I hope you’re well.”
“Right as rain.” The woman’s returning smile was somewhat guarded, as if she questioned her welcome. “But do call me Helen. After all, I was your mother-in-law’s greatest friend.”
“Helen,” Rachel repeated, trying to infuse some warmth into the word. His mother’s shadow—that was how Ronnie had referred to Helen in the light, contemptuous way he sometimes had of dismissing people.
Unlike Amanda Mason, who had never succumbed to the idea of women wearing pants, Helen had stuffed herself into a pair of navy stretch pants, worn with a three-quarter-sleeve blouse in a jaunty sailing print. Her sense of the fitness of things had apparently not extended to bare feet, because she wore what must be knee-length nylons with her sensible sandals. With her round pink cheeks and curly white hair, she looked like a china doll in improbable dress.
“I’ve been intending to come over and welcome you back to Deer Run, but I didn’t want to intrude.” Helen sent an inquiring glance toward the house, and Rachel realized she was expected to invite her visitor in.
“You caught me just finishing some painting,” she said, indicating her paint-stained clothes. “Won’t you come inside? I’m sure I can rustle up some lemonade, if my daughter and my brother haven’t finished it.”
“No lemonade for me, thanks, but I will come in for just a moment.” Helen opened the wrought-iron gate, which squeaked in protest, and joined her on the flagstone walk. “I’m afraid you found the house in need of a great deal of work. I told Amanda and told her she should keep it up better, but she got rather...” Helen paused, as if selecting the word carefully. “Well...rather bitter toward the end, saying what difference did it make, since she had no one—”
Helen stopped, her already pink cheeks turning a deeper hue. “Well, anyway, I’m sure that was just her illness talking.”
“Most likely.” Rachel was noncommittal. Maybe Colin had been right in his offhand comment about Amanda leaving her the house to punish her. No, she wouldn’t let herself descend into that sort of cynicism.
This visit could be a blessing in disguise. If anyone knew why Amanda Mason had left her property the way she had, it would surely be Helen.
Rachel took a step to the left as they went up the stairs to the porch, making sure that Helen had the side where the railing was solid. Fixing the railing had better be promoted to the top of her to-do list.
Helen moved into the house and stopped, staring. “Oh. You’ve painted the hall. Amanda always insisted it be papered. I’m sure I don’t know what she would say.”
“I’m afraid wallpapering isn’t among my skills.” Rachel couldn’t help the stiffness in her voice. She should have expected negative comments. Mason House was a landmark in the village, and people didn’t like to see landmarks changed.
“I’m sorry, my dear.” The sudden sympathy in Helen’s voice caught her off guard. “Every time I open my mouth I put my foot in it, that’s what Amanda used to say.”
Maybe it hadn’t been an easy task, being Amanda Mason’s closest friend. Ronnie had come by his penchant for making cutting remarks from his mother, most likely.
“It’s all right.” Rachel led her guest into the front parlor, thankful that it was virtually untouched save for a vacuuming that had been desperately needed. Sunlight streamed through the windows in the circular bay, making patterns on the Oriental carpet. “It’s natural that you hate to see the house changed after all these years.”
“Well, change is inevitable, isn’t it?” Helen sat down on the curving tapestry love seat, putting her feet together and glancing with apparent satisfaction at her slacks. “I tried to tell Amanda that once, but got my nose bitten off for my trouble.”
“I suppose she preferred things the way they’d always been.” Rachel darted a glance at the portrait of her mother-in-law that hung over the mantel. Amanda, with her coronet of white hair, regal bearing and elegant bone structure, had been suited to the style of a century ago. It was impossible to imagine her wearing Helen’s current outfit.
“True enough.” Helen patted her soft white curls. “Why, she insisted on wearing a hat to church every single Sunday, even when she was the only woman in the entire congregation with a hat. So it just goes to show you, doesn’t it?” she added, a bit obscurely.
Rachel wasn’t sure what it was meant to show, other than that Amanda had the courage of her convictions. And Rachel already knew that, didn’t she? Amanda had cut off her only son without apparent regret when he married Rachel. Not even the birth of the granddaughter Ronnie had optimistically insisted on naming after her had made a difference. And that made the legacy of the house all the more inexplicable.
“I’m going to risk putting my foot in my mouth again,” Helen said, leaning toward her. “But I believe Amanda realized, once it was too late, that she’d been wrong in the way she’d treated her son.”
Rachel studied her face, but Helen seemed genuine. “Perhaps. But she never tried to get in touch with him.”
“She wouldn’t have known how to say she was sorry. Amanda wasn’t always so rigid, you know. She changed after her husband died. Dear Ronald.” Helen sighed. “He was devoted to her, and his death was such a shock.”
“He had a heart attack, didn’t he?” Ronnie had rarely spoken of his father’s death.
Helen nodded. “Right down there at the creek.” She gestured toward the rear of the house. “And then a few years later that Amish boy drowned in practically the same spot. You probably don’t remember that, do you? Anyway, I think Amanda blamed herself that she hadn’t put up a fence. Not that that would necessarily have stopped anyone from reaching the creek if they were determined to get there....”
Helen’s voice seemed to fade as she prattled on about the dangers of the small dam on the stream behind the house, while Rachel’s memory slipped backward twenty summers. She might have forgotten the death of Ronnie’s father, but the memory of Aaron Mast was clear as crystal even though she hadn’t thought of him in years. He’d been eighteen when she was ten, and she’d had the sort of crush on him that girls now seemed to have on the latest teen pop star. His death had been devastating.
She realized Helen was eyeing her curiously and knew she’d been lost in memories too long. “I do remember Aaron, yes. I didn’t realize his accident bothered Ronnie’s mother so much though.”
“She became so strict with Ronnie after that summer.” Helen’s tone was mournful. “She was overprotective, and no boy appreciates that sort of thing. And she seemed to pin all her hopes for the future on him.”
She knew this part of the story too well. “Those hopes were ruined when he ran away with me,” she said bluntly.
“Yes, well...” Again Helen seemed to search for words. “I always thought if she’d handled it better, and frankly, dear, if your parents had, as well, things might have ended differently.”
They might not have married at all—that was what Helen meant, and Rachel was mature enough now to know that was true. If it hadn’t been for so much outspoken opposition...again, that was the past. She had to concentrate on now and on the future, for her daughter.
“I knew how Amanda felt, of course. That’s why it surprised me so much when she left Mason House to me.” Rachel let the comment lie, hoping Helen would pick it up.
“I was sure she’d do the right thing in the end,” Helen said. “She might talk of leaving everything to charity, but at bottom, she’d never consider letting Mason House go out of the family. I remember the day Jacob Evans came to have her sign her will. That’s Jacob Senior, not the son who’s in the firm now. She said she’d provided for little Amanda’s education. And she was content knowing that she’d grow up in this house. ‘There’s been enough sorrow and anger in Mason House,’ she said. ‘Maybe Ronnie’s child will bring the joy back.’”