The Amethyst Heart Read online

  Little Am pulled back, just slightly, from the contact. She shoved her fists into her pockets and looked away. “I put the food away and stacked the dishes and stuff in the sink,” she muttered. “Can’t believe you don’t have a dishwasher.”

  Amethyst smiled. “I appreciate the help. We’ll wash them later. Let’s go into the den.”

  The spark returned to the girl’s eyes. “I can’t wait to see the look on Grandpa Con’s face when he finds out you’ve locked him out and are standing him off with a shotgun.” She shook her head. “This would make a great story. I can just see it on Dateline or 60 Minutes—Amethyst Noble’s Last Stand.”

  Amethyst led her great-granddaughter into the den, where two overstuffed chairs sat in front of the fireplace with a large ottoman between them. She sank into one of the chairs and hefted her feet onto the ottoman, then motioned for Am to take the other one. With the shotgun across her knees, she scrutinized the girl’s face.

  “You’re interested in journalism?” It was hard for Amethyst to believe this girl was interested in anything except looking like a zombie.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s what I want to do—be a reporter on a newspaper. Or maybe a newscaster on TV. Or maybe write novels, someday when I’m really old—like forty, maybe. Like I said, this would make a great story. Human interest, that sort of thing.” She snorted. “Con thinks it’s a waste of time.”

  “And what does Con think you should do with your life?”

  Am screwed her face into a scowl. “I dunno. Be a wife and mother, probably. He’s such a chauvinist.”

  “You don’t like your grandfather very much.”

  Am shrugged. “I dunno. It’s like he’s always so stressed out with his practice, and Mimsy, well, she kind of hovers, if you know what I mean. He was drinking real heavy a while back, only he tried to hide it and thought we didn’t know. Uh, oh—”

  “It’s all right, Am. I knew, too. I was worried about him.”

  “I thought Mimsy was gonna have a nervous breakdown, I swear I did. You know how hyper she is all the time—and she got even worse. It was pretty scary.”

  “And now?”

  “He’s quit the sauce, but things are still pretty stressed. I don’t know, something about some investments. I overheard him talking on the phone—yelling, really—at somebody he called Mario.”

  Amethyst nodded. Her instincts had been accurate. Conrad was in financial trouble, and apparently he had locked onto the idea of selling Noble House as an easy way out.

  “And your grandfather doesn’t approve of the idea of your being a journalist?”

  “He doesn’t approve of much.” Am grunted. “When he found out I liked writing, he said I’d never be a success at it, and that newspapers are only good to line the birdcage.”

  “How did you feel about that?”

  “I just shut up and quit talking about it. I’ll be a senior in high school next year, Grandam. I know what I want to do. I want to go to the university here in Cambridge; they’ve got a great journalism program. But Con’s determined to send me away somewhere, to some Ivy League college, someplace with status. I don’t care about status, and my grades aren’t good enough, anyway. Besides, I hate the way both he and Mimsy try to run my life and mold me into some kind of model citizen. Maybe they’re trying to make up for what Mimsy calls ’my tragic loss,’ but I wish they’d just give me some breathing room and let me decide for myself what’s best for me.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Yeah, I bet you do.” The girl chuckled.

  “Something funny?”

  “You are.”

  “Me?” Amethyst frowned. “What’s funny about me?”

  “Well, look at you. You’re sitting here in a locked house with a hostage and a shotgun, refusing to budge. I figured you were just another weird old lady, you know, frail and senile. But you got guts, Grandam.”

  “I suppose that was meant as a compliment.”

  “Guts is good,” Am said with a decisive nod. “Most people don’t have the guts to stand up for what they believe, or to be true to themselves in spite of what other people think.”

  “So you don’t believe your ancient great-grandmother is crazy for doing this?”

  “Crazy? No way.” Am pushed her hair out of her eyes and leaned back against the chair. “This is cool,” she said. “Way, way cool.”

  4

  Standoff

  The doorbell rang, and Amethyst struggled to her feet. She glanced over at Little Am, who gave her a broad grin and two thumbs-up.

