Wednesday, 19 August 2009

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    16 Military Wives: 7-Inch Record
    By The Decemberists
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    Unnamed Novel and Bane of my Existence. Chapter Four.

    This is the piece I have been working on since January 2008.  I previously posted the Introduction; Prologue Pt. 1.; Prologue Pt. 2.; Prologue Pt. 3.; Prologue Pt. 4.; Prologue Pt. 5.; Prologue Pt. 6.; Prologue Pt. 7.; Prologue Pt. 8; Chapter One; Chapter Two; Chapter Three; the Prologue provides some background, sets the stage for what's to come, fills in some of what happened between what you read previously and where our story actually starts -- sort of.  This is where our story actually starts.  If you have any thoughts when reading this drop me a comment.  Thanks.


    xx r.




    “Make new friends,

    But keep the old;

    One is silver and

    The other’s gold.”

    - Make New Friends

     

     

    There was much to do before the party that weekend and the travelers were tired.  Olivia politely turned down Madeleine Prescott’s invitation to stay for supper and quickly made her way back to Cambridge.  As she turned off Massachusetts Avenue she thought about her younger sister, her Rosie.  The twenty seven year old woman would probably be silly all her life, but she did have a good head on her shoulders.  She had two darling children; had been accepted into that lovely family, the Prescotts; and a great husband who loved her.  In that Olivia took comfort.  David was an upstanding man who would never hurt her sister.  She had nothing to fear.

    “Except the Taylors, of course,” she added to Danube as she dropped her keys on the counter and kicked the door shut. 

    “They’re going to be staying in the Prescott’s guest house above the garage,” she continued, scooping up the hungry cat.  “I’m going to meet them at brunch the morning of the party.”  Olivia dropped Danube on the counter and started opening a can of his food.

    “I’m sure they’re nice people.  Her brothers are very nice people.  At least they used to be.  I have nothing to worry about, right cat?”

    Danube just meowed.

     

     

    The day of the party arrived.  She stopped on her way at the Starbucks down the road to manage her caffeine fix until she arrived at the Prescotts’ where there would be a very strong pot awaiting her.  She’d talked with her sister on the phone the previous evening and discovered that the Taylors were eager to meet her.  They had been examining the photographs in the Prescott’s front hall and were anxious to meet the “sweet-looking” girl in the brass frame.  Olivia blushed as she recalled the photograph in question.  It was of her on the beach when she was around twenty six years old.  She had set out to build the largest sandcastle she could.  The picture was of her, all of five feet four inches standing next to an elaborate sandcastle that came up to her shoulder.  That was to be the Taylors’ first impression of her.

     

    Olivia ordered a mocha latté with three shots of espresso.

     

    “Olivia!  You’re here!” cried Eloise Prescott running out to meet her.  Olivia drained the remaining drops of coffee from the paper cup as she rose to greet the girl.

    “Do you need any help?”

    “Yah, could you grab those?”  Olivia pointed to the packages in the backseat.  “I’ll take these.  Have you been waiting long for me?”

    “No, Henry and Sofia just came over from the garage.  And Rosie just got up about half an hour ago.”

    “I see.  What are the Taylors like?  Do you know them well?”

    “No.  Apparently they’re old friends of Mama’s.  She’s known him for years apparently.  But she hasn’t seen them since they moved out to . . . where was it?”

    “Chicago,” Olivia supplied without thinking.  Luckily Eloise didn’t notice.  Both the Prescott girls considered Olivia as much a part of their family as themselves that it would not faze them that she knew as much, or more, about their family as they did.

    “That’s right,” said Eloise opening the door and passing through into the front hallway.  “They’re very nice.  I think you’ll like them a lot, actually.  They seem like your kind of people.”

    “Thanks, Lou?” said Olivia unsure of what the young woman meant.

    “You’re welcome.  Mama she’s here!” Eloise called through the house.

    “Oh, Olivia, there you are!  I was just telling Gaby she ought to call you and see if you were on your way.  Come back through here.”

    Madeleine Prescott took the packages from Olivia and placed them on a table in the living room and led her through the kitchen to her Entertaining Room.  There, seated around Madeleine Prescott’s long, antique dining room table sat Gabrielle Prescott, her fiancé Jacob Bennet, David and Rosie, their children and a man and a woman Olivia had never seen before.  The woman’s features were so familiar that there was little doubt they could be anyone other than Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.

    Gaby sprang up from her seat and embraced Olivia.  David and Rosie called their greeting across the table.

    “You’ve met Jake, of course,” said Gaby.

    “Yes, how are you?”

    “Fine, thanks.  How was the drive out here?” he asked pleasantly.

    “There was very little traffic, actually.”

                “And this is my old friend, Mr. Henry Taylor and his wife, Sofia.  This is Rosie’s sister Olivia Granger.”

                “It’s very nice to meet you,” said Olivia as pleasantly as she could, shaking each hand in turn.

                In something of a whir, Olivia found herself settled into a seat by the Taylors and a steaming mug of very strong coffee in her hands.  Madeleine Prescott had left her guests to socialize and was back in the kitchen tending to something or other.

                “So, Olivia, Madeleine tells me that you are a graphic designer,” started Sofia Taylor.

                “Yes, that’s correct,” she started nervously.  “I work with a firm in Cambridge called ‘Beneath the Surface Design’.”

                “Oh, I’ve heard of you!” she exclaimed.

                Olivia choked on her coffee.  “Me?”

                “Yes, your company.”

    “Oh.  Really?” she coughed, immensely relieved. 

    “You did the advertising campaign for that restaurant opening in the North End.  What was it called?  Do you remember, dear?” Sofia Taylor turned to her husband who was intent on his rashers and playing with little Matthew.

                “Remember what, love?” he asked affectionately.

                “The name of that restaurant where Anastasios took us.”

                “Anastasios?” said Olivia startled.  Not even five minutes; looked like Stephanie won.

                “Yes, my wife’s brother, Anastasios Christopoulos.  You may have heard of him?”

                “I may have?” she questioned, worrying again.

                “Yes, Madeleine tells me you’re into classical music.  Symphonies and the like.”

                “Oh, that, yes, I am,” said Olivia, relieved.  “My firm does much advertising for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.  We get free tickets periodically.”

                “My brother is a violinist.  Currently he’s back with the Philharmonic,” Sofia Taylor said with some sisterly pride.  “But your BSO have been courting him for years.  Henry and I are relocating to Boston and I would love for my brother to join us here.  If only he would accept their offer!”

                “Yes, it’s nice to have family close to you.”

                “You must be so thrilled to have Rose back.”

                Sofia Taylor’s smile was so kind and genuine.  Olivia’s apprehension about meeting her was quickly being replaced with a strong affection for the woman.

                “I am.  I’ve missed her greatly these past few years.”

     

                Brunch having passed extremely pleasantly segued smoothly into an intimate and delightful Welcome Home party.  Friends and relatives gathered in what Madeleine Prescott referred to as her “Back Garden”, despite it being her only garden, behind the house.  They socialized, played croquet and listened to the missionaries tell stories about their escapades in Peru.  Olivia found herself mostly a companion of Sofia Taylor. 

    Olivia had to admit she liked their company, Sofia and Henry’s.  But she could not summon the courage to tell her new acquaintances that she had once associated with their younger brother, the famous violinist.

                She left the Prescott’s having promised to arrange a trip to Nantucket before the end of the summer at her cousin’s house for mid August.  In Olivia’s mind the worst was sure to be over.  She would visit with her new friends, the Taylors, and hopefully avoid the beloved brother entirely.

     

                She could not have been more wrong.



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