Beachcombers by Nancy Thayer Page A

eyesight. And she tended to live in the past, which worried Sandra. Sandra's husband, Millicent's son, had died a few years ago, and Sandra was responsible for Millicent. She did not want her mother-in-law getting gaga. Millicent would not tolerate any kind of formal assisted living and, driven by her pride, she had given her lawyer durable rights of attorney, along with written instructions that if she had to be institutionalized, it would be in a nursing home on the Cape or near Boston, not on Nantucket. She had told Sandra that she did not want people who had known her when she was in her majestic prime to see her in her infirmity.
    The Bracebridges were one of Nantucket's founding families. Millicent Bracebridge's collection of Nantucket arts and crafts was rumored to be extensive and significant. Emma couldn't believe she was about to work for one of the island's old legends, a wealthy, prominent woman from an important Nantucket family. Of the various jobs Emma had accepted, this one seemed the most interesting.
    Now Emma followed Sandra Bracebridge up the wide steps, across the porch, and in through the wide front door. The black-and-white tiled foyer floor was covered with priceless antique Oriental rugs, and a crystal chandelier sparkled from the ceiling. In a polished cherry case a grandfather clock ticked away, its face artistically decorated with the sun, moon, and planets. An oil painting of a whaling ship took up most of one wall.
    "Wow," Emma breathed. "What a magnificent room."
    Sandra ignored her and swept on into the living room. "Millicent? We're here."
    Emma followed her employer into a large room crowded with antiques. Oil paintings in elaborate gilt frames spanned the walls. Elaborate boxes of ivory scrimshaw were set along the mantel. In the window seat, seven lightship baskets of varying sizes were displayed, the darkened cane a testimony to their age. Small tables held Tiffany lamps and cloisonne vases. Obviously no children were allowed to enter this room, where one careless movement could provoke a disaster.
    "Millicent? This is Emma Fox. She's come to read to you."
    Millicent Bracebridge sat in a wheelchair with a tartan blanket tucked around her legs. Her white hair was styled like a 1940s movie star, finger-waved in strict ridges. She wore a light wool suit with a diamond brooch at the collar, and heavy hose and lace-up, high-heeled shoes.
    "Well, let me get a look at you," Millicent said, gesturing impatiently.
    Emma stepped close to the wheelchair. Sandra had told her to dress conservatively; her mother-in-law did not approve of the current style of showing off so much skin. Today she wore a white shirt, khaki trousers, and sandals. It was hot outside, but in this room with its high ceilings and heavy draperies drawn against the sun, the heat was moderate, although the air was heavy with humidity.
    "Hello, Mrs. Bracebridge," Emma said.
    "Lean down so I can see you. I've got macular degeneration. If you come close, I can get bits of you, though."
    Emma obediently leaned down. As she did, she caught the scent of the older woman, a mix of talcum powder and a light floral fragrance.
    Millicent Bracebridge turned her head slightly, seeming to aim her black eyes away from Emma's face. "You're a very pretty girl. Pick up that book over there and read a few sentences for me."
    "Moby-Dick!" Emma exclaimed. "I loved this book." Opening it to the first page, she began to read.
    After a few sentences, Sandra Bracebridge interrupted. "All right, Millicent? Does she read to your satisfaction?"
    "She's fine." She waved her hand. "Go on along. Don't worry."
    "The bathroom is just down the hall," Sandra Bracebridge told Emma. "And the kitchen's at the back of the house if you need a drink of water, or there might be iced tea in the refrigerator."
    "Sandra, the girl is not an imbecile." Millicent's voice was sharp.
    "All right, then." Sandra leaned over to kiss the older woman's forehead. "Three hours, right?"