Part 17 (1/2)
”Caroline!”
She heard the fear in George's voice as she felt the stack of boxes begin to crumble. She stretched her arm out, knowing she couldn't steady herself. It was much too late for that. But she did latch on to the box of dolls . . . and then she tumbled, boxes and all.
”Caroline! Are you okay?”
”I'm fine,” she called back. Her backside was a little sore from landing hard on the floor, but at least it was her derriere that hit first, and not her head or hip or arm. George was right-she didn't need to break anything.
”You'll be happy to know that there's a big open area back here,” she muttered. ”No boxes whatsoever, which means if you stop playing around underneath the Packard for a day or two, you should be able to s.h.i.+ft all the other boxes back into this s.p.a.ce so you can get the car off its blocks and out of here.”
”Sounds like a plan.”
”A very good plan, I'm sure, but right now, I need to figure out how to get out of here.”
”You don't see any trapdoors, do you? Any secret rooms?”
”I see a box full of dolls looking at me through gla.s.s eyes. They have beautiful bisque faces, and dresses made out of taffeta and lace. And they're thinking the same thing as I am: Start moving boxes, George, so we can get out of here.”
I can't believe you've talked me into getting my face painted.” Gracie wrinkled her nose at her sisters, trying not to laugh at the red and white stripes painted across Caroline's face or the blue square dotted with white stars painted around her right eye. The artist had done a really good job, but should a woman of sixty-one really be walking around looking like the ”Star-Spangled Banner”?
And Sam! Fireworks exploded across her face in shades of blue and white. They were awfully pretty, but again, what on earth were they doing here? Little kids got their faces painted, not grandmothers!
”You're looking good, Gracie,” Caroline said, her arm tucked through George's. He was the only one who hadn't succ.u.mbed to Caroline's crazy scheme.
”The least you could do is tell me what's appearing on my face.”
”It's a surprise,” Sam told her. ”Just smile and enjoy it.”
”All I ask is that you promise not to take a picture of the three of us together to put on top of the piano for all our future guests to see.”
Caroline beamed. ”I hadn't even thought about that. Thank you so much for the idea, Gracie. It'll be perfect for next year's Fourth of July decorating.”
Gracie wanted to groan, but she was afraid if she did so, it might mess up the painting. It was bad enough to be embellished with bright paints, but bright paints that were messed up in the process would be a tragedy. She'd sit still if it was the last thing she did.
At long last, the artist smiled at Gracie. ”Done!” She handed her a mirror. ”Want to see your work of art?”
”I'm rather afraid to, but let's do it.”
Gracie held up the mirror. She stared for long seconds, and at last she smiled. ”Not bad.”
”What do you mean 'not bad'?” Caroline said. ”Yours is the absolute best. You're the Statue of Liberty-and you're beautiful.”
Gracie grinned. ”Okay, I admit it, it looks rather good.”
”Now that you ladies are through getting all painted up for the day,” George said, ”can we go check out the pie-eating contest?”
”Are you going to enter?” Sam asked.
”Not on your life, but I can cheer with the best of them.”
Gracie couldn't believe she was having such a great time. It seemed forever since she'd simply let down her hair, relaxed, and gone along with the crowd. She cheered on both sets of firefighters-volunteers and regulars-as they competed in their annual water fight. The hoses were attached to an antique fire engine and hand pumper, and the spray splashed everywhere, nearly soaking Gracie to the bone. Sam talked her into trying out the potato sack race, and the two of them beat out the team of George and Caroline. She ate corn dogs and cotton candy and barbecued chicken and corn on the cob, served up by Bill Dekker and Megan Folger-Wildes for one of Harvest Chapel's yearly charity fund-raisers.
The fireworks shot high into the sky, hissing and crackling, their bright colors ricocheting this way and that. It was all rather glorious, Caroline thought, especially with Beethoven's Fifth playing in the background, thanks to an old CD player they'd found in a closet, and some music George had downloaded off the Internet that morning. John Phillip Sousa, the Boston Pops, and Beethoven's cannons sounded out loud and clear until they were ready to call it a night not long after the last explosion of color filled the night.
”See you tomorrow,” George said, hugging Gracie the same way he hugged Sam and Caroline, although Caroline received a lovely kiss on the top of her head. She was one lucky woman, Gracie decided. George was a good man, kind of like her Art. Some relations.h.i.+ps were rather magical, and she saw that between Caroline and her friend.
Less than half an hour later, the porch was cleaned off, the dishes were washed and put away, and Gracie climbed into the shower. The spray wasn't quite as warm as she'd like, but it still felt great to wash the salty air out of her hair and the painted Statue of Liberty from her face. The shower sputtered a few times, and the water turned tepid, making her s.h.i.+ver. The plumbing in the walls groaned. It had been doing that all week.
Climbing out of the shower, she towel-dried her hair, combed out the tangles, slipped into a light nightgown, and crawled under the covers. She burrowed into the comfort of the crisp, cool sheets, turned off the light, and noticed the bisque doll with a taffeta dress and long blonde hair sitting on the chair next to her bed.
”The dolls are pretty,” Gracie whispered to Caroline, who was lying on her side in the twin bed next to hers. ”I'm glad you brought them in from the carriage house.”
”I thought they'd look nice in the guest rooms, but I don't know, I think I could get rather attached to them and, really, when you think about it, we've already planned to put so many other antiques in the guest rooms, we should keep something for ourselves.”
”Definitely.” Gracie yawned again. ”I had a great time today.”
”The face-painting didn't bother you too much?”
Gracie shook her head. ”Only at first. After I got used to it I rather enjoyed the stares. No one laughed, and a couple of women around our age said they wished they'd had the guts to get a face-painting too.”
Gracie yawned again. She tucked her hands under her pillow and closed her eyes. She wanted so much to talk with Caroline, to share the events of the day, but she couldn't keep her eyes open. She could barely retain any sense of reality. She just wanted to sleep, and slowly she drifted off, dreaming of fireworks and rousing music, the clang of cymbals, the blast of cannons.
The blast?
Even in her subconscious, she knew there was something not quite right about those cannons.
Gracie jolted up in bed. ”What was that?”
”You're dreaming, Gracie,” Caroline said, her words drowsy-a little grumpy. ”Go back to sleep.”
”Dreaming, my eye. Something just blew up.”
”You've got the sound of fireworks stuck in your head,” Caroline said, as if she'd shared Gracie's dreams. ”And the cannons in Beethoven's Fifth. It's all in your-”
Caroline jumped when the cannons-or whatever-shot off again. With moonlight s.h.i.+ning through the window, Gracie could see Caroline's eyes widen. ”What on earth was that?”
”I don't have a clue, but I'm glad you finally believe that I wasn't dreaming.”
Gracie sprang out of bed and-water splashed beneath her feet. ”Oh dear! We're flooded.”
”You're kidding.”
”Climb out of bed, get wet up to your ankles, and maybe you'll believe me.”
”I'm not exactly crazy about the idea of climbing out of bed,” Caroline said, ”but I believe you, and unless we want to risk the chance of floating out to sea during the middle of the night-”
”It's already the middle of the night, Caroline. It's two o'clock.”
”Okay, no need to get picky, let's just figure out what's going on.”
”It has to be the shower.” Gracie groaned. ”I knew there was something odd about the noises I heard when I took my shower. I should have known the plumbing was going to explode.”