked. After he had done so, she straightened up in her chair and looked at Josie’s daughters. “I know neither of you wants to be here for any longer than is necessary, so I’ll get through this as quickly as I can.

  “You both know that Mr. Gasaway is handling your mom’s affairs. That said, Josie left this letter with me to read to you girls in case anything happened to her. Jim has a notarized copy of it, so he knows the details.”

  “She wrote the letter earlier this year,” Jim added quietly.

  “Please, just read it,” Emily said in a small, tired voice.

  Ivy unfolded the paper in her hands, cleared her throat, and began.

  To my girls, Rose and Emily,

  If you are hearing these words, it is because I have passed on. I trust Mr. Gasaway and your aunt Ivy will handle my memorial service as I requested. Also, I hope that you are not burdened with grief at my passing. I’ll always be with you, and the only thing I’ve ever wanted for you both was happiness.

  In fact, your happiness, or lack of it, is my simple reason for writing this letter. You girls were my life. I worried about you and loved you from the time you were born. If your estrangement from each other was not the cause of my death, I daresay that it must have been at least a contributing factor. Now that I’m gone, you have no immediate family left but Aunt Ivy and each other.

  I know what happened was horribly painful for you both, but I also know that time can heal even the most serious grievances. For years, I asked you, begged you, to try talking, therapy, anything to repair your relationship, but you refused. So, I’m taking matters into my own hands, and from the grave, no less.