On the table sat a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. The tradition of lemonade and conversation on the porch was part of every summer from Annie’s childhood, and it was one she continued now. She and Alice often shared lemonade and chats on the porch.
Another pillow portrayed the yard as seen from the window in Gram’s bedroom. Annie knew her grandmother loved to sit in her rocking chair by the window and look out at the flowers she had so lovingly planted. It was another tradition Annie made time for. So to Annie, each stitched scene of Grey Gables was both a memory and a slice of her ongoing life.
A three-sided backdrop sat on the table as well. It was hung with two small cross-stitch paintings of scenes in Stony Point. It also held the large scene of Butler Lighthouse that Mary Beth had borrowed from the public library for this event. But what surprised Annie most were the photographs of Gram that hung alongside the framed cross-stitched pictures.
One photo showed a young, excited Betsy looking up into the face of Charlie Holden with the love and joy that was a huge part of their marriage. The other photo was probably taken only a few years before Betsy died—but Betsy’s lined face still radiated with love. To Annie, the crow’s-feet and slightly faded blue in Gram’s eyes didn’t detract one bit from her beauty.
Annie blinked away tears as she turned to look at the portrait that hung from the freestanding display. It had been a couple months since Annie had seen the piece, but it was just as arresting as ever. It was a portrait of a very young Stella Brickson, seated in profile on a swing on the porch of Grey Gables. So striking was the mysterious and melancholic air in the portrait that it took the eye a few moments to spot the small inset images of locations around Stony Point also crafted into the piece.
“You made a wonderful display,” Annie said, her voice thick with emotion. “Where ever did you get the photos?”
“From Mike Malone,” Mary Beth said. “He had them in his hodgepodge of stuff from old issues of The Point . They were photos he’d printed in the paper for different events.”
“But Gram is so young in the first one,” Annie said. “Surely she didn’t merit a newspaper story yet then.”
“No, but your grandfather did,” Mary Beth said. “Mike said it ran with a story about Charles saving a dog that had been half-drowned in a storm. Betsy got to be in the photo because they took turns staying up all night with the dog.”
“Grandpa always loved his patients like that,” Annie said with a small sniff.
“I’m so glad you like the display,” Mr. Gold said, his own eyes shining a bit behind his glasses. “Is there anything you think I should change?”
They all agreed that it was perfect, and the group stood and simply looked at the display for another minute until they heard the door to the room open. They all turned around in unison.
It took Annie only a moment to recognize the portly man with the big mustache barreling toward them. Edgar Harvester had said he’d see her at the convention, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon after arriving.
7
“This is incredible,” Mr. Harvester announced as he looked over the tribute to Betsy Holden.
“I don’t believe this room is open for public display yet,” Mr. Gold said. He glanced down at his watch. “It opens in an hour.”
Mr. Harvester’s mustache seemed to bristle with offense. “I am not ‘the public,’ young man,” he insisted. “I am a close friend of Elizabeth Holden. It’s only right that family,” he nodded toward Annie, “and close friends view the display first.”
“Oh,” Mr. Gold said, blinking slightly, then turning toward Mary Beth, “is he with you?”
Mary Beth shook her head. “No, though we have met Mr. Harvester before.”
“I haven’t,” Stella announced regally.
Mr. Harvester turned to look at her in interest. “I am Edgar Harvester. Were you a relative of
Another pillow portrayed the yard as seen from the window in Gram’s bedroom. Annie knew her grandmother loved to sit in her rocking chair by the window and look out at the flowers she had so lovingly planted. It was another tradition Annie made time for. So to Annie, each stitched scene of Grey Gables was both a memory and a slice of her ongoing life.
A three-sided backdrop sat on the table as well. It was hung with two small cross-stitch paintings of scenes in Stony Point. It also held the large scene of Butler Lighthouse that Mary Beth had borrowed from the public library for this event. But what surprised Annie most were the photographs of Gram that hung alongside the framed cross-stitched pictures.
One photo showed a young, excited Betsy looking up into the face of Charlie Holden with the love and joy that was a huge part of their marriage. The other photo was probably taken only a few years before Betsy died—but Betsy’s lined face still radiated with love. To Annie, the crow’s-feet and slightly faded blue in Gram’s eyes didn’t detract one bit from her beauty.
Annie blinked away tears as she turned to look at the portrait that hung from the freestanding display. It had been a couple months since Annie had seen the piece, but it was just as arresting as ever. It was a portrait of a very young Stella Brickson, seated in profile on a swing on the porch of Grey Gables. So striking was the mysterious and melancholic air in the portrait that it took the eye a few moments to spot the small inset images of locations around Stony Point also crafted into the piece.
“You made a wonderful display,” Annie said, her voice thick with emotion. “Where ever did you get the photos?”
“From Mike Malone,” Mary Beth said. “He had them in his hodgepodge of stuff from old issues of The Point . They were photos he’d printed in the paper for different events.”
“But Gram is so young in the first one,” Annie said. “Surely she didn’t merit a newspaper story yet then.”
“No, but your grandfather did,” Mary Beth said. “Mike said it ran with a story about Charles saving a dog that had been half-drowned in a storm. Betsy got to be in the photo because they took turns staying up all night with the dog.”
“Grandpa always loved his patients like that,” Annie said with a small sniff.
“I’m so glad you like the display,” Mr. Gold said, his own eyes shining a bit behind his glasses. “Is there anything you think I should change?”
They all agreed that it was perfect, and the group stood and simply looked at the display for another minute until they heard the door to the room open. They all turned around in unison.
It took Annie only a moment to recognize the portly man with the big mustache barreling toward them. Edgar Harvester had said he’d see her at the convention, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon after arriving.
7
“This is incredible,” Mr. Harvester announced as he looked over the tribute to Betsy Holden.
“I don’t believe this room is open for public display yet,” Mr. Gold said. He glanced down at his watch. “It opens in an hour.”
Mr. Harvester’s mustache seemed to bristle with offense. “I am not ‘the public,’ young man,” he insisted. “I am a close friend of Elizabeth Holden. It’s only right that family,” he nodded toward Annie, “and close friends view the display first.”
“Oh,” Mr. Gold said, blinking slightly, then turning toward Mary Beth, “is he with you?”
Mary Beth shook her head. “No, though we have met Mr. Harvester before.”
“I haven’t,” Stella announced regally.
Mr. Harvester turned to look at her in interest. “I am Edgar Harvester. Were you a relative of
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