“You're looking for a date, I'm right here.”
“Oh Martha, I think you're too much woman for me.”
She laughed again, smacking her hand down on the counter one more time, making the ceramic cups dance in their saucers. “You got that right, kid. Okay, two chicken salad specials with extra strips of bacon coming up. I assume those are to go since I don't see any companion at your side. You want to tell me who's the beneficiary of my fine cooking?”
“No,” Brian said flatly.
“Fine, be that way.”
Brian waited for his order, then ventured out of the diner into the mild autumn day. The trees that lined Main Street were a mix of colors, brown and orange and yellow, the streets dotted with fallen leaves and lying dormant in the windless day. Instead of crossing the street back toward George's Tavern, he strolled down a couple of blocks, ending up in front of what was once Elsie's Antiques, now a nameless, faceless business that nonetheless had a sign on the door that said O
PEN
.
So he climbed the steps and opened the door. The jangle of bells sounded above him.
“Hello?” a voice called from the back.
“Delivery,” Brian called out.
“Delivery? I didn't order anything . . . oh Brian, hi.”
Hope she didn't greet all of her customers with such a lack of enthusiasm; must be she reserved it for him. Nora Rainer appeared from the back room, dressed casually in blue jeans and a gingham blouse, both of them messy, dusty. Her shoulder-length dark hair was pushed back with the aid of a beret, though some strands had come loose and she had to push them away from her eyes to see her visitor.
“Sorry, did I come at a bad time?”
“The farmers in town would call it mucking out the barn,” she said. “I don't think Elsie had touched that back room in years, and now I think I've gotten all that grime on me. Sorry, I guess I wasn't expecting any customers today, not on a Monday at least. Slowest business day of the week, that's according to Elsie. For the moment I'm content to find out myself, though I'll probably end up closing down those days. There's something appealing about not having to wake up and go to work on a day when everyone else is dreading the start of the workweek.”
“As someone who doesn't start work until four in the afternoon, I couldn't agree more,” he said.
“So, Brian, what brings you here?”
He forgave her her abruptness. Someone accustomed to billing by the hour probably had issue with idle, small-town chitchat. So he held up the bag of food from the Five O'.
“What's that?”
“Lunch.”
“Oh, I . . .”
He cut her off, two could play the abrupt game. “What you're about to say is you've been so busy fixing things in that dirty back room that you lost track of time and wow, thanks, Brian, for thinking of me and bringing me food, I'm actually starving. Chicken salad sandwiches with bacon, thick-cut fries, all courtesy of the Five O'. I hope you don't mind, but I brought one for myself, too.”
She opened her mouth, about to say something, then shut it.
“Do I take that silence as acceptance?”
“I can't even remember eating breakfast,” she said.
“Oh, I'm sure you did. Gerta would never let you out of the house without.”
“You know my mother well,” she said.
“Frankly, Nora, I don't think I could have survived the past two years without her.”
“And her, you.”
“So, does that mean her daughter and her friend can be friends, too?”
“Chicken salad from the Five O', it's a good start, and I think I can smell the bacon from here,” she said. “Come on, pull up one of those bar stools I've got for sale, bring it over by the register. I think it's the only clean place in the store. I'll be right back, let me wash up a bit.”
Brian grabbed a stool from a mismatched set, realized they were leftovers from the tavern that he'd sold to Elsie; six months ago he'd replaced all the creaky old wooden stools. Guess no one was in the market for them, as here they remained. Which got Brian thinking. He looked around the store at all the items on display; he never understood the appeal of buying stuff that others had deemed junk, we all had clutter, who wanted more? Brian wasn't a fan of garage sales, tag sales, or whatever they were called in these parts, remnants of a life already lived, pieces of the past. Brian Duncan was currently focused on the future.
Nora returned looking more relaxed, her hair undone and dropping lazily against her shoulders, and, though he couldn't be certain, she'd added a bit of blush to her cheeks. He had set their lunch out on paper plates Martha had provided, and so the two of them sat down to their impromptu meal, Nora smiling for the first time when she took a bite of her sandwich.
