“Mummy . . .”
“Quite so,” Mamaw said succinctly. “This has Georgiana’s name written all over it.”
“She must’ve painted a pretty horrid picture to get Granny James to hop a plane and come rushing to see me. She’s nearly eighty, after all.”
Mamaw sniffed. “That hardly makes her a dinosaur.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Harper hastened to reply. “But she broke her leg last spring. She’d only act like this in an emergency.”
“Naturally your grandmother would see your throwing away your fortune to rush off and get married to someone you hardly know as an emergency,” Mamaw confirmed.
Dora snickered. “Well, when you put it like that . . .”
“You’re right.” Mamaw smiled wryly. “When you put it like that, I find your grandmother’s actions admirable. She had to see the situation for herself. She wouldn’t want you forewarned, either, for fear you might run off.” Mamaw paused, then added begrudgingly, “I would do the same myself.”
Harper felt a well of emotion for both her grandmothers. “She is rather like you, strong, refined, educated.” Harper grinned. “Opinionated.”
“This ought to be good,” Carson said. “The dueling grandmas.”
Dora giggled and began humming the tune “Dueling Banjos.”
“Enough of this lollygagging.” Mamaw crisply clapped her hands. “If we have a guest arriving in a little over forty-eight hours and a dinner party to plan, we have more work to do than I can shake a stick at.”
“Where will we put her?” asked Dora.
“I could give her my room,” Harper suggested.
“Heavens, no,” Mamaw said. “I won’t feel comfortable sharing a bathroom with someone I’ve never met.”
“Do you want one of us to give up a room?” Dora asked. “Anyone but Nate, of course,” she added hastily. “We all remember how easy it is to move him.”
“There’s no need for anyone to give up a room. The cottage should do nicely. It’s freshly painted and Mrs. James will be much more comfortable with a space of her own.”
“Mamaw, it’s virtually empty,” said Carson. “All that’s in there is the iron bed and the desk. We’ve given everything else away to charity.”
“Not everything,” Dora said. “The hooked rugs are just out being cleaned. They’re due back tomorrow.”
“That still leaves the entire living room.”
“And curtains and dishes. . . .”
Mamaw held up her hands. “Girls, we can do this. Taylor and his father did a beautiful job and the walls are dry. I have furniture in storage. All we have to do is shop for a few items. I’ve never known you girls to be shy about shopping. Dora, you have the most wonderful eye for decorating, and Harper, just look at how you fixed up the kitchen in short order. Carson, you can keep these two in line so they don’t go too crazy. How hard can it be for three talented, energetic women to fill a small cottage?”
“We need to go simple and clean,” said Dora, warming to the idea. “Lots of white with bursts of blue here and there. It’s the end of summer. There are lots of summer things on sale.”
“But, Mamaw,” said Harper, “I can’t pull out my checkbook. Those days are over for me.”
“No worries,” Mamaw replied breezily. “It won’t be much if we’re careful. Bare necessities. Spartan, eh?”
“Think Santorini,” said Harper. “Granny James loves Greece.”
Dora clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ve helped Devlin stage a few houses for sale, and honestly, girls, Mamaw’s right. We don’t need that much. In fact, the less clutter the better. We need to make a list of only what we absolutely need.”
“Hold that thought,” Harper exclaimed, getting caught in the enthusiasm. “I’ll get a paper and pen.”
“Let’s move this conversation to the cottage,” Mamaw said, upbeat. “I swanny, I can’t think on my feet anymore. And I always do better with a cup of coffee.”
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday afternoon, Harper stood at the security gate of Charleston International Airport clutching her raffia purse, which held a bottle of cool water, searching the faces of the line of bedraggled-looking people walking through the exit. Some walked with heads bent, arms pumping with determination. Others strolled lazily, dragging carry-on luggage behind them. A lucky few were met with high-pitched greetings and kisses from loved ones.
While she waited, Harper felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she realized she hadn’t seen Granny James for over two years. Harper used to travel to England to see her grandparents every year, usually over spring break. As she grew to be an adult, her mother bought the house in the Hamptons, and Granny James began flying over to the States to spend several weeks in sunshine. She loved the warm air and sea. For the past few years, however, Papa James’s health had been poor, and Granny chose not to leave him.
Harper frowned, worried how her grandmother had managed to fly all this way with a broken leg. What was Georgiana thinking to encourage Granny to make such a trip? Harper kept her eyes peeled for a wheelchair.
A minute later Harper spied striding toward her an older, handsome woman of average height and chin-length auburn hair, stylishly, if conservatively, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit with crisp white piping and sizable pearls. She still had beautiful legs, yet on her feet were thickly soled navy shoes, what Granny referred to as “sensible” shoes. A testament to Granny’s no-nonsense approach to life. Her arms were burdened with a floral-patterned bag, which undoubtedly held her knitting, and an enormous black leather purse.
“Granny James!” Harper called, waving her hand.
The woman paused, catching Harper’s wave, and her stern expression lifted to reveal an astonishing smile of relief and joy. “Dear girl!” Granny James feebly tried to lift one arm burdened with a heavy bag, continuing at a determined pace through the passage, past the exit guard, directly into Harper’s waiting embrace. She dropped her parcels and wrapped her arms around her granddaughter. For several minutes, time stopped as Harper was engulfed in the familiar, loving scent and feel of Granny James.
After the embrace Granny pulled back and gripped Harper’s shoulders. Standing eye to eye, Harper studied her grandmother—her hair swept to the side in soft waves, a red much deeper than Harper’s softer color. Granny’s pale blue eyes under finely arched brows were searching Harper now like an acetylene torch.