onnecticut, June 1989

It was a warm Friday afternoon at the end of the month, and Sarah had driven up to stay with me for the weekend.

Even before she had changed from her chic city clothes into her country-bumpkin togs, as she called them, she had wanted to see the barns, to review the progress I had made in her absence.

And so here we stood in the middle of the biggest of my four barns, surveying the work which had been done by my building contractor, Tom Williams, whilst she had been away on business.

"I can't believe it, Mal!" she exclaimed excitedly, her dark eyes roaming around, taking everything in. "Tom has moved with great speed, you're right."

"And Eric's been just as fast," I pointed out. "He's already painted the second floor, and tomorrow he'll start down here."

"It was such a good idea of yours, extending the old hayloft. Now you've got a second floor, but without losing the feeling of spaciousness."

As she spoke Sarah looked up toward the new loft at the far end of the barn.

"The café will be under the loft," I said, "if you remember the architect's plans. And I think it's kind of cozy to have it there. Tom's suggested putting in a big potbellied stove for the winter months, and I think it's a terrific idea, don't you?"

"Yes, and you might want to consider one of those gorgeous porcelain stoves from Austria. They're awfully attractive, Mal."

"And expensive, I've no doubt. I've got to keep an eye on the budget, Sash. But come on, let's walk down there, and I'll tell you a bit more about the café."

Taking hold of her arm, I drew her to the other end of the barn. "Now, here, Sarah, in the very center of this space, I'm going to have little tables for four. Green metal tables and chairs, the kind you find in sidewalk cafés in Paris. I've already ordered ten from one of the showrooms you sent me to last week, and that means I'll be able to seat forty."

"So many!" she exclaimed. "Can you handle that number of customers? Serve them, I mean?"

"Yes, I could if I had to. But I honestly don't think there will ever be forty people crowding into the café all at the same time. They'll drift in and out, since they'll mainly have come to shop. At least I hope that's why they'll be here."

Drawing her farther into the café area, I continued, "The counter and cash register will be down near the back wall, just in front of those doors Tom has already put in. They lead outside to the kitchen addition."

"When's he going to start that?" Sarah asked, walking over, opening a door, and peering out.

"Next week."

"I thought Philip Miller's plans for the kitchen were really on target, Mal, didn't you?"

"At first the kitchen seemed a bit too big to me. But when I really thought it through, I realized he had taken growth into consideration. Not that we can grow that much."

Sarah said, "Better to err on the side of largeness, rather than building a kitchen you discover too late is too small."

"I took Philip's advice. And when I saw him last Friday, I also listened to him when it came to the appliances. I've ordered two restaurant-size freezers and two restaurant-size refrigerators, as well as two heavy-duty cooking stoves. Oh, and two microwave ovens for reheating and warming food."

"Are you planning to serve a lot of hot dishes now? Has the menu changed, Mal?"

I shook my head. "It's still the same one we discussed. Various soups, quiche lorraine, maybe cottage pie, but that's it. The rest will be sandwiches and cakes, plus beverages. However, don't forget that Nora will be making our own line of jams, jellies, lemon curd, mincemeat, and chutneys."

"Lettice Keswick's Kitchen," Sarah said, a smile crossing her face. "I love it, and it's a great name for a label."

Turning slowly in the center of the floor, Sarah waved an arm around and continued, "And the walls here in the café will be lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves displaying cooking utensils, pots, pans, cookware, and pottery."

"And the Lettice products as well," I reminded her.

"It's going to be great, Mal! A fabulous success. I can just smell it," Sarah enthused.

"From your mouth to God's ear, as my mother would say."

"My money's on you, Mal, it really is. Oh, Tom's already put in your new staircase. Can we go upstairs to the loft?"

"Yes, but just be careful," I warned. "As you can see, there's no bannister yet."

I led the way up into the old hayloft, now totally remodeled and revamped. Tom had, in effect, created a gallery which floated out into the middle of the barn. It had a high railing at the edge, instead of a wall, and because of this it was airy and light-filled.

Sarah prowled around, nodding to herself as she did. "Up here you're going to sell china, pottery, ceramics, glass, cutlery, linen, tabletop items for dining, that's right, isn't it?"

"It's what you and I decided before you went away. You said it was better to keep the food items downstairs."

She nodded. "The whole idea of the shop-café was inspired. Having the café makes it just that little bit different, and yes, the food should be downstairs. Have you decided what you're going to do with the other barns, if anything?"

"One of them will have to be an office. Mine in the house simply won't be big enough. But it can also double as a place for storing products and—"

"I thought you were going to use the basement of the house for that?" Sarah cut in. "That's what you said the last time I was here."

"I am going to use the basement, yes. But to store the bottled food stuff, the nonperishable things, mainly the Lettice Keswick line. It's cool and roomy, and Eric's cleaned it out and given it a fresh coat of white paint. Tom's got two of his crew putting up shelves down there, but what I need is a storage place for inventory, for my stock."

"You're right, you will need plenty of space," Sarah agreed, and then she began to laugh. "I can see that my lessons in retailing over the past few weeks have served you well. But then you always were a fast learner, Mal."

"And you're a good teacher. Anyway, to continue, I thought I'd make the third barn into a little boutique called Indian Meadows, and the fourth into a gallery, which I'm naming Kilgram Chase."

"Catchy," Sarah said, and then grinning at me, she teased, "expanding before you've even opened, eh?"

