have liked to have had more to report to Chat. She's calling tonight. I got a letter from her yesterday announcing the fact so that she'll be sure to find me home, I suppose.'
“Anyway, you're having fun, aren't you?'
“Yes, I suppose I am. I like the people at Hubbard House, even though some of them are a bit like characters from that game Clue. The cook, Charmaine, Sylvia Vale, Leandra Rhodes—her name may not be Mustard, but I heard at the ball her husband is a colonel, retired, and he does have a mustache.'
“Don't worry. Whatever this is, it isn't murder.”
She slipped Ben back into his polar-fleece jacket and headed for the door. The dogs began to bark in disappointment. Ben started to join them.
“He has got to stop identifying with your dogs so totally,' Faith said. 'When Lizzie was over the other day, they were running from bush to bush lifting their legs and falling down convulsed with laughter.”
Pix was convulsed herself, and they left her surrounded by her canine children, Dusty, Arty, and Hanky.
Chat did call that night and seemed satisfied by Faith's description of her activities to date. After Faith told her about Eddie and Charmaine, she commented, 'They sound like the types who go around selling shares in nonexistent diamond mines—not literally, because the residents of Hubbard House seem too savvy for that, but its equivalent. Perhaps this delightful duo approached Howard, or someone else told him about a scheme. Try to see if you can get close to them and maybe they'll try to rope you in. Act dumb and naive. I know that's a stretch, dear.'
“The idea of getting any closer to Eddie than the next county is pretty loathsome, but for the moment it's all I have to go on.'
“In any case, it doesn't appear that anything at Hubbard House is going to place your pretty little head in peril, and you're leaving Benjamin at home, so he's safe—as opposed to your last escapade. I may have a large number of nieces, but you know you're my favorite and I wouldn't want to be the cause, though indirect, of any harm.'
“Hope told me you told her she was your favorite niece,' Faith chided.
“And so she is. You all are. Now, this is costing me a fortune and I'm saving all my pennies for Christmas gifts.'
“I hope you haven't changed your mind about coming to Aleford for Christmas, instead of going to Darien with Mom and Dad—especially if you are doing all that shopping.'
“No, I'll be with you. But I simply can't understand why your sister and Quentin are dragging poor Jane and Lawrence all the way to Connecticut on Christmas Day to be with Quentin's parents when it is Lawrence's busiest time of the year.'
“Because Hope thought it would be nice for the two families to be together. Remember, come January we'll all be related by marriage.
“Well, much as I love her, I think it's a bit selfish, and besides, I was used to going to them for Christmas Day.”
Faith thought it was a bit selfish of Hope herself. After Christmas Eve and Christmas Day services, Theodore Sibley was always exhausted and had been known to doze off while carving. But she also knew how delighted her parents were with the upcoming nuptials, and they had met Quentin Lewis' parents only once before.
“You were invited, Chat,' Faith reminded her.
“I'm just beginning to get used to Quentin. I certainly don't want to meet any more of them before the wedding.”
Hope's fiance's Filofax was filled into the new millennium, and fortunately Hope fitted into the general scheme of things. Since Hope herself had been reading The Wall Street Journal and Forbes since early adolescence, they had everything in common. The one thing that made it all palatable so far as Faith was concerned was that the two of them were crazy about each other.
“We're just happy you're going to be here, Chat.'
“That's kind of you, dear. I'll get you something especially nice, and don't worry, I'll stop at Dean & DeLuca before I get on the plane and bring as much as my poor old arms can carry. Now good-bye.”
She hung up before Faith had a chance to express her delight and thanks. She was very happy that Chat was coming. With a husband and father in the business, holidays could not be spent en famille, and even though Tom's family would be with them, she liked having a member of her own tribe around.
“It's already beginning to snow,' Tom commented the next morning as he looked out the kitchen window. 'Are you sure you ought to go over to Byford today? Those back roads could get pretty treacherous before noon.'
“Don't worry, sweetheart. Besides, I promised Mrs. Pendergast I would help finish cooking enough for the weekend in case the storm is as big as they're predicting.'
“All right, but go slow and leave early if things start to look bad.”
Faith was in a cheerful mood as she drove to Hubbard House. The snow was beginning to stick, and it looked like Christmas was just around the corner, which it was. She was planning her Christmas Day menu in her mind and hadn't gotten past duck versus goose when she realized she was at the Hubbard House driveway. A small truck was spreading sand on the hill, and she followed it up to the parking lot. Eddie jumped out and came over to open her door. His cheeks resembled ripe McIntosh apples, and he looked excited.
“I bet we're in for at least ten or eleven inches. Reminds me of the storms when I was a kid around here and we'd go plowing. We'd be out all night. It was great.”
He looked like a kid again for a moment, and Faith felt she might have liked him then—before all the layers of crap had built up.
“There is something exciting about the prospect of a storm,' she agreed. 'I'd better get in and start helping Mrs. P. fill the larder.'
“I think I'll go grab a cup of coffee, and if she's in a good mood, she might give me a doughnut.' She wasn't.
“We don't have time to waste today, Eddie,' she told him abruptly. 'Now get your coffee and skedaddle.”
Faith had never heard anyone in real life use that word, nor seen anyone actually skedaddle, which Eddie very quickly did.
“Talk your ear off, that one—and worse,' she told Faith. 'Never so much as an 'Anything I can do to help, Mrs. P.?' Oh no, just born with his hand out. Now let's get going.”
Mrs. Pendergast obviously thought all of Hubbard House might be snowed in for the rest of the winter, and the next few hours were spent baking breads and cooking enormous pans of such Yankee staples as Indian pudding, baked beans, and brown bread. In between, they got lunch together. Faith went upstairs to the office at eleven thirty to hear a weather report and call Tom. There was still a great deal to do, and she wanted him to pick up Ben if he could. The snow was falling in thick sheets, but according to WEEI the roads were clear. She told Tom she wanted to stay a few more hours, and he agreed with such alacrity to get Ben that she knew Cyle must have trapped him in his office.
“Cyle is there, right?'
“Absolutely. Yes, indeedy. No trouble at all, honey. You do what you need to do.'
“Poor baby. There's lentil stew in the fridge and some of that Virginia ham. Fry it up and heat the stew for lunch. That should get the bad taste out of your mouth.'
“Okay, thanks, and drive carefully.'
“No, Tom, I want to spend the night in a snow-bank. Stop worrying!”
She went downstairs, and after refusing as tactfully as she could some of the finnan haddie Mrs. Pendergast and her paprika can had prepared for the residents' lunch, she set to work.
“We may have some of the day crew stuck here this weekend, so let's do extra of this chicken casserole,' Mrs. Pendergast advised. The casserole bore a distinct resemblance to chicken a la king—exactly which monarch was to blame Faith had never heard. She managed to keep Mrs. Pendergast from going crazy with the canned pimientos and substituted some tarragon instead. She also convinced her that the biscuit on the side would be a
