* * *
Kathryn came trotting down the stairs fifteen minutes later, her hair loose and still wet from the shower. She was dressed in the denim cut-offs, the pink tank top, and a pair of sandals.
"Am I havi
ng another dream, or do I really smell coffee brewing?" she said as she entered the kitchen.
Olive, who'd been standing at the back door looking out over the terrace, turned around.
"It is. I thought I'd surprise you with a pot. Is hope you don't mind."
"Mind?" Kathryn plucked two mugs from a shelf and filled them to the brim with the hot, fragrant brew. "I'd have sold my soul for a cup of coffee last night. I looked everywhere for a can or even a jar of instant. Where was it hiding?"
Olive smiled as she took the mug Kathryn handed her.
"It wasn't. I stopped at Whitbridge's before I drove over. It's a little shop on Front Street. Everybody shops there for their groceries." She lifted her mug in salute and tapped it lightly against Kathryn's. "Thought you might appreciate somethin' like this, considerin' what I know of Amos's idea of stockin' groceries. I suppose he saw to it that you have some tea, a box or two of crackers, and a wedge of cheese, hmm?"
Kathryn laughed. "Plus a few cans of evaporated milk and soup." She blew gently on her coffee, then took a sip. "Do you know him well? Amos, I mean?"
"About as well as anyone can. He's a fine lawyer, our Amos, but he's not much for socializin'."
"That's all right with me. I didn't come here to socialize, I came to sell this house." Kathryn's eyes flew to Olive's. "Oh, hey. I didn't mean that the way it sounded!"
"No problem, Kathryn." Olive smiled. "I understand."
"It's only that I've just got this week to take care of everything. And I've already got the feeling that—well, that things don't operate quite the same here as they do back home."
Olive chuckled. "Meanin', you've figured out that island time isn't the same as regular time, hmm? Well, you're right. People tend to take things more slowly in these parts. But I assure you, I'll get your house on the market just as soon as it's ready."
"Ready?" Kathryn's brows drew together. "What do you mean, ready?"
"I agree with Amos, Kathryn. You will get a much better price for Charon's Crossin' if you attend to some basic repairs."
Kathryn sighed. She picked up the coffee pot, refilled both their mugs, then gestured towards the door.
"I was afraid of that. Look, why don't we sit outside while we talk?" She smiled a little. "I might as well soak up all the sun I can while I'm down here."
Olive followed Kathryn out into the clear morning.
"Mmm," Kathryn said, tilting her face to the sun. "Oh, that feels wonderful. It must be seventy-five degrees out here."
"Eighty," Olive said modestly. "A typical Elizabeth Island midwinter temperature readin'."
The women strolled across the old brick terrace, down the wide, shallow steps that led into what remained of a garden.
Kathryn sighed as she looked around her.
"This must have been a beautiful place, once upon a time," she said softly.
"A showplace it was," Olive said, just as softly. "I never saw it myself, of course. By the time I was born, Charon's Crossin' was long past its prime but all the old stories say..."
Kathryn glanced at her when she fell silent. "What do they say?"
Olive shrugged. "Oh, you know. This and that. Mostly that the house was spectacular. The grounds, too." She jerked her head. "That garden, most especially."
Ahead, rising like a splendid ruin against the pale blue sky, pink roses climbed in rich, almost obscene profusion over an arched trellis. The trellis had probably once been painted white. Now, all that remained were patches of color clinging to the grey wood.
Beyond the arch, framed within it, was a curving wrought-iron gate.