  Amethyst went to the tall, narrow window that looked out onto the porch. “Is that you, Conrad?” she called out.

  “Who else would it be? Let us in, Mother. Your ice cream is melting.”

  “That’s too bad, dear.”

  At an angle through the window, Amethyst could see her son’s form as he pressed his face against the grillwork of the door. He had grown portly over the years, his flesh sagging into jowls around his jaw line. Through the wavering antique glass, he looked fuzzy and indistinct, as if someone had smudged his outline with an eraser. Perhaps it was an apt image, she thought. The Conrad she knew, the bright, energetic boy she had loved and raised, had certainly gotten lost—or at least blurred—along the way.

  “Am!” Mimsy’s shrieking voice came through the screen. “Am! Help your great-grandmother with the door and let us in.”

  “No can do!” Am yelled back. “Grandam’s got the keys.”

  Amethyst could hear Conrad’s heavy footsteps as he jogged around to the back of the house and rattled that door, then tried the one on the side next to the dining room. Panting heavily, he came back to the front.

  “What’s going on?” he shouted. “Mother, are you hurt? Is something wrong? Let us in!”

  Amethyst propped the shotgun against the den wall and went to stand in the foyer. When Con saw her through the iron-grilled door, he smiled and held up a soggy paper bag. “Thank heavens, Mother. I thought you were . . . well, I don’t know.”

  “Dead?” Amethyst put her hands on her hips. “Sorry to disappoint you, sonny boy. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Well, open the door. I’ve got the real estate agent here.”

  She peered past him to see a tiny little woman with a huge head of hair dyed the color of carrot cake, holding a clipboard and looking anxious.

  “This is Portia McMurphy, Mother. The agent I told you about.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Amethyst said mildly, nodding her head.

  “And you, Miss Amethyst,” the woman returned, clearing her throat nervously. “I’ve long anticipated the opportunity to see this wonderful old house, and—”

  “Are you going to make us stand out here all afternoon?” Conrad interrupted. “Open the door, Mother.”

  “I’m afraid not, Con.”

  “What do you mean, ’I’m afraid not’?” he stammered.

  “I mean, I have no intention of letting that woman—or you, for that matter—into this house.”

  “But she has to see the house if she’s going to list it for sale.”

  “Conrad, I have lived for more than sixty years under the delusion that I did not raise a stupid son. Today you have opened my eyes to the truth. But it’s high time you realized that you do not have a stupid mother.” She looked past him and smiled faintly at the agent. “I do apologize for the inconvenience, Mrs.—McMurphy, is it? I’m afraid you have been brought here under false pretenses. Noble House is not for sale.”

  The little woman paled and clutched her clipboard to her chest. “Not—not for sale? But Mr. Wainwright said—”

  “My son says a lot of things he has no business saying. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  Amethyst turned her back on them, but when she heard Conrad utter a low curse, she wheeled around and glared at him. “What did you say?”

  “I said, open the blasted door,” he amended, “or I’ll break in a window. You don’t know what you’re doing, Mothe
r.”

  “I know perfectly well what I’m doing.” She reached around the corner and retrieved the shotgun. “No one is coming into this house,” she said in a low tone, cradling the shotgun like a baby. “Is that clear?”

  Mimsy came up behind him, keening like a banshee, and grabbed his elbow. “Con, she’s got a gun!”

  “I can see that,” he said in a level voice.

  “She’s gone crazy! And Little Am is in there! What have you done with my child?”

  The girl appeared at Amethyst’s side. “Chill, Mimsy. I’m here.”

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” Mimsy’s voice went up several decibels, and Amethyst wondered briefly if that screech might break the window glass without any assistance from Conrad.

  “Yeah, sure. I’m great.”

  “Well, do something!” Mimsy squealed. “Get the gun! Unlock the door! Call the police!”

  “I don’t think so.” Am gazed placidly at her grandmother.

  “You’re both crazy!” Conrad yelled.

  “I think I’d better go,” the real estate agent said, and bolted for her car.

