and set it on the table in front of Andrea. A few seconds later it was followed by a cup of coffee and doughnuts. "And the rooms are all ready, so you needn't be worrying about that."
"I would still liked to have helped." The juice helped wash the cottony taste from her mouth. "I didn't want to sleep this late."
"It seems to me you should be blaming those sleeping pills for that." Mrs. Davison sniffed her disapproval. "A girl your age shouldn't be taking them."
Andrea wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. "The doctor prescribed them for me."
"Those pills may help you sleep, but they don't cure the cause of your not sleeping," the housekeeper observed caustically. "It seems to me the doctor should have recognized it."
"I…" Andrea started to protest, then closed her mouth. There was no point in debating the issue. "What time are Mrs. Collins and her daughter supposed to arrive?"
"This afternoon some time. Mr. Grant told me to plan to have dinner for them, but not lunch. He isn't sure if her husband's coming or not, but I have a room ready just in case. You've met Mrs. Collins before, haven't you?"
"Yes, a year ago. No, two years ago it was," Andrea corrected tiredly. "She seemed very nice."
"Oh, there's no doubt, she's a real lady," Mrs. Davison assured her. "She used to spend a couple of weeks here every summer, her and her husband, but that was when her daughter was wearing braces. Once they came off, her visits were less frequent and shorter. Mr. Grant is her daughter's godfather, but I imagine he told you that."
"Yes."
"The last time I saw her, she was such a pretty little thing, so happy and full of life, and kind like her mother," the housekeeper sighed, shaking the water from the lettuce and placing it on the drainboard. "It's hard to believe that little Nancy is twenty years old and engaged. Oh, it'll be good to see her again."
"Yes," Andrea agreed automatically. She hadn't met the girl before, but she remembered Mrs. Collins showing pictures of her daughter.
"It'll be good to have visitors staying in the house again." The iron-gray head gave an aggressively affirmative nod. "These past months since Christmas, this place has seemed like a mausoleum."
The pallor in Andrea's cheeks intensified. Her cloud of depression had seemed to darken everyone's spirits. She had already guessed that John's invitation to Mrs. Collins had been issued in the hopes of channeling Andrea's attention away from her misery and heartache, and providing a distraction to ease the pain. His thoughtfulness touched her, but Andrea doubted that his plan would have any lasting success.
Finishing one of the doughnuts, she pushed the saucer with the other aside and drained the last of the coffee from her cup. She fixed a bright smile on her face, one that her jangled nerves couldn't endorse, and turned to the housekeeper.
"Can I help you with lunch?" she inquired.
"The casserole is in the oven and everything else is done except this salad," Mrs. Davison replied. "You could cut some flowers from the garden. It'd be nice to have a few spring bouquets scattered about the house."
It was not the kind of task that Andrea had in mind. This was one of those times when she didn't particularly want to be alone with her thoughts, although there were times when she had to be alone. But she had offered to help, and Mrs. Davison had made a suggestion. There was little else she could do but agree.
With an acquiescing nod, Andrea left the house by the rear door, stopping at the small utility shed to collect the garden shears, a small oblong wicker basket and a pair of cotton gloves. Ignoring the dull throb of her head, she vowed to concentrate on her task.
Through the irises, the late tulips, the daisies and the roses, she succeeded. The route of her snipping had taken her to the white board fence separating the house grounds from the orchard. The pear trees were heavy with blossoms, their scent faintly perfuming the May air.
May and December.
"I would still liked to have helped." The juice helped wash the cottony taste from her mouth. "I didn't want to sleep this late."
"It seems to me you should be blaming those sleeping pills for that." Mrs. Davison sniffed her disapproval. "A girl your age shouldn't be taking them."
Andrea wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. "The doctor prescribed them for me."
"Those pills may help you sleep, but they don't cure the cause of your not sleeping," the housekeeper observed caustically. "It seems to me the doctor should have recognized it."
"I…" Andrea started to protest, then closed her mouth. There was no point in debating the issue. "What time are Mrs. Collins and her daughter supposed to arrive?"
"This afternoon some time. Mr. Grant told me to plan to have dinner for them, but not lunch. He isn't sure if her husband's coming or not, but I have a room ready just in case. You've met Mrs. Collins before, haven't you?"
"Yes, a year ago. No, two years ago it was," Andrea corrected tiredly. "She seemed very nice."
"Oh, there's no doubt, she's a real lady," Mrs. Davison assured her. "She used to spend a couple of weeks here every summer, her and her husband, but that was when her daughter was wearing braces. Once they came off, her visits were less frequent and shorter. Mr. Grant is her daughter's godfather, but I imagine he told you that."
"Yes."
"The last time I saw her, she was such a pretty little thing, so happy and full of life, and kind like her mother," the housekeeper sighed, shaking the water from the lettuce and placing it on the drainboard. "It's hard to believe that little Nancy is twenty years old and engaged. Oh, it'll be good to see her again."
"Yes," Andrea agreed automatically. She hadn't met the girl before, but she remembered Mrs. Collins showing pictures of her daughter.
"It'll be good to have visitors staying in the house again." The iron-gray head gave an aggressively affirmative nod. "These past months since Christmas, this place has seemed like a mausoleum."
The pallor in Andrea's cheeks intensified. Her cloud of depression had seemed to darken everyone's spirits. She had already guessed that John's invitation to Mrs. Collins had been issued in the hopes of channeling Andrea's attention away from her misery and heartache, and providing a distraction to ease the pain. His thoughtfulness touched her, but Andrea doubted that his plan would have any lasting success.
Finishing one of the doughnuts, she pushed the saucer with the other aside and drained the last of the coffee from her cup. She fixed a bright smile on her face, one that her jangled nerves couldn't endorse, and turned to the housekeeper.
"Can I help you with lunch?" she inquired.
"The casserole is in the oven and everything else is done except this salad," Mrs. Davison replied. "You could cut some flowers from the garden. It'd be nice to have a few spring bouquets scattered about the house."
It was not the kind of task that Andrea had in mind. This was one of those times when she didn't particularly want to be alone with her thoughts, although there were times when she had to be alone. But she had offered to help, and Mrs. Davison had made a suggestion. There was little else she could do but agree.
With an acquiescing nod, Andrea left the house by the rear door, stopping at the small utility shed to collect the garden shears, a small oblong wicker basket and a pair of cotton gloves. Ignoring the dull throb of her head, she vowed to concentrate on her task.
Through the irises, the late tulips, the daisies and the roses, she succeeded. The route of her snipping had taken her to the white board fence separating the house grounds from the orchard. The pear trees were heavy with blossoms, their scent faintly perfuming the May air.
May and December.
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