Norah's Ark

“I got a call from Auntie Lou asking for help. She’s fallen out of bed and can’t get herself up, sort of like the television commercial, I’m afraid. Though she didn’t admit it, I’m sure she lay there most of the night so as not to disturb anyone’s sleep. She’s small but solid. I could use an extra pair of hands.”

He tied Sarge in a quick release knot, took the dirty key from my hand and opened the door. Together we ascended the stairs to the second floor of Auntie Lou’s shop and entered the small, cozy but cluttered apartment where she’d lived for as long as I—or anyone else on Pond Street—could remember.

If the shop was fascinating, her apartment was mesmerizing—full of charming bits of Auntie Lou’s history and favorite things that had come into the shop and been squirreled away in her personal stash. She loved old hats. A dozen of them were perched on hat forms around the room sporting plumes and feathers or intricate beading and competing for space with hand-painted vases, antique books and statues of dancing figures.

But this wasn’t a museum and we weren’t on a tour. I headed for what I knew was her bedroom and opened the door.

Auntie Lou lay on the floor in a puddle of sunlight. She’d put a hand across her eyes to keep out the sun and the big calico cat sat sentry over her. Her nightgown was pure Little House on the Prairie and the cane she’d taken to using lately lay on the floor out of reach.

“I hope you didn’t hurry on my account, dearie,” she managed. Her throat was dry and her voice cracking.

“I certainly did. How long have you been lying here? And is anything broken?”

“Only my pride, child. Only my pride.”

Without speaking, as if we were reading each other’s minds, Officer Haley and I braced ourselves and lifted Auntie Lou to her feet. Her knees buckled a bit and she sank gratefully onto the bed.

Officer Haley moved into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water which she sucked down with gusto.

“Should we call a doctor?” he inquired gently.

“Mercy sakes, no! There’s no medicine for being old and silly. I don’t know what made me think I could hop out of bed for a drink of water like I was a teenager. Arthur is a bad bedfellow, that’s all I can say.’

Officer Haley looked at me over her head, puzzlement in his beautiful eyes.

“Arthur. Arthritis. Auntie Lou and Arthur have a marriage of inconvenience,” I explained.

“Now you two run along and don’t tell another soul about this. I feel so foolish that my face must be red as a jar of beet pickles as it is!”

“No promises, Lou,” I said sternly. “We’re your family here on Pond Street. We can’t look after you if you never tell us what’s wrong.”

“Nothing subtracting forty or fifty years from my age wouldn’t help.” The calico was rumbling like a diesel truck and rubbing his head on Lou’s arm. “Now go away, both of you. I’ve got Silas here to help me get dressed.”

Lou chuckled at the expression on Nick’s face. “Silas is my cat. Named him after my dear departed husband. Both sweet, useless layabouts.”

“Are you sure…” he began.

“Sure as can be that you aren’t the one to help me get dressed, mister. You, either, Norah. Go rescue a gerbil or something. I’m fine.”

With that, she grabbed the cane Nick had propped by her bed and waved it at us threateningly. Our rescue mission was obviously over.

Back out in the sunlight, we found Sarge snacking contentedly on a patch of grass.

“Officer, I’d like to thank you…”

“Nick. Call me Nick.”

“Oh, well, yes, thank you,” I said, sounding vaguely dimwitted. I wish he’d put his sunglasses back on. Those eyes of his rattled me as though they X-rayed my soul. Instead, he stood there, tapping the bow of the glasses against his leg, making the coins in his pocket jingle.

“Tell me, has this happened before?”

“No. She sometimes complains that she’s so stiff she needs a hoist to get out of her chair, but when I suggested a lift chair so she could stand more easily, she huffed and puffed and said she didn’t want to be expelled from a chair like a bottle rocket and that was that. As far as I know, Auntie Lou has never had a major health issue. She’s just old.”

“How old?”

“She says she went to grade school with Methuselah and junior high with seven of the Apostles, but other than that, I have no idea.”

Finally, he laughed. “Okay, so it isn’t a recurring event. I’d just like to know in case…you know.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to watch out for Auntie Lou. I am, too. And everyone on Pond Street would notice if she didn’t show up at the shop for a day or two. Maybe I can convince her to go to the doctor for a checkup.”

“Does she have any family?” he inquired.

