well just how much went into restoring these old homes.
“I don’t know.” Naomi glanced across the street toward her own house. “But I guess I thought living in one of these grand houses would make me feel grand somehow, too.”
“Has it?”
“Sometimes. I guess I thought living here would somehow make me more like them—the old ladies, I mean. Like maybe somehow some of their secrets were still in the house and that maybe when I got older, there’d be teas on the front porches again, only maybe this time I’d be part of it.” She sighed and blushed faintly. “You must think I’m really daft.”
“Not at all.” Abby shook her head. “I miss those days sometimes, too. I didn’t appreciate it then, but it was a gentler time. Mostly what I remember was being hot and uncomfortable and bored to death by the chatter. ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs. Chandler. I did quite well in school this past year.’ And ‘Thank you, Mrs. Evans, I am happy to be here.’ ‘Yes, it is quite humid today.’ ‘Yes, Aunt Leila’s garden is particularly lovely this summer.’ ”
“Don’t tell me that wa s all?” Naomi slapped her blue- denimed knee. “Here, all these years, I thought they were imparting their secrets of the genteel life.”
“In a way, I guess th ey were. If knowing how to serve a proper tea, bake a perfect sponge cake, and make authentic Devonshire cream counts for anything.” Abby pondered the lessons learned and their value in the grand scheme of her life.
“Can you do all those things?” Naomi grinned.
“Actually, I can.” Abby laughed. “Aunt Leila was a superb cook. And so am I, if the truth were to be told. Maybe I picked that up from her, without even realizing it. I remember watching her in the kitchen when I was little. She could make the most fabulous meals from the most simple ingredients. And she was a very thri fty cook. She used everything. I never really thought about it before,” she said thoughtfully, thinking back to her college days, when she could stretch a lone chicken into two weeks’ worth of meals, “but I guess I was more influenced by her than I realized.”
“Well, maybe someday we’ll have tea together,” Naomi said wistfully, “you and me and Miz Matthews.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” Abby stretched her legs down until they reached the top of the third step. “I’ll see if I can find Leila’s old cookbooks and see if I can bake a scone as well as she did.”
“Then you can show me, and I can reciprocate on our porch.” Naomi gazed across the street. “If it wouldn’t upset Miz Matthews too much, coming back to her old place.”
“That must have been terribly difficult for her, to have left that house.” Abby leaned forward thoughtfully, resting her elbows on her bent knees.
“It was a very sad day.” Naomi nodded. “I had such mixed feelings, being the one to move in while she was having to move out. On th e one hand, I wanted the house— and we had the cash from the insurance company settlement; I was hit by a drunk driver a few years back, that’s why my leg is messed up—but on the other hand, I felt like Snidely Whiplash, foreclosing on the widow.”
“Well, from what I understand, your buying the house at least gave her money to live on and saved her from the humiliation of seeing the house go to sheriff’s sale, which would have been much worse for her. And someone would have bought the house. I’m sure she takes pleasure in knowing that the people who have it love it, just as she and her family did for so many years.”
“That’s what Colin said,” Naomi told her. “And Miz Matthews’s grandson, too, when he came to help her move out.”
“Alex was here then?” Abby’s head jerked up.
“Came down from Boston to help out with the move.” Naomi turned to look up at her. “Carried her things over to here and stored some other things—furniture and such—in the carriage house out back there.”
Abby’s toes began
“I don’t know.” Naomi glanced across the street toward her own house. “But I guess I thought living in one of these grand houses would make me feel grand somehow, too.”
“Has it?”
“Sometimes. I guess I thought living here would somehow make me more like them—the old ladies, I mean. Like maybe somehow some of their secrets were still in the house and that maybe when I got older, there’d be teas on the front porches again, only maybe this time I’d be part of it.” She sighed and blushed faintly. “You must think I’m really daft.”
“Not at all.” Abby shook her head. “I miss those days sometimes, too. I didn’t appreciate it then, but it was a gentler time. Mostly what I remember was being hot and uncomfortable and bored to death by the chatter. ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs. Chandler. I did quite well in school this past year.’ And ‘Thank you, Mrs. Evans, I am happy to be here.’ ‘Yes, it is quite humid today.’ ‘Yes, Aunt Leila’s garden is particularly lovely this summer.’ ”
“Don’t tell me that wa s all?” Naomi slapped her blue- denimed knee. “Here, all these years, I thought they were imparting their secrets of the genteel life.”
“In a way, I guess th ey were. If knowing how to serve a proper tea, bake a perfect sponge cake, and make authentic Devonshire cream counts for anything.” Abby pondered the lessons learned and their value in the grand scheme of her life.
“Can you do all those things?” Naomi grinned.
“Actually, I can.” Abby laughed. “Aunt Leila was a superb cook. And so am I, if the truth were to be told. Maybe I picked that up from her, without even realizing it. I remember watching her in the kitchen when I was little. She could make the most fabulous meals from the most simple ingredients. And she was a very thri fty cook. She used everything. I never really thought about it before,” she said thoughtfully, thinking back to her college days, when she could stretch a lone chicken into two weeks’ worth of meals, “but I guess I was more influenced by her than I realized.”
“Well, maybe someday we’ll have tea together,” Naomi said wistfully, “you and me and Miz Matthews.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” Abby stretched her legs down until they reached the top of the third step. “I’ll see if I can find Leila’s old cookbooks and see if I can bake a scone as well as she did.”
“Then you can show me, and I can reciprocate on our porch.” Naomi gazed across the street. “If it wouldn’t upset Miz Matthews too much, coming back to her old place.”
“That must have been terribly difficult for her, to have left that house.” Abby leaned forward thoughtfully, resting her elbows on her bent knees.
“It was a very sad day.” Naomi nodded. “I had such mixed feelings, being the one to move in while she was having to move out. On th e one hand, I wanted the house— and we had the cash from the insurance company settlement; I was hit by a drunk driver a few years back, that’s why my leg is messed up—but on the other hand, I felt like Snidely Whiplash, foreclosing on the widow.”
“Well, from what I understand, your buying the house at least gave her money to live on and saved her from the humiliation of seeing the house go to sheriff’s sale, which would have been much worse for her. And someone would have bought the house. I’m sure she takes pleasure in knowing that the people who have it love it, just as she and her family did for so many years.”
“That’s what Colin said,” Naomi told her. “And Miz Matthews’s grandson, too, when he came to help her move out.”
“Alex was here then?” Abby’s head jerked up.
“Came down from Boston to help out with the move.” Naomi turned to look up at her. “Carried her things over to here and stored some other things—furniture and such—in the carriage house out back there.”
Abby’s toes began
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