Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze by Nancy Thayer Page A
Authors: Nancy Thayer
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“I’ll be right back.”
She found a half bathroom off the kitchen and was in and out in minutes. When she sat down on the floor again, she saw that Harry’s juice glass was empty. Harry was on his side, eyes closed, sound asleep.
15
Emma
“Good,” Sandra Bracebridge said, “you’re on time.”
They were standing on the brick sidewalk outside the Bracebridge mansion, a towering white Greek Revival with a broad front porch and columns. The Bracebridge property was protected from the riffraff by a wrought iron fence with spiked railings.
Emma forced herself to smile. She’d read somewhere that human beings responded in like fashion to stimuli like smiling, yawning, crying, so she was performing a kind of experiment.
But nope, Sandra Bracebridge did not move her lips. It was possible the woman wasn’t human. During the brief interview Emma had endured earlier in the day with Sandra Bracebridge, the other woman had remained composed to the point of paralysis. And from everything she’d heard, Millicent Bracebridge, in her eighties and struggling with various infirmities, was going to be even less friendly.
Millicent Bracebridge, her daughter-in-law had told Emma, had fallen this winter and broken her hip, and had never really walked after the operation. At eighty-eight, she had seen her husband and most of her friends into their graves, and pain from arthritis and other minor ailments made her cranky. Now the macular degeneration that had plagued her for years was worsening her eyesight. And she tended to live in the past, which worried Sandra. Sandra’s husband, Millicent’s son, had died a few years ago, and Sandra wasresponsible for Millicent. She did not want her mother-in-law getting gaga. Millicent would not tolerate any kind of formal assisted living and, driven by her pride, she had given her lawyer durable rights of attorney, along with written instructions that if she had to be institutionalized, it would be in a nursing home on the Cape or near Boston, not on Nantucket. She had told Sandra that she did not want people who had known her when she was in her majestic prime to see her in her infirmity.
The Bracebridges were one of Nantucket’s founding families. Millicent Bracebridge’s collection of Nantucket arts and crafts was rumored to be extensive and significant. Emma couldn’t believe she was about to work for one of the island’s old legends, a wealthy, prominent woman from an important Nantucket family. Of the various jobs Emma had accepted, this one seemed the most interesting.
Now Emma followed Sandra Bracebridge up the wide steps, across the porch, and in through the wide front door. The black-and-white tiled foyer floor was covered with priceless antique Oriental rugs, and a crystal chandelier sparkled from the ceiling. In a polished cherry case a grandfather clock ticked away, its face artistically decorated with the sun, moon, and planets. An oil painting of a whaling ship took up most of one wall.
“Wow,” Emma breathed. “What a magnificent room.”
Sandra ignored her and swept on into the living room. “Millicent? We’re here.”
Emma followed her employer into a large room crowded with antiques. Oil paintings in elaborate gilt frames spanned the walls. Elaborate boxes of ivory scrimshaw were set along the mantel. In the window seat, seven lightship baskets of varying sizes were displayed, the darkened cane a testimony to their age. Small tables held Tiffany lamps and cloisonné vases. Obviously no children were allowed to enter this room, where one careless movement could provoke a disaster.
“Millicent? This is Emma Fox. She’s come to read to you.”
Millicent Bracebridge sat in a wheelchair with a tartan blanket tucked around her legs. Her white hair was styled like a 1940s movie star, finger-waved in strict ridges. She wore a light wool suit with a diamond brooch at the collar, and heavy hose and lace-up, high-heeled shoes.
“Well, let me get a look at you,”
She found a half bathroom off the kitchen and was in and out in minutes. When she sat down on the floor again, she saw that Harry’s juice glass was empty. Harry was on his side, eyes closed, sound asleep.
15
Emma
“Good,” Sandra Bracebridge said, “you’re on time.”
They were standing on the brick sidewalk outside the Bracebridge mansion, a towering white Greek Revival with a broad front porch and columns. The Bracebridge property was protected from the riffraff by a wrought iron fence with spiked railings.
Emma forced herself to smile. She’d read somewhere that human beings responded in like fashion to stimuli like smiling, yawning, crying, so she was performing a kind of experiment.
But nope, Sandra Bracebridge did not move her lips. It was possible the woman wasn’t human. During the brief interview Emma had endured earlier in the day with Sandra Bracebridge, the other woman had remained composed to the point of paralysis. And from everything she’d heard, Millicent Bracebridge, in her eighties and struggling with various infirmities, was going to be even less friendly.
Millicent Bracebridge, her daughter-in-law had told Emma, had fallen this winter and broken her hip, and had never really walked after the operation. At eighty-eight, she had seen her husband and most of her friends into their graves, and pain from arthritis and other minor ailments made her cranky. Now the macular degeneration that had plagued her for years was worsening her eyesight. And she tended to live in the past, which worried Sandra. Sandra’s husband, Millicent’s son, had died a few years ago, and Sandra wasresponsible for Millicent. She did not want her mother-in-law getting gaga. Millicent would not tolerate any kind of formal assisted living and, driven by her pride, she had given her lawyer durable rights of attorney, along with written instructions that if she had to be institutionalized, it would be in a nursing home on the Cape or near Boston, not on Nantucket. She had told Sandra that she did not want people who had known her when she was in her majestic prime to see her in her infirmity.
The Bracebridges were one of Nantucket’s founding families. Millicent Bracebridge’s collection of Nantucket arts and crafts was rumored to be extensive and significant. Emma couldn’t believe she was about to work for one of the island’s old legends, a wealthy, prominent woman from an important Nantucket family. Of the various jobs Emma had accepted, this one seemed the most interesting.
Now Emma followed Sandra Bracebridge up the wide steps, across the porch, and in through the wide front door. The black-and-white tiled foyer floor was covered with priceless antique Oriental rugs, and a crystal chandelier sparkled from the ceiling. In a polished cherry case a grandfather clock ticked away, its face artistically decorated with the sun, moon, and planets. An oil painting of a whaling ship took up most of one wall.
“Wow,” Emma breathed. “What a magnificent room.”
Sandra ignored her and swept on into the living room. “Millicent? We’re here.”
Emma followed her employer into a large room crowded with antiques. Oil paintings in elaborate gilt frames spanned the walls. Elaborate boxes of ivory scrimshaw were set along the mantel. In the window seat, seven lightship baskets of varying sizes were displayed, the darkened cane a testimony to their age. Small tables held Tiffany lamps and cloisonné vases. Obviously no children were allowed to enter this room, where one careless movement could provoke a disaster.
“Millicent? This is Emma Fox. She’s come to read to you.”
Millicent Bracebridge sat in a wheelchair with a tartan blanket tucked around her legs. Her white hair was styled like a 1940s movie star, finger-waved in strict ridges. She wore a light wool suit with a diamond brooch at the collar, and heavy hose and lace-up, high-heeled shoes.
“Well, let me get a look at you,”
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