He was sitting in his usual booth at the Café, toward the rear but on the side facing the street. His hands circled a mug of coffee, and an empty plate was pushed to one side.
“May I join you?" Faith asked.
Charley grinned at the two of them. "Anytime, Faith, and how are things with you?"
“Fine, but I hear you have a sore throat.”
The Chief did not seem surprised that the information had already made its way around to Faith. This was Aleford, after all.
“Just a tickle, but these will fix it." He motioned to his pack of Fisherman's Friends.
The waitress, a pleasant woman named Helen Griggs who attended First Parish, came over to the table. "Have you decided yet, Mrs. Fairchild?”
Since Faith had either blueberry or corn muffins whenever she came in, which one was the only knotty question. She ordered blueberry, a cup of coffee, and a doughnut for Ben. He was usually so intrigued by this thing with a hole in it that Faith could count on a good fifteen minutes of uninterrupted conversation while Ben looped the doughnut on his finger and gnawed his way to the middle.
She told Charley about Aunt Chat's call and produced her copy of the passage in the letter that referred to Hubbard House for Charley's perusal. Charley took his time.
“There's basically two places people go to around here when they can't live at home anymore. Peabody House down the street, but that's pretty small, only room for eighteen and you have to be hale and hearty to get in. They don't have any medical facilities there beyond a nurse and an aide or two. Hubbard House is a bigger operation. You can start out in your room or cottage and then, if you need it, move to the hospital section Dr. Hubbard added when he set the place up. Must be about twenty, twenty-five years ago. Before that he was a GP, had an office here in town where that new dentist is now.”
Faith and Tom were patients of the new dentist, who had been in practice in Aleford for only seven years, as opposed to the other dentist, Dr. Cook, who, from the look of him, might have flossed Sam Adams.
“Roland Hubbard was just about everybody's doctor. Delivered all the babies, a lot of them in their mothers' own beds, made house calls. You know, the kind of thing we don't have anymore.”
Charley sounded bitter. Maybe his throat was worse than he was letting on. He might actually have to go to the doctor's office to get a culture. As for having a baby at home, Faith was very happy for any and all advances medical science might make. She doubted she'd ever want to trade the security of Brigham and Women's for her own roof, not to mention the mess.
“Why did he leave his practice?" Faith asked.
“His wife was very ill and he didn't have much time to see her, let alone take care of her. He thought if he opened a retirement home, he couldbe with her more, and he was. She only lived two years after Hubbard House opened, but from what I hear she was very happy about the idea. Maybe he knew he would need to be around more for the kids too. Anyway, that's how it turned out."
“I understand his son and daughter are both at Hubbard House."
“Yes, Muriel and Donald. Donald moved back to town and has a small practice in addition to Hubbard House. Muriel lives at the home."
“And you've never heard anything shady about the place?"
“Never. And over the years I've gone often to see a lot of friends. The only drawback to Hubbard House is what it costs. When my time comes, I doubt I'll be there, but I'm glad it's around for the people who can afford it and need it."
“Charley! All this is a long way in the future."
“The future has a way of creeping up on you, Faith. No, I won't go to Hubbard House. I'll go back to my people in Nova Scotia or just stay in my house here until they carry me out.”
It must be a very bad sore throat. This kind of lugubrious talk was definitely out of character for Charley.
“Anything else that occurs to you?"
“Not really, but I'll let you know if it does. And I'll drop by there this week and have a look. Talk to a few people. It certainly sounds like this Perkins fellow found something out of kilter. Best thing to do would be to show the letter to Hubbard.”
Faith wasn't so sure. Until she'd had a chance to find out a little more, she didn't want anyone at Hubbard House to get the wind up.
“Charley, I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this to anyone—not around here or at Hubbard House."
“I know. It's your baby, but if it looks like anything serious is going on, you'd better let me in on the double. I still feel bad about the last time, and I want to be able to look Tom in the eye—you and little Benjamin too."
“I promise," swore Faith, thinking as she did so that two oaths in one day meant life was getting a bit more interesting than usual. She brightened up. "Next stop, Millicent."
“I'm surprised you bothered with me at all."
“You underestimate yourself, Chief MacIsaacand don't think I don't know there's more you could have told me about the Hubbards if you weren't so honorable. Millicent doesn't have that problem.”
Faith moved Ben from the booth back into his stroller and struggled with the belt that held him in. He wasn't in his subzero snowsuit, only the intermediate weight, yet putting him in the stroller was already like trying to wedge a pillow into a case too small. She brushed some crumbs off him. It certainly wouldn't do to let one fall on Milli-cent's cherished threadbare orientais.
On the way over, she gave some thought to where she and Tom might end up in their twilight, golden, or whatever the current euphemism was, years. She looked about at the frigid landscape. Definitely someplace a little less bone chilling.
Someplace with sun, blue skies, and good food. Someplace like Eugénie-les-Bains in the southwest of France.
Millicent let them in with her usual implacability. Faith could be her best friend or worst enemy for all her manner displayed. After dumping Ben in what she hoped was out of harm's way with the contents of the toy bag she had brought for the purpose, Faith got directly to the point. More or less.
“I wonder if you might be able to help me. My aunt, Charity Sibley, is retired and living in New Jersey now. She asked me to make some inquiries about a retirement home here, Hubbard House, and I thought you might have friends there or know something about it.”
Faith had no intention of telling Millicent about Howard Perkins' letter, and Chat had asked her to make inquiries. Not that she thought she could fool Millicent into thinking that having an aunt who might move to Hubbard House was all there was to it. They knew each other too well. It was possible they could become friends at some point—perhaps at the third millennium. At present they tended to circle warily when they met.
Millicent had been looking Faith straight in the eye as she spoke. It was one of the methods she employed. Now she looked away, gasped slightly, and stood up. Ben was obliviously playing with some small Majorette cars four feet away from a spindly table supporting one lone china shepherdess. Millicent moved the table a foot farther away. She sat down, smoothed her skirt, and pre- pared to answer Faith with the air of one who had just saved a rare piece of family Meissen from certain destruction. Faith knew exactly how "rare" it was, since she had turned it over to look at the mark when Millicent was in the kitchen getting coffee on an earlier call. It looked as if this visit was settling into the pattern of all those before. She was about to add something, something begging, but Millicent had decided she was ready to spill the beans—a few.