Evvie at Sixteen (6 page)

“Marcus enjoyed making noise,” Grace agreed. “He also enjoyed making shrewd investments. Thanks to him, we weathered the Depression. I suppose Margaret should have gone to live with his family when Reggie and Clarissa died, but Marcus and Anne already had six children of their own, and Margaret was such a quiet girl. So I took her in. It was my duty, and I didn't regret it. Of course, I'd always been quite fond of Reggie. He was the baby in the family, spoiled, and charming. Is Sybil like that?”

Evvie shook her head. “Sybil's too levelheaded,” she replied. “She isn't the sort of person you spoil just because she's youngest.”

“Lucky for her,” Grace said. “Very well. You've done your good deed for the day, listening to an old woman's reminiscences.”

“I enjoyed it,” Evvie said. It was better than listening to Grace attacking Nicky.

“Nonetheless, you must be hungry,” Grace said. “And eager to explore your new surroundings. Bring the tray down to the kitchen, I've eaten all I care to, and ask Mrs. Baker to send up another cup of coffee for me. Then have your breakfast, and go into town.”

“No, I'll stay here and keep you company a while longer,” Evvie said.

“When I want you to keep me company, I'll tell you so,” Aunt Grace declared. “Now I want you to go to town and pick up some new mysteries for me at the bookstore. Tell them it's for Grace Winslow. They know my taste. Then you can bring the books back, and read one of them out loud to me. We'll try to solve the murder together. Are you good at that sort of thing?”

“Solving mysteries?” Evvie replied. “Not very.”

“Neither am I,” Grace said. “Good. That way we'll both be surprised by the ending. Now don't forget to tell Mrs. Baker about my coffee. She doesn't want me to drink two cups in the morning, so I have to prompt her to give me the second one. And tell her the toast was overcooked.”

“Yes, Aunt Grace,” Evvie said. She took the tray and carried it down to the kitchen. “My aunt wants another cup of coffee,” she told Mrs. Baker. “And she prefers her toast a little less brown.”

“Thank you, Evvie,” Mrs. Baker said. “I poured you some fresh orange juice, but I didn't know what else you'd care for.”

“Toast'll do fine,” Evvie said. “I'm not big on breakfast. Aunt Grace wants me to go to the bookstore in town and get her some mysteries. How do I get there?”

“Just walk straight down the road,” Mrs. Baker replied. “It's about a three mile walk. I can ask Alf, Mr. Baker, to drive you there if you'd prefer.”

“No, I'd like the exercise,” Evvie said. Besides, the longer the walk, the less time she'd have to spend with Grace. She drank her juice and ate her toast, thanked Mrs. Baker, and left the house. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and she could smell the ocean. No. wonder rich people summer at Eastgate, she thought.

Evvie enjoyed her walk. The cottages she passed along the way were large and carefree and charming. As she got closer to town, the houses got smaller and smaller, but even they looked well tended and picturesque. Eastgate was a picture-postcard sort of a town, and if she ever broke her hundred dollar bill, she'd have to buy some postcards to send home.

The town itself turned out to be roughly three blocks long. There were crafts shops and seafood restaurants and expensive little gourmet stores. Evvie wondered where people bought their groceries, but she supposed there must be a supermarket somewhere hidden away from view. After all, there had been a grocery-store bagger that summer when Megs had fallen in love with Nicky.

The bookstore was on the corner of the second block, and Evvie was pleased to see it wasn't called Books 'n Things or anything else remotely cutesy. All its sign said was Books, and in the window that's what was displayed.

Evvie walked in, and a little bell announced her presence. The store appeared empty, and that gave her a moment to look around.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, yes,” Evvie said, startled by the words. She looked to see who had spoken, and found a boy standing toward the back of the shop. He looked her age, maybe a little older, and had dark brown hair, even darker eyes, and a quizzical smile. “I'm here for Grace Winslow. She said you'd know her taste in books.”

“Mysteries,” the boy said. “And political philosophy. I like that about her. The political stuff I mean. I like it when people read books that seem out of character for them.”

“She sent me to get mysteries,” Evvie said.