“Oh, that's perfect. Brian, how did you know?”
“I almost went with the tuna fish,” he said.
“Oh, ick, no. Good choice here,” she said, taking another bite.
As they ate, a comfortable silence descended upon them. It was fine to start with, both of them content to make brief eye contact while they chewed, taking occasional sips from the Cokes Brian had brought. But as the sandwiches were reduced to their final bites, Brian realized they would have to start talking soon and his mind spun with various topics. He didn't want to offend her with anything probing but still, he wanted to know more about her.
“So . . .” he said.
“So . . .” she replied.
They smiled, they laughed.
“You go first,” she said, biting into a tart pickle, her expression newly sour. “You've got me curious, Brian. Bringing over lunch was nice, but there must be more to this visit than being neighborly. Where I've lived the past fifteen years, the business I was in, people always come with an agenda.”
He could relate. He'd once lived the Manhattan rat race. Work hard, trust no one.
For the moment, he was enjoying the quaint Linden Corners approach.
“Can't a fellow entrepreneur stop by and see how things are going with a new business?”
“No,” she said, “not when he's going to get a bill for the car he damaged.”
“Can we forget about that for a moment?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious enough to catch Nora's undivided attention.
“Okay, Brian, what's on your mind?”
“Actually, your store is what's on my mind,” he said, learning forward with the first bit of eagerness he'd felt all day. “Tell me about it. What's your plan? Surely you're not just taking over Elsie's and doing what she's done all these years. You must have a fresh approach.”
“In fact, I do,” she said. “Of course, I realize that Elsie's Antiques is well known in this region, and I aim to continue to deal in her stock and trade. Lots of rich city folk come up to the Hudson River Valley in search of lovely items for their summer homes, it doesn't hurt to cater to them. But I also had to think there was something else I could do, something that was unique to me . . . for me. Something that was going to challenge me.”
Brian could relate. It's like the old joke, “Why do adults ask kids what they want to be when they grow up? It's because they're looking for ideas.” Aside from working as a corporate drone and now as tavern owner, Brian Duncan had never really known what he wanted from life.
“I got to thinking, the generations are changing, even what we think of as recent history is fading deeper into the past. Traditions are being forgotten, families have lost sight of what made them strong. Think about those older antiques from the eighteen hundreds and before, they're not so easy to find anymore and I suppose that's just the natural progression of time, one generation's likes giving way to another's desires. People want not so much stuff as they want to recall the memories evoked by that stuff. So out of the ashes of Elsie's Antiques has risen A Doll's Attic, a place where your past is brought back to life.”
“I like the name,” Brian said.
“Thanks, I thought long and hard about it and for a variety of reasons that's what I came up with,” she said, “though it was my first customer who already saw through my façade, he picked right up on my literary pretension.”
“A certain play by Ibsen?”
“My goodness, so many literate people in Linden Corners,” she said. “You and Mr. Van Diver should meet.”
Brian had been listening to every word, but it was that last comment from Nora that made him truly look up with sudden surprise. What was it about that name, why was it familiar to him? His jumbled thought made him sound all-too-much like Janey and her search for the photographs this morning. He stretched his brain to try and understand why the name Thomas Van Diver nagged at him.
“I'm sorry, who?”
“Oh, he's this kind old gentleman who lives over at The Edge, he stopped in on my first day of business last week,” she said. “He had the most unusual request, one I wasn't sure I could honor. But then it occurred to me, what he was seeking and what I was peddling were one and the same, a chance to dig into the past and find something of valueâand I don't mean financial, something personal. Something for his heart.”
“What was he looking for?”
“I think that falls under client/attorney privilege.”
“Ever the lawyer,” Brian said, understanding though unsatisfied. “Sorry to pry, but the reason I ask . . . it's that name. Van Diver. It's sounds so familiar, like I'm supposed to know it . . .”
