That wasn’t reassuring.
They turned into the grass driveway of Leeward Cottage. An old woman stood in the doorway, looking cross.
“Is that Agnes?” Maud asked. The woman looked different than the picture of Agnes Lee that smiled from the back of every When Nan book, but authors often looked different than their pictures. The girls waved and the old woman frowned. Maud thanked them and they made her promise to come over soon and she thanked them again and they gunned it out of there. The old woman shook her fist at them, her expression full of disgust. Maud put a smile on her face. What had she been thinking? There was no chance she’d change this person’s mind about writing a memoir. She could be home with Clemmie. She could have skipped the whole humiliating scene with Miles, too.
She always made mistakes when Heidi went to the hospital.
“Agnes Lee, I presume?” Maud held out her hand.
“You presume wrong. Agnes is inside.”
Maud dropped her hand—the woman had made no move to take it. “Oh! I apologize. I am Maud Silver and I am expected.” She hoped.
“I know who you are. Come in.”
Maud focused on each step of the way and memorized the layout of the lower floor as best she could at the end of a long, tiring trip. If she lay down now, she was likely to sleep through until morning. But it was only three o’clock, and that would make an odd first impression. Instead, she took deep, reviving breaths.
Sylvie stopped abruptly and Maud nearly mowed her down.
“Agnes?” Sylvie called.
“In here!”
“Should she put her things upstairs first?”
“Don’t shout at me from Antarctica!”
Sylvie turned to Maud. “Would you like to put your things upstairs?”
Maud understood the question as a euphemism for using the bathroom, brushing her hair, generally cleaning up. “Yes, thank you.”
“She’s going to put her things upstairs first,” Sylvie called, hands cupped around her mouth. She shook her head. “Old bird is getting deaf. Come, I’ll show you.”
Maud saw the woman clench her jaw at the prospect of the climb. “Please, I’ll find it. And I’m sorry, I missed your name?”
“Sylvie Godreau. Got it?”
Maud nodded. Sylvie gave directions that Maud repeated to herself until she found it—she doubted she could remember anything. When she walked in, she nearly squealed. It was a room from her fantasies. Old-fashioned, in a good, simple way. Creamy yellow walls and a very thin yellow bedspread probably a hundred years old. A framed set of drawings of flowers on the walls. Old furniture painted white. The bed pulled at her, so she laid out her clothes all over it, no room to lie down. Her desk faced the sea. She organized her papers and pens and touched the roses. To live in a room like this would make a person feel she deserved to be treated fairly, and if she weren’t, at least she had a refuge. Heidi had tried to create such a room for Maud, but Heidi’s wounded spirit had marked the space and Maud could always sense her mother’s state of mind. She’d made a simple pretty room for Clemmie and did her best to keep the world out of it. Clemmie would have a room of her own.
A surge of fresh energy and a feeling of eminent capability led her to push the sash as high as it would go. The specter of Agnes waiting for her downstairs didn’t interfere with her sense of freedom. On the contrary, she looked forward to getting to know her. Her big project, her plan for changing her life, was underway.
She found a bathroom, peed, and splashed water on her face. She brushed her teeth and hair and went back to her room to change into chinos and a striped shirt. By then fifteen minutes had passed. Any longer before going down and she might try Agnes’s patience.
Agnes stood by a table in the glass room, looking through a pile of books. Though she was bent over, her elegance made Maud stand up straighter.
“Knock, knock,” Maud said. “Hello?”
Agnes stiffly straightened up. “Welcome to Leeward Cottage.”
“Thank you for having me.”
Maud held out her hand and they shook. Agnes gave Maud a penetrating look—no surprise there.
“I can’t even remember the last time I had a houseguest. How did you manage to convince me to let you come?”
As Agnes spoke, Maud collected a swift impression. What was it about her? She wasn’t youthful, she was too old for that to be said of her. Her neck was curled forward, and some of her knuckles were swollen and knobby. She wore jeans and gleaming-white Keds. Who polished sneakers? She was a force beyond the details that comprised her. Dignified. A personage.
“You wanted me to come to discuss Agnes When. You want it to work as much as I do.”
“It does work. I wanted you to come to impress that on you once and for all. Come sit down.”
Agnes led them to two wicker chairs at a table facing outside. The seats were low, the toile cushions thin and threadbare. Maud had read about the penurious affectations of certain of the rich, Philadelphians and Quakers being ardent practitioners of the style, and it gave her a small thrill to see such affectations in the wild.
Sylvie appeared and Maud asked for coffee.
“That’s youth! Coffee in the afternoon. Good for you,” Agnes said. “I’ll have an early start on my white, in honor of your arrival.”
Maud gazed down toward what she recognized as the Sank. From Agnes’s solarium it looked like an area of dark woods. And that must be Meadowlea, where the M girls were staying. Polly’s house. These people were so lucky. Maybe when her father kicked her and Heidi and Clemmie out, they could move here. As if.
In the meantime, she’d better give Agnes her money’s worth. “The book does work, yes, but not well enough for the purpose. I’m not the only one who will feel you’re hiding something. The whole point is to reveal who you are. But we’ve had this argument before. The question now is, how do we advance the conversation?”
Agnes drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. “You have a lot of energy for someone who just got off a plane.”
“This has been at the top of my mind for months now.”
“Look down there,” Agnes said. “That’s what we call the Sank, short for Sanctuary. Lots of birds’ nests, moss, et cetera. Take a walk down there while you’re here, if you’d like.”
Maud peered down the road toward the woods. “Is it safe?” Immediately she regretted asking. The last thing she wanted was for Agnes to think she was easily scared or weak. “I mean, the footing,” she added.
Sylvie returned with a tray and set coffee, wine, and snacks on a table. “Let’s ask Sylvie. Sylvie, is the Sank safe?”
“Not for interlopers. She’ll shoot an interloper.” Sylvie nodded toward Agnes.
“Has she?”
“Hasn’t had to. Everyone knows about her. I hope you do, too, Ms. Silver.” She emphasized the zee sound. Maud had the feeling she’d been made fun of.
“Please call me Maud.”
“Thank you, Sylvie. We’ll eat at six-thirty,” Agnes said.
Sylvie left.
“She’s scary.”
Agnes snorted. “She’s been with me for a long time.” She pointed out the window. “That’s the bay. The other side is the ocean, although also a bay but called a harbor. My great-grandfather named it Bay Lee, which I suppose he thought was funny.”