“None that she’s ever mentioned.” I felt my chin come out defensively. “We’re her family. I’m her family.”

Although I’d never thought about it like that before, I knew it was true.

We’re stewards, after all, responsible for the earth and creatures God gave us and for those who can’t care for themselves. “Care for the orphans and widows in their distress….” What can love and gentle care hurt? Absolutely nothing.

“Then she’s very fortunate to have you.”

“Fortunate to have me? I’m fortunate to have her. Auntie Lou is a treasure, Nick. Just wait until you get to know her. You’ll see.”

I reached out and stroked Sarge’s neck. “He’s beautiful. Have you always ridden horses?”

“For the police? No. I was a narcotics agent for several years. Then I had a little—” his voice faltered “—accident and I needed a change, an assignment a little less…dramatic. That’s when I backed off narcotics and went back on the force. When they needed someone part-time for the mounted patrol, I applied. I rode a lot as a kid and that was actually what I’d intended when I originally joined law enforcement. It seemed a natural choice. Now, as you know, I do crowd control for special events as well as normal police work. Shoreside has enough events around the lake, parades and fairs to keep me busy.”

Though his tone was pleasant, it felt as though he’d strung barbed wire around a certain topic he’d mentioned—an accident, his accident. Ask me about the horse, he hinted silently. Don’t ask me what happened to get me here.

“Well, I think he’s magnificent. There aren’t many jobs I could enjoy more than the one I already have except those involving horses or dog training or…”

“Give me horses any day,” he responded quickly. Sarge shifted restlessly and the creak of his saddle and the clank of stirrups reminded us how patiently he was waiting.

“Thanks for helping me with Auntie Lou,” I murmured. “I know you must have more to do than…”

“Anytime. And I’ll keep an eye out for her, too.”

Feeling grateful and a little giddy, I went to open Norah’s Ark and fed the masses.

At 10:00 a.m., two of my favorite Bed and Biscuit clients arrived. Winslow Cavanaugh galumphed into the store, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He’s a lovable galoot, pampered as much by his owner as Bentley is by me. A few steps behind, Cassia and Adam Cavanaugh entered. Adam was carrying a lurching pet carrier with feral sounds and hisses emanating from the breathing holes.

Winslow and Pepto have been coming to my B and B for several months now. The Cavanaughs travel a lot—overseas, I think—and the happy-go-lucky dog has made himself right at home in the back of the store. Pepto, a cat with the disposition of a viper and personality of an evil dictator of some small, suffering nation, has only deemed to grace us with his presence because he has no other option. I’ve made it my goal to win over the big, ornery cat and we’re making some headway. I love a challenge. Especially a furry one.

Once I got them settled, I returned to the front of the store in time to see Lilly sweep in and gracefully receive her admiring squawk from Winky. Today she was wearing something chiffon and mustard-yellow, a dress perhaps, although it looked as though it had been put together with safety pins. She had matching knee-high, lace-up boots, a vibrant orange ribbon woven through the blond curls she’d piled on top of her head and a necklace and earrings made out of more safety pins. On her, stunning. On me? Stunned.

“Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine?” I greeted her. Or a yellow paint spill.

“You like it?” She twirled and the chiffon floated around her in a gauzy cloud. “I thought I might run into Connor Trevain again today and I wanted to look, you know, nice.”

“Nice? You look like lemon sherbet. Delectable, mouth-watering even.”

“That’s what I was going for.”

“Trevain is still in your sights, is he?”

“He hasn’t been out of them since the day he arrived.” A small pout formed on her lower lip. “But he’s been so busy with those boats of his, he’s hardly had time to stop in to say hello. Did you come to work early today?” Lilly inquired as she picked up a piece of lettuce and fed it to the iguana.

“Earlier than I’d planned.” I gave her an abbreviated version of Auntie Lou’s arthritis and left out the help I’d received from Officer Haley. I didn’t want anyone to get the idea that Auntie Lou was incapable of caring for herself. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have others watching out for her just in case she fell in her shop.

“Maybe she’s too old to be running that place all alone. When my grandmother was her age, she moved into a retirement home.”

I ignored her implication. Auntie Lou is not Lilly’s grandmother. She’s unique and can’t be compared to anyone else. I studied Lilly for a moment. “Something’s different about you today, Lilly. What’s up?”