“All right,” the boy said. “We got a new shipment in on Friday. There should be something here Miss Winslow will enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Evvie said. “I'm going to read them out loud to her, so try to pick some I'd enjoy, too.”

“I'll do my best,” the boy said. “Are you visiting the Bakers? I haven't seen you here before.”

“I'm visiting Miss Winslow,” Evvie replied. “She's my great-aunt. Does it make a difference, who I'm visiting?”

“Probably not,” the boy said. “If you were visiting the Bakers, I wouldn't ask you out, either, because they don't care for my grandparents. My grandparents own this store. I live with them in the summers.”

“But I'm not staying with the Bakers,” Evvie said. “I'm staying with Aunt Grace. How does she feel about your grandparents?”

“She's a summer person,” the boy replied. “Summer people have no feelings about the year-rounders. Except occasional irritation over service. But I can't ask you out if you're a summer person. There are rules about that sort of thing. No fraternizing with the natives.”

Evvie laughed. “Well, I'm not a summer person or a year-rounder,” she said. “I'm just a guest. So you're going to have to come up with a whole new excuse not to ask me out.”

“I don't know your name,” the boy said. “I can't ask you out if I don't know your name.”

“Evvie Sebastian,” Evvie replied. “What's your name?”

“Sam Steinmetz,” he said. “My grandparents are the town's token Jews. That's why they own the bookstore. Eastgate likes stereotyping. If we were Italian, we'd own the pizza parlor.”

“Is there a pizza parlor?” Evvie asked.

Sam nodded. “I thought we could have lunch there,” he said. “I'm minding the store until my grandparents get back, but I'll be free for lunch. Are you?”

“No,” Evvie said. “I mean, I don't know. I'm kind of baby-sitting Aunt Grace this summer because she injured her foot, and I don't know how much time I'm supposed to spend with her.”

“I'll tell you what,” Sam said. “I'll work up a big order of books for her, and then I'll drive them over at lunchtime. We can ask her then if she'd mind your going out with me.”

“That's not the issue, is it?” Evvie said.

Sam laughed. “Welcome to Eastgate,” he said. “You'll learn the issues here soon enough.”

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

“Hello, Mrs. Baker,” Sam Steinmetz said later that day. “Is Miss Winslow in?”

“Where would she be with her foot in a cast?” Mrs. Baker replied. “Out running the Boston Marathon?”

Sam laughed. “Is Miss Winslow receiving, then,” he asked. “I've brought an order of books for her.”

“I'll go see,” Mrs. Baker said, and she turned away from the door, leaving Sam standing outside.

“You're right,” Evvie said, ushering him in. “She doesn't like you.”

“My grandparents are newcomers,” Sam said. “They only moved to Eastgate twenty years ago. It takes people like the Bakers a while to adjust to new faces.”

“Mrs. Baker adjusted to mine fast enough,” Evvie declared. “She's been very pleasant to me.”

“You're her boss's niece,” Sam pointed out. “How would you expect her to act?”

“Courteously,” Evvie said. “Is there any other reason why Mrs. Baker doesn't like your family?”

“There are always reasons to dislike people,” Sam said. “This is a nice house.”

“I'm staying in my mother's old room,” Evvie told him. “It has a view of the ocean. I can't get over it. Would you like to see?”

Sam laughed. “Let's get your aunt's official approval before you start inviting me into your bedroom,” he said.

“I was just inviting you in for the view,” Evvie said, and realized to her annoyance that she was blushing.

“I'm enjoying the view I have right now,” Sam said. “I never get invited to the summer people's houses. And when I make a delivery, I go through the back entrance.”

“Is that why Mrs. Baker was annoyed?” Evvie asked. “Because you didn't know your place?”

“The problem is I
don't
know my place,” Sam said. “If I'm here to deliver books, then I should come in through the back. But if I'm here to take you to lunch, then the front door is appropriate. Maybe I should have used the side door, a compromise gesture.”

“I don't think there is one,” Evvie said. “Maybe I should use the back door.”

“You're family,” Sam replied. “Family always uses the front. I can see there's a lot you need to learn about the class system.”

“By the time I learn it, I'll be out of here,” she told him. “This is only a summer visit.”