“What I can tell you is that he used to live in Linden Corners, many years ago.”
“Oh my God, of course,” Brian said, feeling his eyes widen with wonder. “Of course, how could I forget? The Van Diver family, they lived here years ago. Nora, do you realize who he is . . . I mean, who I think he must be? A descendant of the family that originally owned the farmhouse that Janey and I live in . . . it was the Van Divers who built the windmill. Can you tell me anything about him, about what he's looking for?”
Nora seemed to be struggling with her conscience.
“Please, Nora, this could be important,” he said. “Not for me, but for Janey. The past is a place of healing, knowing more about her home and the people who lived there, it may help Janey understand more about her own parents.”
“That sounds like you're guilting me, Brian Duncan.”
“Is it working?”
“Fine. I can tell you one thing,” she said. “He's searching for the meaning of Christmas.”
C
HAPTER
6
T
HOMAS
I
t wasn't every day you were invited for dinner at the house in which you were born.
Which might explain why he was so jumpy. He hadn't felt this nervous since he'd asked his Missy to marry him, though he had to take some comfort in the fact that she said yes right away. And hadn't that worked out well, sixty-two good years. So he told himself to just swallow his growing apprehension, wasn't this what he'd come back for after all these years, an old man determined to rediscover one last time the little boy who lived inside of him? Rather than try to rationalize his concerns, he instead turned his attention to which of his bow ties would complete his outfit tonight. Not the navy blue solidâhe'd worn that one to meet Nora; perhaps something more upbeat was appropriate, like a polka dot or the goofy one with the little green frogs.
“Oh, of course,” he said as though he should have known, and from his drawer full of bow ties (both clip-ons and traditional), he withdrew a bright scarlet tie with a snowflake pattern. It was wintery without being overtly Christmas-like, though some might say it was too early in the season for such a festive accoutrement. Putting it around his neck felt so right, soothing both any naysayers he might encounter as well as his frayed nerves. He knew instantly he'd made the right choice, one he was sure tonight's host would appreciate.
The invitation had surprised him when it arrived, he didn't even know Brian Duncan was aware of his presence in town, much less of his connection to the weathered old farmhouse. But give credit to the small network of gossipers in Linden Corners, they meant well when spreading their stories of scandals and new arrivals and old men with secret pasts, and the result had one of them (he suspected Elsie) speaking about the new-to-town Thomas Van Diver.
He'd been comfortably ensconced in his apartment at Edgestone when Susie at the front desk had buzzed him, announcing that he had a visitor.
“I'm not expecting anyone,” he said, suspecting it was Nora with some news about the book, but his natural curiosity was piqued even more when the name announced was one Brian Duncan. Thomas of course knew who he was, he'd done his homework about the current owner of the old farmhouse, and subsequently the windmill. But how the young man had learned about Thomas, well, he supposed he was about to find out. He asked that Mr. Duncan be allowed in and moments later came a knock at the door.
“Mr. Van Diver,” said the gentleman, tall, slim, handsome. “I'm . . .”
“Yes, yes, Brian Duncan, please come in.”
He escorted his guest to a chair in the living room, asked if he could get him a beverage. The time was just after five o'clock and Thomas had already mixed his daily Manhattan, very dry. Brian declined his offer by saying he didn't touch the stuff, following up by saying, “But I have an offer for you, which I hope you'll accept. Sorry if I'm just jumping into my reason for being here, but I'm already late to the tavern, got Sara from the Five O' pouring beers for me till I can get there.”
“You don't drink but you own a bar?”
“It's a long story.”
Thomas raised his glass, took a grateful sip. “We all have stories, Brian.”
“And I'm curious about yours,” he said.
“Color me intrigued,” Thomas said.
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're related to the Van Diver family that used to live in Linden Corners.”
“As stated, no correction needed.”
“So my home, it was once your home, yes?”
“Yes, many years ago.”
