Her mother had told her to slip in the back door and set the basket on the kitchen table, call out to Miz Hyacinth that it was there, and leave without pestering, but the reverend’s presence all but guaranteed a front door entrance and a sit-down welcome.
Celia’d spent most of the night staring into the open beams of the ceiling in the cabin room she shared with Chester and their mother—ruminating over the mysterious stranger. Ruminating was another new word for Celia, one she’d recently added to her Eagle tablet of Amazing New Words and had written between the lines of the newsprint wallpaper above her bunk. She’d been glad to think on it.
Where had the woman come from, and how was she Miz Hyacinth’s long-lost kin that nobody’d ever heard of? It was something how she knew about The Railway Children and the sophisticated way she hadn’t blinked an eye at Celia’s portrayal of Roberta. Celia’d imagined all sorts of tragic romances and interesting background stories for the woman in tweed—the woman with no name, at least not any she’d given.
“You’re guessing, Celia,” Chester had said when she’d told him that. “You’re just makin’ stuff up in that ole head of yours and it’s likely to get us both in trouble.”
“You didn’t see her, Chester,” Celia had scolded. “You have no idea what a perfect mystery woman she is. Where’d she come from in the dead of night? Why didn’t she have a trunk or a case of any kind? Why didn’t she give her name when I gave mine? How is it that she’s turned out like a New York fashion plate?”
“I wouldn’t give you my name. I wouldn’t give you the time of day if you didn’t beat it out of me. And you just read about that ‘fashion plate’ business in Pearl Mae’s Hollywood magazine. I saw it on the counter in the store, so stop throwin’ around big words.”
Celia gave up after that. There was no sense wasting her breath. You couldn’t convince eight-year-old brothers of anything. They thought they knew it all.
But today all that would change. Today, because the Reverend Jesse Willard was there, Miz Hyacinth was bound to introduce her guest in the grandeur of her parlor, and the mystery of the woman in tweed would be solved. The promise of a solved mystery thrilled Celia—Nancy Drew at heart—but there was something to be said for not knowing, for imagining and investigating and drawing her own conclusions. After all, this was the first mystery the town had encountered since the day the German Jewish Dr. Vishnevsky had set his foreign feet on No Creek soil.
“Celia and Chester, good morning!” Reverend Willard always sounded like he was surprised and glad to see them, though he saw them near every day.
“Morning, Reverend.”
“Looks like you have something good to eat there.”
“Mama sent fried chicken and corn bread and a mess o’ greens for Miz Hyacinth and her guest. Did you know she has a guest arrived in the dead of night last night? Did you know I met her at the train and helped her find Garden’s Gate?”
“So Ida Mae told me when I picked up mail this morning. I’m glad you were the welcoming committee. You surely did us all proud.”
Celia couldn’t help but lift her chin at that and cast a meaningful glance Chester’s way.
“Shall we knock and go in together?”
“Sure, Reverend. That’ll be swell.”
Reverend Willard smiled as if he knew some secret joke, but knocked just the same, turned the knob, and called out, “Miz Hyacinth? Are you home for company? It’s Reverend Willard and the Percy children, come bearing gifts.”
Of course she was home. Miz Hyacinth never left her house, what with her blindness and all. It was just the reverend’s polite way of letting her know he was coming in so’s she’d know who it was and wouldn’t bother herself about answering the door.
“Come in! Come in! It’s a party!” Miz Hyacinth called from the front parlor, clapping. “I want you to meet Grace!”
Grace? Grace isn’t a flower name. Grace doesn’t sound like bells or rain dancing or anything in particular. The weight of disappointment that settled onto Celia’s shoulders was not helped by Chester’s plucky grin.
But Reverend Willard doffed his hat and picked up a smile that Celia had rarely seen—a light-dancing-in-the-eyes kind of smile that brought out the dimples lining his cheeks. “Good morning. I’m pleased to meet you, Grace. I’m Jesse—Jesse Willard. Welcome to No Creek!” He said it with more enthusiasm than the enthusiastic preacher was known for, and that made Celia take notice.
But the woman in tweed—still in tweed—barely smiled. Miss Grace looked about as relaxed as a cat strung out on a clothesline. “How do you do, Reverend Willard? A—Hyacinth—has told me about you and the Percy children. Celia and I met last night.”
Reverend Willard smiled from ear to ear and couldn’t seem to stop. Celia wondered if he was as mesmerized by Miss Grace’s Blue Ridge eyes and peaches and cream skin as she was. “I hope it was a good telling. We’re a pretty tame lot around here but always glad to welcome newcomers.”
“Grace has come to help me, Reverend. She’s going to live here at Garden’s Gate as my companion.”
“Why, that’s wonderful! Our community is twice blessed.”
“I note the family resemblance,” Celia said, her head cocked to one side, the basket still on her arm. “Got the same eyes as you, Miz Hyacinth.”
“My Grace is a Belvidere through and through.” Miz Hyacinth looked directly toward Celia’s voice, her sightless blue eyes dulled, but a firm set to her mouth.
“Close family, then.” Celia nodded, that part of the mystery solved.
“I’m so very glad for you, Miz Hyacinth! There’s nothing like family, and I for one feel a lot better knowing someone’s staying here in the house with you.”
Celia knew Reverend Willard meant it. He’d spoken often to her mama over his concern for Miz Hyacinth living alone in her big ole house.
Miss Grace smiled, still nervous, Celia noted.
“As do I, Reverend Willard. As do I,” Miz Hyacinth affirmed. “Now, all of you, won’t you sit down and take tea? Grace, would you mind putting the kettle on? The reverend and I share a pot of tea whenever he comes to call—one of my greatest pleasures.”
“Of course.” With that, Grace Belvidere disappeared into the kitchen with the speed of a servant, Celia hot on her heels.
“Mama sent me up with this basket for your supper, Miss Grace. Miz Hyacinth’s partial to Mama’s fried chicken and corn bread. She said the greens’ll act as a spring tonic, and there’s some peppermint leaves in a napkin from Granny Chree for tea, ought to settle Miz Hyacinth’s tummy.”
“That’s so kind of your mother! And who is Granny Chree?”
“Granny’s an old midwife and herbwoman. You’ll get to know her, in time, but not easy. She don’t take to strangers. Comes and goes in the half-light. Goes way back with Miz Hyacinth—from the time she was a young’un. They trade herbs and tonics and such.”
“This is so generous of your mother and Granny Chree. Please thank them for us, won’t you?” And then she hesitated. “I believe Hyacinth will want to send your mother something for her trouble and expense. I’m just not sure . . .”