“I wouldn’t count on that,” Carolyn replied. “Beth talks to her father about everything. In all of the talk about Tracy’s party, it was never suggested that Beth not be invited.”
“
“Of course not, dear,” Abigail assured her. She turned her gaze back to Carolyn. “I’m sure you understand that our family has never mixed with children like Beth, and I see no reason why Tracy should be forced to do something that is unnatural to her. As for Beth, I’m sure she won’t feel the least bit snubbed. Those kinds of people rarely do — particularly the children.”
Steeling herself, Carolyn managed to keep her voice level. “Since I can’t imagine that you’ve ever been snubbed, Abigail, I’m sure you wouldn’t know how it feels. I, on the other hand, know very well, since it happens to me quite regularly. I can tolerate it. But there’s no reason why Beth should have to.” She paused, then decided it was time to let both Abigail and Tracy see how angry she truly was. “My God,” she went on. “Beth lives here! This is supposed to be her home, and the two of you do your best to make her feel as if she doesn’t belong here. And perhaps she doesn’t. Perhaps neither of us does. But here we are, and here we shall stay. And Beth will be at Tracy’s party, and you will both be polite to her. Is that clear?” She took a breath, and hoped Abigail couldn’t see that her hands were trembling. “Now, I think we might as well talk about something else, since this discussion is over,” she finished, somehow managing to force a smile. “More toast, Abigail?”
Abigail ignored her. “Phillip, I will not be treated this way. I don’t understand how you can—”
“She’s right, Mother,” Phillip interrupted, and Carolyn breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Aside from the moral issues, which we Sturgesses have never been too strong on, I think you’d better consider long and hard before you offend Alan Rogers. Not, mind you, that I think Alan would be petty enough to hold up any permits over a birthday party.” He smiled ironically. “Somehow that sort of thing strikes me as being much more our style than his. But there are a lot of projects coming up, and we’re going to need cooperation from the town. It’s not only Tracy who should start getting acquainted with everyone else who lives in Westover, all of us should.” He turned finally to his daughter. “I’m sorry, honey, but your stepmother’s right. Beth will be included in your party, or there won’t be a party.”
Tracy, her face twisting into a grimace of frustration and fury, burst into tears and stormed from the table. Immediately, Abigail rose to follow her, but Phillip spoke once more. “Leave her alone, Mother.”
“I will
There was a long silence, finally broken by Carolyn’s tired sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know how unpleasant that was for you. And maybe she’s right. Maybe Tracy shouldn’t be forced to include Beth in her party.”
Phillip shook his head. “Not a chance. It’s time all of us got dragged into the modern world. You’ve done it for me, and maybe Beth can do it for Tracy. We’ll just keep on plugging, and eventually things will all work out.” He glanced at his watch, then drained the last of his coffee. “And as for me, I’ve got to meet one of the wrong sort of people at the mill, and if I don’t hurry, I’ll be late.”
“Wrong sort of people?” Carolyn asked archly. “Who?”
“The worst,” Phillip replied, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial level. “Your ex-husband!” Then, before she could reply, he was gone.
Alone, Carolyn sat for a few minutes staring down on the village below. Always, when she’d lived down there and gazed up at Hilltop, the house had seemed to her to be the most peaceful place on earth.
Now she was here, and there was no peace.
4
Beth pushed open the screened kitchen door, and stepped out onto the little flagstone patio that led to the back gardens. The door slammed shut behind her, and she jumped slightly at the crash, calling a quick apology over her shoulder.
“It’s all right,” Hannah replied mildly from the shadows of the kitchen. “No harm done.”
Beth stood in the small enclosure, feeling the early-morning sunshine, and looked around. Here, away from the vastness of the rest of the house, she almost felt at home. The patio, in fact, was almost like the one her father had built behind the house on Cherry Street.
At Hilltop, though, there was another terrace, a wide veranda that extended across most of the length of the house, filled with tables and chairs and chaise longues. It overlooked the tennis court and the rose garden, and Beth didn’t really like it: like everything else here, it was too big and too ornate.
She skipped down the steps, then started along a path that led under an arbor, then skirted the edge of the rose garden. Beyond that, hidden from the house by a high hedge, was the stable.
The stable was Beth’s favorite part of Hilltop. In the barn, where it was warm in winter, but cool now that summer was here, and everything smelled like horses and hay, she always felt better. In fact, she’d even made friends with one of the horses, a large black-and-white one named Patches, who always whinnied when she came into the barn, and nuzzled at her pockets looking for carrots.
She turned a corner, and almost tripped over the gardener, who was on his knees carefully digging up a border of tulip bulbs and replacing them with tiny marigolds.
“Hi, Mr. Smithers.”
The old gardener looked up, then rocked back on his heels, dangling his trowel in his right hand. “’Morning, Miss Beth. You’re out bright and early today.”
“I had breakfast with Hannah this morning.”
Smithers’s brows rose slightly, but he said nothing.
“Well, what’s wrong with that?” Beth asked. “If I want to eat breakfast with Hannah, why shouldn’t I?”
“No reason — no reason at all,” the old man assured her. Then a little grin cracked his weathered face. “But I bet Mrs. Sturgess didn’t like that.”
Beth frowned uncertainly. “Why wouldn’t she like that?”
Now Smithers’s brows arched in a caricature of disapproval. “A member of the family eating with the servants? Tut-tut, child! It simply isn’t done!”
“But I’m not a member of the family! I’m just who I always was. Remember?” Then her voice dropped. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me Miss Beth, either. You never used to do that.”
“And your mother never used to be married to Mr. Phillip, either,” Smithers replied, his voice gentle. “Things are different now, and you have to learn what’s expected of you. And part of that is that I call you Miss Beth, and you call me Ben. I’m the gardener here, and you shouldn’t call me ‘mister.’ ”
“But when we lived next door to you, I always called you Mr. Smithers.”
“That was before,” the gardener explained once more. “And I used to call your mother by her first name, too. But everything’s changed now.” Ben Smithers shrugged, shaking his head. “It’s just the way of the world, Miss Beth. Everything changes, and there’s not much you can do about it.” Then he brightened. “Except my garden,” he added. “Every year, I try to make it look just the way it always has. ‘Course, even that doesn’t work out, when you get right down to it. It’s always a little different, and every year the soil gets a little more worn out.” He smiled ruefully. “Sort of like me, I guess. Every year, a little more worn out. Now, you run along, and let me get my work done, all right?”
“I could help you,” Beth offered, but even as she uttered the words, she knew what the old man’s answer would be.
“Not for you to help me,” he said. “It’s for you and the rest of the Sturgesses to pick ’em. It’s for me to grow