“Well, I've come to you with an offer to join us for dinner, say this Friday night,” he said. “Janey and I would love to host you and show you around the property. If that's not too much trouble . . . or short notice. Nora Rainer tells me you've asked her for a favor, something about your pastâthat's all she said, no violation of your privacy. But that it had to do with Christmas.”
“Ah, so it was Nora, I'll have to apologize to Elsie,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.
“So you'll join us?”
“I'd be very honored,” he said. “What may I bring?”
“Oh, I think yourself will be plenty enough. Janey will be thrilled.”
“Janey, she's the young girl you have taken over guardianship for, yes?”
“You have me at a certain disadvantage, Mr. Van Diver,” Brian stated. “You appear to know so much about me, and yet I didn't even know you were in town. We'll see about changing that status come Friday night. I would love to hear about your life and about your family, and also about what brings you back to Linden Corners, that is, if you don't mind.”
“Prying,” Thomas said. “It's a Linden Corners tradition . . . in the best sense of the word.”
“We do like to look out for one another.”
“I'd be delighted to accept your offer, and I will see you both Friday night,” Thomas said with a polite nod and perhaps the barest hint of a smile. And now the time had come and he still had that glint in his eye. His bow tie affixed and a red cap placed atop his head to protect against the cold, he was ready to make that long-awaited journey back in time, to a place he recalled more in the creations of his mind than he did in true memory.
Ambling slowly, Thomas made his way to the front entrance of Edgestone, bypassing all of the other residents who were either making their way to the dining room or away from it. Most liked to eat early, others like Thomas were night owls. As the seven o'clock hour approached, so, too, did his ride, pulling up alongside the curb just as he stepped out into the brisk night air. It was Brian himself, who had volunteered to fetch him and bring him back, no matter the hour.
Thomas attempted to step up into the front cab of the truck, Brian coming around to the passenger side to aid him. It was a big step up. Once settled inside the truck, seat belt fastened, Brian returned to the driver's side and they set off.
“You look quite dapper,” Brian said. “Love the bow tie, the look suits you.”
“I know they are a bit old-fashioned. Then again, young Brian, so am I.”
Thomas rode in easy silence, just taking in the shadow on the roads as they made their way past the downtown area and toward the western edge of the village, turning up Crestview Road, melting piles of snow pushed over to the shoulders, as though the plows had been by recently to clear for them a fresh path. As though they knew to make way for its returning hero, a Linden Corners version of rolling out the red carpet. Feeling his heart beat with newfound apprehension, he looked over at his concentrated driver. Brian stole a look his way.
“You okay?”
“Just hard to believe, after all these years.”
“We have a bit of a homecoming waiting for you,” Brian said, words meant to make him feel better, but all they served to do was make Thomas feel even more nervous. What kind of surprise had this young lad planned, and just who else had he dragged into his little plot? He'd seen that irrepressible Janey Sullivan at the Halloween Spooktacular, practically reigning over the junior set, so it would come as no shock that Brian had enlisted her help. Were there others? He was about to find out. They'd turned up the drive, tires crunching against snow-coated gravel. For a moment all color slipped away, and under the cover of darkness, Thomas was five years old again, in the backseat of a truck not too dissimilar from the one he rode in, his parents in the front, their mouths moving in conversation, but no sounds were coming forth, like a silent movie reel was unspooling in the mind. That's how he felt, distanced from them while still, somehow, feeling their presence in this black-and-white world.
“Here we are,” Brian announced.
They went in through the front entrance, Thomas taking in every detail: the wainscoting above the doorway, the layout of the foyer, the long hallway that led into the main living area of the house; he knew instantly that the kitchen was to the back of the house, the living room to his right, the staircase that led upstairs to his room and even farther up, to the attic in which he loved to hide, he remembered it all in seconds. He looked above, down, and all around, his eyes widening at how familiar it all looked, finally saying, “My goodness, so little of it has changed, I can almost smell the wood burning from the hearth.”