She looked at me coyly, as if I’d caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “I’ve made up my mind about something.”

“Tell me more.” Lilly prides herself on being flexible. To make up her mind—and stick with it—is definitely an occasion to be curious about.

“I’m getting married.”

I felt my jaw drop and my eyes bug out with shock.

“You don’t have to look so surprised. I’m almost thirty, you know. It’s time.”

“But, but, but…” I made a noise like a sputtering engine. “Who?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t know about it yet.” Lilly fluttered her eyelashes and I saw her perfectly painted lids. “But he will soon enough.”

“Who…why…how…”

“Connor, of course. Why? Because he’s handsome, charming, wealthy, debonair and perfect for me. How? I’ll be as charming and wonderful as I can, that’s how.”

Lilly can be plenty charming and wonderful, but I’m not sure she’s picked a viable target with this one. “What if he’s not interested in being married?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I’ll worry about that later. For now I just want to go out with him.”

“More than once?” I thought of her serial dating and short attention span where men are concerned.

“Of course more than once! A lot.” She put a polished finger to her lips. “You’re the only one I’m telling because you are my best friend.”

“Shouldn’t you mention it to Trevain?”

“Of course not. He has to figure it out for himself.”

“Lilly, what if he doesn’t want to get serious with someone right now?”

“That’s what love is about, Norah—the unexpected. Affairs of the heart cannot be decided by logic alone.”

I have to grant her that. And it made her intentional plotting even more ridiculous.

“I know how you are about love and marriage, Norah,” Lilly added. “It needs to be blessed by God and all that, but this will be okay—really.”

Blessed by God and all that?

It was more than just a toss-off matter for me. God’s blessing is the key to the whole thing, as far as I’m concerned.

Lilly has been trying to play hide-and-seek with God. Sometimes she tries to avoid Him completely. Other times she asks a hundred questions about what it’s like to give one’s life to Him. She’s got some ideas from childhood about a judgmental God and it’s got her hung up. She forgets that the same God who sees our sin and judges it as wrong, is the One who has the ability to forgive the sin, wash it away and forget it ever happened. He doesn’t keep a tally of wrongs like some humans do. He forgives and forgets “Far as the east is from the West.” When Lilly’s ready she’ll jump in—Gucci-clad feetfirst—I just know it.

Chapter Six

Now that Lilly had announced her new project—the unsuspecting Connor Trevian—it was time for me to get back to work.

“Sorry I don’t have time to help you plan your wedding, but I have a tuna fish cupcake to make. It’s Mr. Tibbles’s birthday today and he’s coming to stay a few days.”

“You mean that pompous black cat, the one that acts like he’s Winston Churchill?”

“That’s him.”

“You’d rather do that than plan my wedding?” Lilly said incredulously.

“Let’s just say that I know for sure that Mr. Tibbles is coming. I’m not so sure Connor is going to go willingly down the aisle.” I met Lilly’s gaze with my own. “What’s up with you, anyway?”

Lilly pouted a bit, threw her blond hair back from her face, stomped in her high-heeled butter-colored boots to a chair behind the counter and sat down. Her starlet persona, no doubt about it. “Do you think I’m flighty?’

Uh-oh. Trick question.

“Ah, well, it depends on your definition of the word flighty.”

“Airheaded, dizzy, short attention span, blonde jokes, erratic, unreliable, capricious.”

“If you know the definition of capricious you probably aren’t flighty.”

“Be honest, Norah. You’re the only one I can rely on to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.”

“First I need to know who called you flighty.”

“Oh, that accountant I’ve been seeing. He says we can’t continue a relationship because I’m much too erratic and impulsive.”

No wonder Connor is looking so good.

“In that case, you are flighty. Look at how you are dressed. You strive for erratic and impulsive.”

“And cutting edge fashionwise,” Lilly defended, already looking a bit happier. “You’re right. I like what I am. If he doesn’t, he’s not the man for me.” She jumped up and gave me a hug, swathing me in the fragrance of lavender and something mossy. “I’m so glad we’re friends, Norah. I can trust you. You tell me the truth and never go behind my back. Thank…thank…”

“…God?” I finished for her.

“Yeah. Him.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “If you’re the kind of product He turns out, then I do want to get to know Him better…someday.” Then she threw her head back and swept out of the store like a runway model. No wonder she’d made her accountant nervous. Lilly was a full five fingers, a definite handful.