  “See what you’ve done, Mother? You’ve embarrassed us—and yourself—in front of a perfect stranger. The whole town will be talking about this by nightfall. Now come on, open up.”

  “It’s one of the blessings of old age,” Amethyst murmured to her namesake, “that you don’t have to waste time and energy worrying about what anyone else thinks.” She turned back to Conrad. “Go home, Con. Take responsibility for your own problems. You’re sixty-six years old—it’s about time you grew up.”

  His face flushed a bright red, and his tone turned nasty. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way,” he hissed. “I’ve got copies of those papers—”

  “Which are completely useless without my signature,” she finished. “Get the contracts,” she said to Am. “They’re still on the dining room table.”

  Little Am disappeared and returned in a second or two with the sheaf of papers in her hand. Amethyst took them from her, smiled, and with the shotgun still cradled in her elbow, ripped them in half. “Give these back to your grandfather.”

  Am moved forward and slid the papers through the mail slot. They fell in a scattered heap at Conrad’s feet.

  “Mimsy is right,” Con growled. “You are crazy.” He scooped up the contracts and tossed the ice cream onto the bricks of the front porch, then headed for his Mercedes with Mimsy on his heels.

  “I’ll be back,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Trust me, you haven’t heard the end of this.”

  Heaving a sigh, Amethyst watched him go. Trust me, he said. If only she could.

  As he sped through Cambridge toward the sheriff’s office, Conrad began to think about what had just transpired. And the more he thought about it, the more perfect it all seemed. It couldn’t have gone better if he had scripted the scene himself. His ninety-three-year-old mother was garrisoned in her house, guarding the door with a shotgun and holding a teenage girl hostage. What judge in his right mind would refuse to declare her incompetent? Then, whether he had a signed power of attorney or not, he would be perfectly justified in settling her at Babbling Brook, or Stony Brook, or whatever the name of that home was. He could sell the house and its furnishings, and—

  “Conrad, watch out!” Mimsy squealed as he ran a stoplight and careened the Mercedes around an oncoming pickup truck. “I know you’re upset, but—”

  “Upset?” he snapped. “Why the blazes would I be upset? My elderly mother has gone off her rocker, the girl we raised as our own daughter is being held against her will, maybe with her life in danger—”

  “She didn’t look like she was being held against her will,” Mimsy whined. “She looked like she was—well, enjoying it.”

  “She’s seventeen,” he snarled. “She doesn’t have sense enough to know better.”

  “My baby!” Mimsy howled. “What’s to become of my baby?”

  “Mimsy?”

  “Yes, Conrad?”

  “Shut up.”

  Amethyst heard the siren before she saw the squad car pull into the driveway.

  “Sounds like the S.W.A.T. team’s here,” Am snorted. “I can’t believe he’s doing this.”

  “He probably can’t believe I’m doing this.” Amethyst got up, clutched the shotgun to her chest, and went to the door.

  “Miss Amethyst?”

  “Is that you, Buddy?” She turned back to Am. “It’s that nice young Buddy Rice, who just got elected sheriff last fall. He used to mow my lawn for me when he was a boy.”

  “Yes ma’am. That was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” Buddy’s voice, quiet and soothing, came through the screen. “Why don’t you open the door, Miss Amethyst, so we can have ourselves a little talk.”

  “I’m afraid not. But don’t you worry about us, Buddy; we’re perfectly all right. How’s that sweet thing you married? And those wonderful little twin babies?”

  “Those twin babies started college last fall, Miss Amethyst.”

  “Do tell!”

  “Yes’m. They’re both freshmen at Auburn. Ross is majoring in chemistry, and Randy made the cut for the football team. They’ll probably redshirt him, but—”

  “Can the chitchat and get on with it,” Conrad growled from behind Buddy’s shoulder.

  “Let me do this my way, all right?” Buddy muttered to Con. He turned back and smiled at Amethyst. “Now, Miss Amethyst, there’s no call to lock your boy out of the house. And you don’t need that shotgun. Just put it down real easy and open the door, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’m sorry, Buddy. I can’t do that. Are you going to tell me I’m breaking some law by keeping my own doors locked?”

