A Groom wirh a View Read Free Page B

bit. “We’ll help you get this all to your room. I’ll have the handyman take your sewing machine when he finishes another job.”
    Mrs. Crossthwait was one of those people with round, plump faces that didn’t quite match her tiny little body. Her hands were big-knuckled but still agile and she appeared to be bustling even when standing perfectly still. She flung up the back door of the vehicle and started loading Jane and Shelley down with boxes and small cases of tools and materials.
    “I don’t like the looks of this place,“ Mrs. Crossthwait said.
    “I’m sorry about that,“ Jane said. “But we’ve given you an excellent room to work in. Lots of light and space and a good sturdy sewing table right by a window.”
    They started toward the house. “It’s not that,“ Mrs. Crossthwait said. “It’s a bad place. A bad aura. Wicked things have happened here and will happen again.”
    Shelley’s intolerance of auras amounted to near obsession.
    “Well, it better happen pretty soon because the house is being torn down in a couple months,“ she said briskly. “Come along, Mrs. Crossthwait. I’m so eager to see the dresses.“
    “Nice enough girls they are, the bridesmaids,“ Mrs. Crossthwait mumbled, puffing as she tried to keep up with the younger women. “Hope nothing happens to them.”
    Jane turned to roll her eyes at Shelley, missed her footing on the surprisingly slick steps, and nearly dropped a whole case of bobbins.
    They got Mrs. Crossthwait settled in the upstairs room, which turned out to be something of a mistake because she climbed the stairs so slowly and awkwardly. Jane and Shelley made three trips with sewing materials in the time it took Mrs. Crossthwait to ascend the stairs. Then they went looking for Uncle Joe. He’d strung a grungy old rope between a couple trees and was just trying to make his escape when they caught up with him. “We need you to take the seamstress’s sewing machine to her. It’s in the Jeep in front and she’s in the middle bedroom upstairs,“ Jane said. “Sorry, miss. Bad back.“
    “Then you can use that dolly I saw in the attic,“ Jane insisted.
    He muttered something that might have been an obscenity and shuffled off.
    Jane and Shelley started hauling quilts outside. The laundry truck arrived just as they brought out the first four quilts. The driver of the white van hopped down and started setting white butcher-paper-wrapped parcels on the steps. “This is the Thatcher place, right?“ he asked.
    Jane confirmed that it was.
    “Did you know these are linen sheets? We had to charge extra.“
    “Linen sheets?“ Shelley asked. “The real things?“
    “Genuine antiques,“ the deliveryman said.
    Jane ran and got the checkbook Livvy had set up to pay for wedding expenses. As the truck pulled away, Shelley said, “Somebody has or had a lot of money. I wonder what’s going to happen to the linens when the house is torn down.“
    “I imagine they’ll get an antiques dealer in before then,“ Jane said.
    “I wouldn’t mind having some of those sheets,“ Shelley said, having opened one of the packages. She was greedily stroking a soft linen pillowcase.
    Another vehicle was coming up the drive. This, too, was a closed white van, but was painted along the sides with a colorful garland of flowers. A willowy young man with shoulder-length blond hair, perfectly faded jeans, and a violently vivid Hawaiian shirt hopped out and strode toward Jane, his arms outstretched. “My darling Jane, I have finally arrived. Traffic was positively deadly, but I persevered for your sake.“ He folded her in a careful embrace.
    Once Jane was released, she said, “Shelley, this is Larkspur. Larkspur, Shelley Nowack—my best friend who’s helping me pull this wedding off.“
    “You’ve mentioned her. I’m charmed to meet you, Shelley. What wonderfully Pre-Raphaelite cheekbones you have, my dear.”
    Shelley touched her face. “Oh... have I really?“
    “Divine. If I