Page 44 of The Book of Summer

“A dame wants to look her best, right?”

“The shopping in town is fine,” Ruby said. “Nothing spectacular, but adequate.”

“Tell me, where do you buy your hats?”

“Our hats?” Mary said, and scrunched her nose. “What do you mean? We already have hats.”

Hattie chuckled amiably and gave Mary a rap on the back.

“Oh, gals, we’re going to have a hoot of a time. So, kittens.” Hattie stood, hiking up her pants to expose slim and graceful anklebones. “Do we have one of those, whaddya call it, quotas? Let’s kick off this show. The more efficiently we work, the more quickly we can have fun.”

“Fun?” Mary said, utterly perplexed.

“Yes. You know, the stuff we get up to when the men are off-island? So, my new friends, show me where to start.”

As Mary handed the girl a ball of white yarn, Ruby released a small smile. If the rest of the Grey Ladies were like Hattie Rutter, perhaps they wouldn’t be so gray after all.

***

“Pardon me, Mrs. Young.”

Miss Mayhew stood in the doorway in a simple beige dress. A glorified sack, really.

“And Mrs. Packard,” she added halfheartedly.

Miss Mayhew was the latest addition to the household staff, hired by Mrs. Grimsbury to work directlyforMrs. Grimsbury because evidently their maid was in need of a maid herself.

“It’s like I put something in order,” Ruby overheard Grimsbury telling Daddy. “And the girls scramble it up again! I need some extra hands.”

Ergo, Miss Mayhew. She was a local girl, plain as water, but nice in that Nantucket Quaker way.

“The guests are arriving,” Miss Mayhew told them. “But they seem inappropriately early. Shall I make them wait? Mrs. Grimsbury is in a right fit about it.”

“No one made me wait,” Hattie said, and looked up from the bundles of wool in her lap. “Well, the old bird tried, but I sailed right past.”

Miss Mayhew pulled an odd face, as if stifling a sneeze.

“Mind you, I have all the manners of a field cow,” Hattie said. “So you shouldn’t count me as a legitimate guest.”

“Too true. Mrs. Young, what’s your decision? About the early arrivers?”

“Oh, um…” Mary hemmed.

“For Pete’s sake tell us who they are!” Hattie said. “Who’s arrived? The fun ones or the dullards? Any of the lunkheads, make ’em wait.”

Ruby tittered and turned her work. Miss Mayhew took in a sharp inhale, struggling to maintain her composure. Mrs. Grimsbury hadn’t warned her about this.

“It’s Miss Macy and Mrs. Brooks,” she said. “But I really don’t think…”

“Good grief, bring them out!” Mary said with uncharacteristic fire as she lifted from her seat. “Who cares if it’s two o’clock or one fifty-three? For the love of puppies, there’s a war happening.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Young.”

Miss Mayhew turned on her heels and padded back into the house.

“Sakes alive,” Mary muttered.

As she sat back down, a strong gust hoisted up a chunk of coif. An impressive feat, given how doggedly Mary plastered it to the side of her face. Finger waves or corrugated metal, there really was no difference. Meanwhile, the very wind also kicked a mostly used ball of yarn into a nearby gooseberry bush.

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