So she was watching me, looking for God in me. My grandmother said I might be the only sermon someone like Lilly ever hears. That should keep me on my toes.

When I pad around in my pajamas and big white bunny slippers, Hoppy goes crazy. She thinks she’s got company and keeps returning to my feet to sniff them. Her little nose practically vibrates with excitement. I’m thinking of getting a second rabbit so she’ll have some company. It’s easier to put two does together than two bucks, so I’ll have to get another female. If I introduce a male, within weeks, I’ll have way too much company in the house.

I leaned down to touch her soft fur. “You bunnies are just like humans, aren’t you? Two women can get along fine, but put a man in the mix and—poof!—there’s trouble.” We eyed each other soulfully, human and rabbit, and for a moment, I was sure Hoppy knew exactly what I meant. Then she tried to bite off my slipper’s nose and I snapped out of that daydream.

When my doorbell rang, my attack powder puff, Bentley, slid off the couch, rolled on the carpet, staggered to his feet and took what he thinks is an aggressive stance. It might be aggressive, if he’d ever learn to stop wagging his tail. Bentley, for all his former woes, is an optimist. “Sure,” his posture says, “I’ll protect my mistress even if she is wearing stupid slippers, but, no matter who you are on the other side of the door, I’d rather just lick your face.”

Then he must have gotten a whiff of pizza, because he raced to the door wriggling like an otter on a waterslide.

Lilly was on the other side of the door with a double pepperoni and cheese pizza, bread sticks and a liter of soda. She walked in without invitation and plopped the food down on my table. “Girl’s night,” she announced. “I’ll get the plates.”

Never one to turn away a delivered pizza, I gathered glasses and napkins and settled into one of the cushioned chairs in my dining room.

“What’s up?” I finally got around to asking as Lilly doled pizza onto plates.

“Oh, nothing. Want a bread stick?” She waved them under my nose.

“‘Nothing’? You brought a family-size pizza for ‘nothing’? Lilly, we could solve the world’s problems over this thing. What’s wrong?”

“I saw Connor after work.”

I watched a piece of mozzarella make a tightrope between my mouth and a slice of pizza. “And?”

“And he’s perfect for me, Norah. Absolutely perfect. I love the way he looks, the sound of his voice, his aftershave….”

Smitten. Deeply smitten. Besotted. Love-struck even. I reeled in the cheese with my teeth and tongue.

“…but I’m not sure how to get him.”

“‘Get’ him?” There was a tone in Lilly’s voice that I hadn’t heard before, especially where men are concerned. Anxiety.

“You know. Make him realize I’m the one for him.”

“Lilly, you do that all the time. You can do that unconscious! You’re sweet, beautiful, funny….”

“I can be,” she agreed, “but not this time. This time it feels like I’m a schoolgirl with a crush on the captain of the football team. I can be all those things because I haven’t really found anyone I want to spend my life with. Now, when it counts, I’m scared stiff!”

Lilly, scared stiff, is a sight to behold. Her blond hair was in a loose halo around her head, she wore snug designer jeans, high-heeled boots, a frothy peasant blouse and a thick, silver-studded belt that nipped in her slender waist. Her earrings matched her belt which matched the chain around her neck, which matched her thick silver bracelet…scared stiff looks great on Lilly.

“I really care this time, Norah, and as a result, I’m like a clumsy, unsophisticated kid who doesn’t know what to do with her knees and elbows, let alone the rest of her!”

“Sounds quite charming to me.” Sometimes I wonder if Lilly only likes guys who don’t initially show much interest in her. I sprinkled red peppers on the pizza and then surreptitiously slipped Bentley a piece of crust. “Maybe Connor likes that kind of woman.”

“I don’t think so.”

Something in her tone made me look up sharply. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, he’s nice to me, it’s not that, but I don’t feel any spark coming from him.”

“‘Spark’? As in lighting a fire?”

“You’ve got it. The reason I recognize his lack of interest is that I’ve given off that same vibe myself, to men I know are crazy about me but that I’m not terribly interested in.”

Ah. The root of the matter. Lilly is one of the most competitive people I know. She is unwilling to lose anything she sees as competition. She can give the off-putting vibes but she can’t take them when they’re aimed her way.

