I grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases and took it back to Ruby. She had everything spread on the bed—dress, slip, underwear, stockings, even a lacy, knit white cardigan.
“Here,” I said, holding out the blue suitcase. “This should work.”
“Thanks, Kathleen,” she said. She looked shaky.
“Why don’t you let me fold these for you?” I said. “I’m a master at folding and packing. I promise.”
Ruby hesitated for a second, then nodded and sat on the edge of the bed.
I folded the green dress and laid it in the bottom of the suitcase. Then I added the sweater, the slip and the rest of the underclothes. “There,” I said to Ruby, snapping the suitcase closed. “Ready to go?”
She grabbed the suitcase handle and stood up. A look of panic crossed her face. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I didn’t get her any shoes.” She took a couple of steps toward the closet.
“We don’t need shoes, Ruby,” I said softly. She looked at me, confused. “Agatha doesn’t need shoes,” I repeated.
Ruby swallowed, turned her head and blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. I waited silently until her breathing even out. “You’re right,” she whispered. “For a minute I forgot why we were here.”
We went back to the kitchen, turning off the lights behind us. I pulled on my boots and held the suitcase while Ruby stepped into hers. Outside she locked the door, twisting the knob to make sure it was fastened securely.
“It looks so sad,” she said.
“I know.” I pulled on my mittens. “But don’t forget that Agatha was away from here for months.”
We walked down the driveway to the street. “Ruby, who was Ellis?” I asked. “Was that Agatha’s husband?”
“No,” Ruby said. “Ellis was her brother. Ellis Slater. He died, oh, almost twenty years ago. This was his house. He left it to Agatha.” She shifted the suitcase from one hand to the other. “Why do you ask?”
“There were boxes in the second bedroom. The name Ellis was on one of them. And there were some men’s clothes in the closet.”
Ruby gave me a wry smile. “That would be Agatha. Never throw out something that might be useful.”
“My father does the same thing.” I didn’t add that my dad’s idea of useful didn’t usually meet the average person’s idea of what was useful. Which was why every time we’d moved, someone had had to pack the candelabra made from a pair of moose antlers.
We walked to the corner together. “Thank you for coming with me,” Ruby said. “I’m going to take this down to Gunnerson’s. I want things to be there when she . . . when her . . .” She stopped to clear her throat. “When they’re needed.” She shrugged. “Silly, isn’t it?”
“No,” I said. “It’s kind.” I pulled my hat down over my ears. “Will I see you later at the Winterfest supper?”
She nodded. “As far as I know. I’m meeting Justin later.”
“I’ll see you later, then,” I said. I started for the community center, looking back over my shoulder once to see Ruby heading resolutely down the street for Gunnerson’s Funeral Home.
Maggie was at the entrance of the parking lot as I came up the street. She was wearing her purple fake-fur jacket, stamping her feet on the sidewalk to stay warm. She waved when she caught sight of me, and I quickened my pace. “Am I late?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “You’re few minutes early. Let’s go get in line before it gets any longer.”
The line at the front door of the community center, of maybe two dozen people, snaked down the street. Maggie and I scurried to get to the end.
The queue moved pretty quickly. We were inside in five minutes, maybe even less. Maggie had money hidden in her glove and paid for both of us before I could even get my wallet out.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, as we followed the crowd to the hall.
“Because you’ve been doing so much to help me while I’ve been working on the display.”
“I climbed a ladder and adjusted a couple of lights.”
She held up a hand. “You did more than that,” she said. “How many times did you bring me supper? How many cups of tea did you make? How many times did you listen while I sat in your living room, going on and on about this project?”
I grinned and elbowed her. “You thought I was listening? I don’t even think Owen was listening.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Even so, I just wanted to say thank you. So let me. It’s beans and scalloped potatoes and pie, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t buy you a car.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for the thank-you.” I looked around. There were at least a couple dozen people checking out Maggie’s display.
Maggie had spotted a pair of vacant chairs at one of the long tables. I threaded my way around the chairs and people, trying to keep up with her long legs. A lot of people smiled, said hello or raised a hand in greeting. I was surprised by how good it made me feel, especially after being in Agatha’s lonely house.
Mags was standing by the table she’d spotted, a hand on each of the chairs.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Take off your coat and sit down.”
I looked around. “How do we get our food?”
“It’s coming,” she said, setting her fuzzy teddy-bear coat over the back of the chair and pulling off her lime green hat.
I tipped my head toward the back wall. “You have fans,” I said.
She looked over her shoulder and then grinned at me.
The person to the right of Maggie leaned around her and smiled at us. His mouth was too full to say anything. It took a second for me to recognize Officer Craig in his street clothes.
I smiled back.
“How’s everything?” Maggie asked the pretty brunet on the other side of Officer Craig.
“Good,” she said.
“Your mom’s?” Maggie asked, pointing at what looked to be some kind of mustard pickle on the table in front of her.
The young woman nodded.
“Great,” Maggie said. “I bought three bottles of her pickles at the market last fall. They didn’t last three weeks.”
“I know. I ate all the jam she gave me. And when I tried to get another bottle she said I’d have to pay for it. And I picked half those berries.”
Just then a woman wearing a long white apron appeared. She was carrying two loaded plates. She set them, hot and steaming, in front of us. Behind her came a teenager, also apron clad, with two glasses of water.
They were the Kings, I realized, mother and daughter. Roma had been out at their place almost every week this winter, looking after the old—too old, it turned out—horse they’d bought for their daughter. I was guessing the teenager was the horse-loving daughter. The I ❤ HORSES T-shirt was a dead giveaway.
She gave me a shy smile and handed over one of the glasses and a napkin-wrapped roll of utensils.
I looked at the plate, unsure of where to start. There were baked beans fragrant with molasses and mustard, a thick slice of ham, crispy golden-topped scalloped potatoes, and a casserole of what looked like carrot and turnip.
I unrolled my napkin and picked up my fork. Maggie was already eating, making little murmurs of enjoyment. She sounded a lot like Hercules had when I’d given him the sardines.
I tried a bite of the casserole. “Oh, wow. This is good,” I said out loud. I took another bite. Did I taste just a hint of nutmeg? I couldn’t help a grunt of pleasure.
“You’re making me hungry,” a voice said behind me. Roma was standing between our table and the next, unwinding a fuzzy blue scarf from around her neck.
“Hi,” I said.
“Can I squeeze in next to you?” She looked around for space.
Maggie scraped her chair a little closer to Officer Craig, who didn’t seem to mind moving closer to his pretty girlfriend. I went in the other direction and then a chair seemed to materialize out of nowhere, handed over the tables to Roma, who smiled a thank-you and pushed into the space we made for her.