  “No ma’am. But I’m afraid it is against the law when you threaten somebody with a gun, and when you’re holding a child in there against her will.”

  Little Am stepped forward. “Who are you calling a child? I’ll be eighteen in September, and nobody’s holding anybody against their will. Now get lost.”

  “Am, there’s no call to be impolite,” Amethyst chided. “Buddy here is only doing his job.”

  “Well, his job stinks. Who do you think you are, you fascist pig, harassing a little old lady like this?”

  “Well, hey there, Little Am,” Buddy said smoothly. “You’re right grown up, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you since you were a little bit. Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. But you are under age, and your grandpa here is pretty worried about you.”

  “My grandpa is worried about himself,” Am shot back.

  “See what I told you?” Conrad said. “She’s gone off her rocker. And now she’s brainwashing Little Am.”

  Buddy held up a hand to silence him. “Miss Amethyst, I have to insist that you open the door.”

  “You can insist all you like,” she answered. “But no one’s coming into this house.”

  Buddy shrugged and turned to Con. “I can’t do anything with her.”

  “Then break a window. Do something! You can see for yourself that she’s incompetent.”

  “I don’t think breaking in is the best idea,” Buddy hedged. “And I’m afraid only a judge can determine whether or not your mother is com­petent.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Amethyst leaned forward and strained to hear Buddy’s answer.

  “Well, if you’re determined to go through with this, you’ll have to wait until Monday to get an appointment to see the judge. Courthouse, Room 103. Her office opens at nine.”

  Con coughed and cleared his throat. “Since when does this county have a woman judge?”

  “Since old Buford Renfroe keeled over with a heart attack,” Buddy answered. “About a year now. Where you been, anyway?”

  “I have better things to do than keep up with the local news,” Conrad snapped.

  “Well, there’s nothing else I can do here,” Buddy said. “I’ll be on my way.” He peered through the iron grillwork and waved. “Bye-
bye, Miss Amethyst. Nice to see you again.”

  “Take care, Buddy. Give my regards to Alice and the boys. Next time you come, I’ll be more hospitable. Maybe I’ll make you some of my special ginger teacakes.”

  “Yes’m. I’d like that real fine. You be careful, now.”

  Amethyst could hear Conrad muttering and Mimsy screeching as they followed Buddy back to the squad car. “That’s it?” Mimsy squealed. “That’s all you’re going to do?”

  “That’s all I can do, ma’am. She’s well within her rights—she hasn’t broken any laws, and she does have the prerogative of keeping her own doors locked. Con, you’ll either have to let this go or see the judge on Monday.”

  Con let out a string of curses and stomped back up the walk.

  “I’ll be back on Monday,” he yelled through the door. “Monday, you hear?”

  “You don’t have to shout, Conrad. I’m not deaf, you know.” Amethyst smiled at Little Am and propped the shotgun against the wall of the den. “And I’m not incompetent, either.”

  “We’ll see what the judge has to say about that.”

  When he was gone, Amethyst let out a sigh of relief.

  “You did it, Grandam!” The girl laughed.

  “We did it, child.”

  Little Am grinned sheepishly and looked away. “Hey, do you think it’s a good idea to leave the shotgun here?” she asked, pointing to the gun leaning precariously against the wall. “Seems kinda dangerous. If it slipped and fell—”

  Amethyst smiled. “Doesn’t matter,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s not loaded.”

  5

  Generation Gap

  By the time they had put together a dinner of leftovers and birthday cake, Amethyst found that she was exhausted. Miraculously, Little Am volunteered to do the dishes and then, while Amethyst sat in the den with her feet propped up, disappeared upstairs.

  Half an hour later, just as she was about to doze off in the chair, Amethyst caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of her vision and looked up to see an angelic apparition descending the stairway in the foyer. She sat up and rubbed her weary eyes. She must be dreaming . . . or hallucinating. The figure floated down the stairs and into the den, settling itself into the chair opposite her own.