“Why don’t you give it a chance, Lilly? Connor doesn’t know you and, frankly, you don’t know him. Allow yourselves a little time.”

Lilly fluttered her long French manicured nails in front of her face.

“Who knows?” I offered. “Maybe you won’t like him as well as you think you will—and he’ll like you even better.”

I studied her and was surprised to see a glaze of tears in her eyes.

“Sometimes I get sick of being a strong, independent woman, Norah. I want to be swept off my feet and carried into the sunset. Do you understand that at all?”

Do I? Me, who’s waiting for Cupid’s arrow and shimmery shivers and wedding bells? “Of course I do, Lilly. Just don’t panic. Desperation is not a scent you want to give off, you know.”

“It’s more clear-cut for you,” she said accusingly, wiping her eye with a stiff paper napkin. “You think God’s going to clunk you on the head with a guy some day. I don’t think I want to wait for that.”

It would certainly expedite matters if God just dropped my ideal husband into my lap. No wondering if or when Mr. Right comes along. No insecurity about myself because I’d know that this man is meant for me. No wearing makeup every day of the week just to make sure I don’t scare Mr. Right off with pale cheeks and no mascara on my lashes. The idea had merit, although I was wise enough to keep that idea to myself.

Still, Lilly was feeling better when she left sometime later. Pizza therapy is one of my favorite medical prescriptions.

On my way to the post office on Tuesday morning, my step slowed as I neared the new toy store. The door was open yet I was reluctant to stop in, considering the odd reception I’d had last time I was there. But fools venture where angels dare not tread, so I mounted the steps and went inside.

What a transformation! What had been dingy and drab had been changed into a scene from one of my favorite books as a child, The Secret Garden. The walls were freshly papered in muted pink Victorian cabbage roses that gave off an aura of a musty but elegant past. There were dolls everywhere—Madame Alexander dolls, Barbie dolls, fat baby dolls and collectibles with delicate porcelain faces and bemused expressions. A huge round crib hung with thick mauve ribbon and delicate rosebuds was piled high with teddy bears. Another crib was full of jungle creatures—fat, jolly monkeys, floppy-necked giraffes, lions with wild manes. It wasn’t until I was halfway to the jungle display that I realized the room had been divided in half. Behind the area filled with dolls was the “techno” room. PlayStation consoles, video games, cars on racetracks and everything that either plugged in, used batteries or made loud obnoxious noises was displayed here.

“What do you think?”

I was so engrossed that I gave a startled squeak and spun around to find Julie Morris standing behind me. Though she looked a little strained, today she had a smile on her face.

“You’re a phenomenon! I had no idea this place could look so good.” Meeting Julie and her husband the other day, I hadn’t believed there was a playful bone in either of their bodies. Heartened, I pressed on through the fantasyland they’d created.

“Would you like to see my favorite part?” Julie asked shyly.

I wonder how a person gets so timid—especially one who intends to be a business owner dealing with the public all day long.

Julie led me to a table filled with baskets. In the baskets were tiny toys and packets of candy. Diminutive dolls, race cars so small their wheels would make M&M’s look large, little coloring books and paper dolls. My particular favorite, for a dime apiece, was fake fingernails on green plastic fingertips with hair sprouting from the first knuckle.

“I had these when I was a kid! I played an ogre in a school play in third grade.” I picked one up, popped it on my index finger and quoted, “‘I’m sure you’ll be delicious, little girl, I’ll save you for dessert.’” Why is it, I wonder, that we allow kids to read fairy tales as violent as the evening news?

Without thinking, I picked up a Chinese finger puzzle. It was the kind I could never get my fingers out of when I was a child, poked a finger in each end and recalled the panicky feeling that I’d have to spend the rest of my life with my index fingers connected by a little straw tube.

“Uh-oh, I think I’ll be buying this. Do you have scissors?”

Julie laughed, pressed my index fingers toward each other and showed me the trick to getting my fingers free. “That’s why I love this table. It has things on it cheap enough for children to buy on their own, and gadgets old enough to appeal to their parents.”

Covertly I studied her. Julie is a pretty woman, if one can see through the premature frown lines and deeply carved grooves around her mouth. She doesn’t seem a likely candidate to own a toy store but she certainly knows how to devise a charming one.