Read Online Hearts at Home by Lori Copeland - Free Book Online Page B

stretch pants seemed to fit anymore. However, there was a nice dark blue suit in the back, a fuzzy wool coat and skirt that might do for the funeral. . . .
    She took the suit off the hanger, then shrugged her way out of her robe and nightgown. A moment later she eyed her image in the mirror and frowned in frustration. The button on the waistband wouldn’t fasten, and the fabric formed horizontal pleats across her abdomen. Tugging the skirt from her hips, she reached for another outfit.
    And another.
    The third, a skirt with an elastic waistband and a boxy jacket, ended up in a pile on the floor.
    Standing amid a heap of discarded clothing, Edith realized she didn’t have a single dressy outfit that fit. If she couldn’t find something to wear to Olympia’s funeral, what in the world was she supposed to do about Salt’s and Birdie’s wedding? The social event of the year was still eight weeks away, but the lovely peach dress she had wanted to wear was form-fitted and two sizes smaller than what she wore now. Worn only once to a teahouse in Boston, the Leslie Faye designer dress had silver-edged peach lace at the bodice, a tulip hemline, and a delicate rhinestone-studded bow at the hip. . . .
    If she tried to wear that dress now, that bow would look like decoration atop a sack of lumpy potatoes.
    Defeated and dejected, she sank to the side of the bed and bawled.
    Caleb stood on the porch, carefully playing the part of dignified butler as guests flooded into Frenchman’s Fairest. Maintaining a somber expression on this victorious occasion was one of the most difficult tasks he’d ever performed; fortunately, the sad faces of the islanders reminded him to be gentle and sympathetic. Though the reality of Olympia’s home going made Caleb want to crow with delight, he’d be less than loving if he allowed his joy to splash out on the shocked mourners around him.
    He had risen early to clean the house and prepare finger foods for the crowd he knew would descend that afternoon. Olympia’s silver gleamed from the sideboard, candles glowed on the dining room table, and the aromatic scents of pumpkin bread and coffee wafted from the kitchen.
    Olympia would be pleased.
    A motorboat from the funeral home had arrived at eleven to pick up Olympia’s mortal shell, so Annie was truthfully able to refuse the ladies who wanted to go up to Olympia’s room and weep over the woman who had been both the thorn in their flesh and the keeper of social order for so many years.
    Caleb had never been able to understand the human attachment to fleshly vessels, but after living inside a mortal body for many years, he had begun to understand the reason for their limited perspective.
    Inside the parlor, a group of women had gathered around Annie. “Alst I know,” Birdie said, her eyes red from weeping, “is Olympia de Cuvier always spoke plainly. If she hated your outfit, she’d come out and say so.”
    â€œCourse she’d say so nicely,” Bea added. “In that cultured way of hers. But she never left you wondering what side of the fence she stood on.”
    â€œShe had a heart the size of Texas,” Vernie said, coming into the room with a plate of sausage balls. “Too bad her purse was the size of Rhode Island. The woman was as close as the bark on a tree with her money—a right admirable thing, in my opinion.”
    â€œShe wasn’t just tight,” Cleta said, lifting a knowing brow. “She’d been seein’ snow in the woodbox for a few years.”
    â€œAnnie, honey.” Babette Graham drew Annie into an embrace. “We want to help. Charles says he’ll do a portrait of Olympia for the funeral if you want one. You can set it on an easel down front, right by the casket.”
    â€œWe’ll help provide food for the wake,” Birdie added, taking a sausage ball from Vernie’s plate. “Cookies, rolls, finger