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added.
    â€œYes, of course, Mr. Nilsson. Good to see you again. Hope you enjoyed the concert.”
    â€œAlways do. Glad you folks decided to dedicate it to Mary Ellen. God, what a tragedy! She was quite a woman.”
    â€œYes, we’ll miss her, and we’re all so grateful to her.”
    â€œVery community-spirited. Generous. Especially to the historical society. I was just saying to her son this morning that we should try to wrap things up fast so you’ll get Mary Ellen’s gift assoon as possible. Don’t know how Steven’s going to handle it, but then I imagine his wife will have something to say about that.”
    Julie looked at him blankly.
    â€œMary Ellen’s half-million, I mean. She really wanted to give it to you this summer, as soon as we closed. Fine with me. I’m eager to get it done, and I don’t see any problems now.”
    â€œSorry. I’m still a little confused.”
    â€œThe land deal. Thought everyone knew. Mary Ellen was selling me the land Dan owned out at Birch Brook. For a condo development.”
    â€œI did hear something about that,” Julie said.
    â€œShe wanted to give the rest of her contribution as soon as possible, so you could get the new building up. So she was going to use the proceeds from the sale to do that. But then, well, you know Mary Ellen, always changing her mind, back and forth and back again. But the deal should go through now, if Steven cooperates, don’t know why he wouldn’t, and the money will be available right away. Might be a good idea if you let Steven know how important this is to the society, how much his mother wanted it. A word from you might help,” he said, and then excused himself.
    The rest of the day was such a blur that Julie didn’t have time to consider Frank Nilsson’s comments. Although the tours for the day had been assigned to volunteers, Julie was busy right up to closing time at four o’clock, strolling around to chat with visitors, answering questions, and encouraging the volunteer guides. When the crowds dispersed she pitched in with the volunteers to clear the tables and restore order to the historical society’s grounds.
    After dinner with Rich they talked about the day’s events, and Julie told him what Ben Marston had said. “It was so sweet of him, Rich. I was beginning to think no one really cared about Mary Ellen—for herself, I mean; they certainly care about her money. But I’m sure what Ben said is true—they’re just keeping their emotions in control, just being New Englanders.”
    â€œCould be,” Rich replied. “I wouldn’t know.”
    â€œBut
you’re
a New Englander.”
    â€œYou think so because I’m so cold, but remember I’m from Boston.”
    â€œThat’s what I meant.”
    â€œYou haven’t figured it out yet, have you? I wonder how long you’ll have to live in Maine before you understand New England starts at the Portsmouth-Kittery Bridge? Anyway, I think you’ve had enough emotion—for a non–New Englander—to last you a few days. How about bed?”
    â€œYou’ll check the locks, won’t you?” were her last words as she climbed the stairs, and Rich wasn’t certain she even heard his answer. But he was careful to see the house was safely locked—as safely, he said to himself as he made his way upward to the bedroom, as an old house can be.

C HAPTER 11
    Tours! When Julie took the job of director of the Ryland Historical Society, she thought she knew how demanding the work of a small museum would be. For the most part she had been right, but she hadn’t known just how much of her time would be taken up by giving guided tours. To be fair to herself, that part of the job had grown in the past year, following the resignation of the assistant director, whose main responsibility had been to organize and conduct tours of the buildings for