“It never hurts to understand the class system,” Sam said. “Or is your family in a class by itself?”

“Pretty much so,” Evvie said with a smile.

Mrs. Baker walked down the stairs looking disapproving. Evvie felt momentary guilt that she had let Sam in, and then she told herself not to be foolish. She had at least as many rights as Mrs. Baker, and one of those rights was inviting another human being into her aunt's home.

“Miss Winslow will see you now,” Mrs. Baker said. “Upstairs, second door to the right.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. He darted outside, and came back in carrying a large carton.

“What's in the box?” Evvie asked him as she followed him upstairs.

“Books for your aunt to choose from,” Sam said. He paused at the top of the stairs, and Evvie could see him take a deep breath, then release it. It pleased her to sense his nervousness. Then he walked to Aunt Grace's room and knocked on her door.

“Come in,” Grace said, and Sam did. Evvie entered as well. She was tempted to let him go in by himself, but that would have been cowardly. Besides, Sam might chicken out if she wasn't there reminding him of what his actual mission was.

“I brought you a whole batch of books,” Sam said. “I mean, good afternoon, Miss Winslow.”

“Good afternoon, Sam,” Aunt Grace said. “You were saying about the books.”

“Well, it seemed to me you were stuck in bed, I mean, here in the house, and you might like to make your own selections, anyway,” Sam blurted. “So I brought the bookstore to Muhammad.”

“The entire bookstore?” Aunt Grace said.

“Not exactly,” Sam admitted. “More like two dozen new books. Actually just like two dozen new books. We got a shipment in Friday, and when your niece came, I figured rather than loading her down, I'd drive the books over here, and you could pick and choose from them and whatever you didn't want, I'd just take back to the store. Along with your niece.”

“What about my niece?” Aunt Grace asked. “I am an old woman, and I don't understand it when you young people speak so quickly.”

“What Sam's trying to say is after you make your selections, we were hoping I could drive back to town with him and have lunch,” Evvie said.

“Oh,” Grace said. “So I should assume this delivery is actually a prearranged conspiracy.”

“Uh, yes,” Sam said. “That's one way of looking at it.”

Aunt Grace raised her eyebrows, and for the first time Evvie truly understood why her mother had eloped.

“Another way is that I'm combining business with pleasure,” Sam said. “The business part is bringing you these books, hoping you'll buy a lot of them. I brought hardbacks, too, Miss Winslow. We're after your money.”

“Many people are,” Grace said. “Is the pleasure part a chance to visit with me?”

Sam smiled. “Where are my manners,” he said. “How are you feeling today, Miss Winslow?”

“Irritable,” Grace replied. “Bored. Cranky.”

“Itchy, too, I'll bet,” Sam said. “My grandmother, my other grandmother, broke her ankle two years ago, and she itched for weeks. It drove her crazy. The day they took the cast off was the happiest day of her life. Or so she claimed at the time.”

“I am not the least bit interested in your grandmother's broken ankle,” Aunt Grace declared. “And I'm not about to discuss itches with you.”

“No, I suppose not,” Sam said. “May I take Evvie out to lunch?”

“So you can discuss itches with her?” Grace asked. “Or make fun of cranky old ladies?”

“Sam told me there was a pizza place,” Evvie said. “It sounded like fun. That's all.”

“And what are your intentions, Sam?” Grace asked. “Following lunch.”

“I'm not sure,” Sam said. “But I suppose I'll bring Evvie back here, try to see more of her this summer, graduate high school, go to college, get my degree, find a decent-paying job, and then marry her. You'll have to ask Evvie what her intentions are. We've only spent a few minutes together, so I can't speak for her.”

“You think you're being amusing,” Grace said. “You're not, young man.”

“It wasn't my intention to be amusing, Miss Winslow,” Sam declared. “I was being honest. Now, may Evvie and I go out for some pizza?”

“Please, Aunt Grace,” Evvie said. “I'll be back in an hour, hour and a half tops. And then you can pick which one of the mysteries I should start reading out loud to you. Or maybe we could do some needlepoint together.”

“Needlepoint?” Grace said. “I didn't know you cared to sew, Evvie.”