"That's thanks to you again. You did tell me two weeks ago that I ought to have more than one private label, in order to give the shop a certain kind of cachet. So I did a bit of creative thinking and came up with the idea of the Kilgram Chase label and a gallery, and an Indian Meadows label for the boutique."

"What are the products?" she probed.

"Let's go over there, and I'll tell you on the way," I answered.

Within seconds we were outside, heading in the direction of the other barns on my property. These were clustered together on one side of Anna's cottage and the stables.

"That big barn at the back, the one closest to Anna's place, will be the administration office and the storage barn," I explained. The two smaller; ones I'll turn into the gallery and the boutique."

"Tell me what you're going to sell, Mally. You know I'm a born retailer, and I'm riddled with curiosity."

Pushing open the door of the barn I had chosen to become the gallery, I went in first, saying over my shoulder, "Everything in here will be English in feeling or made in England, Sash. I've found a crafts and embroidery company up here, and they're going to make small needlepoint pillows for me. What will make my pillows different is their design. They'll be copies of those Victorian beaded cushions I found in the attics of Kilgram Chase. The designs will be exactly the same, and so will the Latin mottoes. What do you think?"

"Clever idea, but what about quantity? Can this company make plenty for you? As many as you want?"

"I don't plan to have more than about a dozen at a time, and I'll take special orders," I told her. "I'm going to sell English watercolors, botanicals, and vegetable prints, already framed. And Diana's going to seek out bits and pieces in London, you know, small antique items such as stud boxes, snuffboxes, tea caddies, and candlesticks. She says it's easy for her, a snip, and she'll just ship them over or bring them when she comes. I'm also going to feature English soaps and scents, beeswax candles, and potpourri. Oh, and Ken Turner perfumed candles, as well as some of his smaller dried-flower arrangements. Again, I'm getting those through Diana."

"I think such items will move very well. People do like things that are different, even if they are slightly more expensive. And you've got a good market for them up here. But tell me about the Indian Meadows boutique."

"Come on, let's go over to the barn where I plan to house it," I said.

Once we were inside, Sarah strolled around and asked, "Are you going to sell clothes? You are calling it a boutique."

"Yes, I am, but I'm also going to have other things as well. Everything will be American, from my own water-colors, which you tell me are good enough to sell, to Early American and Colonial-style quilts and cushions, soft toys, all handmade, and some really beautiful American Indian blankets from the Southwest."

"And the clothes?"

"They'll be made by Pony Traders, the company Anna knows up near Lake Wononpakook. But I need your help with them."

"I'll do anything to get this project off the ground, you know that, Mally, what do you need me to do to help you with Pony Traders?" A dark brow lifted quizzically.

"You know every aspect of fashion and retailing, you're the fashion director of Bergman's, for heaven's sake. I'd like you to talk to the two women who own the company. Maybe you could persuade them to give me some items on an exclusive basis, and then there's the pricing. If I'm buying a large quantity of their stuff, shouldn't I get some sort of special deal? A discount?"

"It depends," Sarah replied thoughtfully. "But of course I'll come with you, and I'll do what I can. Anyway, now that you're going to sell clothes, I'll come up with some other vendors for you. I guess it's a sort of ethnic look you're after? American Indian?"

"Not necessarily, but certainly casual, comfortable, country-style clothing. Thanks, Sashy. Your help's going to be invaluable."

"I'm just so thrilled about this project of yours, and as I just said a few minutes ago, I feel really good about it in my bones. I just know it's going to take off. And it's going to give you a whole new lease on life. It already has, actually."

Linking her arm through mine, Sarah guided me out of the barn, and we walked back up to the house together.

"Andrew would be so proud of you—" Sarah stopped with that awful suddenness she had adopted lately whenever she mentioned him. She glanced at me swiftly, looking chagrined.

"I know he would be very proud of me," I said calmly. "And you don't have to avoid mentioning him, Sashy darling, or stop midsentence when you do. As I told Mom yesterday, Andrew Keswick lived, he existed, he was my husband for ten years, the father of my children. He was on this planet for forty-one years, Sarah, and he made a big difference to a lot of people, not only his mother and me and the children. He loved me. I loved him. He was my lover, my best friend, my true soul mate, and my dearest companion. He meant everything to me, he was my whole life, you know that. So I don't want you to stop yourself every time his name crops up in conversation."

"I won't, I promise, Mal. And I understand, I really do. You're right, we risk negating him by never speaking about him."

"It's the same with Jamie and Lissa. I want you to talk about them to me, remember them, discuss them whenever you feel like it. You will, won't you?"

"Of course."

"It's comforting, you know," I went on softly. "And it helps to keep them alive."

"I'm so glad you've told me. I was being scrupulously careful."

"I know…" I let my sentence trail off. We walked on up to the house in silence for a few seconds. Then I said, "They were so special, weren't they, Sash? Your godchildren."

"Yes, they were. Your Botticelli angels, your small miracles, and mine, too. How I loved them. And Andrew."

"They loved you, Sarah, and he loved you, just as I do. I'm so glad you're my friend."

"I am, too. We're very lucky to have each other."

"I was thinking the other day… about Andrew," I said, looking at her. "Do you remember when you first met him, Sash?"

"I certainly do. I was bowled over, and jealous to death of you'."

"You called him Dreamboat. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, I remember," she murmured, returning my long look. Her lovely dark eyes grew suddenly moist, and I saw her swallow hard. "I remember everything," she said in a whisper.

"Don't cry," I said softly. "Don't cry, Sashy."

She could only nod.