Shannon Waverly - Three For The Road

Mary Elizabeth worked at keeping her expression set. The past week had been difficult, that was for sure. Charles had found a reason to make each day hurtful and exhausting. He’d continued to harp on her pregnancy and denounce her choices, and always he wondered what people would say if they knew. The barbs that especially dug in, though, probably because she was already frightened and insecure, were the ones regarding her ability to survive on her own.

Charles accused her of having no real job skills or practical experience, and said the only reason she’d landed the curatorship at the local museum five years ago was that he had used his influence with the board. She’d never find another position like it, he said, just as she’d never find another man like Roger whom, coincidentally, Charles had also “provided” since he’d arranged their first date.

Mary Elizabeth didn’t know what she would have done without Mrs. Pidgin. The woman had always been an ally and a comfort, but never more so than this past week.

Mrs. Pidgin had accidentally overheard the tail end of the conversation between Mary Elizabeth and Charles in the library, the part about Eliza Drummond’s affair and Mary Elizabeth’s true parentage, and had followed Mary Elizabeth up to her room afterward. There a shattered Mary Elizabeth had broken down, letting the shock of Charles’s revelation give way to grief.

When she’d eventually brought her tears under control, she’d filled Mrs. Pidgin in on the rest of the conversation and the full scope of her dilemma. Mrs. Pidgin had been shaken when she learned of Mary Elizabeth’s pregnancy, but she’d controlled her reaction well, better than Mary Elizabeth had when she learned the housekeeper had known all along about Eliza’s illicit romance. Despite Charles’s order not to tell anyone, Eliza had confided in Mrs. Pidgin. Mary Elizabeth could understand why. In time of trouble, a more loyal and nonjudgmental friend couldn’t be found.

At present, that friend was folding the empty grocery bag with exaggerated care, distracted by her continuing worries.

“I just wish you weren’t taking the camper,” she said, frowning. “Such a big, difficult thing to drive.” She tucked the folded bag into a drawer crammed full of embroidered tea towels and cutwork napkins. “It would be a lot easier if you left it here and let my Alfred sell it for you. You could take a plane then, have a moving truck transport your things. That way you could relax, take more things with you, too.”

With a sigh, Mary Elizabeth reached into the second grocery bag. “I thought you understood, moving vans are expensive. So are plane tickets. Besides, I don’t need any more things.” She wasn’t sure of much these days, but she was certain that taking the RV was the right choice. Not only would it get her and her possessions to Sarasota economically, but it would also become her home once she got there.

Chloe, her old college roommate, lived in Sarasota, and when Mary Elizabeth made the decision to move away from the northeast, she’d immediately called Chloe. Her friend had said she knew of a trailer park a few miles from her house that might take her in. Mary Elizabeth hoped so. She didn’t want to impose on Chloe, who was a newlywed. Neither did she want to encumber herself with the expenses of an apartment until she was secure in a well-paying job, and that might be a while. In addition, things might not work out for her in the Sarasota area, and what better way to move on than to simply turn an ignition key?

With the groceries finally put away, she started for the door, eager to get the last of her belongings and be on her way.

“Stop a minute, will you please?” Mrs. Pidgin grasped Mary Elizabeth’s wrist. “I won’t keep you long, I promise.” The housekeeper tugged her gently toward the front of the RV. Mary Elizabeth took the driver’s seat, swiveling it to face the other.

“All right, so you’re going, then.”

Such a note of finality, Mary Elizabeth thought. She looked down at her clenched hands. A faint band of white skin, left by Roger’s engagement ring, was still discernible against her light tan. “Yes,” she said softly.

Mrs. Pidgin sighed. “You have to promise me you’ll be careful on the road. Florida is so far away, and you haven’t had that much experience driving or being on your own.”

It was useless to remind Mrs. Pidgin that she’d had her license for eleven years and never been in an accident. The woman worried as only a person could who’d never driven or traveled—irrationally.

Besides, there was a grain of truth to what Mrs. Pidgin said. Mary Elizabeth hadn’t traveled much. She’d bought the motor home a full year ago, but since then had taken only four weekend trips, all within New England.

“Please don’t worry. The trip takes only three days, four if I drive very slow, and it’s major highway all the way. What could possibly go wrong?”

The older woman stared deep into her eyes. “A lot,” she said, her voice grave.

“Don’t talk like that,” Mary Elizabeth chided mildly. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good. That’s good. The crime rate being what it is, you should be scared.” The housekeeper tipped to one side so she could slip her hand into the right pocket of her blue cotton housedress. “I have something I want to give you.” She pulled out a small plastic figure and set it on the dash.

“A St. Christopher?” Mary Elizabeth bit off a laugh.

“Ayeh.”

“But he was kicked off the saint roster almost thirty years ago.”

The woman’s look said she didn’t want to hear it. Mary Elizabeth closed her mouth and gave the icon, protector of travelers, a welcoming nod.

Mrs. Pidgin pulled a second item from her pocket, a square blue envelope. “I have something else.”

Mary Elizabeth gazed at the envelope. “What is it?”

“Something from your mother. She gave it to me before she died. She told me I was to give it to you only if Charles did something like he did this week and you found out he wasn’t your real father.”

Mary Elizabeth’s fine-boned jaw hardened. “What makes you think I want anything from her?”

“She was your mother, Mary Elizabeth, and no matter how upset you are with her now, you still love her. I know you do.” Mrs. Pidgin placed the envelope on Mary Elizabeth’s knee. “Here. It isn’t much, but it belongs with you now.”

Giving in to curiosity, Mary Elizabeth opened the envelope and pulled out a yellowed photograph. “Oh.” The sound she made was barely audible.

“Ayeh, that’s him, your real father. A handsome fella, wasn’t he. You have his eyes.”

Mary Elizabeth gazed at the man in the photo with a mixture of fascination and denial. He was slim, good-looking, young. A carpenter’s belt, heavy with tools, hung around his hips. Behind him rose the Drummond house with its sun room under construction.

Swallowing, she slipped the photograph into her open purse on the floor. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Wait. I have something else.” Mrs. Pidgin grunted as she tipped to the right, pushing her hand into her left pocket this time.

Mary Elizabeth’s eyes popped when she saw what the woman pulled out. “Where did you get such a thing?”

“Oh, it isn’t a real gun.”

Mary Elizabeth looked at her skeptically.

“Believe it or not, this is only a toy, a water pistol. My Alfred bought it for our grandson, but Judy wouldn’t allow him to keep it.”

“I can see why. It looks so real.” Mary Elizabeth gazed at the lethal-looking toy. She’d heard such things existed. She’d even read about them being used in robberies, but she’d never actually seen one before. “And you want me to...”

“Yes, take it. Here.” The housekeeper placed the water pistol in Mary Elizabeth’s lap. “I wish I had a real weapon to give you, but—” she shrugged “—this might work if you’re ever in a bind.”