“Well, that part is real,” Brian said with a chuckle. “It grew cold again today, so I thought the fire would both warm the house and give off a sweet scent, perhaps evoke some memories for you. Come in, our other guests await us.”
And so they were, all of them gathered in the living room, standing up no doubt when they heard the truck pull up outside. Thomas took in the guests, realizing he knew them all, at least by sight, some by name. Nora Rainer was there, and beside her was her son, whose name he didn't yet know, and beside him was the young girl who, while no longer dressed like a glowing windmill, nonetheless produced a bright smile on her face when he appeared. She must be Janey Sullivan. The only other person assembled was a lady who fell more into his age group, one with a kind expression and soft, welcoming eyes.
“Mr. Van Diver, we are so glad you could join us,” the elderly woman said. “We've not been properly introduced, but I'm Gerta Connors, Nora's mother. And this handsome young lad is my grandson, Travis, and of course you already know Nora.”
“Good evening, Mr. Van Diver,” Nora said, “glad you could join us.”
“I'm quite surprised, actually, to see you all here. I thought it was just a simple dinner.”
“Dad likes to make an impression,” Janey said, stepping forward and extending her hand.
“As do you, young lady,” he said, accepting her handshake.
Janey giggled.
Introductions complete, Thomas settled into the proferred recliner positioned near the fireplace, accepted a glass of red wine that Nora poured for him, making sure to refill hers as well. The kids were drinking sparkling apple cider and acting like the floating bubbles were champagne; Gerta and Brian both appeared to be drinking seltzer water. Thomas was thankful for Nora, he found a drink at such a gathering to be not only civilized but a necessity. It helped relax both the body and the mind, and at the moment that's what he needed. Reality had turned surreal, his past somehow alive within him, even eighty years later. He felt a slight chill come over him. A sip of the wine warmed his insides, the nearby fire his hands.
“Well, I must thank you all for making such an effort on behalf of an old man,” he said.
“When I heard the name Van Diver,” Brian said, “I knew I just had to meet you.”
“Me, too,” Janey said. “You used to live in this house? Really?”
“When I was even younger than you are now,” Thomas said.
“Wow, that's a long time ago.”
“Janey!”
“Oh no, Brian,” Thomas said with a hearty, good-natured laugh. “Never deny a child's honesty, they keep us all on our toes, ha ha. Yes, it was quite a long time ago, Janey, but even after all that time my mind can still see the little boy racing up and down the stairs and hiding in the attic, waiting for my mother to find me. The attic was always my favorite place, where I felt on top of the world. My mother always knew where I was hiding. Mothers are like that.”
There was a moment of silence in the room, a sudden awkward scent enveloping them. Thomas looked at the crowd, saw the worried look cross Brian's face as his eyes quickly hit Gerta's. Both of their gazes then fell to Janey, who looked like she was searching for the right words, and it was then Thomas remembered that Annie Sullivan, who was Janey's mother, was no longer among them. A gaff of major proportion, and Thomas felt fresh pain strike him. He could relate and for a moment cursed his insensitivity.
But then Janey saved the day, miraculously, with a simple sweetness that belied her years. “Me, too. I have a favorite place, too,” Janey said. “My mom always knew to find me inside the windmill. I think you're right, Mr. Van Diver, mothers do have special minds.”
“And hearts,” he said, with a gentle tap to Janey's pert nose.
She giggled.
“Do you want to go see the attic?”
“I don't think these old legs of mine would make those stairs,” Thomas said. “So, I'll have to be content visiting your favorite place. What do you say, perhaps you would like to show me the windmill?”
Janey's eyes lit up just as Brian, shaking his head, said, “Let her do that, Mr. Van Diver, and you'll have a friend for life. I know from experience. But what do you say we wait to do that until after dinner? I think the food is ready, and besides, we'd all like to get to know you better and I'm sure you've got questions for us. Everyone, shall we sit down to the table?”
“I'll help you serve,” Gerta said.
“Mom, I'll do that, you get settled,” Nora said.