“I’m not dressing up in some silly suit.”
She smirked. “Of course not.” She tried to picture Tom in an elegant day suit of cream and white and it wouldn’t gel. “Just say you’ll come and soak up all the compliments on your fine work.”
He sighed. “Me coming, is that the favor?”
“Not quite. I was hoping you could tell me where to rent the tents and a good garden center to buy the bedding plants,” she nudged again.
“Brian Wilson has a greenhouse out on Oaklawn Road. I’d go with him rather than some of the bigger garden centers.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Anytime. And there’s a place in Rockland where you can probably rent the tents. I’ll text you their info. I know I’ve got it at home.”
She smiled. “You’re a gem, Tom. I appreciate all your help.”
“You’re welcome. And you’re all set here, so unless there’s something else…”
“You want something to drink? I can put on some coffee, or there’s iced tea in the fridge.”
“I’d better get back. I’m putting together a bid on a new project.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be in touch soon, though. See ya, Abby.”
He picked up his tools and the old cupboard door and slid past her, his boots making thumps on the hardwood floor.
Abby bit down on her lip as she rested against the woodwork of the door frame. She had her work cut out for her, didn’t she?
* * *
Art Ellis was more than happy to help with the gardens. Abby spent several pleasant hours listening to him recall stories about Marian’s time in the house and how she loved her garden. Petunias, marigolds, pansies, and alyssum filled out the flower beds, but Abby also took care to add some new perennials that would last from year to year—lilies, phlox, and her personal favorite, cheerful red bee balm. She knelt in the dirt and Art supervised nearby. By the time they were done Abby was stiff but pleased. The garden was alive with color and scent, and as she put her hands on her lower back and stretched, she watched a butterfly alight on one of the crimson blossoms.
Help in the form of Gloria Henderson also made things come together. She volunteered her services along with that of the churchwomen to prepare the food for the event if Abby bought the groceries. Together they decided on a very garden party-ish menu of finger sandwiches, petits fours and cookies, punch, and of course, tea.
Jess was enlisted to help with the table decorations, details that Abby left in her capable, creative hands. Tents were rented from Rockland. It was all coming together beautifully.
It was Jess’s idea to ask Sarah to help with the invitations. Ever since arriving home from the hospital, Sarah had been withdrawn. It wasn’t unexpected but it was increasingly worrisome as the days went by. Jess had somehow acquired a pen-and-ink sketch of Foster House. They scanned it into Sarah’s computer, and with the first real energy she’d shown for days, Sarah added the details in an elegant font. Eighty invitations were sent out to local businesses, civic figures, and anyone who’d had a personal connection to the Fosters.
The only thing left was to decide what she was going to wear.
And for that, she needed to make another trip to the attic.
* * *
Tom wasn’t prepared for the red, white, and blue bunting hanging from the pillars of Foster House. Coming up the drive he could already see the white tents set up in the back, festive and pristine against the blue of the sky. Abby couldn’t have better weather if she’d ordered it especially for the day. Tom did a double take as he realized there was a man directing the parking, and that he was dressed in what Tom suspected was the old Foster livery—not a re-creation, but the original, real deal.
How on earth had she come up with that?
There were at least a dozen cars all lined up along the side of the lane, their hoods partially shaded by the row of birch trees. Tom got out, glad for once he had put away his work boots and jeans for something slightly dressier. Maybe he’d had to dig into the back of his closet, but the light blue shirt and charcoal suit pants had seemed far more appropriate. The dress shoes pinched his toes a bit but were livable. He wasn’t dressed like some Edwardian dandy, but he figured he’d do all right.
Everything was happening in the backyard, but Tom went to the front door instead. Abby had been right. He should be here because it would be good for business. And since his business had involved the house and not the backyard, he figured he’d better make a showing there first. Besides, he was feeling slightly proprietary about it all today. Abby hadn’t changed her mind about selling. Quite the contrary, in fact. Ever since that day at the hospital he’d been waiting for her to take down that blasted sign, but it stayed stubbornly in place, a glaring reminder that her feelings hadn’t changed.
She was really going. It was time he accepted the truth and quit waiting. Tom had finally gone into town and put his offer in this morning before the place sold from under his nose
.
The door opened before he could raise his hand to knock, and feeling foolish he stepped inside. He felt even more foolish when he saw the man behind the uniform. “Mayor,” he said drily.