get to know each other unless we see one another outside. And that lets Muriel out right away. I don't think she ever leaves the place except for an occasional shopping trip and church. In fact, she may even do her shopping by mail, so it's just church. I'll be surprised if she's at the Holly Ball Wednesday night. She usually stays here to keep an eye on things. You're going though, I hope.”
Faith had forgotten the benefit was called the Holly Ball. She'd talked it over with Tom and they were going. She wanted to get a look at the attendees, and he thought they should show their support for Hubbard House—and he always liked to dance with Faith.
Denise continued to talk about the Hubbards. 'I see Dr. Hubbard quite a bit coming and going. He's a sweetie, and I don't see how this place could exist without him. It's not just that he knows everyone by name, but he really knows them—their aches and pains, sorrows and joys.
Donald is a good doctor, but he doesn't have the same charisma.'
“What's Donald's wife like? Does she work here too?'
“Charmaine? No, she doesn't work here. She'll be at the ball and you can judge her for yourself. She got back from her latest cruise or spa last week, so she's in town.'
“Is she French—'Charmaine'?”
Denise laughed. 'She might like to be taken for French, but she actually sounds more like a Georgia peach, although I have it on good authority that the Molloys, that's her maiden—and I use the term loosely—name, were never south of Providence.”
They finished the baskets and Denise left. She promised to put Faith and Tom at her table. 'If Leandra lets me,' she added.
“Who's Leandra?' Faith asked.
“You'll find out Wednesday night,' Denise answered, and vanished out the door.
The kitchen was oddly still after she left, and Faith felt a heaviness in the air, which the pungent smell of overdone veal did nothing to lighten.
“Why are you so interested in the Hubbards?' Mrs. Pendergast didn't beat around any bushes.
Faith was momentarily taken aback.
“I'm interested in Hubbard House. That's all. You remember I told you my aunt was considering moving here, and of course I want to tell her everything I can.'
“Indeed.' Mrs. Pendergast looked skeptical. 'Well, tell your aunt'—her inflection suggested strong doubts as to the existence of said aunt—'that she won't find a better-run, better-staffed retirement home in the country, and the Hubbards, all of them, are what make it that way.”
So there.
Faith felt her hand smarting, though an actual ruler had not been produced. She didn't have Farley's tray to take up, so she mumbled 'Good-bye' and headed for the door.
“See you tomorrow,' Mrs. P. boomed at her retreating back.
Upstairs, her backbone was instantly restored, and she thought she would take Dr. Hubbard up on his offer to meet him. Sylvia Vale was outside her office putting a fresh sprig of freesia in the vase. It was white again, and it appeared that much about Hubbard House was unvarying. Sylvia, however, had changed her navy suit and was resplendent in a purple, gold, and green print silk shirtwaist dress.
In response to Faith's request, she answered, 'Of course. I should have taken you to meet Dr. Hubbard when you came, but Mrs. Pendergast was so insistent on having you report to the kitchen
Dr. Hubbard's office was in the front corner of one of the original Aldrich houses.
“This was the library of Deborah's house—that was the name of the daughter Nathaniel Aldrich,the original owner, built the house for. We still call the houses Nathaniel's and Deborah's, as the Aldrichs always did. Dr. Hubbard has kept this house very much as it was. His son's office is across the hall, and there's an apartment where Dr. Hubbard lives now at the rear of the house. Upstairs we have several residents' rooms, a room for guests who may be visiting relatives or friends here, and Muriel's apartment.”
Faith realized she should have come to Sylvia Vale in the first place. If she could keep her talking, she'd tell Faith about every nook and cranny and every occupant at HH.
“I have a small nest in Byford center,' Sylvia prattled on, and Faith was struck by an image of Sylvia in her colorful plumage perched in a nest like Big Bird in the middle of Byford Common.
Sylvia knocked at the door, and a voice Faith instantly recognized from both her conversation and Tom's earlier description as belonging to Roland Hubbard answered, 'Come in.' They did.
“Dr. Hubbard, this is Mrs. Fairchild, who has been so kind about helping us out.”
Roland Hubbard rose from behind his mahogany Duncan Phyfe desk and walked around it toward Faith, his hand already extended. He was a tall, powerful-looking man with a thick shock of white hair and deep blue eyes. A patrician. He took her hand and covered it with his other in a lingering grasp. She had never decided whether she liked this kind of handshake or not. It was difficult to terminate, but then wasn't it also more personal than the other—an American equivalent to being kissed on both cheeks? Dr. Hubbard dropped her hand.
“I'm happy I can help you, and I hope I can do so occasionally in the future. I'll be starting my business after the new year—I'm a caterer—but I'm sure there will be time to come here also.' She was not sure when, yet it seemed like the right thing to say. After all, you couldn't very well tell the head of Hubbard House that you were here only to investigate, and when you had discovered whatever the matter was, you'd be history.
“Anything you can do, my dear. We old folks appreciate seeing a young thing around the place. Of course, I say that facetiously. Even though the average age here is seventy-nine, I don't think many of us would describe ourselves as 'old', rather 'seasoned.' And we are the fastest-growing segment of the population, which suggests a certain liveliness. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid much of my job is paperwork and I'm trying to clear my desk of this Everest before Wednesday's frolic.'
“Of course, Dr. Hubbard.' Sylvia looked up at him, her eyes slightly dilated with pure devotion. 'It was good of you to take the time.”
So it was like that, Faith thought. Sylvia bustled her out the door and back into the annex. 'A truly selfless man,' she told Faith. 'He lives completely for others.'
“How nice,' Faith commented. There didn't seem to be any other appropriate comment to make. She could understand the fascination, if notthe devotion. Roland Hubbard was extremely well preserved, and while his voice did not have tones of liquid gold, its sharp Yankee clip was softened by the warmth he injected into it. The way he had of looking straight into one's eyes, the 'I'm talking to only you' manner, was indeed seductive.
“Incidentally, have you seen the dining room?' Sylvia laughed preparatory to making a joke. 'It would be a bare cupboard without you!'
“No, I haven't seen it,' Faith replied, and hoped Sylvia had time to give her a tour.
Sylvia did seem to have time, and showed Faith the elegant dining room with curved windows overlooking a garden and large deck. 'During the summer months, we eat out on the deck that Doctor Hubbard added. It's almost like a resort!' Sylvia told her. There was also a small dining room off to the side for the residents to use for private parties and a good-sized library on the other side. They walked back through the living room.
“This was one of the few changes the Hubbards made. Originally part of it was the entrance hall.' She gestured to the left and pointed back at the grand spiral staircase toward the rear of the room. 'The wall between the hall and the Aldrich living room was removed to make a larger space.' Faith commented that it was a beautiful room, and Sylvia agreed.
“You know the basement, and I understand you've also seen our nursing wing.' Sylvia tactfully omitted any further comment. 'This corridor connects the annex with the other house. Upstairs in this house is devoted to residents' apartments and rooms. So important to have one's own space and possessions, I think. I'd hate to end up with nothing except a locker and a bed. But Dr. Hubbard has assured me that there will always be a place for me here.'
“And certainly you don't need to think about that for a long time,' Faith assured her. Sylvia looked to be in her mid-fifties. She brightened at Faith's remark. 'Thank you, my dear. But I'm not as young as all that.”
Maybe sixty, Faith amended to herself.
She went home after retrieving Ben from school and spent the rest of the afternoon cooking and cleaning. Tom was leading a study group on the Apocrypha and trudged in wearily at nine o'clock. He was ready for bed. The
